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say-al0e · 3 months ago

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Hold Tight

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18. Minors, DNI!

Summary: Aemond has long sought comfort in the arms of the madame at his lowest. Now, he has what he's so long craved; a loving wife who is happy to indulge him. Warnings: Pregnant!Reader, lactation kink, PinV, mention of Luke's death and the war, mentions of the madame, Aemond's a little soft. If you notice anything else, let me know and I'll tag it! Pairing: Aemond x pregnant, wife!Reader Word Count: 7.6k HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen knew the secrets of the Red Keep better than most.

As a child, he spent his days studying history and philosophy, learning the language of his ancestors or practicing with his blade, preparing himself for the future he knew awaited him. He kept to himself, tired easily of his brother’s torment and Helaena’s bugs - her riddles - and spent much of his idle time wandering the Keep.

Aegon was bold, slipping out of the gates with a command for the guard on watch to allow him and little regard for who knew. He used his power as the King’s eldest son, as the heir to the throne in the eyes of most, and came and went as he pleased. Helaena never left the Keep without supervision - never wanted to leave at all, really. And Aemond, as always, fell somewhere in between.

Many nights, when he found himself searching for sleep that refused to come, Aemond roamed the labyrinthine passages Maegor the Cruel left behind. He learned most of them, slipping in and out of the Keep as he pleased, and found the ones that he could someday use to his advantage.

Most apartments in the Keep contained an alternate entrance - or exit, if need be - that few knew existed. The royal apartments, he found, were most likely to contain them; Aegon’s, Helaena’s, his mother’s, his, yours.

Though, their existence was a secret he had yet to reveal to anyone, including you.

For as long as he could remember, Aemond made use of the passages. It was not often that he visited the city - he’d never been fond of it, never cared for the revelry in the same way Aegon did - nor did he spend much time by the water. The Keep was his home and where he felt safest. But he slipped from his room to the field where Vhagar resided from time to time, or to the Kingswood, just for a moment of peace.

However, after his thirteenth name day - and Aegon’s insistent ‘instruction’ - Aemond found himself returning to the city more than he ever had.

The unmarked door, one he’d grown to need and hate in equal measure, was his destination. It called to him, a siren song in the dead of night, on his darkest days and it seemed as if each day had grown darker than the last. The incident with Lucerys, the bitter sting of his mother’s wrath, the whispers beginning to fill the ears of all who might hear; every bit his fault, and every bit beckoning him closer to that door.

Aemond lingered there for a few long moments, moments he dared not count, as a war raged in his mind. Seconds could have passed, even hours, as he hid in the depths of the shadows. Many and more moons had passed since he last stepped foot into the city, since he last visited this place, but the song drew him closer.

There was comfort to be found inside, one he once craved so desperately, but he now knew better.

Love, affection, eluded him for so long that he saw this place - the woman inside, the gold he paid her - as his only option, the only chance to feel what others took for granted. A gentle hand, a soft word, a kind smile; he wanted little else and knew she would give it to him.

Inside those walls, the world ceased to exist. There would be no mention of his nephew, his brother, his wife. The woman inside would not ask, would not mention the whispers he knew she’d already heard, and would only listen to whatever he decided to share. There would be no strategy, no attempt to comfort him with words he knew she didn’t mean. Instead, she would hear him confess his gravest sins before attempting to comfort him with the warmth of her mouth around his cock, the pads of her fingers tracing the tense muscle of his shoulder when he curled into her after.

Spending the night there, in her arms - no matter how tempting - would only add to the oppressive weight already crushing his chest. It was a truth he’d come to learn now that he knew real love, true affection, a reality he’d faced.

Despite himself, the tricks his mind played, the comfort he found there had never been real. With his body curled into hers, her fingers carding through his hair and his breath shuddering as he finally allowed himself to feel, he willed it to be a true comfort. He once considered this place, her, the pinnacle of vulnerability, of safety, of comfort.

Now, he knew there was none to be found there.

There was nothing she could say, nothing she could give him, that would provide any comfort at all. The siren song had ended, faded into the din of the city surrounding him, and Aemond could hear a new call. This song was sweeter, gentler, had blown in on a strong wind and erased all other noise the moment he fell in love with you.

Though the marriage was one of convenience at first, an arrangement made by your father and Aemond’s grandsire - his hand for the full strength of your house, when the time came - it had grown into something more.

For much of his life, Aemond refused to entertain the idea that any marriage he found himself in would be one filled with love. Marriage was bound to duty, something done for the good of your house - the good of the realm, in his case - and love meant little. Most lords disliked their wives, took other women to bed at any given chance, and the wives often rejoiced as they were no longer forced to share a bed.

The most he’d ever hoped for was a wife he could tolerate.

Aemond shared little of his mother’s faith, even less of her devotion to prayer and piety, but he often found himself thanking the gods for bringing you to him.

Hidden in the Red Keep, very likely in his own bed as you’d taken to spending more nights with him than alone, he imagined you asleep beneath the soft linen. Very clearly, he could see the white of your nightgown - a beautiful, soft material he found himself clutching between calloused fingers as oft as you would allow, drifting to sleep with the feeling of it soothing his warm skin - as your head rested on his pillow in a desperate bid to surround yourself with his scent.

That image - the picture of you he now saw so clearly, stamped in place of the door he’d been staring at without really seeing - was enough to break the invisible bond that kept him cemented in place.

Without sparing the door another glance, Aemond turned and began his retreat to the Keep.

Each step through the city was quicker than the last, eager to return to the quiet of home - the solace that awaited him in his chambers. Aemond knew the route by heart now, could find his way back with his remaining eye closed, and breathed a sigh of relief as he wound through the hidden passages that lead back to his comfort.

The moment the door settled in place, clicked shut with a soft gust of cool air, Aemond crossed the expanse of the room carefully. His footsteps were light, a barely there sound in the quiet of the room, and he was glad for his caution as he perched on the arm of a chair. His gaze fell to the bed he’d grown so used to sleeping alone in and he felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth at the sight of another body making itself at home, directly in the middle of the mattress.

Just as he’d expected, you rested there comfortably. The white of your nightgown stood in stark contrast to the deep green of his sheets, a bright spot in the otherwise dim tapestry of his room - his life.

Aemond sat there for a few long moments, time beginning to slow as he drank in the sight of you. The Keep was quiet, save for the odd shuffle of guards or servants, and he could hear the soft sound of your breathing as you shifted.

Though you rested near the center of his bed, your head on his pillow and your hand outstretched - reaching for him, despite his absence - your brows furrowed with a discomfort he’d never seen. Beneath the soft bedding, he could see the curve of your body, resting on your side, and the shift of your hand as it lifted to cradle your stomach. The motion set him on edge, drew a sharp breath from him, and earned a fluttering of your lashes as some semblance of wakefulness returned to you.

“Aemond?” you questioned, voice still so soft despite the sleep clinging to you.

“Mm.” He hummed, voice equally soft in the dim light of the room - the lone candle you’d left burning, a beacon for him to find his way in the dark. There was little doubt where your thoughts had begun to drift, the questions you wanted to ask; where he’d gone, how he felt, what came next? But he could not yet describe his feelings in words.

Before you could so much as part your lips, he sighed. “I went to see about Vhagar.” The lie slipped from his lips easily, believable enough, and his eye fluttered shut in a sort of relief - or, perhaps, shame, guilt - when you made a sympathetic noise. “I did not mean to wake you.”

As he stood, fingers beginning to work at the buttons of his doublet, you hummed. “’Twas not you,” you informed him, a sigh of your own escaping as you sat up against the headboard. “Your babe is restless and will not allow me to find comfort.” Aemond watched for a moment, keen eye following every move you made, as your hand returned to your growing belly.

The babe you carried was now very visible, obvious to all who spared you a glance, and the sight was one that enraptured him and terrified him in equal measure. Aemond was a proud man, one who was eager to carry on the Targaryen line, but his family was not one of love. There was no comfort, no happiness, to be found in the Keep - none to be found in the arms of his mother, certainly not his father - and he often feared the same fate awaited his own children. But the soft smile that curved the plush of your lips each time you rested your hand on the swell of your belly and the delighted laughter you breathed each time one of Helaena’s babes brought you into their playtime served as another light, shining in the dark; a spot of hope that, perhaps, his children may know a love he never had.

Aemond’s eye finally lifted to yours, met your concerned glance with an even one of his own after a beat of silence that stretched on almost too long, before he shook his head. “My babe? I seem to recall that we both had a hand in his creation,” he reminded you, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he removed his breeches and stood in nothing but his small clothes.

“Mm, perhaps,” you hummed, though the glimmer in your eyes told him you remembered very well. “But her nocturnal nature is solely your own. At this hour, she is yours and yours alone,” you teased, smiling softly as he padded across the stone floor to make his way to bed.

“Still insistent our first babe will be a girl?”

“A mother knows,” you hummed, watching as he slipped into bed beside you. His violet eye raked over your form, still so easily visible in the dim light of the room, and you bit back a sigh as you reached for him. “Come here.”

With little coaxing, Aemond shifted closer to you. The shift of his body was easy, almost as natural as breathing now, and you hummed in encouragement as you pushed away the bedding to allow his head to settle on your plush thighs. His favored position was resting with his head on your chest, face tipped to the crook of your neck, but the swell of your belly and the sensitivity in your breasts left you both with little choice but to find an alternative.

The beat of his heart began to slow when your hand fell from your belly to his hair, fingers softly carding through the silver strands - now free of the tie he kept in it and the lace of his eyepatch. “What happened, my love?”

Silence settled thick over the room and he knew that you weren’t asking where he’d gone. Though you worried, his disappearance was of little concern to you in that moment. The truth would out eventually, he would admit his shame sooner rather than late - as he so often seemed to with you - but this question afforded him a bit more time.

This question was the one he dreaded, the one that truly meant; what happened that night with Lucerys?

“I sincerely regret that business with Luke,” he admitted, voice a whisper in the still of the room. “I… I was angry, but I only meant to scare him. I did not mean to end his life. But Vhagar, my temper; I lost control.” The confession, whispered to you in the only place he’d ever known true safety, felt like a weight off his chest. It left behind a crater, a chasm that he knew would be difficult to fill, but sharing the secret with you made it easier for him to draw his breath. It escaped as a soft sigh, a puff of air blown across your thighs - now exposed, fabric of your nightgown pushed out of the way to allow his own hand to fall to the plush of your thigh. “Aegon is shortsighted. He wishes to throw feasts, to celebrate bloodshed. Mother is angry because she knows what must come next. Peace is no longer an option.”

Aemond’s confession lingered in the air for a long moment. It reverberated in his ears, rang like the bells that tolled on the day of his father’s death, but you calmed the noise with a quiet sigh.

“I don’t believe peace was ever an option,” you confessed, carefully brushing silver strands away from his sapphire eye. “This war started long ago, before you or Aegon or Rhaenyra were even a thought. It will be convenient, for some, to blame you and Vhagar, but this began before you took the sky together. And someday, there will be none who remember what started it or why it was fought. History will only remember the bloodshed that we must now bear the brunt of.”

No response came to him, lost in the thoughts that swept through his mind like a raging storm, but he knew you didn’t expect one. The words were meant to be a balm, soothing the soul he bared only for you, and he took them as such as he allowed his eye to fall closed.

There was something to be said of routine, then, as you followed the familiar dance that started months ago.

Silence lingered for a beat, long enough for his breathing to even and your own to grow deeper - always so shallow now, he noticed, almost labored as your stomach grew ever rounder - before you spoke again.

“I spent the day with the twins,” you informed him, fingers still softly working through the strands of his hair. “Helaena wanted to take Dreamfyre out so I sat with them and we watched her fly. I think Jaehaerys will love being a dragonrider, like Helaena, but it seems Jaehaera has no interest.”

“And Maelor?”

Aemond’s question was reflexive, asked without thought, but you took a moment to consider it. “Too young to tell,” you decided, allowing your hand to drift to his cheek and brush the sharp line of his jaw. “He has no reaction to the stink of dragon, unlike his sister, but he may, later on. Aegon wishes to take him flying on Sunfyre but Helaena has forbidden it.” Another moment of quiet, then, before you hummed once more. “Has an egg been chosen for our babe’s cradle? Or do you wish our daughter to be like her father and claim a fearsome old beast?”

The reminder of the babe you swelled with drew a shuddering breath from him as Aemond struggled to keep the grasp he held on your thigh light. “Our son will have an egg,” he promised, “but they do not always hatch. He might try for one of the unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. Vermithor is nearly as fearsome as Vhagar, nearly as old.”

‘If we can pry Dragonstone from Rhaenyra’s hands,’ went unsaid, though you both allowed the thought to cross your minds.

That thought did not linger, however, as you allowed your hand to drift from his cheek to his shoulder. Soft fingers caressed his skin, warm and strong, and Aemond relaxed into your touch. “How can I help you, my love? I mislike seeing you this way.”

More often than not these days, Aemond found himself here. Many and more nights had been spent curled into the curve of your body, his head resting against your skin as you stroked his hair and spoke softly to him, but they seemed to grow more frequent. Aemond knew that you were observant, that you’d realized he seemed to need your embrace more and more with each passing day, but even he could not articulate why.

Perhaps the weight of his inheritance had finally caught up to him. Or, perhaps it was the knowledge of all he’d done in preparation for his brother’s reign. He even considered it was the possibility that he found himself desiring his brother’s crown, the one Aegon had no desire for.

In truth, he knew that it was you.

The moment you joined hands, the moment you became his wife, Aemond began to feel the walls he’d spent so long building crumble around him. You chipped away at the slowly, almost imperceptibly, but they toppled all the same.

With every moment spent together, with every word of affection you shared or every soft brush of your fingertips across his skin, Aemond felt his world shifting.

Everything he’d ever considered important remained, still mired in the golden glory of his inheritance, only you now loomed over it all. All with the babe you now carried, his babe, alongside you.

“You are with child,” he whispered, shifting to lie on his back and glance up at you.

“I hadn’t noticed,” you returned, drily. When he fixed you with a look, violet eye unamused, you sighed. “I am with child,” you agreed, free hand falling to your belly as you stroked his hair once more. “Our child. That is what we wanted, is it not?”

“It is.” That was always the plan; get married, have children, carry on the Targaryen legacy. Only, the plan had never included losing his eye and spilling the first blood that began a war - killing a child, a nephew.

Aemond could not bring himself to say those words aloud, however, as your fingers carefully carded through his hair, he knew that you understood. There was a fear you both shared, one that had grown heavier since the incident with Lucerys, but he dared not speak it and neither did you. Losing a babe was something that frightened you both - him, nearly as much as losing you in the process - but he willed himself to push that concern to the back of his mind.

Instead, he searched desperately for a thought more pleasant.

Initially, when your betrothal was announced and preparations began for the wedding, he heard murmurs of those who pitied you. It was a shame, they all said, that such a pretty maiden - known for her kindness, her beauty, her wit - would be married to someone like him. He was, after all, noted for his sullen silence and impassive expression.

Everyone wondered how you might fare, locked away in the Keep as your husband-to-be rarely ventured outside its walls, just as Aemond wondered how he might tolerate a highborn lady who doubtlessly believed the whispers.

Those whispers had proven false - just as you’d proven that you never believed any of them.

Love, a curious thing he never hoped to find, bloomed between the two of you. It was not instant, as he learned you had hoped, but slow and cautious. Trust took time, vulnerability even more, but they came, eventually. And with them came a relationship that seemed to stun the whole of the realm into silence.

The pair of you were evenly matched: both highborn, well-educated and eager to continue learning; both fond of the quiet, though you had a natural charm and ability to pretend to enjoy banal chatter that he did not possess; both desperate for a love, a comfort, that you never found at home. There were many similarities, and more differences, but the love that bloomed brought you both a happiness you never knew possible.

And now, as you grew round with the evidence of your love, he discovered another feeling he never thought possible.

Aemond always found you beautiful - he agreed with the whispers of court, that you were much too beautiful to be chained to him for the rest of your life - and he spent the first few weeks of your courtship attempting to ignore his baser urges. There would be time enough for him to indulge in you, for him to see you as no other had ever seen you, but a desperate need for you began to take root then and had yet to release him from its iron grasp.

With every day that passed, Aemond wanted you even more.

Aegon often spoke of the joys of sex, the great pleasure he found in the Streets of Silk, and Aemond never quite believed him. The little experience he had - courtesy of his brother’s goading and gold coin - proved Aegon a liar. However, when Aemond found himself settled between your thighs, he finally believed his brother.

Now, there was little that settled him - anchored him to the moment and cleared his mind of all the noise - quite like losing himself in the throes of pleasure with you.

Since you began to swell with his child, your belly growing round and your tits beginning to spill from your gowns, Aemond found himself even more drawn to you - a feat he hadn’t believed possible. There was something so alluring about the sight of you, wandering the Keep dressed in the color of his house and bearing the most obvious sign that you were his, that it had begun growing maddening.

Luckily, you seemed to be just as desperate for him as he was for you.

The maesters assured you both that there was no harm to be done in satiating your urges and, though he was hesitant in the beginning, soon trusted they spoke nothing but the truth. Now, as he found himself eager for comfort - soft words, loving touches - he allowed himself to seek it in your embrace.

“Are you tired, ābrazyrys?” His question was soft, spoken into the silence that settled easily around you, and met with your hum.

“No.” It was a lie, he knew - could tell by the way your lashes fluttered and your fingers slowly brushed at his skin, the way your lips parted with badly concealed yawns - but you would not be swayed from allowing him whatever he wanted. “I’m here, my love,” you assured him, thumb caressing his cheek. “Take what you need.”

Aemond knew that your body was beginning to grow weary - he’d heard your whispered complaints to Helaena; how your back ached constantly, how your body felt heavier with every step, how even your softest gowns felt too rough on your sensitive skin - and nearly refused you as he had no desire to cause you pain. But the warmth of arousal had already entered his blood, burned beneath his skin, and the shift of your thighs beneath his head indicated that you felt it, too.

Rather than backing away, Aemond moved to sit up and crowded closer to you.

“Gevie,” he whispered, violet eye raking over your face as he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. “Issa gevie ābrazyrys.” Aemond pressed his mouth to yours, then, and you swore you felt his lips curve into a soft smile as you leaned into him.

Aemond had softened some, over the course of your marriage. Though he remained himself, steadfast and strong in who he had become, the edges grew a little more polished. His touch was gentler, his words softer, his kiss less rushed, and you appreciated the effort he’d taken as he tipped his head to deepen the kiss. His hand descended, brushed the soft material of your nightgown as his tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you released a contented sigh.

The large expanse of his hand fell to your ribcage, just beneath the swell of your breast, and though you knew it was coming, you still gasped as his thumb brushed a sensitive nipple.

“I’m alright,” you assured him, the moment he broke the kiss - before he could ask. Your hand lifted to his cheek, thumb brushing his warm skin as you offered him a smile. “Sensitive, is all. The maesters told me it’s normal,” you explained, watching as his gaze fell to your breasts. “They… they also said stimulation may help,” you continued, fingers returning to his hair as his violet eye returned to meet yours.

“Stimulation?”

Aemond knew he hadn’t been subtle in the attention he paid your swelling breasts, in the way his gaze fell to them every time he found you bare between his sheets, but his skin burned with an embarrassed warmth and an overwhelming lust as he realized what you were offering.

“Mm,” you hummed, not bothering to hide your actions as you lifted the skirt of your nightgown higher up your thighs. “I tried, with my fingers, the way they instructed to no avail. Perhaps you have another idea, my love?”

For a brief moment, Aemond felt his head begin to swim. His thoughts muddled, each one making less sense than the last, but they all seemed to lead in the same direction. It was a desire he’d never dared speak aloud, one he barely allowed himself to consider, but the rounder you grew with his seed - the heavier your breasts grew - the harder it became for him to forget.

Most nights, Aemond spent his time wrapped in your embrace. He enjoyed exploring your skin, mapping the soft expanse of your body with his hands and mouth, and had committed it all to memory. His words sometimes failed him, never quite capturing just how much you meant to him - just how deeply he loved you - but his touch never did. With a flick of his tongue or a brush of his fingers, with a snap of his hips or a soft press of his hand, he continued to find new ways to express himself. And when he’d gotten his fill of you, of hearing you cry his name and watching your body writhe with an exquisite pleasure only he could provide, he filled you with his seed before sometimes settling at your breast.

While he once feared you might find the act strange, that it might repulse you, you were eager to take him as he was. Any act that offered him comfort was one you allowed and the few times he curled into you, flushed body pressed to yours and mouth pressed to your breast, he felt nothing but your love.

As he swallowed, hesitant, you offered him a smile. “You will not harm me or the babe, my love,” you assured him, fingers caressing his jaw as they began to drift lower. “If anything, you will be helping me.” When he frowned, uncertain - disbelieving - you hummed. “Feel,” you instructed, reaching to guide the hand on your rib cage to your breast. It was engorged, heavy and warm in his palm, and you sighed as his thumb mindlessly brushed the nipple once more. “When the babe is born, she will have a nursemaid and I will be left with swollen, leaking tits.”

Aemond acted without thought in that moment and allowed himself to take what you offered so freely. His hands lifted to the straps of your thin nightgown and brushed them off your shoulders, giving him an opportunity to free you from the confines of the fabric.

Pregnancy had changed your body, in a way that terrified him at first - something so delicate now rested within you, a life he helped create - but now drove him to the brink of madness.

A searing warmth, all encompassing and hotter than any dragon fire, enveloped him. And a single glance at your face proved that you did, too. You felt the heat of him, the warmth of his palms - of his heavy gaze, his lithe body - and feared you were only moments from begging him to act when he took mercy on you. The gift you offered, the act you so willingly encouraged him to indulge in, was one he would never refuse.

His touch had never been exceedingly gentle, nor was it particularly hesitant. Aemond was a man assured, confident. There were moments he could be tender, even teasing, but none compared to the moment at hand.

The press of his hands to your sides, just beneath your rib cage, was soft. It was a featherlight pressure, one you feared you might not have felt were it not for the overwhelming sensitivity of your skin, and you sighed contentedly as your hand returned to the silver strands of his hair.

Slowly, and with a caution you’d never before seen in your husband, Aemond’s hands lifted.

Aemond was almost tentative, careful, in the way he touched you. His violet eye remained fixed on your face - watching, waiting for any hint of discomfort - and you offered him an encouraging smile as you leaned into his touch. “I am not fragile,” you reminded him, a small grin forming at the words he’d once used to declare his surprise at your steadfastness, your unwavering strength. “I will not break.”

A moment passed, in which you watched your husband gather himself, before his hands lifted to your breasts. He seemed to marvel at the weight of them, the warmth of your skin - usually so cool in the depths of his chambers - and hummed.

As he leaned in, gaze finally dipping to your breasts, you expected him to press his mouth to your skin - bury his face in the crook of your neck, press his lips to your collarbone and work his way down - but you were surprised when he tipped his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. Though he never left you wanting, never left you doubting his desire for you, this kiss stole your breath.

The kiss was unlike any other; fierce, passionate. It fanned the flames of desire already burning within you and turned it into an uncontrollable blaze. As eager as you always felt for his touch, the fierceness of his kiss left desperate tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

Calloused hands - toughened by years of swordplay and dragon riding - began to explore in earnest.

Every press of his palm, every swipe of his fingers drew soft noises from your lips, cries that Aemond swallowed eagerly. He relished in them, in the noises only he managed to draw from you, and you felt the evidence of his pleasure press into your thigh.

For a moment, you wondered if he might refuse your offer. However, the thought disappeared with a swipe of his thumb over the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond allowed you to break the kiss, lips parting in a sharp gasp, and wasted little time in pressing his mouth to the curve of your jaw. There seemed to be little hurry in his actions, the way he nipped and kissed the soft skin of your throat, but you could feel the tension in his corded muscles as he crowded into you. He seemed to be nearly vibrating with desire, a tremble that made you lightheaded - an awe that you could produce such a reaction in such a man - and you struggled to catch your breath as he began to descend.

There was a brief worry - a split second thought that never fully formed - that he might avoid your eye in the way he had the very first time, when there was no babe and no real reason to suckle at your breast. However, it was quickly driven away as your husband’s violet eye lifted to meet yours.

Soft kisses were pressed to your skin, across the tops of your breasts and between them - violet eye fluttering as he paused only to marvel at the newfound heat emanating from your skin.

“The maesters told me I would remain warm until the babe is here. They jest it is because I carry the blood of the dragon,” you informed him, hand falling to the back of his head to cradle him close. “I’m not sure I mind. But, tell me, husband; what do you think?”

Though your husband had always been a man of few words, he seemed lost in his own thoughts. The words you spoke meant little to him, it seemed, as he found himself capable of only a simple reply. “I shall keep you warm and full,” he promised.

Already, he could see you swollen with his seed - with the blood of the dragon - again and again. He would see you round with his babe as many times as you would allow and you could see the promise in his eye as he glanced up at you. “Perhaps it is good there will be a nursemaid, then,” you hummed, unable to bite back your grin as Aemond’s mouth pressed just beneath your breast. “So you may spend as much time at my breast as you’d like.”

In the moment, the present mattered little. All that had come to pass ceased to exist and all that might come felt good, sweet. In reality, the future seemed bleak, but in the moment, there was a future. And all either of you wanted was to pretend.

Without sparing another moment, Aemond’s lips wrapped around the sensitive nipple.

The warmth of his mouth, the swirl of his tongue, was cautious at first - desperate to keep from hurting you, to keep from causing any pain - and you hummed contentedly as his eye fluttered shut. Your fingers carded through his hair, touch as delicate as his own, as your free hand fell to his chest.

Aemond’s heart thrummed beneath your fingertips, the beat of it as erratic as you’d ever felt it, and you felt your own beat in time with his.

No part of you ever imagined you would find yourself here - in bed with your dragon rider, the fierce swordsman and Targaryen prince, suckling at your breast - but there was no dismay in it. The pair of you were two halves of a whole: him, desperate to be wanted, needed, loved; you, desperate to love, to want, to need. There was a balance, an equal give and take, that saw you both offering the other what they desired freely. You understood one another in a way no one ever had and you were grateful for that understanding as Aemond attempted to crowd closer.

“My sweet love,” you whispered, fingers brushing the silver strands from his cheek. “This is what we both needed,” you assured him, voice a quiet lilt in the dim of his chambers. “Feels so much better.”

A pleased hum - proud, soothed by your praise - escaped your husband as his free hand returned to your thigh. His fingers pressed into the plush skin, anchoring himself to you, and you sighed at the touch. His hand was so close to where you wanted him and you asked without sparing it a second thought.

“Aemond,” you whispered, hand reaching for his - fingers clasping around his wrist and dragging it higher. “Touch me, please. Need you.”

Calloused fingers slipped between your thighs, lips curving into a smile at how readily you parted for him. His touch paused only for a moment, as did the gentle pull of his lips at your breast, as he seemed to realize the state you were in.

Slick pooled between your thighs and Aemond readily gave you what you wanted. His fingers swiped through your arousal, gathering your slick, before his thumb found the all-too sensitive bundle of nerves.

The wet slip of his fingers was self-assured, an action he’d taken a thousand times before, and it seemed as if he knew your own body better than you did. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, filled your veins and blazed up your spine, as he rolled the numb beneath his thumb for a moment before abandoning it to press his fingers to your slick opening.

“You enjoy this,” he accused, finally allowing his violet eye to open as he released your nipple and urged you to turn so he could reach the other. “As much as I do,” he continued, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I do,” you promised, sigh escaping your lips as you felt his long fingers press into you - curling, parting, manipulating in the way only he knew. “I have never turned you away,” you reminded him, words ending in a breathless moan. “If you are as depraved as you imagine yourself, then consider me your equal.”

Aemond seemed pleased by your assertion, proud to have found a wife who not only indulged him, but understood him. And you were pleased, as he returned his mouth to your aching breast, that he trusted you enough to allow you this glimpse.

The press of his mouth to your breast was growing ever eager, desperate for whatever you could give him - and, as it turned out, was not much yet, though you knew he would patiently await the day it would be more. It was soothing, almost, in a way that eased the ache you’d begun growing weary of, and you parted your lips to thank him for it the moment his thumb pressed to your aching clit.

A keening moan escaped, a noise that might’ve brought an embarrassed heat to your skin in the beginning of your marriage, but such noises were familiar now and your husband reveled in them.

Some small part of you wondered if he meant to have you both finish this way, him with his mouth pressed to your breast and you with his fingers curling into your heat. Only, he gave you little time to wonder as he lifted his head to glance at you fully.

“I know your body aches,” he hummed, press of his fingers slowing - thumb stilling on your clit, earning a displeased whine. “Do you think you can take my cock, my love? I have no desire to cause you discomfort.”

“You will,” you huffed, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging - just slightly, “if you do not fuck me.”

Aemond laughed, then, a sound you imagined few others had ever heard, before pulling away from you. You whined at the loss of his touch, the emptiness that filled you and the cool that suddenly chilled you, before your attention was stolen. His lips wrapped around his fingers, capturing the taste of you on his tongue, and you swallowed hard to keep from lunging at him as he settled against the headboard himself.

“Come here,” he beckons, hand already reaching for you hip and hauling you onto his lap. “So fucking perfect.”

Before the babe, before your stomach began to swell, this was a rarity. Aemond preferred you beneath him, pressed into his mattress as he left you seeing stars, but he’d admitted he could see the beauty of the position you now found yourselves in.

As expected, the moment you settled atop him, his gaze returned to your breasts. “One may think you’d never seen tits before,” you teased, not bothering to hide your grin as Aemond rolled his eye. “I jest, my love,” you hummed, reaching out for him - encouraging him to return his mouth to your breast. “It helped,” you assured him. “They no longer ache as they did when I woke. Thank you.”

Aemond lifted a hand to the back of your neck, then, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss. The kiss was more familiar, something you’d grown to expect - grown to love - and you felt yourself melting into it as he crowded you closer.

The swell of your belly made it difficult to press your body as close to his as you would’ve liked, as close as he would’ve liked - in the privacy of his chambers, beneath the sheets of his bed, Aemond liked you a close as he could have you - but it was enough. His hands explored your warm skin, slick beneath his fingers and no longer aching in the way you’d complained earlier, and you relaxed into his touch as his hand slipped between your spread thighs once more.

Though you expected his fingers to return to your center, Aemond’s hand fell to his cock. You breathed something akin to a sigh of relief as you felt the tip glide through your slick folds, catching on your aching clit and drawing another keening moan that he eagerly swallowed.

The head of his cock nudged your slick opening, nestled there as you rested on your knees, before he lifted his hand to your hip and pulled you down.

A familiar stretch, a familiar warmth, captured the whole of your attention as you sank down onto Aemond’s cock.

Every pulse of him, every twitch of his cock - every ridge, every vein - was heightened by your sensitivity and your eyes nearly rolled back as you sank onto him fully. He filled you wonderfully, perfectly, and reveled in you saying so. Only, he barely allowed you a moment at all to speak before his mouth returned to your breasts.

Each sensation was overwhelming in its own right, every touch more consuming than the last, but the combination of it all had you seeing stars.

The warmth of Aemond’s body pressed to yours, the way his muscles clenched as he rocked his hips up to meet yours, the insistent press of his hand - fingers dimpling your skin as he held you tight - was all magnified by the warmth of his lips pressed to your breast. Even as his hips snapped, pressing his cock in deeper, the press of his mouth remained soft.

Aemond was careful to keep from hurting you, despite his desire to devour you - clear in the lust darkening his violet eye - and you lifted a grateful and to his cheek.

“Feels so good,” you breathed, gaze meeting his. “You make me feel so good, my love.”

The praise he craved, the words he desperately needed to hear but would never ask for, earned you a sharp snap of his hips - driving him deeper, pressing you closer - and you gasped as his teeth carefully nipped at your sensitive nipple. He’d already taken what little your body had produced, would need to wait a little longer for more, but that did nothing to stop him from continuing to suckle at the soft skin as his thumb fell to your clit.

As he so often tried, your husband pressed you on to your pleasure first. His fingers, his mouth, his cock; all working together in an eager attempt to earn your blissful cries. That sharp violet eye watched your face, watched your lips part and your lashes flutter, and you could see the pride in his gaze as you began to quiver in his grasp.

