#stony daughter

[inlovewhithafairytale]

POV: Y/N Stark...

[stonyinspiration]

I can’t be the only one that sees a young Brooke Shields as a perfect face cast for Steve’s daughter.

It makes sense that someone that was once considered to be“the most beautiful girl in the world”, would be perfect as the daughter of Steve Rogers.

[likeadevils]

...Stony?

definitely the start of the pipeline but no it’s more embarrassing

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (2/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, physical abuse, abuse of power, violence, panic attack ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

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"Rȳbās." She heard her father's voice in her memories. "Repeat."

"Ribās." She mumbled, rocking her small, short legs as she sat on his knee, looking at the book in which were written the commands by which dragon riders could communicate with their dragons and soar through the skies.

She had only seen Caraxes from afar and always squealed with joy at the sight of him.

It meant she would see her father.

"No." Her father sighed, twisting in his seat. "Rȳbās. Again."

"Ribās." She repeated, this time confident that she had said the word correctly.

Her father rose and set her down on the ground, closing the book, throwing it on the table, her body instantly moving to follow him in a subconscious reflex, a cry escaping from her throat as it always did when she failed to please him, and he walked away.

"No. No, let me try again. Ribās. Ribās. Ribās." She wailed after him, choking on her own tears, watching his silhouette disappear into the depths of the corridor, his short white hair.

She couldn't remember his face.

When her mother's body was found among the hills away from the fortress, voices were raised by people who said that they had seen Caraxes in the skies that same day. She knew that her mother would not have thrown herself off the precipice, and she understood that in doing so her father had freed himself from them once and for all.

She felt satisfaction at the thought that his second wife had given him only daughters.

The gods had punished him.

He had no heir.

She didn't remember her mother's face either, but perhaps that was because she didn't want to recall her disappointment – she knew that she didn't want to carry his child, that she abhorred him, and yet she had been forced to give birth to his daughter.

She knew she should not have been born, and yet she existed.

She decided to pretend that she was the child of ordinary lords, giving up the right to inherit Runestone to one of her cousins in return for being allowed to stay in the fortress. Royce's family, although rather stodgy in their dealings, showed her much care and support – she couldn't say she lacked anything, and her life was peaceful as long as King Viserys lived.

And then it happened.

Two men burst into her chamber, pressing a cloth soaked in some foul-smelling liquid to her mouth which made her lose consciousness and she only woke up in a carriage that was closed on both sides.

For a moment she naively believed that her father had done it.

That he wanted her on his side in the battle for power for his third wife, heir to the Iron Throne.

And then she noticed the emerging silhouette of King's Landing in the distance.

She had only heard of this place from stories: the great Red Keep towering over the entire city and harbour, sunshine and cloudless skies all around it.

She wanted to laugh at the thought that one of her father's opponents had thought they would be able to pact with him because of her.

However, it turned out that she was mistaken once again.

Her one-eyed cousin was like a statue, his jaw drawn and sharply pointed, adding even more severity to his impassive, stony expression. He was proud and vain, she thought at once, seeing the way he stood, erect and sure, one hand holding a torch, the other placed behind his back, sword and dagger strapped to his belt.

Rider of the greatest dragon in the world.

"Do you know who I am, woman?" He asked, and she struggled not to smile, hearing his forced pretentiousness, the choice of his words such as to instantly degrade her.

Of course she knew.

His black eye patch betrayed him.

"It's hard not to guess." She replied.

His pupil narrowed in frustration, his tongue ran over his lower lip in some subconscious reflex.

He didn't like being spoken to like that.

When he was not shown respect.

When he was not feared.

He was weak, she thought.

"Do you understand why you're here?"

She sighed heavily, looking down at her fingers in boredom, feeling nothing but immense fatigue.

"Because of my father, I guess. You are wasting your time. I don't represent any value to him. He will not pact with you for my sake." She muttered reluctantly, wanting to let him know that whatever hopes he may have had of her were vain.

She looked at him surprised when he chuckled, turning his gaze away, staring at her a moment later with a look that made her feel discomfort in her stomach.

"You are mistaken. We need your blood." He hummed, as if he were speaking of the weather, something childishly simple and obvious.

She shook her head, looking at him in disbelief, not understanding what he expected of her.

Were they going to slit her veins?

If someone else drank it, would they be able to become a dragon rider?

"We will find one of the wild dragons hidden in the mountain caves and you will try to claim it. You will die, or you will succeed and join the war on our side." He said lightly, and for some reason she burst out laughing, horrified at how ridiculous his words were.

She was going to claim a dragon?

Were they really that desperate?

"I know nothing about dragons or their riders and have no desire to learn about them. This, I think, is something that is destined for those endowed by the gods with white hair. I have no intention of sacrificing myself for your family. Behead me or burn me, but spare me this farce." She said mockingly, looking away, recognising that this man had simply lost his mind.

She shuddered and rose from her knees when, a moment later, he opened the door of her cell and rushed in like an enraged bear, throwing his torch to the stone floor, his hand grabbing her neck, her head and body slamming against the wall making everything around her seem blurry for a moment.

"Do you think I'm asking you for your opinion? You will serve me, and you will serve me well, or I will burn not you, but all of the fucking Vale. Only dust and ashes will be left of the people you knew. Is that what you want, my Lady?" He scoffed, arching his full lips and eyebrows in a way as if he sympathised with her, however his gaze was blank, cold, mad, his breath heavy on her face, his chest rising and falling in rage.

She shook her head quickly, feeling his fingers dig into the skin of her neck even harder, making her unable to take a deeper breath despite the fact that she needed the air so badly.

Her head was spinning, his voice seeming to come to her from far away.

"So we have an agreement, as I understand it?" He whispered, leaning over her so that the tips of their noses were almost touching, towering over her to make her feel who had the power, who had the strength, who had the last word.

She merely nodded, breathing loudly through her wide-open mouth, a cold feeling of humiliation surging through her stomach.

"Mmm." He hummed and let her go. She fell to the ground, drawing in air loudly, clutching at her neck, feeling her heart begin to beat anew.

"You will be moved to one of the chambers. You will not lack anything. Serve me well and no more harm will befall you." He said calmly with a kind of threat from which a shiver ran down her spine.

Serve me well.

Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Indeed, true to his word, the guards came for her and she walked out of the smelly, dark cell where rats ran around to the upper floor of the Red Keep. The light blinded her and for a moment she could not see where she was going, but then, despite all her reluctance and trepidation, she marvelled for a moment at the rich, beautiful architecture of this castle.

If only she could have come here under different circumstances, at her father's side when she was a little child.

But her father was not here.

Instead, there was her cousin, exactly as self-obsessed as he was.

She thought with pain that they were just alike.

In the small chamber that had been assigned to her, the Queen Mother was waiting for her, accompanied by a knight with rather tanned skin: she thought he came from Dorne.

"My Lady. I ask you to forgive us for what inconvenience you have suffered. I place my old gowns and two of my servants at your disposal." She said, looking her straight in the face with her big, warm brown eyes, plucking at the cuticles around her fingernails in some involuntary, nervous reflex.

She lowered her gaze, silently acknowledging that she had nothing to say to any of them.

"This is the Queen speaking to you. Show respect." Said the knight, Queen Alicent however rebuked him immediately.

"I do not recall allowing you to speak, Ser Criston."

The man looked away and fell silent. The Queen sighed, closed her eyes and swallowed hard, as if she felt shame looking at her.

"Rest." She said simply and left, immediately followed by Ser Criston with a clatter of his silver, shining armour.

She was left alone.

She felt that she needed a bath, tired, sweaty, soaked in the smell of the disgusting cellar they were holding her in – she called one of the servants to bring a tub to her chamber and fill it with warm water.

She wondered, watching these young girls doing their chores, whether she might try to escape, seeing that they had left the door open, but decided that it was pointless.

Even if she did escape, they would find her and bring her here again, and Prince Aemond would burn the Vale.

She lowered her gaze, recognising that she had neither the strength nor the will to stand up.

She was empty inside, she thought, and he could fill her with whatever he wanted.

With his ideas, his desires, his demands.

As she sank into the pleasantly warm water scented with oils of field flowers, she felt better. Her muscles relaxed and she leaned her head back, closing her eyes, deciding to calmly analyse the situation she was in.

Since they were so desperate to abduct her, it meant that her father and Princess Rhaenyra had the upper hand over them.

She was also sure that her cousin, Lord Royce, had already sent a raven to Dragonstone with the word that she had been imprisoned, and since the informations was spreading through the Kingdom like the wind, she was sure that Daemon would be furious.

Would he try to contact her?

She sighed, recognising that she didn't want that.

Because of how much she despised him, even though she was a Targaryen, she used her mother's name.

Royce.

She wanted nothing to do with any of them, but it seemed to her that Prince Aemond was truly mad and that in his rage he really could set off on his mighty dragon to burn and destroy if she betrayed him.

She didn't want to test how mad the Targaryens could really be.

After all, they were bedding their own siblings.

She sighed when one of the servants came in, saying that she had been summoned by the King, who wanted to see her in person. She had chosen a gown most similar to the ones she had worn in Runestone, but as soon as one of the girls wanted to touch her hair she pulled away, feeling an unpleasant shudder.

"No. I'll do it myself." She said, taking a comb in her hand, brushing out strand after strand.

A woman could only wear her hair loose in the privacy of her chamber, for it was a sign of her freedom but also of chaos, where in the world of men there always had to be order.

She decided she didn't care about that.

She was horrified by how many people were sitting in the chamber she had been led to – at the table, she understood, sat the Lords, Queen Widow, the King, and Prince Aemond, looking at her with a malicious grin.

He was proud of himself, she thought and let out a quiet breath, looking away, thinking they were all pathetic.

The King smiled broadly at the sight of her and nodded, as if someone had indeed given him a wonderful surprise.

"Come closer, cousin." He said lightly, so she took a reluctant few steps forward, wondering what she would hear this time.

"We are overjoyed by your presence, even though you were brought here under not very pleasant circumstances. I hope you will quickly forget about these … discomforts and support us in our cause. My brother is extremely eager to prepare you for this." He said as if what they had done to her was no great thing, a mere joke at which she should laugh along with him and willingly go to her death in dragon fire if it turned out that their plan would fail.

That's why she remained silent, recognising that the man sitting in front of her was an imbecile.

"Are you not glad to face your father? Did he not forget you and abandon you for so many years?" He continued, seeing the expression on her face, and she looked at him, feeling absolutely nothing.

"I have nothing to say to you, cousin. Do with me what you wish."

The men around her twisted uneasily in their seats, glancing at the King, clearly afraid of his reaction to her insolent words. King Aegon, however, leaned forward, looking at her intrigued.

"Our family has forgotten you. Left you the fuck knows where, motherless and fatherless. And I am deeply sorry for it."

She swallowed hard, letting the air out loud, feeling the pain in her chest at his words – this reaction of her own surprised her. Looking into his eyes, she thought in disbelief that while he was certainly a fool, the words he had spoken to her a moment ago were sincere.

The last thing she expected from him was sympathy, and it surprised her how much it hurt her.

"You may leave." He said, and she nodded and left, thinking with relief that just a moment longer and the King would have seen something in her gaze that she didn't want.

What she desired.

As long as they didn't know it, none of their threats could do anything to her.

The guards escorted her to her chamber and as they closed the door behind her, she simply threw herself on her bed, wondering if it had all just been a bad dream.

What if she died in the dragon fire?

Did she want to end her life without really experiencing anything?

She never wanted to be a wife or a mother, but she hoped to see something more, to find her own purpose, her own way, away from the dragon war.

Meanwhile, she found herself at the centre of it.

She knew that Prince Aemond would summon her – she could see it in his displeased expression after his brother's words. He did not like the fact that he was trying to besmirch and get close to her, his little toy – he had made it clear in his words that she was not to serve Aegon or the Kingdom, but him.

He had brought her here for himself, to spite her father, and she was to be what he desired.

What he had imagined in his head.

Very well, she thought.

When she walked into his chamber, he was sitting with his back to her; his room was much more spacious than hers, maps and books spread out on the table he was leaning over.

He was planning a war without his brother.

"Come here. Sit down." He said coldly, casting her one weary glance over his shoulder, going back to whatever it was he was preoccupied with before he summoned her.

She walked over to the table and sat down in the chair beside him with a quiet rustling of her gown – he hummed as he slid an open book towards her apparently on a page he cared for her to focus on.

"Can you read?" He asked, and she looked up at him, wondering if he had heard himself.

His gaze changed, suddenly frustrated and impatient so she just looked at the book and started reading, hearing what he was saying in between.

"The dragons understand the language of Old Valyria, and this is how the dragon riders communicate with them. You have to learn to speak the commands properly." He sighed, spreading out comfortably in his seat with his legs crossed, tilting his head back.

"Dohaerās means serve. Rȳbās means listen. These are the most important words, right next to Lykirī, which commands a dragon to remain calm. Repeat."

She felt a powerful, cold shiver run down her back, the memory of that evening, of her, sitting on his lap and his voice.

"Rȳbās." Said her father in her imagination. "Repeat."

She stared dully ahead feeling that she couldn't open her mouth, her throat squeezed tight, her breathing accelerated, heavy with the terror that possessed her, her heart pounding like mad in her chest.

He left because she couldn't say it properly, but after all, he hadn't even explained to her what she had done wrong. He didn't give her a chance to improve, disappointed that she wasn't what he wanted her to be.

Over the years, she kept asking herself the same question.

Did she really not deserve a second chance?

And then she saw darkness before her eyes, and her head hit something hard.

She dreamt that her father was holding her hand. She wasn't sure if it was a memory or her imagination, but she could smell his scent and was sure she heard his voice, though she was unable to open her eyes, her body burning with fever.

"Will she survive?"

"Only the gods know." The Maester replied.

Her father was silent for a moment, his fingers tightening on hers.

"Perhaps it will be better this way."

When she finally woke, the light blinded her. She squinted, closing her eyes, feeling that someone was indeed holding her hand – when she opened her eyelids again she saw Queen Alicent sitting beside her on her bed.

The gesture, the touch of her warm hand on hers was at once pleasurable, motherly, and at the same time uncomfortable – she was not her child, but a stranger, and to her it was an act filled with her guilt, her attempt to alleviate what they wanted to condemn her to.

"How do you feel, sweet girl?" She hummed, though she didn't understand what purpose this question was intended to serve.

Did she think that she would cry now in her arms like a fool, saying that she missed her mother and was afraid?

Even if that were true, she had no intention of confiding in the mother of two self-obsessed men, one worse than the other.

Did she blame herself sometimes for the way they were?

Queen Alicent let go of her hand and lowered her gaze, as if embarrassed by her silence, understanding what she must have been thinking about.

"My son, Aemond. He was such a sweet boy." She said in pain, shaking her head, biting her lower lip.

"After his nephew took his eye he sank into a sense of injustice. He says that Luke's death was an accident, but I don't know if I believe him. I don't recognise him anymore and I warn you that he's unpredictable." She whispered and looked at her, clearly thinking that her words would make any impression on her.

She, however, felt nothing.

"I know."

Prince Aemond circled around her bed like a predator, watching her vigilantly, pacing with his hands folded behind his back, listening to what the Maester was saying.

"The momentary weakness has passed, but she should not strain herself." He said, and the prince hummed under his breath, stopping at the height of her head, looking at him with satisfaction.

"She won't. Leave us alone."

She turned her head away from him, not feeling like listening to what he had to say to her.

"Daemon tried to teach you. Didn't he?" He asked haughtily, apparently convinced that he was right.

She just swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her throat at the thought that he wasn't wrong.

"I wouldn't call it teaching." She replied dispassionately, feeling that she was sinking deeper and deeper into the bedding, wanting to melt into one with it.

She shuddered as he leaned over her suddenly, his hands on both sides of her head resting on the pillow, strands of his long hair brushing her face.

"Is there really no desire for revenge in you? To prove him wrong by rejecting you? Don't you want him to curse the day he left you?" He asked, looking her straight in the eye.

He's changed tactics, she thought, wanting to get to her hidden frustrations, pain and disappointment now.

She smiled at his words, his lips twisted in a grimace of displeasure at the sight.

He was enraged.

"I don't care about him. However, I can see that for you the person of my father is very important. You are alike, you and him." She whispered, and he swallowed hard, something in his gaze extinguished, making his iris dark.

"Daemon is a challenge I welcome. I will face him if the need arises. I will not allow the bastard children of my sister-whore to sit on the Iron Throne." He said slowly, choosing each word carefully, as if he knew he needed not only her, but also her loyalty.

And for what reason would she remain by his side if the opportunity came for her to betray him?

"Do you want your brother to remain King?" She asked quietly, and his expression changed – his forehead cleared, his jaw relaxed into an expression that was strangely calm.

Silence.

They looked straight into each other's eyes, and with every second in which his mouth did not leave the confirmation her heart pounded harder and harder in her chest, her lips parted in a sigh of disbelief.

His lips parted too, his gaze grew misty, as if he felt arousal at the thought of what he saw in his head.

Himself on the Iron Throne.

"Serve me well and I will reward you. When the time comes." He whispered and, to her amazement, she felt an unfamiliar sensation between her thighs, a warmth and a pulsing, as if someone had tickled her there.

He rose with a smirk and moved towards the door, telling her that they would begin her training the next morning.

He had her riding attire prepared for her and arranged for her to meet him in the courtyard of the Red Keep. In order to be on time, she had to rise before dawn – by the time she left the gates of the fortress in the company of the guards, the sun was just rising lazily over the horizon.

Prince Aemond gave her one sharp glance before mounting his beautiful brown steed, nodding his head for her to do the same. She therefore climbed with lightness and ease onto the black mare standing just beside him and set off at a gallop after him.

She thought with amusement, feeling the wind in her hair, the front strands of which she had braided back, as he did, that she could easily try to escape with such a well-rested horse at her side, knowing her riding skills.

For the first time, however, she wondered why she should return there?

What kind of life awaited her in Runestone?

Certainly not death in flames, she thought with a smile, but for some reason she didn't fear that.

She would simply become dust and fly with the wind high into the sky.

The prince stopped suddenly, indicating to her with a raised hand to do the same, and jumped down from the saddle. She followed in his footsteps, sinking onto the soft dew-damp grass, trying to catch her breath after the physical exertion, looking around.

She wondered what they were doing among the glades and woods, until she felt the ground around them shake and something she thought was a hill began to slowly rise, a large eye similar to that of a lizard opened.

