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ihavemanyhusbands · 2 months ago

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Imperator

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Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

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"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

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“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched.

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike.

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone.

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him.

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned.

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it.

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally.

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place.

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him.

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again.

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more.

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have.

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh.

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead.

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating, but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers.

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful.

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth.

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus.

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you.

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it.

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs.

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were.

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too.

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more.

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all.

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more.

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,” he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge.

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could.

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine.

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled.

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it.

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards.

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered.

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you.

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer.

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you.

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through.��

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again.

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest.

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

#lucius verus x reader #lucius verus x fem!reader #lucius verus smut #lucius verus fanfiction #gladiator fanfiction #lucius verus #x reader #minors dni

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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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darkmatilda · 2 months ago

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𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: if you were to look back, you would realize you had loved him forever. from the first glance, well, the first conversation in the garage of your family home during the christmas. but although time passed and you did everything you could to get his attention, you eventually realized he would never love you the way he loved your sister. the way you loved him.

𝐜𝐨𝐧��𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x jareau!female!reader, angst, looots of angst prepare some tissues, unrequited love, reader is a theater/drama student, comparing herself to her sister, feeling of not being enough, unsupportive family, extremely overdramatic, the reader is delusional af and obsessively in love, reader smokes, inspired by lana's song "tomorrow never came"

𝐚/𝐧: it'a a request from lovely @lillaberry you asked me about my fav lana's song and i had huge problem with choosing just one, probably sth from "norman f*cking rockwell" like happiness is a butterfly or mariners apartment complex :> i have no idea what happened, but at some point, this story just started living its own life, i don't like it

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.4k

Your friends always joked about how quickly you fell in love.

All it took was one interaction with someone—a small gesture, words that impressed you, a lingering glance, or holding a door open. And you were utterly smitten.

A psychologist would later tell you it probably stemmed from a lack of male attention during your upbringing. You shared one father with two sisters, and he couldn’t give you all the care and attention you needed. Then, he completely dropped off the radar. He left, and you were left with just your mom and JJ. Just the two of them.

Coming back, you weren’t a heartbreaker, a woman jumping from flower to flower. Maybe you fell in love quickly, but faithfully. A bit obsessively, as others said, but you preferred to call it “with all of yourself.” It sounded more poetic, subtle, and didn’t create an image in your mind of yourself dressed in a straitjacket, banging against the walls of a room without doors. Coming back again, this particular stage of your love life began exactly on Christmas Day, your first after starting college.

Since Dad left and your sister—well, you spent them very intimately. Mom prepared two, maybe three dishes, Aunt Martha brought a Pecan Pie (from the store, but pretended she baked it herself), and you and JJ baked gingerbread cookies early in the morning, decorating them for half the day. You were just shoving two gingerbread cookies into your mouth at once, leaning with your elbows on the kitchen counter, while your sister was busy setting the table.

"So, when is your friend arriving?" you asked, a few crumbs falling from your mouth. You brushed them off the counter and onto the floor.

"He should be here in about fifteen minutes. If he arrives earlier, he'll probably wait by the door until the exact hour strikes. That's Spencer," JJ snorted, smoothing her hands over the red tablecloth. "And stop saying friend like that. There's really nothing between us."

"Uh-huh. And that's why you invited him here for Christmas?"

She leaned against her hip, looking at you more seriously.

"Not everyone has the chance to spend the day with their loved ones. I didn't want him to be alone, okay?"

You raised your hands in mock surrender, still holding a gingerbread in one as a defensive gesture. Your sister sounded almost stern, just like your mom. Speaking of mom, someone slapped your hand.

"For god's sake, you're going to eat all the gingerbread. Do something, help JJ. Aunt Martha will be here soon..."

"She'll be fifteen minutes late, like always. She read somewhere that the Queen of England does that.”

"And when will your friend arrive?" Mom ignored your critical remark and turned to your older sister.

She had already opened her mouth to answer, probably saying the same thing she told you, when the doorbell rang.

"It must be him," she said and went to let him in.