When your release washed over you, heavy and so desperately needed, Aemond allowed himself to let go. He chased his own high for a moment, sinking into the pleasure of you - of your slick cunt, of your swollen breasts.

With a muffled noise, Aemond spilled into you - his spend filling you with a warmth you swore you would never tire of. It was accompanied by a soft gasp, a quiet noise that you wouldn’t have heard over your own heartbeat had you not been paying him such close attention, and you reached for his cheek with a soft smile.

Aemond easily lifted his head, his mouth meeting yours, and gave you the kiss you wanted. It was an assurance for you both, a gesture meant to calm - to serve as a reminder that you were bound, one - and ended with his forehead pressed to yours.

“All of this,” you whispered, the pair of you still struggling to catch your breath, “will end and we will carry on. And when our duty is done, we will be free to live our lives as we wish. You did not start this war, but you will finish it.”

“I will,” he promised, violet eye glimmering with an unscheduled tear as his hand fell to your swollen belly.

It was a promise he couldn’t make in good faith, nor one he could reasonably be expected to keep, but it was enough for the moment. The idea that this is what awaited him - this life, you - made him desperate. He wanted nothing more than to carry on, than to spend the rest of his life right here, and he would do anything in his power to make it happen.

And, if he could not spend the rest of his life here, he would perish in the pursuit.

____________________________________________________

Author's Note: Aemond just. Captivates me. How am I supposed to survive two years without more content?

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo

#aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond x you #hotd smut #hotd imagine #v's fics

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oukabarsburgblr · 3 months ago

Text

Dearest Husband [Consort AU] Pt. II

FEATURING : PRINCE DAISUKE YUICHI (OC) x CONSORT male reader

Disaster comes to rain on our beloved couple. Feelings, ego and pride crashing together and in the midst of it all Daisuke stands firm to fight for the person of his desires. How would it end? Would he be able to finally declare his affections for his convenient wedded husband? His back turned against the world, (m/n) surpressing his feelings, hidden from sight. Will our prince win in the war of love?

17k words of something. no spoilers, proceed at ur own risk, part 1, profile

Find out more under the cut!

Three months had passed….

And our beloved prince of the Eastern Empire, Daisuke Yuichi, could say he was content with his life. His body was great, the people were well, his preparations for ascension was still ongoing and delayed on his part. His marriage especially, was the highlight of his life.

The moans were not discrete, a sultry (h/c) clinging onto the prince, clenching his outer coat while roughly making out with him. Daisuke held onto his waist, one of his hands slowly cupping his ass as he thrusted his tongue inside the consort. (m/n) sucked his tongue, teasingly biting it as they continued their rough affair. They had been taking a walk, in Daisuke’s private garden in the Grand Palace when one of them randomly decided they needed a fresh face fuck.

Luckily, the Royal Palace itself was massive, holding many estates across numerous acres of land. The highlights were the Grand Palace, where the royals resided, Daisuke’s office, the treasury, the throne hall were located. The second but still as grandeur was the Emerald Palace. Its main function was to act as the living quarters of the emperor’s harem, but after the birth of Daisuke Yuichi, his father, the current emperor had divorced all of his spouses except for the previous emperor.

It holds beautiful castles, the famous greenhouse, small lakes with boats and regularly social outdoor parties was held there, Currently, the lavish consort of the crown prince, (m/n) (l/n) became the sole tenant of the Emerald Palace, to which he had secretly waivered the loyalties of its attendants to his reign, Daisuke had suspicions but he would let his favourite and only consort to do so.

Speaking of the consort, their relationship had improved drastically. (m/n) would visit his chambers every three days, and Daisuke visiting his every two. During the day, the (h/c) could be found lounging in Daisuke’s office, not even bothering him or snooping around but to sleep, read, or doing his own hobbies.

Seeing how often (m/n) would lay in front of the fireplace, Daisuke had a custom maroon sofa, with golden stands and plush armchairs, soft padding and an abundant of pillows so his consort could drape himself over the furniture however he’d like. He was satisfied just watching from his desk, how the (h/c) would munch on sweets, flipping a page from his book and he caught himself smiling so often embarrassingly.

They have yet to own a shared room in the Grand Palace, that was reserved for the position of the emperor and his own spouses, so they resorted to have their enticing affairs in Daisuke’s chambers. He adored making love to the (h/c), they were extremely compatible in bed. With Daisuke’s passion and (m/n)’s lust combined, many pleasurable nights had passed, although at the expense of the passing attendants, Daisuke’s knight hates them now.

The aftermath was sweet, he found the (h/c) would cling to him, desperate for skin-to-skin contact as grounding after their mind-shattering sex and he would provide comfort. Wrapping his arms around the consort protectively before drifting off to sleep.

However, he noted that at times, the consort was cold. Sleeping by facing the other way, and when he inquired the (h/c) would brush him off dismissively and Daisuke would just silently hug him from behind. The day after, (m/n) would pretend like that little bit didn’t happen, acting like his usual self. They didn’t have much pillow talk, (m/n) rejected the idea as he shushed him to enter their slumber.

He wasn’t sure how he felt, something had festered in his heart. After their rough consummation, he would see (m/n) walk around with a medical patch on the back of his neck, where he had bitten his nape. Daisuke felt extremely guilty and would dress him in lavish to satisfy his guilt. Had his guilt dragged behind him for this long?

Every time he’d gazed over the consort, when the (h/c) wasn’t looking, there was a longing in his heart, just to wrap his hold around (m/n) affectionately.

He thought his marriage would only be one of peace, but he didn’t expect himself to fall…

Fallen. Bewitched? He brushed the thought off of his mind, not wanting to be dizzy for much longer as he placed down the quill on his desk.

Stacks of letters, invites from other powerful houses, some foreign, mostly his subjects, and invite to their own parties, social events and some even included details of potential suitors, mostly daughters of dukes and counts. Ever since he married (m/n) (l/n), it seemed that the public thought he was open to a harem, given the fact that him and (m/n) couldn’t produce an heir.

His emotions that once fluttered around the (h/c), brewed fire in his heart as he burned the letters, throwing it into the crackling flame as fuel for the hearth, He looked behind him to see the consort sleeping in his designated sofa, a soft blanket loosely draped over his figure.

Daisuke walked over to the (h/c), his steps silent as he crouched in front of the sleeping consort’s face. His eyes glazed over the consort’s features, his eyes, his lips and even to the bridge of his nose…

He pondered how could such a being could appear so beautiful in his eyes, heavenly, bewitching, distinguished and so many words in all of the dictionaries couldn’t even describe how majestic he was to the prince.

Nightfall was encroaching and usually he would carry the consort in his arms, letting him sleep in his room, but he wanted to be selfish this time. Fully absorbing, sketching and engraving this memory into his mind.

It seemed he had taken too much of (m/n)’s whine, who had awakened, stretching his arms and lazily blinking his drowsy eyes. “…Princey?” Daisuke chuckled, now kneeling on the carpet. “Morning, sleeping beaut’.” “…Is it actually morning?” The consort propped himself, glancing at the uncovered windows before dropping himself back on the sofa, seeing that it was actually night instead.

“You sure took your time.” “I am quite tired today…” (m/n) mumbled, covering his face with his arm. Daisuke raised an eyebrow at his ironic statement. “Tired? And here I was, dying at my desk. If I had been pronounced dead, you’d probably be on your third nap.”

“Not my fault.” The (h/c) groggily whacked his shoulder. “I want to sleep more…” He was in a daze, rolling himself off the couch, the prince calmly catching him in his arms and in the safety blanket of Daisuke Yuichi, (m/n) (l/n) dropped his whole bodyweight on his husband.

“You’re heavy. Have you been gaining weight?’ Daisuke kissed the consort, teasing him and instead earning a slap, playful but the message was received, and he laughed, the (h/c) trying to clamber away from him but the prince held him tight, screaming apologies into his ear.

“I’m hungry.” (m/n) stated, his stomach grumbled following their short wrestle. Daisuke was hugging him from behind, both of them tangled in the blanket on the carpeted floor.

“Want to have dinner? I can call your favourite chef to be on duty.”

(m/n) thought about it for a moment, before shaking his head. “I just want to have a snack. And get drunk.” Daisuke thought back to when the last time the (h/c) got drunk. They ended making out in one of the trees in the garden at the dead of night. How did the consort managed to convince him? God knows. It was probably the profound bias he had for the (h/c).

“…I can take you to my favourite tavern. It’s on the outskirts of town. The place is safe, with good drinks.” “Sold.” “We’d have to disguise ourselves, however. And that means, leaving all your jewellery behind.”

There was a mocking grumble, copying his speech from the consort. Daisuke only rolled his eyes, “This is how you get caught so easily. Come on.” He heaved himself up, pulling the consort with him as they get dressed blandly, hiding under the hood of their cloaks.

Daisuke had remembered something, quickly snatching one of his small wooden boxes and shoving the item inside his vest before joining the (h/c) at the gates, only a few guards accompanying them with a less lavish carriage that carried no insignia of their royalty as they traversed to town.

It took a while for them to arrive, a bustling tavern with customers in and out of its entrance, most of them leaving with a drunken flush on their faces. Daisuke held (m/n)’s hand as he stepped off the carriage, making sure their hoods were intact and waving at his guards, them nodding and getting into position to guard the place. Usually, Daisuke wouldn’t bring so many personnel with him, only him and his knight would do but since (m/n) was with him, a little extra security wouldn’t hurt.

The two entered the tavern, made their way to an empty table and called for a servant for their orders. A woman, who seemed to be in her late 20s and dressed a bit too exposed for the cold night took their orders and winked at the (h/c). A foreigner was always deemed attractive to the commonfolk.

(m/n) just laughed at the annoyed prince as their orders arrived, the consort immediately chugging the big glass of alcohol in front of him. “You said you don’t drink often.” Daisuke placed one of the tidbits into his mouth, staring at the dazed consort.

“I don’t…” His words were slurred. “But when I do, I drink hard.”

“…Whatever that means.” Daisuke stopped (m/n) from slapping his glass off the table as he pulled out the wooden box from earlier. “I thought this would be an appropriate time to present to you something…although I’m not sure you’re even sane enough to interpret my words.”

(m/n) wrinkled his nose, his face heating up from the alcohol as he slammed his fist on the table. “Hit me.” The prince only chuckled at his antics as he placed the small chest on the table, sliding it to the (h/c). “Open it.”

He grabbed the box, fiddling with the lock for a moment before managing to open its contents. The box itself was small, he thought he was about to receive another set of earrings from the prince but instead there was a skeleton key.

A pure bronze ornate key, with red highlights around the stem, a sharp bit and a small gem latched in the middle of the bow. (m/n) scanned the key confusingly. “…Is this supposed to unlock a bigger present or…?”

“You could say that.” Daisuke seemed excited, for his reaction it seemed, as he pulled out a cylinder leather case and (m/n) wondered how multifunctional his garments was. The (h/c) popped the cap off and shook out the scroll inside. He pinched the edges with his hands as he tried to make sense of the wordings of the paper.

“…A deed?” “Your summerhouse is complete.”

The (h/c) raised his hand at the smiling prince, who seemed like a child, giddy to give a present. “Summerhouse?” “The one you wanted. Beside a lake near the borders, took a while for construction to finish. Of course, that is the key to the gates instead of the mansion itself since the furbishing needed to be done along with a stampede of servants for maintenance.”

The villa that (m/n) had requested way back. Even after he received the treasure chest for the prince, he didn’t continue forward with his plans. Not after the whole incident.

“…But why?” The consort seemed confused, examining the key in his hand before Daisuke grasped his other.

“Consider it my first gift to you as my husband.” With that, the prince kissed the back of his hand, pressing his lips gently onto his skin. (m/n) was still stunned. There were so many presents the prince had gifted to him, but this was far more outstanding than any other.

“…I’m so confused.” “Do you not like the present?” “I do. It’s just…”

(m/n) didn’t finish his sentence, instead downing more alcohol into his system as he placed the key back into the box. Daisuke didn’t press further, the (h/c)’s flustered expression was more than enough to satisfy him.

They continued to drink, (m/n) ordering more than he could handle and it ended up with him hugging the prince at his waist as they exited the tavern. The alcohol was a rush, a good chunk of it in their system and it led to the consort whispering to the prince he needed him as they had a frisky amour in the moving carriage.

After sloppily covering up themselves, they continued in Daisuke’s bedroom, the prince thrusting into the consort, both with drunken pleasure. Daisuke held the headboard of his bed, caging the (h/c) under him as he came inside (m/n) missionary. He plopped himself on top of the consort unceremoniously, (m/n) whining about his sensitive hole still clenching around his cock.

The prince rolled off of him, laying by his side, basking in the afterglow of their misdemeanours. (m/n) sighed heavily, feeling full as he pulled the duvet beside him up to his chest. Daisuke turned to his husband and brushed the strands of hair out of his sweaty face. He gently pulled the (h/c) closer to him and closed his eyes, prepared to drift off to sleep.

“…I don’t understand…”

He opened one of his eyes, in the dark room, barely anything could be seen but it was evident the (h/c) was still drunk, Daisuke having a higher tolerance from his poison resistance buildup, and he was mumbling in a daze. “What do you not understand?” He simply entertained the intoxicated fool.

He smoothened the (h/c) hair, tucking it behind (m/n)’s ear as he inched closer to the consort. “…Whether do you have…an attraction for me…or is it to simply keep the peace.”

Keeping the peace? Even Daisuke couldn’t fully fathom what the mumbling consort was trying to transpire. “…Of course I have an attraction for you. Who wouldn’t?”

An idiot. He thought. Only an idiot wouldn’t fall for him.

“…This peace we have…it’s grounding me together…my sanity…”

(m/n) groggily creaked his eyes open.

“If I had truly been your preference, you wouldn’t have scrapped the idea of your beloved fairytale.”

With that, the (h/c) sank his head into the lush pillow, pushed into the realm of dreams. In contrast with the prince, his statement hit him like a brick. “My fairytale…” He thought back to before. There was only once where he had brought it up, but it had been so long back.

He felt restless, something aching in his heart, but he remained silent, drifting away to sleep.

In his mind, he wondered if he was slowly being smitten by the consort. There was a chance of it happening of course, they had been wed together but the impact was strong, he never felt anything like this in his life. And to think he cares so much about his consort.

His hold around the (h/c) remained strong as he subjected his mind into the abyss.

After that night, he found that the consort wouldn’t come to his office as often, distancing himself from the prince albeit his protests claiming that everything was alright. Daisuke felt a cold clench in his chest. As if there was a wall, slowly building up between him and his consort, every time he had become vulnerable, (m/n) would distance himself away. It pained Daisuke to see him hurt. He didn’t want that for both of them.

Maybe if he had spoken more, both of them would be much more open with each other.

Alas, all he could was to wait for the storm in (m/n)’s heart to subside. He had been patient with his bratty behaviour in the past, he can wait for him to mentally recover as long as he’d liked.

It had been a week and a half since, as much as Daisuke would like him to recover, his heart was longing for the consort. So, he decided to visit him alone in the Emerald Palace. The guards stationed there bowed to him, letting him pass with him requesting that they do not announce his arrival, it was a good decision to switch the paladins. Ones that are much more loyal to him.

He had heard that the (h/c) was strategically integrating himself into the Eastern society, mingling with the wives of the powerful, attending balls and parties, as per Ivan had reported to him. Although he was a bit sulky that he wasn’t tagged along, he could invite him to theirs. A ball at the Grand Palace, orchestrated for the holiday in the East. It would be good for him to show off his consort to the nobles.

Cue the yelling and pleadings, snagging Daisuke’s attention as he immediately ran through the halls, reaching (m/n)’s room where there were butlers and maids crowding around the door. The prince pushing himself through and as they noticed him, they all exclaimed, urging him not to enter.

As he pushed the doors open, there were two guards, carefully approaching the (h/c), whose hand was bloody, a stark red in contrast to the mint marble floor. “Your Grace! Please just-!”

“I said LEAVE! LEAVE ME ALONE!!” The knight swiftly avoided an ornament box thrown into his direction, he didn’t hear the shattering of the impact on the floor, so he turned to see-

“You…why are you here…” (m/n) scowled, his teeth gritting, clenching his soaked fist.

Daisuke frowned, his eyebrows furrowed as he ordered the guards to leave. He scanned the (h/c)’s frenzied state, his outer coat tossed somewhere else and his red-coated hand.

“What happened?” He stated firmly, stepping to the consort.

The (h/c) defensively stepped back, behind him was his vanity, broken with a large crack in the middle. The table itself was a mess, he presumed the consort had used it to shoo away the knights. “You don’t need to know.” (m/n) seethed.

“Why are you hurt?” “Leave.” He stepped closer. “(m/n), I’m trying to help-“ “LEAVE!”

“I’m NOT LEAVING! Goddammit (m/n)-!” For every step he took forward, every step the (h/c) backed away, pressing himself against one of the shelves, leaving bloody trails on the furniture from his hand.

It seemed the consort was desperate enough, he started to chuck things to him as well, Daisuke swiftly avoided the barrage of intricate, one of them was a fucking vase holy shit-, and he was closer to the destructive, pained (h/c). “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding for fuck’s sake- I’m not leaving you like this.”

A raw sob tore from (m/n)’s throat, tears slipping down his cheeks as he exclaimed to the prince once again. “Please…I told you to leave!” It was a short altercation, one that involved Daisuke quickly restraining (m/n), holding his wrists together. The consort screamed, kicked and yelled at him, all with his bleeding hand and wet cheeks. This was the worst state Daisuke had ever seen.

He struggled with the consort’s hysteria, ultimately pushing him against the walls, caging him with himself. (m/n) seemed to be out of breath, still crying with his hands held together above his head. Daisuke gazed into his avoiding eyes, worriedly.

“…you’re in pain. Let me help you.”

True to his words, aside from the bloody hand, (m/n) was very much in pain. The (h/c) stared at the floor, silently sobbing. His tears falling from his lower lashes. “…you can’t help me…you’re going to cast me aside…”

“I wouldn’t. I would never.” Leaving the consort was the last thing on his mind. How could he possibly abandon the man he held dear in his heart.

“You will.” (m/n) scoffed, he coughed into the air, his throat aching. “You ought to be a trashy bastard like all the others-!”

“Who?! Who fed this mindset to you?!” He knew (m/n) recently came back from a jamboree, his garments were also an indicator. Did something happen at one of the parties?

“Who dared to ruin you like this!”

“…” (m/n) was quiet, at first. He mumbled nimbly, before finally dropping his bodyweight down, slowly sliding himself to sit on the floor. The prince followed suit, kneeling and sitting onto his own calves, his tight grip was replaced with a gentle hold on the consort’s hands, his eyes silently examining the blood before returning back to the consort who began to tell, confiding in his beloved husband.

(m/n) silently sipped from his wine glass, there were chattering all around at the beautifully lit party. It had been another aristocrats’ gathering, and he was invited so by the host, the Countess, the Earl’s wife and she was a pleasant old woman who treated him like most of the peerage. Curiosity and flatter, complimenting him trying to curry his favour and overall, an attempt to get closer to the crown prince since the emperor was known to be closed off regarding his sole heir.

Many people had gone up to him, either to chat or to tease and (m/n) rebutted it with his own charm, having been used to witty remarks especially during his time in the West. Later in the party, he spent some time alone, drinking to himself, rejecting any company.

Until one of them was bold enough to approach him.

It was an old man, dressed wisely and formally. (m/n) recognised him to be one of the ministers as he bowed his head to the consort. He had a look in his eyes the (h/c) recognised. Something scheming and devious mixed together behind a veil of unconcealed flagrant.

He responded little to the older one’s chat, only speaking when he needed to when a remark slipped out of his mouth.

“You are one arrogant little cunt.”

“…Excuse me?” (m/n) raised an eyebrow, already feeling heated in his head. Who had dared to speak to him in such a manner? The old man only smiled, his slanted eyes glaring at the consort. “I’m sorry, did my tongue slip? I didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”

“…” (m/n) knew what he had heard, and he wasn’t going to accept this disrespect to his face. He wanted to leave until another approached them, and another, and another until there were many men surrounding him, all dressed in similar attires that was forcing him into a corner.

“I want to leave-“

“It seemed the rumours were true.”

“No wonder the Western Emperor despised him.”

They all ignored him, standing firm in front of him as (m/n) felt he got backed into a corner. He gritted his teeth and yelled for a guard, but the barrage of nuisance prevented him so.

Pointed jabs, back handed compliments were passed. He was scrutinized to his face while the men acted like he wasn’t there. As if they were dissecting him down to his bone, judging his background and reputation present in the kingdom.

“What a wicked man.”

“He’d bring only downfall to our kingdom.”

“A pest, rooted in the rich, clean East.”

“Someone needs to cut him down.”

“Slice him.”

“Burn his defences, let him rot in the mountains.”

“What does the crown prince see in him? There’s so many like him in the cathouse.”

Amidst the passing comments, (m/n)’s patience was ripped from his head.

“…you’d think I give a fuck?” He stared at the man who had originally approached him. “I don’t care how much you try to scheme or attempt to intimidate me. I am the consort, husband of the crown prince.”

(m/n) scoffed at them. “Your precious prince favours me and that is a fact in itself.”

The old man stared back at him with a scowling glare. “You’re a pest to the kingdom…I presume you’re aware.”

The (h/c) only scoffed, smirking at him. “And what about it?”

“The harem is open. And you are unable to produce an heir. How long do you think you would be the sole keeper of the prince’s heart?”

And that hit the consort like a brick.

“I- “

“The kingdom needs an heir. The bloodline must be kept.”

“It doesn’t matter-“ He tried to counter but again flooded with remarks.

“It doesn’t matter to you. You are not of this kingdom. You are not our people, but we. We need a monarch. And if it wouldn’t come from you, it will come from another.”

“It’s about time the crown prince expanded his harem.”

(m/n) didn’t know why, but that sentence struck him the most. He had punched the man who had uttered those words, knocking him to the ground. Gasps of shock from other guests and the (h/c) was pulled away by his own guards. The trail of the men previously disassembled into the crowd, feigning innocence and the victim of his fist insisted he was dandy, that he was at fault for angering the consort, painting him as a hot-blooded bastard.

The consort left the party, not in the mood to converse any further despite the countess’ pleas. He returned to his chambers, tugging off his coat and the maids were preparing a bath for him since his return was at a short notice.

The (h/c) stared at the vintage rectangular mirror in front of him, gazing into himself, his furious expression looking back. The servants exchanged looks, some of worry and some of curiosity. (m/n) was too busy in his own thoughts to even reprimand them.

How long had he been the prince’s lover? No. Not lover. He couldn’t possibly be the object of his desires. If at most, then bedwarmer would be a better fitting for a heel like him.

The prince, his touch, his gaze, would he have to share them with someone else? A woman, perhaps. Someone able to carry his offspring.

It doesn’t matter. He thought, a pitiful attempt at convincing himself. It shouldn’t matter. Why would the prince’s love life be a meddling of his own? He’s satisfied with the things they are now. He’s supposed to be.

“How long do you think you would be the sole keeper of the prince’s heart?”

…did he even had a chance to embrace his love? Was there ever a moment that the prince, Daisuke, had shown his affection for him, without him thinking about the setbacks. Barely.

“…that fucking…”

Fairytale. Daisuke’s stupid fairytale. The one he told (m/n), the one where he expressed, he didn’t get to relive. A love story. Weren’t theirs supposed to become the upbringing of one? Was he so demure in the prince’s eyes that he wasn’t worthy of a possibility to fall for him?

“-Your Grace, the bath is read-“

A scream erupted from the girl, and (m/n) realised his knuckles were bleeding, and the mirror in front of him had broken.

“…Get out.”

“But Your Grace-!” “I said GET OUT!”

Not long after, Daisuke had arrived and that was how the whole commotion happened. Currently, they were alone, (m/n) sitting against a wall and Daisuke holding his bloody hand gently in his. He made sure there were no specks of glass in his knuckles.

The (h/c) had told him everything that happened at the party, except the aftermath, he didn’t confide of his troubling feelings regarding the prince.

“Who?” That was his first question uttered to the consort. “Who were they?” His voice bristled with anger, his composure gone with a gaze that was demanding an explanation from the consort, one that (m/n) didn’t return.

The words hung heavy in the air, laced with conflict. “…I don’t want to think about it any longer.” “(m/n), you need to tell-“ “I need to cool off…I need to think to myself.”

Daisuke’s expression slumped into a deep frown. The consort seemed so fragile, as if he could break at any moment. “I’ll-“ “By myself…I need to recollect myself.”

It seemed at the moment (m/n) finally registered the pain in his hand, causing him to wince in agony. As Daisuke gently held his wrist, taking out the cloth from his pockets to wrap around the wound. “If you let a doctor tend to your wounds, I’ll leave you for the day.” He gently kissed the now-wrapped hand. “But I’ll come to see you in the night.”

(m/n) stared at him for a moment, a blank look in his eyes before muttering. “Do what you like.”

And so, the sequence of events unfolded. A healer came to tend to the consort, maids came in to clean up the aftermath and Daisuke left. His gaze fixated at the closing door, but it wasn’t returned, (m/n)’s eyes downwards as he shut the tall doors in the prince’s face. Daisuke lingered for a moment before taking his leave. He requested Ivan to find the list of attendees of the countess’ party and asked him to send a mail to personally request for an audience with the Earl and his wife.

He wasn’t sure what to do. Politicians harassing his husband was the last thing he anticipated, he had let his guard down for too long. Being around (m/n) really made him feel like he had stepped into the heavens and he hadn’t noticed the sinking (h/c) that was descending into what seemed like hell for his husband.

When he stepped into the bath, he stared at the murky waters, and a hazy version of himself stared back. Me with another? He couldn’t possibly fathom the thought or imagine himself being with another. Be it a man or a woman. The second he had shared a bed with his consort, the ideal love story that had envisioned his mind as a kid had been scrapped.

“Fairytale…” Daisuke tried to pull a foggy memory from the back of his head.

(m/n) had mentioned it a few times. Had he been offended back then? It was just a passing comment. Why would the consort care as so, even he himself hadn’t declared any type of romance intentions to the prince-

Romance…The thought sent heat creeping up his neck, as opposed to the chilly water surrounding his body. Glancing at himself in a mirror, he found his face to be completely flushed, rosy hues decorating his pale cheeks. He didn’t even notice when his expression had changed into one of embarrassment. The prince felt bashful for a moment as he cupped his face with his palms sighing into them.

The prince's mind was consumed with thoughts of the consort— the joyful moments spent basking in his smile, his contagious laughter, and his endearing bratty mannerisms. Yet, the most heart-wrenching moments were those filled with sadness, when he witnessed the consort's tears and heard his anguished cries, or when the consort had pushed him away.

Daisuke’s soft cheeks filled the crevices of his rough tattered palms. His upper lashes fluttering, catching small droplets of water.

He was in love. In love with (m/n) (l/n).

And in that very moment, Daisuke realised that the (h/c) was no longer a mere consort he was forcefully wedded to, instead he was his husband, a man he had come to yearn, to love for.

Daisuke made his way to the Emerald Palace again that night. He was dressed more casually, in a long white creamy robe and his mind was free from heavy thoughts as he dismissed his escorts and knocked on the door. He half-expected his husband to lock him out for the rest of the night but to his surprise, the door was pulled slightly ajar just after his third knock.

Footsteps left the door, and he heard shuffles on the bed. He pushed the door open and shut it behind him and upon entering, he found that all of the curtains were closed and the only source of light was from the lit candle on the dresser. On the bed, (m/n) was laying on his side facing away from him. Daisuke silently went to the edge of the bed and climbed over to him. Shifting the blankets under him, he laid and curled himself into (m/n)’s back, wrapping his arm around his husband’s midsection, spooning him from behind.

Seeing the (h/c) was quiet, the prince remained silent as well, rubbing his thumb into (m/n)’s sleepwear before muttering.

“Regarding the fairytale…I never meant for it to represent my desire, my desire of which I want it to come to life..”

“…”

The response from (m/n) was a deafening silence, Daisuke continued.

“I didn’t…plan nor hope for any of it to actually happen. My father, he didn’t have the best relationship with the previous Empress, and I wish for my marriage to be different, to be ideal.” The ravenette thought of his mother that now only existed as a passing thought.

“But I never expected for us to happen. A marriage of convenience. At first, all I wished for was peace with my suitor. But the more I got to know you,” He kissed the shell of (m/n)’s ear.

“I’m happy you were my spouse. And I don’t care about some plot anymore. All I want is you.”

“…you don’t…don’t tell me this…”

(m/n)’s voice was strained and raw. Had he been crying again?

“I don’t want to know…I don’t want to care anymore…”

Daisuke nuzzled his hair with his nose, breathing in the scent of lavender present in his strands. “Why are you so scared?” He whispered softly.

“I’m not scared, I’m being realistic.” (m/n) seemed defiant, hinted with a twinge of shakiness.

“You are. I won’t look at anyone else. Yet you still fret.”

“I keep pushing you away. I’m a selfish man. I’m destructive and you know it.”

His tone sounded dead, like he was tired of it all. The prince’s grip on his husband was firm.

“Even if you are, we’ll persevere. We can work through it.”

“We won’t. You will give up on me. You will forget me.”

His dark eyebrows furrowed, nuzzling more into (m/n)’s nape, frowning at the indication.

“Now why would you even consider that happening…”

There was no universe where he would even think of abandoning him yet (m/n) kept dwelling on the possibility-

“Because that’s what I did to all the others.”

Daisuke became quiet as a heavy silence descended upon the room. His tongue wouldn’t move. The prince was at a loss of words. With that, (m/n) let out a pained sigh as he continued.

“My past lovers…I got bored and left. What if karma comes back to punish me?”

“…It won’t. Not through me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you.”

The (h/c)’s body went rigid in his hold as the prince took a deep breath, his hands now clammy, growing damp with a nervous sweat.

With a tremulous voice, Daisuke confessed. “I’ve come to realised that I have loved you. For some time now.” He noticed his voice was shaky, and the consort was holding in his breath.

“I have feelings for you. Ones that…I’ve never felt for and unlike any other. And ones that I want to keep. So please… don’t drive yourself to sickness over me…” His hold tightened around the consort, a silent plea. “I won’t leave us. Not now. Not ever.”

The tension was high in the room, the air taut with an undercurrent of unease, even in the comfort of their bedding. Daisuke buried his face into his husband’s shoulder, his heart racing, waiting anxiously for (m/n)'s response to his confession.

“…okay.” And that was all he received before it became silent again. A sense of worry lingered in his heart but he forced himself to sleep, not achieving a conclusion for the night.

But he would find himself awakened to an empty bed tomorrow once more.

The prince stared at the empty spot beside him, with hazy eyes as he rubbed his face with a twinge of annoyance. He ought to lock his husband up if this keeps occurring. He got off the bed and snagged a maroon robe on, a white undershirt and black pants with some casual boots as he exited the chambers to find the (h/c).

Daisuke asked the knights stationed outside where the consort was, and they reported that he went to get some air, accompanied by his own sets of guards somewhere in the courtyard and that’s where Daisuke went.

As his feet led his steps, the heels clacking against the painted concrete, he thought of what to say, how to coax his husband. In his mind there were many things circulating as well, the West Emperor, the Countess’ party, (m/n)’s past lovers…Fuck. He’s already feeling jealous at the mention of an ex-lover.

But now, his marriage is on the rocks. And he would do anything to save his relationship. For the (h/c), for him and for the both of them. He found a pair of paladins, watching over a scenery and he went up to them, asking where the (h/c) is.

They point to where (m/n) is and he sees a lone figure staring into the distance, in the midst of a green field. He steeled his heart for the ultimatum of their marriage.

(m/n) stared at the green open scenery, his arms folded with only a moss green blanket over his shoulders with his previous sleepwear. Despite the tranquil expression on his face, his mind had a storm. And the storm was filled with memories of his life.

The second born of the dukedom. He was raised with the knowledge that he would never inherit the House of (l/n), especially from his relatives. Compared to his older brother, he grew up with spite although his parents showered him with presents and love, he was never satisfied, knowing that he'd never achieve the title of a Duke.

