#the queen of angst strikes again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eleanor-bradstreet · 2 years ago

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So I knew an “emotional threesome” was coming, but NOTHING could have prepared me for this. Could there be a more perfect setup than my fellow whump/angst appreciator Brooke placing this raw concept into Faye’s dedicated and talented hands?? The result: a beautifully executed emotional whirlwind with all the achingly good steaminess we love, tied off with the most heartwarming and satisfying ending that will live rent free in my head forever.

I cried all the way from the gif to the epilogue. I don’t know that such good smut should be allowed to have such intense emotion in it too - it’s a mixture almost too potent for me to handle. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🧡

The Things We Do For Love

Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict and his wife ask for Anthony's help to conceive a child.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, MMF threesome, fingering, dirty talk, vaginal sex, no incest. Married couple, infertility, conception, childbirth. Angst & emotion.

Word Count: 5.5k

Authors Note: This is a fic request fill for @broooookiecrisp from this ask (in essence, Benedict and his wife turn to Anthony for help to conceive a child). Thank you to @colettebronte and @makaylan for their invaluable advice and betaing. This is very different to my usual threesomes. This is much more angsty and emotional, but there is a happy ending. I hope you all enjoy <3

“Don’t worry, darling,” he soothes as you tear up, “it will happen for us one day.”

Despite his words, you stare at the bloody rag and feel nothing but failure.

More than anything, you want to give him children. Perhaps not a brood to rival his prestigious family, but a few children would be nice—two, maybe three. And you, more than anything, want to be a mother. To nurture life, be surrounded by children's laughter, and bring wonderful, new humans into the world.

But six months into your marriage, despite frequent, wonderful, vigorous, and enjoyable attempts, every month, your courses have arrived like clockwork, and every time, you feel you are letting him down.

“Please don’t cry,” his sweet, comforting voice almost pained; his lips mashed into your temple as he gently rocks you. “I love you regardless of if we can ever have a family. I need you to know that,” his voice sincere, maybe a little desperate.

“I know that, Benedict; I love you too; I just….” you say between muted sobs, “…I just want to give you a family like yours.”

“Darling, for all we know, it is I who is at fault, not you. In fact, we would never know unless…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, but his mien turns thoughtful.

“Unless what?” you prompt, lifting your head to look at him intently.

“Unless you attempt to get pregnant via another man,” he sighs, his face pinched.

“No!! No!!” bile rises in your throat at merely the idea of being with anyone but him. He is the only man you have ever known intimately, the only one you trust. “I can’t do this with anyone but you, Benedict,” you plead.

“And believe me, my darling, the thought of you with anyone else makes me nauseated, but this may be our only choice to find out. And perhaps actually have a baby we can raise as our own,” he points out.

He’s right, and you hate it. You would do anything to let him be the father he so obviously yearns to be. And if that means you have to lay with another man, for him, and only him, you will make yourself do it if that is what he wants. It will hurt your heart beyond belief, but you want him to be a father as much as you wish to be a mother. The problem is that the only man whose babies you want is the one asking you to take another man’s seed.

You draw your knees up on lean on them, sobbing bitterly. Benedict kisses your temple and hugs you as you cry it all out.

——

Benedict hovers nervously outside Anthony’s study at Bridgerton House, having no clue how to broach the topic he wants to discuss. But after weeks of consideration, it’s the only way forward he can see that doesn’t turn his stomach.

“Brother, will you be lurking all day or just for a half-hour?” comes the dry, bemused voice from behind the door.

Benedict stops pacing, closes his eyes briefly, and then, with a decisive nod, heads into the room.

“There is a sensitive matter I would like to discuss with you if you are amenable?” he begins, too nervous to sit in the seat Anthony gestures to. “I’ll stand if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever can it be? You seem quite the bag of nerves,” Anthony observes wryly, leaning back casually in his chair behind the desk.

“It’s regarding children,” Benedict begins slowly and carefully.

“Ah, right, family and intimate matters,” Anthony gets up and closes his office door. He stays standing as Benedict rocks on his feet, and Anthony looks at him expectantly.

There is nothing else but to dive in headfirst. Benedict steels himself for this tough ask and then begins.

“Despite our best efforts, my wife and I are… struggling to become pregnant,” he exhales.

“I am sorry to hear that, but I think a doctor may be a better confidante than myself,” Anthony argues, “should your wife need examining….”

“Well, that’s the thing; I’m not so certain she is at fault,” Benedict counters.

Anthony scoffs. “You are a Bridgerton. If there is one thing we are capable of, it’s progeny,” he laughs, pointing at the row of miniatures of their siblings.

“Well, maybe I am the exception that proves the rule,” Benedict replies quietly and seeing the pain written in the lines of his face, Anthony’s whole demeanour changes.

“I did not mean to make light of your challenges, brother,” Anthony states slowly, “merely that the balance of probability it is not your fault is quite high.”

“Well, there is only one way I can think of to confirm that suspicion,” Benedict answers, “and that is for another man to attempt to impregnate my wife.”

Anthony's shocked expression is a picture. “You wish for your wife to lay with another man?” the contempt in his voice unmaskable.

“Wish it?” Benedict scorns. “I wish anything but. It is the very definition of my nightmare, but… she deserves the world, and If I am at fault, I could never forgive myself if I do not explore all avenues to fulfil her dreams. To make her happy. If I cannot give her children, I will not begrudge her the happiness of motherhood she so desperately craves.”

Anthony is floored by the self-sacrifice his little brother will always make for those he loves.

“And this brings me to my proposal….” Benedict adds warily.

Anthony senses the nerves emanating in waves off him and clamps a reassuring hand onto his shoulder.

“What is it, brother?”

“Selfish as it may sound, I want any child I raise as my own to be a Bridgerton. And there is only one man I would allow to lay with my wife without my stomach turning…. and that dear brother,” he takes a deep breath and meets Anthony’s eye squarely, “is you.”

Anthony freezes and falls back into a nearby chair. Literally stunned.

“I.. “ he begins but can not find more words.

“I'm aware this is a huge ask,” Benedict rushes out, “but I can't think of another palatable solution to my wife's happiness, and, more than anything, I want to give her that. Happiness.”

Anthony can see the quiver in his brother's lip, and his heart breaks for him at this impossible impasse.

“Brother, I’m not sure I can do this,” Anthony wavers honestly, standing up again and beginning to pace.

“Please,” Benedict implores, “please at least consider it. I will sign any private sealed paperwork you wish, ensuring that should she become pregnant, the child has no rights to your title or estates….”

“It’s not that,” Anthony cuts in, frowning that would even be a consideration, “it’s just… Benedict, it’s your brother bedding your wife. This choice seems fraught with potential anguish.”

“It seems unlikely to me at least that two men in the same family would be similarly afflicted, coming as we do from a man capable of siring eight children. If you do not impregnate her, then maybe we will know it is not me at fault,” Benedict argues, appealing to Anthony's logical side that he knows will often win in an emotional moment.

Anthony stops pacing and instead shuffles a pile of perfectly neat paper, nerves manifesting in the need to keep himself busy in the motions of a pointless task. “Allow me to think on it.”

Benedict gives a short sharp nod and, with nothing else he can think to say, takes his leave.

——

His fingers trail gently over your stomach as you lay in post-coital bliss.

“Darling, I have an idea for our baby dilemma,” he offers softly, tracing his lips over your collarbone.

“Mmm, I'm all ears, husband,” you reply drowsily, your ankles twining with his, your fingers running into his thick, lush hair.

Tonight he took you somewhere truly primal, and it feels different. Like it's possible you are actually pregnant this time. That something so fundamental happened in your moment of pure blissful release that, indeed, life was created.

“There is one way to ensure we have a Bridgerton child,” he begins quietly, his warm breath dusting over your dewy skin. “And that is for you to lay with my brother, Anthony.”

The world stops. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears and a weird static buzz in every bone of your face. Like you have been struck by lightning.

No, No, NO, Benedict, your mind wails. Literally anyone but him, dear god.

Unbeknownst to your husband, there is only one man you had ever considered before you met him. And that is his older brother—Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. You harboured a flame for him upon your first visit to Aubrey Hall with your family when you were fifteen, and that really only abated a few years later when you met his wonderful, soulful younger brother who utterly stole your heart.

“Benedict…” you sigh, going to move away, but he holds you in place, staring deep into your eyes, running his hands over your jaw, your cheeks.

“Think about it, my love,” he cuts in. “He is someone I trust with my life. He will not attempt to blackmail us or steal you away from me,” he petitions. “And we look so alike, my brother and me; no one would bat an eyelid about the child’s appearance, should you conceive one. It is the perfect solution,” he looks at you so beseechingly that you almost feel like you are betraying him just by wanting to object. And so you can’t, you don't. You will never deny him the right to fatherhood he so obviously deserves. If that means playing with the fire of your attraction to his brother, you will do it.

You grab his hand and lace your fingers with his. “My love, if this is what you want. I consent,” you murmur as your insides riot at the idea of lying with his brother. “But I have conditions.” you swallow thickly.

“What are they? Anything, my love,” he says pleadingly. “I will do anything for you; you know that,” he asserts as he kisses a fervent line over your cheek to your lips.

“I cannot do this without you,” you answer meekly. “I need you there the whole time. Not just in the room, I need you with me, skin on skin; I need you to hold me when it is happening, to talk to me.”

He inhales sharply. “You wish to lay with both of us? At the same time?”

“Yes, Benedict, my love. I cannot give my body to another man unless you are right there with me. Please, please.”

“I… I….” he stumbles, “I will have to check with him, but if that is what you need, what you desire, I will, of course, be there, my love.”

“Will you fuck me too?” your use of the base, crude term somehow feels necessary in this context.

You see the vein in his neck jump, and his voice turns gravelly. “You want that?”

“Yes, husband. Once he has been with me, I want you to be with me too.” you push up and kiss him deeply, trying to transmit just how much you love him, that for you, how much all of this is for him, for his happiness.

“Alright, my love,” he appeases with delicate kisses, “of course, of course….”

——

When Benedict rises the following day, his valet hands him a hand-delivered note. It is from Bridgerton House, and inside the wax-sealed envelope, on Anthony's signature note paper, there, in neat-looking penmanship, is just one word.

Yes.

Benedict drops the card onto his desk and rubs his temples, uncertain if he should feel elated or empty.

——

The fateful night arrives sooner than you would like, but equally, the weight of anticipation felt like almost too much to bear in the lead-up. You fidget nervously with your silk robe, which all at once feels too heavy and not thick enough, your skin prickling with the uncertainty of what is to pass.

You stay in the bedroom, brushing your hair at your vanity with repetitive calming motions as Benedict greets Anthony and invites him into your home. In advance, you and Benedict had agreed a few strong brandies would likely assist both men before embarking on this journey; you declined to imbibe in the hope it would aid with conception. So you sit nervously awaiting as they partake downstairs in your drawing room, no doubt.

For some reason, you prefer not to see Anthony before the ‘act’ begins; it feels too much like danger knowing what will happen, the ghost of your past attraction like a potential unwanted spectre taunting you. It feels safer to keep your distance until, well, until you cannot.

You get onto the bed and attempt to read, but your butterflies mean you are staring at the same page for minutes at a time, words just a jumble of letters that bleed into each other, your mind too preoccupied. Just as you start to fret about whether you can do this, you hear voices and a pair of heavy boots ascending the stairs.

Then there in the doorway are your husband and his brother, looking at you with the same expression you give them. Nervous apprehension, but theirs mellowed by alcohol.

“Darling,” Benedict drawls as they walk in, and he closes the door, “how are you?”

“I am fine,” you assure with a quick, tight smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. The butterflies are truly rioting now.

Your gaze falls to Anthony, who flashes you a brusque smile before he peels off his jacket and rapidly moves onto his boots. It seems almost business-like, and there is a hot flare in your stomach. Benedict is already more casual, barefoot, just his white shirt and trousers; it's like he senses your spike of anxiety and is on the bed with you in the blink of an eye.

“It's okay, my darling,” he mollifies, pushing you gently down into the pillows, his breath sweetened by brandy and smoky from cigars, “I’m here, my love, I’m here.”

His kiss is gentle and pitched to reassure, his lips soft on yours, intuiting the need to settle your fears. It works, and as you always do, you find yourself melting into your husband's loving embrace and attention. His hands run delicate patterns over your thin robe.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, a soft smile on his lips as he moves to kiss down your throat, his lips warm and plush as his words vibrate over your skin. He goes to untie your robe, but you halt his hand, covering it with your own.

“Please, Benedict, I need you naked before I am,” you plead quietly.

He lifts his head and meets your imploring gaze, nodding slightly, understanding your reasons without you needing to vocalise them. It's part of why you love him so much, this shorthand you have developed, this unspoken bond. You can't help the little flutter in your chest as he whips off his shirt and settles over you, so much body warmth seeping through your robe from his skin. As he kisses the cord of your neck, you sigh and allow your hands to wander, loving the feel of his toned flesh under your fingertips.

With him over and surrounding you, he is your whole field of vision, perhaps by design to centre your focus on him. In the background, you can hear the sounds of Anthony disrobing, but Benedict utters soft, reassuring words against your skin to drown out the sound. His warm lips feathering down over your collarbone, skirting the edge of your robe. As ever, his tender treatment makes you stir, and you feel your body become pliant under him, allowing him to ease between your legs, your robe falling open as his wool trousers tickle the inside of your knees.

“My darling, you smell wonderful. Did you bathe in your favourite magnolia petal soap?” his voice buzzes over your breastbone as he breathes deeply and smiles indulgently as you hum in the affirmative. “Your skin is so soft; I am such a lucky man.” you know he is being extra vocal and reassuring with his words and actions; it makes your heart melt a fraction. He wants you comfortable and aroused. He wants this to be pleasant for you. You would never have the heart to tell him his efforts are not perhaps as needed as he believes.

You cannot look at Anthony to this day without a tiny stab of desire, perhaps remnants of a theoretical scenario where he could have been your intended, at least in your mind. Or it could be that he is an objectively handsome man. Either way, the thought of laying with him is not abhorrent on a physical level; in fact, the genuine possibility of the opposite stokes the blaze of nerves in your belly—that you could enjoy it a little too much.

You reach down and begin unbuttoning Benedict's trousers, wanting, needing more, as he continues languid kisses on your exposed skin. This time you do not object as his fingers insinuate between your bodies and tug at the ties holding your robe closed.

You inhale sharply as his naked body surges over yours as he kicks away his trousers. So much heat and warmth as your thighs cradle him. You can feel his rigid cock searing the apex of your thighs, and more than anything, you want him to push into your body.

As his lips close on your left nipple, you moan and cant up towards him; you sense something else happening in the room. You realise, without looking; you have an audience. Anthony’s gaze feels heavy on your skin; you know he is watching as his brother's tongue peaks out and lathes over your nipple, watches as he sucks the nub into his mouth, and you cry out. Somehow the audience makes this more hedonistic. You want to feel ashamed at the throbbing between your legs, yet…. you don't; you just feel a molten desire. The idea of being the sole focus of two of the most handsome men of the ton does not escape your mind.

Somehow you know without looking that Anthony has taken his cock in hand and is ogling your body, just as Benedict's hand slides between your legs and glides over your folds.

“Are you ready for us, my love?” he asks softly. Part of you wants to lie, to ask him to dive his face between your legs and suck your clit until you are writhing and panting, but you know tonight is not about pleasure; it's a means to an end. And besides, he would know it's unnecessary as soon as his fingers slide between your lips, which they now do, and he hisses at the pooled, slick viscous heat he finds within. “Oh, darling, you are more than ready, aren't you? You are positively weeping from your gorgeous little cunt.”

You moan again at his words, almost surprised he is willing to talk like this in front of his brother, but you suspect it’s because he knows how much it arouses you. And indeed, you hear a noise from Anthony as you writhe on Benedict's fingers, wishing more than anything for him to sink them into your body and massage that spot you love so very much that only his fingers can reach.

“Please, fuck me,” you exhale, and it's a dangerous elixir thrumming in your bloodstream when there is a duet of responding groans to your breathy plea.

“I will, darling, I will,” he promises with an aching urgency, propelling one of his fingers into you and you crying out his name.

His fingertip massages that spot as his mouth is on your other breast, and you don't hide your enjoyment of what is happening. In truth, perhaps you are more performative, your whispered pleas just a little louder for Anthony’s benefit, your body flexing a little more pronounced; you almost want him to desire your body as much as your husband does. Sometimes playing with fire is such a beguilingly hypnotic idea.

“Make her climax, brother; I have heard it can help with conception,” Anthony’s smooth voice rings out, and you gasp, whipping your head to look at him for the first time since clothing was shed.

There’s a stab of what almost feels like betrayal as your eyes fall on Viscount Anthony Bridgerton—naked and imposing, standing as he does next to the bed. Unlike his brother, his chest is covered in a thatch of dark hair; his build is thicker and more muscular than your slightly taller, lither husband. Perhaps predictably, given their shared genetics, he is physically appealing too. You can tell by the motion of his arm he is stroking himself, but you daren't allow your eyes to wander lower than his taunt, defined abdomen, almost scared to see what lies between his legs. And yet curiosity wins out as he mounts the bed on all-fours, you glance down the plane of his torso and glimpse his cock nestling in a patch of dark hair, just like Benedict's, but it looks different. You can't deny that. A shade thicker, perhaps, just like their bodies. That you are comparing your husband's cock to his brothers fills you with a self-disdain you don't want to contemplate, so you quickly cut your eyes away. It matters not the pleasure he can provide during the act; what matters is the outcome: his seed, the hope of progeny.

“Here, let me help,” Anthony offers casually. And your breathing accelerates rapidly as suddenly he is next to you and his lips close around your other nipple, still wet with your husband's saliva.

A long, low curse slips from your mouth unsolicited as you experience the blinding pleasure of both nipples being sucked simultaneously.

Something burns white hot, not just desire but also shame. Shame that you want this so much. That your whole axis is thrown off by the equally talented tongue of Anthony Bridgerton swirling and sucking your nipple. But then he himself did just say female pleasure is paramount to conception. Who are you to deny yourself this pleasure if it is a means to the ultimate end? Your selfish, licentious side greedily courting all the attention they are willing to offer.

Benedict's finger curls more insistently inside you as a thumb lands on your clit, rubbing in an unfamiliar but alluring motion. It is not your husband’s. It does not have the same softness; there's a rasping quality to Anthony’s more pen-calloused skin that snags perfectly on your sensitive bud. Having the mouths and fingers of two Bridgerton brothers teasing you is overwhelming, but part of you feels overridden with guilt that you are deriving such pleasure from them both.

“It's alright, my love,” Benedict assures, sensing your emotional quandary, and it’s the license you need. Allow yourself to indulge in the sensation enough to be carried away by the sheer wonder of it all.

Within moments, a potent tide rips through your being as you writhe, surrounded by their bodies. Benedict surges up and captures your lips in a passionate, consuming kiss as you clench so hard on his finger and holler his name so loudly into his mouth. You don't dare speak his brother's name, but something makes your hand grasp Anthony's hair as he gently laps your breast.

Benedict eases himself from between your legs and arranges his body against your left flank as you calm. On instinct, still fuzzy from your orgasm, you turn your head towards him, seeking his lips for more kisses, sighing as he obliges, your nostrils filled with the scent of your own arousal on his damp fingers that cradle your jaw as his lips open gently with yours. His cock is branding your hip as he pulls your left leg towards him, opening you up, and your heartbeat spikes as you feel Anthony climb over your right leg and shuffle between your thighs.

“Benedict,” you gasp over his lips. He knows. He knows you are at your most vulnerable, and he clutches your face tight, keeps your gaze locked on his, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Shhh, my love,” he soothes, “you are doing so wonderful; you are my whole world; I love you so much,” his searing words pour into your soul as you feel Anthony’s body over yours.

Benedict holds your face, his grip almost vice-like, not letting you look away, to his brother, as arms band around your hips, and Anthony heaves you onto his thighs, your pelvis now higher than your head.

“Don't stop talking,” you plead into your husband's mouth as you feel the tip of Anthony’s cock at your entrance.

“I love you; I can't wait to raise a family with you, my darling,” he entreats. The mix of desire and hurt on his face breaks your heart as you cry out with the force of Anthony’s cock ploughing into you. It feels so different in a way you can't explain and want to weep, but you can't do that to your husband, hurt him like that. So you keep staring into his hazy eyes, breathing his exhaled air and familiar scent as Anthony starts to move inside you.

It feels so wondrous, your walls clinging to his thick veiny cock as you bite your lip to trap the sounds you want to make. There is no denying how utterly incredible Anthony feels inside you. He almost immediately hits a harsh snapping rhythm, making slight panting noises with the exertion. Benedict shuts his eyes and swallows heavily, and you know it's to school his emotions, yet you can't help but steal a glance up at his brother while he does so. Anthony looks so handsome and majestic, an errant curl of hair bouncing on his forehead as he throws his whole body into the thrusts. His skin glows dewy in the candlelight. His eyes meet yours, and a flame there startles so much that you swivel your eyes back to your husband’s as they reopen. Guilt makes you utter his name, each syllable rising and falling with the motion of your body as Anthony fucks you so hard.

“It's alright if you enjoy this, my darling,” Benedict affirms sotto voce, and it's like whiplash to your heart how giving this man is, how much he is sacrificing so you can have a family together. You know it must be eating him alive on some level to see the pleasure his brother is giving you.

“I only want to come if it's with you,” you whisper harshly.

“But you need to come, my darling; it will improve the chance of a baby,” he assuages.

You feel Anthony’s fingers at your clit, and you seize Benedict’s face. “Then talk to me, my love. Talk like it’s just us, say all those debauched things that make me burn so hot for you, just you,” you implore desperately.

Benedict growls and surges his rigid cock against your hip, leaking onto your dewy skin as his warm lips capture your cheekbone.

“I want you, my wife,” he intones through clenched teeth. “Every day, I want to strip you down and take you so hard.”

“Yesssssss,” you hiss, writhing on Anthony's cock, who groans and grips your hip bone hard. “More, please, more.”

Anthony’s fingers are a frenzy on your clit now as you keen loudly, urging him on; you unwittingly squeeze his muscular forearm.

“I know what makes you come so hard; only me, only I can do that. You are my wife, mine. Say it,” Benedict orders, his tone as desperate as yours, spying the way you have latched onto his brother, needing reassurance.

“I'm yours, Benedict, always, forever,” you cry, and it turns into a scream as Anthony starts to spear you so hard you want to see stars.

“I love you, my darling wife. You are going to be such a wonderful mother; I know how much you want that. To be a mother. To have a baby,” he murmurs, placing his forehead onto yours, “that is why we are doing this, my darling.”

"But Benedict, I only want your baby… Our baby…" you lament, raw with emotion, as you battle the sensations threatening to overwhelm you. Anthony's cock makes your eyes roll back in your head, and Benedict's words take you over a soft edge, your blood boiling in your veins for your husband and his brother. Your scream muffled into his jaw as your cunt flutters hard around Anthony.

“Fuckkkking hell, I'm going to come,” Anthony warns, and for the first time, you look away from Benedict, uncaring that he sees.

“Give it to me,” you growl at Anthony, “give me your seed Bridgerton; I love my husband more than life itself; give us our baby right now!”

Both men seem equally shocked and aroused by your voracious demand.

“Darling…” Benedict pants raggedly on your cheekbone, his leaking cock pressing rhythmically against you again as you wrap your arm possessively around his head, fingers tugging no doubt painfully on his hair as you stare Anthony down, urging him to come.

There is a long guttural noise as Anthony stills. You feel the warmth of his release bloom inside you as he slumps over your body. His head on your damp diaphragm, puffing hard breaths over your ticklish skin as he keeps jerking and pumping little aftershocks into you.

The act over; as much as Anthony is an attractive man, all you want, crave, need, and desire is your husband with every fibre of your being. Like a siren calling across an ocean, he is the only place you want to be wrecked.

“Benedict, now, please, please, I need you,” you turn to him and cry.

You rasp lightly as Anthony pulls out and slumps back breathlessly against the footboard of your bed as you almost drag your husband on top of you. You chant a litany of pleas as he fumbles to line up with your fluttering body. And your eyes well with emotion as he finally surges into you. The stretch of his cock is different but so familiar, mind-bending and heart-stopping.

Your mouths mash together in a frenzy, and you cling to Benedict, pleading with him for more and harder, uncaring of the audience you have. You think he won't last long, but you don't care—you crave his release more than your own. You just want to revel in the carnality of your husband’s body and of what you have just permitted to happen for each other, for love. You steal a glance at Anthony over Benedict’s shoulder, and the soft, understanding look he gives you fills you with unspoken gratitude that he agreed to do this, to help you in this amazing way.

Benedict is not gentle, and you are grateful for it, conveying all of his passion for you with firm hands grasping your flesh, destined to leave imprints, teeth grazing your neck, thrusting into you with no mercy. You were mistaken, though - he does last. Keeps pounding into your body over and over and over as you make needy noises with each movement, climbing higher again.

“Come for me, husband, please; I need to feel it,” you beg, clasping his bum encouragingly, kissing every inch of skin you can reach, dragging your nipples over his chest, greedily pursuing your satisfaction as well as his.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands, sweat dripping from his forehead onto yours, his eyes burning into yours.

“I love you; you know I love you,” your response is a reflex. And that is what causes the dam to break for him, his whole body jerking violently, hissing and groaning loud against your ear as he spills inside you, fingers flexing, nails leaving moon-shaped marks on your shoulders where his arms curl under around them. The visceral feel of him coming apart, his body smashing against your clit takes you over too. Eyes fluttering closed as your body clenches in waves around his spasming cock.

And as you lay there sharing ragged breaths, Anthony’s warm hand encircles your ankle, and your eyes meet again in a moment of connection that feels warm and profound; you hope beyond hope a baby was conceived tonight.

——

Nine months later.

The birth of your baby is the most harrowing but rewarding day of your life. As you hear the infant’s first cry, your whole world crumbles and is rebuilt around her. Your precious, precious gift.

Benedict’s embrace is so tight as you cradle new life in your arms, scarcely believing the truth. Then a tiny set of eyes blink open, and your heart soars to heights you never dreamed possible.

“Benedict,” you breathe, joyful tears flowing unabashed, “look… she has… she has your eyes,” your whisper tremulant.

There, unmistakable as anything, is his baby. Not Anthony’s, not just a Bridgerton baby. His. Benedict’s.

“I don't think she can be anyone’s but yours, my love,” you assure ardently.

His fervent kiss on your dewy brow is only made wetter by the gentle tears that roll down his cheek and onto your skin.

“I love you,” he whispers reverently, his large hand wrapping delicately around your swaddled baby. “I love our daughter. We are finally a family.”

Benedict & Anthony Taglists: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @queenofmean14

#queen faye strikes again #this is too good to exist #smut and angst and joy #oh my poor heart #thank you for ruining me #fic rec #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton

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sapphiredhearts-a · 2 years ago

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#☾ ` out of my mind ; ooc post .#☾ ` professional fangirling ; ooc answered .#☾ ` jo strikes again ; pinned post .#☾ ` probably napping ; queued post .#☾ ` angst queen ; askbox memes .#☾ ` written just for you ; closed starter .#☾ ` open for business ; open starter .

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just-aake · 11 days ago

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Everlasting Devotion - Part VIII

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Warnings: light angst

Words: 4074

At a table in your library, your fingers glide across the worn page of Howard Stark’s journal. The entries detail his ambitious attempts to harness sorcery, each word penned with sharp, precise strokes.

There’s something striking in his handwriting—a tangible trace of the man himself, a stranger who might’ve been part of your life if circumstances had been different.

As you read, you can’t help but wonder about the person behind these words.

Would he have welcomed you into his world, inviting you to collaborate on these projects instead of leaving you alone in the shadow of constant disappointments and harsh judgments?

With a quiet sigh, you pull yourself from the wistful thoughts and back to the task, refocusing on the journal’s contents.

His latest endeavor—a complex project to encapsulate raw energy within a synthetic stone—was left unfinished, his last entry noting how close he’d come but ultimately failing to contain it.

Your gaze drifts to the attacker’s glove lying nearby, the once-bright stone in its center now faded to a dull sheen.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and with delicate care, you pry the stone free, lifting it toward the sunlight streaming through the library window.

Sunlight filters through its transparent surface, revealing imperfections–tiny cracks spidering through its structure.

As you study it intently, a sudden flash of memory grips you: a similar stone, glowing brightly in someone’s hand, its light intensifying as muffled words reach your ears.

Before you can grasp the context of the fragmented scene, a dull ache pierces your mind, forcing your eyes shut against the sharp sensation.

When you open them again, blinking slowly, silence fills the room. The vivid memory fades, slipping further from your grasp.

The familiar unease that follows these unpredictable flashes settles over you. Once again, the thought crosses your mind: perhaps it’s time to let Wanda explore your thoughts.

Maybe she could decipher the meaning behind these visions—or confirm if you were just going insane.

“Quite the collection you’ve got here,” a voice cuts through the quiet.

Startled, you almost drop the stone, quickly pocketing it as you spin around.

Tony stands at the door, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” you snap, shooting him a sharp glare.

Tony glances back at the door, feigning disbelief.

“I did knock,” he insists, grinning. “You didn’t hear me? Practically rattled the hinges.”

You suppress a sigh as he strolls through the room, inspecting the shelves like a restless child. At one point, he pulls a book down, flips through a few pages, then shudders dramatically as he snaps it shut.

“Please tell me you’ve got something more exciting in here than this.”

He waves the book at you with exaggerated disappointment.