Mom subtly adjusted her hairstyle.

"I saw that," you muttered.

"Oh, be quiet," she shot back.

Two people walked into the living room, where, in addition to a huge Christmas tree, there was also a fireplace decorated with spruce ornaments and stockings. The first was, of course, your sister, and the second was a tall man with an almost boyish face. Slim, you might even say, skinny. He was dressed elegantly, in a light shirt with a tie peeking out from under a black vest, the tie neatly tied at his neck. You immediately had the impression that he dressed like this every day, simply by the fact that everything fit him so well. Years ago, your second sister decided to introduce her boyfriend to your parents. He wanted to impress them with his elegant appearance, but even though you were very young at the time, you clearly remembered how uncomfortable he seemed in that kind of clothing, constantly adjusting something.

"You must be Spencer," greeted your mom with a wide smile, stepping forward. He shook her hand, and you noted in your mind that his grip was very weak, almost filled with hesitation. Well, he probably felt a bit awkward spending Christmas with strangers.

"That's right, ma'am," he replied, his hand falling back along his side. "I really...really appreciate the invitation."

"Oh, don't be silly, it's nothing. Do you work with JJ?"

"Yes, ma'am. We're on the same team."

His gaze slowly started to sweep the room, finally landing on you. Without moving from your spot, you waved at him. Behind Spencer, JJ crossed her arms and looked at you, turning her head in annoyance. You almost rolled your eyes, but instead, you simply got up with a martyr's expression and offered him your hand. Just as you suspected, his grip was gentle, unsure.

"I'm glad you're here," you said after introducing yourself. His face showed surprise, and you chuckled. "It's you Aunt Martha will bombard with questions. And her unapologetic criticism. Not me.Yay!"

His eyes widened in horror. They were dark and honest, one of those they call windows to the soul. JJ quickly grabbed him by the elbow and led him further inside.

"She was just joking," you managed to hear.

You were not. Aunt Martha and your mom shared one personality trait: meddling in other people's affairs and offering unsolicited opinions. The difference was that mom did it behind people's backs, secretly, so that the person being discussed never heard it, and their perfect image remained intact. Her sister didn’t care about that. And her favorite target for attack was you.

Spencer helped set the table despite the objections. He answered your mom's personal questions with precision and logic, which you found rather amusing. You wondered if he was always like that, or if stress just made him act this way. The only thing you knew about him from JJ was that he was a genius and had a doctorate at such a young age. Or maybe she had said a lot more, but that was the only detail that stuck with you, as a student, terrified at the very thought of a master's thesis.

Queen Elizabeth, or rather Aunt Martha, arrived fashionably late as usual, a good fifteen minutes behind schedule, immediately throwing out comments about the unshoveled driveway and how she almost died because of it. Oh, and also about how her neighbor's son is probably gay because he got an earring. Actually, that last issue seemed to bother her the most.

"I'm telling you, he was such a normal guy," she complained, setting down her bought, or rather freshly baked, pie on the kitchen island. "Used to be, anyway. Now, who knows what's going on in his head. Anyway, it's nice to see you, my darlings. JJ!" She embraced the girl tightly, planting kisses on her cheeks with a loud smacking sound.

You winced at the very sound of it, catching Spencer's eye. Your earlier comment must have scared him, because he was staring at your aunt as if she were holding an axe. She stopped, giving him a penetrating look from head to toe.

"And who’s this handsome young man? Darling sister, did you have a son I forgot about?" She laughed as if she’d told a brilliant joke. She pulled the tense Spencer towards her, kissing him on the cheek. "Of course, I’m just kidding, sweetheart. I heard JJ was bringing someone..."

When it was your turn, you reluctantly submitted to her kisses. At least this time, she didn’t have that awful purple lipstick, so there was no trace of it left on your cheeks.

“Oh my God, you really wore that for Christmas?” she almost wailed, placing her hands on your shoulders. It wasn’t that you were dressed inappropriately, just comfortably, instead of elegantly. Aunt Martha pinched you in the side. “Or maybe you’ve put on a little weight, huh? Trying to hide it? I bet college doesn’t stress you out enough to lose your appetite.”