But he was a smart kid, so he studied people, studied psychology, how to manipulate, how to act. So he could use those around him for his own advantage. He used his parents, he used his brother, and it didn't help he developed his own charm so he had lovers, especially those rich ones with the promise of marriage and his unconditional love but all was empty.

As soon as the well was sucked dry, he left, letting them grovel at his feet, begging for him to return but he didn't spare a glance. (m/n) was having fun for himself, although he would get reprimanded by his brother once or twice but a slap on his wrist and he was already on his way to ruin someone else's life.

Deep down inside, he knew what he was doing was terrible, that no one deserved the kind of treatment he was giving, especially seeing those enchanted eyes that were bewitched by him. But he justified himself, saying that he did what he wanted because he had no other prospects due to his heritage, due to his circumstances.

And the one he hated the most...(m/n) never got close to the West crown prince. They had merely chatted once or twice but that was all it took for the Emperor to rain hell against him. His parents had backed him, his father who was still the Grand Duke and that seemed to put him off but alas, the news of his hand in marriage sold to the East for the promise of peace between the kingdoms.

(m/n) felt dread when he received the news, especially when he found out that his family couldn't even accompany his departure to his wedding, mostly hooked up with missions that all linked back to the royals and he knew that old scumbag was against him.

So he went, fooling with a few people before entering into a foreign world, an unpredictable marriage with a foreign prince. He could only bring a couple of maids and footmen that volunteered to journey along with him to the East and truthfully, that made him feel sick. Homesick.

He missed the safety of his home, the comfort of his parents and even the harsh but gentle reprimandings of his brother. They were what had been grounding him all his life.

So he acted out and so many things had happened and he got to know the prince. Was claimed by him viciously in a way that he lewdly enjoyed and for a moment he thought maybe he could have an actual life in the East- until the prince mentioned his stupid fairytale. What Daisuke couldn't experience. Love? Is he not enough?

Then, he realised what his past lovers had said and it seemed that he was in that feeble position he had spat at long ago. The thought of another consort in Daisuke's harem made him sick. So he pushed his feelings deep down, thinking that there would only be pain and disappointment if he were to bring them to light.

Now that Daisuke...his husband had confessed to him in the cold night, he didn't know what to say. How to even act. How to respond. But there was a sliver of thought that the prince didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve him.

But he wanted to cry if Daisuke would find someone else instead, to spend their time together, to sleep in the same bed. (m/n) should be the only one to do so, not anyone else no matter how many people demanded for an heir but he understood the responsibilities of a crown prince but he just couldn't bear the thought of-

"Fuck." He whimpered. It almost seemed impossible but he had fallen for the prince too.

But he couldn't. He shouldn't. He would only drive the prince to despair. He was a bitch to deal with, his mood swings, his temperament, his attitude.

He heard the shuffles of grass, light footsteps behind him. The (h/c) turned around to see the last person he wanted to see, Daisuke walking to him, (m/n)'s robe he had adorned flowing behind him. The cool sun and the morning fog almost made it seem romantic, he always had handsome features befitting of a prince.

Even with despair in his mind, he still found time to admire the prince. When Daisuke stopped in his tracks, they both stood facing each other, (m/n) being quiet and pulling the blanket in closer.

Daisuke was the first to speak.

"I woke up alone. Again." His tone seemed disappointed? Mundane. (m/n) wasn't sure. "I think at this point, I should be the one afraid of being abandoned."

If it had been any normal situation, the (h/c) would think the prince was being cheeky. But even the gardeners knew they were both tense at the moment.

"I needed some air. I brought the guards with me."

"Could've woken me up. I would've accompanied you."

He shook his head. "It'd be a bother." "It wouldn't."

Daisuke was quick to cut his sentence. "I wouldn't mind. I would have enjoyed spending time with you." "Stop pushing this matter."

"What matters? So you admit that there's something wrong with you?" His voice was raising and (m/n) felt mad at the moment. "Your Highness, don't do this to me now!"

"What? I can't call out your bullshit? You're so stubborn when it comes to compromising-" "For fuck's sake, it's still morning, even the fog hasn't gone away and we're already fighting! I don't understand why you think we'd be a good match!"

(m/n) felt his own voice shouting as well, garnering looks from the working servants.

"Of course we're going to fight! It's okay that we fight! Fighting is not necessarily a bad thing. That's just how we sort things out-" "You know I'm the reason we fight most of the time. Hell, I even disrespect you, the crown prince out of all people, yet YOU CALL ME STUBBORN BUT YOU'RE STILL WITH ME-"

"YES! I AM STUBBORN TOO! I call you out when you're being a fucking jackass and you come lashing back at me with a four-second recoil. We're hard to work with. So what?! We'll solve this. I want this and I want you-"

"You do not want me." (m/n) seethed, frustrated with Daisuke who was wiping his face with his hands, equally upset.

"I do. I want you."

"Nobody wants me." The (h/c) shook his head, keeping himself in denial. "Not like you."

Daisuke frowned. He pointed to (m/n), trudging closer to him. "I do. I crave for you. My body is a drought without you- not even the richest of waters can quench this thirst, my heart yearns no one else but you." The prince seemed desperate, desperate to get his message across (m/n)'s thick skull who couldn't fathom that someone could love him this much.

"You shouldn’t want that, you’re the prince for heaven’s sake- this is NOT RIGHT FOR YOU-!"

"And who are you to tell me what is right for me? Ever since you came here all you did was go against me and I persevered! I put up with your bullshit because that’s how much I fucking love you!"

"You do NOT LOVE ME! STOP TELLING YOURSELF THAT-"

"I DO!!" Daisuke screamed at him, something that even (m/n) thought he would never do, rendering him eye-wide and speechless. The prince continued his yelling.

"NOT EVEN THE ANGELS THEMSELVES CAN SING HATRED INTO MY HEART! NOT EVEN THE DAMNATION OF THE EARTH CAN SHATTER THE HOLD YOU HAVE ON MY MIND! I CONSTANTLY THINK OF YOU! YOU ARE A DISEASE TO MY LIFE! A DISEASE I DO NOT WANT TO BE CURED FROM! If I had to be a sick man to dedicate myself to loving you for the rest of my life then SO BE IT!"

(m/n)'s breath was stolen away, stolen by the prince's declaration. His passion for him, out of all people and Daisuke was heaving, his face almost turning red from his long exclamation in one single breath.

"I don’t understand…how can you…how can you proclaim such a thing for me…I don’t deserve this. This happiness. It sickens me. I don’t deserve you." Tears fell from his eyes unknowingly, he sobbed into his hand, confused on how could someone love him this much.

Strong arms wrapped around his figure, Daisuke hugging him and gently touching their foreheads together to comfort themselves. (m/n) was pushing him away again. "We can't...we shouldn't..." He mumbled through his cries.

He might be the most stubborn man Daisuke had ever met and he had enough of his crap.

(m/n) choked when Daisuke tugged his collar, pulling it up and shoving the (h/c) away. The prince glared at him through glassy eyes. "…if you despise me so much then push me away again. I shall leave."

The (h/c) shook his head fervently. "...I can't. I can't possibly-"

"I'm giving you a choice, Lord (l/n)." The use of his last name made (m/n)'s heart drop as he looked at Daisuke, his expression helpless. "A choice to choose between us…or you. If u oh so desire to not be loved by anyone, then say it again."

"Please don't...don't make me-"

"It shouldn't be hard for you. You always knew what you wanted." (m/n) was heartbroken as a tear dropped down Daisuke's cheek.

"And I know who I long for."

The (h/c) couldn't speak, only stammers and cries escaping his throat, his hands clawing at Daisuke's sleeve, begging him to not make him choose. He couldn't make Daisuke suffer, not after what he did, his past sins were haunting him at night, terrified that karma would murder him in his sleep.

But at the same time he wanted to be selfish. He wanted to keep the prince all to himself. He didn't want any other woman to be able to embrace Daisuke like how he would on their passionate nights. Undeniably, he yearned for his husband's touch no matter how much he repressed his feelings.

"I want you...I...I want you, Daisuke."

Daisuke's grip was shaky as (m/n) cried out for him. "I don't want to see anyone else with you...I'm greedy. I want you for myself..." The prince pulled him into his hold, both of them falling to their knees as the prince freely let his tears flow from his eyes.

"I love you. I love you so much." Daisuke sobbed as he hugged his husband. (m/n) nodding and burying his face into the prince's shoulder. "I'm not an easy person to live with." His worry was still creeping in his mind.

"If I have to go to war with you everyday, then I'll fight until my last breath." The ravenette kissed his temple, thanking the heavens in his heart. "I'm no good for you…" A croaky remark came out of the consort.

"Then call me a madman because you are the first thing I want to see in every waking breath and the last thing I want to see with my dying one." He pulled (m/n) to face him, both of their expressions teary. "I love you, (m/n). Not even my father can change that."

Daisuke pulled his husband into a kiss and for the first time, (m/n) wholeheartedly accepted the kiss, his heart opening and slowly filled to the brim. His hands grasped at the prince's back, desperate for comfort as Daisuke deepened the kiss.

Fuck, he actually felt happy at the moment.

They spent their time clinging onto each other, (m/n) crying apologies at the prince, Daisuke muffling his own tears as they laid together in the field. In his heart, he was glad, a burden lifted off his shoulders, that the consort finally opened his heart to him regardless of his constant objections. He was so happy he got to keep his lover with him

"What the fuck..." One of the guards that was watching over them sobbed into his gloved palm. "Our prince...I didn't even know..." The other man elbowed him in his side, he was hiding his own tears as well. "I told you not to fucking *sobs* look, you bastard."

Things were mostly peaceful after the confession. (m/n) resided mostly in his chambers, his hand was healing and he was getting lots of rest from his mania the other day. Daisuke often visits him, sleeping in his bed with him, his father even sent a get-well-soon bouquet and the consort felt embarrassed about the whole shenanigan.

He didn't want to think about those stupid politicians. Just the thought of them makes his blood boil despite Daisuke's pestered to spill their identities so he could 'do something'.

He received a letter from the Earl's wife, an apology from her guests' behalf for his upsetting and invited him for tea for reconciliation.

(m/n) didn't reply, but he suspected she would be coming to the ball tonight. A ball held in the Grand Palace, for a holiday occasion. One where (m/n) wasn't planning to go.

He rejected the idea, not interested in meeting the public again or for another stupid social event. Although Daisuke asked him over and over to come to the ball since he had to attend, he refused nonetheless.

So here he was, standing in the balcony of his room, staring at the lights lit up and the multitudes of horses and carriages surrounding the entrance of the Grand Palace. He wondered if Daisuke would be dancing with someone else at the ball.

He randomly glanced to the left, the far left of the side of the Emerald Palace, where the woods meet the edge of the property and he saw a glint. It was like a glint of metal, a sword maybe? He squinted his eyes to see random movement and there was uneasiness in his heart as closed his balcony doors, sliding into his duvet

Maybe it was the guards patrolling the area, although he knew most of them were stationed at the ball since gatherings of high society required more security.

Something was odd.

He pulled the door ajar, to call for a maid but immediately closed it back once he saw an unknown man dragging a body of an unconscious maid. More came flooding in the hall opening the rooms, all dressed in black carrying swords and he knew his life was in danger.

It was either an ambush or a kidnapping.

This wasn't a peculiar situation to him, he was the son of a duke, there were numerous attempts of kidnapping since he was young for ransom from his rich family. He understood the position of a consort made him a bigger target.

He locked his doors, threw the balcony doors open, grabbed a dagger from his bedside table and slid under his bed to hide. The dukedom had trained him since he was little, how to hide from kidnappers. His fighting skills may have been rusty, but it should hold until the other knights arrive nonetheless.

There were hush yelling outside until his door was kicked open. Three men came flooding into his room and they cursed when they saw the open balcony.

"He's escaped. Target's not in his palace." "Get the ground men to search for the courtyard. He couldn't have gotten far. Kill on sight."

Fuck, it was an ambush. To take his life. He held his breath under his bed as footsteps left his room, until one retracted and stepped towards his closet.

This one is slightly smart. (m/n) thought as his beautiful closet was pulled open roughly by the ruffian. He readied his dagger and stabbed him by the Achilles' heel once he kneeled to check under the bed.

(m/n) rolled out of his hiding spot and kicked the screaming man in his throat, knocking him back onto the closet, rendering him unconscious.

He quickly gathered his bearings as he gripped the bloodied dagger, leaving his room for safety. The consort trudged down the halls and cursed at himself once another assailant spotted him, yelling for his other accomplices as (m/n) ran for his life.

He ran past a few familiar faces, his maids and servants, even his knights were all unconscious and (m/n) rolled his eyes at their hapless circumstances.

He wanted to run down the stairs but eventually clambered up instead when more assailants were coming up. He heard yelling for backup, looks like some of his knights were finally coming to their senses and there were clashing of swords between the paladins and the ambushers.

(m/n) ran down another hall, attempting to exit through the West Wing but he was tackled by an assailant, knocking the wind out of his chest. He punched and kicked the unknown masked man, the man retaliating and swinging his sword to his face but (m/n) barely dodged it, his cheek now bleeding.

He stabbed the dagger deep into neck after a few more punches and the man fell to the floor, choking on his own blood. The consort hissed in pain, his side bruised from the jabbing of a hilt and he hoped reinforcements would just come already but he faltered seeing more assailants at the end of the hall, running to him.

He did the next best thing.

The shattering of a window cut through the air and (m/n) jumped out of the third floor.

His target was the large trees surrounding the palace but his grip faltered and he fell, landing on branch after branch, grunting and cursing after every hit until he fell to the dirt floor in an awkward position.

He huffed, taking in breaths as he hoped the assailants wouldn't find him in the deep shrubbery he had landed in. (m/n) was too tired to get up to find his guards. They should be the one looking for him, not the other way around so he just laid there in the bush like a lazy twat.

(m/n) wondered what Daisuke was doing. That even if he cared that he was in this dangerous predicament. It was him who didn't want to go to the ball, leaving himself vulnerable.

He sighed, not wanting to scramble his thoughts any longer as he ignored the throbbing pain down his leg. Was something broken?

He took a peek and swore to not look down again. He swore something was poking out of his leg. And at that moment, horns were heard and reinforcements finally arrived. (m/n) sighing in relief.

"Fucking finally-" "KILL THEM ALL!!"

His mouth dropped at the familiar voice. In the distance was Daisuke, in his still lavish suit, fresh from the ball, drawing his sword with a face full of fury and a barrage of knights behind him. (m/n) forgot that the prince had been a commander at one point, as per his wedding suit.

"SLAUGHTER EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM! THERE WILL BE NO SURVIVORS SPARED UNTIL THE CONSORT IS FOUND! FIND MY HUSBAND ALIVE OR I'M TAKING YOUR HEADS INSTEAD!!"

(m/n) wanted to giggle, because how down bad was the prince to murder the assailants and the knights if he was found dead. The paladins seemed to be pumped as they stormed the Emerald Palace, joining their brothers in the fight and bringing the staff to safety, all in the search of him and he could hear Daisuke screaming his name.

He rolled his eyes as he fumbled for a stone and threw at one of the guards running by, hitting their back plate. "What the-! THE CONSORT!! We found the consort!"

The guard immediately went to him, opting to pull him out of the shrubbery under the trees next to the entrances, how (m/n) was so close to victory, but he hesitated once he saw the consort's leg.

"I don't want to know." (m/n) deadpanned. He still hadn't fully embraced the pain from the adrenaline and he's not in the mood right now. Just in time, Daisuke had arrived at his location, scrambling off his horse and onto his knees, hugging him and spilling tears.

"Thank heavens, you're safe! Are you injured? Are you hurt anywh- OH MY FUCKING GOD?!!!" He grabbed a potion from one of the emergency medics behind him, it seemed that a lot of the guards had surrounded him, some out of curiosity on how the hell the consort ended down there and some were detaining the assailants.

Daisuke urged him to drink the small bottle, apparently as an anaesthetic because the injury was that bad but again he didn't want to know the severity of it.

Him and two other knights carefully lifted up the consort, laying him in an open carriage as Daisuke handed his husband over to his personal knight. "Bring him to the royal infirmary. Now." The knight nodded and sat on the horse, carrying the injured (h/c) to safety.

It seemed Daisuke wanted to deal with the rest of the assailants himself.

"Your Grace, you seem oddly calm. Your bone is sticking out-" "I don't want to fucking know, bro."

(m/n) was sulking, throwing a tantrum as he yelled for the guards to let him pass. It had been a few days since his attempted assassination and he was placed on house arrest or more specifically bed rest since he broke his leg, had a few bruises and the obvious bandage on his cheek.

Well, it wasn't his room he was staying in, instead he was confined to Daisuke's room. The man had gone berserk, catching all the assailants which were shockingly around forty men which was suspicious amount just for the murder of one consort.

He was furious and didn't even let (m/n) voice his thoughts of staying elsewhere as he locked the (h/c) inside his room. The consort couldn't do much, his left leg was in a cast from his ankle up to his knee. (m/n) was annoyed and frankly upset that he had to be placed in a protective lockdown just because someone wanted him dead.

Other than that, he thought he looked like a total loser using crutches because his arm strength was not the best, he’d be stumbling over himself half the time. So he opted for a wheelchair instead. He almost puked seeing the standard boring hospital wheelchair and Daisuke bought him a golden one instead. "It will do." He huffed as his personal maid pushed him down the halls after finally arguing and winning against the paladin to let him get some fresh air.

That came at a price of five knights surrounding him and his maid. All of them were talking military slangs so he was annoyed when they mentioned 'baby eagle has left the nest' but it seemed pretty obvious that they were his guard dogs.

"Don't fret, Your Grace. All will be fine soon." His maid consoled him, pitying at his annoyed state. "These idiots are blocking my view...and this cast is UGLY!" They were outside, (m/n) breathing a sigh of relief, finally escaping containment, still surrounded by knights however.

"And where the hell is the prince??" (m/n) hadn't seen his husband for the past two nights despite him practically living in his chambers. What the hell was he up to now?

Screaming echoed against the moist stone walls, a dimly lit prison with a sconce mounted onto a wall. There was a severely injured man, strapped to a wooden chair with belts around his wrists, ankles and waist. Most of his fingernails were ripped out, a bloody wrench was very effective, the beholder stared down at the impaired prisoner, his guards standing behind him menacingly.

Daisuke spoke, his voice low and commanding. “I’ll ask again. Who is your client?”

“I don’t know!” He sobbed out, tears and snot coated his face along with the occasional blood. “We only received a photo and a fuck ton of money- my men have no idea who employed us!”

The prince had been in the dungeons for a few days, slowly killing the remainder of the infiltrators who dared to step foot into the Emerald Palace, especially the ones who laid hands on his husband. He used a number of tools, screwdriver, wrench, a hammer, even a scalpel and once he found out who was the ringleader, he didn’t hesitate to rid the useless ones.

“How much did that bastard pay you?” “I can’t just- FUCK FUCK IT HURTS!!” One of the guards drove a heated steel rod into the gaping wound of his thigh, the ringleader cursing and screaming at the pain enveloping his body.

“It was five million- THE DOWN PAYMENT WAS FIVE MILLION STOP STOP!”

Daisuke gave it more thought, (m/n) was wanted dead, not kidnapped, someone paid a huge amount of money, enough to buy a palace, as down payment for his head. He racked his head, connecting more dots and gazed over the tattoo on the ringleader’s neck.

“A lion…you’re not from here, are you?”

The ringleader shook his head, wailing over the lack of feeling in his leg as Daisuke left the dungeon. “I’ll need to see a friend next week. Clear my schedule, Ivan.” His secretary who held in his retch, nodded as he walked beside him.

“Oh, and how’s (m/n) doing?” “Well, he’s outside right now. Strolling near the greenhouse.”

Ivan had received an update from one of the footmen spying on the consort, for safety purposes or Daisuke’s paranoia.

“…Let’s prepare a gift for him. Burn the dead ones. We have no need for them anymore.”

(m/n) was still sulking, strolling by the flowers in the wheelchair pushed by his loyal maid. The greenhouse was a beautiful place, often visited by the ladies of the kingdom just for the scenery itself. A big glass dome towering over the fauna that flourished and decorated the place. Endangered, foreign and unique floral bloomed in the gardens that were tended to by the gardeners. The (h/c) would often find peace just by being present in the greenhouse.

“All of you are dismissed.” He must have been daydreaming to just notice Daisuke had walked to them, shooing away his maid and the paladins, although they insisted they could tend to the consort but Daisuke denied it otherwise.

“How are you, my love?” Daisuke pushed his wheelchair, guiding him out of the greenhouse as (m/n) fidgeted with the thin blanket laid across his lap. “I’m fine. I feel fine, I think.” The prince chuckled, brushing his oddly stained fingers against his hair.

“I hope you’ll feel much better after I show you,” He coughed into his fist. “A little something that I made.” (m/n) could hear the teasing tone in his voice and he couldn’t guess what other present Daisuke had in store, considering that he had bought every single riche his kingdom had to offer for the (h/c).

“I’m excited.” He replied sarcastically. Daisuke laughed again and the (h/c) wondered if the prince had gone insane just by the amount of laughs he donned in the span of thirty seconds. “Allow me to…vent for a bit, husband. Monologue even.”

“Do as you like.” (m/n) sank into his seat, gazing at the landscape as they headed to the South Wing of the Grand Palace.

“…At the time of the ball, I felt quite lonely. The Earl came up to me, asking for you but of course I rejected his audience, for your recuperance. Many of the guests mentioned I looked like I was looking for something, someone perhaps…Even my father teased me, said I looked like a lost puppy.”

(m/n) snorted at the thought of Daisuke moping around in the ball, all elegant with his suit.

“I was so used to having you by my side…I couldn’t fathom the thought of you, not being around me. I felt unease…

So when your servant came running in, screaming that your palace had been ambushed…I felt dread and…anger.”

The path they were taking were cobblestones, far from the marble and concrete (m/n) was used to.

“Someone wanted you dead, (m/n).”

The (h/c) felt creeped out by this…side of Daisuke. He stopped fidgeting with his blanket.

“…But I’m not letting them have their way. I’m not letting them take you away from me, not when we have this…this love we harbour.

We’re here.”

They arrived at the barracks, for soldiers and knights of the kingdom. (m/n) never stepped foot here, he didn’t need to dirty his hands like the rest of them, Daisuke pushed his wheelchair into the courtyard that was far different from the ones in his properties.

The grounds were only soil, tattered and unkempt used for training but it was empty for this occasion. He was still scrutinizing the rest of the conditions before Daisuke leaned down next to his ear.

“Look up.”

A quiet gasp escaped his lips, his eyes wide as his palm went to cup his mouth in shock. Daisuke peered at his reaction before glaring back at the bodies before them

Three men were nailed high on a cross. Their stomachs slit open, crows pecking at their guts and entrails, pulling it and gnawing it down their throat.

(m/n) barely recognized a few of them, one was the one who almost caught him hiding under the bed, one was the one who had jabbed his ribs with the hilt of his sword and the middle one...he didn't recognise. He's even surprised at the fact that the other man survived his stabbing attempt.

The blood pouring down their torso was a glaring red. It seemed fresh.

"I left them alive for you. They deserved it." Daisuke whispered to (m/n). "One who entered your room. One who forced you to jump and the ringleader. I had them hung with their stomach torn apart to feed the crows. You should have seen them begging to be killed."

The (h/c) glanced behind him to see the prince sweetly smiling down at him. "I'll protect you. This serves as a reminder to anyone that dares to harm you. I'll never let you get hurt again."

At that moment, any normal person would feel fear, their instincts screaming at them to run from the menacing uncanny danger that seemed to be the prince. But not him, not (m/n). For what was supposed to be terror was replaced with heat in his pants.

"Your Highness..." (m/n) mumbled. This proof of love Daisuke had bestowed upon him only heightened his sense of security, pushing insanity. "...Thank you." A gentle smile at his lipsa he caressed the hand on his shoulder.

A warmth enveloped his heart as he stared at his assailants, satisfied with their violent outcome.

"Urghh- urmm hnnmm Your Highness- mhmm! I haven't- We haven't done it in a while- ahn!" His mouth was cupped shut by the ravenette, Daisuke smirking as he stared down at the struggling (h/c). "Keep quiet, unless you'd like to get caught.

(m/n) nodded shamelessly, his weight shifted onto his good leg, Daisuke holding his waist in place. He was forced to stand up, pushed up a wall behind one of the many buildings in the palace, shielded from many eyes. His wheelchair kicked aside.

The (h/c) whimpered while rubbing their cocks together, both of them had unzipped their pants as (m/n) struggled to masturbate both of their dicks while maintaining balance on his stand.

"Grip it more. Then, clench your fingers- mmn! Thaaaat's it." Daisuke praised the consort, who was mewling into his hand covering his mouth, he bucked his hips more into the (h/c)'s hand, rubbing his tip against (m/n)'s.

(m/n)'s cries were muffled when he came, spurts of semen decorating both their cocks as Daisuke followed, moaning as he rutted up into his husband's hands.

The (h/c) went limp, crashing into Daisuke's chest as he whined for comfort, the prince cooing at him as he cleaned them both up, carrying him into his chambers.

"Huff, huff- ahnnn fuckk meee- mnhaa!"

(m/n) cried out when Daisuke came inside him again, his ass clenching around the prince's throbbing cock, his palms and knees digging into the bedsheets as his front crashed onto the bed, losing his composure.

His cast was weighing him down, tiring him more than usual but that didn't seem to stop Daisuke.

"One more time for me, love." He tapped his ass, pushing him onto his side as he pulled the (h/c) by his waist, slapping his crotch onto his ass. "I can't-" He hiccupped, a raw cry tearing from his throat. "I can't cum anymore...I'm too sensitive." He whined helplessly.

"Shh shh don't say that." Daisuke cooed at the (h/c), adjusting his cock, letting his til kiss (m/n)'s entrance. "Of course, you can. You can make me so happy just this once, right?"

(m/n) groggily propped himself on his elbows, whimpering at the pressing tip on his hole. "I'll buy you more jewellery. Have them made custom for you. You can have any gem you desire." The (h/c) moaned again when Daisuke slipped himself into his wet entrance.

It wasn't that he didn't dislike accepting gifts, but the fact that the prince offered like it was some sort of payment made him feel like a whore. And fuck that felt hot.

He melted more into the prince's touch, who was groping his chest, teasily trailing his hand up neck and gripped his throat. "You're practically an expert already, ain't ya'?"

(m/n) mewled, his drool seeping from his lips as he endured the lustful thrusts from the prince. Daisuke smirked, seeing (h/c) strands swishing every time he pounded into the consort as his grip tightened around (m/n)'s neck.

He pushed (m/n)'s good leg up more, bending it as he pushed his cock balls deep inside his husband who screamed at the stuffing of his ass. He knew he had come, watery cum decorating the sheets and his walls squeezing his wet cock.

Daisuke groaned lustfully as he emptied his sperm inside the consort once again as he dropped himself onto (m/n), making sure to avoid his bandaged leg.

The (h/c) was jittery, eyes glossy as he begged for aftercare from the prince who was more than happy to provide to the crying consort.

(m/n) admired the teardrop earrings which held the Artemis and Apollo Gem for each side on his ears. His maids behind him were also fawning over his growing collection of jewellery, courtesy of the crown prince.

"Get me my shoes." "Yes, Your Grace."

It had been some time and (m/n) could walk again. His cast removed and he finally returned to the Emerald Palace, sighing in relief. Daisuke sulked, asking if he didn't enjoy his time at the Grand Palace.

"You keep bedding me every night! How am I supposed to sleep?!" "But babe🥹."

That was the gist of their banter.

The prince himself had journeyed outside of the capital for a few days and he had sent a messenger beforehand telling him to prepare for another journey.

Apparently, in commemoration with his leg healing, Daisuke wanted to take (m/n) out of the Palaces for a vacation, more specifically finally using the long-awaited summerhouse. He also mentioned having another surprise for him, now with his recent one, (m/n) isn't sure what to expect the range of his presents. It could be the heart of his enemies or more designer shoes.

(m/n) embarked to the mansion first, accompanied by...a platoon of soldiers, per request of the crown prince. He even vented his frustrations to the emperor, the rare times where he would be in contact with Daisuke's old man. All he replied was with a drawing of a four-leaf clover.

The journey took three days, them staying in cabins and whatnot, he was even accompanied by Daisuke's secretary, Ivan and they bonded together with a deck of playing cards. As soon as he arrived at the estate, he whistled to himself in surprise.

Overall, he was satisfied with the lavish mansion, a huge lawn with floral decor, and a port for small cruising boats on the far side. With rows and rows of servants bowing on the sidelines.

Estate by the lake, fully furnished and a stampede of staff, just like he wanted. (m/n) thought he had to give Daisuke a good sucking that night until the prince's carriage had suddenly arrived, stopping beside his.

"Husband! I missed you!" Daisuke enveloped (m/n) with a bear hug, lifting him and spinning them around. "What a coincidence we arrived at the same time!" The prince gleamed.

"We arrived first, he was just waiting for you at the entrance for the whole day." Daisuke's personal knight deadpanned, not impressed with his prince. "Is that so?" (m/n) smirked, as he pinched the ravenette's cheek.

They spent their time together, (m/n) cruising around the mansion, commenting on the interior decor and Daisuke following behind him like an excited pup. The prince had to retire to a makeshift office with his secretary, private matters that even (m/n) couldn't join and he rolled his eyes and went to the master bedroom for that matter.

It was almost midnight and Daisuke still was in his office until (m/n) decided to put the lake to good use.

He sneaked out to the harbor, soothed his eyes with the calming water and stripped himself bare. He dipped his feet first, testing the temperature before fully submerging himself in the body of water, enjoying the cooling sensation.

(m/n) dived under, swimming through the ripples of water, gently rocking against his limbs as he swam further to the middle. He resurfaced and gasped, taking breaths as he swiped his hair back.

The (h/c) looked to the harbor and noticed someone standing over them, he squinted his eyes and perked up when he noticed it was his husband. "Could've invited me." Daisuke smirked, pushing (m/n)'s clothes aside with his shoe as the consort swam to the port.

"Didn't want to bother you. Seem pretty busy these days." (m/n) huffed, still keeping himself floating in the inky water. Daisuke rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms together, not bother to hide his very obvious erection with the wet naked consort.

"And what if someone else catches you like this? Dearest, I might find myself green with envy." (m/n) grinned to himself, pride surging within him as he offered a hand to the prince. "Then, join me." He purred before teasingly swimming away.

The prince laughed as he took off his own clothes, not hesitating to gracefully dive into the lake. (m/n) looked behind him for the prince that was nowhere to be seen before he felt something pulling at his feet.

He yelled in shock before Daisuke resurfaced, laughing at him while (m/n) smacked his chest for scaring him. They played in the water together, splashing each other, casual swimming and they even held a contest to see who could last underwater the longest.

"Crap, that's unfair! You're trained for this!" (m/n) pulled Daisuke's black hair who was still holding his head underwater for more than four minutes already. The prince gasped for air as he pulled the embarrassed consort close.

"I don't stay in my room all day when I was a teen, Your Grace." He teased his husband while (m/n) mumbled something along the lines of 'Yeah, cuz' I was in someone else's room-' before Daisuke dragged him underwater again.

The water was relatively cool, calm under the luminous glow of the moon, with the exception of the couple laughing to themselves, making small waves until Daisuke trapped the (h/c) in his arms.

"I love you, (m/n)."

Daisuke confessed as he kissed the (h/c), slowly trailing his hand below the water. The consort moaned into his mouth when he felt his ass cupped, digging his fingernails into Daisuke's back.

(m/n) held onto the prince as he embraced Daisuke, letting him lick, bite and even suck all over his body, him returning the favor, mostly on Daisuke's chest.

They returned to the port, wet and with a limp in (m/n)'s step as they readied themselves for another day.

There was another reason why Daisuke invited (m/n) to take a vacation at the summerhouse. He revealed that he needed to meet a friend, a contact in the West, and since the summerhouse was at the borders, he figured that it would be a perfect opportunity for them to relax together.

(m/n) first questioned why Daisuke hadn't gone alone, as what he did for all his previous side missions until the prince slid him a letter. The (h/c) recognised the letter, he received a similar one before. It was an invite from one of the famous privileged.