Snatching it from his hands, you glare at him. “Don’t you have work to do?”

Tony gives a dismissive wave, meandering toward another shelf.

“We’re waiting on supplies,” he explains. “Besides, Vision’s distracted playing nice with your little sorcerer outside.”

“Playing nice?” you ask, raising a brow in surprise.

Tony gives a lazy nod.

“He’s always been interested in that sort of thing—his family had some traces of magic or something in their line. Not great at the whole socializing bit, though, so this behavior is slightly surprising.”

Tony claps his hands and strides past you.

“It’s good, though. He’s always been the more reserved one of his brothers. You know, that’s why I brought him with me in the first place, to give him more exposure to the—hello—what do we have here?”

You follow his gaze, spotting the journal still open on the table in the corner of your eyes, but Tony’s attention is focused on the armored glove.

Discreetly, you close Howard’s journal and slide it behind a stack of other books while Tony is engrossed in examining the glove with keen interest.

He suddenly picks it up, slipping it onto his hand with confidence.

“Careful, it’s damaged,” you warn, stepping forward. “We don’t know how it works.”

Tony smirks, waving off your concern as he fumbles with the glove’s mechanism.

“Relax, it’s just a tool for defense. Completely harmless.”

Just as he finishes, a quiet click sounds from the glove, and suddenly, a shard bursts from its mechanism, ricocheting off the wall.

You duck instinctively while Tony stumbles back, clearly unprepared for the recoil.

“Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mutters, brushing himself off.

You shoot him a glare, yanking the glove from his hand. “And how would you know?”

He gives you a smug grin. “Because I designed it.”

The words catch you off guard, your brows knitting in suspicion as you bring the glove closer to your body.

“You…designed this?”

He dusts off his sleeve with nonchalance, oblivious to your growing unease.

“Not this one exactly, but the specs are similar.”

The unease that’s been lingering since Natasha’s news flares up again. With a deep breath, you tap the glove’s surface, your gaze turning serious.

“This is from the Stark Kingdom though.”

Tony leans casually against a shelf, his relaxed stance at odds with the sudden sharpness in his gaze.

“And how would you know that?” he counters.

You choose your words carefully, unwilling to reveal too much.

“I have a source. A reliable one.”

Tony raises his eyebrows, intrigued, but you press on before he can respond.

“That would mean that you’re…” you hesitate, searching his face, as you struggle to face the possibility.

“You’re from Stark, right?” you finish with instead.

Tony scrutinizes you for a moment, then wags his finger as he heads for the door.

“Nope, that’s not what you wanted to ask,” he says, sidestepping your question.

You stiffen, caught off guard by his intuition.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you call, hurrying after him.

“It means you’re not being honest about what you want to know,” he replies over his shoulder, the words hitting a nerve.

You hear him continue, muttering in contemplation.

“This does explain why you’ve been so weird lately whenever I’m near.”

But before you can fire back, he’s already halfway down the hall toward the manor entrance.

You catch up to him just as he exits the manor.

Vision and Wanda stand at the entrance, deep in conversation, pausing as they notice the two of you approaching.

“Vision, I’m heading into town,” Tony announces breezily.

He moves to follow. “I’ll prepare the—”

“No need,” Tony interrupts smoothly, already reaching for the nearby carriage door. “I’ll just take this.”

Before he can open it fully, a flicker of red energy snaps the door shut.

Wanda steps forward with her arms crossed, her gaze unmistakably unimpressed.

“That’s not yours to take,” she says, her voice edged with warning.

Just as Tony groans in frustration, you arrive at her side, nodding to Wanda.

“It’s fine, Wanda. I’m going with him.” You fix Tony with a glare. “We still need to finish our conversation.”

Wanda’s brow arches, her gaze shifting between you and Tony.

“Alright, I can call for Pietro,” she says, moving to get the other twin.

“You two don't need to come along,” you reply quickly.

Wanda’s concern deepens on her face at your unusual response, so you add with a reassuring smile, “Really, it’s okay.”

“Any day now, ladies,” Tony quips with an exaggerated sigh, tapping his foot impatiently.

You shoot him a glare. “Has anyone ever told you you’re obnoxious?”

Tony grins, unbothered as ever, shrugging.

“You know, that does sound familiar,” he replies before stepping into the carriage.

Before you can follow, Wanda catches your arm, her expression a mix of worry and confusion.

“Is everything okay?” she asks softly, her tone laced with concern.

Her words make you pause, forcing you to confront the real reason behind your hesitation to let them overhear this conversation as well as let her into your mind.

It’s not just fear of what she might see—it’s the secret you’ve been keeping from her and her brother.

The truth about who you really are. The truth about your connection to the family responsible for their parents’ tragic deaths.

You’re not ready for them to know. You don’t know how you’d face them if they ever found out.

So, with a small, reassuring smile, you nod.

“Trust me, Wanda, I’ve got this.”

Then, leaning closer, you soften the moment with a teasing grin.

“Besides, it looks like you’re enjoying your time with Vision.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, though a faint blush colors her cheeks. She quickly regains her composure and removes her scarlet cloak, holding it out to you.

“Here, wear this. It’ll help keep unwanted attention off you in town,” she says, knowing well from Pietro’s stories how people have been reacting to you.

You accept it gratefully, wrapping it around your shoulders before climbing into the carriage. You settle across from Tony, crossing your arms as the carriage lurches forward.

Tony doesn’t even glance up, instead examining his hand with what seems like exaggerated nonchalance.

Patience thinning, you let out an annoyed huff.

“Well?”

Tony finally looks up, feigning surprise.

“I’m sorry, did you say something? I wasn’t listening.”

Grinding your teeth, you shoot him a glare.

However, he just raises a brow, daring you to push further.

Taking a steadying breath, you decide it’s time to cut to the chase, dropping any pretense of subtlety.

“Are you Tony Stark?”

For a moment, he stares at you, blank and unreadable. Then, he bursts into an exaggerated laugh, leaning back in his seat with a loud, mocking cackle.

The sudden reaction catches you completely off guard.

“You think I’m Tony Stark? The King of the Stark Kingdom?” he asks between bouts of laughter, his tone dripping with amusement. “Why? Because we share a name? Or because I happen to design a few gadgets from that region?”

You falter, your certainty beginning to waver under his ridicule. “I—it’s just—”

“Well, you’re right,” he cuts in abruptly, his tone now nonchalant, so casual it almost doesn’t register. He spreads his arms in mock grandeur and a slight bow.

“I am the one and only…Tony Stark.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence as the words sink in. The ease with which he admits it is almost more shocking than the revelation itself.

“Just like that?” you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’d just…admit it?”

Tony grins, throwing his feet up onto the seat beside you and reclining with a maddening air of satisfaction.

“Why not? You’re sharp enough to figure it out. Besides, it won’t be a secret for much longer.”

You should be feeling shock, panic—something other than the rising annoyance simmering in your chest. Before you can stop yourself, you shove his leg off the seat, forcing him to sit properly.

“For a royal, you have no manners,” you snap.

Tony laughs, completely unfazed.

“Now you’re really starting to sound like someone I know,” he quips, his tone amused.

Your irritation deepens. The casual way he’s treating this entire situation grates on your nerves, especially with everything you’ve already had to deal with and now with the addition of this.

“Why are you here?” you demand.

“Why should I tell you?” he counters smoothly.

Crossing your arms, you glare at him. “Because you lied to me.”

“Wrong,” he corrects, wagging a finger at you. “I never lied. I just didn’t tell you everything. Big difference. Lying’s more of a Romanov specialty than mine.”

You bristle at his comment, immediately becoming defensive.

“You can’t say that—you don’t even know them.”

Tony’s playful demeanor fades slightly, his expression turning serious as his gaze locks with yours.

“I know what happened the last time my family trusted a Romanov.”

A heavy silence descends between you, the weight of his words filling the small carriage. You don’t miss the flicker of pain in his eyes as he turns to stare out the window, crossing his arms in what almost seems like a protective gesture.

“Everyone knows you can’t trust a Romanov or anyone from their kingdom,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

Your hands curl into fists as you glance down, frustration bubbling inside you.

“That’s hardly a fair judgment,” you whisper. “Not without giving people a chance.”

Tony glances at you, his expression unreadable. Then, leaning forward slightly, he meets your gaze with a challenge in his eyes.

“Then prove me wrong.”

Your head snaps up, his words catching you off guard. “What?”

He sits back, arms crossed again, and shrugs.

“I’m not supposed to be here yet. If you can keep my identity a secret until the time is right, I’ll reconsider what I said.”

You fall silent, his proposition hanging in the air between you. The thought of keeping another secret from Natasha bothers you, but the idea of Tony meeting her with his current distrust of her family is even worse.

Maybe, just maybe, you could change his mind before that moment arrives.

The rest of the ride passes in tense silence. You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice your surroundings until the carriage stops.

Following Tony out, you snap back to reality as you take in the shadowy streets, far from the safer areas of town.

Grabbing his sleeve, you tug him to a stop.

Tony releases an indignant sound of surprise as he’s pulled back before turning to you with a disapproving frown.

“Hey, easy, now that you know who I am, there’s no excuse for this kind of disrespect.”

Ignoring his reprimand, you lower your voice, hissing at him in disbelief.

“What are we doing here? This area is dangerous.”

Tony lets out an exaggerated sigh, clearly unbothered by your concern.

“Trying to stay low-key in a foreign kingdom. Naturally, I’d go somewhere less…guarded,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Then he smirks, adding, “You can always wait in the carriage if you’re too scared without your little followers around to protect you.”

Glowering, you push him ahead and lower your hood to obscure your face. You follow as he strides confidently into the alley. He stops at a run-down tavern, the dimly lit entrance as unwelcoming as the rest of the area.

You hesitate, glancing warily at the door.

“Relax,” Tony says, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “Head low, stay close, and try not to look terrified. These people can smell fear.”

You roll your eyes, releasing a sigh under your breath as you move to step inside. Just before you cross the threshold, the sound of barking draws your attention.

Glancing back, you spot two scruffy dogs, their muddy coats giving them a ragged appearance. They’re barking and leaping at a bird perched just out of their reach, the falcon screeching indignantly.

A strange sense of familiarity strikes you, but you shake it off. It’s a ridiculous thought.

Coincidence, nothing more.

Steeling yourself, you pull your hood tighter and slip into the tavern to follow Tony.

The atmosphere hits you immediately—a cacophony of rowdy chatter, clinking glasses, and the sharp, pungent tang of alcohol mixed with smoke.

The dim lighting casts shadows across the rough wooden beams, and the patrons barely glance your way as you weave through the tables, trailing Tony’s confident stride.

For a moment, you think you might make it through unnoticed.

That hope evaporates as a man steps into your path. His leering grin reveals yellowed teeth, and his eyes sweep over you with an unsettling feeling.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” he asks, his voice slurred and mocking.

You stand your ground, narrowing your eyes at him, refusing to dignify his question with a response.

Stepping to the side, you attempt to move past him, but he reacts quickly, his face twisting with anger as he reaches out to grab your arm.

Before his hand can get close, Tony’s grip suddenly clamps down on the man’s wrist, stopping him mid-motion.

“Easy there,” Tony says, his tone light but laced with warning. “We’re all here to relax, right? So why don’t you…take a deep breath and do just that.”

The man glares at Tony, weighing his options, but the steady, unflinching look Tony gives him is enough to make him pull back. The man stumbles off, muttering something about it not being worth the trouble.

Tony claps his hands in satisfaction and then turns to you with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows.

“You really know how to attract trouble. No wonder you always need someone around to save the day.”

You glare at him, your voice clipped.

“I can handle myself just fine.”

Tony hums mockingly as if considering your words, then shrugs. “If you say so.”

He turns and saunters toward a booth tucked into the corner of the tavern, his pace purposefully slower as if to ensure that you stay close.

The gesture irritates you further, but you follow anyway.

At the booth, a man sits nervously, his eyes darting around the room with visible discomfort.

Tony slides into the seat across from him, greeting him with the same condescension he’d just directed at you.

“Don’t look so scared, Happy. They can smell fear, you know.”

“I’m not scared,” the man retorts defensively, though his shifting gaze betrays him. “I just don’t like places like this.”

His eyes flick to you, observing you with curiosity. “Who’s she?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Tony waves a dismissive hand in front of your face.

“Not relevant right now,” he answers for you, earning him a sharp glare from you.

“Also, she knows who I am,” Tony adds with a smirk, “so you can talk freely.”

Happy shrugs, seemingly accustomed to Tony’s antics.

Tony leans forward, his tone shifting to one of eager anticipation.

"Well, did you bring it?"

Happy nods, pulling out a cloth-wrapped object from beside him and sliding it across the table. You watch as Tony unwraps it, revealing a glove strikingly similar to the one from your manor—but this one is sleeker, more refined in its design.

“Impressive, right?” Tony asks, shooting you a knowing look as if reading your thoughts. “Unlike yours, mine actually works a lot better.”

You roll your eyes but pause when you notice something.

“It’s missing the stone,” you point out.

Tony’s smirk falters, replaced by a puzzled expression.

“What stone?”

You hesitate, weighing your options, but ultimately decide he’s the best person to ask, considering he’s the son of the one who created the project.

Pulling the dull, cracked stone from your pocket, you hold it out.

“This was attached to the other glove,” you explain. “It glowed yellow with some sort of power before it was damaged.”

Tony takes the stone, his usual flippant demeanor fading as he studies it with uncharacteristic seriousness.

After a moment, Happy breaks the silence, pointing at the stone.

“That looks like something you worked on a few years ago,” he says. “Remember how many times it blew up in your lab?”

Tony glares at him, unamused at the reminder.

“We agreed never to speak of that.”

Turning back to you, Tony gives you a curious look.

“Where did you say you got this glove?”

“We were attacked,” you reply. “It was left behind when they escaped.”

Tony hums thoughtfully, then closes his hand around the stone.

“I’ll hold onto this for you,” he declares.

“Hey, that’s not yours!” you protest, reaching for it.

Tony easily keeps it out of reach. “It’s not yours, either.”

You scoff, incredulous at his childish behavior. For a moment, you wonder how someone like this could possibly share your blood.

Before the standoff can escalate, a hesitant cough breaks the tension.

“The lady did have it first, sir,” Happy interjects, earning a sharp, offended look from Tony.

With backup on your side, you cross your arms and level Tony with a pointed glare, holding your hand out expectantly.

Tony contemplates for a moment, eyes flickering between your hand and the stone in his before releasing an exaggerated sigh, dropping the stone into your hand and then slumping dramatically in his seat.

“Anything else, traitor?” he asks, shooting a glare at Happy.

Unbothered by his words, Happy nods and continues.

“Chancellor Potts wants to know when you’re planning to return. She’s…not thrilled about your sudden departure.”

Tony places a hand over his chest with mock sincerity.

“Aw, does she miss me?”

“It’s not that, sir,” Happy says flatly.

You cross your arms in disapproval, raising an eyebrow at Tony.

“Wait—you abandoned your kingdom to come here?”

“Abandoned is a strong word,” Tony retorts, wagging a finger at you. “With Pepper running things, my kingdom’s in good hands.”

He turns back to Happy.

“And no, I don’t have a timeline. It all depends on how long this takes.”

Happy rubs his temples, clearly exasperated.

“Well, I had to tell Jarvis to speed up his pace anyway, but it won’t matter if you’re still looking for—”

Tony cuts him off with a raised hand, then tosses a small pouch of coins in your direction.

“Do you think you can handle a trip to the bar without starting any trouble? I’m parched.”

You narrow your eyes, catching the not-so-subtle attempt to get rid of you. Still, with no further explanation forthcoming, you roll your eyes and head to the bar.

The barkeep nods as you approach. “What’ll it be?”

Leaning against the counter, you smile politely.

“Whatever you’d make for someone who’s testing your patience.”

The barkeep chuckles knowingly and sets to work.

As you wait, a commotion from the other side of the room draws your attention—cheers, laughter, and groans of disappointment. Peering past the crowd, you see coins being exchanged as two figures face off in a card game.

The burly man at the table glares at his opponent, his eyes narrowing.

“You should back out now before I bleed you dry, little lady.”

The masked figure across from him leans forward, her voice light and teasing.

“Aww, is the big man scared?”

Laughter erupts at her taunt, but you frown instead, the voice sounding suspiciously familiar. You push through the crowd to get a better look.

The dim light in the tavern doesn’t help much, but as you approach, your eyes narrow.

The masked figure’s darkened hair gives you pause—it’s black, not blonde like expected. Still, the way she moves, the self-assured tilt of her head, sends alarm bells of recognition in your mind.

The burly man, clearly agitated, gestures toward a dagger at the masked woman’s side.

“How about you throw that fancy knife into the pot and whatever your friend’s got strapped to her back?”

Your eyes shift to the figure standing protectively behind her, another masked woman. Her nervous fidgeting is unmistakable, as is the distinct bow strapped to her back—Clint’s signature design, one you’d recognize anywhere with how often Kate brings it with her everywhere.

Crossing your arms, you let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, already knowing whose idea this was.

The masked woman at the table leans forward, her voice dripping with confidence as she responds, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re playing against me, remember?”

There’s no mistaking her now. Yelena’s tone is as bold and unshakable as ever, mirroring her sister’s in every way.

She reaches for the dagger at her side, drawing it out to twirl it in the light. The hilt and blade gleam, the intricate craftsmanship unmistakable—it looks like the one you’d given Natasha not long ago.

You straighten when you realize it is the one you had gifted Natasha.

As Yelena seems to consider the man’s challenge, her smirk widening with the thrill of the wager, you feel your patience snap at the thought of risking something you designed personally for Natasha.

You move to step forward, intent on stopping her from making a reckless decision, but before you can take a step, a firm grip wraps around your arm, pulling you back into the crowd.

Irritation flares instantly. Tony’s earlier remarks about you needing protection flash through your mind, fueling your annoyance.

Without hesitation, you jab your elbow into the person’s side, twisting out of their grip.

Their hold loosens, and as their face tilts into view, your irritation shifts to surprise.

Bright green eyes meet yours, sharp and unmistakable even in the dim light.

“Natasha?” you whisper in a hiss, barely keeping your voice low.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: I’m so sorry for the long delay between the chapters for this series. This one is definitely trickier to write cause there is a lot more components to organize, but I’m starting to get back into it. Again, thank you for reading and for your patience!

Also, I’m going to attempt to be more interactive with you all since you take the time to leave such nice comments on my works, so whenever I have some spare time, you may see me popping around in the replies and responding.

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @midastouch013, @2silverchain, @dvrkhcld, @observeowl, @x-drowned-x, @fireandblood-3, @natsxwife, @leequifey, @blacklightsposts, @srt-sah, @scar-letwidow, @likefirenrain, @autorasexy, @natsbiggestfan1, @lex13cm, @iheartjohansson, @tofu9162, @unexpected-character, @natashasilverfox, @acciowriting, @qtreesfanstuff, @mrsrushman, @inarayofmoonlight, @viosblog112, @inarayofmoonlight, @maximoff-jp, @natashasilverfox

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff

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leclarifies · 14 days ago

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i wish you would love me (CS55)

✰ carlos sainz x verstappen!reader ✰

summary → he would do anything to get you to love him, but he can only watch from the sidelines as you fall in love with his teammate.

genre → angst angst angst (im not sorry), self-indulgent, drabble

word count → 1.5k words

author's note → hello! this is my first iteration of breaking your heart with carlos sainz!!!!!! this is also my first time writing him so i'm sorry if things are a lil ooc, i haven't followed him as much as i do with CL16 & MV33.

carlos had always stole glances, whether he liked to admit it or not. some were lingering, but most of them were fast, quick, not wanting to linger long in case someone would catch him staring, he had grown fond of you.

you were the princess of the paddock, that was your title. some might even say that you're the queen of the paddock but you always denied the nickname, it was a silly nickname that your fans had given you and you didn't particularly feel like claiming it.

but carlos knew that you were indeed a princess, maybe the queen of his heart. he knew that with each second passing, he would slowly fall in love with you, maybe he already was. maybe he just didn't want to admit it to himself, much like the glances he stole.

you were the three time world champion's little sister and that meant that automatically by default, carlos was around you a lot. whether it was max's karting days and you attended his races, or him being on the formula one grid and you attending those races.

it didn't matter to carlos.

you were always nice to him, always smiling, always touchy but it didn't matter as you were touchy with everyone and that made carlos want to die on the inside.

why did you have to touch everyone so casually? why did you have to touch him and why did he feel like he was on top of the world when you did?

"carlos?" you soft voice had broken him out of his train of thought, he looks up to see you. your beautiful self standing in front of him, almost gracing him with your presence, "are you okay? you seem out of it."

"yeah, i'm alright. how are you doing, hermosa?" carlos' heart would not stop beating out of his chest, being in close proximity of you made his heart beat that way. you giggle and wave your hands in front of you, almost as if you were rejecting the small compliment that he gave you.

he found it cute, that you would always reject his compliments that way, whether intentional or not.

you scrunched your face up and rolled your eyes playfully, "you always flatter me with your nicknames, carlos," you giggled further and he stood up from where he was leaning against the wall, "i was going to ask you if you were coming to dinner tonight? you know, the ferrari one?"

carlos raised his eyebrow, how would you know about the ferrari dinner?

"yeah, of course. i am a ferrari driver afterall, aren't i?" carlos teased before you smile and laugh, carlos felt like his heart was going to fall out of his chest by how fast it was beating. you were near him and willing to talk to him, even though it was as simple as asking about a stupid dinner.

"yeah, i was wondering whether you'd come or not. charles invited me to the dinner just last night," your eye-smiles shone bright, even when you didn't mean them to. a pang strikes through carlos' chest, what do you mean by charles invited you?

"charles invited you? since when were you close to charles?" carlos asked, his eyebrow raised again as you were shifting feet to feet, carlos could tell that you were nervous by the question he asked, but you decided to come out clean anyway.

"me and charles have been... seeing eachother so i've been getting invited around ferrari events a lot."

maybe that was the day carlos' heart broke.

seeing you around his side of the paddock was nice, the way you smiled, the way you cheered the team on, it was exciting for carlos. he would be able to see you more often now, ever since you published your relationship with charles.

maybe he should've expected it. maybe he didn't notice it.

while he was stealing glances at you, you were stealing glances at his teammate and that stung like a little bitch.

you were always all smiles, always lovely, always polite, always touchy, and somehow he hated it. he hated the way you touched him— hated the way you touched charles.

your arms wrapped around charles' neck, holding him close as the two of you were captured kissing as charles took his win, he came second. always second best. never good enough. never good enough to win you over. never fast enough to see the signs.

he wanted you to come over to him, run up and kiss him the exact way you kissed charles, why did it have to be his teammate out of all people? why the one person that he constantly had to spend time with, whether willingly or unwillingly?

the love he had for his teammate was slowly becoming resent, becoming something he would never feel for his teammate naturally.

it sucked.

"carlos—"

"not now cha," carlos had brushed him off as he packed up his belongings from the garage, all he wanted to do was get home and sit with himself and his feelings.

"but it's important—"

"i said not now," carlos' tone was delivered with finality, which made charles stop in his tracks, not speaking another word. he was scared to, scared that he would piss off carlos more than he was right now.

what hurt the most for carlos was that he had talked about you to him multiple times, his eyes always animated when he talked about you and charles knew, he knew how much you meant to carlos but charles didn't catch on or maybe he didn't care.

"did i do something wrong?" charles asked, he was behind carlos and his shoulder tensed up when charles asked him the stupid question, carlos felt like he wanted to punch something at the moment and right now, preferably the handsome leclerc that stood behind him.

of course he did something wrong, he stole the love of carlos' life and carlos hated him for it. why did he have to do it? why did he have to take away something that made him happy? wasn't him getting kicked out of ferrari enough for charles?

why did everything have to go his way?

"it's nothing, i'm just upset about my performance today, that's all," carlos turned around to look at charles, he was starting to realize that it wasn't charles' fault. charles did nothing wrong.

the universe just hated him.

carlos had to sit in those painful dinners with ferrari, if it wasn't mandatory for him to come, he would've never showed up in the first place. he hated having to sit there and play nice, to sit there and watch you whisper into charles' ear and when he would whisper something back in your ear and then you would giggle, to sit there and to watch the love of his life slip away from his fingers.

he knew that you never held the same type of feelings that he harbored towards you, you would always be nice and polite but that was it, and maybe he took it the wrong way. it didn't matter to him now, all that mattered was you stole his heart and there was no way you were going to give it back.

with the months watching painfully from the sidelines, watching you fall in love with his teammate, you had an announcement to make tonight.

"hello everyone! thank you for coming to tonight's dinner," you had started, you looked beautiful tonight. afterall, you would always be his hermosa in his heart, "i just wanted to announce me and charles' engagement!"

charles stood up alongside with you and smiled, wrapping an arm that carlos wished were his, holding you close with a kiss on your temple.

claps erupted around the table and carlos was the only one not clapping along with the crowd.

if it wasn't possible before, carlos' heart broke for the second time tonight.

if it wasn't bad enough that charles picked carlos to be his bestman, it was the worst when he had to stand there and watch you be led along the aisle, arm hooked with jos verstappen and walking towards charles.

and yet again, he was watching from the sidelines. never the main character in your story, but always a secondary or maybe a step-in.

your smile was so bright, you looked so happy.

he wished you looked at him the same way you looked at charles.

as you finished your vows, tears escaped from carlos' eyes, not because he was happy for his teammate, not because he was happy for you but because he was upset that it wasn't him that you were marrying today. he couldn't bare to stay and watch any further after the vows, choosing to step out of the cathedral that you were getting married to charles at.

carlos was not the same man that he was before he stepped into that cathedral that day, and maybe it was for the worst.

#carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #leclarifies fics #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz angst #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x yn #carlos sainz x female reader

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paulyenvol6 · 1 month ago

Text

Devotion (Part 2)

Based on this request

Daemon x Rhaenyra x wife!reader

Thank you for this amazing request and feel free to send me whatever you would like me to write :)

Contains: detailed smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, touching, kissing, dirty talk, praising, possessiveness, breast play, soft dom!Daemon, angst, fighting

Wordcount: ~4.97k

Masterlist

You walked down the streets feeling much lighter and relieved.

You had just done something incredibly helpful to the crown and not only did it make you happy because Rhaenyra now had the city watch but also because you hoped it would calm your wife's and husband's anger at you because of your spontaneous travels.

You still had your hood covering your face as you passed the lowborn folk of King's Landing. The people here probably didn't know your face. You were a pentoshi princess, a foreign girl that didn't have the striking silver hair as the Targaryens did and yet you feared that someone might recognize you for the queen's wife. You couldn't be careful enough because you planned on coming back to Dragonstone alive.

When you saw a busy tavern with people entering and leaving every second you decided to go in as well. It was never wrong to hear about the common people's opinions and how much support Rhaenyra had among them. So you sat on a table alone, ordered a beer while listening with pricked ears to the conversation around you. It was mostly drunk talk, middle aged men raving about themselves and their great achievements but now and then you heard snippets of people complaining about food shortage and how expensive a plain loaf of bread had gotten.

And soon you had a clear picture of the situation: The people of King's Landing were not satisfied with their ruler but at the same time had bigger problems than caring who sat the iron throne. It didn't matter who it was raising the prices, they just wanted things to be the way they were when Viserys had been king. An easy life with enough food to feed their families and preferably a peaceful life as well. It was now for Rhaenyra to get the common people's favor but that wasn't your business now.

It had gotten late so you paid for your beverage and left the tavern, careful not to let anyone take a closer look at your face. You felt like you had done a pretty good job but were still happy when you were inside the deserted house again. The voices and the music were muffled now as you carefully sneaked through the dark to find an old bed which was riddled with holes that probably came from rats and moths. But you had sleeped in worse places so you crawled on the bed and covered yourself with the thin blanket. It took you a while to fall asleep in this unfamiliar place in the adrenaline in your blood stopped your mind from fading away but after a while your tiredness won and darkness coated your thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next two days you spent sneaking around in the city and trying to get to know as much about the circumstances and reality in the capital. You met again with Djaren to discuss the further procedure and also managed to gather information about detailed numbers of the Green's forces and men-at-arms which would be helpful for the war.

And then it was two days later and as you had promised you found yourself in the ominous basement again, searching for Mysaria in the darkness. All your senses were sharpened and quiet as a cat you moved through the darkness. 'Where was she?', you thought but then heard a noise next to you. You turned around expecting to see her brown eyes but those were flashing blue ones you met with. You shrieked and stumbled backwards and only just managed to escape the knight's hand that had threatened to wrap around your arm. You felt panic creeping up on you and just ran as quickly as you could.

"Stop, filthy bitch.", you heard a soldier scream but didn't turn around once while you ran through the passage Mysaria and you had used when you had come here two nights ago. You didn't even know how many knights were there and because of your pregnancy you felt that you couldn't run as fast as usually. Tears welled in your eyes as you hasted through the corridors, so quickly as if your life depended on it.

The knights came closer and closer but then you suddenly spotted the white worm in front of you who walked towards you but stopped when she saw that you were being chased. Her eyes flashed and her expression got cold and then Mysaria quickly grabbed your arm and pulled you with her as the two of you ran. It was your luck that the woman knew her way around here in the secret passaged beneath the city because suddenly, just after you had ran around a corner Mysaria roughly pulled you with her to the side.

For a second you felt wetness soaking your body but then it was silent except for what sounded like rain. You couldn't even process where you were because there was only darkness around you but when you heard the steps of the soldiers walking past you, you exhaled loudly, your whole body shivering. Only slowly did your heartbeat calm and once everything was completely silent again you looked around to see where you were. It was sort of like a little cave but the curiousity was that a small waterfall separated it from the passage. In awe you watched the water streaming down and only then noticed how cold you were.