A dragon.

A dragon as big as a mountain.

"Lykirī, Vhagar." Said her rider, stepping closer to her, extending his hand to her.

Vhagar leaned towards him, apparently trying to understand what was happening, allowing him to touch her jaw – his hand seemed to her to be just the head of a needle compared to her huge body, her muzzle opened in an expression as if she was pleased to see him.

Her heart was pounding like mad, her mouth open wide in a quickened, excited breath.

"Come closer. Slowly, step by step." He called out to her, and she looked at him as if he had completely lost his mind.

Gods, she was so big.

She probably wouldn't even feel it in her throat if she swallowed her.

She felt her legs grow soft, her body quivering all over as she took an uncertain first step forward and then a second, Vhagar's gaze shifted lazily to her, her nostrils releasing the air loudly, enveloping her in warm steam.

She stopped, terrified, as the dragoness suddenly opened her maw, something red appeared in the distance of her throat, as if someone had lit a fire there.

"DAOR, VHAGAR! DAOR!" Exclaimed her rider, and in some act of despair and fear she shouted to her as if she were chastising a little child.

"Rȳbās!"

Vhagar froze motionless, as if confused, staring at her small silhouette standing before her.

"Rȳbās, Vhagar. Daor."

Vhagar closed her maw, a loud sigh escaping from her nostrils, which hit her and made her fall over, dropping to her knees.

She looked at him from a distance and saw that he was pale, his mouth open in a heavy, shuddering breath.

She didn't know why she started to laugh – why she grabbed her stomach, bent over and died of amusement and bitterness, thinking that her father had made a mistake, that he had wasted years of her life, had rejected her believing that she would never be able to do this.

She was panting, feeling her laughter turn to sobs, heavy tears of shame one by one began to run down her cheek onto the grass beneath her hands, her mouth wide open trying to catch air.

She did it, and he wasn't here.

She still remained a nobody, just as she had been before.

Playing with dragons didn't change anything.

She gasped as he grabbed her by the hair and lifted her head up with an aggressive motion of his hand, kneeling beside her, pointing at his dragoness lying right in front of them.

"Do you know what it is? Do you know how much I sacrificed to achieve it? This dragoness has seen Old Valyria, fought in wars when your great-grandparents were not yet in the world. You should fall to your knees before her, you fucking whore, not laugh." He hissed and pushed her forward so that she bent over, as if praying before a statue of a god.

She clasped her hands in the wet grass, panting all over, whooping with her tears, wondering how long she was supposed to last in this position, his fingers clenched in her hair, not allowing her to move away even a little.

"That's it. Show some fucking respect." He sneered, and she clenched her eyes shut, drifting her thoughts away to the pleasant scent of the forest around her, the singing of the birds, the sound of the wind.

She swallowed hard as his embrace eased, her heart thumping harder in her chest as his fingers ran through her smooth curls, sinking finally into the soft skin of the back of her neck.

Her lips parted in disbelief, wondering what he was actually doing, the familiar pulsing between her thighs told her that she was both terrified and aroused by this new, unfamiliar sensation.

She felt her lips swell and her nipples harden as his thumb stroked her skin, her thighs clenched involuntarily with her silent sigh.

He heard it and gasped, tightening his fingers in her hair again, leaning over her ear.

"This position suits you." He whispered and let her go with a firm tug, moving towards his dragoness, placing his hand on her jaw.

"Stand up and repeat everything again."

[mintaikk]

Mini comic I made based on a convo I had with my mom

Also, for the people who don't believe me 👇

(Stony isn't technically canon but it was in a fantastic 4 comic with a female Tony countperart. Idk, I haven't read it and only know about it when i was bored and checked the shipping wiki while zoning out of a movie. It's weird)

(Random note for spideypool: Wade will flirt with anything that moves, but what showd he had an actual crush on Spidey beyind attraction was when his daughter pointed out how much he talked about him and he got embarrassed. Also, the fact that he changed his entire moral code for Spidey. And they're confirmed heartmates. I haven't gotten that far in the comic yet, but I think it's like soulmates but more romantic. Also, Deadpool had a free pass list of people he can sleep with while he was married (his wife signed it and everything), and Spiderman was number five

[infiniteimaginings]

Omg your amazing at writing Anthony bridgerton angst. Pls write more😫😫😫💋

You caused this? (Anthony Bridgerton x GN!Reader)

Summary: You are complaining to your dearest friend Anthony about your lack of luck through the seasons but he is terribly silent. His silence brings answers that you never expected from him. Pronouns: You/Yours Warnings: Angst Word Count: 3.4k A/N: Thank youuu!! Here's more for you my love! (Also for the new thing below this, tagging, you guys can be asked to be tagged in any sort of fics lol!) Tagging: @etherynn

A stunning afternoon shone on the walking paths families decided to take for eloquent bonding times. Children were laughing, mothers were sending their daughters off to promenade with one another, and the men were keeping watchful eyes out. It was a perfect day for the courting season to bloom in its full beauty and potential.

It was lively around the grassy green parks where people conversated with each other, it was a lovely day.

Two of the people taking advantage of the wondrous day to promenade together were you and Anthony Bridgerton, the most inseparable friends in all of London. The two of you had been great friends ever since you were children, you had been there for him through the easy and the rough patches, and he had done the same for you. Neither of you questioned your roles in the other's life, you just fit together.

Anthony loved you dearly, you knew that. He treated you like his own sibling, sometimes you appreciated it, other times you had to give him a good wack for him to stop scaring the poor guests at parties you attended.

There was no need for that during this moment, no. There were only warm smiles, sweet treats, pleasant conversation, and why was that? It was because it was only the two of you, no one to interrupt, or drag you away.

Anthony walked with you along the path, holding his hand out when he reached the stony steps to the dock. You raised a brow and rolled your eyes, taking his hand with a playfully distasteful look on your face, causing him to chuckle ever so slightly.

You walked down the wooden planks of the dock, noticing how there were no boats out. “I wonder why there are no boats out when it’s such a beautiful day.” You hummed aloud, not really expecting any response to your comment.

Anthony looked around and shrugged, hands behind his back, “Would you care to go out on the water?”

“Oh, heavens no!” You answered a little loudly, a sheepish smile finding itself onto your face as you turned to face him. “I was simply expressing my passing curiosity.”

The Bridgerton shook his head and stood quietly, admiring how the waves rocked with one another. He thought of the water like a ball, each drop with its own partner to create a beautiful array of movement within the water, to create a somehow roaring image of tranquility.

You, on the other hand, adjusted your clothing and sat upon the wooden planks, smoothing out the fabric as you did so. You carefully took off your shoes and set them to the side.

“What are you doing?”

The sudden comment caused you to look up with fluttering eyes, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Anthony walked a bit to you, looking down, “It looks as if you’re on the brink of putting your feet into the water.”

"A remarkable observation indeed," You responded sarcastically, a playful glint in your eyes. “I shall have to inform your mother that we have discovered you possess the brilliance of a prodigy.” You spoke, removing the last of any clothing surrounding your feet to enter the cold water. Once you made contact, you left out a soft sigh, your hands falling to the wood behind you, leaving you in a relaxed position.

Anthony sucked his teeth at your remark, but no one could mistake his mischievous grin for anything other than delight. “Let us not raise her expectations.” He mumbled to you with a shake of his head, kneeling to take off his own shoes, “She’s already enthusiastic enough about Daphne.”

You hummed, tilting your head over to him, squinting your eyes due to the bright sun. “Pray tell, how is the new Duchess of Hastings?”

The man rolled his neck a bit and sat next to you, dipping his feet into the water. His body blocked the sunlight so you had no need to squint as you gazed upon him, his eyes falling to yours. 

He let out a huff with a toothy smile, “She’s gone away with Simon.” Anthony informed you, looking out to the water now. He adjusted the collars of his wrist as he took a deep breath, “She swore she’d write letters so…”

“You’re looking forward to them, do not deny it.” You told him, scrunching your nose as you bumped your shoulder with his.

He chuckled and nodded, “Indeed, I eagerly await her thought filled letters.” He told you before biting the inside of his cheek, his eyes still looking forward, but they were further than ever. “I never imagined I’d miss her presence so much,” He confessed, blinking rapidly, “her ceaseless ramblings about finding her soulmate are over now.” He whispered, clearing his throat, adjusting himself once more, “My little sister is now gone, and I won’t be able to protect her anymore.” His voice with loss, his fingers clasped together as if he was grasping for something.

You placed your head on his shoulder, “She’s still your sister Anthony, she will visit.” You reminded him, placing one of your hands on his thigh. 

You felt the man take a sharp inhale of breath before letting it go slowly, “I know…” He nodded against you, placing his head over yours.

There was a moment of silence, the two of you kicking your feet in the water, enjoying the cool splashing against the warmth the sun brought.

You moved your head, looking to the families across the way, “Besides, there are plenty of others for you to protect, people still rely on you.” You reassured him with a supportive smile, remembering his other siblings, specifically his three younger sisters.

Anthony was not thinking the same as you though, he took his hand and placed it over yours, which hadn’t moved from his thigh. “Right, like you.” He smiled, rubbing his thumb along the edge of your hand.

You looked to your lap, laughing a bit, “I require little protection.” You muttered out, playing with a small string on your clothing.

Your friend furrowed his brows and scoffed, “There are dogs out there.”

“I mean, because no one approaches me anymore.” You spoke suddenly, looking at the water solemnly, lips in a frown. 

Anthony's smile dropped, and he turned his head to you, “Pardon?”

You scratched your head with a breathy laugh, “No one wishes to marry me.” You said, tone in a light song, but you knew it wasn’t a light hearted moment. It was a harsh truth you never wanted to face, but you had no choice as the season continued on.

The Bridgerton shook his head though, turning himself to you, his leg propped onto the wood, only one foot in the water. “That is not true, many do.” He assured you, but you shook your head in response.

You turned your body to him, feet still in the water, “Then why has no one called for me in weeks?” You asked, shoulders dropping in defeat. “Why has no one proposed?” You asked another unanswerable question as you looked back to the water.

Anthony felt an uncomfortable feeling bubble up in his stomach as you spoke. His blood grew cold, his heart beat faster than ever, his throat felt dry as if all the saliva in his mouth suddenly disappeared. He was suddenly aware of everything around him, all the sounds, the feeling of the wood on his calf, the water rushing around his foot, how hot the sun was.

You didn’t notice his sudden silence, you didn’t notice his expression, you were lost in your own mind. “I just feel as if I’ll never find someone.” You muttered, looking out to the empty body of water, “It’s as if I’m being avoided, and everyone knows to do so.” You continued, feeling pricks from the wood in your fingers. “I wish I knew why I was being avoided, because I swear,” You sighed, “I would change what they don’t like about me.” 

Anthony stayed silent but his eyes were filled with a deep sadness, his lips parted slightly, his hands clenching. He could feel his nails embedding themselves into his palms, leaving crescent shaped marks, his palms now red. 

You looked back over to him, wiping your eyes that began to water, “I didn’t mean to ramble on…” You trailed off as you caught sight of his expression. “What is it?” You asked, concerned as he had never looked at you so…upset before.

He shook his head, snapping himself out of his thoughts, “Nothing.”

“Anthony, what is it?”

The tone of your voice was heartbreaking to him, you were really worried about him after telling him your concerns. He slowly turned his head to you, almost reluctantly, and looked into your eyes that shine with sunlight. He could see the reflection of the clouds in your eyes, and it made him feel worse than he already did. When he looked into your eyes, he knew he could not lie to you. So he took a shaky breath and whispered out the words, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You answered immediately, confused by the sudden change in mood. You wished you had not spoken, perhaps if you kept quiet the two of you would be laughing and splashing each other. 

There was silence. 

“Anthony, for what?” You persisted, searching his expression for answers.

“I’m so sorry…” He continued to shake his head, gulping down his own breaths as if the world would run out of oxygen just for him. As if he was being tortured and couldn’t breath on his own. His grip on your hand was tighter than it had been, “I was just… I’m so sorry…”

His panic conveyed through his action, through his expression, through his words. You just couldn't understand why he was so anxious, why he was so scared. 

Until you realized, he didn’t seem scared over whatever he did, he seemed scared for how you would respond. His eyes kept snapping to you before looking down, he continued to clasp onto your hand, he closed his eyes as if he was silently praying for a better outcome.

Your brows knitted together and your lips pursed, “Sorry?” You repeated his apology, trying to think of what he was so apologetic about.

Suddenly, all of the memories flashed through your mind, quick as ever. The balls, the sitting rooms, the lack of dresses you needed to buy… it was because Anthony had never left your side. You thought he was being supportive, letting you know who would be better than the other for your bright future, but no. He wasn’t helping weed out those who weren’t good for you, he was clearing the field completely, so there was nothing left. No weeds, nor even blossoming flowers that you would’ve loved to pick.

Until there was no one left.

You blinked rapidly as you thought about this, finally making eye contact, “You didn’t.” You breathed out quietly.

You were met with silence and Anthony's sorrowful gaze, already begging for forgiveness.

You tried to remove your hand from his grip, but he wouldn't let up. Once you finally pulled yourself away, you stood quickly, not caring for the water dripping to your clothing from your quick movements. 

Your feet were wet, causing a dark spot to form onto the wooden dock. “Anthony, how could you?” You asked, exasperated, hands going to your face as you began to pace. 

Anthony scrambled up himself, trying to grasp your hands, but you continuously pulled away, making him face your back. “I just wanted to protect you!”

His words caused you to seethe, protect you? How was he protecting you? 

You turned to him, feet stomping once you were face to face with him, “You’re not protecting me!” You yelled, your volume caused him to fall back a bit, unused to your yells. “You’re labeling me as a…” You paused, taking a few small breaths, “bad contender.” You mumbled, clutching your chest, feeling your eyes begin to sting. You began to shake your head as you backed away, “At this rate I will not be married.” 

“What is the fault in that?”

“What is-?” You laughed, honestly not believing that this situation was happening. Your hands were up to your head, clutching at your ears, pinching, praying that this wasn’t really happening.

Anthony Bridgerton, the man of the Bridgerton home, the man who almost forced Daphne to marry a man who wanted nothing good for her. Anthony Bridgerton who was to duel a man for his sisters honor. Anthony Bridgerton, the man who took the responsibilities of his father for his family, because he knew how important it was for women to be married in this world.

You stood straight, face contorted in anger, “You are well aware, as I am, that our society revolves around marriage.” You spoke slowly, “My family wishes for me to be married or I will be a disgrace.” You reminded him, tilting your head, mouth opened in another sense of disbelief. “How is it that you now fail to comprehend such a thing?”

Anthony nodded with your words, but it seemed as if he wasn’t hearing you at all, he was being so frustrating. “I merely believe that you should pursue your own desires.”

“You did not consult me on what I desire!” You yelled, drawing the attention of passersby. You looked down, frown on your face as Anthony waved them off with a smile. You looked back to him with a harsh, cold glare, “You acted according to your own desires, but for what purpose?” 

He ran a hand through his hair before unbuttoning his vest and taking it off. Anthony felt like he was suffocating, and nothing was helping him breathe properly at the moment. “It’s because I hold deep regards for your well-being.”

You scoffed, “No one who truly cares about the other would do that.”

“I-”

You stopped him, holding up your finger, “No, you would never do this to Daphne.” You told him, causing him to fall silent. You could hear the harsh gulp he took as you continued. “You endeavored to secure a match for her, so why must you subject me to this treatment?…” You trailed off, turning away once again before turning right back to him, “You repelled every potential partner.”

Anthony didn’t make eye contact, he just mumbled out, “I have my reasons.”

“Please, list them.” You ordered, trying to meet his gaze, “For it appears that you do not wish the best for me.” 

That sentence brought him out of his thoughts, that sentence made him realize how you didn’t realize the true intentions of his actions. “I care deeply for you!” He spoke a bit loudly, “It is inexplicable, I can not put into words my concern for your future.” He continued to speak, and you were quiet, waiting for any valid reason, because you wanted to forgive him, you did. “I truly believe that none among the ton is truly suitable for you.”

You blinked at him, “No one of the…” You just stared at him, “You…what?”

“Please understand.”

Oh, you understood just fine. You crossed your arms with a raised brow, “No one but you, I assume?”

His eyes widened and he shook his head quickly, “That is not what I mean.” He spoke, breaths quickening as his thoughts swirled through his mind.

“So you harbor no romantic sentiments towards me?”

“If that is what I implied, I apologize.” 

You nodded, poking your cheek with your tongue, “Then why do all this?”

You were met with no response, so you continued, walking forward, poking his chest with your finger. “If you do not love me,” You began, “also being you do not wish to court me,” you clarified, tilting your head with a blank expression, “then your actions are malicious.”

Anthony shook his head, cupping your hand in his, “They are not, they are in good health.” He tried to convince you, but you wouldn’t budge. 

You pulled your hand from his grasp, “Is the idea of courting me so revolting to you that you must scare off all contenders with your jealousy,” You backed away, hands up, “and leave me as a spinster for the entire court to laugh at?”

“It was not my intention.” Is that all he could say, it was not his intention? 

“Then what was your intention?”

He sputtered and babbled out a response, but it was stutters of the beginning of sentences he would never finish. The only thing his pieces of words could convince you of, was that he had no idea why he would do such a thing. 

“Was it your intention to prompt me to recognize deeper emotions for you?” You asked him, and he continued to knock his brain for some sort of response that he couldn’t give you. “Well?”

The Bridgerton man put his head down, hands over his face before they went to the back of his neck, “I thought,” He spoke, dropping his hands to his sides, “if we spent more time together as if we were courting-”

“But we are not.” You interrupted with an obvious stare, “You are not courting me, you do not wish to court me Anthony.”

He nodded and clapped, eyes wide with promise as he strode towards you in a sudden burst of excitement. “But perhaps, if we acted as such, we could discover the wisdom in such an action.” He spoke, nodding along with his own words, “It is smart, surely, you see it through my perspective!”

You chuckled because, what else were you supposed to do at the sudden idiocy that escapes a man's mouth? “Anthony, this is not business.”

“I understand that,” He told you confidently, “but, consider the mutual benefits it could offer us.”

You chuckled once more, taking a step back with a shocked smile, “I don’t care if marrying you would take the trouble from my family for thousands of generations, Anthony.” You explained, waving your hands in a large ‘no’ motion. “I would never marry you!” You told him harshly, the words engraved in the air as a promise.