Apparently, Daisuke's contact was famous for his ludicrous events, organised privately for high society which required a partner. Daisuke couldn't go alone, and instead of hiring someone else to be his lover, he opted that the (h/c) could have a little outing.

"It's not that revealing." (m/n) rolled his eyes as he spun around in his outfit, checking himself out in the mirrors. "Dear, look at my pants and tell me otherwise."

The (h/c) threw a shoe at him before they embarked for the party in a black carriage, one without a symbol.

(m/n) was dressed in a two-piece bedlah, his cropped top was a see-through maroon garment that covered only his chest and parts of his arms, pearls and beads decorating the garb. His lower half had a golden waist chain with two long fabrics covering his front and behind that had small gems dangling on his hips. He also donned on a shiny brown mask that curved downward at the front, resembling a hawk, its decor matched his jewellery and arm cuffs all over his figure.

Daisuke wore a dark navy cropped top, only covering his shoulders and arms, draped down to his sides, essentially giving a window to his abs and chest. His jewellery leaned to silver, chains cross his chest and a printed flare pants to style the rest of his lower half. A black and blue masquerade mask tied around his head, complimenting his own set of jewellery.

The venue wasn't far from the borders, it took a couple of hours, half of those time (m/n) spent by groping Daisuke's chest over and over until they reached the mansion. They were ushered inside by servants who had empty masks on into a room with large doors.

Daisuke handed the invite to one of the guards and they were let in and there was a reason why the doors were 4-inches thick. Immediately, the sounds of moaning, squelching, and whipping could be heard throughout the ball room.

It was a refurbished hall, with multitudes of furniture decorating the venue, beds, sofas alike with men and women climbing over each other with similar lavish masks.

The event that Daisuke's contact usually organised was orgies or gangbangs accompanied by drugs and alcohols. (m/n) himself received an invite but he ran out of the hall when lots of people wanted a turn on him.

The (h/c) clutched his pearl as he nudged closer to Daisuke who calmly walked to the middle of the pile, seeing his contact, the only one without a mask.

"Ah! My friend, he has arrived!" A man that seemed to be in his thirties, brown curly hair that reached his shoulders and baby blue eyes with woman cooing over him, one of them on her knees deepthroating his cock. He gave a hand to shake but Daisuke respectfully declined, not risking any diseases.

"Did you receive word from my messenger?" "Of course. A shy one, isn't he?" (m/n) didn't fully grasp the context of what they were conversing but he was surprised Daisuke was speaking his mother tongue, despite the obvious accent.

They continued talking to each other, (m/n) hugging Daisuke's arm as he gazed over someone getting tag-teamed and the abundant of breasts present in the dim room, only lit by the candelabras. Suddenly, Daisuke ushered him elsewhere while the previous man got up from the round bed and headed off elsewhere all in his naked glory.

"What happened?" "He went to retrieve a few things for me. It should take some time, so we ought to lay low until then."

Daisuke was a prince of a kingdom, it would be bad for their reputation if he was to be discovered here, albeit the non-disclosure agreement they had to sign. (m/n) wondered if there were any other royals here, kings or queens even, looking at an old burly man fucking into a lewd girl.

The prince grabbed an unopened bottle of alcohol and pulled (m/n) to sit on a sofa in the far corner. More discreet but still surrounded, nonetheless. "He will take his time, that man." Daisuke scoffed as he popped the bottle open. "You can lay down to relax." The prince patted on the spot next to him as (m/n) sighed and draped himself over Daisuke's lap who began drinking and playing with his hair.

"Did you ever went to one of these?" Daisuke questioned him. "No. Some of my friends invited me but I had the feeling I might run into one of my exes if I ever indulged myself. The last time I entered an orgy, they ripped off my mask so it wasn't exactly the most fun adventure I've had."

The prince hummed as he rubbed (m/n)'s bare thigh between the garbs, warming his hands as he took another swig. "What is this? It's strong but sweet."

The (h/c) plucked the bottle from his hands. "It's native to the West. Really nice brand, but it's forbidden for international export, some beef between the owners." Daisuke took the bottle back and chugged it again. "Fuck, it really melts on the tongue."

(m/n) frowned, seeing Daisuke drinking by himself. "Let me have a taste." The prince took another swig and placed the bottle on the table next to them, beside a lit candle, illuminating the side of Daisuke's face before he leaned down and grabbed (m/n)'s jaw still.

He tilted their heads, knocking their masks slightly together before he pushed (m/n)'s mouth open with his fingers letting the wine flowed down his tongue and into (m/n)'s mouth. The (h/c) choked, squirming in Daisuke's hold as he gulped down the mouth-to-mouth drink.

He coughed as he sat up, wiping his lips. "What the hell-" (m/n) patted his own chest. "You're bold today." Daisuke hummed, grabbing the bottle back. "I'm just in the mood, y'know."

(m/n) frowned, ignoring the lewd moans from behind him as he glanced at Daisuke's pants. "You're not thinking of...doing it here, are you?" The prince pursed his lips. "It wouldn't hurt to have some fun, would it?"

"What if we get caught? What if they see your face?" "They won't. We'll be careful. Everyone's sucking something in this hall." Daisuke grabbed (m/n)'s arm, urging him to sit in his lap as the (h/c) hesitantly climbed over, facing the heated prince.

"I don't know...it just feels uneasy? I'm not sure." (m/n) felt the burn in his stomach, curling in his crotch but he wasn't sure what to make of it. The wine tasted different.

"It's okay, baby. I'm here, aren't I? You're safe with me." Daisuke cooed at him, gently nipping at his bare shoulder, caressing his back. (m/n) grunted as he took the bottle of wine, reading the back of it.

He almost dropped the bottle when he felt Daisuke's erection brushed under him, (m/n) squirming and bucking his hips as the prince pulled him closer, grinding up against him.

"Fuck it." (m/n) downed the bottle, drinking three full gulps as he slammed it on the table, Daisuke cheering at his swig as the (h/c) leaned in to kiss his husband, making out with their tongues.

Their teeth clashed, gums rubbing together while (m/n) was swinging his hips, circling down on Daisuke's clothed cock. "You're so hot. Sexy little thing." The prince purred, his hand inching underneath (m/n)'s skirt as he ripped the (h/c)'s thin underwear.

(m/n) hissed in pain when Daisuke dipped a dry thumb into his hole, rubbing against his walls painfully. He gasped and moaned as the prince's other hands began to grip his ass, pulling at it, stretching his entrance.

He fell forward, his face buried into the crevice of Daisuke's neck who took the wine and dipped it all over his hand, using at as lube as he began to finger the consort.

"You're a bit tighter today than usual. Want my cock or fingers to loosen you up?" Daisuke blew a breath into (m/n)'s ear, two of his fingers stuffing his hole, stretching his rim. "F-Fingers first please." The (h/c) desperately loosen his skirt, pulling at the fabric to release his dripping cock, he was much more sensitive than he normally was.

Was it because they were in public? (m/n) drooled, seeing another man getting his mouth stuffed with two cocks but his attention was stolen by the prince who immediately shoved four fingers in when he noticed (m/n)'s eyes were straying.

"Eyes on me, sweetie. Don't make me mad. I wouldn't want to tear off all your clothes." Daisuke licked a stripe up his neck. "Unless you'd like that."

A shiver ran down the (h/c)'s spine as he unclipped his waist chain, letting the fabric fell into Daisuke's lip. The prince rubbing his digits into (m/n)'s walls, loosening his ass as he rutted his hips up, grinding against his husband.

The ravenette bunched up the fabric, tearing it from the chain and wrapped it around (m/n)'s waist, barely covering his bottom. "If we're going to do it, I prefer if not many are able to see us." "Mmmnn ahn! Are you seriously trying to cover us up? You're the one who started this- ahngg!"

There was a pink flush on Daisuke's cheek, his lips smirking as he wrangled his ass to push him to the brink of pleasure, (m/n) squirting on Daisuke's abs as he almost fell behind, the prince grabbing his arms.

"I'd like to see you cum on my own terms, dearest." "Or what?" (m/n) scoffed. "You'll get jealous?" Daisuke smirked to himself as he kissed the (h/c). "I'll burn down this whole hall if I have to." "That's so fucking hot." (m/n) groaned into his mouth, pressing his wet tongue into Daisuke's.

The (h/c) pushed the prince back, forcing him to sink into the cushion behind him as he leaned into the prince's open chest. (m/n) pressed his tongue flat on his pec, dragging it upwards to the valley in between, watching Daisuke who stared down at him with bated breaths.

His mask was already tilting to the side, it was a bad idea to choose one with a beak. (m/n) kept biting on Daisuke's tits, sinking his teeth, hearing his gasps and moans. He sucked on the pale flesh, admiring the reddening skin as he licked and sucked on his nipple next.

Daisuke bucked his hips up into (m/n)'s bottom as he clumsily pushed his pants down, letting his dick flop out freely, leaking precum. The (h/c) was too busy sucking on his chest, marking his man while Daisuke grabbed his waist, forcing him to sit on his cock.

"Mmnn-" He pulled off of the prince's breast with a pop. "Slowly, slowly..." He whined at Daisuke, sighing as he sank his hole, swallowing his hot dick in one push. (m/n) took his time, throwing his head back in fuzzy pleasure before Daisuke patted his thigh, urging him to move.

The consort took a deep breath before bringing his hips up and slammed himself down onto the prince's lap, yelping as he does so.

He adjusted himself on the sofa, feeling his legs shake as he bounced himself helplessly on the prince's cock. "Up and down, baby." Daisuke kissed his neck, sucking and pulling at the skin making (m/n) squirm and clench around his tip. "Yeah- mmnn! Just like that- anhh!" The prince moaned and licked into his ear as he came inside the consort, shooting ropes of sperm into his hole.

The (h/c) cupped his mouth, resisting the urge to scream as he quickly fucked himself on Daisuke, squeezing around his cock as tears brimmed at the corner of his eyes. "You're doing good." Daisuke cooed at him, rubbing his sides.

"Make a little noise for me, princess." (m/n) gasped as he came on the prince's dick. He had a few hiccups before crying out, Daisuke pinching his chest. "That's it, thaaaat's it." The prince dragged his words, praising the consort as (m/n) cried into his shoulder, whimpering why was he so sensitive at that moment.

He flinched when he felt someone touching him from behind. "Hey, can I have a turn? You have a beautiful man on you, I couldn’t help but be smitten." The man behind him purred, wanting to pull (m/n) before Daisuke swatted his hands away, hugging the (h/c) close to his chest.

"If you want to keep your hands, I suggest you back away." The prince seethed, glaring at him through the masquerade mask before the brunette from earlier came, diffusing the situation. "Hey hey, let's calm down here okay."

He turned to the unknown man. "Apologies but this couple is exclusive, I can have one of my peers entertain you instead." He shooed the stranger away before facing the pair. "Sorry about that. People here don't exactly have manners."

He handed a scroll tied with a felt rope to Daisuke, who took it silently, still holding (m/n) close. "It's all the info you need. I'll be expecting the payment by the day after tomorrow." The prince moved to leave but the brunette stopped him.

"Don't bother, stay here as long as you'd like. We all need to let loose sometimes, y'know." He winked at Daisuke before running off to a girl wearing a kinky BDSM garter. The prince scoffed, examining the scroll before his attention was stolen by the (h/c).

"Princey..." He whined. "I'm still- mnn! I'm still leaking..." (m/n) cried, tears running down his cheeks, his cock still dripping precum, an abnormal amount as Daisuke licked his tears.

"We'll do it as much as you'd like, my love."

The prince recklessly dropped the scroll, letting it roll underneath the sofa as he bent the consort over on the couch, slipping his cock back inside the mewling (h/c).

Time seemed to be a fleeting moment and by the end of it, (m/n) found himself full, his ass leaking, and his stomach painted with semen, a strand connected from his flaccid tip to his stained skin.

His body was marked with teeth indents, some were bleeding, the prince was heaving over him. Daisuke's chest was mostly red, with hickey littering his skin and his pants had been long gone.

It took them five hours to recollect themselves, (m/n) gaining consciousness as he realised Daisuke was still rutting into him mindlessly. He had to slap him sober so they would leave, thankfully there was a section provided to clean up themselves with spare clothes, with payment of course. The two finally left the building with the scroll in hand.

"The wine there was fucking laced! How the hell did you fall into their trap so fast?! That's how people kept coming back!" In a fit of anger, (m/n) scolded the bashful prince who was the one to drink the spiked wine.

"...It hadn't been opened yet..." Daisuke mumbled, a pout on his lips, despite that he had no regrets having sex around others.

Apparently, the supplier of the wine had them custom-brewed, infused with aphrodisiac so people would return to the orgy, a harmful yet successful tactic.

Both of them had returned to their chambers and slept for eight hours and when the (h/c) had woken up, Daisuke was still drooling on his pillow, his body slack in his sleep. (m/n) rolled his eyes and was about to leave the bed to get himself some tidbits but noticed the paper untied on the bedside next to Daisuke.

The reason of why Daisuke had reached out to his 'friend' remained unknown in his mind, curiosity got the better off him as he reached for the scroll and read through its contacts.

It was a long list of people, brokers, clients and at the top of the list were mercenaries with the symbol of a lion. (m/n) hesitated to read the rest of the contents he rolled the paper back up. It was clear that Daisuke was investigating on the motive of the ambush the (h/c) had endured and seeing the remains of those mercenaries, (m/n) knew it was going to be bloody.

Dirty jobs aren't for people like him so (m/n) essentially just minded his own business and let his husband do as he wishes. By the time he had returned to the bedroom, the scroll was nowhere to be seen with Daisuke perching on the bed, happy that he had brought some snacks.

A few more days passed by peacefully and Daisuke finally revealed his surprise. The image of the (h/c)'s family had long appeared on his mind, and he certainly broke down in his mother's arms when his parents and his older brother appeared in the lobby of their mansion.

The prince had arranged an invite for the Dukedom after Daisuke had found out that the reason (m/n) wanted the summerhouse to be located near the borders was so that his family didn't have to travel far to the East Palace to visit him.

(m/n) whined to his parents about how cruel Daisuke had treated him and his brother saw right through his lies, pinching at his cheeks while Daisuke and his father was chatting by the sidelines.

The consort considered this to be one of the most memorable gifts Daisuke had presented to him, waving goodbye to his family after a two-day stay and they decided to spend their last night of their vacation out on the harbor by the lake.

"So, were you able to get all that you needed from your broker friend?" Amidst the glistening waves of the lake, the moonlight was more than enough to reflect light in their eyes, a small picnic with some tidbits in a basket. (m/n) popped a few grapes into his mouth as Daisuke began prepping his self-made sandwich.

"I was. He was more than helpful, more honest after a few bags of gold. But he is a reasonable man." The prince swiped the condiments onto his bread with a butter knife, (m/n) rolling his eyes at his reply. "He conducts orgies, Your Highness. How is that reasonable?" "Everyone's nasty down there one way or another."

A noise of disgust escaped his throat, (m/n) gagging on the thought of going back there again as he stole the sandwich Daisuke made. "Hey, that's mine." The (h/c) took a bite before Daisuke could retrieve it back. "Mediocre at best."

"I'm not your chef, you twat." Laughter could be heard from the couple, both of them eating from the same plate since (m/n) was too lazy to lift a finger and he positioned himself to sit in front of Daisuke, folding his legs as he leaned back into Daisuke's chest, both of them gazing at the moon.

"Do you think it's flat?" "We are not having this conversation."

(m/n) snuggled in further, him holding out his hand to admire his wedding band. "I couldn't believe we are an actual couple now..." He whispered in a hushed voice. The prince looked down to him, his nose nudging against the (h/c)'s cheek.

"We're compatible. I can't imagine myself with any other." Daisuke mumbled, pecking at (m/n)'s cheek. The latter sighed, sinking further into the prince. "...How long do you think we'll last?" The (h/c) inquired curiously.

"When the sun decides to rain fire on us, even then I won't let you go." A chuckle from Daisuke, the consort feeling the rumble from his chest. A heavy confession hung from his heart, a fleeting beat that had the aftertaste of a sweet fruit.

Memories of the prince holding him flashed through his mind. Their adventures, their flashy affairs and their sour harmony in tandem. The (h/c) knew he had fallen for the prince. Once again, he gave up his pride, and it drained his denial. (m/n) fidgeted the end of his shirt as he pulled a loose string, snapping it from his garment.

"I love you."

The prince's eyes seemed to snap wide open, the breeze of the night soothing (m/n)'s growing heat in his cheeks, feeling bashful and flushed. Daisuke kissed his face, peppering them all over as he kissed his lips last.

"I love you as well."

(m/n) buried his face with his hands, shielding his embarrassed expression while the prince was too happy to even notice, showering his husband with affection. Their last night of their long vacation was spent together, holding in each other's arms by the harbor, as the two finally accepted their love for each other.

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

EXTRA CONTENT:

Shortly after their public jerking off with each other...

"Can you move it to the left? That's about right." Daisuke was present with contractors in the greenhouse, after their public rendezvous, the prince decided that they should have a more accessible place to rest.

The workers moved a circular frame, positioning it to Daisuke's desire. It was a foundation for a new furniture. "Yeah, yeah...can you make something of a bed? Or one of those really big cushions you can...rest on. That's definitely the word."

The prince grinned to himself, imagining (m/n) laying on the circular mattress sideways, with petals of roses surrounding the consort. He can't wait to fuck (m/n) on this thing.

It took a moment for him to realise the rest of them were staring at him, unimpressed expressions behind their polite smile. "I'll take my leave now- make sure its STURDY OKAY MANY THANKS!" He ran away as fast as he could, excited to give the news to the consort.

A deleted draft, after their argument/confession on the field...

(m/n) was pulled by his hand, Daisuke guiding him, their feet trudging through the green grass. The (h/c)'s face was puffy, wet from crying as he felt a weigh curling in his crotch.

Why is he dressed so fucking handsome...(m/n) gritted his teeth, staring at Daisuke's ass before he stopped in his tracks.

"What's wrong?" The prince looked back, his eyes had bags underneath them, his sclera red from tears. (m/n) bit his bottom lip before effectively jumping on the prince, Daisuke barely managing to catch him in his arms as they fell to the ground.

"LOOK AWAY- LOOK AWAY I TELL YOU!!" The guards immediately faced the other way, red hues painted on their cheeks.

By the time (m/n) was done humping on top of Daisuke, he had soiled his pants, walking off with a relieved sigh as he left the breathless prince who was now rock hard.

"What about me??" "Take care of it yourself."

The prince gave chase, adamant to wrangle the consort who quickly sprinted away, the two laughing and running in the halls of the Emerald Palace.

Daisuke training...

"I don't get why I have to come here. It's smelly and for sweaty people-" (m/n)'s whinings were cut off when his eye caught the prince, swinging his swords against two knights in a training arena.

Daisuke was in a tight black shirt, his chest hugged by the fabric and (m/n) thought he should start a clothing line specifically for muscular men because damn some of them need a bra.

He bit his nails, seeing his thighs move as the prince quickly evaded the attack by a knight and jammed the wooden sword into his chest, knocking him down. He defeated the other guard in a breeze, the other soldiers clapping for the prince's victory.

(m/n) let out a quiet, deep humming, quickly taking the stairs down where Daisuke was exiting the arena.

"Oh, (m/n)! You're already here-" Immediately the prince was pulled into a corner, (m/n) dropping on his knees, pulling at his belt and grinding on his foot, begging to suck his dick right then and there.

Daisuke had his eyes popped out for a second before pulling the consort back to his feet. "Just a moment, dearest. Wouldn't want to give them a show." He purred, bringing the consort into one of the barracks, kissing the consort as he pushed him down to his knees.

[Afterthoughts]

Guess who’s the flat earther lmao. I never watched Bridgerton. I should do it one day. Arabic poems are great btw. The extras aren’t fully canon, it’s just sexy scenes I had contemplated on adding. I thought of adding Emperor Aurelius’ son for a scene but I didn’t want to because it would go too deep into the non-existent lore.

When Daisuke was yelling at reader how much he loves him, I resisted the urge to write “(m/n) was gagged.”

When I wrote the dialogue, I don’t intend to fully use formal or old English, never took a course for the language except for in high school and I wanted the fic to be more understandable for the readers cuz let’s face it, just get to the damn point, I don’t need a paragraph to know someone is sleeping in a dark room.

THIS FIC IS SO FUCKING SHIT IM AWARE so be nice to me thanks </3

I intentionally used a mix of modern English/slangs/ and formal ones because I had writer’s block recently so things aren’t going the best for me right now.

There's a fun easter egg around the ending, somewhere on the harbor so if anyone guessed it right, props to u!

HUGE shoutout to @jaythes1mp for helping me rewrite some of the parts, I felt so dumb yet so smarter now. And also HUGE shoutout to @kiiyoooo for reading and helping me correct some of the scenes. They didn’t beta read the whole fic, only one part of it (the emotional ones) and if u noticed the shifting quality stfu pls I cant do this rn tq!/srs im sorry

There was a problem with the formatting (i think i pasted it twice and had to manually remove them) so if there is repeating paragraphs, let me know thanks, ill check it properly tomorrow

Daisuke if (m/n) found his ex at the orgy:

(m/n) twice a day:

Taglist:

@tehyunnie @rainnyydaysworld @webwanderer @a-short-ass-disappointment @chikai-k @mello-life25 @miyuuuki @simpsations @sugar-p0p @kiiyoooo @helloanime @garlicforthewin @jaxyy219 @mikahrh @gayaristocrat @m4r13ll @pinxeajin @gyarukitti @syyyy4ever @pato-spoiler-27 @citrusequalsfrogs @animefan106sposts @bensontrechic @partywalker @gaynesspersonified @yanrandom @theorye @jentlesoldier @apotatoishereee @blepp0c @luciusclover @mazunzunne @basketbaal

Only prince daisuke:

@kingcomet

#Spotify #bottom male reader #x bottom male reader #male reader smut #sub male reader #uke male reader #x male reader #oukabarsburg #oc x male reader smut #oc x male reader #oc x reader smut #daisuke yuichi #historical #prince x male reader #prince oc #male reader #oc x reader #male oc #oc smut

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cardo-de-comer · 27 days ago

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soo helloo and i think it's time for me to explain the deal with my characters and this whole "you're not supposed to be here" thing. EDIT: just fixed some stuff. thank you folks for your support, i really appreciate you all <3

i made these characters way back in june and by today they have a lot of lore around them in my head. i even have a dream to make a game with them but it's just a dream for now so i'm gonna try to explain the main things about this story. Obviously this is a long post, although I tried to keep this stuff short. and excuse me for my writing and any mistakes, I don't usually write this much text.

It starts with the world. Alternate 15th century, humanity is almost gone and what's left of it shares quite a big city with demons and angels. However, demons and angels are usually being treated like servants - eventually one gets tired of it all, so everyone knows an uprising is just around the corner. Let's just ignore that for now.

The City has a catch of it's own - it's alive. The walls have eyes and ears and the City knows every resident by heart and soul, both figuratively and literally. Usually City acts through the King, it chooses protectors for itself, ones who have strong minds to comprehend it - they will be called the royal knights, each of them have a company of a /more wiser than the rest of them/ demon and angel to help with their tasks. Only the King and ten royal knights know that the City is alive and very talkative but they don't understand fully what it's trying to tell them. Most of them choose to ignore the voices in their head because hey, that's what you do usually in this situation, otherwise they drive you nuts.

City is also extremely emotional and appearance depends on its condition. Usually it's a sunny day out and the city looks welcoming, but you don't want to be there when the City is scared: it might eat you alive by accident. Now that the environment is aside, time for the main three characters.

Imri is a young lad who will soon be a royal knight. He actually wanted to be a painter when he grows up but well, you cannot disobey the king's orders. Quite emotionless and a man of a few words, he tries to stay on a neutral ground between good and bad - a perfect candidate for manipulation to all three sides, demons, angels and the City.

look at him

Royal knights get to know their angel and demon companions at least a week before they get knighted to avoid any misunderstandings. Imri doesn't mind his friends at all, although one of them caused quite a fuss.

Angel /they name themselves Lyra/ is an overly positive, naive and blindly kind entity. A bit childish and very fond of justice, they try to act as a voice of conscience, not understanding that sometimes this can make everything even worse than it was. There is a feeling that they're trickier than it seems but you can never quite tell.

the latin text all over them is just a part of their design

The demon though... That's not even a demon, that's the Devil himself. Yes, everyone knows who this is, everyone avoids him and he's not supposed to be here at all. Despite being THE Devil, he didn't try to do anything horrific yet and, when he's not joking around, he tries to be the voice of reason, the voice that no one listens to. He seems to know a lot more about this whole world than anyone else but he talks about it only when he wants to.

no one likes him at all, expect maybe Imri who just tolerates his presence like he always does

That's the main three. There is a few secondary characters, Imri's father being one of them.

sir Jastrab /or just Dell/ is one of the royal knights, he's a bit naive, loyal, and a soul so kind that his demon hung himself. Oh well. He lost one hand in what he calls "a work accident" which is partly true but he never goes into details.

He never wanted for his son to be a part of the knights because he knows by experience that it's not an easy job and not every father wants for their child to go insane from the voices in their head.

few people said that the angel accompanying him looks like d20 and so be it

The others are Sun and Moon - local deities, despite being on the sky every day and night, usually they don't really care about what's going on down below. You can still talk to them but don't expect much action. Regardless of all this, they are still loved by almost all living things. They can rarely meet each other but humans always depict them together no matter what.

creators of the Stars - some part of a human soul that i can't talk about :)

Angels and demons come in all forms and sizes but those are the main population - lesser demons resemble the Devil in some ways and lesser angels look like clovers. Rivals usually but when the revolution happens, they learn to tolerate and work with each other. Humanity doesn't really have a chance.

they hate everyone equally And there is another being, that Imri meets a few times through the story - it's Death. Death is just having fun in this end of the world and there is a lot of work to be done.

this is an old and rough design so maybe it'll change The whole story begins at that day when Imri is supposed to be knighted. Everything seemed fine until Imri gets to hear the City for the first time and realizes that he hears and sees a lot more than everyone else. Completely overwhelmed he blacks out - even the toughest of minds often can't take it - and wakes up later only to find out that the King got killed somehow, angels and demons saw this as the starting point for a revolution and the City starts to panic.

Now Imri, guided by his companions and the voice of scared City that's crumbling and slowly drives him insane, shall travel to the center of it to find out what really happened, getting through demons and angels who are busy destroying the rest of humanity. Fun.

There is a lot more to this whole thing but I cannot tell the entire plot because spoilers, in case if i actually will make something out of this story. Think of it as a game lore. I'm not sure about making sth yet because i operate only on hopes and dreams and i barely have any strength lately but who knows... But now you have at least some context! And yeah, thank you if you actually read all of this, you're a hero.

Now i need to get back to drawing. Thank you all for your support. <3

#art #oc #yourenotsupposedtobehere #ynstbh #i keep repeating to myself that i'm cringe but i'm free - it's so hard to share a story from your head without feeling cringe lol #but i'm also kinda proud that i made it this far and haven't burned out yet #before i thought that i couldn't make anything original with this empty head of mine #i'm gonna keep this as a pinned post for a while

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br0kenangel · 2 months ago

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Baby Targaryens as adults headcanon: how would they fall for you? How they are in a relationship in general?

characters: Jaehaerys, Maelor, Aegon III, Viserys II.

Jaehaerys doesn’t fall in love gracefully. No, he sees you once, maybe catching you out of the corner of his eye while he’s busy rolling them at Aegon or suffering through some royal function he doesn’t want to be at. His first thought? “Great. Another distraction.”

But something about you makes him pause, something makes him stare a little longer. And before he even understands it himself, the moment he lays eyes on you, in that deadpan, signature cold style of his, he mutters under his breath, “beautiful.”

Jaehaerys is different from other men in court. He doesn’t care to charm you, impress you, or, gods forbid, flirt with you. No, that’s Mealor’s job, with his smiles and "how are you this fine evening, my lady?" Jaehaerys? He just glares at you across the room, assessing. He doesn’t need to court you. You’re already his—he decided that five minutes ago. Now he’s just waiting for you to realize it.

If he ever does try to flirt, it's the most awkward, detached, disastrous thing you’ve ever witnessed. He’ll stare at you for a bit too long and say something like, “Your hair... it’s fine, I suppose.” Or worse, “You don’t annoy me as much as everyone else.”

It’s so unintentionally rude that you almost laugh—but he’s dead serious, just standing there, completely oblivious to how bad he is at this.

It doesn’t help that Jaehaerys is unreasonably attractive. He’s taller than his father, with that same Targaryen beauty, but he’s always looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. People fall all over themselves around him, but he just rolls his eyes. When you don’t, he’s intrigued. It’s almost like a challenge to him. Why aren’t you impressed? he wonders, eyebrows raised. You’re not supposed to be immune to him.

Aegon, his one and only friend (though Jaehaerys would never admit it), notices Jaehaerys watching you with a bit more interest than usual and teases him endlessly. Jaehaerys, tired of the teasing, the world, and quite frankly, of you for making him feel something, just glares and says, “Shut up, Aegon.”

Aegon keeps poking him, though. “You like her, don’t you?” And Jaehaerys’s face twists in annoyance before he just groans, “Gods, Aegon, leave me alone. I just want to sleep.” Which, funnily enough, is his attitude about everything. He’d much rather be napping than dealing with feelings.

Most lords would play the long game, trying to win your favor, doing all the polite things. Jaehaerys? Nah. He doesn’t care. He sees you, he wants you, and that’s it. End of story. He walks up to you one day, fully expecting the conversation to end in you being his.

His approach? Straightforward and blunt: “We’re going to wed. That’s not a question.”

You’re stunned. “Excuse me?”

“I'm in love with you,” he says flatly, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, “So you’re mine now.”

There’s no pleading, no coy smile. He’s already made the decision for both of you.

He’s deeply annoyed by the fact that he even has feelings for you. He’ll be sitting in his chambers, brooding, trying to read, but all he can think about is you. He scowls, tossing the book aside. “Why?” he mumbles to himself, irritated. “Why do I even care?”

He’s annoyed that you’ve distracted him, that you’ve taken up residence in his mind, and yet, he’ll spend hours watching you from afar. He won’t admit it, but you’re the only thing that makes him not hate everything for a little while.

The moment you show interest in someone else? Forget it. Jaehaerys is right there, appearing out of nowhere like some shadowy ghost. He’ll stand between you and anyone who dares approach, giving them a cold, dismissive look. And he’ll say, in that cutting, dry voice of his, “She’s not interested.” He doesn’t even ask how you feel—he’s already made the decision for you.

People often comment on how lucky you are to have caught Jaehaerys’s eye, because—let’s face it—he’s gorgeous. But the moment he opens his mouth? Everything gets awkward. He’s either blunt, rude in the most polite way, or just plain dismissive. You’ll walk into a room, and someone will say, “You look beautiful today.”

Jaehaerys, overhearing, just rolls his eyes and mutters, “She looks beautiful every day. Obviously.” Then adds under his breath, “Can we leave now?”

The thing with Jaehaerys is, once he decides he wants you, there’s no escape. Not in a creepy way, but in a he-will-not-leave-you-alone way. He’ll suddenly be everywhere—at your side, giving you that I’m-annoyed-but-interested look. And when you try to argue, he just cuts you off with, “Don’t bother. I’ve already decided. You’re mine.”

You realize, in a strange, funny way, that it’s almost comforting—knowing that once Jaehaerys chooses something (or someone), he’s completely devoted. Even if he’s the most sarcastic, emotionally unavailable person on the planet, he’s yours.

Maelor has an unmatched talent for getting into trouble, but the way he struts into it is almost impressive. He’ll walk into a room, compliment someone on their ridiculously oversized hat, steal the silverware off the table, and wink at you on the way out like it was all part of some grand performance. When you ask him why he does these things, he just shrugs and says, “It’s called living, love. Try it sometime.”

Flirting is basically Maelor’s second language. He’ll start with something overly dramatic, like, “You, my dear, are the moon to my drunken stumbles,” and before you can even roll your eyes, he’s convinced the entire room that you’re madly in love with him. Even if you’re not. Especially if you’re not. When you point this out, he grins and says, “Can you blame them? Look at me.” (He’s very humble.)