Mysaria sighed deeply. "Not the way I had planned it. Did they know it was you?"

You shrugged. "I don't know." Then you turned around glaring at her with big eyes.

"Will they find the boat now? If yes we will have to find a new one." But the white worm shook her head.

"Don't worry, princess. It is well hidden. Did you think I spent the past days here? I had business to attend as well and every time I used the boat I hid it afterwards."

And it turned out to be true, as you would find out only minutes later. The two of you spent a few more moments in the cave and only left after you heard the soldiers' steps coming back and then vanishing.

Mysaria carefully left the cave and gestured you to come once she was certain no one was there. Then the two of you ran all the way to the cliff which felt like an eternity. The white worm had covered the boat with moss and seaweed and seemingly all sorts of other things she had managed to find by the cliffs and then hid it between some rocks. You asked yourself how she had been able to heave it through the air alone but you were too exhausted to ask her. You just joined Mysaria on the boat and then you finally started your journey back to Dragonstone.

~~~~~~~~~~

This time you weren't so lucky because your journey took you nearly four days. Mayhaps this was the punishment for disobeying Rhaenyra and Daemon, you thought. But now as you came closer and closer to the island nervousness flooded your system. On one hand you were excited to tell your queen about what you had done for her by convincing the city watch to follow her and reminding them of their loyalty to Daemon but on the other hand you feared both your wife's and your husband's anger. You knew them well and you were aware that they hated when you did something behind their backs. And they had specifically told you not to leave Dragonstone.

But you knew you had to go through it now so you sat back while watching Dragonstone getting bigger before your eyes with each minute and then Mysaria steered the boat to the beach so you could leave it. You jumped out of if and then expected the white worm to follow you but she didn't make an attempt to get off the boat.

"Aren't you coming with me?" But the woman laughed and shook her head.

"No my lady. I will not be around when the queen and king consort learn that their precious wife has fled to King's Landing and that it was me who gave her passage. I have some business in Driftmark anyway. But it won't be long until I'm back, my princess. Send your wife and husband my regards."

With these words and a smile that didn't even seem evil or gloating, the white worm steered the boat away from the coast. You waded through the water and felt the rising sun shining on your back. It was beautiful and if you weren't so nervous you might have watched the sunrise a little longer. But as you knew you couldn't avoid the confrontation anyway you made your way up to the castle.

The guards who stood by the gate looked at you with lifted eyebrows and you knew it was only a matter of minutes until Daemon and Rhaenyra would find out about your return. And yes, you had been right because only seconds after you had entered the solar room you heard a noise behind you and your husband stood there.

He was breathing heavily and his eyes were small and cold as he slowly walked towards you. It made it even worse that he moved so slowly because it made him seem even more angry. You begged him with your eyes and gulped loudly but Daemon's expression didn't change when he stood in front of you. You heard his breathing and the way he shook from fury.

"I'm sorry.", you breathed pleadingly but your husband cut you off by simply raising his hand.

"Shut up.", he hissed and you felt stitches in your heart that dug so deep, you felt like your heart would break into pieces.

"Please. Please, I only wanted to help. And I did, I managed – "

Once again you were interrupted because Daemon had made another step in your direction.

"I don't wish to hear it, y/n.", he said, his voice growing louder. "You left Dragonstone even though Rhaenyra and I have both ordered you to stay here. Safe and guarded. You went alone and without protection to the capital."

"How do you know?", you asked with widened eyes.

"Oh please. Do you seriously think the white worm is that good? You were seen, seven hells."

You dropped your gaze but Daemon's hand reached out to lift your chin.

"How dare you? How dare you go on a mission like this?", he shouted at you and you felt more and more miserable.

"I'm sorry. But I-I was successful in what I wanted to do, I – "

"I don't fucking care what you achieved, you did something terrible and I will not tolerate you acting so unreasonable!"

His voice made you twitch because you had never heard him sound so angry before.

"Do you know the chaos you have caused? Do you know that Rhaenyra hasn't slept an hour these past days? Do you know what this place was like the past week?!"

You wanted to say something, plead for him to listen to you but suddenly you heard steps behind you and Rhaenyra came in, looking equally cold in her face. Her eyes searched over your face and she stood in front of you, disappointment and anger clearly visible.

"Y/n.", she hissed threatingly and your eyes filled with tears once again.

"Forgive me. I know that I went behind your back."

Daemon had grabbed the edge of the table and his knuckled were white from the force. Rhaenyra's jaw tensed.

"You could've been hurt. Murdered, raped, captured. You acted without my consent though I told you not to leave the castle."

Your hands were shaking and you chewed on your lower lip that was bloody by now.

"I would've thought that you, one of my finest warriors would have been smarter than this." Though your wife was angry with you as well she still seemed more calm than Daemon so you hoped you could mayhaps explain to her what you had achieved. So you approached her and took her hand.

"Please. Listen to me, my queen."

Rhaenyra raised her chin and observed your desperate expression. "What do you have to say?"

Next to you you saw Daemon fighting the urge to hit something as his hands still gripped the stoney desk tightly and it looked as though his hand would have its own will if he let go. His eyes were spitting fire and he didn't even look at you which made you feel like he would be even angrier if he did. The picture made you feel miserable but right now you had to concentrate on convincing Rhaenyra of your good will.

"I-I was able to recruit the city watch for you, Rhaenyra. They are still loyal to Daemon and they will come to fight for you, your grace." Your wife's expression didn't change and she didn't answer so you took it as an ecouragement to keep talking. "And I have collected detailed information about the Green's forces. I know how many ships, how many men and swords they have. I can write it down for you, this is valuable knowledge."

Rhaenyra pressed her lips together. "How many days did you spend there? And when did you contact the white worm?"

"I spent only 2 days in King's Landing. I went to the white worm's rooms after… after our argument. She promised to take me there and it took us 2 days until we reached the city. She snuggled me in through a secret passage and I searched the city for Djaren. B-But I hid my face under a hood, no one recognized me. I ended up reminding him of the oath they swore to Daemon and he promised me that he will summon the gold cloaks and come to Dragonstone to fight by your side, Rhaenyra. The rest of my time I spent gathering information about the greens and their armies."

There was a tense silence in the room and you watched your wife blink a few times and then she stepped towards you. Rhaenyra looked stern though you could see that her expression had changed a bit. After a little while she exhaled.

"I don't have to tell you that I'm angry with you, y/n. You know that. You brought yourself and your child in great danger and disobeyed my commands."

She had emphasized each of her last words and you bowed your head. "I know.", you whispered.

"And yet you've done the crown a great favor. The army of gold cloaks will be a welcome force in the upcoming war." Hope spreaded throughout your body and you raised your gaze again. "You did well."

But these last words made Daemon push himself away from the table and laugh out loudly.

"You didn't just say this, did you Rhaenyra?" He threw his hands in the air and then his flashing eyes were fixed on you again.

"We told you not to go and yet you went. It was too dangerous for you and our child. We're at war, y/n and you presented yourself, the wife of the queen right in front of the eyes of our enemies! Unarmed and with nothing but the white worm to protect you, can you not understand how irresponsible that was?"

He reached out as if he wanted to grab your arm but stopped in the movement. So his hand hung in the air until Daemon formed a fist and let it down again. His jaw was tense and you wanted nothing more than for him to hug you and forgive you. But right now you couldn't be farer away from it.

"Daemon. Calm yourself.", the queen pleaded but her husband's eyes remained on you. "She will learn from her mistake. She's done the crown a great service and deserves to be pardoned."

Daemon hissed something you couldn't understand but then turned around to leave the room with fast steps. You watched his back until he had exited but still, you didn't shift and your gaze burned a hole into the wooden door.

"Y/n.", Rhaenyra said and you turned to her with wet eyes. "He will forgive you at last."

But you felt a hole in your heart that uncomfortably ached and sniffed. Then the queen took a step towards you until she was close enough to press a kiss to your cheek.

"I'm glad you're back healthy and unharmed. You will not do something like this ever again but nevertheless, I'm proud of you."

Though you were still frightened and sad about Daemon's reaction her words felt good to hear and you wrapped your arms around your wife.

"Thank you.", you whispered against her ear while Rhaenyra soothingly caressed your back.

~~~~~~~~~~

All day long you tried to speak to Daemon in private but he refused you each time. First you had seen him around noon in the corridor and determindely approached him but he simply had glared at you and walked in a different direction. "Daemon!", you had shouted and followed him but he had pushed your hand away. "I don't wish to talk to you, y/n.", he had hissed, his teeth dangerously grinding.

After that he seemed to have hid in his chambers because you only saw him again in the evening when he left a small council meeting. Again, you had wanted nothing more than talk to him and begged him with your eyes but he avoided your gaze and didn't allow you to talk to him. You were desperate feeling a weight on your body that hadn't been there before. You loved Daemon, you were carrying his child and it almost killed you to have him ignore you. All evening you were on the verge of crying and then decided to take a bath in order to warm your body and mayhaps relax a little.

Your handmaidens prepared a bath for you and then you sent them away. You simply needed some time alone and closed your eyes when you felt the hot water coating your skin. The lavender scent actually helped you to ease your mind and it slightly drifted away when suddenly the door was opened and your eyes snapped open.

You moved in the bathtub to see who had entered and when you saw your husband standing in your chambers in a beige shirt tears filled your eyes. He looked softer now which gave you hope and when he took a few careful steps towards you, you rested your hands on the walls of the tub.

"Daemon.", you whispered and he knelt down in front of the tub. You reached out to enclose his hand around yours and he let it happen. For a while neither of you said a word until he gulped loudly with tears in his eyes and stroke the back of your hand with his thumb.

"I really thought I lost you.", he whispered and it made your buttom lip tremble.

"No. No, I was fine the whole time, I promise you." But he shook his head and then slided his hand inside the water and moved it to your belly. He watched the swell as he caressed it carefully and you put your own hand on top of his'. His hand felt good on your stomach and you closed your eyes feeling both relieved and emotional.

"I'm sorry, Daemon. I really am. I don't regret what I did, because I believe it was the right thing to do, but I'm sorry for sneaking out like this and scaring Rhaenyra and you."

Your husband's eyes met with yours and now you saw inside of them what you had been searching for the whole day. Love and gentleness.

"You did do something brave and I know that you wanted to help. But… so many bad things could've happened to you, love. I sat here at Dragonstone imagining the worst kinds of things and as you might well know, the idea of you getting hurt doesn’t sit well with me."

You reached out to touch the side of his face and it felt so good to feel his skin again. Your thumb gently caressed the area under his eye while you could hear him breathing loudly and deeply.

"But I'm here. I'm fine and so is the babe. I'm here Daemon."

He shut his eyes and his face was drawn to desperation while you felt him pressing his face against the touch of your hand. And then he opened them again and gently removed your hand from his face to take it into his'. He leaned over the edge of the bathtub and kissed you as if it was your last kiss. He devoured, savoured your taste. His tongue entered your mouth and when he pulled away after a while he left you breathless and with glossy eyes.

"I want you Daemon.", you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. And your husband observed you with these piercing eyes of his' that never failed to make your knees wobbly.

He stood up and walked away and for a second you were disappointed but then you saw him return with a cotton towel to dry your body with. Daemon helped you get up and then hugged you with the big cloth. It felt so good to finally be close to him again and you crouched against his strong chest. He pressed little kisses to your wet hair and then started to rub your body to soak up every droplet of water.

You gave yourself to his touch, closed his eyes until the only thing you perceived was him and his presence. You smelled his familiar scent, heard his steady breathing and felt his soft hands caressing you with the towel.

When he was done he wrapped it closely around you and then simply picked you up. You chuckled but let him walk the two of you over to your bed. Daemon laid you down on your back and then didn't waste another second to crawl on top of you. You wanted to say something, tell him that you loved him but the words were swallowed by his mouth that pressed on your lips.

He was more eager now, almost desperate in an attempt to get impossibly close to you. Daemon's weight pressed you into the bed while his hands started to touch every inch of your skin he could reach. Soon that wasn't enough though and your husband pulled at the towel that still covered what laid underneath. He removed it from your body and you could see his pupils dance over your bare chest and swollen belly.

It was only a brief moment and then the prince lowered his head and took your left nipple between his teeth. Gently he nibbled at it which made you gasp for air and the hair on your arms stood up. Your hands found the back of his hair to hold on to something as you knew this would get intense now. Daemon seemed full of lust for you and yet caring.

Your husband knew your body and the way you reacted to him so he pulled and teased, flicked and bit at the exact right spots with the exact right amount of force in order to have you messy for him in a matter of minutes and he turned out to be successful. Your body unconsciously twitched as he just wouldn't let go of your breasts and nipples until they were all swollen and sore.

When Daemon stopped you were flushed and panted heavily and he slightly smirked while he kissed his way down. He stopped at your belly and touched the roundness of it.

"I'm never let gonna anyone hurt you. The two of you.", he said with a deep voice that made your heart flutter. "You're my flower; my love and my sun. I will protect you with everything that I have and you have to promise me that you will give me the chance to."

You nodded though you were so drunk with desire that you probably would have agreed to anything he asked you to do. And then Daemon crawled further south until he layed between your legs. His glistening eyes searched for your gaze and he made sure you looked at him when he lowered his head to lick a strip from your hole up to your pearl. It was no surprise to you by now how quickly your husband could make you tremble with his tongue alone and yet you were amazed by the reaction of your body every time. It was like his mouth was magical; the way he flicked and circled your pearl with the perfect amount of intensity. You had your head thrown back and your hands held on to Daemon's shoulders.

"Yes, Daemon. Ohhhh.", you pressed, feeling short of breath. He observed your face while licking your nub and spreading your wetness all over your cunt. He was intense, passionate and you felt that he wanted this to be full of emotions for the both of you.

"The prettiest little cunt.", he whispered and you could barely understand him. "I know she missed me, didn't she?", he smirked while watching your throbbing pearl. You couldn't bring yourself to answer him but arched your hips to get closer to his mouth.

"Please, oh fuck."

Daemon went faster now, rubbing your pearl with quick movements of his tongue and he additionally inserted two fingers in your hole to make it even more sensational for you.

"Come for me, sweet girl.", your husband said, his voice muffled.

And you did, with a gasp for air and the tension in your belly flooding through your body you reached your high and squeezed your eyes shut. While you were still trying to collect yourself and laid with your eyes closed Daemon crawled up. You opened your eyes again when you felt his hands cupping your face and you powerlessly smiled at him.

"Ready for my cock, little one?", Daemon growled and you nodded.

"I want you to feel it, y/n. I want you to feel me so deep inside of you because you're mine and I won't let any person harm you.", he breathed and then without a warning he pushed inside of you. Your eyes widened at the streth and he gave you a moment to adjust.

"You're not gonna leave me again, sweetling. I need you and I don't want to ever feel this again. Not knowing where you are, who you're with and if you've been harmed."

You could only nod, over and over again while your eyes threatened to close. Daemon tensed his jaw and leaned down to kiss you possessively. His cock started to thrust into your needy hole and he grabbed the side of your neck. Gently and yet clear in what he wanted to say with it. You were his' and he wouldn't let anyone hurt you.

His thrusts were deep and slow, just how you wanted it at this moment. They made your head dizzy and you felt so incredibly close and connected with Daemon. Now and then you couldn't help but close your eyes but you searched for his' every time you opened them again. Little sighs left your body and your shivering hands reached up to pull at him.

"Please.", you whined. "Kiss me."

And so he did without stopping the movement inside of you. His lips felt swollen by now but so were yours and your didn't care about anything in the world right now but him. He desperately clung to your shoulders and head, showing you that he would never let go.

Everything was so intense and even a brush with his thumb over your skin was heated with his the fire in his blood. You never wanted this to end, never wanted him to pull out of you and never wanted to lose his touch on your skin. And right now, you genuinely believed that your wish might get fulfilled with his lips savouring your taste and his hands so eager and determined that you felt like you had a good chance of this going on forever.

But to your regret it didn't. Soon Daemon's hand wandered to your pearl, a sign that he wouldn't last long and wanted to make sure that you came with him. His finger was sloppy and so were his thrusts as he drove the both of you closer to releasing with every second. His face was buried in your neck, something that you welcomed a lot because you could bury your hands in his hair that way and hold on to him as you were getting fucked into the bed sheets and gasped for air at every thrust.

"Oh Daemon.", you sighed and he left kisses along your neck.

"I love you, y/n. Don't you ever leave like that again. I can't bear it a second time." His voice was muffled but you could hear his words clearly.

"I won't, my love.", you moaned. "I won't. I love you and I need you."

His thrusts became faster and you felt how close he was to releasing. His finger circled your pearl relentlessly and then you eventually felt the pleasure exploding in your tummy the second time for tonight.

You clenched around his cock and through your dizzy mind sensed Daemon collapsing on top of you while little moans escaped his mouth. His seed filled your hole and then the two of you were panting heavily, his body on top of yours and both your eyes closed.

'Now that is a position we might have the chance to remain in for the rest of our lives.', you thought and allowed your mind to drift away.

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chimielie · 6 months ago

Text

sun seeker

summary: you are a princess, a future queen. somehow, this is still not enough.

word count: 1.5k

cw: fighting, oikawa’s an asshole (sorry), arranged marriage/royalty au, fake history stuff, angst to fluff (i guess), i’m not telling you who the love interest is but like. Guess, misogyny, ambiguous ending

a/n: if i tell you that i imagined a whole other side for oikawa will you forgive me? also this was supposed to be a short drabble related to between lightning strikes but it very much was not. my bad

Your betrothed is unexpectedly quiet.

It had only been a few days since you met the crown prince, having been sequestered in your father’s court in the country for most of your life, learning to fill the seat of someday-Empress. The capital is huge, bustling with people, always noisy—or so you surmised from within your veiled carriage. You had thought, as you bowed before the Emperor and Imperial Heir, that your life was finally beginning, finally growing beyond the narrow confines of etiquette training and religious rituals.

Instead, you felt your dreams shrivel and die as your daily routine proceeded exactly as it had for close to two decades. The only difference was time mandatorily spent with Tooru, who seemed… less than enthused by your match.

You had dreamed of someone who chafed against authority as you had, who felt as bound by propriety despite the privilege of your positions. Alas, you found him to be both sullen and arrogant, eager to rule but in denial of his own dissatisfaction with a noblewoman such as yourself. It made you want to scream. You had not chosen the circumstances of your birth, the path which you had been led to walk. It was not your fault that fate had pushed you two so forcefully together without regard for your desires, ambitions, or personalities.

“I was told you visited the temple this morning,” you say, watching your fiancé pause a long sip of tea, his brown eyes temporarily widening. Your face slips momentarily into a frown; you cannot conceal your frustration with his clear disdain for such small talk but unwillingness to bring anything more engaging to your table.

“Yes,” he says finally, setting down his cup. Light brown liquid sloshes over the rim and onto his fingers; he wipes them on his robes without care for the expensive fabric. “There are many rituals that must be done to ensure the most auspicious wedding possible.” His voice catches noticeably on the word wedding. You take a sip of your own tea to hide your grimace.

It is lukewarm. How long have you been sitting here, trying to force civility?

“Did it go well?” You ask in turn, your pitch straining. Behind you, one of the imperial guards snorts. When you try to discern which of them broke character, they have all returned to a stoic, uniform position. You straighten your posture.

“It was satisfactory,” Tooru says. You hear the snort again, and the crown prince’s lips twitch, just barely.

You shut your eyes tightly for a moment, trying to take in a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, though, bound by heavy fabrics and scarlet ribbon. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere for the air to go.

“What did you do this morning?” He asks, and you throw the cup at him.

His Imperial Highness is athletic beneath his aristocracy, and he dodges it easily. It bounces off one of the silk screens behind him and lies, cracked in two, in a puddle of lukewarm tea on the floor. You bury your face in your hands and scream through your teeth, a short, guttural noise that carves a little more space in your chest to breathe.

When you look up again, he stands over you, his perfect brows pulled into an expression of concern. You know without looking that two of the Imperial Guard are standing behind you, hands on their weapons.

“You have asked me that,” you say slowly, fighting to push the words out through the red haze of rage, “twice now. And you asked what my plans were yesterday. And the answer is always the same: wait in my rooms for you to call, because I am a painting of a woman waiting for you to walk in and criticize my form and decide that I am satisfactory.”

“I didn’t—” he says, and for a moment you become a fairytale heroine instead of a scorned princess, sitting on the floor looking up at him with despondent eyes that betray your desire to be loved. “This is what we are,” he decides finally, expression no longer concerned. “I think perhaps you need some rest.”

“You cannot be serious,” you seethe, pushing yourself to your feet. One of the guards puts a hand on you, ready to restrain you.

Tooru turns, his back facing you. He glances back as he exits, tone bored, eyes cold.

“Do not worry yourself,” he tells you, “I still find you satisfactory.”

You lunge after him, but two strong hands clamp down on your arms, hauling you back. You writhe and kick, but when you look up at your guard, his face is impassive, his eyes distant.

“I hate you,” you snarl, and watch as his eyes flicker down to your face. Seeing you. “I hate you,” you say again, but it sounds much more like a sob.

You can’t sleep that night.

The moon is full, high and bright, and every time you close your eyes, you see visions of your future. A glorified concubine, living in an expensive sanitarium, surely to be driven to insanity before your husband can ascend the throne.

You sit up, wild-eyed, and throw your door open with more force than you realize.

“Princess,” says your guard, startled.

“I can’t sleep,” you say, your heart thrumming in your chest. “Hajime, please, I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t let you out of your quarters,” Iwaizumi Hajime, head of your security detail, says.

“I don’t want—” you start, and he gives you a knowing look. “I know. Please just come and—talk with me. A little.”

He sighs, deeply, a rush of wind through cypress trees, and follows you into your room.

“Sit,” you order him, and the moonlight affords you the ability to see his green eyes flash with panic. “I am your future queen. Sit.”

He sits, trying to maintain his stern, professional face, even as you peel his helmet off and run your hands through his flattened hair.

“You lied to me,” you hum, and he jerks under your touch, façade breaking. “You told me Tooru never shut up.”

“I knew him a long time ago,” says Hajime. One of the few who had come with you to Kyoto, he had been raised here and come to your father’s court as a youth to learn to fight. “He’s not—he’s stubborn. He’ll soften eventually.”

“I don’t care,” you say bitterly. “Why did you hold me back?”

“He’s the prince,” Hajime says, his voice rasping with exasperation.

“I am the princess,” you say, and his lips press together into a straight line.

“My princess,” he murmurs. Hajime has always run warm, much more suited for Kyoto’s climate than your hometown’s. When he wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his side, you can feel his body heat through his armor.

“You let him say horrible things to me,” you say. His hold on you tightens.

“He is my oldest friend.”

“I am your—” you sigh heavily, pushing away from him, looking out at the moon. “I am nothing to you. I will live, though I am ungrateful. Many would say I am the luckiest woman in all the land.” The air is very cold without his touch.

“You are not nothing to me,” Hajime says, and you smile wistfully at his selective hearing.

“At least I am satisfactory.” You don’t see what happens, but Hajime’s helmet clatters loudly on the floor a moment later. “What—”

“He is my oldest friend,” he repeats himself, but his voice is low, so deep in his chest you can barely hear him. It does not matter; you can feel his words. “I wanted to kill him.”

Your lips part on a silent gasp, and he leans in close, so close that you can nearly taste him. You’ve always loved the way he smells, something base that relaxes you instantly. You haven’t been this close to him since you left home.

“He’s the Emperor,” he continues, “I can’t hurt him. I held us back.”

“Us?” You ask, his fingers suddenly tightly intertwined with yours.

“Ask me to help you leave,” he says, and you shut your eyes against his gaze, frightening and familiar all at once. “Ask me to take you away from here. I had—I have plans, and you will not be happy with him, Princess. You will be more than satisfactory, satisfied—you will be loved.”

Something knotted tightly unspools in you, red threads laying themselves out in perfect lines. You duck your head and nod against his shoulder, face rubbing against the metal of his armor.

You aren’t likely to succeed, you know, no matter how thoroughly Hajime has planned. Your fiancé will look for you: a stubborn man, like he had said. You do not know if his disdain for you or his love for Hajime will protect you. You could both die.

“Take me away,” you say, voice ringing out like a queen’s.

The moon, at its fullest cycle, chases its estranged wife into the day. The crown prince wakes without his betrothed. The world only spins forward.

#haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu!! x reader angst #hq x reader angst #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x reader angst

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97linelover · 29 days ago

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You and your dumb vampire costume - Jeon Wonwoo

summary: after an ugly break up with your first love and former colleague, you meet him at the annual Halloween party.

Maybe some sparks will fly again.

content: non Idol Wonwoo x non Idol reader, fight,angst,,fluff,smut, drama, heartbreak, love happy end

wc: 1 k

a/n: Wonwoo as vampire? Yes please.

The invitation for the company Halloween party sat in your inbox for days before you even considered opening it. When you finally did, your stomach dropped as you scanned the names on the guest list. Wonwoo. You hadn’t seen him in nearly a year, not since the night of your explosive breakup.

The argument had been brutal, the kind where neither of you held back, where every grievance you had ever bottled up came spilling out. You’d stormed out that night, and the two of you hadn’t spoken since.

At first, you thought about skipping the party entirely. It wasn’t worth reopening old wounds just for a costume contest and some cheap office punch. But a small part of you, the part that had never fully let go of him, told you to go. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the need for closure. Maybe you were just tired of pretending that he hadn’t once been everything to you. So, you RSVP’d with a forced smile and a knot in your stomach.

The night of the party arrived, and the office building had been transformed. The usual sterile cubicles were draped in cobwebs, pumpkins lined the hallways, and eerie music hummed through the speakers. You’d gone all out for your costume, hoping the boldness of it would mask the anxiety bubbling up inside. You were dressed as a warrior queen, your armor glinting under the dim lights, your confidence (or at least the appearance of it) radiating from the strong lines of your costume.

But no amount of costume design could prepare you for the moment you spotted Wonwoo across the room. He was dressed as a vampire, of course. Dark and brooding, with his usual effortless charm. His long black coat and the blood-red accents made him look even more striking than you remembered, and for a moment, it was as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you could feel the tension building, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon. You tried to keep your distance, busying yourself with small talk and making rounds among your colleagues, but it wasn’t long before you felt a presence behind you.

“Y/N.” His voice was smooth, familiar, and painfully full of things unsaid.

You turned around slowly, forcing a neutral expression onto your face. “Wonwoo.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the weight of the past year hanging heavily between you. The last time you’d spoken, you’d both said things that couldn’t be unsaid. Accusations, anger, and resentment had defined your last conversation, and standing here now, you could feel the remnants of that night simmering beneath the surface.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he finally said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it.

“Well, it’s my company too,” you replied, trying to sound just as indifferent, though you could feel your heart racing. “I have every right to be here.”

“Of course you do,” he said, his gaze flickering over your costume briefly before meeting your eyes again. “I just thought… after everything… you wouldn’t want to.”

His words sent a sharp jab through your chest. After everything? As if he hadn’t been just as responsible for the mess you’d both made.

“Well, I’m not here for you,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m here for me. Just trying to have a good time.”

“Right,” he said, his jaw tightening. “A good time. Just like old times, huh?”

The sarcasm in his voice was impossible to miss, and it stirred something in you, something that had been buried but never really gone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, your voice colder now.

Wonwoo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. “It means… you’re acting like everything’s fine. Like we didn’t—”

“Like we didn’t what? Have a massive fight and end things without ever really talking about it?” You interrupted, your voice rising. “Yeah, I remember that part pretty clearly, thanks.”

His eyes darkened, his frustration now matching your own. “You think I don’t remember? You think I haven’t thought about it every day since then?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, turning away slightly, but the anger bubbling up was impossible to hide.

Wonwoo stepped closer, his presence looming as you fought to keep your composure. “Don’t act like I’m the one who walked away, Y/N. You left. You didn’t even give us a chance to fix it.”

You spun to face him, the anger you’d held back for so long finally breaking through. “Because you didn’t care enough to fix it, Wonwoo! Every time I tried to talk, you shut down! You pushed me away until there was nothing left of us to save!”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you saw the hurt flash across his face before the anger returned. “I was trying to keep us from falling apart! I didn’t want to drag out fights over things we couldn’t change, Y/N. But you couldn’t let anything go.”

“That’s because you never wanted to deal with anything, Wonwoo! You never wanted to face the fact that we were both unhappy!” Your voice wavered slightly, the pain of old wounds reopening. “We couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. I wasn’t happy, and neither were you.”

The words hung between you, raw and exposed. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the sounds of the party fading into the background as you stood there, locked in a battle of words and emotions. It felt like the same argument you’d had the night you broke up, only this time there was no escaping it.

“So what now?” he asked, his voice quieter but still tense. “We just keep rehashing the same old arguments until we hate each other even more?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the sting of his words. “Maybe we’re already there.”

His face fell slightly at that, and for the first time that night, you saw something other than anger in his eyes—regret. The kind of regret that lingered, that didn’t go away with time.

Before either of you could say anything more, the music changed, and you heard someone shout for the costume contest. The emcee announced a dance competition, calling for volunteers from the crowd.

Of course, in the twisted way that fate worked, someone from your group shouted your name and Wonwoo’s, urging you both onto the dance floor. You tried to decline, shaking your head, but before you knew it, your coworkers were pushing you forward, insisting it would be fun.