“Actually, I have a lot of stress,” you admitted, sticking out your lower lip. It probably would’ve been better if you’d just kept quiet, but you couldn’t help yourself. “We’re putting on our first play in a real theater in January. We have rehearsals non-stop…”

“Oh, nonsense,” Aunt Martha dismissed it. “Shall we sit down at the table already? I’m starving…”

You did as she asked. The topic of your studies always came back like a boomerang, in the form of mockery. Your mom, and really no one in your immediate family, supported your choice, but at least they didn’t criticize it openly. They tried to talk you out of it, saying that after a theater degree, you wouldn’t find any work. But… you simply didn’t know what else you could do with your life. You didn’t have a logical mind or a talent for math like your oldest sister, nor the ambition or desire to help others like JJ. You were born a humanist, you liked to read, and even more so, perform all those scenes in front of an audience.

Aunt Martha just couldn’t get over it. And of course, even then, after just fifteen minutes, her eyes landed right on you.

“To be honest, I was hoping you’d drop it after the first semester. But obviously, no one has talked any sense into you yet. I’m telling you, give her a year, and she’ll come to her senses.”

You knew, you had learned that arguing with her was pointless. Soon, she would give up and latch onto someone else...

"Just look at JJ," she continued stubbornly. "She chose a respectable field, has a respectable job. Sure, her work might be a bit macabre for a woman, but at least she helps others. She’s doing something useful for others, for the world. And you?"

"Auntie," JJ gently scolded her, casting an apologetic glance your way.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Spencer setting down his fork, clasping his hands on his lap in a visibly uncertain, lost gesture. You could have gotten up, pushed your chair back with force. You could have done that, you could have even spilled your wine on your aunt's dress—your dramatic flair was enough to pull it off. And though your hands clenched into fists under the table, your knuckles turning white, you said nothing. It wasn’t worth causing a scene.

Instead, you were waiting for the end of dinner like salvation. And when it finally came, you disappeared into the garage, rubbing your chest, trying to loosen the strange tightness. The place had been empty ever since your father moved out and took his car with him. Without hesitation, you reached into your pants pocket and pulled out a pack with the remaining four cigarettes and a lighter. You felt a bit embarrassed by the fact that you were an adult, yet still hiding your smoking. Neither your mom nor JJ would approve of it. Neither would Aunt Martha.

But you needed it to calm your trembling hands after dinner.

You had barely lit the cigarette and taken a drag when someone entered through the door from the house. You quickly hid the cigarette behind your back. Jesus, you were really acting pathetic.

"Hey, it's me," Spencer said, quietly closing the door behind him.

The garage was dimly lit, and you couldn’t fully see his face. But he must have noticed the puff of smoke escaping from behind your back. You shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, uncertain of how to act. Did it concern him enough that he would tell JJ?

“You scared me,” you admitted, deciding to finally relax. You held out the pack toward him. “Did you come here to smoke too? Want one?”

“No…” he denied, clearing his throat. “I don’t smoke. I came… I came to check on you.”

“Check on me?” Surprised, you nearly choked on the smoke.

Even in the dim light, you noticed his shoulders tense up.

"I... Well... You know... those comments from your aunt were really awful," he finally said. "It was clear they hurt you."

For a moment, you were silent, your ears filled again with everything you heard that day.

"Maybe she had a point," you muttered under your breath, pausing to bring the cigarette to your lips. You tapped off the ash. "I have no idea what I’ll do after these studies. But whatever it is, it won't be as useful as what JJ does. Or you."

"You study theater, right? More important than whether what you're doing is useful is whether it makes you happy. Does it?"

You hesitated before answering, crushing the ash with your shoe.

"I think so."

Spencer was silent for a moment too, and the silence was so thick you could hear his breath.

"Okay, I have no idea how good of an actress you are. But judging by how you kept your cool during that dinner, probably brilliant. You've always wanted to be one?"