Maelor does not believe in subtlety when it comes to his wardrobe. He’ll walk into a council meeting wearing a deep purple silk tunic, velvet cape, and, of course, his beloved golden earring. He’ll probably have a feathered hat, too, just because he can. When you tell him he’s dressed like he’s going to a festival and not, you know, preparing for day, he’ll just smirk and say, “I know, I’m practically a walking work of art.”

You’d think Maelor’s silver tongue would be infallible when it comes to flirting. But when he really likes someone, the smooth talk disappears. He’ll go from “You’re the most stunning creature in Westeros,” to “You…uh…have very…nice shoes? I guess.” The more he likes you, the worse it gets. You’re watching a man who can talk his way out of a dragon’s mouth completely lose it because he can’t think of a single charming thing to say.

Maelor has a special talent for vanishing from the scene of his crimes just in time, leaving you in awe of his ability to slip away right when things go south. Whether it’s after “borrowing” a lord’s prized horse or sweet-talking his way into a highborn feast, he’s gone with a blink and a laugh. He’ll reappear later with a cup of wine and a grin, saying, “Hello darling.” (He never learns his lesson because somehow, he never gets caught.)

Maelor loves wine. And not just a casual love—he’s borderline obsessed with it (worse than his father). At every meal, he’s got a goblet in hand, and he’s always trying to top yours up like you’re both on some extended holiday. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had this vintage,” he’ll say, pouring you a cup while simultaneously swiping an entire bottle for later. If you ask him why he always has to drink, he’ll flash a charming grin and say, “Life’s too short to be sober.”

Maelor flirts with everyone—it’s just who he is. But with you? There’s a sincerity behind his teasing that isn’t there with anyone else. When he calls you “gorgeous” or “darling,” it’s not just part of his game—it’s real. And when he flirts with others in your presence, it’s to get a rise out of you, just to see that flash of jealousy in your eyes. “What’s wrong? You know you’re my favorite.”

That golden earring he’s so proud of? He thinks it’s the height of fashion. He’ll casually flip his hair just so it catches the light, and if you compliment him on it (even sarcastically), he’ll give you a knowing look like you’ve just confirmed his suspicions of being the most fashionable man alive. He’ll say, “Ah, you’ve noticed. I knew you had taste.” You can’t even tell if he’s joking or not.

Maelor loves pulling pranks and stealing random things, but he’s the worst at being subtle about it. He’ll swipe a coin purse or a golden goblet, only for you to see it sticking out of his coat five minutes later. When you point it out, he’ll just laugh and say, “Oops. Must have slipped in there.” He’s too charming to be mad at, and he knows it.

When Maelor really likes you, he becomes an absolute disaster. His usual suave lines turn into awkward stumbles. “You…uh, look nice. I mean, not that you didn’t look nice before, but like…yeah.” You watch him go from the most confident man in the room to someone who can’t even make eye contact. It’s adorable, really, watching him struggle to be smooth when he’s head over heels.

One moment, Maelor is all smiles and teasing, and the next, he’s quiet, watching you with a calculating gaze. It’s like he’s always thinking three steps ahead, figuring out how to get you closer to him without you even realizing it. When he’s like this, he’ll casually brush a hand against yours, lean in just a little too close, and murmur something so soft it’s almost dangerous: “You know you’re the only one who can keep up with me, right?”

Maelor’s idea of a “cunning plan” usually involves a lot of improvisation and almost no foresight. He’ll convince you to help him steal something valuable or sneak into a lord’s private party, assuring you he has it all figured out. Spoiler: he does not have it all figured out. But somehow, through sheer luck and charm, it always works out. “See? Told you I had a plan,” he’ll say with a grin, as if you both weren’t two seconds away from disaster.

Maelor doesn’t get jealous in the traditional sense, but he’s definitely possessive in his own subtle way. If someone else is flirting with you, he’ll step in with that dazzling smile and start charming them instead, all while keeping you close. “You’re coming with me, love,” he’ll say smoothly, completely unbothered by the competition. And when he steals you away, he’ll shoot you a knowing grin, as if to say, “You’re mine, and we both know it.”

If there’s one thing Maelor loves, it’s teasing you. He’ll steal something of yours, just to watch you get flustered trying to get it back. “Looking for this?” He’ll dangle it in front of you with that mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. But as soon as he sees you getting genuinely upset, he’ll soften, handing it back with a playful wink. “Alright, alright, here you go. I’m only teasing, darling.”

Maelor steals more than just gold—he steals hearts, too. You didn’t mean to fall for him, but it’s hard not to when he’s always pulling you into wild adventures and making you laugh. You’ll be fuming because he just got you both chased out of a tavern, but then he’ll look at you with those pretty eyes and that teasing smile, and suddenly you’re not so mad anymore. He knows it, too. “I’m irresistible, admit it,” he’ll say with a wink.

Maelor can flirt, trick, and outsmart most people, but when it comes to saying goodbye? He’s the worst. He’ll tell you he’s leaving for a trip, only to sneak back into your chambers hours later with a bottle of wine and say, “Miss me yet?” It’s impossible to get rid of him, and honestly, you’re not even sure you want to anymore.

Aegon is the definition of effortlessly charming, with that roguish smile and easy-going nature. He’s the type to charm everyone at court without even trying, and half the time, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. So when he falls for you, it’s not because he’s trying to win you over—he’s just being his usual, flirtatious self, flashing you that cheeky grin and thinking, “Well, why wouldn't you fall for me?”

Aegon doesn’t flirt. He exists and somehow, people think he’s flirting. He could be talking about the weather, and it would still sound like the most seductive thing you’ve ever heard. When he meets you, it’s no different. “You look lovely today,” he says casually, while inside, he’s mentally patting himself on the back for keeping it smooth. But he’s secretly freaking out because, for once, he actually wants to impress someone.

Aegon is normally laid-back, but with you, it’s different. He catches himself staring at you all the time, whether you’re in the middle of a conversation or just passing by. He’ll be sitting in court, pretending to pay attention, but all his focus is on you. And when you catch him staring, he’ll just wink and give you a little smirk, like it was totally on purpose.

Aegon is a very physical person, and once he decides he’s into you, that’s it. He’s always finding ways to touch you, whether it’s a hand on your back, a playful nudge, or just casually throwing an arm around your shoulders. It’s his way of saying, “Hey, I’m into you,” without actually saying it. And if anyone else tries to get too close? Aegon’s immediately at your side, leaning in close and making sure everyone knows who you belong to.

Aegon is a sweet-talker through and through. He’s always showering you with compliments, and the thing is, they sound genuine. You’ll be sitting there, minding your own business, and he’ll just pop up with, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, you know that?” And you know he’s probably said it to a dozen people before, but somehow, with you, it feels different—like he actually means it.

Subtlety is not Aegon’s strong suit. If you’re trying to play it cool or make him work for it, forget it. He’ll take your coy responses as a challenge, and instead of backing off, he’ll just double down on the charm. “Playing hard to get, huh? I love that.” He thinks it’s all part of the game, and he’s having a great time, completely oblivious to how flustered he’s making you.

Aegon has big golden retriever energy. He’s the type who gets excited about everything, especially you. If you say something even remotely interesting, his face lights up, and he’s instantly hooked. “Wait, say that again? That’s amazing!” He’s like a puppy, hanging on your every word, and it’s almost impossible to stay mad at him because his enthusiasm is so infectious.

Aegon’s usually the easy-going type, but if someone else shows interest in you? Oh, he’s stepping in real quick. He’s not possessive in a creepy way, but he’s definitely the kind of guy to slide in next to you with a bright grin, casually draping an arm over your shoulder and making very clear that you’re his. “Hey, love, everything alright here?” He says it with a smile, but his eyes are daring the other person to try something.

Aegon is rarely serious, always cracking jokes and making light of situations. But when he’s with you, sometimes the jokes stop, and he’ll get this intense look in his eyes. He’ll brush a strand of hair behind your ear and say something like, “You know you mean the world to me, right?” And it’s so sincere and unexpected that it catches you off guard. Just when you think he’s nothing but playful charm, he hits you with a moment of real vulnerability.

Underneath all the flirting and jokes, Aegon is deeply loyal. Once he’s decided that he’s yours (and you’re his), he’s all in. He might be playful with others, but with you, it’s different. He’s always there when you need him, ready to drop everything for you. And despite how easy-going he seems, he’s serious about his feelings for you. You’ll never have to wonder where you stand with him, because he’s always making it abundantly clear how much you mean to him.

Aegon loves grand gestures. He’s the type to show up at your window in the middle of the night with flowers, or whisk you away for a spontaneous trip, just because. He’ll leave little notes for you, filled with sweet, silly messages like, “I’m thinking about you. Don’t miss me too much.” He may act like a carefree person, but when it comes to you, he’s an absolute romantic at heart.

Aegon’s favorite thing in the world? Making you smile. He’ll go out of his way to do it, whether it’s through jokes, playful teasing, or simply being his charming self. He’s the kind of guy who, if he sees you upset, will drop everything to make you laugh. And once he’s got that smile out of you? Mission accomplished. You’re his world, and he’ll do anything to keep that smile on your face.

Viserys is the grounding force in Maelor’s whirlwind of trouble and adventure. While Maelor is off flirting, tricking, and scheming, Viserys is the calm, steady one, always there to clean up the mess. He watches from the sidelines with a soft, knowing smile, ready to step in when things go too far. Maelor often drags you into his escapades, but it’s Viserys who quietly ensures you’re safe. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you both survive Maelor’s next ‘great idea.’”

Viserys is the type to care deeply but silently. He’s not the type to loudly declare his feelings, but his actions speak volumes. He’ll subtly make sure you’re taken care of, always offering help without you having to ask. Whether it’s making sure you’re comfortable during a long journey or pulling you out of one of Maelor’s risky games, Viserys is always there, quietly protecting you. He’ll brush it off with a modest smile, saying, “It’s nothing,” but you know better.

When Viserys falls in love, he falls hard. He doesn’t do things halfway—once he’s set his heart on you, that’s it. You’ll notice how his attention lingers on you more than anyone else, how he’s always looking out for your needs before his own. He’ll give you his full attention, listen to everything you say, and remember the smallest details about you. It’s not dramatic or flashy, but it’s deep and unwavering. “You matter more to me than you realize.”

Viserys and Maelor are a duo that’s practically inseparable. While Maelor is the mischievous troublemaker, Viserys is the one who always steps in to help him out of sticky situations. Maelor gets himself into ridiculous trouble all the time, but Viserys is the one who makes sure things don’t go completely off the rails. “Honestly, Maelor. What did you do this time?” He’ll say it with a sigh, but there’s affection in his eyes as he helps his best friend out yet again. It’s a relationship built on deep trust, and you’re often caught in the middle of their dynamic.

Viserys’s love is soft and gentle. He’s not the type to overwhelm you with grand gestures, but he’ll show his love in small, meaningful ways. He’ll remember the way you take your tea, ensure your favorite book is waiting for you after a long day, and offer a reassuring smile when you need it most. His presence is soothing, like a steady flame that never burns too bright but never wavers either. “I’m here for you, always.”

Viserys is smart—incredibly so. He’s the one who sees ten steps ahead, the strategist who quietly observes and plans, ensuring that no one can outwit him. When Maelor’s wild schemes start spiraling out of control, Viserys is already two steps ahead, subtly pulling strings to fix everything. With you, he’s just as attentive, always knowing what you need even before you realize it. “You’re more predictable than you think, but I like that about you.” He’ll say with a teasing smile, his eyes warm with affection.

There’s something about Viserys that’s endlessly comforting. He’s the rock in a storm, the one who remains calm no matter how chaotic things get. When Maelor’s antics get overwhelming or life becomes too much, Viserys is there, offering quiet support. He doesn’t need to say much to make you feel at ease—just being near him is enough. His hand on yours, the way he softly says your name—it’s like everything is okay again.

Viserys is an excellent listener. He’ll sit with you for hours, listening to everything you have to say with genuine interest, no matter how trivial it might seem. He makes you feel heard, like every word you say matters to him. He doesn’t interrupt or offer advice unless you ask—he’s just there, present and engaged. “I’m always here to listen, you know that.”

Viserys’s loyalty is absolute. Once he’s decided he cares for you, there’s no changing his mind. He’s fiercely protective of the people he loves, though he does it in a quiet, understated way. If anyone tries to harm you or Maelor, Viserys won’t hesitate to step in, but he’ll do it with such calm precision that no one will see it coming. He’s the kind of person who would go to great lengths to protect you, without ever needing to brag about it. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll always take care of you.”

Viserys may not be as overtly flirty as Maelor, but he has his own way of showing affection. He’ll give you knowing looks from across the room, say something that seems innocent but has a deeper meaning, and brush his hand against yours just enough to send a shiver down your spine. It’s all so subtle that you might not even realize he’s flirting until you catch the way he smiles when you blush. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Once Viserys falls in love, everything he does starts to revolve around you. He’ll prioritize your needs over his own, making sure you’re comfortable, happy, and safe. He might not be as vocal about his feelings as some, but the way he makes you his priority in every situation speaks volumes. “Your happiness matters to me more than you know.”

Viserys rarely gets rattled. While Maelor might be loud, dramatic, and prone to theatrics, Viserys remains calm and collected in nearly every situation. It takes a lot to get under his skin, and he’s always the one diffusing tense moments with a soft word or a calm demeanor. Even when Maelor gets himself into the wildest situations, Viserys never loses his cool. “I expected this from you.” He’ll say with a sigh, shaking his head fondly.

When Viserys finally admits his feelings, it’s like a dam breaking. All of the quiet affection he’s been holding back comes flooding out in soft, earnest confessions. “I didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure… but I can’t keep this to myself anymore. I love you. Deeply.” His love is steady, unwavering, and all-consuming in the best way possible. Once he’s yours, he’s yours completely, and there’s no turning back.

Maelor and Viserys are best friends through thick and thin. Maelor might be the more adventurous one, but Viserys is always there to support him. He doesn’t get involved in Maelor’s schemes for the thrill—he does it because he cares. And even when Maelor gets them into trouble, Viserys never holds it against him. It’s the same with you—once Viserys cares about someone, his loyalty is unshakable.

Viserys’s romantic gestures are thoughtful and subtle. He doesn’t go for grand displays of affection but instead does things that show how much he knows and cares for you. He’ll leave your favorite flower on your pillow, write you a heartfelt letter when he’s away, or make sure you’re always warm on a cold night. It’s not about impressing you—it’s about making sure you feel loved every day. “I don’t need to shout it from the rooftops. You should know by now how much you mean to me.”

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

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theplotmage · 2 months ago

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50 Worldbuilding Setting ideas for your fantasy book

Cities and Settlements

1. Capital City - The central hub of political power and culture in the realm.

2. Harbor Town - A bustling port city crucial for trade and naval activities.

3. Elf Village - A serene settlement hidden within a forest, home to elven inhabitants.

4. Dwarven Mines - An underground city where dwarves mine precious metals and gems.

5. Nomad Camp - A temporary settlement for wandering tribes and traders.

6. Market Square - The commercial heart of any major city, filled with vendors and artisans.

7. Sky City - A floating metropolis held aloft by magic or advanced technology.

Natural and Enchanted Locations

8. Mystic Forest - A dense, magical woodland filled with ancient trees and mythical creatures.

9. Enchanted Lake - A serene body of water with mystical properties.

10. Secret Cave - A hidden cavern that might contain treasure or danger.

11. Dark Swamp - A treacherous wetland often home to dark magic and creatures.

12. Forbidden Desert - A vast, arid expanse known for its harsh conditions and ancient secrets.

13. Floating Island - A landmass suspended in the sky, often home to unique flora and fauna.

14. Hidden Valley - A secluded, fertile valley protected from the outside world.

15. Charmed Meadows - Peaceful fields imbued with protective enchantments.

Magical and Supernatural Places

16. Wizard’s Tower - The abode of powerful sorcerers, filled with arcane knowledge.

17. Sacred Temple - A place of worship and spiritual significance, often protected by divine magic.

18. Haunted Castle - An ancient fortress inhabited by ghosts or malevolent spirits.

19. Necromancer’s Crypt - The lair of a dark sorcerer who practices necromancy.

20. Oracle’s Sanctuary - A holy site where oracles deliver prophecies and visions.

21. Magical Academy - An institution where young sorcerers learn the art of magic.

22. Alchemist’s Workshop - A place where alchemists experiment and create potions and elixirs.

23. Time Portal - A gateway to different eras, allowing travel through time.

Dangerous and Uncharted Areas

24. Ancient Ruins - The remnants of a once-great civilization, often hiding secrets or dangers.

25. Dragon’s Lair - The home of a fearsome dragon, filled with treasure and peril.

26. Cursed Forest - A dark, haunted woodland where malevolent forces dwell.

27. Battlefield - The site of a significant past conflict, often haunted by the spirits of the fallen.

28. Volcanic Wasteland - A desolate, fiery landscape wrought with volcanic activity.

29. Giant’s Keep - A massive fortress built and inhabited by giants.

30. Pirate Cove - A hidden inlet where pirates gather to plan their exploits.

31. Shadow Realm - A dark, parallel dimension filled with malevolent entities.

32. Frosty Tundra - A vast, icy wasteland where few dare to venture.

Cultural and Social Hubs

33. Royal Palace - The lavish residence of the ruling monarch and their court.

34. Thieves’ Guild - A secretive organization of thieves and rogues.

35. Warrior’s Training Grounds - A facility where soldiers and heroes train for battle.

36. Arena of Champions - A grand coliseum where warriors compete in combat.

37. Goblin Market - A chaotic and colorful marketplace run by goblins, offering exotic goods.

38. Hermit’s Hut - The secluded home of a wise hermit, often sought for advice.

39. Secret Hideout - A concealed refuge used by rebels or outlaws.

Mystical and Legendary Sites

40. Ethereal Gardens - Magical gardens with rare plants and enchanting beauty.

41. Celestial Observatory - A tower dedicated to studying the stars and celestial events.

42. Sanctuary of Lost Knowledge - A hidden library containing ancient and forbidden texts.

43. Sunken Ruins - The underwater remnants of a lost civilization.

44. Gryphon Nesting Grounds - A mountainous area where gryphons make their nests.

45. Spiral Staircase - An enigmatic, seemingly endless staircase leading to unknown depths.

46. Giant’s Keep - A colossal fortress built and inhabited by giants.

47. Protean Plains - A region where the landscape constantly changes, reshaped by powerful magic or ancient curses.

Adventurous and Explorative Spots

48. Treasure Hunter’s Camp - A gathering spot for explorers seeking lost relics.

49. Relic Seeker’s Cave - A cave rumored to contain powerful artifacts.

50. Explorer’s Outpost - A base for adventurers preparing for expeditions into unknown territories.

***

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kittyit · 2 months ago

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"The suffragettes are instructive. Their tactic of choice was property destruction. Decades of patient pressure on the Parliament to give women the vote had yielded nothing, and so in 1903, under the slogan 'Deeds not words, the Women's Social and Political Union was founded. Five years later, two WSPU members undertook the first militant action: breaking windowpanes in the prime minister's residence. One of them told the police she would bring a bomb the next time. Fed up with their own fruitless deputations to Parliament, the suffragettes soon specialised in 'the argument of the broken pane', sending hundreds of well-dressed women down streets to smash every window they passed. In the most concentrated volley, in March 1912, Emmeline Pankhurst and her crews brought much of central London to a standstill by shattering the fronts of jewellers, silversmiths, Hamleys toy shop and dozens of other businesses. They also torched letterboxes around the capital. Shocked Londoners saw pillars filled with paperthrowing up flames, the work of some activist having thrown in a parcel soaked in kerosene and a lit match.

Militancy was at the core of suffragette identity: 'To be militant in some form, or other, is a moral obligation, Pankhurst lectured. 'It is a duty which every woman will owe her own conscience and self-respect, to women who are less fortunate than she is herself, and to all who are to come after her.' The latest full-body portrait of the movement, Diane Atkinson's Rise Up, Women!, gives an encyclopedic listing of militant actions: suffragettes forcing the prime minister out of his car and dousing him with pepper, hurling a stone at the fanlight above Winston Churchill's door, setting upon statues and paintings with hammers and axes, planting bombs on sites along the routes of royal visits, fighting policemen with staves, charging against hostile politicians with dogwhips, breaking the windows in prison cells. Such deeds went hand in hand with mass mobilisation. The suffragettes put up mammoth rallies, ran their own presses, went on hunger strikes: deploying the gamut of non-violent and militant action.

After the hope of attaining the vote by constitutional means was dashed once more in early 1913, the movement switched gears. In a systematic campaign of arson, the suffragettes set fire to or blew up villas, tea pavilions, boathouses, hotels, haystacks, churches, post offices, aque-ducts, theatres and a liberal range of other targets aroundthe country. Over the course of a year and a half, the WSPU claimed responsibility for 337 such attacks. Few culprits were apprehended. Not a single life was lost; only empty buildings were set ablaze. The suffragettes took great pains to avoid injuring people. But they considered the situation urgent enough to justify incendiarism - votes for women, Pankhurst explained, were of such pressing importance that we had to discredit the Government and Parliament in the eyes of the world; we had to spoil English sports, hurt businesses, destroy valuable property, demor-alise the world of society, shame the churches, upset the whole orderly conduct of life. Some attacks probably went unclaimed. One historian suspects that the suffragettes were behind one of the most spectacular blazes of the period: a fire in a Tyneside coal wharf, in which the facilities for loading coal were completely gutted. They did, however, claim responsibility for the burning of motor cars and a steam yacht."

- How to Blow Up a Pipeline, pg 40-42

#reading list #feminism #women's suffrage #suffragette

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herstoryheaven · 4 months ago

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Descendants Harry Hook x Reader: Lost and Found on The Isle

Prompt: Y/N escapes her cruel life in Auradon and finds herself on the Isle of the Lost, where she unexpectedly finds love and acceptance among villains, especially in the arms of a certain pirate.

Reader: Female

Word count: 1250

Average reading time: 4 min 35 sec

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warning: This story contains themes of isolation, harassment, emotional distress, and the challenges of feeling like an outsider. If you are sensitive to these topics, please read with care.

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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In a world filled with royals, in a place called Auradon, where everything seemed perfect on the surface, lived a girl named Y/N. Her life, however, was far from ideal. Treated as an outcast and burdened by the cruelty of her peers, Y/N felt like a shadow amongst the vibrant crowd. The isolation weighed heavily on her, and she longed for escape a place where she might find acceptance and a sense of belonging.

One stormy night, Y/N made her decision. She packed a few belongings and slipped away, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and hope. Her destination? Well... The Isle of the Lost, the dark and dangerous place where Auradon’s discarded villains and their children resided. It was a risky move, but it was her last chance in the hope of finding something different.

As she arrived, the Isle lived up to its reputation. The streets were grimy, the buildings crooked, and the people suspicious. Y/N’s fear only grew with each step. She was an outsider in a world that didn’t welcome her. Wandering through the streets, she found herself cornered by a group of rough-looking guys. Their intentions were clear, and Y/N's heart raced with panic.

Just as the situation grew tense, a loud sound cut through the tension. Uma, the fierce sea witch and leader of the Isle’s pirate crew, emerged from the shadows, followed closely by her loyal crew members Harry Hook and Gil. Uma’s commanding presence and Harry’s rough charm quickly got rid of the threat, and the attackers scattered like roaches under a spotlight.

Y/N’s knees buckled, and she fell to the ground. Harry, with his signature smirk, approached her, his eyes softening ever so slightly when he saw her terrified state. Uma looked on with a mix of curiosity and amusement, while Gil hovered nearby, ever-ready to support his friends.

“Didn’t expect to find a damsel in distress tonight,” he said, his voice a smooth, low rumble. He extended a hand to her, which Y/N hesitantly took. “Name’s Harry Hook. And these fine pirates are Uma and Gil. You’re safe now.”

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling.

Uma’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she gestured to the group. “Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

In the safety of Uma’s hideout, Y/N felt a strange sense of relief mingled with anxiety. The Isle was rough, but it was also intriguing. Harry, in particular, couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He noticed the way she flinched at sudden movements and how her gaze darted around nervously.

Over the next few weeks, Harry and Y/N grew closer. They spent time together exploring the Isle, and Harry, with his charismatic pirate charm, showed Y/N the hidden wonders of their world, the secret hideaways and the beauty behind the grim facade. One evening, as they strolled along the mist covered docks, Harry casually slipped his arm around Y/N’s waist. She stiffened at first but then relaxed into his touch, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

Harry’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. “You know, darling, this place looks a bit more enchanting with you by my side.”

Y/N chuckled softly, leaning into him. “You always know how to make everything sound so content, so perfect.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled with affection as he leaned in closer. “That’s because with you, everything is perfect.”

One day, while Y/N was wandering alone, a gang of troublemakers started to harass her. They advanced with menacing grins, no trace of remorse for what they are about to do, and Y/N's heart pounded in her chest. Just as she was about to give in to the panic filling her chest. Harry appeared, his expression fierce. He pushed through the crowd, his protective stance clear as he positioned himself between Y/N and the intruders.

“Back off,” Harry growled, his voice carrying an authoritative edge that left no room for argument. “She’s with me.”

The intruders, clearly intimidated by Harry’s status, fierce glare and confident demeanor, backed away, muttering under their breath as they disappeared into the shadows. Harry turned to Y/N, his eyes softening as he gently reached out to caress her cheek. “Are you alright, darling?”

Y/N nodded, tears of relief welling up in her eyes. “I… I didn’t think anyone would come.”

Harry pulled her into a tight embrace, his strong arms enveloping her. “I’ll always come for you. You don’t have to be afraid here.”

As their relationship blossomed, so did their affection. Harry would surprise Y/N with stolen kisses during shared meals, as they walked through the market, or even as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. One night, under the starlit sky, they lay together on a blanket by the sea. The sound of waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing backdrop as Harry pulled Y/N close.

“Look at those stars,” Harry murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “They’re nothing compared to how you light up my life.”

Y/N turned to face him, her heart aching with love and uncertainty. “Sometimes, I still can’t believe you’re here with me. That someone like you would choose someone like me.”

Harry cupped her face gently in his hands, his gaze unwavering. "You're not just anyone, darling. You're my everything. I chose you because you make me feel things villains aren't supposed to feel. You make me see the world in a way I never knew I could."

Their lips met in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, filled with the promise of a future they could build together. Harry’s hands roamed lovingly over her back, pulling her closer as their kiss deepened.

As their relationship progressed, Uma began to see Y/N’s value beyond just Harry’s affection. She had witnessed Y/N’s bravery and kindness and saw how Y/N fit seamlessly into her crew. One day, Uma called Y/N to her quarters, her expression serious but not unkind.

“Y/N,” Uma began, her tone steady, “you’ve proven yourself to be more than just a lost soul here. You’ve got spirit and heart, and you’ve earned your place.”

Y/N looked at Uma with a mixture of apprehension and hope. “What do you mean?”

Uma smiled slightly, a rare show of warmth. “I’m offering you a spot on my crew. You belong here, and you’ve shown that you’re capable of more than you know. You’ve got the grit and the grace we need.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise and gratitude. “Thank you, Uma. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Uma said with a nod. “Just keep being yourself. That’s all we need.”

With Uma’s approval, Y/N felt a renewed sense of belonging. She continued to grow closer to Harry, their love flourishing amidst the challenges. Whenever danger threatened, Harry was always there, his protective nature evident in every gesture. He would wrap his arms around her, pulling her close during moments of fear, his kisses always a reminder of his devotion.

As the days turned into months, Y/N and Harry’s love blossomed. They faced challenges together, each obstacle only strengthening their bond. In the heart of the Isle of the Lost, amidst the chaos and shadows, Y/N and Harry discovered a love that was pure and unshakeable, a love that healed old wounds and built new dreams. And in that love, Y/N finally found the acceptance and happiness she had always longed for, wrapped in the arms of a pirate who had stolen her heart and made her feel truly cherished.

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

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Request Guidelines: When submitting a request, please ensure that your request does not contain any explicit sexual content or graphic depictions, and avoid any form of extreme violence or graphic descriptions of violent acts. I appreciate your understanding and cooperation in maintaining a respectful and inclusive environment for all readers. If you're unsure about your request or want to request about someone I haven't written about yet, feel free to ask me anytime.

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 11 months ago

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HOW DEEP IS YOUR DEVOTION? ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

word count; 6.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, royalty au (..but no effort put into making it historically accurate in any way oops), knight!reader x prince!toru!!, childhood friends, mutual pining, fluffy overall, some hurt/comfort too, vague allusions to abuse (reader is punished by one of the castle maids as a child but it’s only really hinted at), knight!reader is horrendously devoted but prince!gojo is arguably worse, he would burn the world down if u asked nicely <3

a/n; big big BIG thank you to @/teddybeartoji for having the biggest brain in the galaxy and infecting me with this concept <33 if u pay attention while reading you can tell the exact moment i started slowly spiraling into insanity

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

five years old, a mere child, and too young to be blinded by such brilliance. too young to be where you are; curled up in a dark alley, back against a grimy brick wall, covered in bruises. like a beaten dog — scrawny and afraid. waiting for a strike that never comes.

the boy in front of you is also five years old, but you don’t know that. something in him looks older, somehow, something in the way he carries himself. like he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. like he’s never even felt fear. he parts his lips and speaks like he has the right to, like he’s comfortable in his own skin, a radiance so blinding you could mistake him for the sun. too much for you to bear.

”does it hurt?”

the words fall on deaf ears. but you flinch, your body reacts, a tremble down your tiny spine. you hear the sound but not the words. too mesmerized, too paralyzed, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes, painted with rich watercolour hues. seeping into the world around you like ink on paper, cobalt and aquamarine and something else, something you’ve never seen before —

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

the boy has an innocent face. almost girlish, plump cheeks and long lashes, clean clothes and smooth skin. a little too pretty to be out here, you think, in this part of town — too pure to be anywhere near someone like you. he’s above you, that much you can tell. a pretty, innocent face, untouched by dirt or ache; the face of royalty. an entirely different species.

there’s something keen in his eyes, a contrast to his childlike features. a sharp gaze, something that sees through you, something that won’t look away. something mildly frightening. enough to have you cowering in fear, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

but then he smiles. and it’s sincere. sweet, vibrant, all honey and milk and a world you cannot reach.

a smile so captivating you take his outstretched hand, and let him drag you away to god-knows-where.

(that's how it begins. the dynamic that’ll follow you into your adult lives; satoru takes the lead, and you follow. no matter where he’s going.)

satoru gojo, as you soon come to learn, is the prince of the nation you reside in. the only child of the royal family, born with talent and prestige, fame and fortune, set to become king. a different species, indeed.

but he brings you home with him, to a castle so grand you feel as if your very presence is an insult to the architects who designed it, and convinces his parents to let you stay. it’s surprising, but you don’t protest; following him like a puppy at his trail. and he’s stubborn, insistent, demanding that he get to keep said puppy.

the king and queen don’t care one way or another. they glance at you with apathy, and tell satoru to do what he wants — but convincing the scary and displeased castle maids takes some work.

satoru doesn’t waver, though. he holds your hand in his, and demands that you be treated with respect.

and he wins. he always wins.

that’s how you become the prince’s playmate. raised alongside him, allowed to stay close, eat from the same food. he won’t settle for anything less. defending your honour, always, before you even know what honour means. before you care.

time passes slowly. joyously. every day is a new adventure, as you attempt to get used to the miracle that is your new life — sweet and silky, apricot blossoms and fresh peaches, duvet pillows and a bubbly laughter you didn’t know you still had. he coaxes it out of you, with every secret midnight outing, every bout of mischief he drags you both into.

satoru has nice hands, uncalloused palms, fingers that grasp yours and don’t let go. he takes you outside, to see the stars, to catch fireflies in the dark of night on top of the hill that oversees the castle. to take a dip in the river just below it, gleaming a silver hue under the blue shade of the moon. you worry about getting in trouble, but he reassures you — the prince can do what he wants.

that might be true, but you are no prince. not even close. satoru may safeguard you, but all you’ll ever be in the eyes of the world is a stray he got to keep.

and one time, only one time, you do face the repercussions of your midnight outings. you, and you alone. a bad influence — seething words, buzzing in your ears. an angry castle maid, and a stinging pain in your cheek. blurry tears.

but that’s an incident no one in the castle dares to speak of.