You stood there, glaring at each other, while the music started. It was some upbeat, ridiculous pop song that didn’t match the mood between you two at all, but the crowd was watching, and there was no backing out now.

With a heavy sigh, you started moving, doing your best to make it through the dance-off without further conflict. But Wonwoo, always competitive, wasn’t about to let it be that easy. He threw in dramatic spins and ridiculous moves, clearly trying to one-up you, and it only fueled your frustration.

“Are you serious right now?” you hissed as you stepped closer, trying to match his exaggerated moves with your own. “You’re making this a competition?”

He smirked, that same infuriating smirk that used to drive you crazy, but in a different way. “Why not? We’ve always been good at those.”

You glared at him, your movements growing sharper as the music continued, the two of you locked in this ridiculous, heated competition that mirrored the tension between you.

By the time the song ended, you were both breathless, not from the dancing but from the weight of everything unsaid. The crowd cheered, oblivious to the emotional warfare that had just taken place on the dance floor.

As you tried to catch your breath, Wonwoo grabbed your wrist, pulling you aside, away from the noise of the party. You let him, too emotionally drained to protest. Once you were in a quieter corner, he turned to face you, his expression softer now, though the tension was still there.

“This can’t be how it ends, Y/N,” he said quietly, his grip on your wrist loosening but still firm. “Not like this.”

You looked at him, really looked at him for the first time that night. Beneath the anger, beneath the frustration, you could see it—the same hurt, the same unresolved feelings that had haunted you both for the past year.

“I don’t know how to fix this, Wonwoo,” you admitted, your voice small. “I don’t even know if we can.”

He let out a long breath, his hand dropping from your wrist. “I don’t either. But… I don’t want this to be the end.”

You stared at him, feeling torn between the anger that still simmered in your chest and the part of you that had never really stopped caring about him.

“I don’t want it to be the end either,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

And in that moment, standing in the midst of a Halloween party you hadn’t even wanted to attend, you realized that maybe, just maybe, there was still something worth fighting for. Even if it wouldn’t be easy, even if it meant reopening old wounds, you weren’t ready to walk away. Not yet.

The air between you seemed to thicken with the weight of all the things you both weren’t saying. Wonwoo stood there, his face a mixture of determination and frustration, the hurt from your past argument still simmering beneath his calm exterior. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched slightly, how his eyes softened as he searched your face for some kind of answer, for something to grasp onto that could lead you both out of this mess.

But there was no easy fix. No simple solution that would undo all the pain, the anger, the words that cut too deep.

“I don’t know how to fix us either,” you admitted, your voice cracking just a little. You hadn’t meant to sound so vulnerable, but after a year of pretending everything was fine, of trying to move on, it was impossible to hold back any longer. “Maybe we’re too far gone.”

His eyes flashed with something like panic for just a moment, but then it was gone, replaced by that stubborn resolve that had always defined him. “We’re not too far gone, Y/N. We can’t be.”

“Why not?” you challenged, folding your arms over your chest defensively. “We’re still the same people who hurt each other, who couldn’t get past our issues. What’s changed?”

Wonwoo sighed deeply, running a hand through his messy hair, the motion betraying just how tense he was. “Because I’ve had a year to think about it. About us. And… I wasn’t fair to you. I shut you out when you needed me, and that wasn’t right. I just didn’t know how to handle everything. I thought I was protecting us by avoiding the fights, but I only made things worse.”

Hearing him admit that felt like a punch to the gut. For so long, you’d convinced yourself that he didn’t care, that he hadn’t fought for your relationship because he simply didn’t want to. But now, as you looked at him, standing there raw and honest, you realized that maybe you weren’t the only one who’d been hurting.

“You did shut me out,” you agreed quietly, your voice trembling with the emotions you’d buried for so long. “And I didn’t know how to deal with that. I felt like I was screaming into a void, trying to fix something that was already broken, and you didn’t seem to care.”

“I cared,” Wonwoo interrupted, stepping closer. “I cared more than I could say. But I didn’t know how to show it. I didn’t know how to… fix us without making things worse.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. His honesty was cutting through all the walls you’d built up around yourself in the past year, and suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were ready for that. You weren’t sure if you were ready to let him back in, to risk the possibility of getting hurt all over again.

“Then why didn’t you try?” you whispered, feeling the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. “If you cared so much, why didn’t you fight for me? For us?”

Wonwoo looked away for a moment, as if searching for the right words. When he finally met your gaze again, his expression was softer, almost broken. “Because I didn’t think you’d want me to. You walked out, and I thought… I thought that was it. That you were done with me, with us. And I didn’t want to make things worse by chasing after you when you’d made up your mind.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave. All this time, you’d assumed he didn’t care, that he hadn’t tried because he wasn’t willing to fight for your relationship. But now, hearing him say it, you realized just how wrong you’d been. You’d walked out that night because you were angry, because you needed space, but you’d never expected him to just give up. You wanted him to come after you, to show you that he still cared enough to make things right. Instead, you’d both fallen into this painful silence, each of you too hurt and too proud to make the first move.

“I didn’t want you to give up,” you said quietly, the tears finally spilling over. “I just… I just didn’t know how to fix things. I was so angry, and I needed space, but I didn’t want us to end like that.”

“I didn’t want it to end either,” Wonwoo said softly, reaching out to wipe a tear from your cheek. His touch was gentle, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like there was a glimmer of hope between you. “I never wanted it to end, Y/N. I just… I thought that’s what you wanted.”

You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady your emotions. “I wanted you to fight for me, Wonwoo. I wanted you to show me that we were worth fighting for.”

“I should have,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “And I’m sorry I didn’t. I should have fought harder. I should have fought for us.”

The sincerity in his voice broke something inside you, and suddenly, all the anger you’d been holding onto didn’t feel as important anymore. You could see now that you’d both been hurting, both struggling with the weight of your issues, and neither of you had known how to fix it. But now, standing here, with the autumn air swirling around you and the sounds of the Halloween party fading into the background, you realized that maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe you could still salvage what you had.

“Wonwoo,” you began, your voice still shaky but filled with determination. “I don’t know if we can fix everything. I don’t even know if we can go back to how things were. But… I’m willing to try. If you are.”

His eyes lit up with something you hadn’t seen in him for a long time—hope. “I want to try. I don’t want to lose you again.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past year slowly start to lift from your shoulders. It wouldn’t be easy, and there were still a lot of things you needed to work through, but for the first time in a long time, you felt like there was a chance. A chance to rebuild, to start over.

“Okay,” you said, your voice steady now. “Let’s try again.”

Wonwoo smiled softly, the tension in his body easing as he stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours. “No more running away this time,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “We face it together.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. “Together.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to hope again. Maybe this was the beginning of something new—something stronger. Something worth fighting for.

#seventeen #kpop #svt #seventeen angst #au #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #svt wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #wonu #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt angst

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littlefireball · 2 months ago

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ᴊʜ|ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴅ ᴋɪɴɢ (ᴀ/ᴍ)

White Queen Reader x Red King Jongho

Fairy tale series: Yunho

⚠️Trigger!! Please don’t read if you are uncomfortable with it ⚠️

Word count: 6K

a/n: this story is Alice in Wonderland but Alice is not the main character here. I was inspired by the movies Alice in Wonderland (2010) and Alice Through the Looking Glass (2016), the story between the White Queen and The Queen of heart. I adopted the story and the settings, using them as the main characters.

Prompt: write a story where the hero is a also a villain and the villain is also a hero

Summary: Jongho stands as your savior, the one who pulled you from the depths of despair during your childhood. Yet, to the outside world, he wears the mask of a villain—born of both demons and humans, his blood tainted, his temperament fierce and wild. Society has cast him into the abyss, but you refuse to accept this fate. You are determined to rescue him, no matter the toll it takes on your own reputation or even your very existence.

"Help!Someone save me!" You barely paused to think, your gaze fixed straight ahead as you sprinted away in a frenzy. The branches and leaves whipped past you, creating a symphony of rustling sounds. As a teenager, you had a penchant for wandering through the forests on the outskirts, near the ominous realm known as The Red, the devil's domain. Your mischievous spirit often led you astray, ignoring warnings, and ultimately, you found yourself in the sights of a lurking monster.

A distant noise jolted you from your thoughts, and you grabbed a nearby branch, bracing for danger. Suddenly, a monstrous figure lunged from the underbrush, its maw dripping with blood. You swung the branch, but it splintered on impact, sending you tumbling to the ground.

The beast advanced, its teeth glinting as it growled. Panic surged as you tried to retreat, leaving a trail of blood from your wounded foot. The metallic scent ignited the creature's instincts, and it prepared to strike again. Fear paralyzed you as you realized you might meet your end beneath its savage jaws.

"Clang..." A chilling light sliced through the heavens as the beast plummeted to the earth. Blood oozed from its gaping wounds, pooling beneath it like a gruesome crimson rug. The man in front of you remained motionless, his gaze fixed on you, ensuring your safety before confirming the creature's demise.

"Are you okay?" He extended his hand to you, his voice was gentle.

"Yah…yah…" He pulled you up effortlessly as you held his hand. "Thanks…" Your gaze traveled to his face and attire, and it dawned on you that he was one of The Red. In that moment, he recognized you as the princess of the White.

"It's not safe for you to stay here, princess." The term 'princess' sent a jolt through your heart. Was he really going to end your life? The rivalry between the White and the Red was fierce; there was no chance for harmony.

"Do you know who I am?" you inquired softly, your voice barely rising above a murmur.

"Your gown," he said, gesturing toward your white dress, adorned with a design exclusive to the White.

"So… you plan to kill me?" Your words drew a light laugh from him. Honestly, he looked quite charming when he smiled.

"Then why would I bother saving you?" He folded his arms, leaning closer to meet your eyes. "If I'm going to kill you, I won't waste my breath. Just return to your land, and we'll pretend this never happened."

With a playful grin, he turned to walk away.

"Wait!" You called out to him.

"Hmm?"

"I'm Y/N. What's your name?"

"Jongho."

"Thank you, Jongho." With a smirk, he nodded and continued on his way.

This isn't merely a fleeting encounter; you find yourself drawn to the forest time and again, searching for Jongho. The moment he rescued you, he transformed into your hero, casting light into the dark corners of your existence and bringing joy to your days. In a household devoid of affection, he became the source of the feelings you had longed for.

The tender shoots of love began to emerge, flourish, and ultimately blossom into vibrant blooms within your hearts. Your connection grew stronger, and you discovered comfort in clandestine rendezvous at a hidden wooden cabin.

"Jongho, you're too big…" "It's not your first time to know it." Laughter dances between your kisses, your eyes sparkling with affection. The intensity of your kisses deepens once more. His lips crave to wander over every inch of you; starting at your earlobes, then gradually trailing down, sinking into your neck, leaving behind tender marks accompanied by soft, lingering sounds.

As your fingers intertwined, he released a soft whimper with each thrust. You gasped for air, your breaths coming in quick, uneven moans. The two of you were driving each other wild; the way his firm tip struck your sweet spot made you writhe, your toes curling as your walls eagerly embraced his shaft, beckoning for more pleasure.

"Wanna go rough?" he panted, his cheeks flushed. "Yes, please." In an instant, he withdrew and flipped you over, lifting you with ease. Wrapping your arms and legs around his shoulder and waist respectively, he walked to the wall and pressed you back against it. He released the grip on your thighs, sliding his arms underneath your inner knees. Without waiting for your response, he bumped into your warmth harshly. You screamed out of pleasure but immediately covered your mouth after realizing your moaning may be heard by people who were passing by.

"No one's here." Jongho whispered against your ear, his warm breath landing on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Who knows?" You giggled but the laugh soon died out as he gave you a really hard crash.

You and Jongho were entangled in a clandestine romance, a love that society deemed forbidden. You were the embodiment of purity, draped in the white of innocence, while Jongho was marked by the crimson of darkness and malice. This was the narrative spun by the inhabitants of Wonderland, yet your heart told a different story.

Thoughts of running away together danced in your mind, but the harsh truth loomed large; if a princess and a prince vanished simultaneously, it would raise alarms, especially given the enmity between your realms. You could never bear to let your love turn the people of your two kingdoms into casualties of your desire.

A loud sound of skin hitting skin bounced off the wall, combined with your moaning and his breathing, everything was just like a beautiful sinphony rang in your two ears. Pulling him closer, your nails dug into his nape, drawing some blood. The pain and the pleasure crashed together in Jongho's body and all the heat gathered in his tip, he was at his limit.

Picking up the pace, he rolled his hip quick enough to ruin you. He suddenly turned you around, throwing you to the bed as if you're nothing. He knew you loved that. "Jjong…" Before you could let out a whine because of the sudden emptiness in your cunt, his massive cock latched back on a quick, harsh motion. Your head landed on the bed sheets, making your high-pitched moan muffled as he bumped and hit your sweet spot dead on.

He pulled your pelvis to the air, crossing and pinning your arms on your back as a support, so that he could fuck you while standing on the bed. Everything was overwhelming but perfectly balanced, the pleasure made you sink deep in this love making, even forget the cruel reality for a moment. "Jongho…I'm so close." "Cum, good girl." "Fuck…shit…" A series of swearing flew from Jongho's lips and you responded with a long moaning and soft whimper. Finally, you reached the peak before his hot seed creamed your cunt.

"Goodness…" He pulled out painfully slowly to ensure you feel every vein of his cock. Watching your hole dripped with his cum was the most satisfying sight in the world. His hand reached down to collect the white seed, bringing them back to your hole and pushing in his long finger.

"Jongho…" You whined at the overstimulation, making him chuckle at your cuteness. Wrapping his arm around your waist to turn you over, he cradled you in his embrace while drawing you into a tender, slow kiss. As the kiss deepened, your bodies pressed closer, the warmth of your skin mingling in a way that was both comforting and exhilarating.

Eventually, the kiss broke, but the connection remained. You gazed into each other's eyes, your faces flushed with the aftermath of your intimacy.

"I wish this moment could stretch into forever," he breathed, his fingers tenderly tracing your cheek. "I want to claim you as mine, as my wife, my eternal love."

"I'm completely yours, Jjong," you replied, a bittersweet smile gracing your lips. "Even if we can't..."

"Don't say that." Jongho pressed a soft kiss to your palm, resting it against his cheek. "I will make it happen. I promise." You nodded, enveloping him in a warm embrace as tears cascaded down your face.

His words were not empty; he became the King after his father died. He tried his best to improve the relationship between the two countries. Commerce, diplomacy, and even military support can all seem to be progressing smoothly. Just when you believe everything is on the right track, reality delivers a staggering jolt.

"The Red would eliminate us if we don't take action!"A White official asserted that the kingdom of Jongho, known as The Red, had grown in strength. There were whispers that The Red had allied with these dark forces, siphoning their power to bolster their own might. Yet, you were well aware that this was a falsehood. Their true strength stemmed from hard-earned experience, not from any infernal assistance. Even though the inhabitants of the Red were hybrids of demons and humans, they were not malevolent; their battles against the demons were driven by a sense of justice rather than wickedness.

The real malevolence laid with the White; no matter the efforts of the Red, acceptance would always elude them. The White were convinced that the Red sought to dominate them under the guise of collaboration, rather than genuinely aiding their development.

You were fed up with their deceitful words, so you confronted them head-on. Your menacing presence left him momentarily speechless, but he quickly found his footing again.

"Your Highness, conflict is unavoidable. It's either my life or his. Our nations are fated to clash." You scowled, your fists clenching the armrests, your nails digging into your skin.

"We are a pure nation, and negotiation with them is out of the question."

"So you're willing to let their blood taint our land, is that it?"

"That's called purification, Your Highness. We just spread our purity."

"Ridiculous." Your voice barely above a whisper. No matter how absurd their statements may seem, you found yourself unable to challenge them. Your parents were right beside you, their disdain for The Red palpable. If you dare to voice your disagreement now, it will surely raise eyebrows and jeopardize your bond with Jongho.

"Allow me to continue, Your Highness." You shifted your gaze, trying to suppress the anger within you. But of course, you couldn't show it.

"We intend to strike when they next engage a demon." Those officials were convinced that once they vanquished demons, The Red would consume their souls for its own gain. Seizing this moment, The White could launch a surprise assault. This strategy has garnered support from many, including your parents.

Your heart races with anxiety. You attempt to steady yourself, determined to stop their conspiracy.

"The White's strategy is steeped in fear and misunderstanding," you countered, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. "To attack the Red while they battle demons is not only morally wrong, but it also betrays the very principles we claim to uphold. We cannot allow ourselves to be governed by paranoia and prejudice."

The official's eyes narrowed, a hint of contempt flickering across his face. "Your Highness, you are too naive. The Red have long been a threat to our stability. Their very existence is a blight upon the land, a reminder of the darkness that once consumed us all. We must eradicate them before they can spread their corruption further."

"But that's not what they are," you insisted, your voice rising with passion. "They are warriors, fighting against the very demons that once threatened our own kingdom. They are not our enemies; they are our allies in this endless struggle against evil."

Your parents exchanged a worried glance, their disapproval evident. "You are too close to this, my child," your mother said softly. "You must see the bigger picture. The Red cannot be trusted."

"I understand your concerns," you replied, striving for calm. "But trust is earned, not assumed. We have never given them a chance to prove their loyalty. How can we judge them solely based on rumors and hearsay?"

The official snorted derisively. "Prove their loyalty? They are hybrids, a twisted blend of humanity and demonic influence. They cannot be trusted, no matter what they do."

"But that's─"

"Enough!Y/N!" Your father cut you off, his voice laced with fury. "How dare you defend those monsters?"

"I'm not defending them, Father."

His eyes narrowed, skepticism etched across his face. You could feel your hands shaking and your breath quickening, yet you fought to steady yourself.

"I'm only considering the welfare of our people."

"That better be the case." He circled you like a predator, hands clasped behind his back, then bellowed to the crowd: "This bill will be enacted! The day we obliterate The Red is nearly upon us!"

You spun around in disbelief, a shiver racing down your spine as you witnessed the crowd erupting in fervent chants. The faces you once knew morphed into a sea of menacing figures, each one a chilling embodiment of the very demons you feared.

Your words fell on deaf ears, and it seemed they would never hear your voice. If that's the reality, then it's time to explore a different path.

Under the cover of night, you slipped into your father's study. The desk was cluttered with battle maps and troop deployment charts. You carefully transcribed the details and tucked them away in a secret spot, ensuring they would remain hidden. When you finally encounter Jongho, you'll hand over the crucial information.

"Jongho!!" The moment you spotted him in the wooden house, you dashed into his arms, a fleeting moment that felt like a precious treasure.

"Y/N…" His voice was a gentle whisper as he pulled you closer, his hands firmly around your waist.

"I'm so sorry I can't stop this…" You kept murmuring, guilt washing over you for not being able to halt the war and shield your beloved.

"It's not your fault; why do you keep saying that?" He brushed his fingers against your tear-streaked cheeks, tenderly wiping away your own tears. "You never wanted this; you've done nothing wrong."

You shook your head, said "I refuse to let them tear us apart…" With determination, you retrieved a folded plan from your pocket, revealing the strategy of your army.

"You…"

"Even if I can't stop them, I can make them lose." You held Jongho's face gently, your words a soft murmur. "They are the true villains, not the heroes."

He enveloped you in his arms, resting his chin on your head. "When that day arrives, everything will change. The war will cease, the animosity will vanish, and we will be united."

"I'll wait for you, Jongho." You both stared into each other's eyes, a profound sorrow mirrored in their depths. Slowly, you leaned in, your lips meeting in a tender, mournful, and final kiss.

Yet, plans often crumble.

The Red's defense fell apart like a house of cards. They had positioned their forces based on the strategic map you provided, but an unexpected assault caught them off guard. Thirty thousand enemy soldiers executed a deceptive strike, drawing the Red's troops northward, while the east and west flanks were mercilessly bombarded by a staggering one hundred thousand foes each. The Red's forces lacked the strength to withstand such overwhelming might, and The White's relentless pressure left them no room to fight back.

"No...no...how could this happen..." You clenched your jaw as you listened to the generals report one victory after another. Each announcement felt like a dagger to your heart. This was unimaginable. With Jongho's exceptional skills, this conflict should not have unfolded this way. What had gone so terribly wrong?

"Inform the king that we have seized The Red's general, Jongho." As soon as his name reached your ears, a wave of sorrow crashed over you. Your eyes brimmed with tears, and you fought valiantly to keep them at bay. The father beside you noticed your distress and, with a playful flourish, gestured toward you, as if to taunt your pain.

"C'mon, Y/N. Take a look at our prize."

"Yes, father…"

As you reluctantly stepped forward, each footfall felt like lead, dragging you towards a fate you were not ready to face. The tent's entrance loomed ahead, the flap swaying slightly in the wind, a harbinger of uncertainty and heartbreak. With a deep breath, you pushed past the curtain and entered a chamber filled with the stench of defeat and despair.

Jongho was bound, his noble features marred by bruises and bloodied lips. His eyes met yours across the room, and in that instant, a thousand words were exchanged. They spoke of love, betrayal, and the cruel realities of war. You struggled to maintain your composure, but your heart was breaking within you.

"Y/N..." His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of longing and sorrow.

You wanted to approach him, wanted to touch his bruised cheek, only to have your hand stopped by the cold iron of his chains and your father.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "I failed you."

The king, who had been observing your exchange with a smug satisfaction, cleared his throat loudly. "You're doing well, my daughter. You bring victory to our kingdom."

Jongho's expression turned steely as he stared at you, disbelief etched across his features before his eyes flicked to your father. "What are you saying?"

"If it weren't for you, this war wouldn't be thriving," your father declared, his usual stern demeanor melting away into a grotesque grin that churned your stomach.

"Y/N…" Jongho whispered, his gaze devoid of affection, replaced instead by a simmering hatred.

"No…" A torrent of words lodged in his throat, unable to form a coherent thought. You shook your head, desperate to reject the harsh truth before you, but the reality was undeniable: Jongho's animosity toward you was palpable. He had once trusted your words, but they had led to ruin for his forces. How could he ever believe you again?

"Finish him, Y/N." Your father thrust a knife into your hands, compelling you to take Jongho's life.

You stumbled upon the blade, its cold edge a cruel reminder of your choices, and began to approach the lover standing before you, each step heavy with regret. With every footfall, your heart shattered further, the weight of your actions pressing down on you. He bore the marks of pain, his once-bright eyes now dimmed by your treachery.

"I never meant to betray you. Do you trust me?" you murmured, your voice thick with emotion, nearly drowning out your own plea.

"How?"

Jongho's gaze shifted from yours to the knife in your trembling hand, his expression unreadable. For a moment, there was a flicker of hope in his eyes, but it was quickly extinguished by the harsh realization of your father's ultimatum.

"Trust you?" he repeated, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "After everything? How could I ever trust the one who sent me here, to this fate?"

Your heart twisted at his words, but you pressed on, desperate to make him understand. "I had no choice, Jongho. My father...he's twisted everything. He's used me to achieve his own ends. I never wanted this to happen."

"But it did," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And now you're standing here, with a weapon in your hand, ready to strike me down. How can you say you never meant to betray me?"

You hesitated, the knife hovering between you and Jongho. You knew there were no easy answers, no words could erase the pain and mistrust between you.

"So I never deserve your forgiveness." You said, your voice breaking. Without a second thought, you thrust the knife into him.

"You…!" Every inch of his body radiated agony, his lips quivered as waves of pain crashed over him relentlessly. He sprawled on the ground, a crimson pool spreading beneath him, his gaze fixed in despair as you strolled back to your father's side, a fake smile on your face.

"Why?" were the final words that escaped his lips before the shadows enveloped him.

Your father's eyes widened with satisfaction as he watched you stand victorious over Jongho's fallen form. "Well done, my dear. Your loyalty to the kingdom is unmatched."

"It's gonna be over," you whispered to yourself, your eyes locked on Jongho's lifeless body. "I promise."

Your father, oblivious to your internal turmoil, turned to address his generals. "With Jongho's forces defeated, our victory is assured. Prepare the celebrations. We shall feast next week in honor of our daughter's bravery."

The generals bowed in obedience, and you let out a smile, "Yes, father."

—---

The war concluded with The White emerging victorious. The world hailed The White as a champion, while The Red, the instigator of the conflict, was branded a villain. And you stood as the greatest hero of them all.

The castle hall buzzed with the jubilant gathering of soldiers and the royal family, all reveling in the triumph. Their cheers rang out, a stark contrast to the emptiness you felt inside.

You stood there, devoid of joy or sorrow, like a marionette stripped of its strings. No one seemed to notice your detachment; they were too engrossed in their celebration. Just then, your mother approached, accompanied by a man.

"Come, Y/N, meet your fiancé. This is His Highness Adam." You offered a curt bow, your face a mask of indifference. If you had known they were arranging a political marriage for you, you would have protested vehemently. But now, you felt nothing, your mind fixated on a singular thought.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness Y/N. Rumors do not do justice to your beauty," he complimented, his words smooth but lacking sincerity.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Prince Adam." As you and he engaged in conversation, your mother discreetly stepped away, granting you both a moment of privacy.

"I heard you outsmarted the Red Prince and emerged victorious in the war," he began, his voice brimming with admiration. "And you even took his life! How incredible you are!"

"Do you despise the Reds?"

"Absolutely! They're nothing but demons—cruel and hideous. They deserve to vanish from this world."

"But I carry the blood of demons; do I not deserve to perish as well?"

"No, no! You are a hero, Y/N. Even with their blood on your hands, your nobility shines through." Your once gentle gaze darkened, transforming into something sinister as you turned away, striding toward the empty throne, your fingers gliding over the armrests. "So, is there a chance for my redemption?"

"You did nothing─ *cough*" In an instant, a wave of violent coughing swept through the hall. Guests clutched their throats, desperately trying to stifle the crimson torrents spilling from their lips, but their efforts were futile.

"Is the wine to your liking?" you inquired, your gaze fixed on his glass, provoking a sinister grin. You had laced every dish with poison before the feast even began. It was no surprise that everyone was now afflicted.

"What have you done?" your father growled, struggling to maintain his balance against the onslaught of agony.

"Just what you did to me once. Father." You moved back and forth with a chilling calmness. "You altered the plan after I stole it, leading Jongho to misunderstand me, ultimately costing him his life. You forced my betrayal, and now I return the favor."

"How dare you…!"

"I took the life of my beloved, and there's nothing I won't do. Father."

"You love that demon…?!" Adam gasped, his voice strained. "What a…" Before he could finish, you drew a knife and plunged it into him with brutal force.

"He is not the demon; you all are. In the name of your so-called purification, you slaughter the innocent without remorse, using their lives to fortify your nation. It's nothing short of disgraceful!"

You withdrew the blade, and he crumpled to the earth. Seated upon the throne, a sea of lifeless bodies sprawled before you.

"That's so-called purify, Father." A smile crept across your face, a flicker of relief washing over you as you contemplated your fate. You knew Jongho would come back for you. That day, you chose not to pierce his heart. Instead, you allowed him to stage his demise and slip away unnoticed. Deep down, you understood that with his nature, vengeance was inevitable. He would, no, must kill you. You betrayed him, bringing to his people. You will never be forgiven.

"Now I await your return, Jongho."

—---

"Your Majesty─" A soldier sprinted frantically toward your throne, only to be struck down by a figure in a tall hat lurking behind him. He collapsed, his lifeless form swallowed by a tide of crimson. The man in the hat advanced slowly into the hall where you sit. You rest your hands on the table, unflinching in the face of impending doom.

"It's all finished. Surrender. White Queen. Your forces have surrendered, and I have eliminated every last one of your warriors. It's time for your cruel reign to end." The man before you brandishes a sword, each word he utters striking your heart like a relentless hammer. How long has it been since you last heard his voice? The affection that once colored his words has faded, replaced by a chilling disdain.

"Hatter... or should I call you Jongho?" you murmured softly. As your revelation hit him, Jongho's steadfast gaze shattered momentarily, only to reassemble into its former intensity.

"I had a feeling you were Alice's partner, the one who's going to take me down. And I'm right. It just took more time than I expected. I've been waiting for you for so long."

One day, you stumbled upon a mysterious book hidden away in your father's clandestine chest, tucked inside a room that few knew existed. The pages revealed a prophecy about a woman named Alice and her band of allies who would rise up against your reign. Among them was a figure known as Hatter. While the book offered no details about his looks, a gut feeling whispered that he must be Jongho. And as fate would have it, your instincts were spot on.

"You should have. You took everything from me and shattered what we once shared," he retorted, his words slicing through you like a cruel blade. "I can never forgive you."

"I don't need your forgiveness, Jongho." You stood up straight, stepping forward until the cold tip of the sword pressed against your chest, invading your vulnerability. Blood trickled down, staining your white dress. Yet, you felt no pain; the heartbreak had rendered you numb.

"Your words are as hollow as the shell you've become," you said, voice steady despite the growing chill spreading from the sword's point. "You speak of taking everything, but it was you who abandoned us. You chose power over love, ambition over the promise of a life together."

Jongho's face twisted in a mix of anger and grief, his grip on the sword tightening. "You don't know what you're talking about. I did it all for us, for a better future. But you... you were blinded by your throne and your obsession with control. You destroyed everything in your path, including our love."

"Love?" You snorted, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "You speak of love as if it's some fairy tale. You turned your back on reality, Jongho. On the truth. You were always meant to be the Hatter, trapped in Wonderland, while I was meant for something greater. I was born to rule, and nothing—not even you—could change that."

His eyes narrowed, and you could see the anger simmering just below the surface. "You're wrong. You were never meant to be a queen, not like this. You've become a monster, consumed by your own greed and paranoia. And now, it's time for you to pay the price."