His questions took the words from you, filling you with a strange feeling. You realized that no one, none of your closest people, had ever asked you those things. They were too busy criticizing and warning you. Even JJ, though she supported you and you deeply appreciated that, mostly expressed concern rather than genuine interest.

"I can't really answer that," you said, the end of your cigarette now the only thing left in your hand. "I guess no one really knows who they are meant to be. And if someone does, I envy them. What about you?" you asked, "Did you always want to be a serial killer hunter?"

"A profiler, you mean?" he replied.

"Call it what you want."

He shook his head with a small chuckle.

"That's a tough question, I have to admit."

“See, that's too existential. Don’t you have any other questions?”

“Hmm, I think I can come up with some,” he mused for a moment. “You mentioned you’re putting on a play in January. What’s it about?”

You told him about the preparations for Antigone, your role as Ismene. It turned out that he knew the play very well. No, he really knew it—not just fragments of information from high school lessons. Engrossed in your discussion, neither of you noticed how much time had passed or how long you’d been gone. It’s possible others were wondering where you’d disappeared to, but at that moment, you couldn’t care less. For the first time, you were talking to someone outside your university who actually knew so much about theatre. You couldn’t stop talking, your words tumbling out so fast that your cheeks turned red from lack of air.

When JJ announced that she’d invited the doctor for Christmas, it never crossed your mind that you'd find such a great conversationalist in him. You had imagined a stiff, grim man in a lab coat. Not a funny, versatile guy like him. He could be a bit awkward at times, but in his case, it was endearing.

Eventually, you returned home, to the living room. Aunt Martha had left early in the evening, and it was just the three of you left, the atmosphere relaxed.

"Are you okay?" JJ whispered to you at one point, her lips pressed together in concern.

You nodded, genuinely. You'd already managed to push the dinner out of your mind. You were mostly thinking about... Spencer. He stayed late, and you all played cards. Everyone, including your mom. A few times, he caught you cheating, and you noticed a sharp gleam in his dark eyes, but he didn’t say a word. You tried again to draw him into a conversation as long and passionate as the one you’d had in the garage, but the presence of the rest of your family made it difficult.

They joked a lot with JJ, sometimes talking only between themselves about people and things you had no clue about. You’d interrupt then, desperately trying to steer the conversation toward something you could follow. But whenever their gazes met again, their smiles aligning at the same moment, you felt like the annoying younger sister, just a nuisance to them.

JJ made him show off some card tricks. You wondered if there was anything he couldn’t do, anything he wasn’t knowledgeable about. In your eyes, as the hours passed, he started to become... everything.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Dressed in your pajamas and robe, you smoked another cigarette in the garage. Though you’d only spent a few hours together, most of them not even alone, in your mind, a certain thought began to form more vividly—one both unsettling and exhilarating.

You had fallen in love.

Desperately, you hoped JJ might invite Spencer over for dinner again, giving you another chance to see him. But it didn’t happen. Still, Spencer filled your thoughts every single day, to the point where you couldn’t focus on your classes or the rehearsals.

Rehearsals! Everyone was incredibly stressed about how you’d perform. On a real stage, not just the small one at your university, in front of a real audience. The nerves consumed you so much that you burned through pack after pack of cigarettes, probably smelling like an uncleaned chimney. You were on the verge of asking JJ for his number and inviting him out, openly and without any pretense. Just to stop thinking about him, even for a moment...

You were given two tickets to hand out to your loved ones. One, of course, went to JJ. The other…

“Sorry, sweetheart,” your mom said over the phone, just a day before the performance. “I’m heading to Aunt Martha’s today and staying the whole weekend. She’s feeling awful, you know her heart issues.”

You didn’t know who else you could invite. Dad always grimaced at the mere mention of the word theater. And then JJ suggested she could ask Spencer if he’d like to come. You stared at her, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to kiss her. Out of gratitude, of course. No, that wasn’t enough. You wanted to fall at her feet and kiss them with tears of joy, thanking her endlessly. In your eyes, she now had angelic wings and a glowing halo around her head.

Sweet JJ. Best sister in the whole world.