Anthony's eyes dimmed, his breath pausing as his shoulders began to droop, “Why not?”

“For the same reason you will not court me.” You answered, rolling your eyes a bit.

He didn’t understand so he stared at you expectantly, “Which is?”

You couldn’t believe he wasn’t aware of why he wasn’t courting you, why your marriage would never work. Since he couldn’t understand such a simple answer, you stepped forward, staring him into his eyes. His brown eyes looked at you, searching for answers.

You shook your head lightly, “ Anthony, I feel nothing when I look at you.”

Time has stopped completely for Anthony Bridgerton. You spoke the words so easily. He felt everything move so slowly, to the point he didn’t even realize that he stopped breathing. He didn’t stop staring at you until you waved your hand in his face to capture his attention. 

“Is that why you think I won’t court you?” He whispered to you, face falling.

You scoffed, again, at how he wasn’t understanding the conversation. “Wake up, Mr. Bridgerton!” You yelled, the first time you’ve ever used the title. “You just tried to propose a business deal with me, knowing that I have a better chance with any man over you.” You explained, hands falling to your sides as you paced across the doc, the man standing still, facing the same direction he was before you moved. “Yet, you still sabotaged any chance for me this season, and I will end up alone due to your selfish actions!” You spoke angrily, nostrils flaring once you finally looked at him again.

His eyes were the only thing that followed you, “I..I don’t…. I wasn’t thinking of-”

“You’re right!” You told him, clapping at his realization. “You were not thinking, which is exactly why you ruined everything for me!” You yelled, voice feeling strained due to the emotions you were currently feeling. “You ruin everything because you do not think.”

Anthony wiped his coming tears, opening his mouth for another apology.

You stopped him immediately, “I am utterly sick of every apology that leaves your mouth, because you do not mean it.” You spoke, not letting him speak any further.

You walked to the steps that separated the dock from the walking paths, “Goodbye Mr. Bridgerton.” were your final words before you left Anthony near the water.

He couldn’t say anything else, his gaze was trapped on the wooden flooring of the dock. What had he done? Why does he feel his heart squeezing every time he takes a deep breath in? Why was everything spinning?

More importantly, why did he do something so stupid, and push you away?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 11

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

You feel like a child again. Crammed in the back seat between your sisters. The motion of the car makes you queasy but you’re not so certain it isn’t something else stirring your guts. You’re all silent, as if on your way to another funeral. 

Any other woman might be ecstatic. You can’t feel anything by acidic dread. The weigh on your finger keeps you from forgetting the inevitable. 

Kitty reaches to still you as you twist the oversized band against your chafed finger. You dip your head embarrassed and she holds your hand gently in yours. 

“We will get through it.” Kitty says. 

“We have to,” you say. 

Adrienne hums and jostles you from her side. You must all be thinking of the same thing. This is a day when your mother should be there. One where you miss her deep in your soul. 

The car stops. Barnes’ man opens the door and you get out. You feel like an inmate on some sort of excursion. You have a guard close though you have nowhere to go. You can’t see them but you have shackles around you. 

The dress shop stands in stark contrast to the mood. You enter the ivory lobby and approach the tall counter where a woman stands. She greets you with a smile. There’s a group of women in the cushy chairs nestled between garishly-adorned mannequins. 

You give your name, anxiously swaying. He told you to be here at this time. He ensured you would be by sending the car. 

“Ah, there she is,” a voice rises from the cluster of ladies in the sitting area. “We’ve been waiting.” 

A steely-haired woman rises before the associate behind the counter can confirm your appointment. She approaches with the flock at her back. You face her in surprise, your sisters closing the ranks at your sides. 

“Winnifred Barnes,” the woman introduces herself, “you are the one my son has chosen.” She grabs your hand and shakes it. Her grip is tight. “My daughter, Rebecca,” she lets go of you and gestures to the pretty brunette at her left, “Wanda,” she waves at a blond, “and dear Natasha.” A redhead nods with a stony expression. 

“Oh, hello, ma’am,” you know who she is. Barnes’ own mother; your future in-law. “My sisters--” 

“Adrienne and Kitty,” she addresses them each with a smile and a handshake. “Yes, the three sisters.” She turns her attention back to you, “my regrets your own mother could not be here but when my son told me, I insisted. It isn’t fair of a woman to pick a dress without a maternal shoulder to lean on.” 

“Right,” you agree thinly. “I...appreciate it very much. Thank you for being here.” 

“Did he not tell you?” Rebecca intones from her mother’s shoulder, “typical.” 

“It’s a happy surprise,” Kitty insists. 

Winnifred smiles at her, “entirely correct. We’ve had a bit of a peek around, not going to lie.” 

“Oh, my,” your eyes scan the walls full of ivory, cream, and pearl. “I have to admit, I don’t really know what I’m looking for.” 

“Never worry. You’ve got a dozen other eyes to help you,” Winnifred takes your hand, “they have a room ready for us but we should have a look around first.” She tugs you along as the associate beckons her past the front counter. You let her lead the way. This is all easier if you just let it happen around you. “And your sisters, they will be bridesmaids?” 

“I... yes,” you answer in a hollow tone. You hadn’t even thought of that. It only sinks in at that moment. 

You’re getting married. You’re going to have a full-fledged wedding and you’re going to leave your sisters forever. Your daddy is gone and so is your old life. 

“Why don’t you see what catches your eye?” Winnifred gestures to the wall of fluffy gowns. “We all know the men don’t care what we wear, they’re less concerned with the day and more eager for the night.” 

She cackles and you turn to the hangers of fabric. That’s better than thinking about the implications of the choice. Pick a dress. Whatever one you choose won’t change what comes next. 

“Ladies, you know your mission,” Winnifred claps. She nears you and pulls on puffy piece, “would you look at that? Like a princess.” 

You peek over. It’s too much. The layers and layers, the sequins and lace. Why not one or the other? It’s all too much. You never had to worry about silk or mesh, tulle or chiffon. You wore whatever you had. 

“No, you don’t like it,” she clucks. “A mother always knows.” 

“Sorry,” you murmur and push apart the dresses in front of you. 

You shuffle through, one by one. Too much frill, too sheer, too heavy, too Victorian. You don’t even think you should wear white. It feels like an occasion better suited to black. 

“Pull as many as you like. We have all day. You want options. You never really know what you like until it’s on,” Winnifred advises. 

“Hey,” Kitty calls to you and shows you a dress, “you like this?” 

You look over at your sister as she presents a dress with short sleeves and lacy tiers on the skirt. It’s nice but you’re not sure. 

“I can try it,” you say and turn back. 

You go down the full wall before you find something that gives you pause. There’s nothing special about it. It's plain. Straps, a skirt. No ruffles, no lace, no ribbons or beads. Just a dress. And this is just a wedding. 

You take the hanger and hand it to the associate. She goes to add it to the selection. That’s your choice. You’ll see what the others found. 

You wander but don’t look at anything else. Winnifred has an armful as she nears, “well, think we’ve got a good lot. Let’s go see how it looks.” 

She’s happy. It’s strange. To her, it is a joyful time. Her son is getting married and she’s there to help her soon-to-be daughter-in-law pick a gown. You smile, or try to. 

You are led into a room with velvet chairs and a matching chaise. The women settle in. Your sisters in the chairs, and Winnifred between the three other women on the cushioned bench. The associate takes you to the curtained changing room. 

There’s at least a dozen hangers waiting for you. 

“Do you have a preference of which one to try first?” She asks. 

“This one last,” you point to the one you picked. 

“Okay,” she agrees easily. “Better get started.” 

“Sure,” you say, “it’s going to be a long day.” 

She helps into the first one. A ballgown with flowery lace all over and off-the-shoulder straps. This isn’t for you but you’ll let them see it. You lift the skirts above your feet and go out. 

There’s a few gasps as you get in front of the mirror and face your reflection. You hide your displeasure. It’s just not you. 

“Gorgeous,” Wanda and Rebecca praise. 

“I like the skirt,” Adrienne offers. 

“No, it’s not right,” Kitty hums. 

“It isn’t,” Winnifred agrees. 

You nod and turn to the associate, “next, please.” 

You step away from the mirror and hurry back to the shelter of the curtain. This is torture. If Barnes is so set on owning you, can’t you just sign the papers and be done with it? 

[snowzapped]

He's not even a cop, Tony. He's just happy to see you. XD

My daughter showed me this song and I laughed way too hard. She said I should make a Stony pic so here you go. :D

The song that inspired this under the cut. :D

I spent 2 hours tracing that car and 10 hours making this for a stupid joke. Please appreciate my efforts. lol

commission info / patreon / ao3 / Buy Me a Coffee ☕ / merch store

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the pained peace treaty

fused with the foe, chapter one

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

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

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

word count: 4813

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, your highness?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you expect?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Barnes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, your highness.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh…” was all he breathed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[meltedheartz]

thinking about how weird yandere!paul atreides would be ..

he's such a freak. an absolute weirdo around you, all lingering eyes and adoring smiles flashed your way.

paul knows you think he's a little off. a little too touchy with you, following you around like a lost puppy... you don't get it. he doesn't think you would, but he also doesn't quite care.

it's in the way he stares at you, albeit from a distance. the way he smiles. how he speaks to you. how he acts. all of it is a little unsettling, in plenty of ways.

after all, you're a boy... in the eyes of other people of course.

in your defense, you never bothered to reveal you aren't biologically a guy. no one asked! no one cared! no one thought about it! you passed so naturally, it was better to just blend.

you're rugged in all sorts of ways.

when you were nothing but a child, you'd climb atop of things you shouldn't have, you'd fight the other boys with fists and teeth, not hesitating to wield a sword or gun and join battle.

certainly, your parents fully believed you were the outcast of the family. the black sheep, the freak, the one they'd stash under the stairs to hide you from the world.

it got real bad when you cut your hair and would wrap fabric around your chest just to make sure you looked more masculine in the eyes of many. surely, you were crazy? you had to have been. going out in public like that — when you're supposed to be their precious daughter, their darling baby they'd dress in ribbons and bows, all sorts of jewelry.

you weren't really interested in those things... you like fighting. you like who you are. it's so much more comfortable, you feel so much safer.

until paul atreides comes around.

when you two first met, it was cordial. he kept a distance, despite being stony faced, he'd smiled at you and offered his name, asking for yours.

the two of you shake hands, professional and solely there for business. until you're sent to arrakis, and, well, it goes sideways.

he starts following you like a stray on the street... so eager to be near you, to feel the warmth of your scarred, rough hands; to stare at you and admire all the gashes and beatings you've received from your battles.

and it's just.. ugh. you hate it. you feel like you're being stalked everywhere you go, asking him dumb questions like, "shouldn't you be with chani??" "you don't have anything to be tending too, at the moment...?" "ah, are you sure you want to watch me spar and train? surely you have elsewhere to be." it irks him, just a little bit. ever since paul had locked eyes with you, his visions changed.

would he ever say what he saw? mm, maybe not. wouldn't want to scare you off!

but until he does make those visions a reality, he'll watch you from a distance. evaluate just why he sees children that look like the perfect mix of you and himself, why he sees so many different variations of wedding rings, why he sees you sleeping beside him in bed as he dreams.

just... until then. paul swears he'll make it a reality.

[demigoddessqueens]

hello a request please blood zeus hermes x reader x apollo, In the myths there is a daughter of Poseidon who had twins, one was from Hermes and the other from Apollo, I was wondering if the reader could be the mother of his children.

Sure thing!

Masterlist 11

Despite his insistence that you be married to a proper union, Poseidon is at the very least content you gathered children with Zeus’s favored sons

And that stony expression breaks away whenever he sees his beloved grandchildren

Hermes and Apollo are an entirely different story and league of their own.

Though they have a close relationship, aside from Apollo and Artemis, they were rivals for your affections when both had their eyes on you

The more it advanced, the more possessive they got until news came you’re pregnant

Seeing as he is a god of prophecy, Apollo knows you are bearing twins and sets aside this petty squabble to take care of you

Once Hermes figures it out, he’s ecstatic and showering you with affection

Things shift from that day on as both of the gods tend to your every whim, always staying by you and just overflowing with the adoration

You couldn’t have asked for more attentive or loving men during your pregnancy

The day your twins arrive is the most joyous one for Poseidon, for Apollo and Hermes as they hold the tiny cooing bundles

You’ve never seen such stoic beings shed tears before

[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap (runaway)

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous chapter: child's play

- Next part: runaway

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @misspendragonsworld

Tyland Lannister was quite possibly the only man in the Red Keep who didn’t want to be summoned in the middle of the night. After all, he had just returned to the warmth of his chambers, finally slipping beneath the covers next to you, his beloved wife. He had barely managed to put the chaotic events of the day behind him: Lucerys’s petition for Driftmark, Vaemond’s gruesome death (he could still hear the sound of Daemon’s sword), and the tense family dinner where one poorly aimed insult had nearly turned the entire affair into an all-out brawl.

But just as he began to doze off, allowing himself a moment of peace, there came a knock at the door. A servant entered quietly, his face pale in the candlelight. "Lord Tyland, you’re summoned to the small council meeting. Immediately."

Tyland groaned, sinking deeper into the blankets. "Surely it can wait until morning," he muttered, wishing to stay in the comfort of bed with you beside him.

The servant shifted awkwardly. "It’s from the Hand of the King, my lord."

That snapped him awake.

Reluctantly, Tyland kissed your cheek before slipping out of bed, hoping not to wake you as he hurriedly dressed. Couldn’t the small council meet at a reasonable hour? He was muttering curses under his breath the entire walk to the council chambers, escorted by none other than Ser Criston Cole, who looked far too awake for this ungodly hour.

By the time he arrived, the small council chamber was already filled with familiar faces: Otto Hightower, Queen Alicent, Lord Beesbury, Grand Maester Orwyle, Ser Barristan, and Lord Jasper Wylde. All of them sat in stony silence, the air thick with tension.

"Gods," Tyland muttered as he entered, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. "Can someone explain why we’re meeting in the middle of the bloody night? I was rather hoping to get a few hours of rest, seeing as how it’s been a rather eventful day."

Otto’s cold voice cut through the room like a blade. "Viserys is dead."

Tyland blinked, suddenly wide awake. "I—what?" His voice faltered as he took in Otto’s words. "The king is... dead?"

Otto’s expression remained hard, not a flicker of grief visible on his face. "Yes. He passed in the night."

For a brief moment, Tyland stood there, the shock settling over him like a heavy cloak. But just as quickly as the realization hit him, his first instinct was to stand up, his mind immediately shifting to you. "I need to inform Y/N," he said, his voice firm. "She needs to know about her father—"

Cole stepped in front of him before he could move toward the door, blocking his way with unsettling efficiency.

Tyland froze, alarmed. "What is this?" he asked, looking between Cole and Otto, his heart beginning to pound. "Why are you stopping me?"

Otto raised a hand, a silent command for Cole to remain where he was. "Ser Criston," he said calmly, "see to it that Lady Y/N stays in her chambers. She is not to leave until further notice."

Tyland’s stomach dropped. "What? You can’t—she’s her father’s daughter! She deserves to know!" His voice rose in protest, panic starting to bubble up inside him. "You can’t keep her locked up like a prisoner!"

Otto’s gaze didn’t waver, and his voice remained cold and controlled. "Your wife will remain in her chambers for her own safety. She will be informed when the time is right."

Tyland’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. "For her safety?" He glanced around the room, desperate for someone to speak up. "She’s done nothing wrong. What is this about, Otto?"

Otto stepped closer, his expression darkening. "Do you remember who arranged your marriage, Lord Tyland?" His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "It was me who ensured you wed the daughter of the king, securing your future and your place at this very table. And now, it is time for you to return the favor."

Tyland felt the weight of Otto’s words settle heavily on his shoulders, but he couldn’t ignore the growing sense of unease. "What are you asking of me?" he asked, his voice strained. "I won’t allow my wife to be treated like a prisoner."

Otto’s gaze was steely. "Your wife will be free the moment she publicly denounces her sister’s claim to the throne. And declares Aegon as the one true king."

Tyland stood frozen, his mind spinning. Denounce her sister? The very idea of it sent a chill down his spine. He could already imagine the look on your face if he brought this to you. There was no way you would stand against Rhaenyra, not after everything that had happened. And what would happen to him, to both of you, if you refused?

Tyland’s mouth went dry. "And what about our children?" he asked, his voice quieter now, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "What happens to them?"

Otto’s lips twitched into a thin smile, though there was no warmth behind it. "That depends entirely on you, Lord Tyland. Ensure your wife makes the right choice, and your family will have a secure place in the new order. Defy us..." He let the threat hang in the air.

Tyland swallowed hard, feeling the walls closing in around him. He had known that his marriage to you came with political ties, but this—this was something far darker than he had ever anticipated. And yet, what choice did he have? Could he really risk everything, risk you, by standing against Otto’s plans?

For a moment, he considered the absurdity of it all. Here he was, a Lannister, entangled in Targaryen politics, with dragons on one side and conspirators on the other. A lion, trapped between fire and intrigue, in a situation so precarious he could barely think straight.

"Do I have a choice?" Tyland asked, his voice quieter now, though laced with bitter humor. He already knew the answer.

Otto’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "We always have choices, Lord Tyland. Some are just... less pleasant than others."

Tyland stared at the table, his mind spinning with the weight of the impossible decision before him. But one thing was clear: whatever came next, his world had just shifted in a way he could never have predicted.

And somehow, he had to find a way to navigate it without losing everything.

Tyland Lannister felt as though he was walking through a fog as Ser Criston Cole escorted him back to his chambers. The events of the night were still a blur—Beesbury’s death, the tense small council meeting, Otto’s chilling ultimatum. He could still hear the sound of Cole’s hand slamming poor Lord Beesbury’s head against the table, the crack echoing in the chamber like a bell tolling the end of reason.

And now he had to face you. The very thought made his stomach churn. He could already imagine the look on your face when he told you what had happened. But how could he explain it? How could he tell you that your father, King Viserys, was dead—and that Otto expected you to betray your sister?

As Cole opened the door to your chambers and allowed him to enter, Tyland braced himself. The soft glow of the candlelight illuminated the room, casting long shadows over the familiar space. The moment he stepped inside, he spotted you immediately. You were pacing near the window, your brow furrowed in worry, and the moment you saw him, you rushed forward, concern etched across your features.