You met his gaze without flinching, feeling the weight of your actions pressing down on you. "Then do it, Jongho. Strike me down and end this nightmare. But know that even in death, I will never regret my choices. I would rather die as a queen than live as a pawn in someone else's game."

For a moment, he hesitated, his sword wavering. But then, with a fierce determination, he lunged forward, the blade piercing through your chest with a sickening thud. Pain erupted within you, searing through your veins like wildfire. You stumbled backward, crashing into the table behind you, the sound of shattering crystal mingling with your own labored breathing.

Jongho stood over you, sword still embedded in your chest, his face a mask of cold resolution. "Goodbye,Y/N. May you finally find peace in the afterlife."

But as you gazed up at him, your vision blurring with the onset of darkness, you knew that peace would never be yours. Not in this life, nor in the next. You had made too many mistakes, caused too much suffering. And now, as the life force within you began to fade, you realized that your only hope for redemption lay in the forgiveness of those you had wronged.

With your last breath, you whispered, "Finally, you can become a hero."

"What're you talking about…"

"The Red overthrow The White. A hero defeats a villain. That's what people would believe in the future. The Red is not evil anymore, but the White."

"I'm sorry, Jongho. For everything."

The air in the throne room seemed to grow thicker with each passing moment, heavy with the weight of betrayal and regret. Jongho's eyes widened at your whispered apology, a flicker of emotion crossing his stern features. But it was too late, the damage had been done, and the path to reconciliation had long been lost in the labyrinth of Wonderland's twisted politics.

He withdrew the sword painfully, leaving behind a gaping wound that oozed a sickly crimson.

You collapsed onto the shattered remnants of your throne, the cold marble beneath you now stained with your blood.

"What have I done to deserve this...Y/N?" He sank to his knees, the weight of his bottled-up feelings crashing down on him. "Why do you push me to end your life? For the sake of heroes and villains? Why?I never wanted to be a hero. I just wanted…us…"

Now he finally understood, you made him kill you so that he could be the hero and no one would suppress the Red again.

The White fell, and with it, Wonderland found its tranquility. Whispers circulated that the Red King had toppled the White Queen's rule, yet the truth remained shrouded in mystery, for no one had laid eyes on him and Jongho did not ascend to the throne of Wonderland; instead, he disappeared. And your corpse? Oddly enough, it appears to have vanished alongside the Red King. When the troops stormed into the throne room, all that was left were a bloodied sword and a crown. Everything seemed to evaporate overnight.

As time passed, Wonderland slowly healed from the wounds of the past. All is well again, and the sorrow of yesteryears has faded away, washed clean by the passage of time.

—-----

"Alice, wake up!" Her sister gently nudged her as Alice lay dozing on her lap. "Dinner's ready! Father mentioned we have new neighbors, so we should go say hello soon!"

"Mmm?" Alice stirred from a vivid dream. She recalled a fantastical adventure where she leaped into a rabbit hole, nibbled on peculiar cakes, and experienced wild changes in size. In that strange world, she had been hailed as a savior, destined to challenge a queen whose name eluded her, though she vividly remembered the queen's striking white attire.

"Wait, where's the hatter?" Alice shot up, a sudden realization hitting her. She recalled racing to the palace after defeating the White Queen's dragon, but her friend, the hatter, was nowhere to be found. She distinctly remembered following him inside.

"What hatter? That's just a tale, Alice."

"No!" Alice insisted. "I swear I saw him! And his name wasn't just hatter… what was it…?"

"Alright, alright, just head home and stop with the daydreaming."

"I'm not daydreaming! It was real!" Alice hurried after her sister. "I followed the rabbit and fell into the hole!"

"It's merely a plot from a story."

"Why won't you believe me?"

"Because it's not true."

As their debate continued, they arrived home, where a couple, presumed to be their new neighbors, turned away from them.

"Meet our neighbors," Alice's father said, gesturing. The couple stood and greeted them with warm smiles.

"Hello! You must be Alice, right?" the man said. A wave of recognition washed over Alice, and she gasped, momentarily speechless.

"You… you… you? Hatter and White Queen??"

"What?" They both laughed lightly. "No, I'm Jongho, and this is Y/N."

"She's just lost in her imagination, sorry about that," Alice's sister chimed in.

Is it truly just a figment of her imagination? Perhaps only Jongho held the key to the truth.

—---

(Bonus/Side story)

Jongho's POV

The palace around me was steeped in an eerie silence, punctuated only by the distant clamor of chaos as the last vestiges of her army capitulated to my forces. The thought of revenge fuels my existence, yet even as I exacted it, my heart felt hollow, as if a vital piece of me was missing. Her lifeless form lay cold, drenched in blood. I should have revealed in this victory, but instead, an overwhelming wave of sorrow washed over me, leaving me gasping for breath.

I believed I had acclimated to a life without her. Yet, deep down, I knew I had never truly let her go; I thought my feelings had vanished the day she plotted my demise. Perhaps I merely buried them within my heart. That fateful day, I was saved by surviving soldiers, who claimed a mysterious figure had orchestrated my escape from The White. Initially, I suspected it was the woman named Alice, revered by many as the savior. I adopted a new identity as Hatter, aligning myself with Alice to dismantle the White Queen's reign.

The journey was fraught with peril, yet it unfolded with an unsettling ease, as if someone had choreographed it all. Blinded by my thirst for vengeance, I overlooked the nagging doubts that lingered. In hindsight, I realize how foolish I was... This entire scheme was orchestrated by Y/N to provoke me into her demise.

I found it perplexing—what had turned her so merciless? Was it truly just because a servant pilfered her fruit tart that she sought to annihilate an entire family? Eventually, I understood that this was merely a game to her.

I embraced her and stepped out of the palace. She had been ensnared within its walls, and now she could finally break free. No longer would she feign the role of a tyrannical ruler; she could simply be my wife.

Arriving at our old cabin, I was astonished to find it remarkably well-preserved amidst the turmoil. She had cherished our memories, and not a speck of dust marred the furniture. We had made a promise here, yet unexpectedly, that promise now lay beyond our reach.

I wrapped my arms around her and settled onto the bed, pretending that everything was just as it had always been. Reflecting on our conversation, Alice had shared how she tumbled down a rabbit hole and found herself in a place untouched by war, where peace reigned and everyone thrived together. How wonderful it would be for Y/N and me to exist in such a realm!

But it was too late.

I retrieved the vial of poison from my bag. Downed it in one go. The agony I anticipated never arrived. Instead, I found myself surrounded by a brilliant light. It was in that moment that a voice I recognized broke through the silence.

"Wake up, jjong. Don't sleep."

Ah, is she, my Y/N.

tag list: @angelsaway , @yeosangcutie0615

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x female reader #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez x y/n #ateez smut #ateez jongho #jongho x reader #choi jongho #jongho smut #jongho #ateez reaction #ateez reactions

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bucknastysbabe · 1 year ago

Note

No, listen to me, giving bucky a head in the middle of the night after he woke up bcs of a nightmare. Thats the tweet.

Your brain is so huge for this queen I will do my best

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Oral (m!receiving), cuddle cuddle fluffy fluffy, a wee bit of angst bc nightmares, body worship, we sucking dic and coc SENSUALLY, c0ckwarming, pet names, I am a puddle of goo now!

A/N: Title taken from Be Mine - The Heavy

Taglist: @godrakin (I love you) @lovelykhaleesiii @borikenlove @ilikeitbetterangsty

Take what you need, to say you love me - B. Barnes

You were having a pleasant dream, swimming somewhere vague, distorted voices and friendly faces all around. One of the blurred forms came forward, jerking you by the arm. You yelped from the pressure, trying to pull away. They yanked even harder, whimpering your name.

The dream was gone, only the blue of Bucky’s agonized eyes close to you. His flesh hand shook your arm frantically, trembles wracking his frame. Blinking away the sleep and bolting upright you held his stubbled cheeks, trying to ground your supersoldier.

“This is real.”

He nodded, swallowing down another pitiful noise. You gently rubbed at his vice grip, Bucky gasping in mortification at the redness and probable bruising. The brunette moaned, curling in on himself, jerking that sad face away, “Oh god, I’m so sorry baby, fuck, I didn’t mean to hurt you, jeez I’m such a headcase.”

Being chained like a dog and expected to only produce fine results then told everything he did was wrong had done a number on your boyfriend. It would do a number on anyone’s psyche, especially his fragile one. Grabbing his face again you shushed him, thumbed at his pink lips to stop his hateful muttering.

His lashes were wet with tears, bottom lip raw and swollen from biting it. Inching closer to his shaking frame you whispered, “Shhh, baby, try to relax. I’m fine, you were scared s’all. Did you have another nightmare?” Bucky exhaled sharply, eyes downcast guiltily.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to discuss?”

He paused for a long moment, big hands now intertwined with your own. Bucky rasped, “It was something I thought I’d forgot about. The strike team made me- me,” he paused again, “Hurt this girl to get her to talk. Bad things.”

You sighed in remorse for your baby, squeezing his hands tight. All you could manage was, “I’m sorry. Is there a way to offer an amend like the others?” Bucky’s eyes grew hollow as he thought over it, finishing with a near-whimper, “No.”

“Oh baby,” you cooed, gently laying the trembling man down. Climbing on top of him and rubbing his tense shoulders made Bucky relax with a sigh. He pulled the covers over the pair of you, hands on your hips, gripping lightly. Nuzzling at his long hair you hummed, “Take as long as you need to process this, I wish I had a magic wand or something.”

Bucky drily remarked, “An icepick to the frontal lobe would be preferable.”

You frowned at him, Bucky dead serious until a smirk cracked at his lips. He pressed his forehead to yours and breathed, “I couldn’t tell what was what— you were her then she was back, and I got so, ugh, terrified that I was going to hurt you really bad. Sorry for yanking you like that.” His lips pouted out as he rubbed the darkening ring around your upper arm.

“I’d rather you yank me around than go through this alone, seriously Buck,” you said, pecking his lips. He sighed out, shivering a bit, tightening his arms around your waist. Your boyfriend remained quiet and you laid with him for comfort. Silence enveloped the room, just breathing and the usual din of the city outside the window.

It felt as if hours passed, not really, but Bucky was still awake. You could almost hear the cogs in his brain working overtime. “Baby, you still keyed up?,” you whispered into his pulsing neck. He replied with a raspy ‘mhmm’. Bucky rumbled, “My mind won’t shut up.” You smoothed a hand down his toned side, making him shiver again.

“Can I try something?,” you demurred.

Bucky’s blues searched your own eyes for elaboration. Shifting your core against his softened cock made the brunette ramble, “No, no, you don’t have to do that for me!” Pecking the corner of his pretty pink lips you rolled your hips again. “I want to though. Do you want it?” Bucky’s cock twitched in response, he groaned and closed his eyes.

“P-please.”

Starting with a series of sweet pecks you snaked your way down Buck’s gorgeous body, hands roaming and thumbing at sensitive spots you’d learned over time. Bucky inhaled sharply, legs instinctively spreading a bit. You pulled at a nipple when his body erupted in goosebumps, the softest little moan leaving his throat.

He frantically yanked back the covers when your mouth nipped at a strong hip, flesh hand combing through your hair. Bucky repeated breathlessly, “Sweetheart, oh, you don’t have to.”,

“But I want to baby.”

You could feel the fight leave his body, the last of the guilt seeping out through impossibly tightened muscles. His cock was flush and heated through those tiny briefs of his, thighs twitching minutely. Bucky raised his hips as you pulled them off, nipping and kitten licking at that pretty Adonis belt. He breathed, “Fuck doll, oh god, too good to me.”

His cock was fully hard now, laying against his hip, heavy and full. You grasped him and laved a hot stripe up the length, Bucky’s arm whirring and clenching on the headboard. Your other hand stroked his trembling inner thigh while you got him nice and wet, painfully slow. Bucky squirmed and strangled out, “C’mon baby.”

“Gotta relax, just feel it ‘kay?”

He nodded, biting that plump lower lip. You swirled your tongue around the engorged cockhead, flicking your tongue across in little teasing motions. Bucky was moaning softly, chanting your name, melting into the bed now. Your other hand moved to tug at his sac, rolling the tender flesh.

Hollowing your cheeks and tucking your lips you bobbed sensually up and and down his length, hand covering what you couldn’t swallow down. You went at a leisurely pace, humming gently. The former assassin’s hips stuttered, a whine deep in chest filing the quiet room besides your soft slick noises.

“Fuuuck, fuck, you’re so good babydoll,” he murmured, desperate edge to his tone as flesh fingers thumbed around your stretched lips. You maintained eye contact with him, Bucky panting and praising you haphazardly. Deeper you went, soft throat relaxing to take your baby fully.

Bucky’s moan pitched up, eyes hazy as you sucked his pretty cock. You didn’t know what time it was anymore, didn’t care, just focused on draining Buck’s energy out of his cock. Tugging on his balls again you hummed, leaky prick deep in your throat. Your pussy ached from all the stimulation to your sensitive throat and lips— but this was about him. Buck would probably plow you into the bed in the morning.

The brunette gasped and whimpered as you pulled up to drool on his cock and breathe, lips obscenely swollen. Bucky’s cool metal thumb swiped around the slick of cum and spit, praising, “Honey, baby, god you look so good like this.” You dove back down, flicking your tongue on his frenulum and slit, feeling his balls tighten up.

Bucky squirmed a bit, abs flexing and eyes rolling. He moaned softly over and and over, reaching that breaking point. Gently squeezing his swelling balls again he whined your name, gritting out, “Close- close- babydoll m’gonna bust!” You swallowed him down a final time, eyes flicking up to watery blues.

Bucky seized up, gasping sharply as the first spurt of cum went down your throat. The man was a mess as he was thrown head first into the orgasm, squirming and not-so-gently (but trying) shoving you onto his sensitive prick. He groaned your name, a desperate edge to it as he finished with a broken mewl. You swallowed the best you can and wiped your lips.

Bucky seemed drained but sated, smiling softly. He rasped, “C’mere you minx.” Making your way back up his body he pulled you into a kiss, hand covering your cheek. He made a throaty noise at the taste of spend on your tongue, metal palm groping your ass. Bucky nosed along to your ear and begged, “Can you just, ugh, slide it in? We can sleep like that?”

“You want me to cockwarm you honey?”

He nodded vigorously, mumbling, “You make everything so much better. Please?”

Sleeping never had came so easy for Buck that night, snuggled with his girl, cock warm and just the right side of sensitive. He’d repay his baby girl times one-hundred in the morning. Or afternoon— seemed like it would be a late one. He cooed into the crown of her head, lids falling closed, “Love you sweet girl.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky fluff

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octarinecat · 2 months ago

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Raphael and love (aka silent treatment)

Author notes: 607 words, SFW, angst & fluff, Raphael x female Tav, soft Raphael; since poll said that Raphael is 60% capable of love, then have this little fic in memory of the poll; thanks for @dark-and-kawaii for beta reading and @mist1e for inspiration 💜 update: I changed the inappropriate word, thank you for info 🫡

"I brought fresh, fragrant flowers for you. I bought you jewellery that no mortal queen would be ashamed of...!" Raphael thundered and threw the bouquet on the floor. Tav lifted herself up from the book and set it down carefully beside her on the sofa. The large red roses, interspersed with purple eustoms, were crushed as they hit the floor.

"You have everything you've ever wanted and still not enough! Ungrateful wench!" He shouted to himself rather than at her, his restless stride carrying with his voice throughout the House of Hope. Her watchful gaze followed his every move, ready for anything, especially an escape from the boudoir.

Raphael at one point banged his fist on the vanity table, which collapsed with a clatter. Unfortunately, this did not make him sober up; on the contrary, one flick of his wrist and her favourite piece of furniture went up in flames.

"The wild mongrels would eat you up and that would be too little punishment for you...!" He roared louder until the window panes rattled.

"And what are you so silent about? Won't you say anything?!" He growled at her, thirsting for any kind of response. An outburst of anger, throwing a book at him, or hitting him with her fragile fists.

She looked at him meaningfully, her gaze cool and uncomfortably calm. She took a deep breath and let it out louder than usual, maintained a worried look.

The one muscle on his face trembled with concern. His body responded with a delayed mirroring and after a moment he also sighed. Then with a heavy but nimble step he approached her.

She saw, oh she saw, his hand was itching for a strike. At the last moment he turned and sat down impetuously beside her, until the sofa creaked with accusation. "What is it this time?" He growled through his teeth and crossed his arms over his chest, which rippled with heavy breaths.

And she remained silent. Perhaps under the strain of emotion, perhaps... she felt pleasure at his dissatisfaction. Unfortunately, he was not given a response to this.

A grunt from her side.

"Go on." He muttered.

She sighed.

"Just because you're pressing gifts into me doesn't mean everything's fine. Nothing is fine." She began her monologue, and Raphael huffed and slid down to lay his head in on her lap. A small smile crept across her face and her fingers travelled between his brown hair.

She mused. How to explain to him so he would understand? Is there any point in explaining at all?

"Listen. You can't just shut people out like that... And then, on top of that, not take consequences from your behaviour." She noticed his hand clench into a fist and she stopped stroking his head.

"I did it for your own good...!" He growled and tugged at the material of her dress.

"You didn't even say anything before just shut me out like I was a child! I'm not saying I wanted to be there and fight or die, but...!" She raised her voice. "Have you heard of FEELINGS, Raphael?"

At the word "feelings" he snorted loudly, which pricked her significantly. She became silent again.

The silence began to drag. The standing clock chimed twelve o'clock and they both shook their ears at the sound.

"I will try to..." he began slowly "...take your opinion into consideration."

Sighing on her part; it sounded almost like an apology. For him, that was undeniably great progress.

"... and I'll fix your vanity table..." she added for him.

"That'll do. You are a misery, little mouse. A nuisance. A burdensome creature... my conscience."

#raphael bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #baldurs gate 3 raphael #tav #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction

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sunflowersandsapphires · 5 months ago

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Shadows of Fluttering Leaves

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 7

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around.

warnings: depressed reader, grief, victim blaming, implied history of sexual assault/harassment, bad parenting, not super healthy coping mechanisms

a/n: I am so sorry I've updated everything sporadically this year, y'all. I've been working really hard to stockpile updates so I'll be able to post at least biweekly for the rest of the year (if everything goes to plan!) As always, please comment/reblog to leave feedback. And a giant thank you to @gracethyomen for helping me plan this arc and make their fight more cruel. She is the queen of angst, go follow her.

w/c: 4.8k

You didn’t recall much from the past three days, but that was because there wasn’t anything to recall. After your conversation–if it could even be called that–with Frank, it was as if your soul had unstitched itself from your body. You went through your days as an emotionless husk. Your creative spark extinguished, your joy unreachable.

The walls in your building were thin enough that you could hear him moving around. Going to work and returning home to Max as if you'd never existed. Perfectly fine without you. Every heavy footfall that penetrated the rotting drywall brought a fresh sheen of tears to your eyes.

The burly marine had become such a welcomed part of your life, losing him was like losing a limb. His absence felt like a bad dream. If you focused hard enough, you could still feel his calloused hands, smell the cheap soap and spicy clove aftershave he used. But a simple exhale would wash the scent away, and you were alone again–tired, anguished, and unloved.

You drifted through the day, unsure what to do with yourself. You couldn’t bring yourself to go into work, or even communicate with Leo and Stacy for more than a brief text to prove you were still alive.

While this evening hadn’t been much different, the sight of your mom’s name flashing across the top of your phone screen as it buzzed had caused enough of an adrenaline rush to force you to chat with someone. Your throat felt sore after talking for the first time in nearly 72 hours, your vocal chords still recovering from their sudden overuse. Shuddering as you willed the memory of the call to fade, you felt the tell tale prick in the corners of your eyes.

Staring down at the damp concrete, you blinked frantically in an attempt to keep the endless tears at bay. The tilt of your head caused raindrops to drip off of your hood, rolling down your forehead. Around you, the slam of water against pavement and steel drowned out the thud of your determined footsteps. Blowing out a breath you slipped an unfeeling mask onto your face as you continued your walk to the bakery.

It wasn’t more than a few blocks from your apartment to the Rainy Day, but the beams of street lights would draw attention to your glassy eyes, and you didn’t need to highlight your fragility for any creeps that might be lurking at this hour. You'd had more than enough unwanted male attention for the week. Once you were safely behind the locked doors, you could look as broken down as you needed to.

Though you were exhausted, your confusion-and-betrayal-addled brain was still unable to rest and your hands itched to do something. Wallowing in your bed wouldn’t quell the uneasiness that speaking with your mom had ignited mere hours ago. But cooking might. At least, you hoped that was the case.

A crackle of lightning illuminated the bakery as you approached; the strike of light refracting through the windows made the place look rather sinister, draping it in oddly shaped shadows. Slipping the keys from your pocket, you tried not to cringe at the cold rain as it splattered against your exposed hand. Thunder rolled overhead as you waggled the key in the lock, finally getting the damn thing to budge enough for the door to shove open.

Stepping inside, you bolted the door behind you, using your phone flashlight to maneuver through the stacked tables and chairs as you moved to the kitchen. Before getting to work, you stripped out of your semi-drenched top and slipped into a clean t-shirt adorned with the logo of the cafe. Flicking on the overhead lights, you threw a hand up to shield your sensitive eyes as they strobed briefly before steadying into their normal bright rays. Taking a place by your preferred station, you took a moment to reflect on the tasks you had cut out for you.

Though Leo was more than capable of replicating your work if you detailed the recipes, they were happy to let you be the creative lead in your shared kitchen. As they’d mentioned multiple times over text the past few days, your absence from the space meant less variation in pastries for the bakery, and more for Leo to do. If you weren’t so emotionally depleted, you would have felt more guilty about abandoning them so suddenly.

Apparently, the emotional turmoil that talking to your mother always stirred was good for something. It had gotten you here, at least. Coating your station in a thin layer of flour, you ran through the motions of a basic croissant recipe.

You weren't quite feeling up to experimenting yet, but croissants you could do.

Soon enough, the smell of salted butter and yeast engulfed the room and your fatigued mind began to wander. Despite your best efforts to forget the comment, your mother's voice echoed in your ears.

“Really, sweetheart, what did you expect?”

The condescension in her tone clung to you like the barbs of an untrimmed rose. Your brain feebly tried to reassure you that she had no idea what she was talking about. To remind you that she didn't even know his name, that you'd told her—at most—three sentences about the whole situation.

But the majority of your brain was still reeling from the abrupt collapse of your relationship with Frank. And it was far too weak to not spiral at the implication of your mom's question.

Because, while she wasn't fully aware of who Frank was and what he meant to you, she was intimately informed of your history with men–hence her thoughtless words this evening.

Your dating history was...pitiful, to say the least. You tended to draw attention from the wrong men. Bosses, teachers, even your own relatives.

It had been your reality for as long as you could remember. As a child, whenever you'd come to your mother with another sob story about attention that you hadn't meant to attract, the blame was always placed squarely on your shoulders. Your outfits were too provocative, your actions too enticing. It didn't matter that they were the ones misunderstanding your kindness as an open invitation. It was still your fault.

Expecting her to sympathize with you when you told her you'd been grabbed by a stranger as you left the construction site was foolish. But it still hurt to know that she didn't.

What hurt more was the little voice in the back of your head that agreed with her. Knowing damn well that you'd chosen that outfit to fetch the gaze of a specific man. That the low cut neckline was meant to be provocative. That it was your fault that you'd been humiliated. That your own desperation had led to the continued phantom sensation of a large hand gripping your arm against your will.

“If you dangle bait long enough, something will bite.” She reminded you. It wasn't the ocean's fault that you'd been hoping for a specific fish.

“But I didn't want them.” You'd lamented to her. You were tired of being a plaything, a quick fuck. You wanted something more, something real. And it had turned to ash in your delicate grasp before you could so much as appreciate it.

She wasn't sympathetic. Chastising you for forgetting your place, for getting attached, for seeking love in places it didn't exist.

“Love is harder to come by when you're, well...you know.”

You slammed the ball of elastic dough onto the bench, kneading it aggressively as tears poured down your face. Your stomach twisted as it heaved with sobs, the sentiment from your mother sounding eerily similar to the curt observation that Frank had hurled at you.

You ain't my wife.

He was right. You weren't his wife. His wife was beautiful, and caring, and patient. She'd loved him, had children with him, made a home for him.

Think I'm your little boyfriend or somethin'?

Biting your lip to stifle a sob, the feeling of foolishness crested in your chest again. It was humiliating to be called out like that, especially when your naive little heart had been convinced he felt the same way.

I never wanted that.

Those words still hit you like a sock to the gut. He never wanted a relationship. He never wanted you. Your stupid feelings were clearly unrequited, but how were you supposed to know that?

Was your childhood so deprived of love that simple acts of kindness had your heart doing backflips? Were his pet names and compliments just his gentlemanly nature because he was afraid to offend you?

This was a mistake.

His sweet remarks, calling you beautiful, the constant teasing—the relationship you once had with Frank began to play in your head; the muted colors of the picture doing nothing to make your chest ache less when his face sprang to mind. Your brain continued its depressing montage: Frank smiling at you, his gruff voice lifting around the word “sunshine”, his genuine interest in your work, his daily visits to the cafe, the way he leaned into every touch you offered him. All meaningless. Just another regret.

Exhaling forcefully, you flapped your hands in an attempt to stop their trembling. If the fragile dough ripped between your fingers, it would ignite a full meltdown. Clenching the muscles in your hands, you relaxed them as you forced every thought from your head, focusing on the pliant mass beneath your rolling pin as you mashed it into a lopsided rectangle. Carefully lifting the edges of the shape, you tossed it onto the sheet pan you'd prepared as tenderly as you could. Using your fingertips to stretch it into a more appealing shape, you nodded in satisfaction, shoving the tray onto a cart and picking up your rolling pin again.

Each extension of your forearms, pressing the wooden cylinder into the raw pastry, condensing and lengthening the blob with small, stiff movements. Your elbows creaked with every stretch of the elastic dough, the swing of your arms feeling almost foreign despite being a common practice in the kitchen. A 72-hour break was too long, apparently. Any other day, you'd dance through this recipe effortlessly; Today though, every step felt choppy and hesitant, as if your brain expected you to fail again and again.

You hadn't felt this hopeless in a kitchen since the last few weeks of your atrocious entrepreneurial experience years ago. Yet another example of you being too trusting, too optimistic.

Your mouth flooded with the metallic tang of blood as your teeth dug into the flesh of your cheek, halting the choking despair that threatened to drag you down to the linoleum floor. You wanted to give in; your brain was still a ball of exhausted mush incapable of handling your day-to-day tasks.

Sloppily prepping a few more trays for their initial rise, you shoved the croissant dough onto the proofing cart and out of sight. The smell of yeast usually made you happy, but the biting edge of the scent was turning your stomach. It was becoming increasingly clear that you'd thrown yourself into your work without the stability to handle the sensory input of the bakery. Your head was pulsing because of the fluorescent lights, the whir of the electric mixer rattling your ear drums. Once the sticks of butter you'd added to the stainless steel bowl of the machine were smooth, you shoved the lever to shut it off—letting out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

Slapping heaping scoops of the creamed butter into a half-sheet pan, you set the pan in the fridge to solidify and shuffled blearily into the break room, collapsing onto the worn leather couch.

“You are such an asshole.”

Gritting your teeth as the words ripped you from an uneasy sleep, you peeled one eye open reluctantly. Two shadowy figures swayed in your field of vision, neither looking particularly happy with you.

The taller figure marched towards you. ”Three days? THREE DAYS? No calls, only a single fucking text,“ The annoyed voice grew closer, making you curl in on yourself.

”'M sorry.“ You mumbled, tears springing to your eyes.

”You better have a better apology than that. They were worried sick.“ A blurry image of Stacy manifested against the doorway to the breakroom, her arms crossed. Standing in front of your shoulders, hands firmly attached to their hips, was Leo.

”We were worried sick,“ Leo corrected, throwing Stacy a look.

Not denying the allegation, Stacy's cheeks dusted pink.

Crouching in front of you, Leo gave you a once over. Their furious expression quickly morphing into one of concern. “Did you sleep here?”

“Didn't mean to, the kitchen was just,” You gave a limp shrug, avoiding their piercing gaze. “Too much.”

“How long have you been here?” Stacy asked, striding over to drape her legs across the arm of the couch.

“Since midnight-ish.” You muttered, shame pitching your voice lower.

“Babes,“ Leo sighed, running a palm over your exposed arm as you tried to shrink into the couch cushions. ”What happened? Was it your mom?“

You should your head, tears pooling in your eyes. “Pete.”

“Pete?” Stacy raised an eyebrow, looking at Leo with wide eyes.

“What did he do, hun?” Leo plopped into a cross-legged position, leaning against the couch with an expectant look.

“Did you break up?” Stacy's voice was uncharacteristically soft, but the words were still teasing.

You burst into tears.

“Stace!” Leo scolded, climbing onto the couch and hefting your torso up so that you could lay in their lap as you bawled.

“What? It seemed impossible!!” Stacy said, mortified. She absorbed Leo's vacated spot, hands hovering apprehensively in front of you. “Shit. Please don't cry.”

“It's a bit late for that.” Leo huffed, cradling your cheek with one hand. “What did that bastard do to you?”

Gulping in air, you cowered against Leo's thigh. Your friends sat quietly, patiently awaiting your story. With a stuttering inhale, you wiped the newest round of tears from your face and pushed yourself into a seated position—gratefully leaning into the arm Leo threw around your shoulders. Looking up at them wide-eyed, you waited for their encouraging nod before speaking.