Of course, you agreed.

But the thought of him watching your performance only intensified your stress. JJ had said she wanted to see you before the show to wish you luck. You suggested meeting both of them by the fountain near the theater—the one where you often smoked before rehearsals, either with your classmates or alone. Already dressed in your costume, you walked to the meeting spot on shaky legs. It was all about to begin. Too soon.

You lit a cigarette without giving a second thought to the fact that your sister was about to show up. Even when you heard footsteps behind you as you sat on the bench facing the fountain, you didn’t put it out. But to your surprise, when you turned around, it wasn’t JJ—it was Spencer.

“Nerves getting to you?” he asked as a greeting.

Your stomach leapt into your throat, and something inside you fluttered. You hadn’t seen him in three weeks, not long enough for him to have changed in any way. Yet, it felt like you were seeing him for the first time in years, and your joy at the sight of him was nearly overwhelming.

You swallowed, trying your best to seem casual.

“Doesn’t it show?” You raised the hand holding the cigarette, your fingers trembling visibly.

"Isn't it cold?" he asked, stepping closer and stopping by the bench. You moved over, making space for him. You were, indeed, freezing. You'd come outside in your stage costume, without any jacket or coat. Spencer looked you over carefully. "You know, I have some doubts about whether you could actually get Martens and silk dresses in ancient Thebes."

"Of course, you could. Martens, the Greek god of footwear. Haven't you heard of him?"

With amusement, he raised an eyebrow.

"This is a modern interpretation of Antigone," you explained finally, pointing again at your outfit. "Here, she's a feminist, a force of resistance against Creon's patriarchal power. These shoes paired with the delicate dress are a subtle expression of Ismene's rebellion. What do you think? Don't you like the idea? You seem surprised. Did you think it was going to be a traditional version of the play?"

"Oh, well, that's exactly what I thought," he admitted, blinking twice, lost in thought. "But I'm not disappointed or anything," he added hastily. "Actually, I'm... even more curious to see this play. Your interpretation."

After these words, he shifted uncertainly in his place, still staring at you. Finally, he sighed and began to remove his brown coat.

"Take it, okay? You're shaking, and... it's just unpleasant to watch," he said.

"No, stop," you tried to stop him, though deep down you couldn't wait for his coat to fall over your bare shoulders. "It's just for a moment, I'll go back inside soon..."

"...And you'd better not go on stage all gray and stiff from the cold. Really, you can... you can take it."

You pretended to give in. You handed him your cigarette to hold while you slipped your arms into both sleeves. At the same time, you tried not to show too much impatience. A pleasant warmth spread across your back, the protective layer, as well as the scent of his cologne.

"Thank you," you said quietly, unable to stop a small smile from forming. A similar one appeared on his face as well. You both sat in silence for a moment, not sure what else to say, as so much time had passed since your last conversation. You didn’t want to bring up your sister, but... her delay started to worry you.

"Where... where is JJ, actually? We were supposed to meet here," you asked.

"Oh," Spencer sighed, as if he had just remembered something. "Right... sorry, she asked me to let you know that she won’t be able to make it on time. She’ll get to the performance, but she'll be a little late. She had to stay at work a bit longer."

You nodded with disappointment, though deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a little pleased with how things had turned out. You could meet your sister anytime, but with Spencer? You needed a good excuse.

"You know... I'm really glad you came.”

He shrugged dismissively, avoiding your gaze when you tried to look him in the eyes.

"Don’t mention it... really. I’m the one who’s glad you agreed when JJ decided to invite me," he said.

You fell silent after his words, something dawning on you. While you would be performing on stage, the two of them would be sitting right next to each other, together. Before the show started, they’d probably talk again about all those things and people you didn’t know, from outside your world. And you wouldn’t be around to analyze every little smile, to discover what might lie behind them. Friendship, or something more? Though before, during the holidays, when you hadn’t met him yet, you had often joked that something might be between him and JJ, it was only then that it really hit you.

You pressed the cigarette to your lips, not realizing it had already gone out.