(you’ll never forget that look in his eyes.)

satoru is an odd boy. he keeps you close, always, clinging to you like he needs you to breathe. you don’t understand why, but you’ve learned not to question him. the castle guards all know you as the prince’s best friend, and some part of you knows that’s all you’ll ever amount to. but you don’t mind.

because you love him. at five years old, six years old, seven and beyond, you love him. satoru gojo, the kindest boy in the stratosphere.

a boy who keeps finding you, no matter where you are, who tugs you along as naturally as the rise of the sun. who raids kitchen cabinets with you and always makes you laugh, little giggles and chuckles that have him beaming proudly. a boy who cleans your wounds with a serious expression, and tells you that he’ll protect you forever.

(you tell yourself the same. that you’ll protect him forever and ever, until you run out of air to breathe. a boy so sweet you’d die for him.)

a pledge is made. you make it before you know what a pledge is. pledging to protect him, to become his sword, because even as a child you understand that his life will be difficult. you see it in the dullness that sometimes comes over his eyes, the apathy of his so-called parents, the hours he spends locked up with nothing but a pile of dusty books to keep him company.

so you decide to become his knight. his, and his alone.

it’s challenging. but you push through; training with another aspiring knight, miles better than you, black hair tousled by the breeze as he knocks you off your feet for the thirtieth consecutive time. wincing as the girl who sometimes watches your sparring patches you up, soft hands cleaning your wounds so tenderly that you almost choke up.

and eventually, as the apricot blossoms of the castle orchard wilt and bloom over and over in a flurry of pure white, your dream comes true.

there’s something playful in satoru’s eyes, when he places his blade on the curve of your shoulder. something sweet and fond, and just a little bit ironic — as if you’re still seven years old, and playing house.

you want to tell him that it isn’t a joke. that you’re serious, about this, that you’d tear your stomach open to keep him safe. but you know he’d just laugh. so you let the words clog up your throat, honey-sweet devotion sticking to the walls of your esophagus. breathing in through your nose, as he speaks. as the words you’ve waited to hear flow from his glossy lips.

when all is said and done, satoru smiles. he calls you his little knight, and you can tell that he’s teasing you. indulging you, as if he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. but you’ll take what you can get.

you call him my prince, expecting him to laugh it off, but his smile begins to fall. and a pang of ache rushes through your soul, instantaneous, guilty, although you don’t understand why.

so you keep calling him satoru. even though it’s more than a little unprofessional, and you become painfully accustomed to receiving a few judgemental looks here and there. a knight and a prince shouldn’t be so very close, they think, and you don’t disagree. but there’s nothing they can do about it, anyhow.

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

not much changes. you’re his knight, but he treats you the same as before. he’s playful, a little goofy, and you indulge him. as always. attached at the hip, bickering and bantering, bouncing off each other effortlessly. and satoru never bothers to hide your history, the soft spot he has for you; it’s in every fleeting glance, soft tilt of his head, teasing call of ah, there’s my favorite knight.

(you’re no stranger to jealous looks. sometimes a pout on the lips of a pretty girl, a crease between the brows of one of your fellow knights. and sometimes a glare, from his fiancée — a woman he was engaged to before he was old enough to speak.

but you don’t mind. you’ve never cared what anyone but satoru thinks of you.)

satoru never loses his smile, that effortless air of confidence. the charm that makes people want to follow him, a charisma you know well. one you fell victim to at five years of age. he’s still just a prince, far from being a king, but he receives the same respect.

and that keen, sharp glimmer in his eyes never quite goes away; the hardened shell around his heart unbroken. you see it in fleeting glances, during meetings, ones he allows you to attend despite your status. when he speaks to a room of people with more power than you can imagine, his voice unwavering. back straight. elegant, serious, the presence of royalty — enough to receive respect without even trying.

but he still shoots you a smile, easygoing, when your eyes meet. one only you can see.

as for you, the step into knighthood is a clumsy one. but you take your duties seriously, and adjust properly. a deep devotion runs through your veins, from your beating heart down to the tips of your fingers, where a sword lies clutched. you keep it close, always, ready to serve. to obey. to protect.

all of it for one person.

all you do is for him. duels in his honour, beasts slain for his peace of mind, and he’s always there to welcome you back. wiping the blood from your cheek, tenderly, smearing his untainted skin with red; all while he looks at you softly, a coo or word of praise waltzing on the tip of his tongue.

that’s only for when you remain unscathed, though, when the blood on your cheek isn’t your own. when you get hurt, it’s different — something begins to brew inside his eyes, and you can’t tell what it is. but he insists on bandaging you himself, paying no mind to your meek protests.

sometimes, you’re more reckless than usual. your injuries worse. sometimes he looks upset, angry with you, and doesn’t speak. you don’t, either.

a strange look comes over his eyes, every now and then. when you get down on one knee, to kiss his hand, the metal of the ring on his finger — and if you look up, you’ll see it. simmering inside those blue depths, something just as fond as it is sad. troubled, you think.

(something tells you he’d kneel, too, if only you’d let him.)

the bond between you remains intact. even as you begin to shoulder more responsibilities, more duties, even though you don’t have as much freedom as you used to. even though you seem to get less time to spend with each other every single day. but you stay together, even so; just like when you were children, running around and causing trouble, more than you could get away with now.

despite everything, satoru has grown up into a fine man. and you couldn't be prouder.

“do you think i look good in black? be honest.”

you throw him a glance. curious, somewhat perplexed, eyeing him up and down.

satoru is wearing a white blouse, puffy sleeves and a low neckline, showing off the skin of his bare chest. no black colours to be seen. you think back to that banquet he attended last month, forced into an expensively tailored black coat. a corset around his waist. and then you hum.

“sure you do.”

”suguru said it makes me look like a try-hard,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. tilting his head in your direction. ”do you think he’s jealous?”

”definitely.”

a moment passes.

satoru narrow his eyes, and gives you a dubious look. clicking his tongue. ”… something tells me you aren’t taking this seriously.”

”i am,” you assure him, a lazy smile at your lips. meeting his gaze, that displeased little pout. still smoothing a brush down the mane of your horse, the smell of hay soothing your muddled senses. ”just tired. you look good in anything. you know that.”

he hums. silent, the sound of a spring breeze filling in the gaps.

it’s late. outside the stables, the world is engulfed by a dark sky, almost too murky to see anything. hazy stars glimmer in the distance, and a sense of fatigue gnaws at your bones. it’s been a long day, and yet you’re here — doing even more work. just a little more.

and satoru’s right there with you. even though he’s just sitting there, on the floor, not lifting a finger to help. not that he has to. insistent on spending some quality time with you, keeping you company. just talking and munching on the food he snuck in, bread and cheese and an expensive bottle of wine, that he leaves completely untouched. he tries to leave some of everything else for you, though. keyword being tries.

a sense of peace simmers in the air. palpable, almost enough to taste, as midnight air streams in from the opened doors, chilly and pleasant on your skin. ruffling the thin fabric of your clothing.

and it’s nice, you think, just to have satoru there — talking about this and that, complaining about all the annoying people he had to meet yesterday, yawning every now and then. nostalgic. like this, it almost feels like you're still kids. back when you spent every single hour of the day by each other’s side.

it’s been a long time since you got the chance to speak like this. satoru’s been busy, and so have you. more so than usual.

”are they running you ragged?” he suddenly asks, and you don’t realize you’ve spent the last minute staring into space. resuming your brushing, with steady hands, but turning your head to meet his gaze.

”need me to…” he makes a slicing motion with his hand, right over his throat. a glint of mischief in his eyes. ”handle it?”

and you scoff. amused, but answering him seriously; unsure if his question is all-together humorous, if it doesn’t carry a hint of something genuine too. ”of course not.”

there’s a weariness in the way you blink. the way you pet the animal in front of you, having finished getting the dirt and blood clots out of her mane. she lays down in her stall, and you smile. turning around to rest your back against the wooden border between you, a respite for your aching bones.

it gets just a little bit tiring, sometimes. fighting, patrolling, helping townsfolk. protecting the castle, making sure everything is in order. killing whatever needs to be killed. cleaning the stained silver of your sword.

but…

”it’s my duty,” you answer, seriously, and it comes out sounding like a vow. because it is.

you avoid his gaze, but you can feel it, as you pick up the wine bottle by your feet and pop the cork. soft moonlight flits in from the windows, illuminating the green glass. a chartreuse glow that reminds you of fireflies, shimmering in your grasp, and for some reason it soothes your heart.

satoru only hums, far from approving. popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.

after a brief pause, he continues. ”you don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know.” his voice comes out a little raspy. it’s got a certain tilt to it, one that means he wants you to take him seriously. ”not around me.”

you take a sip of the wine. expensive, blood red. it’s too sweet for your taste, heavy on your tongue.

”… i’m less serious with you than i am with others.”

satoru sits up a little straighter.

”yeah?” he grins, a kind of satisfaction blooming in his eyes. cerulean and sweet. almost smug, you think, like the cat that got the cream. ”that’s good. you really should loosen up, though.”

a glance. fleeting, just to see him — but he isn’t looking at you. he’s looking outside, through the opened window, at the sway of the apricot trees. white petals flitting in, landing by his feet. in his hair.

when his eyes meet yours, they’re smoothed over by that something you can never put your finger on. a blend between longing and fondness. crinkled at the edges.

”you’ve got a pretty smile,” he exhales. ”be a shame not to show it off.”

when you look at him, really look at him, you see it. that fatigue. it slips out when he talks to you, a sincere way of speaking that never quite allows him to hide his emotions. you hear the hint of a yawn, can practically feel the weight on his shoulders. the weight of an entire nation. a weight he was always bound to carry.

(you could never bring yourself to be even remotely alright with it.)

“have you been doing okay?” you ask, and satoru blinks. there’s a soft look in your eyes, as they trail over the contours of his face, his lashes catching the light of the stars. an innocent, pretty face. but he looks tired. frail. like he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

”they’re running you ragged, too,” you say, hand settling on your hip. where your sword usually is. unconsciously, on instinct — or maybe just to make him laugh. ”need me to step in?”

satoru chuckles. husky, mellow. dripping with soft amusement.

”settle down, little knight.”

a moment passes. silent. his eyes flutter shut, for a second, and a breath slips from his lips. almost a sigh. in the distance, you hear the quiet coo of an owl.

”of course,” he eventually answers, opening his eyes. and you think he looks a little resigned. but smiling. self-deprecating, you think, although he’d like you to assume otherwise. ”all of it is just preparation, anyhow.”

a flimsy smile, as he looks into your knowing eyes. ”it’s what i was born for, wasn’t it?”

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time.

“yeah,” he cranes his neck, emitting a low groan. “me neither.” something sweet blossoms in his eyes, sweet like the crunch of the apple he bites into, juice dribbling down his chin. ”but it is what it is.”

a beat. you part your lips, trying to find the right words. ”tell me if there's anything i can do,” you settle on. the same words you always choose. ”anything at all.”

satoru smiles. “right.” his voice carries a teasing tilt; almost a purr. ”there’s nothing you wouldn't do for me, hm?”

“— there isn’t.” you smile. “nothing at all.”

he blinks. a little dazed, for a second, and you watch as his ears redden. slight, enough for you to notice, but gone before you can bring it up. a contemplation smooths over his features. and a pleasant breeze flits in, ruffling his hair, apricot petals kissing up his skin. he looks at the apple in his hands.

then he sighs. placing his palms on his knees, and rising to his feet. his arms twitch, muscular beneath the flimsy blouse, and you gulp. although you aren’t sure why.

“alright, then.” his eyes flicker in the dim light, sharp and decisive. he crosses over to you with long strides. “there is something you can do.”

when he’s close enough, satoru reaches out his hand; opening his palm. a silent beckoning. you look at him, not saying a word. his expression is unreadable.

then you intertwine your fingers with his. unquestioningly, even in the midst of your confusion.

(it reminds you of that day. when he pulled you up to your feet, held your hand in his and refused to let go. leading you to the promise of something better.)

no matter where he goes, you follow.

and satoru grins. it’s sweet, just like back then, a smile so vibrant you wish you could tuck it into your sleeve and keep it there forever. he curls his fingers around yours, gentle, fondness bubbling up inside his eyes. for a second, you think you see the sun.

“come with me.”

at first, you truly aren’t sure where he’s going to take you. hand in hand, you begin to walk, feeling the midnight breeze nip at your skin. beyond the castle walls, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby town. satoru holds your hand and smiles, tousled tufts of white hair swaying with the wind, leading you to a place you know well. a place where the air tastes like freedom.

it’s the river you used to play by as children.

gleaming a solemn silver under the evanescent moon, framed by bushes of lilacs, blooming indigo and violet and pure white. butterflies flutter about, almost glittering, blue wings settling down on the leaves. the scent of nectar hangs heavy in the air. on top of the hill just above you, you think you can spot tiny little glowing dots; green and yellow, buzzing around. dancing merrily, now that there aren’t any troublemaker children left to trap them.

satoru lets go of your hand, to roll up his sleeves. the hems of his pants. then he’s taking a step forward, dangerously close to the edge of the river, and you can tell what he’s thinking.

“ah — wait —“ you stumble forward, to grab hold of his arm. a worried crease forms between your brows. “that's dangerous, satoru. you could slip and fall.”

he turns to face you, a teasing mirth in his eyes. smirking lightly. “oh? is that so?” he hums, a slight tilt of his head. then he’s stepping closer, so close you feel his warm breath on your skin, but you will yourself not to step back. “wanna know what i think?”

he leans forward, just a little further, warm air brushing against the shell of your ear. flushing beneath it. his voice comes out low, a sleepy lilt, dangerously raspy. hand ghosting over your waist.

”i think you’re too scared to get in.”

you blink.

”… really?” you deadpan, stepping back a tad. satoru looks pleased with himself.

“really,” he purrs. “you were always like that. could barely dip your toes in without shivering.” he reaches out to pinch your cheek, a coo on the tip of his tongue. ”scaredy-cat.”

you raise an unimpressed brow. satoru steps back, inching closer to the river, until a quiet splash tells you that he’s standing in the water. lapping up his bare legs, not enough to even reach his knees — it felt a lot scarier when you were smaller. he’s still holding your hand, very loosely, fingertips ghosting your own.

“c’mon,” he coaxes. soft, encouraging, a playful glimmer in his eyes. teeth catching the light of the moon. “or is it too much for my brave knight to handle?”

satoru laughs, when that makes you furrow your brows, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks. a warmth spreads through your chest at the term of endearment, and you bite your lip. melting a little.

his knight. his favourite knight.

“... fine,” you tangle your fingers in his own. sighing deeply, taking a tentative step forward. “just be careful, okay? i don't want to deal with your whining if you hit your head.”

“ah, but you’d kiss it better, no? if i asked?” he flashes you a honeyed grin, eyes rich with amusement. you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red of your ears.

a grumble buzzes in your throat, locked behind your pursed lips. something in your jaw goes tight.

the man in front of you softens. parting his glossy lips. he says your name; slowly, thoughtfully, as if savouring every syllable. dragging them out, speaking with a lilt that tells you he’s being sincere.

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

and it’s odd. how easy it is to get lost in him, the watercolour of his eyes, the brightness of his grin. how pliantly you let him whisk you away. before you know it, you’re playing in the water — because satoru splashed you, laughing at the shock on your face and the shiver of your spine, and you had no choice but to retaliate.

the sound of his laughter fills the air, sweet and bubbly. deep and giddy. strands of hair stick to his wet skin, droplets running down his neck, but his grin never falters. bright and toothy, boyish. he looks younger than you ever remember him being. like there’s no weight on his shoulders, none at all, only soaked fabric weighing him down. a flimsy, see-through blouse.

you think it’s ridiculous. two grown adults, splashing each other like children. but his melodic giggles are contagious, and before you know it, you’re laughing too — and satoru looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. through dewy eyelashes, with cerulean eyes that melt into the pale blue of the moon and the silver of the river. filled with wonder.

a particularly ruthless splash knocks him off balance, and he has the instinct to reach for your arm; stumbling, slipping, dragging you down with him. you land on his chest, cheek against his neck, his pulse against your skin. erratic, joyous. fluttering happily. his chest is heaving, lifting you up and down, a little, rhythmic and comforting.

a sudden yelp slips past your lips, as you get snapped back into reality, into the realization that you basically just pushed your own prince into a river and used his unfairly soft chest as a cushion. a mumbled string of apologies escapes you, as you attempt to get up, scrambling to find footing.

but satoru wraps his arms around you. tucking you under his chin, keeping you flush against his chest. nice and still.

and then he sighs. a blissful little breath, fatigue seeping out of him. into the air.

“stay like this, for a bit,” he rasps. ”it’s okay.”

his heartbeat resounds in your ear. warm and rapid, like claps of thunder, coaxing you into closing your eyes. satoru has always felt so very safe. the water of the river is cold, seeping through the fabric of your clothing and sticking to your skin, but…

(he’s warm.)

silence. and then, a whisper; frail, slipping past his lips, gently slicing the silence in half. softer than you've ever heard him speak.

“i missed this.”

…

nuzzling into his neck, you breathe him in. he smells like sandalwood and dried roses, buzzing with warmth, heavy arms around your waist. solid. when did he get so big? you used to be taller.

then again — that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

“… me too.”

“missed you,” he continues, his jaw on top of your head. it’s a sincere confession; childlike in its innocence. “missed hearing you laugh like that. feels like it’s been so long.”

you stay silent. unsure of what to say. satoru continues, and you let his husky voice carry you away, the tremor of his chest running through your entire body. soothing like a lullaby.

”we haven't had much time together, lately. i’ve been worried,” he admits, and something about it strikes you as rather sheepish. a little ashamed. ”it bothers me that i can't be there to watch over you. make sure you're treated with respect, you know.”

a sleepy chuckle. muffled into his shoulder, almost a scoff — slightly exasperated. little droplets cling to his skin, sticking to your lips.

”relax, your majesty,” you tease. ”i promise the other knights aren’t bullying me.”

satoru pouts. you can hear it, when he speaks. ”i’m serious,” he huffs, squeezing you lightly. ”and it’s not them i’m worried about. suguru’s there.”

another scoff threatens to escape your throat. you want to tell him the only knight that should be suspected of bullying you is suguru himself, but before you can even think to part your lips satoru’s beaten you to it.

”they all treat you so carelessly.” there’s something cold to his voice, an irritation tugging at his teeth. oddly seething. ”like you exist to serve them. like you’re disposable.”

a moment passes, heavy with a silence so thick you don’t dare break it. when he speaks again, it’s an order. a demand.

”i want you to tell me if they go too far.”

silence. again. you can do nothing but gnaw at the flesh of your bottom lip.

(he isn’t wrong. but that’s simply what it means to be a knight — half-human, half-weapon. an unattainable ideal, stuffed inside a suit of armor.

when a weapon breaks under the force of a slash, the only choice is to throw it away. that much you know.)

”it’s fine. i’m not that fragile,” you weakly protest, but it’s not enough. satoru huffs.

”you’re a human being,” he reminds you. strangely stern, for once. chastising. ”you deserve to be treated with respect. knight or not. fragile or not.”

a deep inhale. he breathes in, and the rise of his chest carries you with it. his voice buzzes with something, a slumbering kind of fury. one you haven’t heard in years.

“if anyone gives you trouble — if anyone hurts you… if anyone makes you feel unsafe,” he almost spits the words, like they’re venomous, sacrilegious. ”tell me. i’ll destroy them.”

silence. and then, a chuckle.

that’s all you can manage; that one meek little breath. resisting the urge to cower, at the love that clings to every word he speaks. angered affection. a promise, dangerously genuine, like a growing wildfire. ”i can take care of myself, satoru,” you remind him. hoping it’ll soothe him. ”you know that.”

but his grip around you only tightens. gentle, even still. as if you’re made of glass, a firefly cupped in his palms. he lets the silence linger, for a moment.

and then;

“i’d do it, you know.”

“… do what?” you ask, though some part of you already knows.

satoru’s reply is instantaneous. an arrow hitting its target, cold and concise, decisive. frighteningly honest. almost a growl, flattened, a hint of teeth behind his soft lips. ”destroy them. anyone.”

”i’d tear this nation apart if you asked me to.”

…

(ah. that look in his eyes — one you remember well. strung together with blurred memories, the sting of a palm on your cheek, a castle maid you never saw again.)

you search for the words. biting back a gulp, hesitant. “… i wouldn’t.”

“i know.” satoru yawns, breathing you in, voice shifting back into the softness you’re so used to. your shoulders relax. “but i would. if that’s what you wanted.”

and it’s a little scary, the depths of his devotion. but you’re almost certain you’d do the same for him. maybe you're both a little sick in the head, a little too eager to serve your hearts on a silver platter.

“it bothers me, you know.” satoru breaks you out of your thoughts. gentle, a soft lull of his tongue. ”when you get hurt. when you fight for me.”

“i know,” you murmur. you’ve seen it in his eyes, a worry he’s not as good at hiding as he thinks. ”i want to, though.”

“and i want you to be safe.” a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, just a little bit rueful. “you never listen, do you? so stubborn, i swear. always worrying me.”

you bite down on your lip. he sounds… a little sad.

“… sorry.”

a moment’s pause. then he shakes his head; cradling you close. “it’s fine. i’m here. always,” his palm runs down the small of your back. ”in case anything happens.”

he inhales. ”and when i become king —” a beat. he swallows thickly. ”you’ll never have to worry again. no one will be able to touch you.”

”satoru,” you crack a small smile. amused. raising a single eyebrow. ”i’m not worried. i can protect myself.”

”i know. but i’m saying you don’t have to.”

and then he’s pulling back. just a little bit, just enough to see you. cheek smushed against his chest, comfortable and soft, more unguarded than he’s seen you these past few months. it’s enough to get his heart racing. enough to have him reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your hand, tangling your fingers together. bringing it to his glossy lips. a chaste kiss, brimming with unspoken murmurs of love.

”— i’ll protect you forever,” he vows. ”remember?”

there’s devotion in his eyes. heavy, a vow he’ll never quite be able to voice in full. something that makes the blue of his eyes glow even brighter, cerulean, aquamarine, a blue so jarring it makes your heart beat faster than it should.

you blink. starstruck, caught in a daze, lost within that sea of blue. distracted by his warm breath on your cold skin, the soft whisper voiced against your knuckle. something shy blossoms in your chest, enough to have you averting your gaze.

“... you really don’t care about the dynamic here, do you?” is all you can reply. a meek scoff, a weak attempt at hiding how flustered you are. “i’m the knight. i’m your protector.”

“oh, i know.” a smile sticks to his lips, playful, the back of his hand caressing your cheek. a coo on his tongue. “my little hero. what would i ever do without you?”

a roll of your eyes. satoru chuckles. in the distance, you hear crickets chirping, a breeze rustling the lilac bushes all around you. he’s still cradling your cheek, smoothing over your wet skin, brushing a drop of water away with his thumb. clinging to your bottom eyelash.

“i don't get it, though.”

you blink. when you meet his eyes, satoru looks a little perplexed. muttering under his breath, absently rubbing circles over your cheekbone. you resist the urge to close your eyes again, biting back a blissful sigh.

”a prince shouldn’t care for his knight…” he repeats, like he’s heard the string of words a million times before. ”the idea of that. i don’t understand it. never have.”

the smile that blossoms on his lips is soft, indescribably so, as if he’s looking at the most precious thing in his life. rich and warm, like wine in your veins, nectar on your tongue, a chest pressed against your own. dripping with fondness.

satoru tilts his head, as if in confusion — but he’s smiling. “what’s so strange about wanting to protect the one dearest to my heart?”

…

his hand slips from your skin, a warmth leaving your cheek. only to search for your hand, again, cradling it in his larger palm. placing it right over his chest, against the soaked material of his blouse. ”feel that?”

you do. a rhythmic rise and fall, a soft flutter from the depths of his ribcage. as if it’s itching to break out, out of the cage that binds it, the hardened shell around it. a heart too big for his body.

”it’s you,” satoru whispers. ”all for you.”

a moment passes.

silently, you lean forward; tucking yourself into his neck. into that comforting warmth, wet skin beginning to dry, the steady thrum of his heart right by your ear. you listen. not saying a word, afraid of what might leave the confines of your strangled throat. it feels as if your heart has begun to crawl upwards, sweet honey blocking your airways, and all you can do it feel it pulse.

all while satoru gazes at you, fondly. placing a big palm on the back of your head.

fireflies dance in the distance. butterflies flutter about. strings of lilacs bloom under the glow of the moon. and satoru’s heartbeat never changes, never falls out of tune, a sound you would recognize even if the sky were to shatter, if the world were to end. the sound that saved you, the boy who dragged you out of hell. into his light.

satoru gojo is everything. he’s the beat of your heart, the silver of your sword, the reason you believe in goodness. he’s your prince, your favorite person, and you’ll protect him until your very last breath. until the world runs out of oxygen.

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

(a boy so sweet he wouldn’t want you to.)

a shiver runs down his spine — sudden, a shudder of his bones, and a quiet little sniffle. you feel it, hear it, and don’t attempt to bite back the fond smile that slips into the curve of your lips.

”c’mon,” you beckon, almost a coo, placing your palms on his chest to hoist yourself up. ”let’s go home.”

but satoru shakes his head. and then he traps you again, strong arms around your waist, pressing you against him. you could escape — you’re almost certain you’re stronger — but you don’t quite have the heart to. ”it’s fine,” he huffs. almost a whine. ”stay.”

”you’ll get sick.”

”i never get sick.”

a deep exhale. tumbling from your lips, just a little bit humorous. mostly exasperated. ”that can change,” you mumble, fingertips dancing along his exposed skin. absentmindedly.

a smile. one you can’t see, but you hear it clear as day. he sounds content, like he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. ”some things never change,” he informs you. pleased. ”just look at us.”

and he’s right. so you don’t say anything else.

but your heartbeat quickens, only for a beat or two, and you’re almost certain he feels it. if he does, he opts not to tease you for once, and you’re grateful. and so the silence lingers. as if time has begun to freeze, into an eternal dusk, a string of silent seconds. broken only by low melodic chirping from faraway fields, his soft breaths in your ear.

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

“hey,” he hums, shifting a little, the river swaying around you. pulling back to meet your gaze, eyes crinkled and voice raspy. “wanna know a secret?”

you raise your head. a dubious look on your face, one that has him breathing out an amused puff of air, like you’re getting ready to hear a bad joke. “... what is it?”

before the words have fully left your throat, he’s resting his forehead against yours — breath fanning over your lips. a pleasant shiver trails down your spine, at the close proximity, goosebumps spreading across your chilled skin. only exacerbated by the whisper that follows, so quiet you almost don’t know if you heard him correctly. childlike in its sincerity. a sunlaced smile woven in between the vowels.

“i think i was born to meet you.”

(a sentiment so sweet you barely even feel the warmth of his lips meeting yours.)

#u both catch a cold the next day <33 #anyway i am normal about the devotion of a loyal knight paired w the devotion of a man who’s only ever loved one single person in his life #shoutout to knight x royalty dynamics for inventing romance #i wanted to get a good balance on prince!gojo’s twisted side and soft side so i hope i did ok!! :’3 #hes a kind man at heart he rly is but i think being born at the peak of the class pyramid does smth to a person lmao #i didn't touch on it in the fic but he would have turned out a lotttt more twisted if he hadnt met reader as a child …#what if i was ur knight..;;; and u were my prince….;;;;; and we changed the trajectory of each other’s lives 😳😳 👉👈#mickey if u see this!!! tysm for letting me write abt this concept i had so much fun!!! this fic is for u <33 #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen

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dcxdpdabbles · 6 months ago

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I’ve been rereading you Royal Consort au and haven’t stopped thinking about it. I just know social media during that entire au was fucking insane

Dash Baxter opened his phone one school morning in his senior year after oversleeping for an hour—he may have worked out a little too hard, or he really did have a cold, like his mother claims—and was overwhelmed with messages from his friends.

They all say the same thing.

Have you seen this!?

Is it true?!

I can't believe this is happening!

Will we go to jail? I can't go to jail!

He scrolls through them with heavy confusion until, eventually, he clicks on the link Kwan sent him since the mention of jail seemed like a higher level of importance than whatever new gossip was going about.

Someone was likely pregnant. That was always what Pauline gossip the most about.

His best friend tended to catastrophize, so he figured it was better to help him calm down first.

The link takes him to a news clip showing a crowd of people surrounding a very familiar house. It wasn't the first time the Fentons had been on the news, but they were usually covered by local stations, and it was generally due to the damage the inventors had caused.

Dash knew they were only talked about when things were slow and a fluff story needed to be thrown in. Oh, back in freshman year, when ghosts first appeared, the Fentons were much more important, but now ghosts are a part of everyday life, and sometimes Dash forgot other cities didn't have the same issue.

Nothing the Fentons did was noteworthy, especially to have the Lois Lane covering their story. Yet, here in the palm of his hands, on the morning of a regular school day, he watched as Lois Lane did just that.

"Reporting live from Amity Park outside the residence of the Royal Consort to the Infinite Realms, I'm Lois Lane. Only a few minutes ago, the Justice League members- Batman, Wonder Woman, and Superman- had entered the building hoping to speak to the Consort on a diplomatic mission. The tension between humans and the Realms has been at an all-time high since the Anti-Ecto Acts were passed. Although they were overturned in the last United Nations session, there has still been no comment from King Phantom and no guarantee that a war is not on the horizon." The woman says, holding her mic close to her face while the cameraman pans over the crowd of people outside of Fenton Works.

Dash feels like someone dumped iced water on him and then slapped him with a rubber fish. He is scared, confused, and a little offended. Still, the video continues as Ms. Lane explains the Realms, the political backlash the USA put the rest of the world in, and a brief overview of the humans' chances of winning if a war did break out (not high).

She then admits that their team had gotten a tip, claiming that the Consort has been married to King Phantom for the last three years, and despite not publicly announcing his title, he had all the power of his status.

He.

There were only two "he"s in the Fenton household and Dash knew for a fact Mr. Fenton would never cheat on his wife. Which left only one.

Oh gods.

As Ms.Lane speaks, the door to the house opens behind her, and the three high heroes of Earth outstep.

Along with Danny Fenton, who is squished between Wonder Woman and Superman with a flabbergasted expression, the crowd goes wild as Ms. Lane loudly shouts, "The Royal Consort, Daniel Fenton, husband to King Phantom, is being escorted by some of the most important members of the Justice League to a secondary location for peace negotiations. There is hope for humanity yet."

The clip ends with a close-up of Fenton's wide-eyed stare, which shows him looking terrified—the same expression he used whenever Dash cornered him to vent some of his frustrations.

Dash is left sitting in utter silence and rapidly growing horror. He had been mocking a royal, physically harming a royal, and, worst of all, he had been attacking Danny Phantom's husband, the same being who had been his personal hero for the last three years.

"I'm going to jail." He whispers "I'm so going to jail. Or I'm going to be executed. That happens to people who almost start wars right? Oh, gods."

The rest of the A-listers are panicking all over the city but not nearly as Dash Baxter, who was wondering how much time Fenton would give him for a head start.

It didn't help that Wes messaged Everyone on the basketball team with a gif of a dancing cat wearing sunglasses and the words "I TOLD YOU" in bright, bold colors.

He had repeatedly told them to leave Fenton alone. If they didn't, Phantom would retaliate, but no one had taken his word for it since the boy had originally claimed Phantom and Fenton were the same person.

Dash put his phone down and stared at the wall of his room. He liked that wall. It was covered in posters, pictures of his friends, memories of his best games, and now, with the floating shelves, his teddy bear collections.

He would likely never see it again.