“Tyland!” you exclaimed, your voice filled with relief but also confusion. “What is going on? They won’t let me leave the chambers, and the children were brought here suddenly—what is happening?”

Tyland’s gaze drifted to the two figures seated on the cushioned bench near the fireplace. Your children, Daemon and Alyssa, were wide awake despite the late hour. Daemon, the elder of the two, was sitting quietly, his eyes filled with worry. Alyssa was fidgeting restlessly, her silver-gold hair falling in soft waves as she leaned against her brother, clearly trying to understand the confusion.

Tyland sighed, his heart heavy as he turned back to you. He wanted to protect you from all of this, to shield you from the storm that was brewing, but there was no easy way to do this.

He gently took your hands in his, guiding you to the bench where your children sat. “My love,” he began softly, choosing his words carefully, “there’s... something I need to tell you.”

You sat down beside him, your eyes wide with concern. “What is it? Please, just tell me.”

Tyland swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “Your father, King Viserys... he passed in the night.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t respond. Your eyes flickered with confusion, as if the meaning hadn’t quite reached you yet. But then, slowly, the weight of his words settled over you, and your expression crumpled.

“My father...?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “No, it can’t be...”

Tyland squeezed your hands gently, his heart aching as he watched the tears well up in your eyes. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said quietly. “It’s true.”

The first tear slipped down your cheek, and then another. Soon, you were crying softly, your shoulders trembling as the reality of it all sank in. Tyland wished he could offer you some comfort, but the truth was, he was barely holding it together himself. His mind was still reeling from the night’s events.

Daemon, sensing his mother’s distress, stood up from his seat and moved closer, his hand resting on your arm. “Mother?” he asked quietly, his young voice filled with uncertainty. “Is Grandsire really... gone?”

You nodded through your tears, pulling Daemon into a tight embrace. “Yes, my love. He’s... gone.”

Alyssa, her face scrunched in confusion, came closer to you and wrapped her arms around your arm. Giving her silent support.

Your sobs grew quieter as you held your children close, but Tyland could see the devastation in your eyes. He knew he had to tell you the rest, but how could he bring it up now, when you were already so heartbroken?

After a few moments, you wiped at your tears and looked at Tyland with a trembling smile, though the pain was still fresh. “Why... why won’t they let me leave?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “Why is the castle locked down?”

Tyland took a deep breath, his heart sinking as he prepared himself for the next part. “There’s more,” he said quietly, his voice soft but urgent. “Otto... he has plans. He intends to crown Aegon as king.”

Your eyes widened, the fresh wave of shock cutting through your grief. “But... but my sister—Rhaenyra—she’s the heir!”

“I know,” Tyland said, his voice filled with frustration. “But Otto is moving quickly. He wants Aegon on the throne, and he’s locking down the castle to make sure no one can challenge it.”

You shook your head, disbelief and anger mixing in your expression. “No... that’s not right. My father—he wanted Rhaenyra to rule.”

“I know,” Tyland said again, his voice lowering. “But Otto... he expects you to denounce Rhaenyra. Publicly.”

The words hung in the air like a sword over your head. You stared at him in stunned silence, your face pale as the implications of Otto’s demand hit you. “He wants me to betray my sister?”

Tyland nodded grimly. “He thinks it’s the only way to secure Aegon’s claim. And he expects me to make sure you do it.”

You stood there, frozen, as if the weight of everything was pressing down on you all at once. Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were mixed with anger. “How could they ask this of me? How could they expect me to choose?”

Tyland’s heart ached as he watched you struggle with the impossible decision. “I know, my love. It’s unfair. But Otto is determined... and he’s not giving us much of a choice.”

You shook your head, looking lost and heartbroken. “I... I can’t.”

Tyland reached out and gently wiped away your tears, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured softly, though even he wasn’t sure how. “We’ll figure this out together. I won’t let them harm you or the children. I promise.”

But even as he said the words, he knew that the storm was already upon them. The question was how they would survive it.

The small council chamber was filled with animosity as you sat there, Tyland by your side, your face set in a defiant expression as you faced down Dowager Queen Alicent and her father, Otto Hightower. You had barely had time to process the news of your father’s death—a mere few hours had passed since he’d drawn his last breath—and now, here you were, expected to make a decision that would betray your family.

Across the table, Alicent sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, her gaze steely yet pleading. Otto, on the other hand, looked more like a hawk ready to swoop down, his eyes flickering between you and Tyland with barely concealed impatience.

“We understand you’re grieving,” Alicent began, her tone almost gentle, as if she truly sympathized. “But the realm must be protected. King Viserys would want peace, and peace can only be assured if Aegon takes the throne.”

You clenched your fists under the table, willing yourself to remain calm. “Peace?” you echoed, a bitter edge to your voice. “How can you possibly speak of peace? My father hasn’t even been gone for a day, and you’re already talking about crowning a new king. This is nothing but ambition wrapped in feigned concern for the realm.”

Tyland shifted uneasily beside you, his hand resting on yours in an attempt to offer comfort—or perhaps to remind you not to leap across the table. He glanced at Otto, his expression wary, knowing that the Hand of the King would take any resistance as a personal affront of what he asked of him.

“Your father would have wanted this,” Otto said smoothly, ignoring the look you were giving him that could have melted iron. “King Viserys was a man of practicality. He knew what was best for the realm. Rhaenyra... well, she does not have the temperament to rule. Aegon is the answer.”

You scoffed, unable to contain yourself. “Aegon?” you said, your voice dripping with disdain. “My father would have laughed at the very thought of that. Aegon is a boy—a spoiled, reckless boy who doesn’t care for duty or responsibility.”

Alicent’s face tightened, though she maintained her carefully measured tone. “He has grown, Y/N. He is more than capable of ruling, with the right guidance.”

“Which is exactly what your father is so eager to offer, I imagine,” you replied sharply, shooting a pointed look at Otto, who didn’t even bother to hide his irritation. “It’s clear this has nothing to do with my father’s wishes and everything to do with your own ambitions.”

Otto leaned forward, his gaze hardening as he locked eyes with you. “You tread on dangerous ground, my lady. I have been loyal to House Targaryen for years, and I am advising you to make the decision that will ensure stability for the realm.”

You felt Tyland’s hand tighten on yours, a silent reminder to keep your composure. But you could feel your anger boiling within, and it took every ounce of restraint to keep yourself from rising to your feet.

“I refuse,” you said, each word dripping with finality. “I refuse to denounce my sister. And I will not support this sham of a coronation. My father deserves better than this disrespect, and my sister deserves the throne that he promised her.”

The room fell silent, a thick, tense quiet that settled over the table like a dark cloud. Alicent’s face remained impassive, but her fingers tightened around the armrest of her chair, a flicker of frustration breaking through her composure. Otto, meanwhile, fixed Tyland with a glare that could have curdled milk.

“Lord Tyland,” Otto said slowly, his tone icy, “perhaps you can speak sense to your wife. Remind her of her position and the... responsibilities that come with it.”

Tyland gave a forced, strained smile, his gaze darting between you and Otto. “My lord Hand,” he said carefully, “it is not my place to impose my will upon my wife’s loyalties. She has made her position quite clear, and I... support her in this matter.” His voice wavered slightly, though he managed to keep it steady enough.

Otto’s eyes narrowed, and Tyland could feel the weight of the warning hidden behind them. “I would suggest, Lord Tyland,” Otto said, his voice dangerously low, “that you consider carefully the implications of... loyalty to the wrong side. This decision may affect more than just your own fortunes as I've already warned you an hour ago.”

Tyland forced a tight smile, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned toward Otto. “Are you... threatening me again, Lord Hand?”

Otto’s gaze didn’t waver. “Only reminding you of your obligations,” he replied with a thin, almost polite smile. “You and your family are deeply... valued in the realm. But that value can shift, depending on... certain allegiances.”

Alicent cleared her throat, her tone sharp with impatience. “We do not wish for conflict, Lady Y/N. We only ask that you show understanding, for the sake of the realm—and for your children.”

You clenched your jaw, fury bubbling within you as they tried to use your children as leverage. “How dare you?” you hissed, your voice trembling with anger. “You speak of peace, yet here you are, tearing apart a family and betraying my father’s wishes before his body has even grown cold.”

Tyland, sensing you were moments from throwing something—or worse—gave you a gentle squeeze, an attempt to steady you. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “this conversation would be best continued once the... emotions of the day have settled.”

Alicent looked ready to protest, but Otto waved a dismissive hand. “Fine,” he said, his gaze steely. “But I advise you both to consider carefully. The people have already gathered in the Dragonpit to see their new king crowned. And I don’t believe they’ll take kindly to... dissent from those who should be showing unity.”

The statement hung in the air, and Tyland felt a shiver run down his spine. He glanced at you, feeling the full weight of Otto’s threat, but his expression remained defiant.

Otto and Alicent rose, signaling the end of the meeting. But as they moved to leave, Otto shot one final, pointed look in Tyland’s direction.

“Think carefully, Lord Tyland,” he said softly. “The crown has a long memory.”

And with that, they swept out of the chamber, leaving the two of you alone in the thick, oppressive silence. Tyland let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well,” he said finally, his voice laced with strained humor, “at least we know where we stand.”

You shook your head, feeling the sting of tears you refused to let fall. “They think they can scare us into submission.”

Tyland sighed, giving you a rueful smile. “I suppose they don’t know us very well, do they?” He reached out, taking your hand in his. “Whatever happens, I’m with you.”

The morning was cold as you, Tyland, and your two young children, Daemon and Alyssa, were being escorted through the corridors by Ser Criston Cole and his men. Tyland’s hand was firmly clasped around yours, his mind already whirling with worry as he glanced between his young family and the steely expression on Cole’s face.

Cole had made it quite clear that he was under strict orders to take you to the Dragonpit. Despite your refusal to support Aegon’s coronation, you were expected to make an appearance—or at least, that’s what Otto Hightower insisted on.

But just as they neared the Dragonpit, a small commotion erupted ahead. The doors were flung open, and a cluster of Dragonkeepers rushed toward them, their faces a mix of fear and urgency.

“Princess Y/N!” one of the Dragonkeepers called, out of breath as he reached your side. “Silverwing, Viseron, and Grey Ghost are attempting to break free of their chains. They sense your distress—they’re... they’re about to make a scene.”

Tyland’s eyes widened, casting a wary glance at Criston Cole, who looked thoroughly unamused. “Wonderful,” Cole muttered under his breath, crossing his arms. “As if we needed more disruption.”

You turned to Cole, managing a calm smile that Tyland could only admire in such an unpredictable situation. “Ser Criston, unless you want our dragons to interrupt this crowning ceremony by burning half of King’s Landing, I suggest you allow me and my family to calm them down.”

Cole’s jaw tightened, clearly torn between his orders and the potential disaster of unleashed dragons. Finally, with a grudging sigh, he waved a hand. “Fine, but make it quick.”

Without missing a beat, you took Tyland’s hand again, pulling him forward. “Thank you, Ser Criston. I promise we’ll handle it.”

Tyland, his nerves already fraying, leaned in close as they walked. “I’m not entirely sure I like where this is going.”

You flashed him a mischievous smile, one he knew all too well. “Trust me.”

When you arrived at the Dragonpit, the sight was nothing short of breathtaking. Silverwing, your mighty dragon, stood proudly, pulling against her chains with a deep rumble of impatience. Nearby, Viseron, Daemon’s dragon, let out an annoyed screech, his wings half-spread in anticipation. And young Grey Ghost, Alyssa’s dragon, was already clawing at the ground, his silvery scales glinting in the early light.

A Dragonkeeper rushed over, his eyes wide. “My lady, the dragons are ready. They’re awaiting your command for flight.”

Tyland blinked, taking a step back as he processed the scene. “Ready... for flight?” He turned to you, his brow furrowing. “Wait a moment... did you plan this?”

You only gave him an innocent smile, though there was a glint in your eye that told him everything he needed to know. “The Dragonkeepers were kind enough to help. Besides, Tyland, you and the children deserve to be safe—away from this... situation.”

Tyland’s jaw dropped. “You... you mean to tell me we’re leaving?” He glanced back at the Dragonpit’s entrance, realizing Criston and his men were still too far to hear. “And you planned this with them?”

You shrugged, guiding Alyssa to Grey Ghost as Daemon climbed confidently onto Viseron’s back, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Our dragons don’t wait for anyone’s approval, Tyland. And neither do we.”

A Dragonkeeper approached Tyland, gesturing to Silverwing. “Lord Tyland, your place is with your lady.”

Tyland felt his stomach twist. He’d managed to avoid any sort of flight with the dragons since your wedding, when Daemon had suggested a “new tradition” of strapping Tyland to the saddle to be “carried off” by Silverwing as a replacement for the bedding ceremony. It had taken him weeks to shake that mental image, and now here he was, faced with the very prospect he’d been dreading.

You held out a hand, smiling encouragingly. “Come on, love. Silverwing’s waiting.”

Tyland’s face paled, and he tried to find an excuse, any excuse, to remain firmly on the ground. “Are you... are you sure it’s necessary that I join you in the sky?”

You tilted your head, giving him that look he could never resist. “Tyland, are you really going to make me take off without you?”

With a reluctant sigh, Tyland took your hand, allowing you to help him onto Silverwing’s back. The dragon shifted slightly, as if acknowledging his presence, and he swallowed hard, clutching the saddle for dear life.

As you took your place in front of him, Tyland muttered under his breath, “I have to admit, I preferred the idea of hiding in the Red Keep over flying.”

You only laughed, giving Silverwing the signal to take flight. With a powerful push, Silverwing’s wings unfurled, and Tyland’s stomach dropped as the dragon launched into the air, the ground quickly disappearing beneath them.

Tyland’s hands were practically glued to your waist as Silverwing soared higher, and he shut his eyes tight, muttering a mix of prayers and curses. “How... how do you people do this regularly?”

You glanced back with a grin. “It’s in our blood, Tyland. And look, the children are loving it.”

Tyland dared to crack one eye open, and sure enough, Daemon was laughing with pure delight as Viseron flew beside them, and Alyssa was nestled contentedly against Grey Ghost. Both children looked as if they’d been born for the sky. Meanwhile, Tyland was clinging on for dear life, wondering if it was possible to faint while in flight.

After what felt like an eternity, he noticed the familiar coastline of the Westerlands coming into view, and a chill went through him as he realized they were nowhere near Dragonstone. “Hold on,” he called, trying to make himself heard over the wind. “Where are we going?”

You looked back with a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. “Casterly Rock, of course. It’s safer there. And,” you added with a teasing smile, “your family deserves to see their very own dragonriders in flight.”

Tyland felt a mixture of dread and resignation. “Casterly Rock? My brother Jason is going to have a field day with this.”

You laughed, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Well, at least he’ll get the chance to see his niece and nephew properly this time—dragons and all.”

As Silverwing descended toward Casterly Rock, Tyland couldn’t shake the feeling that life was only going to get more chaotic. 

[vezpr]

corporal: ch 1 - punishment

SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ HEIAN ERA AU ☽☾ ONGOING SERIES ☽☾ AO3

☽☾𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬:CH1: PUNISHMENT ▪︎ CH2: EXPECTATIONS ▪︎

☽☾ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You are such a menace that your father decides to offer your eternal servitude as a gift to the King of Curses.

Sukuna has not accepted such a tribute in years, more often opting to eat the young girls rather than put them to work, which is perfectly acceptable as far as your asshole dad is concerned.

Will the demon make an exception for you?

☽☾ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+MINORS DNI, blood and gore, violence, abuse, true form sukuna, eventual smut (not yet),I suck at tags

☽☾ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: CH: 4.2k TOTAL: 7.7k

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please comment something to that effect. But please put an age in your bio so i don't have to block you. Thanks for reading. 🖤

As a little girl, you were inseperable from your sister, Emika. You spent countless afternoons giggling and dashing between the trees in the wood surrounding your home. The same wood you are now running through as your life depends on it.

Even as stitches crawl, burning, into your ribs, you picture Emika's smiling face in the dappled sunlight. When you trip over a root and catch the stony soil with your knees and palms, your mind conjures a memory of practicing katas and swordplay with her in secret, of the many times she put you in the dirt, herself, grinning as she tapped her bamboo sword lightly against your throat. "Dead," she'd giggle. She was so strong.

You bound to your feet and run despite your burning lungs and aching legs. As your pursuer knocks you to the ground, restraining you with a strong pair of arms, you recall the time you walked into your favorite clearing and found her kissing one of the servant girls. Later, she had shared her secret with you, only you. 

As the guards drag you kicking and screaming back to your family home you recall how vacant her eyes had become when the servant girl was sent away. The way her lips no longer smiled when she was given to a man twice her age, a cruel man who kept her pregnant and did not love her. You would die rather than accept such a fate for yourself. You would be the warrior Emika had dreamt of being. 

As calloused hands throw you into the closet used to confine you when you were had misbehaved especially severely, you pictured how Emika had looked at you on her wedding day, a tight smile under eyes shiny with unshed tears. As you scream through split, swollen lips and pound your fists bloody on the heavy wooden door, you pictured her nodding and mouthing a silent goodbye to you. 

When you finally slump against the door and succumb to a darkness so complete that closing your eyes makes no difference, you hiss her name into the silence. Damn her. Why didn't she fight it? All that strength, for what?

Twenty now, you are half a dozen years older than she was when she was married. You are known for your wild behavior which has discouraged many requests for your hand, despite your clan being rather powerful. Your life was not pleasant, as a result.

You had been flogged and thrown into the dark more times than you could count. Your mother does not even come to sit on the other side of the door and tearfully beg you to change your ways anymore. You are utterly alone, and you suffer. But at least you have a modicum of freedom. At least this suffering is your choice.

"So you're back, father," you spit, blinking at the light that filters around his still armored silhouette. Fresh from one battle, into another. You do not give him the satisfaction of crying out when he yanks you out of the closet by your filthy hair. After all the pain you have suffered at the hands of this man and his lackeys, you hardly feel it anyway. 

"Yes, daughter," he spits the word out like he can't stand the taste of it. "And I will finally be rid of you for good."

"Finally grown the balls to kill me?" You sneer as one of his underlings closes manacles around your wrists. You lean away as the back of his hand flies toward your face, angering him further when his strike fails to land. He does not miss a second time. You grin at him with bloody teeth. 

"Worse," he answers. "You are to be given to the shrine." He smiles back at you when your grin falters, your heart skipping a beat. You know exactly what he means. You are to be offered to Ryoumen Sukuna, the king of curses. You have never seen him yourself, but his monstrous appearance and even more monstrous appetites are well known throughout the region. 