“Um..” Your voice was hoarse, words shaky. “So three days ago, I tried to bring him lunch...”

As if your consciousness was sparing you from the depressing events, the words tumbled from your lips instinctively, thoughtlessly. The story pouring directly from your torn heart, accompanied by a few stray tears.

Throughout your ramble, your friends remained silent–sandwiching your body between them. Leo's sturdy frame was a comforting weight to your left. Stacy had migrated to your other side, tentatively resting a manicured hand on your shoulder. They were both eerily still as you caught them up on the implosion of your relationship with your neighbor.

Eventually, you sighed, your body sagging with exhaustion. Briefly lifting your hands, you gestured to the small, bare break room you'd passed out in. “And then you found me in here, and that's it I guess.”

Your mouth snapped shut, your eyes flinging the final few droplets of saline off of your lashes as you blinked at your lap. There was a beat of silence. Two. Three.

Then all hell broke loose.

“Is he fucking serious?“ Stacy bit out, retracting her hand to cross her arms. Her brows were raised, jaw clenched as she looked at Leo.

”He told you that you were a mistake?“ Leo squawked, clearly fuming.

“I mean, that's not—” You began to reason, words dissolving on your tongue as Leo grabbed your hand with a glare.

“Absolutely not. Do not start that bullshit.”

Frowning, you averted your eyes. ”I'm not doing anything.“

“Princess, we love you, but don't pretend you're not blaming yourself.“ Stacy scoffed, standing from the couch and tugging at the roots of her hair.

“And defending him while you're at it.” Leo gently prodded your side with a knuckle, giving you an all-too-knowing glance. At your resulting pout, they sighed. “I know that hearing your mom blame you again and again is hard to unlearn, but she's wrong. So is Pete and all the other men who have done this to you. You deserve better.”

“Seconded.” Stacy nodded firmly, pointing a finger at you. “The next time I see him, I swear on my grandmother—”

The petite brunette was pacing, fists clenched in her fury. Leo looked equally angry, though they were much less obvious about it. Smirking at Stacy's empty threat, they finished it for her. ”We'll beat him senseless with a baseball bat.“

Giggling, you leaned into the hug Leo offered, exhaling into their shoulder. ”I appreciate you both, but I'd rather just move past it.“

”Deal.“ Leo kissed the top of your head, holding out a hand to help you stand from the couch.

”Speak for yourself, I am not willing to let this slide.“ Stacy called with a huff, stalking out to the counter to begin prepping for the morning rush.

”Should I be worried?“ You bit your bottom lip, eyes following her out of the break room.

”Nah, you know her. It'll pass, this is just how she shows her love.“ Leo reassured you, striding into the kitchen at the ambling pace you set. ”We would do anything for you, you know.“

Smiling bashfully, you nodded. “I appreciate it, Leo. Thank you.”

Though you were still dead on your feet and reeling from the emotional whiplash you'd been put through, an odd form of peace had engulfed you. Talking things out had taken a massive weight off of your shoulders.

You felt heat prick your cheeks as you sheepishly recalled the way you'd isolated yourself after leaving the construction site. At the time, it had felt like the natural path forward. But it clearly hadn't done you any good.

Your coworkers were eternally patient as you fumbled your way through your daily tasks, your brain still a glob of jelly after being berated by both Frank and your mother.

Gritting your teeth in frustration, you collapsed onto a bar stool. Kneading your forehead with one hand, you inhaled deeply.

Peeking around the corner of the walk-in, Leo frowned. “All of them?”

Nodding miserably, you forced a response around the lump in your throat. ”Every. Single. One.“

”Aw, babes.“ Leo pouted, coming to inspect the trays you'd thrown around your station as your defeat grew.

”They're all flat. How did it slip my mind that the rain would throw off the humidity in the main room? That's, like, proofing 101.“ You moaned, prodding one of the dense croissants with a finger. ”Christ, I feel like I've lost my mind. It should not be this hard to do something simple.“

Patting your back reassuringly, your best friend ignored your protests, lining your ovens with the ruined croissants and setting a timer. “Do you remember the first time Ez and I broke up?”

Ezra, Leo's on-again-off-again partner, had broken things off for the first time right before you both took your final preparation exam for your first pastry class in school. Leo had nearly flunked the course after they used salt instead of sugar in every dish.

Stifling a chuckle, you fiddled with the strands of your apron. “I seriously think Allard was reconsidering his decision to teach. His face!“ You and Leo snorted in tandem, picturing the old french man's grimace.

”Oh he definitely had regrets. My point is, the brain works in mysterious ways when you're grieving.“ Leo stated matter-of-factly.

”Grieving?“ You asked. “Frank didn't die–”

“I know that, smartass. But you still lost something, did you not?”

Pondering for a moment, you conceded. “I suppose.”

“So, your brain is handling this just like any other loss. Grief processing is its current main priority, remembering how to make picture-perfect croissants is not even in the backlog.”

“It should be, given that we operate a bakery.” You grumped, watching the pitiful slabs of dough puff slightly in the oven.

Smacking you gently over the back of your head, Leo's expression turned endearingly stern. “You, my dear, need to be kinder to yourself. Something huge and incredibly hurtful just happened to you. Give yourself a moment to breathe.”

Their soft command gave you pause. They weren't wrong. You'd jumped from escaping, to wallowing, to working without so much as a millisecond to relax. Had this bullshit happened to anyone else, you would've been much more understanding. But being kind to yourself was never your strong suit.

Mulling over the possibility of granting your brain a smidge of grace, you watched the flat pastries expand ever so slightly as they began to brown under the yellow oven lights. Realization finally striking you, you turned to Leo with a quizzical expression.

“You put them in the oven.” You stated simply, mind not quite forming a question to remedy your confusion.

Chuckling, Leo nodded. “I did.” They leaned against your station with a smile.

“Kitchen adaptations, hun. What did we used to do with pastry dough that didn't rise properly?”

Understanding dawning on you, your lips parted. “Croissant sandwiches.”

Squeezing your shoulder, Leo hummed in confirmation, striding back to their station to finish shaping bread loaves. You continued to watch the thin crescents puff, reminding yourself that the mistake was fixable. Sure, they wouldn't be the gorgeous, fluffy pastries you'd envisioned—but they could still be made into something delicious. For today, that was enough.

Feeling less hopeless, you wiped your hands on your apron and strolled over to the lines of proofing bread, moving them to the proofing cart easily. ”What are we stocking today?” You asked, hoping they'd notice the hidden meaning of the question.

“Let's stick to simple comfort foods. The weather is nasty, we probably won't be too busy. After we finish the staples, we could make some baguettes and a soup or two? Maybe some kitchen sink cookies and brownies too. Those won't take much effort.“ Leo tapped their chin thoughtfully, looking to you with a soft expression. ”Sound good?“

Smiling, you nodded–glad that Leo was willing to take charge for the day. Sliding your arms around your best friend's waist, you squeezed them tightly before bustling off to prepare some yeast.

Over the next few weeks, your mood improved significantly. Out of concern for you, and more than likely out of concern for the bakery, Stacy and Leo had spent a handful of nights at your place–helping you wind down after work, and motivating you to get up the next morning. Their presence and constant glares towards your and Frank's shared wall made it easier to move forward without him. You could feel your consciousness wading through the stages of grief, rapidly approaching acceptance.

For now, though, you were still moping–much to your friends’ dismay.

”C'mon, Princess! Live a little!! You haven’t gone out with us in forEVER“ Stacy whined, pinching your arm as she took a seat on the counter you were cleaning.

Scowling at her, you switched your rag out for a broom, determined to keep tidying around the obstruction she presented. ”I already told you. I don't feel like going out tonight, Stace.“

Sweeping stray coffee beans from under the machines, you fought back an eye roll at her snort. ”Oh, I'm sorry, did you have plans besides crying on your couch while watching rom coms?“

”Christ, Stacy, I told you to invite her, not insult her!“ Leo scolded as they exited the kitchen.

”Someone needs to say it!“ Stacy threw her hands in the air, looking at you pointedly. ”Being sad has its time and place, but the only way to truly get over a man is by going out and getting wasted, you both know I'm right!“ She huffed in frustration as both you and Leo opened your mouths to protest.

Scratching the back of their neck sheepishly, Leo raised a brow at you. “She actually might have a point.”

Pumping her fists victoriously, Stacy leapt from the counter. “See? It'll be good for you!”

Glancing between her and Leo, you sighed. Pouting in distaste, you knew you had been outvoted. If you refused to go, they’d drag you out anyway. “Fine.”

Your friends cheered, high-fiving their success. Stacy danced over to you. “It's gonna be great, princess. You'll see!”

“Oh, I’m sure.” You snarked, dipping the formerly abandoned rag in a bin of bleach solution and resuming your afternoon disinfecting duties in the front of the cafe while your coworkers plotted the outing.

“What are you going to wear, hun?” Leo called over their shoulder to you, after complaining to Stacy about their lack of cute clothes.

“Considering I am only going to please the two of you? I'm not quite sure.” You snorted, tone still sharp with irritation.

“Well, since you're clearly in such a great mood,” Leo giggled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Maybe we could get ready together?”

“We totally should! While blasting EDM really loudly in your living room!” Stacy grinned, feigning innocence despite her clear intentions to make Frank's life a living hell.

“Ok now you are definitely not invited.” You frowned, imagining how much he'd curse at you if you became a horrid neighbor on top of all your other faults.

“It's cute that you think you have a choice!” Stacy laughed evilly, rubbing her hands together in a movie-villain-esque motion.

Groaning miserably, you stiffened as Stacy padded over and held a hand out for the rag.

Making a grabby hand gesture, her other palm landed on her hip. “Hand the towel over, princess. You and Leo can head to your place to get you all fixed up and I'll finish cleaning.”

“I'm not sure whether I should be offended that you're implying I don't look stunning like this,” You circled a hand around your unwashed face. “Or worried that you're offering to lock up. You hate closing.”

“Exactly. That’s how much I want you to have a good night out, dude!” Stacy gave you a stern look, flicking her eyes between the damp rag and your stubborn expression.

Sighing heavily, you tossed the rag to her and slipped out of your apron. “If this place isn't gleaming tomorrow–”

“Yah, yah.” Stacy waved you off, putting earbuds in as she walked to the other end of the room.

“The disrespect.” You muttered, turning to Leo who was clearly amused at the fact that you'd been outwitted by the other girl.

“C'mon, sweets. We'll need to stop somewhere for drinks unless we want to go into debt to get drunk tonight.” Grabbing your hand, the two of you left Stacy and the bakery behind as you braved the heat outside.

Slogging up the stairs, arms laden with a paper bag filled with the cheapest alcohol the three of you could stomach, you adjusted your center of gravity to avoid toppling down the stairs. It felt like you were swimming upstream, given the weight in your hold and the immense humidity of the stairwell. Finally reaching the landing, you scrunched your nose as a bead of sweat dripped from it.

“Took you long enough,” Leo remarked, smirking at you from your front door, having made it up the stairs long ago.

“Not all of us have a lithe athletic build and the heart rate of an Olympian.” You huffed, shuffling toward them with a small smile. Despite your initial apprehension, excitement had started to build in your chest at the thought of the night ahead of you. As you were about to express that much to Leo, the click of a doorknob stopped you in your tracks.

Stepping out of his apartment, adorably happy pitbull in tow, was none other than your neighbor, Frank Castle.

Frozen in place, it was a miracle you didn’t drop the bag in your shock. You’d assumed he’d avoid you just as you’d avoided him. Apparently you weren’t that lucky.

Looking a bit surprised himself, Frank hesitated for a minute before plastering a scowl on his face and tugging at the leash in his grasp. “C’mon Max.”

Watching Frank stalk past you without so much as a glance in your direction, your mouth dropped open with indignation. Poor Max was dragged to the stairs behind him, despite the dog’s efforts to greet you on the way down the hall.

Gritting your teeth, you marched to your own door and unlocked it. Carefully depositing the bottles on the ground, you grabbed a handle of cherry vodka, cracking it open and taking a swig as you stomped into your apartment.

“I suppose that’s one way to handle whatever just happened.” Leo murmured, studying you with a concerned frown. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nope!” You grinned, pulling another gulp of liquor from the bottle. “Care to help me pick an outfit? I’m hoping to drink for free tonight.”

Striding into your room with Leo on your heels, your gut burned as the lump of despair you’d been clinging to for a week burned red hot with rage. Your friends were right. You deserved better.

If Frank Castle didn’t want you, then you sure as hell didn’t want him.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @xxdrixx @smhnxdiii @mattmurdocksstarlight @danzer8705 @mjsvinyl @softieekayy @sweetpov @dreamtofus @zomtart @mjsvinyl @senjoritanana @marytheweefrenchie @siampie @gracethyomen @pone21 @ignore-mp3 @screechingphantommaker @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002

#frank castle #the punisher #marvel #my writing #fc #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle imagine #frank castle fanfic #jon bernthal fanfiction #jon bernthal #the punisher x reader #the punisher imagine #nmcu #the punisher netflix #netflix the punisher #gray skies

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victoria-writes · 9 months ago

Text

I will never forget you.

Pairing: Legolas x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: Legolas proposes to you and reassures you that he wants to be with you. Fluff & Angst with a happy ending + bonus ending

Word Count: 1605

Notes:

Reader is human

No gender or pronouns used to refer to the reader. Reader is briefly mentioned to have short hair

MENTIONS OF DEATH (reader's). Don't read if you're not ok with thinking about your own mortality xoxo

Read it on AO3 here

Story:

It has been months since you moved to Mirkwood with the prince following the disbandment of the fellowship and destruction of the one ring. Sometimes your mind would drift to what could’ve happened had the ring fallen into the wrong hands or if any other evil lies dormant, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. You could never sit with these thoughts for long, though. Legolas seemed to have a sixth sense for when you needed to see the good in the world again. Today was one of those days.

“Come, there is something I wish to show you”, the elf smiled as he stretched his hand out, waiting for you to take it from your place sitting in a wooden chair inside the royal palace.

“It better not be another elk giving birth in the woods. I’m still traumatized from your idea of ‘the beauty of nature’”, you grimace at the memory still not extending your hand.

“No, no, nothing like that. I promise”, he chuckles softly.

“Fine”.

Legolas had brought you to a clearing in the forest, surrounded by old-growth trees and wildflowers. White queen anne’s lace, forget-me-nots, and flowers whose names you did not know, who only seemed to grow near where elves trot, filled your eyes. This is not the first time he’s found a quiet spot in nature to take you, and it will surely not be the last. While overlooking the rainbow of colors seemingly dancing in the field in front of you, you sneak a glance at the elf from the corner of your eye. He stands confidently with his hands behind his back next to you and smiles. If it were anyone else looking at him, they’d think he was completely at ease. Anyone but you. The look in his eyes said “Do you like it? Do you? Please tell me you like it.”. He always wanted to impress you, whether it be shooting three arrows at once when one would suffice, wearing his nicest clothes (“Legolas why are you wearing your ceremonial attire?” “Don’t worry about it, father”.), or finding the best places to take you. Be still, your beating heart. For a nearly 3,000 year old elf, he acted like a lovesick teenager.

“It’s absolutely beautiful”, you finally say after a long silence. Legolas releases tension in his shoulders he didn’t even realize he was holding.

“I knew you would. Let us sit in the grass.”, he guided you so that he was sitting with your back against his chest, his legs on either side.

You felt your tongue form teasing words about him taking you on a hike to a remote spot just for a cuddle, but they faded away as he wrapped his arms around your sides and began to plant soft, slow kisses on your neck and shoulder. You melted into his warm touch.

“May I braid your hair?”

“Yes, but there’s not much to braid.”, you reply. You had recently gotten a haircut and felt as though Legolas may be disappointed. He was very enthusiastic about your new look the first time he saw it, but now you fear he may not enjoy it.

“Nonsense, I shall make many small plaits instead”.

“Alright”, you relaxed into his hands as he began to weave strands of hair behind you. You closed your eyes, as you reveled in the feeling of the sunlight on your face as he worked. All was quiet aside from the occasional bird chirping or squirrel running up a tree. A warm feeling took hold in your chest and you couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips. You were safe. You were happy. You were in love.

Millenia seemed to pass before Legolas announced he was done. True to his word, he had formed many braids in your hair. He may have gone a little overboard with just how many he made, but he just loved the feeling of being so close to you and never wanted it to end.

“Thank you”, you whisper as your turn to face him, giving him a peck on the lips. You move your hand to feel the back of your head, itching to feel the braids your lover gifted you. Soft. Your fingers feel something soft. Something thin and soft.

“Forget-me-not flowers”, Legolas clarified, seeing you trying to decipher with your fingers, “I thought them appropriate”.

“Why is that?” “They are gifted to one whose presence you enjoy, so as not to forget them, as the name implies. I could never forget you and I hope you would not forget me. Each past day with you is a beloved memory and each day to come cannot come soon enough. I treasure each moment with you. I feel myself drowning in my affection for you. No, peacefully swimming. I adore you. I cannot bear to be without you.”, he says softly as he holds both your hands and kisses each one, never breaking eye contact.

“Oh, Legolas”

“Meleth nîn”, he uses his hands to guide you both to your feet. As you look up into his bright blue eyes, he whispers “Please allow me to never be without you. Allow me to walk beside you for all the days we may share together before death takes us. I have lived millennia without you. Now that I know what life is like with you in it, I never want to go back. I want you with me, always.”

“Are you asking me-?”, you begin as he kneels down in front of you and pulls out a ring from his pocket.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”, he gazes at you with hope in his eyes as he lifts the ring towards you.

“Yes. Yes. Yes!”, he quickly puts the ring on your left ring finger and you pull him into a harsh kiss. You and the elf wear matching smiles as you kiss long and hard.

“I’m so happy, Legolas…but is this what you really want?”, your smile drops as your nerves hit you. “Of course, my love. Why do you question my intentions?”.

“It’s not your intentions that I question. It’s just that you’re…you”, you vaguely gesture at the elf.

“I’m not following.”

“You’re a prince. I’m poor. You’re an elf that’ll live thousands of years. I’m a human that’ll be lucky if I make it to 70.” “I don’t care about that.”

“Your father won’t approve.” “I care not what my father thinks. His opinion of our union will not sway me.”

“Then what of my mortality? One day I will die and leave you alone.”

He sighs before he speaks, “I must admit I have thought long and hard on this subject. The thought of your death pains me to no end.” “Exactly. Our marriage would be short-lived in your long lifetime and I will become nothing but a memory to you, one that will fade one day.”

“What are you saying?” “I’m saying you love me now, but one day I will die and you’ll move on and I’ll mean nothing to you. One day you’ll laugh at how you ever loved a silly human”, tears began to well in your eyes, shame overtaking you as you finally let out the fears you’ve been harboring all this time. Your gaze drifts downwards, unable to face your elven lover. Legolas’ eyes widened in realization, shocked at your true feelings. He manages to compose himself and lifts your chin up with his index finger.

“Meleth nîn, look at me. Y/N, please.”, he whispers his request.

“It is true that my life will continue when yours ends.”

Hot tears began to run down your cheeks at this.

“But”, he swipes the tears away with his thumb, “You will always be a part of it. Even when you are gone, I will love you. You have shown me love that I did not think was possible. When you are gone, I will visit your grave with flowers each day. I will braid my hair and miss the touch of yours. I will never remarry. I will walk the paths we have taken together. I will meditate in this very spot, remembering this moment. I will never forget you. In life and in death, we are connected. I love you”.

“And I love you”, you barely choke the words out through your tears.

“Knowing all this, my silly human,”he teases before turning serious, “Will you marry me?” “Of course, I’ll marry you, you ridiculous elf”.

You both grin as Legolas lifts you up and spins you in his arms. When your feet are planted on the Earth again he kisses you deeply. As you feel your lips on your own, you imagine a thousand more kisses each day with him for the rest of your days.

Bonus

Many moons have passed since your passing. Legolas meant every word of his promise and has done all that he said. Before he rests each night, he reads the book on his nightstand, your favorite book of poems. He recalls reading it to you on nights your eyes were too tired as he pet your hair while you laid on his chest. When he wakes each morning, he glares at the large empty space beside it, wishing it were you. Although his heart pangs at the loss of you, he finds joy and comfort in revisiting your old haunts, his favorite being the spot where he proposed to you. Today, our elf wanders into the cemetery. “Hello, meleth nîn”, he smiles as he places a bouquet of freshly picked forget-me-nots on your grave.

#angst and fluff #human reader #legolas x yn #legolas x y/n #legolas greenleaf #legolas x reader #legolas #lord of the rings #lotr x reader #lotr #the lord of the rings #lotr x you #lotr x y/n #legolas x you #legolas/reader #legolas/yn

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kckt88 · 3 months ago

Text

Wings of Departure.

Summary:

'I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone' - J. R R Tolkien

She simultaneously loved him and hated him in equal measure, but in the deep recesses of her mind, Vaena wondered if she could truly stand by and allow her husband to die, to stand there and watch as he was executed or worse to face him in the skies and fight to the death on dragon back.

It made her feel sick to her stomach-

But sooner or later she knew that she would have to make a choice.

Warning(s): Angst, Swearing, Family Drama, O.C Is Sick of Her Mother's B.S, Mild Violence, Referenced Character Deaths, Plots, Eavesdropping, Alicent Selling Out Her Own Sons, Dragons, Uncle/Niece Incest, Smut, Kissing, Oral Sex (M & F Recieving), P in V.

AEMOND x O.C

Word Count: 11K

A.N - Aemond and O.C say FUCK THIS SHIT!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

Princess Vaena Targaryen stood by the Painted Table on Dragonstone, her fingers tracing the intricate details of the carved map.

The ancient table, depicting the entirety of Westeros, seemed to throb with a life of its own under the flickering torchlight. Beside her stood brother Jacaerys, his youthful face set in a determined scowl as he leaned forward, his hands planted firmly on the table's edge.

Their mother, Queen Rhaenyra, stood with her advisors in deep discussion. The room was thick with the weight of recent losses and grim prospects. Princess Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was, had fallen at Rook's Rest, her dragon Meleys dead alongside her.

The greens had suffered too; as Aegon lay grievously injured, and his dragon Sunfyre was unlikely to survive. Yet, the cost to Rhaenyra’s own cause had been steep, and the morale within Dragonstone had been shaken.

Jacaerys broke away from the table, his voice clear and insistent as he addressed their mother. "We must press our advantage now. Vhagar is no doubt injured from her fight with Meleys. She is vulnerable. We should take Cannibal, Syrax, and Vermax and descend on the hoary old bitch. She might be the largest dragon in the world, but not even she could withstand a combined attack from three dragons. Without Vhagar, the greens’ position would be greatly weakened."

Rhaenyra, her face pale and drawn, shook her head slowly. Her eyes, filled with sorrow and fatigue, met her son’s fiery gaze. "No, Jace. I do not wish to unleash the dragons on King's Landing. I do not wish to rule over ash and bone”

Vaena watched the exchange, feeling the tension in the room rise. The thought of further destruction, of turning King's Landing into a charred ruin, filled her with dread. Yet, she could see the logic in Jacaerys’ words.

"Mother-" Vaena said softly, stepping closer to Rhaenyra. "Jace has a point. Vhagar is a significant threat, and if we could neutralize her, it would tip the scales in our favour. We don't have to attack King's Landing directly. We can find Vhagar while she is weak and take her down."

“Vaena-” muttered Rhaenyra, her fingers moving across the edge of the painted table.

"Mother, your inaction is only going to end with more losses. You should have listened to Daemon when the greens first usurped the throne, but you chose not to act."

Rhaenyra's face tightened with a mix of sorrow and fatigue, but before she could respond, Vaena pressed on. "Look what's happened because of it! Luke is dead, Daemon is lost to Harrenhal, Rhaenys is dead, and we've lost Duskendale and Rook’s Rest to the greens. And now, when we have a chance to strike at Vhagar while she's vulnerable, you refuse to act again!"

The Queen’s eyes filled with pain, but she maintained her composure. "I do not wish to rule over ash and bone, Vaena. The cost of this war has already been too high."

Vaena's eyes flashed with anger and frustration. "And it will only get higher if you continue to hesitate”.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I understand your frustration, Vaena. However, since the claiming of Seasmoke-I am considering a plan to have anyone with Valyrian blood attempt to claim the riderless dragons that currently reside in the dragon mount”

“To what end?” asked Vaena pursing her lips.

“I’m hoping that having more dragons on my side may act as a deterrent-”

"-That’s ludicrous!" Vaena shouted. "How can you consider letting just anyone try to claim a dragon? It’s dangerous! Loyalty is fickle, and people can be easily swayed. We cannot risk the dragons falling into the wrong hands."

Rhaenyra's voice was firm but tinged with desperation. "I have no other option available to me”

“Surely my Cannibal is enough”

“As fearsome as your dragon is, Cannibal is but one dragon, we stand a better chance with Vermithor, Grey Ghost and Silver-” replied Rhaenyra.

Vaena's face flushed with anger, her fists clenched at her sides. "-You promised that when Aerion was old enough, he would be given the chance to claim Silverwing”

Rhaenyra's expression softened, but she did not waver. "I have not forgotten my promise. But we are in desperate times, and desperate measures are required”

Vaena’s anger surged, her amethyst eyes blazing with fury as she faced her mother. "You promised me that Aerion would have a chance to claim Silverwing when he was old enough. Now, you’re going back on your word. You say you mourn our losses, but I don’t believe you. You seem more bothered by Daemon’s involvement in the assassination of Jaehaerys than by the death of your own son”.

Rhaenyra's face darkened, her own anger flaring. "-It was your own husband that killed Luke!"

The words hung in the air, sharp and painful. Vaena’s face flushed with rage, and she stepped closer to her mother, the anger and frustration boiling to the surface.

"All of this is your fault. Maybe if you had remained in King’s Landing and actually spent time solidifying your position as heir to the Iron Throne, then it wouldn’t have been so easy to usurp you. Maybe if you had bonded with your siblings instead of scorning them, our family be so divided. And maybe if you had made Luke apologize for slashing out Aemond’s eye, he might still be alive."

Rhaenyra’s eyes blazed with fury, but there was also a flicker of hurt in them. "You dare challenge my authority? Everything I’ve done has been for the sake of our family, for the Targaryen legacy. I have lost as much as you, Vaena. Do not presume to understand the burdens I carry."

Vaena’s voice was raw with emotion. "I do understand, Mother. I understand that your inaction has cost us dearly. I understand that your decisions—or lack thereof—have led to the deaths of our loved ones. And I understand that if we continue down this path, more will die."

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened, and she took a step back, her eyes narrowing. "You think you could do better? You think you could make the decisions that need to be made? This war is not as simple as you believe."

Vaena’s eyes met her mother’s, unyielding. "Maybe I could. Maybe someone needs to. Because right now, all I see is a Queen too afraid to act, and a realm falling apart because of it."

Rhaenyra's eyes blazed with fury, her voice sharp and commanding. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner? I am not only your mother, but your Queen!"

Vaena laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and mocking. "Daemon had the right idea—get as far away from you as possible."

Rhaenyra's face contorted with rage, her voice rising to a shout. "Get out of my sight! NOW!"

Vaena's eyes flashed with defiance as she turned on her heel. "Gladly”

She stormed towards the door, her steps quick and angry. Jace moved to intercept her, his face pleading. "Vaena, wait! Please, don't go-”

Vaena shook her head, her voice cold. "-If things carry on as they are, we’re all going to die."

With that, she pushed past him, and left the room, the echoes of her footsteps fading down the corridor.

Vaena stormed down the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, her mind a whirlwind of anger and frustration. She reached her chambers and pushed the door open with more force than she intended, startling the maid who was attending to her three-year-old son, Aerion.

"Leave us," Vaena said curtly, and the maid, sensing her mood, quickly curtsied and exited the room without a word.

As soon as the door shut, Vaena's gaze softened, shifting to Aerion, who was sitting on the floor surrounded by his toys. The little boy looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "Mummy sad," he said, his voice filled with concern.

Vaena managed a slight nod, her heart aching at the purity of his concern. She moved to sit on the floor beside him, trying to push the tumultuous argument with her mother from her mind.

Aerion reached out with one of his toys, a small wooden dragon, and offered it to her. "Mummy play," he said, his face lighting up with a hopeful smile.

Vaena's lips curved into a tender smile as she took the toy from him. "Thank you, my sweet boy."

Aerion giggled, his joy infectious, and for a moment, Vaena felt the heavy weight of her anger and sorrow lift.

Vaena stood on the stone balcony of Dragonstone. Her gaze was fixed on the boats approaching the shore, each one carrying hopeful souls eager for the chance to claim a dragon.

Since the argument, Vaena had not spoken to her mother. They had taken to avoiding each other, a silence that was more painful than any confrontation.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to see Jace entering the room, his presence a welcome distraction. Aerion, who was playing with his toys on the floor, looked up with a bright smile.

"Jace!"

Jace grinned as he ruffled the boy’s silver hair affectionately. "Hello, little one," he said, his voice warm.

“Play dragons-”

“I’m a little busy at the moment-but I’ll play later” replied Jace.

“Ok-look Vhagar” exclaimed Aerion as he held up a wooden dragon figure.

“Very good” replied Jace softly.

“I miss daddy-” muttered Aerion sadly as he moved his dragon figurine through the air.

“I know you do sweet boy” said Vaena as she looked at Jace who ruffled Aerion’s hair again before standing up.

"Are you coming to witness the claiming of Vermithor?" asked Jace.