"Oh gods"

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #The royal consort #Part 1.5 #This takes place between part 1 and part 2 #Dash is having a crisis #He overslept and missed the news break #Wes is just doing the dancing cat meme because HE WAS RIGHT #Dash pov of the situation

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pucksandpower · 2 years ago

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Daniel Ricciardo x Queen of Genovia!Reader - Social Media AU

voguemagazine posted a story

danielricciardo

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danielricciardo life update

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f1wagupdates he really just said “life update” as if this isn’t the most chaotic thing to happen since abu dhabi in 2021

maxverstappen1 finally! i was constantly worried that lando would accidentally say something while streaming

landonorris that was uncalled for

maxverstappen1 mate, you literally leaked your own launch date once

metgalaofficial why do we feel like proud parents?

genovianroyalfamily

Liked by danielricciardo, genovianroyalupdates, and 1,853,746 others

genovianroyalfamily Thank you for all the birthday wishes! To mark the occasion, Her Majesty Queen Y/N has shared a collection of photos taken by Mr. Daniel Ricciardo at the royal residence

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lightsoutric daniel3.jpg 🤝 genovianroyalfamily

dr3lvr the fact that daniel took these photos and they’re the ones queen y/n chose to post for the world to see is making me emotional

f1wagupdates she really is the most gorgeous woman on earth 😍

genovianroyalupdates and the kindest and an amazing leader ❤️

danielricciardo posted a story

genovianroyalfamily

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genovianroyalfamily Her Majesty Queen Y/N would like to wish her partner, Mr. Daniel Ricciardo, a very happy birthday. In honor of the celebration, Queen Y/N has released a series of photos taken by her during the couple’s visit to Australia earlier this year

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ricciardoupdates we are getting fed 🙏

f1wagupdates imagine daniel passing on his love for photography to queen y/n

f1wagupdates wait this means they probably visited his family in australia together 🥹

queeny/nfan their relationship is so pure

f1 happy birthday, danny ric 🦡

genovianroyalfamily

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genovianroyalfamily Her Majesty Queen Y/N and His Royal Highness Prince Daniel, Duke of Pyrus are overwhelmed by the love shown for their marriage. They are so incredibly grateful for the warm wishes and support they have received from everyone around the world throughout their relationship and during their wedding. Each of you made this joyful day even more meaningful

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metgalaofficial just call us the royal matchmaker

royalfashion the tiara, the veil, the dress … absolutely magnificent

formulastyle do you know why daniel is wearing an uniform?

royalfashion as prince consort, he has an honorary standing in the genovian military

dreamdriver i just realized that daniel is one of the hosts of the genovian grand prix now and he’s definitely going to be at the race as a full on prince which means that zak brown will have to bow to him 😈

ricciardoupdates karma is wonderful thing

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randomdragonfires · 5 months ago

Text

Kalopsia | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

Kalopsia (n.) The delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are.

SUMMARY | She associates the words with brighter days and happier memories that she’ll never get back. And yet, when he utters them into her ear, they've never sounded more tainted and wrong - but she'll tell herself they aren’t, until the lies become truth.

PAIRING | Daemon Targaryen x Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; smut; DD:DNE; penetrative sex; dubious consent; exhibitionism; forced prostitution; canon typical sexism; infidelity; angst; ambiguous and unclear motives for sex - both Daemon and reader are fucked up people in this story, and there is much about their mental conflict that may be quick to trigger someone. Please read with caution.

WORD COUNT | 8.8k

A/N | This is a dark fic with heavily triggering themes. Please don't hate anon me. Thanks. :)

SHE REMEMBERED THE DAY SHE MET HIM.

It was a hot summer’s day when the sun had burnt her through her dress, leaving her sweating and reaching for a drink of water every few moments. He was a vision - flying through the skies of Pentos on the Blood Wyrm, with his beautiful wife, the lady Laena Velaryon right behind him as she rode the historic wonder, Vhagar. They were a wandering couple, and talk about them had been rife in the Free Cities - dragon sightings were feared, what with the Rogue Prince’s reckless nature making people assume that he’d bathe them in dragonfire for his personal amusement.

She remembered seeing them fly out of Pentos the first time, to tour the other Free Cities. This was almost a year ago. By the time they’d come back to reside with the Prince of Pentos, the lady Laena had suspected that she was with child. Based on what she saw of the royal couple, Prince Daemon, in his own way, was appreciative of his wife.

But being appreciative of his wife certainly did not mean that Daemon Targaryen was in any way blind to everything else around him. It was this fact that had led his eyes to her.

A striking purple, and they had met her melancholic, unmemorable ones from where he stood as the Prince of Pentos barked orders and asked her to see to Lady Velaryon’s every need. His gaze held a very peculiar combination of condescension and amusement for those around him, and she was pulled to him, in the same way that fishes were to the sea. Her world seemed to melt as she looked at him in all his Valyrian beauty - it stunned her.

He took one leisurely glance at her - beginning his perusal of her, neck to navel. His eyes rested for a moment longer between her legs, and she’d never forget the way her thighs quickly met under her skirts in a desperate attempt to keep herself contained.

It had been a long while since she felt anything but the fleeting sense of sadness that had taken over every part of her since she had lost it all and ended up in this city. And now, as Daemon Targaryen lingered - nay, took over her line of sight, she felt something more, more, more.

She did not know what to think about the slow storm brewing in her mind, so she chose to disregard it for a time. This was royalty, and this entire matter was well and truly beyond her weight. She should not bother with the likes of those who were higher and mightier - those that would never choose her and harm her with no regard.

But the intense wildfire-like heat that passed through her body was hard to ignore, especially given the potent lack of it in the last many years. It scared and excited her in equal measure, and regardless of the possibility of danger, she could not help but be drawn to him. She felt like an ungrateful, wanton whore for lusting after another woman’s husband - a very good woman, she would soon find - but how could she reject the man who had woken her passions once more, after she thought they were long lost to her? All with just a single look, no less?

It was often said that the Targaryens were closer to Gods than men. With their dragons, intoxicating eyes and intense gazes, she was inclined to agree.

It was why she brought him his bathwater and helped him with his bath every morning after his dragon ride; why she scrubbed at his scarred skin with the washcloth even though he was in no need of assistance. She cleaned his chambers, and continued to do so even after he’d stepped in and burned her with his stare. Of course it burned, he was the blood of the dragon after all.

She found herself bringing his heated bathwater despite the flight of stairs that she had to brave while carrying the weight. She helped him in and out of his clothes everyday, listening to his commands like a mindless soldier who only did what she was told. She always looked for him, even in a chamber of more than a hundred people - her young girl’s gaze, flitting about - trying to find his spun-silver hair.

Whenever she caught his gaze, he was already looking.

She supposed she'd never get tired of the heat pooling in her belly whenever she was in his presence - or how her hands found their way inside her already dampened smallclothes whenever she pictured him with shut eyes at night time.

Perhaps that’s why she felt like it was a long time coming when he creeped up behind her, hand holding her in place as it snaked around her waist. His palm flattened against her stomach and the other held her neck, squeezing just enough to make the heat rush to her cheek and between her legs. He brought his nose down to the side of her neck, laughing darkly as they breathed each other in, and she let a small whimper escape her lips.

“What took you,” she breathed out before adding, “…so long?” He responded to her meek attempt at a question with a sharp bite to her neck and a growl, effectively silencing her voice and awakening the fire in her once more.

“Don’t be too loud, you’re going to wake my wife,” he whispered before turning her around to meet her eyes.

Those words should have woken her up and brought her to reality. She should have awoken from her wistfulness and tossed her fantasies where they’d bother her no more. This was a married man, a married prince.

This was wrong, wrong, wrong.

But the blood rushing through her veins, the excitement of being coveted and central to a man’s gaze - it excited her in ways that she had never been before. The allure of him was hard to ignore, and by the looks of how eagerly his hands were slipping under her haphazardly hiked up skirts, he felt the same way too.

She’d missed this feeling - this feeling of being alive and full of life. The prospect of excitement and a renewed zest for life, after all she had been through, had only pushed her towards him a lot more.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

She was blind to the dangers of the man, and she'd never been happier to remain ignorant. She did not want to want him, and she hated that she did. She did not say yes to his command, or emphatically agree. She simply took his lips in hers and sunk her fingers into his hair, reveling in the feel of his rough hands holding her backside in a tight grip.

She may not love him, and she did not like him. But she wanted this, she needed this. She needed to feel something, anything at all. She supposed that there’s something that he wants too - though she does not know what.

She soon found that there was very little in their burgeoning arrangement that would favor her fantasies, and that Daemon Targaryen simply did not care - for anyone.

“WILL YOU BE NEEDING ANYTHING ELSE, MY LADY?”

Laena Velaryon is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women she’s ever laid her eyes on. She is also one of kindest souls she’s ever had the courtesy of encountering - which is why her guilt eats at her tenfold whenever Daemon seeks out her company.

She wants to say no. She wants to say no each time.

Initially, it was an infatuation that was within her control - but the day she had indulged and let her body overshadow her mind, it had become a bit much. Initially, he had sensed her hesitation despite her being welcoming. He’d plied at her with sweet words, each syrupy sweet and meant to break through her doubt.

She melts each time, her weak will giving in like water slipping through her fingers.

Conflict is a funny thing. Each time his hands pin her wrists above her head as he takes her for all that she is, or when he’d let a finger slip through her smallclothes and glide through her folds, she wants to say no. She wants to be the good girl that her mother believed she was, but the pleasure was too much. The high that he takes her on each time is too much to ignore, too good to pass up on.

She wants to say no. The words wait at her throat, but refuse to tumble out of her lips.

It is wrong, but she wants to feel pleasure. She wants to be reminded that she is a woman worthy of pleasure, and she feels good- no matter how guilt-ridden - each time his cock sinks into her. No other man has wanted and loved her like this before, and despite the horridness of it all, she finds that she cannot say no - no matter how hard she tries.

However, she doesn't know what he wants. Daemon Targaryen wears his intrigue as well as he does his arrogance and condescension. She never knows what he wants - but she also worries that she may not like what she finds.

She will find out soon.

“That will be all, my sweet,” Laena says. The exhausted smile she wears as she cradles her hugely pregnant belly makes her want to throw herself at her feet and cry for mercy - but she is too in deep. How could she tell Daemon she didn’t want to share his bed anymore? How could she, when his power and famed temper may just harm her?

I’m sorry your husband fucks me each night. I’m sorry I like it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

What right does she have, after allowing it all these times? What right does she have, after enjoying it each time? She doesn't love him, but in those moments, she loves what she feels. The regret that follows is gut-wrenching, but she chooses to indulge each time. It was a blind and burning desire, and it is this very same wave of emotion that compels her to follow his instructions, blind and eager to please.

A servant walks into the room and looks towards the window, eyes flitting about and nervous. “The Prince Daemon has asked to see you, lady.” Her tone is apologetic, and when Laena Velaryon stands, she feels herself crumble to a thousand pieces. When she is half-stood, the Valyrian beauty realizes it is not her that her husband wants to see tonight.

“Go. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she murmurs. A heavy sigh escapes her lips as she sits back down, the weight of the impending babe taking a toll on her.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

She is ashamed of the peculiar heat pooling in her belly as she walks out, unable to meet Lady Laena’s eyes. The walk to Daemon’s chambers has her head facing the floor as some of the other servants eye her and whisper the words.

Homewrecker. Whore. Concubine.

She wonders about how she could still want him after all the irreparable damage that she’s taken in her mind. She wonders when her lack of spine would dissipate, and when she’d be able to reject him outwardly and speak her mind. She wonders when she’d be able to make up her mind and stand by her decision.

She hates that she enjoys it, she hates that she’s at the center of it all. But he brings her to her peak effortlessly and with such intensity that she forgets for a moment, for just a moment, how wrong all of this is.

She pushes the door open and gulps at the sight of a half naked Daemon Targaryen sitting at the edge of his bed, hands pumping his cock with no urgency. The languid movements and his haphazard state of undress - his linen undershirt doing little to hide the lithe muscles underneath - make her head spin. He is yet to touch her.

She watches, his presence magnetic as he pulls her attention easier than he should. His gaze then finds hers as she stands frozen near the door, his breath a mangled mix of moans and groans as his hand refuses to relent. He looks at her as he continues his movements on his cock, and her thighs slap together while she folds her hands just below her breasts, pushing them up above the neckline of her dress.

A drop of sweat trickles down the side of her face as she makes her way to him, each step feeling labored and long as she positions herself between his legs. Her view of his cock is undisturbed and clear, and she hates that it is the most beautiful one that she’s ever seen. Slightly leaning to the left, the girth of it impresses her each time he pushes into her, making her feel fuller than ever before.

She continues to watch his hands move, movements as slow as ever. Her eyes are fixated upon the light silver hair that marked a path below his abdomen, and the veins that marked their way through his erect cock. The glistening white pearly drops of seed on the tip called to her, and her mouth began to water.

“Take it” - he grunts through his pleasure - “off.”

She’s been in this position long enough to know what it means.It is one thing to lust after a man from afar, and another to be fucked by him. It is neither safe, nor ideal for her to be using her mouth on a Westerosi Prince whose wife was only one door away. And yet, they’ve been giving each other company for almost a year.

She works through the laces on her front one by one, her focus on his almost black, dilated pupils. He wants her, and she wants him. It is seemingly simple, and yet it is the most complicated entanglement she has ever known.

He’s never been the most patient man to grace these halls, and it is evident as he stops the hand on his cock and stands up. He reaches for the dagger on a tray of fruit by the table, and swiftly cuts through the loops in a series of flicks. Each time the dagger cut through, the stray threads flew about and he dusted them off with the same disregard and impatience.

“You’re going to take my cock in your mouth like the good girl that you are,” he growls. Candlelight illuminates his face as his dagger makes its way through the fabric, revealing her soft skin and exposing her breasts to him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

And yet, as the cool metal of his dagger grazes over her nipple ever so slightly, the fire in her burns bright. Her fear dictates that she say no and run before it can spiral into something beyond her control, but the faint waves of pleasure that cause the dampness between her thighs keeps her there - almost as though her legs are stuck in quicksand.

The dress pools at her feet and she steps out of it, his hurried hands removing her shift. And when they stand, facing each other - and she wishes this was something else.

She wishes this was a simple and innocent love affair. She wishes that this was a man she could love, one that would love her just the way she would. She wishes that there was more comfort to be gained from this than the highs of the pleasure in itself - It will never be enough for her.

She reaches forward and kisses him flush on the lips, devouring his as she slips her tongue in. He bites into her lip and she tastes the copper of the blood bubbling through; he grabs her by the hair and pulls her up to meet his eye. “I said -”

“Please. Please, just… Please. Let me have this.”

He leans back and assesses her for just a moment before swooping in and taking her lips in his, no questions asked. And when he kisses her so, she can try to convince her little girl’s heart that this - what they have - is a lot more beautiful than it is meant to be.

The kiss makes her think that this is what the heavens would feel like, should she ever manage to meet the caress of a lover who’d love like she could, like she wants. A gentle and calm hand, a kind disposition that would care. But it does not last long. He is quick to wrangle her mouth away and join her forehead to his, breathing in the scent of her as she closes her eyes and wonders how this could ever be what she wants, wrestling with the contrasting realization that she has not been loved like this, not ever.

But is this love, really? This cannot possibly be love. No. She’s known love before. It is simple, easy and comforting. Nothing about this is.

She wants it just the same.

It is this thought that occupies her mind as she gets down on her knees. The stone cold floor and the ridges grate at her knees almost immediately, moving slightly as she bobs her head back and forth. She slowly but surely adjusts to his length, choking a little and allowing the spit to pool in her mouth, dripping down to her chin by the side of her lips. If she didn’t know better, she’d have mistaken him gently wiping it off with the tip of his thumb as affection.

She grabs his thigh with one hand and massages his stones with the other, her head continuing to bob back and forth relentlessly. His hands grasp at her hair, keeping the stray strands at bay as she reminds herself to breathe through her nose. She moves almost mechanically, forgetting him and his towering figure as she wonders. What do I look like to him? On my knees and eyes pooling with tears?

It is a common saying among the common folk - A King’s child will be royalty, and a whore’s child will be a whore. She is the daughter of a whore, and she hates that the words may hold true for her too.

Mama wanted for me to be more. Dignified and happy. She should not have died and left me alone.

She remembers a time when her mother had brought a friend of hers from the whorehouse back home. Her mother was a favorite amongst the nobility, and she’d entertained both the then-Prince Viserys and Daemon.

She’d become with child soon after, and had her. The idea of either man possibly being her father is sickening to her, given the position she now finds herself in. Of course, it will not matter much to them, with their Valyrian blood and queer customs - but it makes her want to cry her eyes out and worry about the kind of sickness she must inhibit to want Daemon Targaryen as much as she does despite the knowledge, despite the wrongness of it all. Her only consolation is that she has no Valyrian features. There is no way of knowing for sure, and she chooses not to entertain these thoughts while being aided by this realization.

“Good girl. Go on,” he moans. His voice immediately brings her out of her reverie, and the words are enough to send her conflicted conscience spinning on its head.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

Her mother called her a good girl many times before she died. The connotations of the word when they tumble out of Daemon’s lips make her want to retch. He probably believes that the tears are because of her choking on him, but she knows.

Those words meant much and more to her once upon a time, but not anymore. The loss hurts her more than it should. A lost childhood, a happiness that slipped through her fingers through no fault of her own. A much happier and carefree time that is now out of her grasp.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Daemon pulls her up - a thread of spit flowing out of her lips as she adjusts to an empty mouth - and pushes her, caging her between him and the cold stone wall.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

WHENEVER SHE THOUGHT OF THE TIMES that she got called a good girl, her mother was always the first to come to mind.

The city of King's Landing - she’d spent almost her entire life there before running onto the ship to Pentos - sprawled around them like a tapestry woven from the threads of countless lives. Towering structures of stone reached for the heavens, casting long shadows that danced across cobblestone streets worn smooth by time. The bustling crowd, a mosaic of colors and voices, flowed like a river through the labyrinthine alleys. The scent of roasted meats, exotic spices, and the ever-present stench of refuse mingled in the air, creating a symphony of odors that was, somehow, comforting in its familiarity.

Her mother worked at a whorehouse nestled amidst the chaotic and filthy heart of the Street of Silk. It was a place where laughter and merriment battled with sorrow and desperation, where secrets and pleasures were shared over wine, closed curtains and weak beds. As a child, she was vaguely aware of the nature of her mother's work, but she didn't fully grasp its complexities. What she did understand was that her mother often came home weary, her shoulders burdened by the weight of the world - or by bite marks and blooming violet bruises.

"Why would anybody bite you there, Mama?" she had asked once. Her mother had only chuckled, but she did not look happy. It always worried her. The bites always looked red, angry and painful.

It was the same bite mark and a line of violet bruises on her mother’s shoulder that she focused on today as she overheard her speak to her friend - another whore who worked at the same whorehouse. She watched as her mother exchanged quiet words with her friend, their voices a hushed whisper as they discussed their day.

“He does something magical with his mouth, Brenna. You would not believe it!” Her mother’s friend looked very happy as she giggled and recounted a story that she caught pieces and fragments of. The mother herself did not look happy, however - the little girl knew when her mother wasn’t happy. Don’t ask how, she simply did.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The evening sun painted the walls with warm hues, and as the other woman departed, her mother sank onto the edge of the bed. a far-off look in her eyes and a heavy sigh on her lips.

Without a word, she fetched a basin of water, warm and soothing, and knelt by her mother’s side. Gently, the child removed her boots and began to massage her mother’s tired feet, her small, untrained hands working diligently to ease the discomfort to the best of her ability. The older woman closed her eyes, and a soft smile graced her lips as the tension in her muscles began to melt away.

In that moment, she saw her mother as more than just a tired whore; she saw her as a woman who carried the weight of their little world on her shoulders. The love she felt for her was immense, and it swelled within the child like a river after a storm. But the bite marks and the bruises still looked painful, and they still scared her.

And so, the child’s curiosity got the better of her, and she let the question slip from her innocent lips. "Will I have to work there too when I'm grown up? At the whorehouse?"

Her mother’s eyes flickered open, and a shadow of sadness crossed her face, barely noticeable but unmistakably obvious to her daughter’s young heart. She took a deep breath and then, with a gentle smile, replied, “Perhaps you won’t have to. Maybe you'll find a husband who'll love you more than anyone has ever loved me."

"But I love you a lot, Mama," the young girl said, her voice filled with innocence and devotion.

With a tender sigh, her mother pulled her close, wrapping her arms around her as if to shield her from the harsh world beyond that she was yet to see.

If only.

"And I love you, my sweet child," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You are such a good girl. You’re my little girl."

In that moment, the girl felt a profound sense of pride in being her mother’s daughter, in the simple act of bringing comfort to her tired soul. The city of King's Landing may have been a tumultuous sea of chaos, but in that room, with her mother's arms around her, she found her anchor, her safe harbor, and a love that she hoped would guide her through any storm.

HER BACK PRESSING INTO THE STONE WALL MAKES HER SHUDDER.

The cold sensation grating against her skin and the eerie chill of the night air make her weak in the knees. Daemon Targaryen’s cock moves against her cunt like it belongs there and nowhere else - the irony of that thought while his wife waits for him in her chambers close by is not lost on her, but she cannot deny how strongly she feels that the man is made for her.

Even if he truly was not.

His lips are immediately on hers, and she devours them for all that they are worth. She enjoys being kissed - it helps her feel wanted by him.

Even if she knew he did not.

Her hands move to the hem of Daemon’s linen undershirt, pushing it up, up, up until it is carelessly thrown halfway across the chamber. She only has one moment to get a look at his naked figure before he pushes against her and cages her between his towering figure and the wall once more. The feeling of heat passing through the pair of them and the smell of sweat and sex is intoxicating to her in a way that she struggles to put into words. Her cunt is wet with arousal as she whimpers into the kiss, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth.

Time stops when they kiss. She supposes it is a beautiful thing, no matter how wrong it was.

Do things have to be right for them to be beautiful anyhow?

Her breasts are flush against his chest as he takes a hold of them, pinching her nipples until they hurt and she gasps into his mouth. He does not stop, however - her pain only seems to spurn him more, and she is ashamed to find that she is aroused as well. One of her hands travels above his neck and she tightly grips onto the root of his hair, pulling until he is in just as much pain and pleasure as she is. The other moves over the scarred planes of his back, almost as though she was mapping out a route to paradise.

The feeling of his cock pushing against her wet cunt sends waves of pleasure coursing through her, the blood rushing to her head and making her feel hazy. She lets the touches take her to the Seven hells - both the man and the circumstances making that their only possible destination.

She wonders if Laena Velaryon wishes for that too.

His cock pushes into her, stretching her walls so wide that she fears he may just split her into two. She needs a moment to adjust and he is generous enough to let her have it as his lips descend onto her neck, leaving her staring blankly at the bed as she breathes heavily. She cranes her neck just a little as she lets his cock settle in her.

And then, he moves.

She often believes that she lives with an aching sense of yearning and pushes through each day finding something to leave her feeling fulfilled. It is an empty feeling really, and the only time she ever feels like she is not a living shell of a woman is when he takes her. The feeling of being filled by him is one that always takes her by surprise - but unlike the other times that she's been taken unawares, this is something she welcomes.

“Yne drējī sȳrī jiōrā, talus. Sepār otāptan, sepār ñuhys ēdruryssy iemnȳ.” [You take me so well, niece. Just as I believed you would, just as I imagined.]

He always says these words whenever he enters her, and she never manages to retain them long enough to ask what they mean - the high of her peak always leaves her mind feeling like melted gold, taking away any chance for coherent conversation.

Is he referring to someone? Is he appreciating her? Is he saying that he loves her? Somehow, she knows it is not the latter. She won’t have to try and remember to ask tonight - she would find out soon what it is he has gotten out of this all these days.

Every thrust is punctuated by grunts and moans, with both of them hungry for more. She meets every single one of his harsh thrusts as one of her hands slips in between them both, circling and pressing onto her pearl like her entire life was dependent on the pleasure that came from it.

It made sense. The pleasure he gives her each time is what keeps her alive.

Each brush of his flush pink tip against a rough spot inside her cunt makes her eyes roll back in pleasure. He hits it with each thrust as he pounds into her, face always wearing a mask of pursuit - but of what?

What does he want from her?

Her hand on her pearl and his cock in her is swiftly building a pool of heat in her belly - no, not the blazing kind, but a warm kind. It builds, builds, builds and she flies, flies, flies until she can’t go any higher, and she lets herself go limp in his arms as her peak takes over her entire being.

“That’s it….” He grunts, pushing into her while punctuating each thrust with his words as he relentlessly pushes into her. “Good girl. Dāeremās, sȳres riñus iksā.” [Let go, you’re a good girl.]

She sees red as the pleasure washes over her, vision becoming hazy and rendering her incoherent for many a moment before she manages to bring herself back down to earth. And as the sights around her become clear again, she clings onto him and breathes while looking over his shoulder.

The world looks newer and brighter each time she comes down from the highs that he causes. And in this moment, his last words hit her like the stone wall that she stands in front of.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

How can a pair of words remind her of what she was then and is now, all at the same time? How can these words hold so much power that they’d coax her into paradise and leave her there, lost and wanting for more, more, more?

She leans back and holds herself straight, looking into his eyes for only a short moment as she gathers herself. It is a deep sea of bright violet and she drowns, drowns, drowns.

She's been drowning in him and trying to catch her breath for a long while now. She's not sure if she wants to be saved - she wants a hand, and pushes it off too.

What does that mean for her?

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

The memory forms in her mind as Daemon Targaryen moves them both and turns her around to make her see out the window - fully naked. She braces herself with two palms holding onto either sides of the window as he pulls her backside to him and spreads her wide, leaving her glistening and sensitive cunt open for him to take once more. His hand moves almost softly over her rear as he enters her once more, this time purely to chase his own release.

“Good girl.”

KING’S LANDING WAS BUSTLING WITH TRAVELERS THIS TIME OF THE YEAR, and she was now fourteen summers old.

She had blossomed into womanhood, her youth adorned with beauty and a vague innocence - yet tarnished by the harsh realities of her life. She toiled at a tavern, where raucous patrons screamed sweet syrupy words at her, attempting to lure her away with their promises.

“I’ll show you a good time, lass! C’mere!” The man at the table said, patting his thighs and indicating that he’d like for her to sit on his lap.

She had witnessed her own mother endure such advances, and now, as a grown woman, she was the object of many a man’s desire. She was both confused and intrigued, for the attention made feel disgusted yet wanted at the same time.

On one seemingly uneventful day, she counted her earnings - four copper pennies - and began to try and do the addition to determine how much more she would need to settle her mother's debt with the ominous madame of the whorehouse that her mother worked at. Her brother was meant to bring home his pay too tonight, and the sum of their combined efforts held the promise of lifting their family from the pit of debt that had ensnared them. As she left the tavern to head home, the weight of her responsibilities hung heavily upon her young shoulders.

Along her path back home, she encountered a pair of inebriated travelers, their intentions dark and menacing. They seized her arm, grip threatening to harm her fragile spirit. In the midst of her fear, a figure emerged from the shadows, a protector amidst the dangerous chaos. It was Brynden, her brother’s Riverlander friend - she has secretly admired him for years. As she held onto the stone walls of the roads for dear life, he confronted the drunken men and drove them away from her.

She could not help the slight blush on her face as he checked if she was alright. Her mother once told her that she might find a husband that would love her - is this what love is?

Her young heart believed that it was.

Once he was sure that she was alright, Brynden brought her the news that he’d wanted to tell her. Her brother, it appeared, had squandered his earnings on ale once more and now lay incapacitated on the side of the Street of Silk after finishing an afternoon at a whorehouse. Determined to shield her mother from disappointment, she rushed to her brother's side, her heart pounding with a fervent resolve.

The smell of baked treats and food soon morphed into fragrant yet strong oils, wafting from half-naked women hoping to get a man to pay for their cunts. As she looked around, she finally found the whorehouse that her brother frequented.

She found him in a pitiful state, his speech slurred and incoherent as he mumbled in his inebriated stupor. Anguish welled within her; he would not be bringing any money home this time either. But despite her frustration, she could not help but love him. He was her brother, and the bonds of blood ran deep.

Gently, she guided him through the winding streets, their journey fraught with the weight of her responsibilities and the uncertainty of their future. He babbled on, his words a testament to his gratitude and admiration for her sense of duty.

“You’re a good girl, sister,” he’d said, his voice trembling with affection. “Good girl.” She pressed a tender kiss upon his sweaty forehead, her love for her brother transcending any and all disappointments.

As the night unfolded into dawn, she herself succumbed to the embrace of sleep, her brother beside her, a fragile moment of solace amidst the tumult of their lives. When she awoke, he was gone, vanished into the shadows of the city, never to be seen again. Her heart ached with longing, but she never harbored resentment. She waited, and in her waiting, she remained faithful to the last words her brother had spoken to her.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

In the years that followed, she missed him every day. Her mother's health deteriorated, the weight of their struggles taking a toll. But she persevered, striving to be the good girl her brother believed her to be, even in his absence.

Those two words became a guiding light, a reminder of the love they shared, of what she always hoped to be.

THE COLD AIR HITS HER SQUARE IN THE CHEST, and she is made aware of how exposed she is.

Daemon’s apartments are located at the topmost floors of the Prince of Pentos’ home. From where she stands, with her naked figure holding onto either side of the window as he takes her from behind, she has a clear view of the city at night. Logs of fire are lit and fitted onto stone walls on the roads, and the blurred fiery orange is visible to her as she looks down at the city that saved her. Any passerby close to her can crane their neck up just a little, and see her naked in all her glory, from neck to navel.

Her breasts bounce as Daemon’s cock moves in and out, shining in the moonlight that her figure now obstructs, keeping the light from entering the dimly lit chamber. She lets out a strangled moan as he bullies her spot with each thrust, grunting and moaning in a mix of pleasure and exertion. The sweaty sheen on her forehead dries in the chill of the night air, and her line of sight is unstable with the way her head moves with the rest of her body.

“You like this, don’t you? For the entire world to see you spread out and wanting like this…” he says, with his lips nibbling on her ear enough to make her scream. “For them to know that you are mine. Fuck, fu-uuck!”

Mine, mine, mine.

Is it such a bad thing to be? In this moment, as she rolls her eyes back at wave after wave of pleasure and the rapid heat blooming in her belly once more, she supposes it is. She will hate herself for wanting this when they are done for the night - but she’ll cross that bridge when it comes.

Or burn it.

“Fuck,” she whispers as she loses herself. The shame of being put on display for every common man and woman to see is non-existent, but her heart drops at how she hates that she likes it.

A whore’s daughter is a whore too. How quickly had she given in, after all that she had done to escape a fate that wasn’t her doing?

With one particular thrust, she pushes forward a bit more than expected. She worries that she’s going to fall, fall, fall - the drop would be deathly steep and long.

She imagines what the fall would be like if her grip wasn’t tight. Her naked form falling down with her hands unable to find any purchase, flailing about as she is suspended in the air. She’d probably see all the bricks and windows in close view - perhaps, someone leaning against another window may scream as they notice her falling to what she hopes would be death, naked as her name day.

Would she be able to live it through if she miraculously and unfortunately survived that fall?

Almost as though he sensed her fear of slipping, Daemon’s hands move away from the loose grip they have on her waist. One hand snakes around her breasts and his forearm presses into her pebbled peaks, while the other cups her cunt and covers it from the cold completely. A fresh wave of arousal takes over her as he groans at the wetness that now coats his palm. The sudden warmth of his hand has her whining and moaning for more, and she moves, riding against his palm, wanting for more, more, more. It would seem that they are both insatiable tonight.

Daemon picks up the pace, his movements speeding up as she senses his desperation for release. She feels his cock hit her all the way up to her lower belly as the coil builds once more, giving her the excitement as she anticipates the sweet pleasure of release once more. She almost gives in right then, knees buckling and legs almost melting as she feels herself fly high, higher and higher still once more. Her peak washes over her in an instant as he pushes deep, her cunt only protected from the stone wall below the window by his palm.

It is a particularly long wave of pleasure that takes over her, making the hairs on her body stand upright as she struggles to stand on her own. Fire courses through her veins and her face is flushed as she finally smiles, drinking in the intense pleasure as Daemon’s thrusts get slower and slower until he spills in her too - a mix of grunts and moans as he falls apart.

The heady mix of sweat, slick and seed dripping down her thighs is enough to make her hazy and feel light in the head. Her head seems as though it is filled with cotton as her thighs quiver, making her experience relief like never before and she wants to turn and kiss him, hope to let the delusion that he loves her fester in her head a bit more and give herself the luxury of feeling genuinely loved for just a while as he-

“Good girl, Rhaenyra.”