You can remember looking out of your window one night as a child, seeing the orange tinge to the horizon in the distance, the faint smell of smoke. "It's the King of Curses, raiding," Emika had explained, as she stroked your hair. Goosebumps raised on your skin as she described the four-armed cannibal warlord, a powerful weilder of cursed energy. The strongest force known to the country. "Don't worry, he won't come here," she had soothed. "Father has ways of keeping him placated."

Your dismay is only momentary, however, as you realize the irony of your father presenting you as a gift: dirty, broken and wild as a rabid dog. You laugh softly. "Perhaps he will kill you for your trouble," you sneer.

Your father looks you up and down before averting his eyes and scoffing in disgust. "Vile as you are, I'm sure you taste the same as any other girl, and that's the only use that savage has for such gifts," he responds. "Have her cleaned and dressed" he says over his shoulder, already marching away from you. 

It takes two men to hold you down while a servant girl is brought in to wash you. Her soft, dark eyes remind you of Emika. They are filled with fear when she looks at you. You do not give her any trouble, not even when she removes the muzzle from your face to clean it with a warm cloth. You slide your eyes to the gaurd whose fingers you had wounded before he was able to get the thing on your face, glaring at him threateningly.

The woman's hands are gentle, especially around your wounded lips, and the cleansing soothes your broken skin. "Thank you," you murmur to her as she pours warm water over your matted hair, combing it out as she washes it. She says nothing, but looks at you with pity, now. You had preferred the fear. 

On the journey to the shrine, you manage to ruin most of her work, throwing yourself repeatedly into the mud. At one point, you even manage to escape, despite being shackled, and forced the guards to chase you through the woods for over an hour. As a result, you are late to court, but your father drags you through the doors, anyway, dripping from an impromptu "bath" he had given you in the river. 

Standing on your tip-toes, you peer over the heads of the crowd. Your heart rate picks up a notch when you spot the monster lounging on a throne piled with skulls and bones at the head of the room. His enormous frame is draped over the chair, his cheek resting on his fist, as he looks down on one of his subjects. The squat old man is currently groveling next to a pool of blood at the foot of the steps that lead up to the throne. Presumably, his predecessor had not fared well.

Tattoos adorn the King's forehead and chin, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw, as well. A pair of piercing red eyes are set into each side of his face, although one set sit inside a rough-textured mask of some sort. The halo of soft, pink curls on top of his head looks strikingly out of place. His white kimono edged in dark blue hangs open over his chest, more black ribbons of tattoos frame his exposed pectorals. An additional pair of arms sit relaxed in his lap, the wrists of all four appendages are circled by more tattoos, like bracelets. 

Suddenly all four of his eyes snap up and he scans the crowd, until he sets his sights on you. You sink back onto your heels, heart in your throat, hoping, for once, that you have vanished into a sea of men. You are beginning to think that the eye-contact was just your imagination, when a booming voice calls out your father by name, asking him to approach. 

"Hold her," your father hisses at his guards, who are, in fact, already holding on tight to your manacled arms. You are grateful for the muzzle, for the first time, hiding your fear behind it. The old man that had been stuttering at the King's feet scurries back into the crowd as your father approaches. 

Sukuna glares down at him in silence for several very long and uncomfortable moments before he finally asks, "Brought your brat here, have you?" 

"I have, your-"

"Is it true," he cuts your father off, examining a long, black fingernail as he speaks, "that she disarmed one of your generals and managed to wound several men with his katana before she was stopped." 

"Regrettably-"

The monster cuts him off again with a low chuckle. "Bring her," he says.

Your legs feel like lead as the guards drag you foward, the crowd parting in front of you, many eyes casting curious looks in your direction. All four of Sukuna's eyes bore into you as you approach. You can't seem to tear your gaze away from his, though it is more out of paralyzing fear than defiance, for once. You wonder if he can sense it. Your fear. It has been a long time since you have been afraid like this, accustomed as you are to pain. The guards stop just a few strides behind your father. 

It feels as if all of the air is sucked out of the room as the two of you stare at each other, neither moving. The man seems awfully fond of uncomfortable silences, you think, as he stares at you with the same heavy-lidded, bored expression.

"What is that shit on her face?" He asks without moving a muscle. 

"Told you to take that off," your father hisses at the guards over his shoulder, even as one has already opened his mouth to answer Sukuna.

"A muzzle, Master Sukuna," the man on your left bows slightly, releasing your arm as he answers, "she bites."

Sudden inspiration strikes and you stomp hard on the toes of the man on your right, causing him to release your other arm and then you are running. You feel like you take only a half-dozen strides before a strong hand clamps down on your wrist. You spin, intending to smash your captor's nose in with your head, but you draw back when you are met with the muscled expanse of Sukuna's tattooed chest. "Leaving so soon?" He growls. He is enormous, you realize as you life your eyes to his, glittering garnets. He is smiling and you make a note of his long, sharp canines.

Frozen in place and unable to tear your eyes away from his, you don't even see the back of your father's hand flying towards your face. Your head reels back with the impact, a warm gush of blood colors one side of your vision red as his knuckles split the flesh under your eyebrow. 

Sukuna flicks his wrist almost imperceptibly and then your father is screaming. A fine spray of blood lands at your feet seconds before his severed hand rolls into your line of vision. Sukuna's eyes never leave yours. You don't move when he removes the muzzle and lets it fall to the ground where it lands just out of reach of the twitching fingers of the severed hand.

"Going to bite me?" He asks, his voice so low only you can hear, he leans in, eclipsing your vision, his breath warm against your ear.

You shake your head. You decided when this man removed your father's hand with a simple gesture that no amount of biting or running would prove effective against him. 

"Run if you want," he says, in the same low voice. "But you won't get far. Either they will get you," he says, nodding in your father's direction. "Or I will." He smiles, a cold display of sharp teeth, "and I like hunting."

He releases your wrist and turns to your father who is clutching his gushing arm. "You are aware that I appreciate useful offerings?" He asks.

"Yes, master Sukuna," your father bleats in a broken voice.

"What use do you think I would get out of her," he gestures at you, and you realize what a pathetic mess you must look, streaked with mud and blood and drenched in river water.

"I- well-" your father stammers, face gone pale from blood loss. "Your- your- appetites..."

He scoffs. "Execute your own children..." He says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Uraume!" He calls, addressing a white robed monk, who, you are peripherally aware, had been standing serenely beside the throne throughout the proceedings. "Put her up in the East wing," he commands. "You know the chambers I mean?"

"Yes, Master Sukuna," the monk nods, but you don't miss the arch of her eyebrows above her pale pink eyes. Despite their surprise, Uraume descends the steps and places a hand lightly on your shoulder. You shiver, their touch is intensely cold, but allow them to guide you towards the exit behind the throne.

Before you are out of sight, you turn to look once more at your father. "If you survive the blood loss, I hope you die of infection," you bellow at the top of your lungs. 

Sukuna throws his head back and laughs.

Uraume is silent as they guide you down empty corridors to the chambers specified for you. When they slide back the shoji door and you step in, you are surprised to find a sizeable suite with varnished floors, a large futon stacked with pillows, cushioned chairs and, what really draws your attention, a vanity littered with combs and perfumes.

"Who lives here?" You ask, narrowing your eyes at the feminine items.

"You, now," they answer.

"I mean before."

The monk hesitates, but finally answers with a shrug. "Master Sukuna's... concubines... but not for a long time now." 

"I will not be anyone's concubine!"

Uraume clicks her tongue. "Master Sukuna does what he likes," they shrug. "But, if it comforts you, he has not shown interest in replacing those he... rid himself of."

"What happened to them?"

"I will bring you a basin so that you can wash up. I'm sure you will find some clothes that will fit you in the wardrobe."

"But-" you begin, but they are gone in a white and pink blur of hair and robe.

All that first night you lie awake on the futon, staring at the shoji doors, half expecting the demon to burst through them and make his motivation for keeping you known. He never comes, although in the wee hours of the morning you hear soft thuds and low growling from the wall at your back. You wonder if the monster's chambers share a wall with yours, and shudder to think what he might be doing to make all that noise. 

After a few restless nights, you are eventually able to sleep. Although you are fairly certain that he is the source of the noises you are hearing at night, they almost comfort you at this point, as they mean that he is in his quarters, not thinking of bothering you.

Weeks go by and you barely see him, except in passing, and even then, he only addresses Uraume or other staff, never you, directly. It is as if you are invisible to him. Except for one instance in particular, you saw him entering through the West gate. Evidently, he was back from raiding and pillaging, as he was covered in blood and soot, wearing only a tattered hakama, hanging low on his hips. When he turned and saw you staring, he flashed a manic grin that had you spinning on your heel and hurrying in the opposite direction. You could hear him laughing behind you, and shuddered at the sound. 

Most days, Uraume would collect you in the morning and assign you some task or another. Cleaning and food prep, mostly. Apparently, Sukuna enjoyed eating large quantities of a variety of foods, not only human flesh. Thankfully, Uraume was the only one entrusted with preparing fare of that kind.  Other than that, you were free to explore the estate and no one seemed to bother you or ask what you were doing. 

You often ate in the kitchen with the other servants, and it was from one of these that you learned what happened to Sukuna's former harem. 

"Ate 'em, he did," Baba, croaked. She was a bent and wrinkled old woman who appeared to be at least a hundred and fifty years old. Her watery, cataracted eyes gleamed over her sunken cheeks as her toothless mouth sputtered out the story. "Got bored of fucking em, sure enough! Or fed up with them treatin' him too familiar, one! One tried running away but he caught her quick as anything and that's the truth! What a mess that was! Thought I'd never get up all that bl-"

"Baba!" Uraume scolded as they walked out of the back holding Sukana's tray. You tried not to look at the contents, or even think about them, as you poked at your salmon with your chopsticks.

"Well! It's the truth, it is!' The old woman screeches, spittle flying as she throws up her hands. "It is," she insists, leaning towards you and fixing her milky eyes on yours. 

Normally, you would smile at the old woman's theatrics, but you find yourself frowning at your food, instead. You recall that first day, how Sukuna had said that he likes useful things. How are you useful to him? You doubt he is even peripherally aware of what little work you do here, and, even if he was, anyone could do it. Why had he specifically put you in a room so close to his own, a lavish one at that, nicer than anything you had ever had at home?

You look up from your plate and down the table at the other servants. The few that are looking at you drop their eyes. Come to think of it, Baba and Uraume are the only ones who talk to you. Everyone else avoids you like the plague. Why is that?  You stand suddenly, knocking the table with your hips, causing dishes to clatter. Everyone is looking now. You hurry to clear your place and rush out into the bright daylight, no longer able to tolerate being confined indoors with your thoughts or with all those eyes on you. I have got too comfortable, you think to yourself.

Eventually, as you pace around the estate, you calm, although your eyes seek out the exit gates more than usual. The space is beautiful, with sprawling courtyards filled fruit trees, vegetable gardens, even a koi pond and a little stream that empties into a hot spring on the outskirts. Carrying your sandals, you walk along the edge of the whispering water. You smile to yourself as you watch the clear water rushing over the pebbled streambed.

Might as well enjoy all this while I can, you are thinking to yourself, when you hear movement ahead of you. Although you are somewhat concealed behind a stand of trees, you are only yards away from the hotspring. You hadn't realized that you had waljed so far. Sukuna stands at the edge of it, having just let his kimono slide off of his shoulders. Rooted to the spot, your eyes trace the lines of his tattoos, then the dips of his sculpted abdominals until they reach an odd line just below his navel. A scar, perhaps? You swallow thickly, finding your mouth suddenly dry. 

Your eyes are still focused on the odd slit on his belly- you could have sworn you saw it move- when his hands drop to loosen his hakama. As heat crawls unwanted into your cheeks and the tops of your ears, you avert your eyes and turn to go. Your heart was already threatening to hammer it's way out of your rib cage when he calls out, "Come here, girl." 

Could be talking to anyone, you reason as you will your limbs to obey you and continue your retreat.  A couple of splashes and then you hear him call out your name, louder than before. You are shocked that he even remembers it. Slowly, your movements dreamlike, you turn and make your way toward him. Holding your chin high and hoping you exude a confidence that you do not feel, you move to the edge of the hotspring opposite to where he is now half-submerged in the steaming water. "You called me?" You ask, bowing stiff and shallow.

"Closer," he nods, but doesn't otherwise bother to move. His upper arms are draped along the edge of the hotspring, his lower ones, concealed beneath the water.

Hesitantly, you move closer, but still  just out of reach of his splayed fingers. He looks, first, at your bare ankles, then, his spider-eyed gaze lingers along the length of your body until your eyes meet. The silence twists knots in your gut, and, although you do your best not to squirm, you feel as if every drop of blood in your body is rushing to your face. He is smirking. He is young, you realize, looking down at his unlined face. Striking, you are unable to stop yourself from thinking of his tattooed features, his extra eyes.

"Do you need something?" You ask, thinking better of the 'What do you want,' you typically have on queue for unloved authority figures. 

"Do you? Or are you content to spy on me from the shadows?" 

"I wasn't-" you begin, scowling. "Actually," you change direction, crossing your arms. "I do want something. I want to know why you keep me here... and why in that room?"

His smirk widens until it is almost a smile. A sinister expression, nonetheless.

"Do you want to go home?"

"I-" you sputter. No you don't want to go home, but you don't necessarily want to admit that, either. 

"I think what you mean to say is: thank you, Master Sukuna, hm?" He says as your mouth opens and closes like a fish. "Does that answer your question, or would you like me to think more about what to do with you?"

While you spoke he had inched closer to you and now you feel the warm slide of his fingers on the back of your calf. You look down at his extended arm, the tattooed wrist disappearing under the hem of your kimono, as you stomach does a series of somersaults.

When your legs finally decide to obey you you turn and speedwalk stiffly back towards the East wing of the shrine. You expect to be called back or struck down at any moment, but Sukuna only laughs at your retreat. 

Thst night, ypu decide you will leave. You manage to gather some food from the kitchen and other supplies without attracting attention. Now all there is to do is wait until you hear the demon thudding around and growling through the wall. Then, you will know that it's safe.  

What is he doing in there anyway, you think to yourself as you pace back and forth across the suite, stopping now and then to actually press your ear against the wall. Growling like that... the image of his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his hakama rises, unbidden, to your mind. You shake your head as if that will clear it. "Stop it," you hiss to yourself, absolutely hating the way your stomach twists and flutters at the thought. 

Hours pass. It is much later than it usually is when you hear him on the other side of the wall. You press your ear hard against the wall and strain to hear, but the only sound is the pumping of your own heart.

You sigh raggedly.

Maybe he's sleeping.

Maybe he's traveling, doing whatever monsters do. 

"Fuck it," you mutter, grabbing the bag full of supplies and slinging it over your shoulder. The shoji door is blessedly quiet as you slide it open. The hallway is dark, empty, silent. You breath a sigh of relief and close your eyes, centering yourself, gathering your courage. Maybe he won't even care that you're gone. Maybe he won't even notice. The thought comforts you and you draw on it for confidence as you take the first step out into the corridor. 

"Going somewhere?"

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice. It is a miracle that you don't cry out. You turn slowly, as you would in a nightmare, to see him leaning against the wall bare inches away from your door. You are surprised you didn't hear him breathing, as close as he is.

"For a walk," you answer evenly. 

"With luggage?" He asks, nodding at the bag slung over your shoulder. His eyes and teeth glint in the dim light. He's smiling. This is entertaining for him, it seems.

He chuckles when you say nothing and steps toward you. "Go on, then," he says. "I'll give you a generous headstart... Although," he reaches out and plucks the heavy bag off of your shoulder as if it were nothing, "I suggest you travel light."

There is only one response to that.  

You run. 

[wilbursprincess]

Arranged Marriage With Princebur

Princebur x Reader

Warnings: Sex, mentions of sex, angsty towards the end :D

Hi Tumblr. I wrote this as a ‘crack fic’ (mostly just self indulgent) but was so proud I figured you all deserved it too :) If you’ve read parts 1-4 of my Princebur headcannons, then this is familiar, but if not, you’re in for a treat! This is very loosely inspired from one of my favorite books of all time, ‘The Giver Of Stars’ by Jojo Moyes.

Fic below cut!

When my parents sat me down one day, I knew the news couldn’t be good.

The king and queen of my country were getting older, and all the newspapers were talking about their son, Wilbur, soon to take over the throne, wondering who would be his bride. I’d seen him, a black-and-white photo adorning these articles, and secretly felt sorry for whoever he’d be forced to marry. The royal family was big on arranged marriages. How else would they get more heirs to the throne?

“We’re going to the castle for tea,” my mother explained briskly. “The queen was aware you’re her son’s age, and-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupt, gaining a sharp glare from my father. “You want to marry me off to a prince?”

My father smiles, though it’s far from warm. “Well, hopefully, if they take liking to you.”

“Have you considered I don’t want to be forced into a loveless marriage, just to be a vessel for heirs to the throne?” I say, both my parents’ gazes turning stony.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” my mother snapped. “It’s a great honor to marry into the royal family. Wilbur’s a good man. Handsome, even.”

Sure. Wilbur’s handsome, if you like the snobby prince look.

“Go get ready,” my father adds, getting up from the table. “Wear your nicest dress, and try and do something with your hair. It looks like you rolled around in a barn.”

~

“It’s so lovely to meet you,” the queen simpered, giving me a watery smile. “You look lovely. Just like a future princess should.”

Lovely?

The corset my mother cinched me into was so tight, I couldn’t take a deep breath in, a trickle of sweat running down my back. My best shoes hadn’t been worn in over a year, and they were slightly too small, with a blister already forming on my heel. The heavy makeup caked on my cheeks and eyelashes felt thick. Maybe this was why all the royals looked miserable all the time.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, forcing a smile when my mother nudges me under the table. “These cakes are delicious.” That wasn’t a lie, however, my father had stopped me from taking more than one. Probably on the grounds that it wasn’t ‘ladylike’.

The queen forces another smile. “Our cooks here are very talented, dear. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger when you marry Wilbur. They’ll wait on you hand and foot.”

I force my face into what I hope is an impressed expression.

I might complain about the chores at home, but I’d be bored silly without them. What would I do, just sit around all day? And wait, wait, did she say ‘when’?