Vaena shook her head, her expression resolute. "No, I’m not."

Jace nodded, a shadow of understanding crossing his face. "Alright. I’ll see you later then."

As Jace moved towards the door, Vaena's voice stopped him. "It’s wrong. Letting common folk lay claim to the dragons—it weakens the Targaryen legacy."

Jace paused at the threshold, his hand on the door handle. He hesitated, looking back at her with a thoughtful expression. Then, with a nod, he opened the door and stepped out, leaving Vaena alone with Aerion.

A few hours later, the aftermath of the dragon claiming ceremony had left Dragonstone abuzz with a mixture of relief and tension. Vermithor had been claimed by Hugh Hammer, and Grey Ghost had found a new rider in Ulf.

Vaena had watched as Ulf, in his drunken stupor, had taken Grey Ghost on a flight towards King’s Landing.

Her heart had nearly stopped when Vhagar had appeared off the shore of Dragonstone, relentless in her pursuit.

Her husband was no doubt furious over the events that had transpired, the claiming of a dragon was supposed to be sacred, it was supposed to mean something. It was not something to be used at the whim of a drunken lout who didn’t know his arse from his elbow.

Seeing Vhagar and knowing Aemond was only a short distance away made her heart skip a beat, she was so angry with him, she was hurt and felt betrayed but part of her still longed for him.

Longed to hear his voice, to feel the warmth of his skin, the touch of his lips. To lay in the privacy of their chambers and shut the world out, where Aemond would whisper words of love as he sheathed his cock inside her, his grunts and groans of pleasure as he pounded inside her with deep measured thrusts.

But most of all she missed seeing him with Aerion, it was their duty to produce a child and Aemond was rather enthusiastic in that regard, as he would often spill his seed inside her, sometimes more than once a day, so it was no surprise really when she discovered that she was with child.

It was considered normal for men not to frequent the marriage bed once his wife was with child, but Aemond wasn’t most men-in fact seeing her grow round with his child made his sexual appetite grow ravenous.

When he wasn’t attending his regular duties, he was between her thighs endlessly worshipping her body, with his mouth, fingers and cock. Aegon would often tease him, saying that she was already with child, and he didn’t need to keep sticking it in her as often as he did.

But Vaena knew Aemond couldn’t help it, he was especially drawn to her rapidly growing breasts, he would press his face in between them and close his eye as she stroked his hair.

After she birthed their son, his attention to her breasts only increased. Especially when it was declared that she had healed from the birth and was ready to resume their physical intimacy.

Feeding their son often left her breasts swollen and sore and Aemond ever the attentive husband was willing and eager to help sooth her aches and pains, his lips wrapped around her rosy nipples as he suckled from her.

It was an unspoken level of intimacy between man and wife, one they never verbally recognised but knew that it was necessary.

She simultaneously loved him and hated him in equal measure, and in the deep recesses of her mind, Vaena wondered if she could truly stand by and allow her husband to die, to watch as he was executed or worse to face him in the skies and fight to the death on dragon back.

It made her feel sick to her stomach, and as she watched Aemond flee, she let out a relieved sigh, he would not meet the stranger today.

But sooner or later his days would be numbered, and she would have to make a choice.

Despite the discord between her and her mother, Vaena had been summoned to attend a dinner with the new dragon riders, as much as she wanted to refuse, the expectations of duty and the weight of family ties compelled her to attend.

She had dressed herself carefully, donning a gown of deep red, with black dragon scale patterns on the shoulders that shimmered in the low light. Her reflection in the looking glass was a mask of composed elegance, but beneath the surface, her emotions churned.

The dinner was to be held in one of Dragonstone’s grand halls, where the feast would mark the acceptance of the new dragon riders into their fold.

Before leaving, she turned to her young son, Aerion, who was playing quietly with Darna, her lady-in-waiting. The loyal maid had taken on the task of caring for Aerion with gentle efficiency, providing some measure of comfort to both mother and child.

“I’ll be back soon, Aerion,” Vaena said, kneeling to kiss her son’s forehead. “Darna will take good care of you while I’m away.”

Aerion looked up at her with innocent curiosity, his small hand reaching out to touch her cheek. “Mummy go?”

Vaena nodded, forcing a reassuring smile. “Yes, sweetheart. I’ll be back before you know it.”

With one last, lingering look at her son, Vaena straightened and made her way to the hall. The corridors of Dragonstone seemed to stretch endlessly, each step echoing her apprehension.

As she approached the hall, Vaena braced herself for the evening ahead, her mind still swirling with the day’s events and the fractured relationship with her mother.

Vaena entered the grand dining hall, her steps echoing softly against the polished stone. The room was illuminated by flickering candlelight, casting long shadows across the walls and creating a warm, yet tense atmosphere. The long table was set with an array of sumptuous dishes, but the air was thick with unspoken tension.

She approached her mother, who was seated at the head of the table, and offered a slight bow. “Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra looked up, her expression a mix of weariness and strained courtesy. “Vaena, I’m glad you could join us. Allow me to introduce you to our new dragon riders.”

Vaena nodded as her mother gestured to the men seated at the table. “This is Hugh Hammer,” Rhaenyra said.

Hugh Hammer rose from his seat and gave a respectful bow. His presence was imposing, and he offered a curt nod in acknowledgment.

Next, Rhaenyra indicated Addam of Hull, who also rose and bowed graciously. His demeanour was more reserved.

Finally, Rhaenyra introduced Ulf, who was hunched over a plate, stuffing his face with food. He looked up with a surprised expression, hastily wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“Oh, one eye’s wife!” he declared loudly, a smirk playing on his lips.

Vaena's face tightened with anger at the derogatory nickname for her husband, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and fury.

She took her seat next to Jace, who reached under the table to squeeze her hand gently. The small gesture of comfort was a balm to her frayed nerves.

As the meal progressed, the conversation around the table was strained and awkward. Rhaenyra discussed potential plans to attack the Greens’ strongholds, including Old Town and Lannisport. The room buzzed with conflicting opinions.

Baela, her voice firm, questioned the morality of targeting innocent civilians. “Is it right to attack innocent people just to break our enemies' will?”

Jace, his expression resolute, replied, “It is difficult, but it must be done. We have to ensure that our enemies understand the cost of their defiance.”

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement. “We must break their will. Only then will we secure our future.”

“What of Aemond, he will not sit idle as you attack Oldtown” asked Vaena.

Ulf, who had been quietly eating, suddenly interrupted with a poorly timed joke. “You needn’t worry about one eye, too busy in the brothels he is”

Vaena's face turned a deep red with rage as she looked at Ulf “W-What?”

Ulf, oblivious to the weight of his words, leaned forward with a smirk, his hand grasping at her wrist “I heard he was caught in a brothel on the streets of Silk, discovered by his own brother, naked in the madam’s arms.”

The room fell silent, the comment hanging like a heavy shroud. Vaena's anger erupted; she snatched her hand away from Ulf, her voice trembling with fury. “Do not presume to touch me again! I am not one of your common lickspittles!”

“Apologise Princess-but it’s only fair that you knew what the kinslayer was up too, not sparing you a single thought as he sought out the madam, it’s an insult-betraying you in such a manner”

“You-” snarled Vaena as she seized a handful of Ulf’s grey hair and slammed his head down on the table with a resounding thud.

Ulf, taken aback, tried to recover his composure but found himself struggling against Vaena’s vice-like grip.

“Let him go, Vaena!” Rhaenyra commanded, her voice laced with a mix of shock and authority.

Vaena’s glare was a storm of betrayal and hurt. She held Ulf’s head down for a moment longer before releasing him. He slumped back into his chair, stunned and humiliated.

Leaning closer, Vaena’s voice was cold and menacing. “You a stain on the Targaryen legacy and if you so much as look in my direction again, I will have you fed to my Cannibal.”

With that, Vaena turned on her heel and stormed out of the dining hall, her heart pounding with a mix of anger and tears. The weight of Ulf’s vile comments about Aemond had struck a raw nerve, and the sting of his words lingered as she fled down the corridor.

Vaena entered her chambers, the heavy door closing behind her with a quiet thud. The room was dimly lit by the flickering light of a few candles, casting long shadows across the walls. She moved with a weary grace to the bedside, where Aerion lay fast asleep.

The sight of him, so peaceful and innocent, offered a fleeting moment of solace amid the chaos.

Darna, who had been tending to Aerion, stood by the door, ready to leave. Vaena gave her a nod. “Thank you, Darna. You may go now.”

The maid curtsied and exited the room, closing the door softly behind her. Vaena stood alone, her gaze drifting to the sleeping form of her son. The room felt suddenly heavy with the weight of her memories and her current turmoil.

Her mind wandered back to the last time she had seen Aemond. The memory was as vivid as if it had happened only yesterday. They had argued fiercely about his decision to support the usurpation of the throne from her mother.

Aemond had been adamant that Aegon was the rightful king, citing his status as the first-born son. “Viserys’ wishes mean nothing,” Aemond had said, his voice cold and resolute. “Aegon is the one who should rule.”

Vaena had countered with equal fervour. “But Mother was named heir by King Viserys himself! He upheld her claim steadfastly. This isn’t about bloodlines; it’s about honour and duty!”

Their argument had escalated, and in a desperate move, Aemond had locked her and Aerion in his chambers, preventing her from intervening in the crowning of Aegon. Vaena remembered the fear and helplessness she felt as the reality of their situation set in.

Luckily, Ser Erryk had managed to aid her and Rhaegar in their escape, but the reprieve was short-lived. Mere days later, Aemond’s actions had culminated in the death of her brother Luke.

Vaena sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes tracing the contours of Aerion’s sleeping face.

In the early days of her marriage to Aemond, their relationship had been marked by awkwardness and uncertainty, his ire towards Luke for the loss of his eye lingered beneath the surface, not for the act itself but the lack of apology, and the fact his father seemed more bothered about insults levied against his favourite child’s sons than his own son who had been permanently maimed.

At first Aemond had been stoic and reserved, his attention to her minimal, even their intimate encounters at first were awkward and stilted.

The emotional distance between them had been palpable, and it had felt as though they were two strangers bound by duty rather than affection.

But slowly, as time passed, they had found common ground. They had bonded over their shared love of Valyrian history, spending hours reading ancient texts and discussing their interpretations.

Their conversations had started to bridge the gap that once separated them. They had taken to flying their dragons together, the freedom of the skies offering a sanctuary from the constraints of their royal lives.

Through these moments of connection, Aemond had begun to lower his mask. Vaena had discovered that beneath his reserved exterior was a man who yearned for love and acceptance. It hadn’t been hard to fall in love with him as he revealed more of himself—his vulnerabilities, his hopes, and his dreams.

The transformation had been even more profound with the birth of Aerion. Fatherhood had softened Aemond, revealing a side of him that was determined to be a better father than his own.

He had become attentive and loving, singing Valyrian lullabies to their son and whispering words of affection in the quiet of the night. Those moments of tenderness had forged a bond between them, a connection that was now a painful reminder of what they had lost.

Vaena’s heart raced as she summoned the courage to confront her mother. The weight of her conflicted feelings about Aemond and the looming possibility of battle were pressing heavily upon her.

She knew she needed to speak with her mother about her hesitancy in facing Aemond, even if their relationship was strained. With resolve, she pulled on a robe and ventured out of her chambers.

The night air was crisp, filled with the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore and the distant roars of dragons resting within Dragon mount. She approached her mother’s chambers and knocked gently on the door.

When there was no immediate response, Vaena hesitated, then slowly opened the door. To her surprise, the room was empty. She was about to turn away when she heard muffled voices coming from the corridor below. Curiosity and concern drove her to descend the steps quietly, her footsteps barely making a sound on the stone.

As she reached the lower level, she caught sight of her mother and Alicent Hightower engaged in a heated conversation. Vaena's heart sank as she ducked behind a large bookcase to listen discreetly. She covered her mouth to stifle a gasp of shock at the gravity of their discussion.

Alicent was speaking urgently. “I cannot bear the thought of losing Helaena and Jaehaera. I’m willing to offer Kings Landing to you-Aemond will soon leave for Harrenhal, in three days’ time you will come to Kings Landing, and I will have the guards throw down their weapons and you can take the Iron Throne without bloodshed”

Vaena’s breath caught in her throat. Alicent was negotiating her daughter’s and granddaughter’s lives, but not her sons.

Rhaenyra’s voice was cold and calculating. “What of Aegon? Does he not matter?”

Alicent’s voice trembled with emotion. “Aegon is broken beyond recognition. He lies in the dark, writhing in pain and terror. He is no longer fit to rule. If you want, I can make him bend the knee-”

Rhaenyra’s response was sharp. “-If I am to take the throne, then I must put an end to the opposition. I cannot afford to show mercy to him or Aemond. Their death’s must be public, I must take their heads for all to see. You must choose, Alicent. Will you remain on this course, or will you sacrifice your sons for the greater good?”

The room fell into a tense silence. Vaena’s heart pounded as she listened, horrified, to the weight of the decision being made. Alicent’s response was a reluctant acceptance. “I-I will m-make the sacrifice”

Vaena’s shock and revulsion were overwhelming. She could hardly believe what she had just heard. Her knees felt weak as she quietly retraced her steps, retreating from the scene.

The cold air of the night seemed to close in around her as she made her way back to her chambers, her mind reeling from the betrayal and the cruel choices being made.

Vaena was in a state of disbelief as she replayed the disturbing conversation she had just overheard. It was all wrong, a web of madness and betrayal that she could scarcely comprehend, a mother willingly sacrificing her own sons.

Then there was her own mother, again desperately clinging to her friendship with Alicent, a friendship that should no longer hold any meaning or significance.

They were on the precipice of war and these two were meeting up like lovers in the cover of darkness. Her mother was blind when it came to Alicent, and surely it would be their undoing.

Fire and Blood was sure to reign and still her mother stays her hand because her childhood companion pleads tearfully and whispers words of surrender.

They were all going to die, and Vaena would not subject her son to such horrors. No matter the cost, she had to protect him; there was no other choice. They had to leave, and they had to leave immediately.

After she had changed into her riding leathers she moved quickly, her heart pounding as she packed a small bag with essentials. The urgency of the situation pushed her to be efficient but thorough.

As she fastened the bag closed, she glanced at Aerion, still sound asleep in his bed. With a heavy heart, she gently woke him, pressing soft kisses to his forehead to soothe him from his slumber.

"We’re going flying, sweetheart," she whispered softly, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. Aerion, barely awake, clung to her instinctively as she lifted him into her arms, his little face pressing into her neck for comfort.

Vaena carefully opened the door to her chambers and peeked into the corridor. It was clear. She moved swiftly through the castle, her steps as quiet as possible, and descended into the Dragon mount.

As she passed the entrance to Silverwing’s cavern, she hesitated.

After the successfully claims of Vermithor and Grey Ghost, she knew her mother still intended to have others try and claim Silverwing but given that Vermithor had killed the majority of the people who came to try their luck, it was unknown as to when anymore hopefuls would arrive, but Vaena didn’t want to take the chance.

The thought of seeing Silverwing being claimed by someone else was unbearable. So, she held Aerion close, took a deep breath and entered the cavern.

Silverwing, the majestic dragon once belonging to the revered Queen Alysanne, lay curled beside a newly laid clutch of eggs. The dragon’s enormous eyes opened slowly at the sound of her approach.

Vaena, speaking in a soothing tone, said, “Lykirī!” (Calm).

Silverwing’s gentle nature shone through as she moved forward and nuzzled Vaena, her massive snout sniffing at Aerion with curiosity.

Aerion looked at the dragon with wide, amethyst eyes full of wonder.

“Dokimarvose Silverwing” Vaena urged softly (Focus).

Aerion placed his small hand on Silverwing’s snout, and the dragon responded with an affectionate coo.

“īlon issi naejot Sōvegon” Vaena said firmly, her voice carrying the weight of her resolve. (We are to fly).

Silverwing tilted her head to the side as she listened.

“Nyke gaomagon daor jaelagon naejot henujagon ao” She looked at Silverwing with a plea in her eyes. (I do not wish to leave you).

The gentle dragon moved forward and nudged Vaena slightly, expelling warm air from her nostrils.

“Māzigon rūsīr issa hāedar” (Come with me, girl).

Silverwing rumbled softly in response, her attention divided between Vaena and her eggs.

Vaena carefully lowered Aerion to the ground and moved toward the dragon’s nest. She picked up a sharp rock and used it to break open the hardened, gelatinous sack encasing three precious eggs.

One by one, she wrapped each egg in a piece of clothing and carefully placed them into her bag.

Aerion held out his hand to Silverwing, who nuzzled it tenderly. “Kostilus māzigon, gēlenka” whispered Aerion (Please come, Silver).

Silverwing cooed in acceptance, sensing the urgency, as the beginnings of a bond began to form between the dragon and the child.

Vaena lifted Aerion back into her arms, her voice resolute “Gūrogon naejot se jēdar īlon jāhor sōvegon hēnkirī” (Take to the sky; we will fly together).

She watched as Silverwing lumbered forward and left the cavern, the dragon’s powerful wings spreading in preparation for flight. Vaena’s heart raced with a mixture of relief and apprehension.

The last step in her plan was to reach her Cannibal.

Vaena took a deep breath as she entered the cavern that housed Cannibal. The immense space was cloaked in shadow, the air thick with the scent of ash and sulphur.

Aerion, clinging tightly to her hand, looked up with wide, apprehensive eyes as Vaena called out, "Naejot Māzīs Cannibal" (Come forward).

The ground beneath her feet trembled as Cannibal’s massive scarred black form emerged from the darkness. His low, rumbling growls of recognition echoed through the cavern, creating a rhythm of sound that seemed both ominous and reassuring.

Vaena approached her dragon with a mixture of awe and relief, placing her head on Cannibal’s scaled flank. His presence, despite the gravity of their situation, was a calming balm for her troubled heart.

Holding Aerion close, Vaena climbed the rope ladder that was affixed to Cannibal’s saddle. The dragon had never been particularly fond of being saddled. In the early days, his dislike had been so fierce that several dragon keepers had met grim fates.

But time had tempered his hostility, and though he still displayed his displeasure, he now accepted the saddle as a necessary part of his existence.

Once she and Aerion were securely fastened into the saddle, Vaena paused.

Where could they possibly go? They had no money, just three dragon eggs, two dragons, and a bag of clothes mostly belonging to Aerion.

Harrenhal was not an option, given her anger towards her father for his role in Jaehaerys' death. And seeking refuge with her mother's allies was equally out of the question, as her mother would undoubtedly pursue them and demand her return.

The only viable destination was one she knew she shouldn’t consider, but with few options remaining, it was her only choice. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead.

With a determined resolve, she gave Cannibal the command to fly. The massive dragon lumbered out of his cavern, his powerful wings unfurling with a great rustle of scales.

Cannibal’s roar was thunderous as he ascended into the night sky, his presence casting a large shadow over the landscape.

As they soared upward, Silverwing, flying alongside them, approached with caution. Known for his fearsome nature, Cannibal was not a common companion in the skies, and Silverwing, despite her gentleness, remained wary.

Vaena spoke softly to her dragon. "Lykirī" (Be calm).

Cannibal responded with a rumbling purr, and then propelled himself forward, Vaena wrapped her cloak tighter around Aerion, to keep him warm as the air became colder.

As Dragonstone began to fade into the distance, Vaena steeled herself. She knew that their destination was fraught with its own risks and complications, but it was the only option left.

"To Kings Landing."

Aemond sat in his chambers, the weight of his decisions pressing heavily upon him.

He yearned for his wife and the comfort of her embrace, he missed his son and his sweet little voice.

They were lost to him now, because of what he’d done.

It was his own fault, all his wife had ever done was love him, and he only caused her pain in return.

His own mother had turned on him, his brother was broken and burnt and now his sweet sister refused to look at him.

Manhandling her had been wrong, he knew that now. But he was just so desperate. Their lives were in peril, and he was the only one fighting to save them.

He didn’t know what to do, not anymore.

Then the quiet of the evening was interrupted by the sudden entrance of a guard, who rushed in, his expression one of urgency.

"Your Grace, two large dragons have been spotted flying towards King's Landing!"

Aemond stood abruptly, striding over to the balcony with quick, determined steps.

"Shall we arm the scorpions?" the guard asked, his voice tight with concern.

"No. Stand down," Aemond commanded firmly. His sharp gaze scanned the horizon, and his heart skipped a beat as he recognized the familiar silhouette of Cannibal.

He would not have his wife's dragon shot out of the sky. "Send a number of guards to meet my wife and escort her to my chambers immediately."

The guard bowed deeply before hurrying off to carry out his orders. Aemond's eye remained fixed on the sky, watching as Cannibal and Silverwing circled the Red Keep, their roars echoing through the air before they descended to land where Vhagar was resting.

Aemond's mind raced with questions and emotions. Why had Vaena chosen to return and would Aerion be with her?

The last time they had seen each other, the memory of her angry, tear-streaked face haunted him. She had begged him not to go through with usurping the throne, struggling against him as he locked her and Aerion in his chambers.

Since her escape, Aemond had written countless letters, each one a blend of anger, desperation, and declarations of love, none of which he had the courage to send. Those letters now lay forgotten, stuffed in his desk drawer, mere relics of his turmoil.

As he waited for Vaena, Aemond began pacing his chambers, he was more nervous now than he had been on their wedding day and even the bedding.

But a lot had changed since then.

The sound of approaching footsteps and a knock on his door pulled Aemond from his reverie.

"Enter," he said, straightening up, his arms hanging by his sides.

The door opened, and Aemond was greeted with the sweetest of sounds. "Daddy!"

Aerion’s small figure rushed into the room; his little arms outstretched. Aemond caught his son in a tight embrace, lifting him up and holding him close.

"Aerion," Aemond whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he buried his face in his son's hair. The boy's familiar scent brought a rush of warmth and sorrow.

Vaena entered the room behind her son, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the chasm that had grown between them. Aemond met her eyes, his heart aching with unspoken words.

"You've come back."

Vaena's eyes were wary, her expression a mix of relief and guardedness. "I had no other choice," she replied, her voice steady but laced with tension.

After a few precious moments of holding Aerion close, Aemond reluctantly pulled away. He summoned one of the maids, who appeared promptly at his door.

"Take care of him," Aemond instructed, his voice gentle yet firm. "Ensure that guards are posted inside the room and at the door to protect him."

Aerion looked up at his father, his small hand clutching Aemond's sleeve. "Do I have to go, Daddy?"

Aemond knelt down to his son's level, brushing a strand of silver hair from his face. "I promise, it won’t be for long-I just need to talk to your mother"

Aerion smiled, his reluctance easing. He allowed the maid to take his hand, and she led him into the room across from Aemond's chambers.

Aemond watched until the door shut behind them, his heart heavy.

Turning back to Vaena, he barely had time to register her movement before her fist collided with his nose.

He reeled backward, his hand instinctively going to his face to stem the flow of blood. "That was for Luke," she spat, her eyes blazing with fury.

Before he could recover, she punched him again, this time in the stomach.

Aemond doubled over, dropping to the floor as he wheezed in pain. "-And that was for Rhaenys," she declared, her voice cold and determined.

As he struggled to catch his breath, Vaena knelt in front of him, her expression softening. She took his face in her hands, her touch both tender and firm.

"This is for me," she whispered, before pressing her lips to his in a fierce, desperate kiss.

Aemond's mind swirled with the intensity of her actions, the pain of her blows mixing with the undeniable longing in her kiss. He responded, his hands reaching up to hold her, afraid she might slip away.

The kiss was a collision of anger, love, and regret, a tumultuous expression of the emotions that had built up between them.

When they finally pulled apart, Aemond looked into her eyes, his voice raw with emotion. "Vaena, I-" He struggled to find the words, the weight of his actions pressing heavily on his shoulders.

"Don't," she interrupted, her voice trembling. "Not yet-" tears glistened in her eyes.

Vaena helped Aemond to his feet, guiding him gently to sit on the bed. She inspected his nose with care, her touch both tender and clinical. "It's not broken," she declared, "but it will be sore for a while."

Aemond wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face into her chest and inhaling her familiar scent.

The comfort of her presence washed over him, and he closed his eye, savouring the moment. Vaena stroked his hair gently, but then she abruptly stopped and stepped away.

"Is it true?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Aemond opened his eye, confusion evident. "Is what true?"

Vaena's face contorted with anger and hurt. "Did you visit a brothel on the Streets of Silk?"

Aemond's heart sank. "How do you know about that?" he asked cautiously.

Vaena's eyes filled with tears. "So, it is true? You've bedded another woman? Betrayed our marriage vows?"

Aemond quickly shook his head. "I went to a brothel, yes. I sought comfort from the madam, but I was never intimate with her."

Vaena backed away, shaking her head as tears streamed down her face. Aemond got off the bed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close despite her resistance.

"Vaena, please," he pleaded. "I never laid with her in that way. After you left with Aerion, after what happened with Luke, I was desperate. My mother was furious with me; she couldn't even look at me. I had no one else to turn to. Going back to Sylvi was wrong, but I couldn't help it. I just wanted to be held by someone who didn't hate me."

Vaena's body trembled in his arms, her tears soaking into his shirt.

Aemond gently cupped Vaena's face, wiping away the remaining tears. "How did you find out?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern and curiosity.

Vaena's expression hardened. "Ulf told me."

"Who is Ulf?" Aemond inquired, his brow furrowing.

"He's one of the common folk who claimed Grey Ghost," Vaena replied, her tone dripping with disdain. "He's a wretched cur with no manners, and it disgusts me that my mother has defiled our birthright by allowing commoners to claim dragons."

Aemond's frown deepened. "Who claimed Vermithor?"

"A man named Hugh Hammer," Vaena said, shaking her head in frustration. "My mother was hoping that Silverwing would be claimed too, but Vermithor killed all of the other dragon seeds."

Aemond's eye widened with surprise. "Vermithor killed them?"

Vaena nodded. "Yes, and my mother still wishes for someone to claim Silverwing. But I couldn't allow it. She had promised to let Aerion try to claim her when he was old enough, but she broke that promise."

Aemond's grip tightened on her shoulders, a mixture of anger and determination flickering in his eye. "So, you brought Silverwing with you?"

Vaena nodded again, her expression resolute. "Yes. I convinced Silverwing to come with me to King's Landing. I couldn't let my mother's broken promises endanger Aerion' birthright."

Aemond's gaze softened as he looked at Vaena, a mixture of pride and admiration shining through his concern. "You did the right thing," he said quietly. "You protected our son and our legacy”

Vaena sighed, her tension easing slightly as she leaned into Aemond's embrace. "I just want us to be safe," she whispered. "To find a way to end this madness."

Aemond held her close, his heart swelling with a renewed sense of purpose. "We will find a way," he promised. "Together."

Vaena took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to say next. "There's something else I need to tell you," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Aemond looked at her, his eye narrowing with concern. "What is it?"

"Your mother-she's gone to Dragonstone."

Aemond's expression shifted from concern to anger and shock. "What?"

Vaena continued, her voice steady but filled with tension. "Alicent advocated for the lives of Helaena and Jaehaera in exchange for my mother successfully claiming the Iron Throne without bloodshed. She told her of your plan to travel to Harrenhal to meet Cole and his army. Alicent has arranged for my mother to come to King's Landing in three days. She will command the guards to lay down their weapons and open the gates."

Aemond went ballistic, his fury palpable as he paced the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. "My own mother-betraying us? How could she do this?" He stopped and turned to Vaena, his face twisted with rage. "Did she advocate for anyone else besides Helaena and Jaehaera?"

Vaena shook her head, her eyes filled with sadness. "No. She agreed my mother’s demand to have you and Aegon publicly executed, which will no doubt extend to Daeron as well"

Aemond's face contorted with a mixture of horror and fury. "She has sentenced not just one but all of her sons to death," he spat. "What madness possesses her?"

Vaena stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. "I don't know, Aemond. I was just as shocked as you when I heard it."

Aemond's eye blazed with anger. "She thinks she can protect Helaena and Jaehaera by sacrificing the rest of us? She's lost her mind."

Aemond's shoulders slumped as the weight of the revelations pressed down on him. "I'm alone," he said quietly, his voice filled with despair. "I thought what I was doing was right. It wasn't about the Iron Throne. It was about saving our lives. But after what I've just heard-what's the point? I give up. If my own mother won't even try, why should I? I've got nothing left."

Vaena stepped closer, placing her hands gently on his face, her eyes filled with love and determination. "You're not alone, Aemond. You have me and Aerion. We're your family, and we need you. We could leave Westeros, fly across the Narrow Sea, and get as far away from this war as possible. We could be happy, just the three of us. We could have more children, live in peace. We could be together."

“What if Rhaenyra comes after us?” asked Aemond.

“Then I will do what I must in order to save your life” replied Vaena.

Aemond looked at her, the hopelessness in his eye beginning to soften. "What of my mother-“

"Your mother has sold you and your brothers out," Vaena interrupted, her voice firm. "If my mother takes the Iron Throne, you will die. I don't want you to die, Aemond."

“I deserve it” muttered Aemond.

Vaena's voice broke, and she began to sob, clutching at him desperately. "Please don't leave me," she cried, her tears soaking his shirt. "I don't want you to die. Please, Aemond"

Aemond felt a pang of guilt and sorrow as he held her trembling form. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and burying his face in her hair. "Vaena, I won’t leave you," he whispered, his own voice choked with emotion.

She looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "Then let's leave," she said, her voice trembling. "Let's leave all of this behind. We can find a place where we can be happy, where we can raise Aerion in peace. Please, Aemond. Let's go."