His hands have moved away and he quickly pulls out of her, making her move forward. The stone wall hits the dark mound covering her cunt as she winces at the sudden emptiness - from both between her legs and her heart.

She’s lost her home, her memories, her happier days and a life that she loved. She’s lost enough and more for a lifetime. Daemon was never hers to be considered a loss, and she knows it too. And yet, as the realization that even his sex-addled, ill-meant compliments weren’t hers to own washes over her, she finds a lone tear slipping from her eye.

The salty taste on her lips feels like home.

Good girl, he’d said. To whom was he saying it, really?

TWO YEARS HAD PASSED SINCE HER BROTHER WALKED AWAY FROM THEIR LIVES, leaving an empty space that seemed impossible to fill. She was now a fully grown woman who was struggling to make ends meet in the bustling streets of King's Landing. Life had grown harsher with each passing day, and now, a shadow of illness loomed over their humble home.

Her mother had fallen ill, a fever that refused to break. She was too sick to continue working at the whorehouse, so they lived on scraps while the young girl’s earnings went toward settling their debts. She couldn't afford the services of a maester for her mother in the capital city, and the local healer's herbs offered little solace. Still, she continued to scrape together every copper she could find, pouring her earnings into the apothecary's pouch in a desperate attempt to buy her mother some time and relief.

Debt was a relentless specter in their lives. The madame of the local whorehouse hounded them incessantly, demanding the repayment of their debts. Her once cozy home felt increasingly suffocating, its walls closing in around them as they fought to survive.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, she returned home to a sight that sent a chill down her spine. Her mother appeared more sickly than usual, her brow damp with fevered sweat. She rushed to her mother’s side, her heart pounding with fear. She pressed her palm to her mother's forehead and felt the searing heat.

In her delirious state, her mother noticed her efforts to help and laughed softly, her voice a mere whisper. "Thank you my love, you’re a good girl," she murmured weakly, her eyes glazed with fever. The girl's heart ached, and she did what little she could to ease her mother's suffering. She prepared a hot bowl of soup and fed it to her mother, tears welling in her eyes as she watched the warm liquid spill from her mother's lips.

Good girl. The last words her mother had said to her.

The night passed in anxious vigil, but by morning, her mother was gone. She had wept bitterly, her tears soaking the tattered bed linens that held the memory of happier times.

Days later, the madame of the whorehouse came knocking, a cruel glint in her eyes. She had no sympathy for the loss, only an insistence that the debt must be paid. With ruthless determination, she thrust the girl into her mother's role, forcing her to walk a path that her mother had promised she’d never have to.

“Maybe you'll find a husband who'll love you more than anyone has ever loved me,” her mother had said once. The words had no power or weight as she braced herself to welcome the lustful drunks of King’s Landing with a closed heart and open legs.

Distressed and terrified, the girl found herself in a living nightmare. The once-bustling brothel became her prison, and her innocence was sacrificed to repay a debt she had not incurred. As the first man walked through the doors that fateful night, she realized that her life had taken a dark and irreversible turn, and there was no escape from the cruelty of King's Landing's unforgiving streets.

She remembered looking at the ceiling as she whimpered, the pain of being taken for the first time making her well up in earnest. The bed made a series of creaking sounds as she let him have his way with her, and the gold coin that he’d flicked at her abdomen afterward shined like nothing she’d ever seen before.

“Gold?” she whimpered, unable to recognize the shiny metal. She looked at the coin in awe, and the man laughed cruelly.

“Maiden whores are worth more than the usual,” he said.

In all her years living in the stink of the city, she’d never felt dirty - but she did now.

With each night, she caged her heart and saved up the money. On some days, it’d be a penny and on some others, it’d be a silver stag. Every coin saved would buy her escape and freedom. And one night, she finally ran.

Five silver stags for a journey aboard the first ship she could find. To Pentos.

Her job as a chambermaid at the Prince of Pentos’s home came to her as a kitchen maid took pity and took her in. For months, she’d safely worked and made more money. They provided her with a little chamber that she shared with the other maids, and food so her belly would never feel empty. She’d escaped the brothel and she wanted to believe that she’d made her mother proud. She didn’t know if she was happy, but she was her own person again - it had to count for something, regardless of how empty she felt.

Three months later, a silver-haired Rogue Prince made his descent on the palace grounds, atop the most terrifying dragon she’d ever seen - awakening what was dead in her once more.

DESPITE HOW ROUGHLY HE’D HANDLED HER JUST MOMENTS BEFORE, she felt as though she’d been doused with cold water.

Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra.

She’d believed that she was a blot of shame on Laena Velaryon’s marriage, but it would seem that a silver-haired princess - the Realm’s Delight, his niece - was doing far worse in her absence.

Had he been taking her from behind, hoping against hope that if he closed his eyes and thrusted enough, he’d be able to picture her?

She turns around, the thrill of being put on display while in the throes of pleasure wearing off of her. She walks over to the table near the fireplace with unsteady steps, and slips on the robe that he’d discarded - possibly before she’d stepped in. The wine pitcher invites her with open arms, offering her the comfort of ignorance and forgetfulness as she tries to wrap her head around finally finding out what he’s wanted all this time.

She wanted to be able to feel something, and he wanted to feel her. Neither of them wanted each other, and she supposes that the field is now even. Somehow, she feels a bit more powerful with the knowledge that she wasn’t just someone that he took mindlessly, but was someone who helped him satisfy what she now clearly sees as his guilty desires.

She must have known. Rumors of whores being asked to call him uncle as he fucked them dizzy have floated about before - she thought they were lies, but now she’s seen firsthand how true they are.

He was married to a woman whom he probably wishes was someone else. He was straying from his marriage vows with another woman, not even the one who he wished for. She wonders if Rhaenyra Targaryen knows how deeply she is wanted and loved.

She wonders if she will ever be loved the same way. A whore's daughter will also be a whore. Is she a whore now? Has she become what she tried to escape? And worse - does she genuinely enjoy it?

They accompany each other in silence, the only noise being the cacophony of thoughts in their own heads. He slips into his soft trousers and sits on the edge of the bed as she passes him a goblet of wine. She sits opposite him whilst nursing her own goblet, simmering in her thoughts as she muses about her life’s journey - from a mere happy tavern wench to a prince’s solemn bed warmer.

There is a knock on the door that brings both of them out of their reverie. The servant slips in when Daemon mutters his permission and she takes in the sight of them both before looking to the floor and murmuring words that are inaudible.

“Speak up, girl,” he says. As the servant maid breathes in, she has a startling realization. His Valyrian words, the ones that she did not recognize or understand - were they for Rhaenyra too? She does not plan on asking. She supposes she’ll never know.

“Lady Laena has begun her labors, Prince Daemon.”

The servant scurries out, leaving the door half open as Daemon throws his head into his hands. She sets the goblet aside and stands in front of him, taking his head in her arms and letting it rest on her robe-clad abdomen. Her hands run over his hair in a soothing motion, almost in a lover’s embrace. Almost.

In this moment, she can tell herself that what they have is more than just sin and adultery. In this moment, she’ll tell herself that what they have is not dirty, but beautiful.

“Go. She needs you,” she murmurs, the words once again reminding her of the precarious position she finds herself in. He walks away after dressing himself, and in the wee hours of the morning, the Prince and his wife welcome twin daughters - Baela and Rhaena.

Only four days later, she finds herself being summoned to his private apartments once more. She is now about to fuck a man who had not one, not two, but three girls in his life that he would disregard when he takes her - all in delusional pursuit of a woman who is half a world away. She hates what she is about to do, and she hates that she is already wet and wanting.

She wants him. Despite it all, she wants him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Her mother and brother called her a good girl, once upon a time. Would they say the same about her now?

Somehow, she knows that the answer is not something she'd want to hear.

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thewulf · 6 months ago

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Teaching Trails || Azriel

Summary: Request - can i request a teacher reader x azriel where she's Nyx's teacher/tutor and feyre or rhysand asks az to pick him up since they're busy and he swears he falls in love on sight seeing reader be so sweet on Nyxie and how comfortable Nyx is around reader? just something sweet and fluffy and maybe a super nervous az when reader notices him at the doorway?? You can decide the rest. love your work!

A/N: Ahhhh I loved writing this. Idk I just picture Nyx as a sweet bubbly 5/6 year old in this. Adored writing this!

Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Night Court Reader)

Word Count: 5.0k +

TW: Use of Magic (fluffy!!)

As you stand at the edge of one of the many expansive terraces of the House of Wind, the air around you is crisp, the sky a clear, deep blue above the sprawling city of Velaris below. This majestic residence is perched like an eagle's nest atop a solitary mountain and commands a breathtaking view of the Night Court. Its beauty a sure giveaway to ancient power and elegance. Yet despite its grandeur there’s a poignant isolation to it. Especially for young Nyx, whose days are spent within these walls that soar closer to the stars than to the streets where other children play.

Inside the palace is a labyrinth of ornate halls and vast chambers. Each room a masterpiece of art and architecture designed for gods rather than a playful child. The echo of Nyx’s laughter often bounces off the high ceilings. A reminder of the solitude that accompanies his royal upbringing. He is a small but vibrant figure roaming the endless corridors exploring shadowed corners and hidden nooks. His solitude veiled by the splendor surrounding him.

It's during one such quiet evening as the horizon painted a watercolor of twilight hues that Feyre brings up her growing concern to Rhysand. They are in their private chambers. A place where the masks of High Lord and Lady can be set aside. Where vulnerabilities can be voiced without the weight of a crown.

"Nyx needs more than just us. He needs more than this palace," Feyre starts with her voice steady yet filled with an urgency that draws Rhysand’s full attention. "He’s missing out on normal interactions. The kind that happen away from royal duties and ceremonial greetings. He’s a child. He should be learning through play, through friendships formed in mud and laughter. Not just in state rooms and formal gardens."

Rhysand’s expression is torn. As a father he yearns for Nyx to have every happiness the world can offer. But as a ruler the thought of his son, so precious and so exposed, wandering beyond the enchanted safety of their home is daunting. "It's dangerous, Feyre," he counters. His voice laced with a protective edge. "The world isn’t always kind, especially not to those of royal blood."

"But isn’t it more dangerous to raise him in a bubble? How will he learn to lead? To understand his people, if he only ever sees them from a balcony or at formal events?" Feyre’s hands gesture emphatically. Her eyes alight with passion. "We need to let him explore, Rhys. We need to let him be a child. Not just a prince." Their conversation stretches into the night. Debates entwined with silent contemplations until a resolution begins to dawn much like the first light over the Sidra. Rhysand’s fears don’t dissipate entirely but his love for Nyx and his trust in Feyre’s instincts lead him to a concession.

"Alright," he says finally. A reluctant smile breaking through his concerns. "We’ll find him a teacher. Someone who can guide him, teach him, yes, but also someone who can take him beyond these walls. Let him learn about life. About our people through his own experiences. Not just through stories and reports."

Feyre’s relief is palpable and together they set out to find the perfect candidate. The search is exhaustive with candidates from across Prythian and beyond interviewed. They seek not just an educator but a guardian of sorts. Someone who understands the delicate balance of nurturing a child like Nyx. Someone who can foster his curiosity and protect his spirit.

The search for a tutor for young Nyx was not a decision taken lightly. Within the ornate conference room of the House of Wind, Feyre, Rhysand, and other key members of the Inner Circle—save for Azriel, who was away on duty—gathered to commence the rigorous interview process. The room was filled with an air of solemnity as each candidate presented themselves. Their credentials scrutinized not just for academic excellence but for a deeper understanding and alignment with the values of the Night Court.

Mor, with her keen sense of people, led the questioning. Her bright eyes missing nothing. Cassian injected moments of levity lightening the mood with his humor. While Amren's piercing gaze seemed to delve into the very souls of the candidates searching for sincerity and resilience. Each member of the Inner Circle brought their own perspective ensuring that the chosen teacher would not only educate Nyx academically but would also nurture his emotional and cultural development.

Then you entered the room. With a demeanor both warm and composed you introduced yourself. As you spoke about your educational philosophy making sure to emphasize experiential learning and emotional intelligence the panel was visibly impressed. Your background in educational psychology coupled with your years of experience teaching in diverse environments highlighted your capability to adapt and thrive in any teaching scenario. More importantly your genuine passion for fostering young minds resonated deeply with Feyre who nodded appreciatively at your thoughtful answers.

Throughout the interview, your approach to education which focused on developing both the intellect and the heart of a student was clearly aligned with the Night Court's ideals. You spoke of the importance of understanding each student's unique needs and adapting lessons to fit those needs. Even suggesting outdoor classes and cultural excursions that would allow Nyx to learn about his heritage in a tangible, engaging way.

As the interviews concluded and the candidates departed the room buzzed with discussions. It was clear to everyone that you stood out not just for your qualifications but for the gentle strength you exhibited. A trait they all deemed perfect for handling the sensitive nature of their prince's education.

When the decision was made Feyre personally reached out to offer you the position. The joy and excitement in your voice as you accepted was palpable. Aware of the immense responsibility of teaching the heir of the Night Court you were nonetheless thrilled by the opportunity to make a significant impact in a young child's life.

As you prepared to step into this new role your heart was buoyant with anticipation. Not just for the challenges ahead but for the chance to contribute to shaping a future leader of the Night Court. The trust placed in you by such revered figures was not just an honor but a truth to your life's work and passion igniting a fervent desire to start this new chapter.

In the heart of Velaris away from the towering isolation of the House of Wind you spend a delightful morning with Nyx at one of the city's lush public gardens. The day is warm. The gentle buzz of the city a distant backdrop to the laughter and learning that fills the air around the two of you.

You laid out a picnic blanket under the shade of a towering silverleaf tree. The spread covered with books, sketchpads, and an assortment of colorful pencils. Today's lesson is about the flora and fauna of Prythian. A topic that has Nyx bubbling with excitement and curiosity. As he sketches a butterfly that landed briefly on the edge of your blanket you explain the role of pollinators in the ecosystem, delighted by his insightful questions and the meticulous care he takes with his drawing.

"Nyx, do you see how the colors of its wings can tell us about its environment?" you ask as you were pointing to the delicate patterns that mirror the blooms around you.

"Yes!" he exclaims. His eyes lighting up with understanding. "It’s like camouflage, right? They blend in to stay safe from predators!"

"Exactly," you reply. Your heart swelling with pride at his quick grasp of the concepts.

The lesson shifts seamlessly from science to history as you guide Nyx through the stories of the Night Court. Each tale woven into the landmarks visible from your spot in the garden. Nyx listens, rapt, as you tell him about the ancient fae who once walked these paths. The battles they fought and the peace that now thrives in their stead.

As the morning progresses Nyx's natural curiosity leads him to a question that makes you pause. His small voice tinged with genuine wonder. "Why don't you have wings like my mom, dad, Uncle Cassian and Uncle Az? Like that pretty butterfly?" he asks. His head tilting as he regards you thoughtfully.

You smile softly, touched by his innocent inquiry. "Well, not all fae have wings, Nyx. Just like not all flowers have thorns," you explain using an analogy you know he'll understand. "Each of us is unique with different abilities and gifts. It’s what makes us all special in our own way."

Nyx nods considering this. "I think it’s cool you don’t need wings to fly. You have books and stories that can take you anywhere," he decides with a wise look crossing his features that makes you chuckle.

"That’s a wonderful way to put it, Nyx. And remember, we all have our own ways of soaring," you say ruffling his hair affectionately.

As you begin to pack up the day's learning materials you lean closer to Nyx with a conspiratorial whisper. "Tomorrow, we’re going to do something special. We'll join a class with other children your age. You’ll get to play and learn together with them," you tell him watching his face light up with sheer delight.

"Really? I'll have friends to play with?" His voice is filled with excitement. His earlier thoughts about wings forgotten in the anticipation of meeting new friends.

"Absolutely," you assure him sharing in his excitement. "It’ll be a lot of fun and you’ll make lots of new friends."

Nyx's eyes sparkle with anticipation as he begins to imagine the possibilities. "I'm going to tell mom and dad all about it tonight!" he exclaims already planning out his evening conversation. "And I’ll tell Uncle Az too. He likes hearing about my adventures."

The mention of Azriel, whom you've only heard about through Nyx’s enthusiastic stories, adds an interesting layer to your perception of the mysterious figure. "That sounds like a great idea," you respond, amused, and intrigued by Nyx’s affectionate mention of his uncle. "It seems Uncle Az is quite the hero in your stories."

"Yeah! He’s really cool! He can disappear like a shadow and is always on secret missions," Nyx says. His admiration for Azriel evident in his wide eyes and animated gestures.

The day ends with Nyx bouncing along the path back to you classroom chatting animatedly about all the things he hopes to do with the other children. His excitement about sharing his upcoming school day with his family, especially with his beloved Uncle Az, whom you've yet to meet but feel like you already know through Nyx's tales, fills the air with joy.

Your heart warms at his enthusiasm knowing that these new experiences are exactly what he needs. As Nyx sketches another flower with his small hand moving confidently you know these moments of joy and anticipation are as precious to him as they are to you, nurturing not just a young prince’s mind but also his spirit. The connections he's building with his family, with you, and soon with his peers are shaping him into a thoughtful, well-rounded individual, ready to explore the world with confidence and curiosity.

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon casting a warm, golden light through the windows of your classroom the day's adventures wind down to a quieter, more reflective pace. You sit in a cozy corner of the room on a soft, plush cushioned area you've set up specifically for reading. Nyx nestles beside you as his energy from earlier now softened into the gentle tiredness of a day well spent. In your hands a beautifully illustrated book about the legends of Prythian opens to a page where the heroic deeds of ancient warriors are painted in vivid colors.

As you read aloud, your voice smooth and soothing, Nyx's eyelids begin to flutter gently. You notice his weary smile as he listens. The adventures of the day transforming into the adventures in the pages. Gently, almost instinctively, you begin to caress his hair. Smoothing it back from his forehead in a tender, rhythmic motion. It's a peaceful scene, the kind of simple, heartfelt moment that often goes unnoticed in the bustling life of the Night Court.

Unknown to you his Uncle Azriel stands at the doorway having arrived to pick up Nyx. He pauses there, a silent observer, taken aback by the tranquility and warmth of the tableau before him. His task had been simple. He was to retrieve Nyx and bring him home but the scene he encounters tugs at something deep within him. A longing for such unguarded peace.

Azriel watches as Nyx's breathing deepens, the sweet child drifting closer to sleep with each gentle brush of your hand. Your care for Nyx, so natural and affectionate, strikes a chord in Azriel. He's seen many facets of life. So many forms of relationships and bonds but the simplicity and purity of this moment resonate with him profoundly.

He remains there at the threshold hesitant to interrupt the moment. He was captivated by the gentleness of your interactions with Nyx. The world he usually inhabits—one of shadows and secrets—feels miles away from the soft warmth of this sunlit room. In this pause Azriel realizes that his task isn't just about escorting Nyx. It's about respecting and appreciating the sacred, everyday magic that people like you bring into Nyx's life.

Eventually though the story comes to an unfortunate end, and you close the book before looking down at Nyx to see him fully asleep. A contented expression on his young face. As you carefully consider how to wake him Azriel finally clears his throat softly announcing his presence.

You look up, startled slightly, your eyes meeting his for the first time. There's a moment of mutual acknowledgment. A silent appreciation for the scene he's just witnessed. An understanding that while your worlds may be different the care you show to Nyx bridges them beautifully. Azriel steps into the room. His movements gentle as he did not want to disturb the serene atmosphere you've created.

"Thank you for taking such good care of him," Azriel says quietly. His voice carrying a warmth that surprises even him. "He obviously treasures these moments with you."

"You're welcome. It's truly a pleasure teaching him," you reply with a warm smile. Your eyes reflecting genuine affection for Nyx.

As you gently wake Nyx his eyes flutter open gradually clearing as they adjust to the presence of another in the room. When he spots Azriel standing quietly by the door a bright, sleepy smile spreads across his face. He quickly scrambles to his feet, excitement replacing any remnants of sleepiness.

"Uncle Az!" Nyx exclaims. His voice filled with delight as he runs into Azriel's open arms. Azriel catches him effortlessly before lifting him into a warm hug. They share a moment, uncle and nephew reunited, their easy laughter filling the room. You grin recognizing him as the infamous Azriel in Nyx’s life.

Then as if struck by a sudden realization Nyx turns back towards you with a look of proud excitement lighting up his features. With a firm grip on Azriel's hand he pulls him closer to you and announces, "This is Miss Y/N, my favorite teacher ever!" His voice carries through the room filled with genuine admiration and joy.

Azriel's gaze shifts to you. A slight tension beneath his calm demeanor as he processes Nyx's enthusiastic introduction. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he says, his voice steady but softer than usual, a subtle undercurrent of nervousness mingling with his words.

You smile warmly, extending your hand in greeting. "I've heard a lot about you, Azriel. Nyx tells me you're quite the hero," you say. Your tone light and inviting.

Azriel takes your hand and for a moment his usual composure falters under your gaze. He's momentarily taken aback not just by the warmth of your smile but by the unexpected impact of your presence. She's beautiful, he thinks, and kind... The realization that he's slightly awestruck surprises him. He finds himself momentarily lost for words.

"And I've heard you've been learning about heroes in your lessons with Nyx," he manages to say his voice carrying a hint of warmth that rarely surfaces. Nyx obviously pleased with the exchange claps his hands excitedly.

"Can we all walk back home together?" Nyx asks looking up at both of you with hopeful, bright eyes, “Please!” He adds in for good measure as if you weren’t going to immediately say yes to him.

"Of course, Nyx," Azriel responds after looking to you for confirmation.

You nod, gathering your belongings, and the three of you step out into the cool evening of Velaris. As you walk Nyx fills the air with chatter about his day seamlessly weaving together his two worlds with tales of butterflies and ancient warriors. Azriel listens with a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His initial nervousness easing as he's drawn into the simple joy of the moment. His thoughts linger on you, intrigued, and unexpectedly moved by the genuine connection forming between you, Nyx, and himself. A beautiful end to an enriching day.

As the three of you begin your walk back through the twilight streets of Velaris the usual calm that Azriel embodies seems to waver slightly. He is typically a figure of stoic composure, his presence both commanding and elusive shadowed by the mysteries of his duties as the Spymaster. However, today, as he walks beside you, something is distinctly different.

Azriel's steps are measured. His usual fluid grace tempered by a hint of uncertainty. His glances towards you are quick, almost cautious, as if he's trying to decipher an unfamiliar script. The conversation flows easily around Nyx's enthusiastic chatter about his day but each time you turn your attention directly to Azriel a subtle tension flickers across his features.

"You really have a wonderful way with Nyx," you say hoping to bridge the gap with kindness. "He's always so excited to share what he's learned with you."

Azriel nods. A slight flush visible beneath the dusky hue of his skin. "Thank you," he murmurs as his voice is softer than usual. "It's... it's good to see him so happy. You do a lot for him."

The simplicity of your interactions, the easy smiles and gentle teasing you offer to Nyx, resonate with Azriel in a way that is both heartening and unnerving. He's unaccustomed to feeling this way—unsettled yet drawn in, eager yet shy. His hands though normally steady and sure whether wielding a weapon or a shadow clench slightly at his sides betraying his internal struggle.

As Nyx runs ahead a little, bursting with energy as he recounts another part of his day, Azriel takes a moment to compose himself. He glances at you again. This time holding your gaze a moment longer than before. The vulnerability rarely seen by others is palpable now as it was a quiet admission of his nervousness.

"I'm... not usually this unsure," Azriel confesses quietly almost to himself. "But there's something about these moments…. seeing Nyx so at ease with you. It's more comforting than I anticipated."

Your response is a gentle smile, one that acknowledges his admission without pressing further. It's a smile that seems to say you understand that the quiet spaces between words can be filled with kindness, not just silence.

The rest of the walk continues with a softer ease. A budding respect forming amidst the shared glances and the fading light of day. Azriel's initial nervousness slowly ebbs away instead replaced by a quiet appreciation for the unexpected warmth this evening has brought into his usually guarded world.

As the three of you approach the grandeur of the House of Wind, the towering structure casts long shadows over the cobblestone paths. It’s presence as awe-inspiring as it is imposing. Nyx who was still bubbling with energy despite the day's adventures, rushes ahead. Clearly he was eager to recount his tales to Feyre and Rhysand. You pause at the entrance. The vast doors open as if welcoming back its prince.

"It's been a wonderful day, Nyx," you say, giving him a soft hug. "Don't forget to draw that butterfly we talked about!"

"I won't, Miss Y/N!" Nyx promises. His voice echoing slightly in the vast entryway. He turns and dashes inside as his laughter lingered in the air.

You turn to Azriel with a smile gracing your lips. "Thank you for letting me share part of your evening. I should head back home now."

Azriel’s expression shifts. Concern etching his features. "It’s getting late," he observes while glancing at the skies, now painted with the deep blues and purples of dusk. "Please, allow me to walk you back to your home. The streets can be less than forgiving at this hour."

You pause appreciating his concern but ready to reassure him of your safety. "That’s very kind of you, Azriel, but it’s no worry. I know these streets well," you say as you turned to make your way down the path.

Before you can take more than a few steps a subtle but firm presence stops you. Looking down you see one of Azriel’s shadows has stretched out across the path in front of you almost playfully barring your way. It's a gentle unspoken plea that catches you by surprise echoing Azriel’s silent wish for you not to go alone.

Azriel takes a step forward. His gaze earnest. "I would truly feel better if I could ensure your safe return. Please," he adds. A rare hint of vulnerability in his voice that you hadn't expected.

Seeing the genuine concern in his eyes and touched by his quiet insistence you nod to him with a smile spreading across your face. "Alright, Azriel, if it means that much to you then I’d welcome the company," you agree. The warmth in your tone matching the softness in his eyes.

"Thank you," he replies visibly relieved. He quickly steps inside to ensure Nyx is settled and returns to you with a more relaxed demeanor ready to accompany you.

As you and Azriel begin the walk back to your home the streets of Velaris are bathed in the gentle glow of the stars and softly lit lanterns casting an enchanting light over the cobblestones. The atmosphere lends a serene backdrop to the conversation that begins to unfold between you.

"You know, Nyx speaks so highly of you," you start by breaking the initial silence with a warm tone. "He's always so excited after spending time with you. You must have some exciting tales from your duties."

Azriel chuckles softly. A sound so serene that it seems to dance in the night air. "Nyx has a way of making everything sound more thrilling than it might actually be. But yes, there are times when my duties hold some... intrigue." He pause, as if weighing what to share. "Mostly, I'm just ensuring that the court and our lands are safe. It's not always as adventurous as Nyx might depict."

"And what about when you're not cloaked in shadows and mystery?" you ask genuinely curious about the man beside you beyond his role as the Spymaster.

A hint of surprise flickers across Azriel's face. Surprised yet pleased by the interest you’re showing in him. "I enjoy solitude, usually. Reading, training... Though I have a fondness for sword making. It’s a craft that requires precision and patience much like my usual work but with a more tangible, creative result."

"Sword making? That’s fascinating," you remark smiling at the thought. "It must be rewarding to create something so intricate and vital."

"It is," he agrees. His voice softening ever so slightly. "And what about you? What do you enjoy doing in your free time?"

You nod before reflecting on your simple pleasures. "I love hiking and just watching nature. There’s something peaceful about observing the natural world. Just seeing how it exists so beautifully without any need for interference."

The conversation flows naturally from there. The earlier apprehension melting into a mutual appreciation for each other’s hobbies and life outside of official duties. As you talk Azriel’s steps seem to synchronize with yours. His presence an incredibly comforting shadow by your side.

When you finally reach your doorstep the city around you has quieted even further. The only sounds being the distant murmur of the Night Court's nightlife and the gentle rustling of leaves. Azriel pauses, standing just a bit closer than before. His usually guarded demeanor dimmed under the starlight.

"Thank you for allowing me to walk you home," he says. His voice sincere and gentle as if reflecting the calmness of the evening.

"It was my pleasure," you respond, finding yourself reluctant to end the conversation. "I enjoyed our talk, Azriel. It’s nice to see the person behind the shadows."

He smiles. A true smile that reaches his eyes making them sparkle with a rare lightness. "I did as well. More than I expected. Perhaps we could do this again, maybe take a hike together?"

"I’d like that," you agree. Your heart light with the promise of future conversations, of shared paths both literal and metaphorical.

"Good night, Miss Y/N. Take care," Azriel says as he steps back ready to meld back into the shadows from which he came.

"Good night, Azriel. And thank you… for everything tonight," you call after him. A smile still playing on your lips as you watch him disappear into the night. The connection between you both stronger and sweeter for the shared walk under Velaris’ starlit sky.

In the days that follow Azriel finds himself inventing reasons to visit your classroom or accompany Nyx to his lessons more often than strictly necessary. Each visit, purportedly to check on Nyx’s educational progress or to discuss scheduling with you becomes a cherished opportunity for him to engage in brief, yet meaningful conversations with you.

Each encounter, ostensibly casual, subtly deepens his affection and admiration for you. He begins to notice the small details: the way your eyes light up when discussing a new teaching method, the gentle patience with which you guide Nyx through difficult lessons, and the enthusiasm that bubbles up when you talk about your nature hikes. Azriel who was typically reserved and composed finds himself drawn into your world of vibrant enthusiasm and heartfelt dedication.

One afternoon as Azriel stands somewhat hidden by the doorway of your classroom just like he did that first day he met you observes a particularly touching scene. Nyx, having mastered a particularly tricky spell, turns to you with a triumphant grin. You laugh, your joy as vivid as the sparkle in Nyx's eyes. He swears your laughter seems to light up the room.

Watching this Azriel feels a warmth spread through him. A warmth that has little to do with the sun filtering in through the windows. It’s in this simple, unguarded moment that he realizes his feelings for you have deepened beyond mere admiration. He's not just falling for your kindness towards Nyx but also for the genuine spirit and infectious joy you bring into every interaction.

As he steps away from the doorway with a thoughtful smile playing on his lips Azriel knows that what he feels is something profound and undeniable. Your spirit which was so vibrant and full of life calls to him in a way that no one else ever has. And as he walks away with his shadows trailing behind him he’s certain of one thing. He wants to explore where this connection might lead not just for Nyx's sake but for his own heart’s as well.

After ensuring that Nyx was safely back at the House of Wind you begin to make your way back towards your home. The day's light is waning casting long shadows that stretch across the cobblestone streets of Velaris, adding a mystical allure to the city’s evening charm.

As you step forward, the sound of your footsteps is a soft echo in the quieting city. You're lost in thought pondering the pleasant interaction with Nyx and looking forward to the solitude of your evening walk home. However, before you can get far you hear Azriel’s voice calling out from behind you.

“Wait, please!” His tone carries a blend of urgency and hesitation that halt’s you in your tracks.

You turn around surprised to see him approaching quickly. His usually composed demeanor replaced by a slight breathlessness. The shadows that always linger around him seem to pulse in sync with the heightened beat of his heart.

Azriel catches up to you. His expression earnest. “I just wanted to ask properly,” he starts, his voice steadying as he meets your gaze. “Would you join me for a hike this evening? There’s a trail not far from here that’s especially beautiful in the evening light. I think you’d really enjoy the views, and...” He pauses before taking a breath reassuring himself, “I would really enjoy the company.”

Your smile deepens, touched by his sincerity and the vulnerable way he presents his request. The softening of his features and the hopeful look in his eyes paint a picture of a man stepping beyond the shadows that define him.

“I would love to, Azriel,” you reply warmly. Your voice filled with genuine excitement. “It sounds like a perfect way to end the day.”

Relief washes over Azriel’s face. His usual stoic mask giving way to a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you,” he says as if a weight was lifting from his shoulders. “Shall we meet at the edge of the city in half an hour?”

“That sounds wonderful,” you agree already anticipating the quiet beauty of the trail and the shared moments ahead.

As you both part ways to prepare for the evening hike the anticipation of the upcoming adventure brings a new spring to your step. Azriel turns back once more watching you walk away, his heart lighter. He realizes just how much he’s looking forward to exploring not only the natural wonders of Velaris but also the potential of a new and blossoming relationship with you. The thought brings that rare and hopeful smile to his lips. One that he carries with him as he disappears into the shadows to ready himself for the evening.

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