“Did you say, ‘when’ she marries Wilbur?” My father says, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

The king nods. “We did. Your daughter is exactly what we’re looking for in a bride for our son. She has lovely composure, perfect manners, and we can tell Wilbur’s already taken a liking to her.”

I sneak a glance over at Wilbur, who gives me the tiniest smile. Begrudgingly, I had to admit he was vaguely handsome. Sharp jawline, refined features, slightly messy brunette curls, and sparkling deep brown eyes.

Maybe this won’t be too bad.

“They’ll make such perfect babies,” my mother adds, the queen nodding her agreement. Snatching my eyes away from Wilbur, I pick up my now-lukewarm tea to hide my embarrassment.

Nevermind.

“So it’s agreed?” My father asks.

The king smiles. “It’s agreed. We’ll get to wedding planning right away. Everyone loves a good royal wedding. It’ll bring the country together.”

~

I’d never seen such a ridiculous waste of money before. The newspapers were eating up any tidbit they could about the wedding, and all the headlines made me groan.

‘Wilbur’s bride-to-be rumored to walk down the aisle in a pure silk gown!’

‘The royal family reported to be buying the future princess an entire wardrobe of velvet and silk, complete with jewlery to match!’

‘Royal wedding to be decorated with thousands of roses!’

I did my best to avoid looking at the bold headlines on the papers that piled up on my kitchen table.

My parents were over the moon, helping me pack up my belongings in preparation for moving into the castle. Or, rather, they were deciding which of my belongings belonged in the castle.

“Why would you bring such an old dress? They’ll just buy you a new one.”

“Those shoes are dreadful. A princess should only be seen in heels!”

In the end, I ended up with just a suitcase of clothes, shoes, and the occasional personal belonging my parents let slide.

My mother decided to teach me all about how to raise children, complete with handing me a satchel of all my old baby clothes and teaching me how to pin a cloth diaper on an old teddy bear. She also had to give me ‘the talk’ about how I’d go about having these babies, which left me horrified.

“Don’t give me that look,” she snapped. “It’s natural. It’s how you were made.”

My father took it as his responsibility to teach me about royal etiquette. He’d once worked as a servant, and had decided it was up to him to drill everything into my head.

“No! Head up, shoulders back, heel-toe walking.”

“You sip tea with your pinky finger out! And stop slouching!’

Honestly, if they were sending me off to work on a farm, I’d be more excited.

~

“You may now kiss the bride!”

I force myself to stay calm as Wilbur’s rough lips brush mine, and the entire church errupts in cheers and applause. It was sealed. I was now a princess.

Wilbur offers me his arm, and I take it, letting him lead us back down the velvet-covered aisle. I force myself to relax and smile, waving elegantly to the people in the pews, just as my mother drilled into me.

He helps me into the shiny new carriage, drawn by two shiny white horses, flicking their braided tails. More velvet on the inside of the carriage, all the metal features pure gold.

“Is ‘congratulations’ appropriate?” Wilbur says, breaking the very tense silence.

I shift against the seat uncomfortably, the lace edges of my gloves chafing my skin. “I think so.”

“Well, then, congratulations,” he adds, slightly awkwardly. “And sorry.”

He’s sorry?

“What are you sorry for?” I ask, finally looking him in the eyes.

Wilbur sighs. “You didn’t ask for this. Neither of us did, actually, but you especially.”

The heavy silence is even worse when the entire country seems to be cheering us on.

“I promise I’m not that bad,” I offer, and Wilbur cracks a smile.

Neither of us speak for the rest of the ride, and when we arrive at the castle, two men dressed to the nines open the doors. I go to hop out, but Wilbur gently stops me.

“I’m supposed to help you,” he whispers softly.

Luckily, the photographers didn’t seem to catch my slip up, and I accept Wilbur’s hand to step out onto the grounds of my new home. My heels are hurting my feet, and I’m exhausted, but I fix a smile on my face and walk through the grand front doors.

~

“Well, happy wedding night, darling,” the queen says, kissing both my cheeks with a flourish and handing me a paper-wrapped package. “Just something to make tonight better for you both.”

I accept with a smile, trying not to think about what the package is, before turning and heading up the main staircase to Wilbur and I’s new bedroom.

Wilbur’s not in the room when I walk in, so I flop into the middle of the bed and cautiously unwrap the package. Something small and silky slips onto the sheets, and I unfurl the bundle to see a baby-pink, silk nightgown, the deep neckline and hem lined with lace. I hold it up to my body, seeing it barely reaches my knees.

The door opens, and I drop the nightgown, turning around to see Wilbur carrying in a massive amount of packages.

“Wedding gifts,” he explains, setting them down next to another huge pile I didn’t notice earlier. “Mother wants us to open them before we go to bed. And I have a suspicion-” he indicates a lot of tiny parcels. “-that I know what these are.”

Wilbur tosses them all to me, grabbing several himself before joining me on the bed to unwrap them.

“It’s shoes for you,” he says, handing me a pair of dainty red heels. “What’s in that one?”

I rip open the package and sigh. “A hat for a baby.”

He nods, opening the next one. “Some jewelery for you.”

“Baby shoes and socks.”

“An evening gown.”

“A baby blanket.”

“Some cufflinks.”

“Baby clothes.”

Wilbur gently stops me before I reach for the next one. “I’m detecting a theme.”

“Me too,” I sigh, showing him the nightgown. “Your mother gave me this.”

His dark eyes widen. “Thats…” he trails off, swallowing. “A nightgown.”

“Uh, yea,” I reply. “It’s a nightgown.”

Another awkward silence.

“Look,” Wilbur says, starting to gather up the gifts. “It’s been a long day, and we’ve still got something to do before we can get some sleep. I’ll clean up here, you go get ready, ok?”

Something to d- oh. That.

I nod, grabbing the nightgown and scrambling for our bathroom.

~

The nightgown is certainly… something.

It seemed far too inappropriate a gift from my now-mother-in-law, as I look at myself in the mirror. Everything is covered, sure. Just barely.

The lace scoops dangerously low in the front, raising dangerously high at the back, and is so thin, it leaves nothing to the imagination.

Now I see what she meant.

There’s a sharp tap on the door. “You ok in there?” Wilbur asks. “You, uh, ready for bed?”

“Yea, I’m good,” I lie. “Just, uh, putting on the nightgown.”

A solid 5 seconds of silence.

“Can I see?” Wilbur’s voice comes out a lot more desperate than either of us was expecting. “I mean, if it’s ok with you-”

When I open the door, his eyes widen, taking in every single inch of silk, lace, and skin. “You…” Wilbur trails off, eyes everwhere but my face. “It’s definitely a nightgown.”

My face burns. “It is.”

“You go get comfortable, and I’ll, uh, get ready.” He says, trying to sound casual.

The bathroom door shuts behind him, and I get into our new bed. The only upside is that our bed is massive, so it’s not like I’ll be spooning the guy every night.

I blink open my eyes as the bathroom door opens, and my new husband walks out in nothing but a pair of striped silk pajama pants, sitting low on his hips. He gets into bed next to me, hesitantly setting a hand on my thigh.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Wilbur murmurs, a caring note in his voice I hadn’t heard before. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

I feel a new but welcome warmth blooming in my chest, both from the pet name and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. “I’m ready.”

~

Imagining what would happen on the wedding night, and actually doing it, were two different things. Two very different things.

I expected him to do what he needed to do pretty quickly, roll over, and we’d both go to sleep. Something I’d just lie there through.

Oh God, was I wrong.

There was something otherworldly about our two bodies becoming one, so strange, but so welcomed. It made heat pool between my thighs, pleasure bubbling up between our entwined bodies.

I couldn’t tell if Wilbur was enjoying it, but the noises he was making… soft groans and whines. They were like music to my ears, adding to the tightening in my core, something I’d never felt before, but I never wanted it to end.

The spiral low in my stomach kept tightening, ecstasy running over my body as he kept rutting into me, tightening until it snapped. And when it snapped, radiating out from the apex of my thighs, it was like I was on cloud nine, floating in the clouds, far above the castle, the country, and the planet.

I’d barely recovered from the wave of pleasure that slammed into me when Wilbur lets out a loud moan, burying his face in my shoulder as I felt my inner thighs suddenly wet. The only sounds in the room were mine and Wilbur’s shaky breaths, trying to collect our composure once more.

“If that didn’t work,” Wilbur murmurs, panting. “Could we, uh, do it again?”

~

I’ve been living in the castle, married to my husband, and a princess for a month now. I still wasn’t quite used to it. Gone were the days I pitched in around the house and could come and go when I pleased. Now, I sat around in a castle, wearing lace, silk, and velvet dresses that made me feel frumpy. All there was to do was sit in the library and read. I’d loose myself in leather-bound tales, about far-off and imaginary lands, trying to wish myself to live between the worn pages instead of here.

“I’ve washed your nightgown for you, ma’am,” one of our housekeepers says to me, dropping off a loud of laundry in our room, thankfully interrupting the conversation the queen was trying to have with Wilbur and I. “I couldn’t quite get the menstrual blood out of it, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s no issue,” I reply, face burning as I take the neatly folded pile, avoiding the gaze I’m sure the queen was giving me. “Thank you.”

The queen shakes her head, continuing knitting something that looked, suspiciously like a hat for a baby. “It’s ok, dear,” she says, forcing kindness into her voice. “Maybe next month Wilbur will do his job.”

Wilbur snorts into his tea, making his mother give him a very stern look. We make eye contact over the rim of the mug, warmth blooming in my chest.

He’s on my side.

“That hat looks nice,” I say to hopefully break the awkward silence.

The queen grimaces. “It’s a sweater for a newborn,” she says briskly, making Wilbur hide his laughter with a pretend coughing fit. “Wilbur, are you ill? Why are you coughing.”

“I’m fine, mother,” he lies, gulping down the rest of his tea. “Why don’t you head down to the sitting room and let me and my wife spend some time together?”

She immediately brightens up. “Oh, yes, of course,” she says, packing up her knitting and giving me a wink. “Good luck, you two.”

The second the door shuts behind her, Wilbur groans, burying his face in his hands. “Does she only care about you as some sort of baby-vessel?”

I sigh, wringing one of my carefully-folded dresses in my hands. “I think so.”

Awkwardly, Wilbur leans over, carefully putting a loose arm around my shoulders. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think of you like that.”

Blinking up at him, I feel a heat spread through my face. “Thank you, Wilbur.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, brushing a lock of hair out of my face. “So the… blood, it means you’re not pregnant, right?”

I nod. Wilbur’s face, inexplicably, breaks out in a grin.

“That’s good news?” I question, and he nods. “But, your parents-”

He shrugs dismissively. “Look, I had about as much of a choice as you did. Just because I have royalty in my blood, it doesn’t mean I like it.”

“You don’t like being a prince?” I reply, shocked. “Whenever I see you in the papers, you seem to like this life.”

Wilbur laughs, shaking his head. “That’s called ‘acting’, darling.” The pet name makes my face flush, though it’s not unwelcomed. “And now I’ve somehow dragged you into this mess.”

“At least we’re both equally unhappy?” I offer. “I promise I won’t mention this to anyone else. We can get through this.” I hesitate before adding the last word. “Together.”

Nodding, Wilbur brushes his lips against my cheek. “Together.”

~

“Wilbur, are you alright?” I ask, walking into our room a few nights later to see my husband sitting on the edge of our bed, looking pensive. “What happened?”

He sighs, patting the blanket as an invite for me to sit. “Mother’s been complaining to the staff about not getting her grandchildren yet. Apparently, she got pregnant with me the night she married my father, and saying I’m not living up to the family legacy.”

“Oh.” As much as I hate myself for it, my core tightens deliciously at the thought of Wilbur and I’s wedding night. “I’m sorry. I… parents.” I awkwardly finish.

“Parents,” he agrees. “So, uh, if you’re down, do you want to, y’know, try again?”

I nod immediately, a little embarrassed by how eager I look. “Sure.”

Wilbur awkwardly chews on his lower lip. “Did you… enjoy it? Last time?”

“I did.” I whisper. “Did you?”

He kicks his toe against the plush rug our bed sits on. “More than I should admit,” he murmurs. “I’ve read a lot of books in my years in this castle, so naturally, I’ve read about… that. If my parents knew I found those books, they’d be horrified.”

Surprisingly, I hear myself giggle. “Why would they be horrified about you reading about how to give them grandchildren?”

“Because those books don’t exactly see it as something for having babies. They see it as something to bring you closer to your partner, something that feels good.”

We’re both silent for a few moments.

“So, since you want to do it again…” Wilbur continues. “I know how to make it better for you. Do you still want to?”

I find myself nodding before the words even leave his mouth, reaching down to pull off my top. I’m left just in my bra and skirt, Wilbur’s eyes running all over my exposed skin.

“Can I take your bra off?” He whispers, cupping my breasts through the fabric. Even the hint of his touch makes my stomach tighten, and I nod.

His hand reaches around to my back, struggling with the clasp for a good few seconds before it pops open. Eyes wider than dinner plates, Wilbur rubs a thumb over my nipple until I groan.

“That’s good, right?” He asks anxiously.

“It’s good,” I reply, shimmying my skirt and tights down my thighs. “Do you want me to lie down, or-“

Wilbur nods, pulling off his shirt and reaching for the zipper on his pants. Just the motion of unzipping his pants makes the apex of my thighs throb.

When I look up again from taking off the rest of my clothes, he’s fully naked, chest heaving. I’d never seen him like this, and it’s not unwelcome.

“Tell me if this hurts, ok?” Wilbur whispers, tracing up my thigh and fumbling around a little before finding a spot that makes me gasp. His long fingers circle around and rub the little nub, the pleasure so intense my legs go weak.

“Oh my,” I manage to gasp out, that lovely tightening in my core getting stronger. “Please… don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, speeding up his touches and looking slightly smug at my blissed-out expression.

My hand grasps at his wrist so I can rub against his fingers, the ever-tightening spiral threatening to snap…

…And it snaps.

I close my eyes tight as I let out a long, low moan, hips bucking up against Wilbur’s hand as I ride it out, floating up in the clouds again.

“Safe to say that felt good?” Wilbur’s voice brings me back down to earth, and I’m disappointed when he pulls his hand back. “It’s going to get even better, I promise.”

While I’m still wondering how on earth he managed to do that to me with just his fingers, I feel him pushing himself inside me, everything so much more sensitive this time, and it’s wonderful. We groan in unison, his face buried in my shoulder.

“Can I move now?” Wilbur asks.

“Please,” I reply, wrapping my legs around his waist to steady myself. This lets him push in even deeper, putting pressure on the spot he’d been touching earlier.

Wilbur’s a lot less gentle this time, and a lot more vocal. A lot. Our hips snap together, and I let myself move with him instead of laying still.

“So good,” he murmurs in my ear, breath hitching. “So good, sweetheart.”

I wasn’t expecting another moment on cloud 9 for the second time in one night, but when the familiar feeling builds up again, I practically feel like I’m floating. It’s different than earlier, deeper and more intense, but just as welcome.

The second high is just as intense as the first, my back arching as I ride it out. Wilbur’s not far behind me, sighing as I feel my bare stomach suddenly wet.

“Sorry, I kind of…” he trails off awkwardly, grabbing his shirt off the mattress and wiping up the mess. “This is awkward.”

“You’re good,” I murmur sleepily, absolutely exhausted from the night’s activities.

Surprisingly, Wilbur cleans both of us up, climbing into bed and pulling me into his chest to cuddle.

“This ok?” He asks, and I sleepily nod.

He drifts off to sleep, but I stay awake, wondering why exactly my arranged husband could make me feel things like this.

~

Life keeps dragging along. Wilbur seems more distant and secretive, hiding envelopes in his pillowcase and burning letters before anyone else can see them. My mother-in-law keeps insisting I join her for tea every afternoon, which essentially means being extremely nosy and overbearing for an hour or two, drilling me on everything from how I carry myself in public to her ever-lack of grandchildren. My dresses keep disappearing after I hand them to the staff to wash, Wilbur blaming it on his mother.

One evening, I walk into our bedroom to see Wilbur in his warmest coat, a suitcase open on the bed, and two envelopes sitting next to it on the bedspread.

“I’m getting you out,” Wilbur says, smiling at me with indifferent eyes. “I’ve packed you some casual dresses and shoes, stuff nobody will notice missing. There’s money in that envelope, and a letter to my friend. He lives over the border on a farm, and he’ll find a place for you.”

I expect to feel a wash of relief, getting my life back, but no. All I feel is a tugging at my heart, a pang of sadness.

“You’ve got 10 minutes. Grab anything else you need, and I’ll take you as far as the border,” Wilbur continues, avoiding my eyes. “I’ll sneak downstairs and wrap up some food for you.”

While he’s gone, I quickly glance around, slipping the books on my nightstand into the suitcase. Wilbur’s done a good job packing my things, leaving behind the gaudy dresses and tasteless jewlery, slipping in my most-worn dresses and comfiest shoes. I change out of my nightgown and slippers, packing them and slipping on a warm dress, boots, and my heaviest coat. Fat snowflakes were falling from the sky, a chilling wind rattling the windows of the castle. This wasn’t going to be fun.

“Here,” Wilbur whispers, making me jump and turn around. “I couldn’t get much, but there’s some bread and apples. It’s better than nothing.”

He closes the suitcase, grabbing the woolen cap off his head and pulling it over mine. “Wrap this around your shoulders,” he tells me, handing me the thick blanket off our bed. “If we leave now, you’ll be out of the country by daybreak.”

I do as he tells me, nestling into the blanket as he wraps a heavy scarf around my face. “Grab your suitcase, and we’re leaving.”

I watch, dumbfounded, as Wilbur pulls open the window and leaps onto the steep shingled roof. “I’ll help you,” he promises, taking my suitcase and my hand so I can climb out. I lean up to shut the window.

There’s no going back now.

~

We walk all night in the frigid, unrelenting wind. My face, hands, and feet are numb, and I can’t recall ever being this cold before.

His friend hasn’t arrived at the meeting spot yet, so we settle into the shelter of a massive holly bush to try and rest our weary legs. Wilbur takes off his coat, placing it over my lap, and wraps me in his arms. Finally, I let myself cry, the hot, salty tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re ok,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on me. “Once you leave the country and forget about the past months, you’ll be ok. Your life is just beginning.”

All I can do is nod, continuing to sob into his chest. I couldn’t even begin to verbalise that the tears weren’t for our country or my old life, they were for him.