Aemond held Vaena close, his arms wrapped tightly around her as she sobbed against his chest. He hushed her gently, his mind reeling with a sudden, profound realization.

What was the point of everything he had done? He had lost his eye, transformed himself into a capable swordsman and dragon rider, studied relentlessly, and attended to his duties with unwavering dedication.

He had strived to be the perfect son, and yet it was all for nothing. Despite always being told that Rhaenyra was the enemy, his mother was now clinging to her skirts, begging for scraps and bending the knee at the cost of her sons' lives.

Vaena was the only one who had ever seen him for who he truly was. She loved him, blessed him with a son, and yet he had done nothing to earn it. He had killed her brother and her grandmother, attacked his own brother at Rook’s Rest, and burned down Sharp Point, watching from the cliffside as people writhed and screamed in agony.

He had done all that, and yet here she was, crying for him, begging for his life, and offering him everything he had ever wanted—a family.

Aemond took a deep breath and gently took Vaena's face in his hands, lifting her tear-streaked gaze to meet his.

"Let's go," he whispered, his voice steady and filled with a newfound determination. "Let's leave it all behind."

Vaena's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, she searched his face as if trying to comprehend his words. "You mean it?" she asked, her voice trembling with hope and fear.

Aemond nodded, his grip on her tightening. "Yes, I mean it. We'll leave Westeros. We'll fly across the Narrow Sea and start a new life, just the three of us. We'll find peace and happiness away from this madness."

A sob of relief escaped Vaena's lips, and she threw her arms around his neck, holding him as if she would never let go. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Thank you, Aemond."

He kissed her forehead tenderly, a sense of calm settling over him. "We'll make it through this," he promised, his voice filled with conviction. "Together."

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, Aemond felt a weightlifting from his shoulders. The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope.

They would leave Westeros and all its chaos behind. They would build a new life, far away from the shadows of their past, and they would find happiness together.

"Let's get Aerion-” Vaena said softly, pulling back to look into his eye. "Let's leave tonight."

Aemond nodded, a sense of urgency mingling with his newfound resolve. "Yes, we’ll leave tonight-" he agreed.

As Vaena turned to leave the room, Aemond took hold of her, and pulled her close, kissing her with a fervour that took her breath away

His hands tangled in her hair, and he whispered against her lips, "We will leave but I need you, Vaena. It's been too long since I last felt your touch."

Vaena looked up into his eye, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Yes, Aemond."

They began pulling at each other's clothes, their urgency growing with each passing second. Aemond's hands trembled as he undid the ties of her riding leathers, and Vaena's fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his tunic. The material fell away, piece by piece, until they stood before each other, bare and exposed.

Aemond's gaze roamed over her body, drinking in the sight of her. He backed her towards the bed, his hands never leaving her skin. "Gods, I've missed you," he murmured, his voice rough with longing.

Vaena reached up, her fingers brushing the scar over his eye, a reminder of the sacrifices they had both made. "I've missed you too," she replied, her voice thick with emotion.

As they reached the bed, Aemond lowered her onto the soft sheets, his body covering hers. Their mouths met again in a searing kiss,

Vaena smiled slightly as she hooked her fingers around her own small clothes and slowly pulled them down, Aemond could feel himself salivating as he stared at her cunny.

“Come here-” growled Aemond, as he reached out and tugged Vaena back on the bed.

“Let me take care of you” muttered Vaena as she placed kisses along Aemond jaw and then down his neck, making sure to gently nip and suck his skin as she went.

She carried on moving down, pausing as she reached his chest, she grinned as she took one of his nipples into her mouth, her tongue teasing it before she bit down.

“FUCK” moaned Aemond.

“Does issa Jorrāelagon like that?” asked Vaena as she moved across and gave his other nipple the same attention, (My love).

“Oh. Gods” whimpered Aemond as she moved further down his body, her tongue and teeth grazing his pale skin.

When she reached the trail of hair from his belly button down to his cock, she pressed her nose against him and giggled when she felt the hair tickle her skin.

“Kostilus” begged Aemond (Please).

“Ao līs umbagon issa zaldrīzes” replied Vaena (You must wait, my dragon).

Aemond lost his senses the moment Vaena’s warm, wet mouth quickly wrapped around the head of his swollen cock.

Her tongue gently moving around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Vaena!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through his wife’s silver hair.

Vaena ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

“Your taking me so well. Such a good girl” moaned Aemond.

Aemond knew it would push the limits of his control, but he did not care. He just had to watch his cock disappear into Vaena’s mouth and see it come back out, shining with her spit.

Her head moving back and forth, her perfect pink lips stretched around him.

“I’m not going to last if you carry on” Aemond admitted, though it pained him to do so.

Vaena smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth.

“It feels so good-that’s it” groaned Aemond.

Vaena responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his stones.

“Shit-Vaena. I’m going to come. Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

His wife took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean.

When he recovered, Aemond saw Vaena’s self-satisfied smile.

“Was that to your liking husband?” asked Vaena.

“Y-Yes. Now get up here and ride my face until I’m ready again” gasped Aemond.

“But your nose” whispered Vaena concerned.

“I don’t care-get up here-now” ordered Aemond, his cock already twitching with interest.

Vaena hovered above Aemond’s face; her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Such a pretty cunny" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Vaena’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Vaena her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it Issa dōna. Let me hear you” (My sweet).

“YES. It feels so good” whimpered Vaena.

“FUCK” growled Aemond.

“Ooooh A-Aemond-just like that” shrieked Vaena.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Vaena, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Vaena "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh" whimpered Vaena; her chest heaving as she began to gently roll her hips against him.

“That’s it, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond, his cock was so hard that it was boarding on painful.

Vaena was giving off a slew of loud swear words, moans, and pleas, that anyone passing his chambers would surely hear.

Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me baby, come for daddy” moaned Aemond.

Finally, he felt Vaena’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Vaena’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife’s centre as she came.

After a few minutes, Aemond gently urged his wife to move down, so she was hovering above his cock.

Her hand wrapped around him, running the head of his cock along her warm wet folds.

“Your such a tease” moaned Aemond as his hips jerked involuntarily.

“But it feels so good” replied Vaena as she slowly moved down on his cock, so only the tip of him was inside her.

“P-Please” whimpered Aemond.

“Uh-uh” said Vaena shaking her head from side to side.

After a few minutes Aemond couldn’t take it anymore and seized his wife’s hips, before surging up and ploughing his hard cock into her soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" screamed Vaena.

"Gods. You feel so good-missed you-" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Vaena, her tone bordering on desperate as she rolled her hips against his.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

“P-Please. Husband” whined Vaena as Aemond began teasing her pearl with his thumb.

“That’s it-take all of me”

“OH-MY-“ shrieked Vaena Aemond began to move.

"Faster, please" begged Vaena.

“Like this?” replied Aemond as he gave a quick deep thrust.

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Vaena.

Her hands ran along his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.

“Gods, Vaena" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond" whispered Vaena "Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me, filling me up. Give me what I need. Give me your seed. I want it”.

Aemond knew exactly what Vaena was doing, and he couldn’t help himself.

Vaena wanted faster and he was going much faster now, his feet planted on the bed to give him more leverage and his pace increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips as he pounded into her.

“Aemond-I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Vaena; not caring if anyone could hear them.

Vaena always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her amethyst eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Aemond then withdrew, ignoring Vaena’s whimper of protest as he rolled her onto her back and quickly sheathed himself inside her again.

She wrapped her legs around Aemond’s waist, drawing him closer as he began to thrust inside her, his cock reaching deep inside.

“I-I’m going to give you my seed-” moaned Aemond.

“Yes-oh don’t stop-please Aemond” whined Vaena.

“I’m going to put another babe in you-See you full of milk-”

“Y-Yes A-Aemond-I want another. Give it to me” whined Vaena.

That, combined with how glorious Vaena felt, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“-I love you-love you so fucking much-my wife-don’t leave me again” babbled Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed inside his wife’s wet heat.

After they had got dressed Aemond and Vaena worked quickly, their movements synchronized as they made the necessary preparations to leave. The tension and urgency of their situation lent them a sense of purpose and determination.

As they packed, Vaena presented Aemond with the bag containing Silverwing’s eggs.

“What do you want to do with these?” she asked, her eyes reflecting both the gravity of their situation and the love she had for him.

Aemond took the bag and laughed softly. “You truly are something special,” he murmured, marvelling at her brazenness not only had she absconded with a dragon that wasn’t hers, but three eggs as well “They need to be kept warm and safe.”

Vaena nodded, carefully wrapping the eggs back up. “We’ll protect them,” she promised.

Aemond then mentioned his plan to raid the treasury. “Most of the crown’s wealth has been divided and hidden, but whatever is left should be more than enough for us,” he said.

He left for the treasury, returning a short while later with a sack full of coins, along with some of his mother’s jewellery he had managed to steal, and a necklace that was pressed into his hands by Helaena who bid him farewell, he apologised to her for how he acted, but she simply smiled and told him that the eye of the gods was closed to him now.

He packed his weapons and anything else of value from his chambers.

Their dragons were large enough to carry what they needed, and they prepared Aerion for the journey, making sure he had something to eat and was well wrapped up.

They told him they were going on an adventure, and his face lit up with excitement.

Aemond then left the guards with simple instructions: “Guard the Red Keep until the Dowager Queen returns.”

After gathering all their bags and ensuring the ancient sword Blackfyre was securely attached to his waist, Aemond took Aerion’s hand, and the three of them made their way to the dragons.

Aerion eagerly wanted to fly with his father, and as they strapped themselves into the saddles, Aemond took one last look at the Red Keep, its imposing towers silhouetted against the sky. The only home he’d ever known was now lost to him, instead of sadness he felt a strange sense of relief, that finally for the first time in a long time, he could choose his own path, he could forge his own destiny.

He checked one last time that Aerion was secured safely in front of him and then he took a deep breath.

“Sōvēs” he commanded Vhagar, his voice steady and resolute (Fly).

Vhagar spread her massive wings and ascended into the clouds. Moments later, she was joined by Cannibal and Silverwing. The three dragons soaring together, leaving King’s Landing and everything else behind.

Alicent returned to the Red Keep from her meeting with Rhaenyra, her heart heavy with the weight of her decisions. She felt overwhelmed and heartbroken. The image of Rhaenyra’s cold determination haunted her, and the reality of what she had agreed to gnawed at her soul.

In three days, she would open the gates, command the guards to lower their weapons, and surrender the city to Rhaenyra.

Sacrifices would need to be made to regain peace, but she would be steadfast and see an end to this ceaseless war.

Upon reaching her chambers, Alicent immediately poured herself a cup of wine. She downed its contents in one gulp, hoping the liquid courage would steel her for the days to come.

She needed to appear as she always had done—composed, resolute, unwavering. But the turmoil inside her was relentless.

As the wine settled in her stomach, Alicent allowed herself a brief moment of vulnerability. She sank into a chair, the enormity of her decision washing over her. She had betrayed her own sons for the sake of peace.

Aemond would shortly be leaving for Harrenhal, unaware of the treachery she had committed. Aegon was broken beyond recognition, and both were to be sacrificed for the greater good.

She had chosen the lives of her daughter Helaena and granddaughter Jaehaera over the rest of her family, and the weight of that choice threatened to crush her.

Alicent’s mind raced with thoughts of Aemond. He had always been her strongest, her most determined child. She had seen his ambition and his anger and now she was about to betray him.

The pain of it was almost too much to bear, but she knew she had to. She had to put an end to the bloodshed, to the war that had torn their family and the realm apart.

She stood up, straightening her spine, and took a deep breath. She couldn’t afford to show weakness. She needed to be strong, for the sake of the realm, for the sake of those she loved. She brushed away the tears that threatened to fall and steeled herself for what she must now do.

Alicent walked to the looking glass and assessed her reflection. She adjusted her gown, smoothed her hair, and ensured her expression was one of calm determination.

She could not waver. The realm needed her to be strong, to be the Queen they had always known. With one final deep breath, she turned away and left her chambers, ready to face the consequences of her actions and the role she must play in the days to come.

She would not waver. She could not waver. The future of the realm depended on it.

Alicent approached Aemond's chambers, noticing with a sense of unease that there were no guards stationed outside. The absence was peculiar and unsettling.

She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. For a moment, she considered walking away, but a feeling of urgency pushed her to act. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open, calling out to Aemond.

But only silence greeted her.

Stepping inside, she glanced around the room. The wardrobe door stood ajar, drawing her attention. She walked over to it, intending to close it, but stopped short when she saw that it was empty.

A sinking feeling grew in her stomach as she moved to the drawers, pulling them open one by one, each revealing the same emptiness.

As she stood there, her foot brushed against something small on the floor. Bending down, she picked up a wooden dragon figurine, instantly recognizing it as belonging to her grandson, Aerion.

Just then, a maid entered the room. Alicent turned to her, a mixture of desperation and anger in her eyes.

"Where is the Prince Regent?" she demanded.

The maid looked at her calmly and simply replied, "Gone."

Alicent's heart raced. "What do you mean, gone?"

The maid explained, "The Prince Regent left the Red Keep some time ago in the company of Princess Vaena and their son, Prince Aerion."

Alicent was baffled by the maid’s admission. Instead of questioning her further, she turned and swiftly left the room, her mind reeling. She needed answers, and she knew where to find them.

She hurried to the council chambers, hoping to find someone who could shed light on what was happening. As she entered, she found only Jasper Wylde and Maester Orwyle engaged in quiet discussion.

"Where is Aemond?" she demanded, her voice sharp with anxiety.

Both Jasper and Orwyle looked up, surprised by her sudden entrance.

"Your Grace, we have just received word that the Prince Regent has left the Red Keep. We were about to send for you."

"Left?" Alicent echoed, feeling a mix of relief and fear. "Where has he gone? Why?"

Jasper cleared his throat. "Princess Vaena arrived earlier today and spent several hours with the Prince Regent in his chambers. It seems that after their time together, they departed from the Red Keep with their son”.

“T-To Harrenhal?” asked Alicent.

“No. Your Grace. His dragon was last spotted flying over the Kings Wood”

Alicent's mind raced, trying to piece together the implications. She could have sworn she had seen Vaena lurking on Dragonstone.

Then a thought struck her like a blow—what if Vaena had overheard her conversation with Rhaenyra and had immediately flown to the Red Keep to warn Aemond?

Without another word, Alicent left the council chambers and hurried to see Helaena. She found her daughter sitting quietly in her room, gazing out of the window.

"Helaena-" Alicent asked urgently, "Have you seen Aemond?"

Slowly Helaena turned to her mother; her expression serene. "He has gone and taken his heart with him"

Alicent felt a pang of despair “He cannot just leave. H-He has d-duties to attend”

“Duties which no longer hold meaning” whispered Helaena, as she held out a scrap of parchment.

“W-What is this”

“He asked me to give it to you” replied Helaena softly.

‘Alicent,

I know of your treachery and your willingness to sacrifice the lives of your sons in favour of the pretender. For years now, I have suffered the indignity of being the second son and have been unwavering in my duty, but it was never good enough for you or Father.

I tried my best to keep us alive, but it seems my efforts are all for nothing. I have abandoned the throne, just as you have abandoned your sons, and I will no longer fight to save the undeserving.

My wife and son are all that matter to me now, and my future lies with them. I hope your efforts to secure the throne for your beloved Rhaenyra are worth it. Maybe now you can mourn me, Mother. I lost you, but I have gained so much more in doing so. At last, I am finally free.

Aemond’

Alicent collapsed into a chair and sat staring into the flames, Aemond's note clutched tightly in her trembling hands. The weight of what she had done settled heavily on her shoulders.

She had made arrangements with Rhaenyra, hoping to secure a fragile peace by offering the lives of her sons.

But now, Aemond had abandoned King's Landing, and her carefully laid plans were in ruins.

What would happen now? Rhaenyra would come, as promised, to take King's Landing. She would discover that Aemond had fled, and would accuse Alicent of aiding in his escape.

Alicent's heart pounded as she considered the consequences. Aemond was responsible for the death of Rhaenyra's son, and there was no way she would allow him to live his life free from the consequences of his actions. Not with her own daughter, Vaena, standing by his side.

Alicent felt a surge of panic. She had underestimated Rhaenyra's resolve and overestimated her ability to control the situation. The absurdity of her plan now struck her with full force.

She had hoped to protect her family by betraying her sons, but in the end, she had driven Aemond away and left herself vulnerable to Rhaenyra's wrath.

She rose from the chair and began pacing the room, her mind racing. She needed to think, to find a way to salvage the situation.

But what could she do? Aemond was gone, Vaena and Aerion with him. She had no leverage, no cards left to play.

Her thoughts turned to Helaena and Jaehaera. She had advocated for their lives, hoping to secure their safety. But now, with Aemond's departure, would Rhaenyra honour that agreement? Or would she see it as another betrayal?

As she pondered her next move, a sense of resignation washed over her. She had fought for so long, schemed and plotted to keep her family safe. But now, she realized, there was no way to win. The game was over, and she had lost.

All she could do now was try to minimize the damage and hope that, somehow, her children would survive the storm that was about to descend upon them.

Epilogue.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 5 months ago

Text

It's Time To Face Reality

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Princess!Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

Warnings: kidnapping, angst

Summary: You find the courage and strength inside yourself to be the hero for once. With everything over and done with, you have no choice but to go back to your old life and leave the one person who made you feel so alive.

Play Pretend Masterlist

Square Filled: physical toll for @mfbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

“Whatever move you’re going to make, follow through with it. If you’re ever in a situation where you don’t feel safe, the best thing you can do is follow through. If you give them a single spark of weakness, they will strike where it hurts.”

“Ben, I got it. Now punch me,” you grin.

“You’re trouble,” he chuckles.

Ben continues to teach you how to defend yourself if you ever find yourself in a situation where your life is threatened and Ben isn’t there to protect you.

You roll your head to the right and crack what you can to work out the kinks. James had you moved to one of the back bedrooms while they figure out what to do with you. The clock ticking is the only thing you can hear inside the room, reminding you that you have five more hours until they cut off one of your limbs. You’re not sure if they’ll really do that but Ryder is eager to cut into something.

Your arm is getting numb from the way they’ve tied both behind your back. If you don’t escape now, you’re going to suffer a lot. Fuck this. I’m not going to be a damsel in distress. You’re not going to wait to be rescued when you can do it yourself.

Ben taught you better.

Calliope and Elliot arrived in America as soon as they could. They traveled with Kylen and two other guards for their own protection. Spencer tries not to let their presence scare him but it’s intimidating to know the girl he likes has such high security. Calliope hasn’t stopped crying which is understandable while Elliot holds a hard look in his eyes.

“Tell me you know where our daughter is,” Elliot says to Hotch.

“Your Majesty--”

“Please, Elliot. We’ll be spending a lot of time together.”

“Elliot, we’re doing everything we can to find your daughter before anything bad happens. We’re the very best team and we’re working hard.”

“I never wanted this for her,” Calliope cries.

“Your Majesty, James Volkov is the one who took Y/N,” Ben says.

“What can you tell me about him?” Hotch asks.

“His hatred for the Richmond bloodline goes deeper than Y/N. He broke into the palace when she was barely a year old and then again when she was six. It’s why we hired Ben to look after her. Even before I was Queen, he was obsessed with stealing from my family. He’s money and power hungry.”

“My mother was thinking of marrying James’ father even though he wasn’t from a royal bloodline. Our tradition that we’ve upheld for centuries is to marry another from a royal bloodline. He manipulated her into giving him more money than he deserved. Then, she met my father who made her realize what a disgusting person James’ family was,” Elliot explains.

Hotch sighs and looks at the table in thought. They hadn’t wanted to put James’ picture in fear that he’d hurt you earlier than he said he would.

You’re not going to give them the chance to.

After an incredible amount of patience and strength, you were able to get out of your binds. You might have bruising on your wrists from how hard the ropes were digging into your skin but that’s a price you’re willing to pay. You open the door slightly and see everyone huddled together in the living room. Macy is furiously typing on her laptop while the men are talking over one another, trying to keep their voices down.

“What are we going to do if they don’t send it? Are we really going to kill her?” Kellen asks.

“Whatever we have to do,” James says.

“They have our pictures,” Macy says. She turns the laptop to show all five of their pictures on the FBI website. “This changes things.”

“This changes nothing. Do you know how long I’ve evaded the law? We’re going to be fine. The Richmond family does not scare me.”

You’re not going to give them the opportunity to hurt you. You have to escape now. You close the bedroom door slowly and quietly before taking stock of what you have. What would Ben do if he was here? Ben. Spencer. Oh, Spencer. I hope you’re alright.

Spencer comes in with two water bottles and hands them both to the King and Queen of Yacleira.

“Are you going to pay the ransom?” Rossi asks.

“That bastard will not get a penny of my money,” Elliot says angrily.

“He has Y/N, honey,” Calliope says with tears in her eyes.

Elliot sighs as his resolve crumbles away.

“We’ll send them whatever they want.”

Penelope pulls up the email chain that James had used to send them a picture of you along with their ransom demand. Since there is an email attached to it, she can use this as a direct line to them.

“Do you think they’ll take cash? We could schedule a meetup,” Spencer says. “Make them bring Y/N as proof of life.”

Penelope sends the email off, getting another one minutes later.

“They refuse to meet up. They expect the entire thing to be deposited.”

“It’s not going to be easy sending that kind of money in a lump sum,” Hotch sighs.

“Ask them if they’ll take it in payments,” Rossi says.

Penelope sends the email and it’s not long until she gets one back. The emails are projected onto the big screen so that everyone can see their reply.

Only if you want your daughter’s fingers sent to the FBI as punishment.

“Hotch, we need to look at the area where her phone was last.”

“You’re right. Take Morgan, Ben, and Prentiss with you.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll bring her home to you,” Ben promises.

The four of them take a sleek black SUV over to the gas station where your phone was last pinged in. The gas station is on a desolate road heading out of town so it’s not busy. Whoever is working would have to remember you or the people you were with. Derek and Emily go inside to talk to the attendant while Ben and Spencer stay outside.

“You love her, don’t you?” Ben asks.

“I don’t know about love,” Spencer sighs. “All I know is that she’s the first girl in a long time to make me feel so… alive.”

“Yeah, I get it. I had that.”

“What happened?”

“I wasn’t quick enough.”

Spencer doesn’t pry knowing it must hurt to think about not being able to save the person he loved. Derek approaches the attendant who puts her phone down when she notices them.

“Hi, we’re agents Prentiss and Morgan with the FBI. We’re looking for someone we believe came through here.” He takes out a picture of you and shows her. “Have you seen this woman?”

“No.”

“They might have kept her in the car to prevent people from seeing her,” Emily whispers to Derek.

Derek takes out the pictures of Jacob and James and shows her.

“Have you seen these men?”

“Yeah, they came through late last night. They were with two other men and a woman. The woman stayed outside and got gas but the four men came in.”

“Can you describe any of them?” Emily asks, taking out her notepad.

“The woman had short, cropped hair. Red, I think. One of the men had a Justin Beiber haircut with piercings on his lip and eyebrow, and another man had tattoos up and down his arms. Big muscles.”

“Did you notice anything strange about them?”

Spencer walks inside with Ben as the attendant is talking to Derek and Emily.

“They were talking in a language I didn’t recognize. Clearly, they were pissed about something. They practically threw the cash at me when they paid.”

Emily notices a camera placed on the ceiling behind the young woman facing toward the front door and the cash register.

“Does that camera work?”

“Yeah. The owner wanted to get one after the fifth time someone came in trying to steal something.”

“May we look at the footage from last night?”

“Be my guest.”

She moves out of the way so that Spencer can work the cameras. The TV is small and grainy but the camera is good quality so the picture is clearer than the normal CCTVs. Late last night, a large SUV pulls into the gas station and pulls up to one of the pumps. The car is obstructed due to the pump they pulled into and the way the camera is angled. However, the passenger window is shown just enough to see you resting your head against the glass with your eyes closed. They must have drugged you to prevent you from getting away.

The woman gets out of the car and starts pumping gas but she is out of view of the entire frame. Four men walk inside the gas station and try their best not to show their faces on the camera. Either they knew this place only had one camera or they’re paranoid at every place because they might have cameras.

Like the attendant says, they throw the money in her face and leave as fast as possible just as the woman with the red hair finishes with the gas. They all get into the car and peel out as fast as possible. The camera isn’t wide enough to see past the road for a few feet, but Spencer sees the direction they went in.

“Do you have any idea where these guys might have gone?” Derek asks.

“I’m not sure. Like I said, they didn’t speak any English.”

“Is there anything out here?”

“Yeah, the old Garrison farm a few miles up the road. Take a right out of here and it’s literally the first road you see off to the right. It’s a dirt road. They didn’t like many people visiting but the property is a hundred acres give or take a few.”

“Thanks.” They leave the gas station and head back to the car. “Do you think they took her there?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“You don’t think… You don’t think they hurt her, do you?” Ben asks.

“Only one way to find out,” Spencer answers regretfully.

He hopes you’re okay and if you’re not, alive.

You go to the window that’s not boarded up and open it only to be met with a mesh screen. You push on it but there isn’t any give. They might have glued it or did something to prevent it from being kicked out. You look around the room and see clothes hung up in the closet. Clothes that are on wire hangers. You take one of the hangers and bend it until the metal snaps in two. Now you have a sharp side.

You walk back over to the mesh covering and stab it with the sharp end of the hanger. It takes a bit of strength on your part but if you keep at it, you’ll have created a big enough hole for you to jump through. Thankfully, this farmhouse is only one story so you’re not worried about breaking a leg. You’re so focused on creating the tear that you don’t hear the bedroom door open.

“Hey!”

You look behind you to see Kellen standing there with a shocked look on his face. You toss the metal to the side and tear the rest of the mesh with your hands. Just as you fit your leg through it, he pounces on you.

“Let go of me!” you shout loud enough to alert the others.

You fall forward onto the ground so that the only part of you still in the house is your right leg. Kellen has a death grip on your leg but you’re not giving up.

“Guys! Help! She’s escaping!”

You jerk away from him only to use every ounce of strength you have to kick him in the face. He falls back with a shout of pain, letting go of your leg. You fall to the ground but scramble to your feet as soon as you can. You take off running anywhere that’s not this farmhouse. The front door slams open and all five of them filter out of the house in a panic.

“Find her! Bring her to me!” James yells loudly.

You almost trip over the rocks but you keep running until you can’t see the farmhouse anymore.

“You can run all you want, princess, but we’ll find you. You won’t like what happens when we do!” Jacob shouts.

It’s so dark outside that you’re not sure where you’re going but that’s not going to stop you from running. Thankfully, you can see the trees so you’re not smacking into them. Your heart is racing at the thought of being caught. What if there is nothing around for miles? Are you really going to keep running without knowing what’s out there? What if you’re in their domain and there are more dangerous people out there?

No, don’t think like that. Your lungs are begging to relax and your legs are burning but you won’t stop running. In the distance you see headlights, and being there is a lot better than being with James. You run toward them in hopes that whoever is behind the wheel is friendly. You push through the thick shrubs and fall to the ground right in front of the car. It screeches to a stop before it can hit you, and you put your hand up to block the bright headlights.

“Please, help me.”

“Y/N!”

All four doors open and four people come clambering out of the car. You look up and see two familiar sets of eyes looking back.

“Spencer? Ben?”

“We’re right here. You’re safe now,” Ben says.

“They’re out there looking for me right now. There’s a farmhouse up the road.”

“Come on.”

Spencer and Ben help you into the back of the car just as Emily and Derek get back in the front. They turn the headlights off and lowly trek back to the farmhouse while still staying in the shadows. Derek and Emily get out while Ben and Spencer stay in the back with you. You faintly hear Derek call for immediate backup, and you lean your head on the headrest tiredly.

Spencer looks at you and wants to apologize but nothing comes out. You’ll have time to reconnect later. Backup comes quickly which is enough to arrest all five individuals involved. They’re brought back to the BAU where you discover your parents are. Your mom and dad run over to you, and you run into their arms with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m so sorry for leaving,” you cry. “I didn't mean for all of this to happen.”

“We’re glad you’re okay, baby. You’re safe now,” your mom says.

The paramedics met you at the BAU to assess your injuries which are minor. You were treated for your bruised wrists and the small cuts on your face from the branches. You and Spencer stand off to the side while your parents are with Ben, Kylen, and the rest of the BAU.

“I’d like to take all five of them back to Yacleira if possible. They will face Yacleiran justice,” Elliot says.

“Of course,” Hotch nods. “Interpol will be notified of this as well.”

“I’ll call my contacts,” Emily offers.

You look at your parents and sigh sadly. You know what’s coming next. They know you’re here and it’s not like they will leave without you. You’re old school. They won’t break tradition for you.

“I’m sorry for keeping this a secret from you.”

“No, don’t be. I shouldn’t have left.”

“Spencer, I can’t stay here. My parents will be taking me back to Yacleira where I’m to marry Prince Henry of Vosharia. I thought… well, I thought I was the type of girl who could have what everyone else had. It doesn’t matter anymore, I guess.”

“It’ll always matter.”

“Not to someone like me.” You pull Spencer in to kiss him, and he kisses you back like it’s the last kiss you’ll ever share. Maybe it will be. The thought breaks your heart. “No matter what happens, Spencer, you were the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You look at the briefing room and see both your parents watching you and Spencer. He hates to see you walk out of his life but what can he do when the King and Queen of Yacleira calls back their Princess?

He stands on the side and lets it happen. What’s a man like him going to be able to provide for a woman like you?

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