If it came down to it, who were you to compete with JJ? You loved her, but you were also painfully aware that she was everything you could never be. The perfect daughter, the pride of the family.

"I have to go," you said, your voice sounding strange, as if it came from somewhere outside of your body.

You tried to take off his coat, but he stopped you with a gesture of his hand.

"You can give it to me after the show. Honestly, I deeply hate that saying, because of how utterly meaningless it is... though maybe I just understand it too literally... anyway, break a leg."

Despite your earlier gloomy thoughts and conclusions, you let out a laugh.

JJ arrived as promised, during the performance. You were too focused on your role to notice her entrance, and of course, it was dark in the theater. The way she hugged you afterward made you feel guilty for all the things you'd thought about her that day. All the hidden jealousy, not just about Spencer, but about everything.

She suggested a dinner afterward, and the three of you spent a pleasant evening together. Not once that night did you suspect it would become a tradition. That this pair would start attending all your performances, becoming faces you could look for in the crowd. Your friends had their parents there to cheer them on, you had them.

Around that time, your relationship started to get really strange.

As time passed, the awareness that you were in love with Spencer became a fact coded into your soul. Undeniable and constant. Always present. At the same time, you didn’t see each other alone too often. Your mom liked him enough to invite him to the family home frequently, which he accepted. A few times you went to the movies with him and JJ, once you dragged them both to an art exhibition because you were afraid that if you invited him alone, he might refuse.

He quickly became a family friend, including of course, yours. But you and he, alone, saw each other... incredibly rarely. The only moments were those before the performances. You’d wait for them by the bench near the fountain, and he would always arrive before JJ. You’d spend about fifteen minutes talking, just the two of you. In your eyes, those fifteen minutes held an indescribable, sacred weight. If you could, you would’ve built an altar for each of those minutes and laid before it every morning, on your knees, for an hour. It was starting to sound a bit obsessive, wasn’t it?

But over time, it became insufficient. Not knowing how else to fill the emptiness that his absence left in you, you started sending him messages—simple good mornings and good nights. Sometimes you'd ask how his day had gone. Once, by accident, you called him. He picked up, and you ended up chatting. You started doing it regularly. Beautiful moments, where two separate spaces were filled only by your voices, without JJ's presence.

These conversations were like therapy for you after every meeting with the two of them. Because during them...

It dawned on you how close they were. The two of them. They were connected by their work, their passion, their interests. And you had no fucking clue why that damn Ted Bundy killed people, or what the hell the reason behind it was, other than the fact that he was a psychopath. What was the actual difference between a psychopath and a sociopath? Murder and manslaughter—what was the difference there?

Of course, it wasn't that they only talked about that. In fact, they rarely touched on their work in front of you, but still, it bothered you to such an extent that over time, your apartment started to fill with criminology books, which you shoved under the bed when your sister came over. You didn’t know what you were trying to achieve—drawing his attention?

But there was one thing that drove you into true psychological devastation. The smiles Spencer gave JJ. Sometimes she’d say something, joke, tell a story, and he’d listen to her with that exact expression on his face. A discreet tenderness and... and... you couldn't keep describing it any longer. You felt like jumping out of the window just at the thought of it. Because you were sure he never looked at you that way. No matter how hard you tried to impress him, how many card tricks you learned, how many books on psychopaths you read.

He still saw you only as his little sister.

But you... you still tried. Because even though sometimes you felt like it was all pointless, most of the time you were filled with that hopeless hope. He became close to you, not just in a romantic sense. You saw in him a support you couldn’t find in your family. He was the one you could turn to with problems you faced at college; he didn’t roll his eyes or dismiss your issues, but listened with genuine concern. He made you feel like your career path might actually have some meaning.

That's why you called him that day.

There was this one particular day of the year. Especially painful. The anniversary of the day your sister took her own life. At some point, you didn't even know when, you and JJ had made an unspoken decision to spend that day apart. She took it particularly hard, claiming she needed isolation. You, on the other hand... wandered around your apartment like a ghost, unable to focus on anything, searching for some kind of embrace that could ease the pain.