The time we spend in the shelter of the holly bush feels like an eternity. Just as the sun gives hints at appearing over the horizon, we hear the bumping of a cart, the snorting of a horse, and I know it’s time to go.

Wilbur loads my suitcase onto the cart, settling me down in the scratchy hay and nestling blankets around me. “I’ll be back,” he whispers.

I hear him and his friend exchanging a few words, the envelope being handed over, and Wilbur’s footsteps coming back towards me. To say goodbye.

“Take care of yourself, Wilbur, ok?” I say, trying to hold back the tears running down my cheeks. “What wil your parents say?”

“That doesn’t matter. Please, forgive me,” he begs. “Forget everything we did, forget the past months. I’m giving you your life back.”

He wipes away the endless flood of tears, kisses me on the cheek, and steps off the wagon. His jacket is still over my lap, and I press my face into it, his familiar smell washing over me.

The reins snap, the horse and cart rattling down the cobbled road, heading away. Away from my home, away from the castle, and away from Wilbur. Ahead? Whatever lay over the border. I had food in my suitcase and more money than I’d seen in my life. I’d find a way.

My eyes close, Wilbur’s face swimming over my closed lids, and I force the image away.

~

“Wait!”

I snap my head up as the cart rattles to a halt.

“Please, wait!”

It was Wilbur’s voice.

Dumbfounded, I watch as he comes running up the road, not slowing down until he reaches the cart, practically leaping into the hay and wrapping his arms around me.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he sobs. “Please let me come with you. I’ll leave my country, leave my chance at the throne, whatever it takes to stay with you. I love you.” His face is pressed against mine, slick with both our tears.

“Don’t leave me again,” I manage to say through my tears. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I never will,” Wilbur promises. “I want to spend the rest of my life by your side.”

The cart continues to make its way down the road, every step taking us closer to our new life. Our new home.

~

Wilbur and I’s new life is everything I’d ever dreamed of.

Once we made it across the border, we moved into a tiny cottage in the middle of the woods on a couple acres of farmland. Wilbur ended up sneaking my most valuable jewels into the bottom of my suitcase, which we promptly sold to afford some things for our house.

Coming from a life of luxury, being waited on hand and foot, to living on our own in a one-room cottage was a shock, to say the least. Wilbur really stepped up, teaching himself to cook and clean so the housework wouldn’t all fall on me. With the money from the jewelry, we bought a bed, kitchen table, two chairs, and some linens. It was all we had, and all we needed.

I taught myself to farm fruit and vegetables, as well as bake bread and make jams out of our harvests. Wilbur bought a cow, thinking we could get a decent amount of meat from her, but got too attached and ended up naming her Daisy.

“It’s a real farm now,” he said proudly, stroking Daisy’s forehead. “But doesn’t she look a little lonely?”

The next addition to our farm was a chicken coop, laying us plenty of eggs for breakfast. At Wilbur’s suggestion, I bought some flour and sugar, and used some of the butter I made from Daisy’s milk and eggs from the coop to start baking bread and cakes.

I went to the market every week, selling my homemade bread, cakes, and jam, which brought in a significant amount of money. For now, our family was complete…

…Until Wilbur showed up one morning with a skinny stray dog, looking very proud of himself.

“She can guard the farm for us,” he announced, scratching her behind the ears. “She can eat scraps, too.”

Princess, as she came to be known, did not end up guarding the farm or eating scraps. She slept in Wilbur and I’s bed each night, licking the pan clean from dinner or chowing down on scrambled eggs that Wilbur made for her.

“This certainly beats the castle,” I murmured to Wilbur one night as we lay in bed, Princess fast asleep between us as the fireplace crackles.

He leans in to kiss my forehead. “It does. I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (16/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, unprotected sex, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She didn't know if there was a worse humiliation for a man than being forced to fuck his wife in front of other people – on top of that, if he was listening to mockery from his own brother. She didn't know what to do to help him, so she simply covered his ears so that he couldn't hear what Aegon was saying.

He had always been a twat.

He'd been lying with his first for years, surely imagining it was our mother.

Say, cousin, does he cuddle up to your tits too?

Does he suck on your nipples like a little baby?

She knew he was saying it to hurt them both and was furious that he had partly succeeded – she felt pain and discomfort at the thought of her husband returning to the embrace of another woman, the woman he trusted, the woman he desired, the woman he felt safe with.

The realisation that nothing he had experienced with her was new to him filled her with sadness.

She knew, however, that her husband was suffering more now and it was him she should focus on.

She prayed that Aegon's words didn't reach his ears – he was truly focused on his task, preserved in the embrace of her arms, cuddled into her breasts simply pursuing his peak, treating her body like his own hand.

He had to do this, and she begged in her mind for him to simply come, moaning softly, wanting to give him courage and deafen whatever was leaving his brother's mouth.

She felt a squeeze in her throat when he lifted his head, when she saw his gaze full of sadness and regret begging her to comfort him – she took his face in her hands and let their lips melt together in a wonderfully warm, tender kiss.

She sighed loudly when she felt his warm seed finally spill inside her, and he groaned quietly, moving inside her for a moment longer.

It wasn't until everyone had left and they remained alone that he burst out crying like a small child.

She wasn't surprised – she herself had been horrified by how cruel this spectacle had been, and wondered if this was how his brother had treated him all his life.

She finally understood why he hid behind a stony face, why he was cold and aggressive, why he was endlessly anxious to prove his worth – whatever he did, what he suffered in the end was humiliation.

She stroked his body and embraced him, lying behind him on the soft bedding, singing him the lullabies that her nanny used to sing to her when she was still a little child. Her voice must have been to his liking, because eventually he turned in her arms and cuddled his face between her soft breasts, demanding more.

So she sang for so long until she finally felt him fall asleep.

She flinched and twisted in her place, awakened in the middle of the night from a deep slumber as she felt his hand on her waist – his lips placed a soft, warm kiss on her neck while his fingers slid slowly between her thighs – she sighed, not opening her eyes, unsure if it was a dream or not, feeling his fingertips sink into her delicate, silky folds.

"– mmm –" She hummed, feeling a pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen as his fingers began to play with her little bud, trailing around it in lazy, slow strokes, slowly building tension deep inside her.

"– shhh – sleep –" He whispered in her ear, placing moist, gentle little kisses on her face – his other hand slid under her body and closed over her breast, teasing her hard, popping nipple, his fingers between her thighs soaked in her wetness.

"– ah –" She moaned as she felt his hard manhood hit her buttocks, then again and again – she sighed as his hand gripped her silken thigh and spread it, lifting it slightly upwards, the swollen, thick head of his erection pushed against her slit, opening her wide.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled out as he began to groan along with her, slowly sliding all the way into her, imposing an aggressive, fast pace on her at once. His fingers slid down from her breasts to her throbbing womanhood – while the tip of his length rubbed the spot deep inside her again and again, his fingertips stroked her little pearl from the outside.

She squirmed, clasping her hand on his arm, panting loudly along with him, listening to the way their bare hips pounded against each other with loud, sticky splats.

"– yes – yes, yes, yes, yes, please –" She begged, feeling that she was so wonderfully close, his hot, accelerated breath on her face telling her that he wanted nothing more than for her to come.

"– shhh – come on, soak my cock – thaat's it, there we go –" He whispered tenderly into her ear as her fleshy walls pulsed around his hard manhood in spasms of pleasure – she threw her head back, moaning sweetly along with him, feeling her moisture run down her thigh when, after a few messy, sloppy thrusts, her husband filled her with his seed with a sigh of relief.

She swallowed hard when he put his arms around her and hugged her back to his torso, entwining their legs together, leaving his throbbing length deep inside her.

"– can we remain like this? –" He asked quietly, and she nodded.

"– yes – I want to feel you –" She muttered, and he hummed contentedly, placing a warm, affectionate kiss on her bare shoulder.

She thought that she was going to experience nothing but rest until sunrise, but as soon as her husband awoke, still before dawn, he turned her gently onto her stomach and used her body to his heart's content.

"– ah – mghm – g-gods –" She mewled, half sunk in sleep, clasping her hands on the soft bedding beneath her, feeling the sweet tension in her loins again as he pounded into her from behind with loud smacks of their hips, hitting her little spot again and again.

"– sleep –" He breathed out in a voice heavy with desire, their bodies hot and throbbing, his swollen erection thrusting hard between her soft, warm thighs, not letting her escape.

She gasped as she came with him, listening to his groans of pleasure, unsure how many times he had done this to her – when she awoke, her cunt was all sore, leaking with his spend.

"– how many times have you taken me through the night? –" She mumbled, snuggled into his bare chest, trying to count in her thoughts.

Three?

Four?

Probably four, she thought.

"– I don't know what you mean – I slept like a little baby –" He murmured softly, running his fingertips down her back, not opening his eye.

She huffed quietly, knowing that he did this because he wanted to regain control over the situation, that he couldn't allow their closeness to be associated with the humiliation he had suffered because of his brother.

"– how am I supposed to fly on Sheepstealer today if I struggle to even sit down? –" She asked resentfully and heard him sigh heavily.

"– you had no objections then –" He grunted.

When, she wanted to ask to tease him further, but she didn't dare.

She raised herself on her elbow and shook her head, amused.

"– you must promise to let my poor, aching womanhood rest –" She said softly.

He pressed his lips together, tracing her bare, girlish body with the gaze of his healthy eye.

"– for how long? –" He asked uncertainly, unhappy.

She stroked his head with her fingers, looking at him with tenderness, his gaze fixed on her face gentle.

"– one night should be enough –" She replied.

He hummed under his breath and nodded.

"– mmm – very well – you have satisfied me many times tonight – you deserve to rest –" He muttered, and she placed a loud, lingering kiss on his cheek.

"– let's eat together –"

Despite the unpleasant events of last evening, the thought that they would be having a morning meal together for the first time filled them with good mood – her husband, dressed only in a linen shirt and breeches, sat down at the table as she headed for the seat on the other side, putting her nightgown over her shoulders.

"– what are you doing? –" He asked, grabbing for the bread, looking at her in surprise. "– take a seat by my side – unless I'm terrifying you so much –"

She smiled at his words and moved towards him, sitting down in the chair right next to him.

She wanted their closeness to be based on his desire – for him to know that he had control over what was happening between them and that she would not impose on him even as his wife.

It was the first time she'd seen what he ate in the morning – it didn't surprise her that he reached for scrambled eggs – a source of protein and strength he needed before sparring and training. She smiled under her breath as she herself reached for a platter of oatmeal, pouring it into her small bowl before pouring warm milk over it.

They ate in silence, but it was a pleasant kind of it, devoid of discomfort or tension – she couldn't help but smile, catching him glancing at her once in a while, the expression on his face gentle and content. She reached out her hand to him – he hummed under his breath and grasped her fingers in his, stroking her soft skin with his thumb.

So this is what her days will be like now, she thought, feeling nothing but peace for some reason.

"– I have a gift for you –" She said lightly.

He blinked and cocked his head, his smirk indicating that he was curious and excited.

"– mmm –"

She quickly ate a few spoonfuls of her porridge and rose from her seat, walking to one of the chests that had been moved to his chamber the day before.

Her Prince had wished her to have some of her belongings in his quarters, so that when she spent nights with him she could stay in his room in comfort.

She reached deep and smiled under her breath as she felt a long object wrapped in the fabric – she took it out and approached him – he wiped his hands in the white cloth, swallowing loudly at what was in his mouth.

She pulled the material off in a sweeping motion, and to their eyes appeared a long dagger specially made to her order – she had hunted many times with her cousin in Runestone and knew what proportions would be right for a man of his stature and height, making sure it would fit his hand well.

Her husband took her gift in his hands, completely surprised, gazing intently at the handle, which ended with the head of a dragon that had small sapphire stones inserted in the place of its eyes.

"– Vhagar –" He muttered, noticing in the beast's features a resemblance to his dragoness, which was no coincidence.

"– I drew her for the smith as best I could –" She confessed, and he looked at her, something in his gaze from which she felt a pleasant warmth in her heart.

He was touched.

"– it's a beautiful, thoughtful gift – of course that's what I received from my wife –" He said softly, taking her hand in his, lifting it to his lips, placing a delicate, tender kiss on her skin.

"– I also have a gift for you, ābrazȳrys – but I'm afraid it can't compare to yours –" He said, and she smiled with excitement and nodded.

"– wait for me –" He said and rose from his seat, moving towards the door, leaving the chamber.

What was this if he couldn't keep it in the room?

She waited for him for several long minutes, and when the door finally opened and he stood in the threshold, she noticed a small ball covered in fur in his arms, making a squeaky, high-pitched sounds.

It's a puppy, she thought in disbelief.

A hunting dog.

She got up from her seat and ran over to him, gushing with joy, reaching out her hands to him – her husband handed her the pup, who barked loudly and started wagging his tail – he had long, loping ears, his belly and paws were white, his back and sides brown and black.

"– I thought we should set off on a hunt together someday – when I saw him, I found you had the same eyes – I couldn't resist that pleading look –" He hummed, folding his hands behind his back, clearly pleased with her reaction.

"– hello, little one – ah, you're so sweet –" She mumbled as he licked her with his tiny pink tongue, squirming in her arms with excitement.

"– iksis ñuha ābrazȳrys biare? (is my wife happy?) –" He asked, and she threw him a joyful, bright look.

"– kessa (yes) – emā vēttan nyke olvie biare, valzȳrys (you have made me very happy, husband) –" She said softly, coming up to him – she stood up on her toes, placing a warm, wet kiss on his scarred cheek, from which a grimace of satisfaction spread across his face.

Her husband was to provide her little friend with an education so that, in fact, her dog could accompany them on hunts – the Prince burst out laughing when she said she would name her hound Daemon.

"– at last there will be a Daemon in my life whom I will be able to love –" She grunted, gently combing his hair after the bath – she longed to help him care for it herself and tie it at the back of his head, finding it a very private and intimate task, perfect for a wife.

She saw that, at the word love, he gave her a long, drawn-out look in the reflection of the mirror, but did not say a word.

She didn't care what he felt for her.

He was making her happy.

"Will you fly with me… to Harrenhal?" He asked suddenly in a voice strangely quiet and uncertain, as if for some reason he feared her refusal and rejection.

She threw him a quick, surprised glance, braiding the front strands of his snow-white hair with a black ribbon.

"Of course. My place is by your side. Always." She said without hesitation and placed her hand on his shoulder. She smiled warmly when his fingers caught hers, pressing her palm to his full, moist lips.

"– kirimvose, zaldrītsos (thank you, little dragon) –" He whispered, as if ashamed of his own words. "– kirimvose syt issare sȳz naejot nyke (thank you for being kind to me) –"

She blinked, feeling her heart squeeze at his words, so childlike, simple and sincere, guessing how difficult it had been for him to get such an embarrassing confession out.

"– iksā sȳz naejot nyke tolī, lēkia (you are kind to me too, big brother) –" She said softly, throwing her hands on his shoulders, leaning in so that her lips placed a gentle kiss on his temple.

When they were both ready, as planned, they set off on horseback to Vhagar's lair to soar into the sky on their dragons and fly over King's Landing – there was something beautiful in this act of unity, in the proof that from now on they were creating something common, together.

The meeting of the Small Council, which took place after their return, proceeded in a tense atmosphere – her husband made no sign of what humiliation he had suffered the day before, but his rage and desire for revenge was evident in his tense figure and sinister gaze.

His brother paid for rising from his bed with excruciating pain, so he was again given large quantities of the milk of the poppy.

"Now that the future of the Kingdom has been secured by marriage, we must take measures to take back Harrenhal from the Blacks. Daemon is gathering his forces there, ready to set out any day to his wife's aid. We must face him before the two armies are united." Said Otto in a voice full of calm and conviction about the rightness of his own words.

The Prince nodded.

"My wife and I will move at the head of our army in a few days to finally resolve this matter. I count on my sister and Dreamfyre, though not eager to fight, to defend the keep in our absence." He said coldly, and his grandfather nodded.

"I will see to it."

The rest of the day, which her husband spent on his duties, she spent in her chamber, playing on the floor with her new little pup – she knew she would have to return him to his guardian for the night to sleep with the other dogs, but now she could enjoy being with this sweet, innocent creature.

She liked how well thought out this gift was – not only did her husband show that he knew her nature, but he also gave her something to bring them closer together in the future, to give them another reason to spend time together.

This thought comforted her in the moments when her imagination showed her his face snuggled into the bosom of some pretty, mature, tender woman.

Did he love her?

Maybe he still does.

She blinked as the door to her chamber opened and her husband's sister, Queen Helaena, stepped inside – she rose quickly and bowed, surprised by this visit.

"I am sorry." She said, playing with the rings on her fingers. "For what happened to you last evening."

She nodded, accepting her words in her heart.

They had never spoken to each other before – after her son's death, it seemed to her that she had lived in a land of her own mind, unable to bear reality.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of her baby dog, who ran up to her on his short paws, squealing and whimpering, begging for attention. She smiled, looking up at her with an expression of childlike joy on her face.

"A puppy. Can I pet him?" She asked softly, and she nodded, throwing her a hearty, genuine smile.

"Of course, Your Grace." She said calmly, and seeing that the Queen sat on her knees on the ground, scratching Daemon's back, she did the same, taking the seat opposite her.

"My brother. He has changed." She said, however, not looking at her, but at her pup, busy combing his fur with her fingers.

"I don't follow, my Queen. Do you mean your lord-husband?" She asked in surprise.

"Aemond. Before he imprisoned you, he was on the path to his own destruction. There is a fire flowing through his veins that burns him from the inside everyday, however, he began to control himself for you – he doesn't want you to look at him like our mother does. With regret and resentment." She said calmly and gave her a long, dreamy look, then turned her gaze away again, as if distracted.

"Do you like to embroider? I like it a lot. Preferably all sorts of insects." She said lightly, suddenly changing the subject.

She blinked, feeling her heart pounding like a mad, unsure of how to behave, figuring she would simply follow the course of her thoughts.

"Unfortunately, I'm not talented in this aspect. Or maybe I didn't have a good teacher." She said honestly.

"I can teach you. It's not difficult if you master the technique properly." She replied, allowing Daemon to climb onto her thighs, content to recline comfortably in her lap.

"Very well." She replied without thinking, recognising that she should not refuse her.

Helaena did not look at her, but smiled broadly, as if her words made her happy.

"Your son will have your eyes."

She froze, looking at her in disbelief, wondering if she had heard correctly what she had said.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I do not understand." She muttered.

"I can see you holding him in your arms. The future king."

She swallowed hard, feeling the drop of a cold sweat run down her back.

"And my husband?"

"He is not beside you. All I hear is the sound of water."

She looked at her, feeling as if she froze, her heart stopped beating for a moment.

He is not beside you.

Why?

"What do you mean, Your Grace?" She mumbled in a trembling voice.

Helaena lifted her gaze to her, her face suddenly serious and fully focused – they both shuddered as the door to her chamber opened, and her lēkia stepped inside.

"Sister." He said cautiously, standing between them – Helaena, however, rose immediately without looking at them, her eyes widening again.

"– keep her close –" She said to him and walked away, leaving them with expressions of disbelief on their faces – her brother turned to follow her, concerned.

"What was that supposed to mean?" He asked when the door of her chamber closed behind her.

She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders.

"The death of her son has caused her to close herself off in her mind. She is lost." She muttered, herself not believing what she was saying, unable, however, to shift this burden onto him.

"What did she tell you?" He asked further, stepping closer to her, tense, his hands clenched into fists.

"She expressed her grief and sorrow for what her brother-husband did to us." She replied, thinking that telling him only part of the truth wasn't a lie after all.

All I hear is the sound of water.

"Never mind." He said, wanting to quickly change this uncomfortable topic.

"I have come to announce to you that summoning you to my chamber every day is tedious. I expect you to wait for me in my bed every evening." He said in an official tone, as if he had just presented her with some royal decree.

She smiled wearily and nodded, taking little Daemon's in her hands.

"Very well. I will take my friend back to his brothers and sisters and come to you." She said softly.

He hummed, pleased with her answer and left, leaving her alone.

She clenched her eyelids and burst into sobs as soon as the door to her chamber closed behind him.

He is not beside you.

All I hear is the sound of water.

So where will he be while she is caring for their child?

With his mistress in a hot bath?

She swallowed hard, looking down at her trembling hands, trying to calm herself, realising only now that Aegon's words had sunk into her heart like a thorn.

She preferred not to let him see her tears, so she cried until she calmed down – she recognised that prophecies and dreams, even if they contained a grain of truth, did not represent the full picture.

Surely there was something she could have done, she thought, trying to reassure herself, walking to his chamber in only her nightgown and a thin robe thrown over her shoulders.

Her husband was lying on his bed when she came in, holding a book on his thighs, which he was looking through curiously – he lifted his gaze to her when he heard her footsteps and hummed, his eye expressing gentle contentment.

"Come here." He murmured softly, drawing her to him by her hand when she was close enough, making her fall against his chest.

"– how is your little cunt? – did it rest properly today? –" He asked lightly, pulling the material of her nightgown up – he gently sunk his long fingers into her silky folds from the side of her buttocks, making her involuntarily smile with amusement.

"– yes – I am grateful to you for your understanding, husband –" She said softly, placing a warm, tender kiss on his cheek, while his other hand was stroking her back in lazy, slow motions.

"– mmm –" He said, spreading himself comfortably beside her as she lay on the soft bedding on her back, stroking his jaw with her knuckles.

He is not beside you.

She swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her throat, thinking that she cherished that face, those lips, those eyebrows, those cheekbones, that chin and nose.

"What are you thinking about?" He whispered, seeing that her thoughts had drifted far away.

She blinked, pressing her lips together, feeling warm tears begin to run down her cheeks one by one, his loud gasp told her he was surprised.

"– what's it? – look at me, ābrazȳrys – where are these tears coming from? – tell me –" He muttered with sincere worry, lifting her chin with his finger, as if he was afraid that something had happened that would make him suffer her rejection.

Could she have asked him about her?

Of course not.

He will be furious.

"I can't. It's a subject you certainly don't want to discuss with me or anyone else." She muttered wearily and heard him swallow hard, his hot breath enveloping her face.

He was silent for a long moment, as if hesitating, and then she heard him open his mouth.

"You are my wife. I allow you to ask me anything you wish. I know you will not deliberately offend me or cause me discomfort." He said slowly, his voice trembling slightly, betraying his anxiety.

She looked at him surprised, whooping with tears, meeting his concerned, sad gaze.

This was not what she had expected.

She licked her lower lip, dry with stress, wanting to find the right words, the right way to tell him what was bothering her and not discourage him at the same time.

"What Aegon said. Then. He was referring to a woman who was important to you. Who you trusted. Who you kept coming back to. I don't know what I expected, but hearing that you did the same things with her that you do with me hurt me. Maybe because you are my first. There was no one before you."

"And the servant boy?" He asked dryly, looking at her sternly, wrinkling his brow – although he looked as if he was frustrated, his fingers trailing down her neck and cheek softened his expression.

She blinked and shook her head, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"I was desperate. I wished for someone to make me feel good, to make me feel safe. After all, you know it – you were there. You gave it to me yourself." She whispered.

"And there you have your answer." He replied calmly.

They looked at each other in silence, just being and breathing.

You have your answer.

He was desperate.

He wanted to feel good.

To feel safe.

He had no one to turn to, no one to go to, so out of desperation he went back to the brothel, to the woman who gave him comfort, to forget, at least for a moment, what he was experiencing inside himself.

She nodded, accepting his words, and he sighed quietly, as if relieved, obviously afraid that she would try to continue the subject further.

His hand slid down to her warm cheek, wet with her tears, which he brushed away with his thumb. She felt a pleasant sensation in her heart as he leaned in, his forehead pressed against hers.

"– there's no point in dwelling on the past – not when there's a shared future ahead of us – yours and my fate – no one else's –" He whispered, as if he was telling her his secret, something he was ashamed of.

Yours and my fate.

No one else's.

Something in his words, in the way he said them, made her feel relieved. She smiled softly and he drew in a loud breath, looking at her for a moment, only to cup her face in his hands and sink his fleshy lips into hers in a hungry, aggressive kiss.

She moaned into his throat, clasping her fingers in his hair, teasing his mouth with hers with sweet sighs of delight, thinking of how much she adored his scent, his closeness, his touch.

"– hāedar –" He breathed out into her lips between the loud clicks of their saliva, as if he was saying the words of a prayer.

She let his hands tear off her nightgown, let his head lean down, let his lips clamp greedily on her puffy nipple, sucking on it with his loud grunt of pleasure, her fingers pressing his body against her breasts.

She sighed as his lips traveled higher, placing wet, sticky kisses on her collarbone, on the hollow of her neck, on her jaw.

"– I want you inside me –" She mumbled, and he broke his caress, throwing her a surprised look.

"– I exaggerated last night – I don't want to cause you pain –" He said uncertainly, stroking her hot cheek with his broad hand.

"– I want to feel you – just be gentle –" She said, throwing her arms around his neck, spreading her thighs in front of him without shame.

She was his wife after all.

No more encouragement was needed – his hands immediately slid down to his breeches, untying them, after a moment releasing his heavy, swollen erection that hit her lower abdomen.

"– come here – there you go – shhh – easy –" He whispered as he guided his long manhood to her slit and with a slow, lazy thrust he opened her on the head of his cock, pressing his forehead against hers, looking down at what he was doing to her.

"– sadly, this poor cunt won't get any rest tonight – mmm –" He gasped out as he gently slid all the way into her – she moaned, feeling her aching walls pulsing around his hard length with desire, thinking that all she wanted was to be one with him.

Don't go where I can't follow you, she thought, looking at his face, his misty gaze full of hot lust, feeling the soft, steady thrusts of his hips as he rooted into her with the quiet clicks of her wetness.

"– does it hurt? – I'll stop, just say a word –" He whispered, stroking her cheeks, her shoulders, the sides of her waist and her buttocks, as if he couldn't decide what was more dear to him.

He leaned over her as she shook her head and kissed her in a way from which her heart fluttered in her chest like a bird – his moist lips brushed hers in a wonderfully tender, sweet caress, his thumb stroking her silky cheek, holding her close.

She closed her eyes, concentrating only on that, on his scent, his loud, warm breath, his sighs, the fleshy structure of his full lips that melded with hers again and again, his hard, pulsing erection stretching her slick core.

"– my lips never touched hers – never caressed her down there –" He whispered into her mouth, making hot shiver run down her spine, her cunt giving his length one, greedy squeeze – they both groaned into each other's throats as he shyly quickened his pace, thrusting into her more confidently, hitting the sweet spot deep inside her fleshy walls.

"– then, in the library – it was my first kiss –" He breathed out with difficulty, slamming into her harder and harder, his hips bumping against her buttocks with loud slaps.

She sobbed into his throat as his full lips sunk into hers again, the loud clicking of their saliva all around them in the utter chaos of their tongues and teeth.

Then, in the library.

It was my first kiss.

"– don't leave me –" She mewled into his mouth, feeling the wonderful tension building in her lower abdomen, a pleasant, tickling sensation running through her nipples, her fingertips and her throbbing, leaking womanhood.

"– never –" He breathed out, pressing his lips against hers in a more violent, passionate kisses, matching his thrusts, rough and deep, evidence of his pure lust – his hand ran lower, between her thighs, his thumb finding her little bud, all swollen with desire, brushing it with circular strokes.

"– I love you –" She cried out, feeling that her peak was approaching, that she was about to experience the strongest fulfilment of her life – she heard him sigh in surprise, his cock throbbing hard inside her in response, pounding into her with sticky clicks of her moisture.

"– I love you – I love you – I love you –" She sobbed loudly, feeling tears run down the sides of her face, clasping her fingers over his soft buttocks – his gaze was hot and dark as he looked down at her, his mouth wide open in disbelief, his hips slamming into her as hard as if he had lost his mind.

"– me – me too – f-fuck, I love you too – ah –" He exhaled and gasped, feeling her warm cunt begin to clench on his cock in delight, sucking it inside, her sweet whimpers of pleasure making him just come with a loud grunt, all welted and sweaty just as she was.

"– good gods, hāedar –" He breathed out and fell on top of her, as if he didn't believe what they had just done and said.

And yet.

Her walls were sore all over, but the feeling of fulfilment she experienced now, when he was deep inside her, when she smelled his scent, when she heard his heavy breath, was irreplaceable.

He gave her neck a little, tentative kiss, panting hard along with her, his manhood throbbing softly deep inside her, filling her with the remains of his seed.

He wanted to slide out of her, but her hands clamped down on his buttocks.

"– no – not yet –" She mumbled, and he sighed as if relieved, with a gentle thrust sinking deep into her body again.

They lay like this in silence, just embracing each other and breathing, taking comfort from their closeness, from the warmth of their bodies.

She ran her fingers through his hair, stroking his back with her other hand and closed her eyes, wanting to remember this, this moment, them, together, happy.

I will always be by your side, she thought.

I will save you.

_____

Author's note: The dog she got from her husband is a Beagle. Aemond saw the servants carrying some puppies walking down the courtyard and, looking at one, thought "gods, he looks at me like my betrothed". He thought that she probably felt lonely in the Red Keep and perhaps she would be happy to have a companion.

[cypherscript]

Pulling a favor

Been watching Hazbin Hotel, really enjoying it so far. Time to mix my obsessions together cause that's what we do here, ain't it?

_____________________________________________________________

"Okay, I can get you the meeting but once you're in Heaven I wont be able to go with you. Will you be okay?"

Charlie takes Lucifer's hand into hers, "I'll be fine."

Lucifer places his other hand on hers, "That's my girl". He steps back, a look of pride on his face before sighing, "Good luck, kiddo." His magic flares from the ground, taking him away in a swirl of power before he steps out into a room full of his rubber ducks. Flopping down into a pile of ducks reveals a throne like chair that he slowly sinks into. "What should I do? Heaven's never going to listen to her... but maybe... YES! Where is it?" He begins digging through the multitude of ducks before pulling out a scroll with a note, 'One Favor-open when shit hits the fan'.

With a flourish he breaks the seal on the scroll, tossing it into the air as it bursts into an acid green flame and grows larger and larger until it's nearly 6ft tall, Lucifer lowers his head: not quite a bow but somewhat respectful, "King Pariah, I have a request, I have need of-"

"Uuuuh," a voice most definitely not King Pariah spoke, "I don't know who you are but Pariah's long gone."

Lucifer looks up to see the flames displacing a human boy sitting at a table eating food with his family. "Someone... Someone defeated the Infinite King?"

"Who is it sweetie? One of your ghost friends," The mother asks as the boy stands up, grasping the 'frame' of the green fire. "Isn't Pariah the ghost that stole our town?"

"Yeah mom, I'm not sure who this is so I'll just take this into another room."

"Alright Danno, I'll save you some meatloaf," the massive man who was obviously the boys father.

Lucifer's mind was going a million mile an hour, 'The Infinite King was defeated... The scroll opened to this human boy... This boy defeated Pariah Dark in single combat... HOW?! Human's are so squishy.'

The boy released the flame to float in front of him, "So why were you trying to contact king edgelord?"

"I am... sorry... but who are you?"

"Ah... so you're not a ghost," The boy asks, tilting his head before a ring of pure white light travels over his body transforming him; hair whiter than the holy light, eyes as green as the flame he spoke into, a cloak of stars that continued for what seemed forever over a black and white hazmat suit with a crown of aurora over his head. "My name is Phantom, Pariah tried to take what was mine and I had to put him back where he came from but I suppose you've already pieced that together..." Phantom gestures to introduce himself.

"Yes sir, I have, I am Lucifer of the Morningstar."

"The archangel?"

"Yes, that's... usually not the first guess people go with, I'm also the leader of Hell. I had used this scroll to ask a favor of the Infinite King. My daughter, Charlie, is going to Heaven to meet with the other angels about this plan she has to save the sinners from being slaughtered by the angel exterminators."

"Slaughtered? Aren't they already dead?"

"Normally yes but the angel's weapons can completely destroy the sinner's soul when they're exterminated."

Phantom stills from messing with his cloak, his face stony and shadowy as the lights in the room begin to flicker, "Their souls are destroyed?"

Lucifer feels something he's not felt in a long time creep up his spine, "Yes sir, I was hoping to ask for a favor to protect Charlie while she's up there. They can easily kill her, I'll happily agree to make a deal with you for it."

"No," Phantom says, cutting Lucifer off.

"Ah... I see, thank you for your time," Lucifer goes to cut off the flame video.

"I mean 'No' to the deal. I'll help you but not for a deal, I'd also like to have a word with these angels as well"

"Oh thank you, Phantom! Do I need to bring you here?"

"No need, one second," Phantom leans away from the flame, "Can you guys put my food up?! I've got some duties to take care of love you!"

"Can do, Danno!"

"Love you, sweetie!"

"Right, step away from the flame please." Lucifer does so and Phantom steps through flame with a ripple. Once he's through the flame poofs out of existence. "Nice place, love the... ducks?"

"Ah yes, they're a project of mine..."

"Well, I've seen weirder obsessions. Now what's this about destroying souls?"

"Right, let me explain while I set up the meeting with the angels for Charlie.

_____________________________________________________________

Danny had never heard of such bullshit in his unlife and he worked with the observants for ancient's sake! He steps out of the portal provided by Lucifer, switching to his human form, to the so called Pearly Gates with some Suburbia Ken standing at a podium.

"Welcome to Heaven! May I please know your name?"

"Danny Fenton."

"Right let's see; Dan, Danielle, Ah yes, Daniel Fenton. Oh goodness, you've been dead for some time, why are you just now getting into Heaven?"

"Traffic?"

"..." The angel stands in silence then bursts into a smile, "Well regardless, welcome to heaven!" He throws open the gates and Danny steps inside, his nose twitching at the lack of anything. His eyes lock onto the tallest tower and makes his way to it, the elevator inside playing harps and lyres for elevator music. As he gets closer to his destination he can hear the angels and Charlie musically their debate.

"Ancients I hate Musical dimensions," He says as the elevator comes to a slowing stop. "Showtime," Danny smiles as his transformation takes place, the holy lights in the elevator dimming and flickering.

_____________________________________________________________

Sera looks to Charlie, "I'm sorry, the court finds that the souls in Hell can not be redeemed."

Adam is all smiles at this point, "Ohhohoho YES! I win. Suck it! You better save the day c*&ts because we're coming to your hotel first."

"Are you now?" a male voice asks from behind him, grabbing his hand as he and crushing it in his grip.

"Ah fuck, my hand! Who the fuck are you," Adam screams as the courtroom fills with the inky void of space and Phantom fades into view.

Sera looks down on Phantom and then do his crown, "What are you doing here, Phantom? You have no right to be in this court!"

"No RIGHT?! Do you know what this bastard's doing?! I have every right to be here." Phantom tosses Adam easily to the ground. "You're destroying souls!!"

Adam gets up and summons a sword and swings at Phantom with it scream, "What's it to you freak-show?! Who cares what happens those piss bastard sinners?!"

"Sinners huh? Then why are you here?" Phantom turns frigid as a chain of ice appears on Adam's neck, the end in Phantom's hand. He yanks it tightly, pulling Adam to the floor. "Mister First Sinner. How could you get into heaven?"

The other angels in the court whispering, asking the same question.

"How are you doing that?!"

"None of your business. I was hoping Lucifer's daughter would be able to talk some sense into the lot of you but it seems there's just to many rotten apples up here. Let me fix that." Phantom steps onto Adam's back, grabbing his wings and ripping them off in a quick pull, filling the court with his screams. Lute tries to come to his aid but is slammed into the ground by the inky blackness.

"Phantom that is enough," Sera shouts down to him as she flashes down to the floor, "Why are you here? How did you know know this meeting was taking place?" Phantom glances at Charlie, still holding Vaggie, causing Sera to sigh, "Of course it was Lucifer..."

"I'll freely admit he asked me to be here to watch after here but it became so much more when I found out what this asshole's been doing."

"He did what he had to do, the demons were going to rebel and we had to protect our own souls. They need to be kept in line!"

"There is no their souls or your souls. You are disrupting the balance, if you kill the soul there's going to be issues with the mortal worlds and if the mortal world goes so do yours. You were so worried about the demons attacking you? You keep destroying souls and all you're going to have to worry about is me."

"Are you threatening Heaven, Infinite King?"

The wings in Phantoms hands turn to ice and shatter into billions of pieces, "I don't make threats, Sera, I make promises." Phantom treads over to Charlie and Vaggie, thrusting his hand out and portal much like a blackhole opens up, "Come along you two." They simply step through with him as the court of angels burst into a cacophony of angelic shouts of alarm and outrage.