“Hey,” he answered on the other end of the line, always sounding a little surprised when greeting you, as if he hadn't expected you to call. “What’s... what’s going on?”

“Spencer,” you only whispered his name, glued to the couch in your apartment, unable to move for the past hour. Saying his name alone helped a little. Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. “Sorry for calling... but…”

“But?” he asked, his tone concerned. “Is something... something wrong?”

You nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see it. It was funny, though, because it felt like you could see him. At least a vivid image of him in his apartment, a place you’d never been, but somehow, you knew how it looked. In his post-work clothes, with the longer strands of hair tucked behind one ear on one side. Those brown eyes.

“Could you come? To… to mine?”

You heard him swallow nervously.

"Sure. But... never mind, I'll be there soon. Just... wait."

He arrived, just as promised.

You hugged him for the first time since you had known each other. You initiated it, sinking into his arms, burying your face in his chest and breathing deeply. You had imagined this moment countless times... and it didn’t meet your expectations. You probably hoped he would embrace you with some hidden strength, almost crushing you and kissing the top of your head. Instead, his hug was surprised and withdrawn.

You stepped back a step, and for a moment, you both stared at each other in silence. You weren’t really sure what to say.

"Today... today is the anniversary of her death," you finally blurted out.

Actually... you weren't even sure if he knew about it. Spencer straightened up with understanding. So JJ must have told him.

"Oh... now I get it," he said slowly. He rubbed his forehead, still caught in some confusion, disorientation. Well, you had to admit, you had put him in a somewhat awkward position.

"That explains... that explains why JJ was acting like this today," he murmured under his breath. You gave him a questioning look. "She was very quiet. Closed off."

"That's how she handles grief," you explained, tightening your cardigan around yourself. "She isolates herself and doesn’t want to see anyone. Not even me or Mom."

Spencer fell silent for a moment, his expression distant and blank. It hurt, and you wished he would be present, right there, next to you. That’s why you called him. Not for him to drift back to thoughts of her. It pained you, your own selfishness. Your own cruelty.

"Don’t you think we should... at least check on her?" he suggested uncertainly.

You quickly shook your head in disagreement.

"As I said, she doesn’t want to see anyone. I think we should... we should let her have her solitude."

"Alright. You're her sister, you... I believe you know what's best for her," his tone sounded as if he was trying to convince himself that his words were true. He sighed again. "But I'm glad you decided to call me. How... how can I help you?"

You weren’t saying this out of jealousy, you honestly believed it was the best thing for your sister. For a moment, silence fell between you again. He didn’t seem convinced, but he finally sighed.

You moved your lips, wanting to say I don't know but no words came out.

"Just," you began, swallowing. "Be with me."

He hugged you... and that hug was closer to how you had imagined it once. Much closer. Most of all, it didn't just sink into your body like a toy; he actively tried to make it clear that he was there, that he was with you, and you could rely on him. And you had no reason not to believe it.

You spent the whole evening together. Watching TV wasn’t the most ambitious pastime, but it was just a less depressing excuse to sit in silence on the couch. Lying, actually. You rested your pillow on his lap, placed your heads together. The faces on the screen blurred, you didn’t hear any sounds, you only felt his hand gently, occasionally brushing your back. He did it at irregular intervals, as if afraid you would catch him in the act. It was a short, fleeting motion, and you wondered afterward if you had imagined it.

You walked him to the door when it was time for him to leave. You said goodbye, but didn’t close the door to the apartment, standing still in it.

“Spencer,” you said, when he started walking down the stairs. Before he turned, he flinched. The air in your lungs had been gathering into one big, terribly heavy ball for some time, and you could barely release it. “You’re going to check on her, right?”

He opened his mouth, but said nothing. Finally, he lowered his head, and when he looked back at you, there was so much determination, so much sense of duty in his gaze.

"I..." he began, taking a breath. "I have to do this. Even if she doesn't want to see anyone. I wouldn't forgive myself if I found out later that I wasn’t there when she needed someone."

You understood it. You loved him for it. You were grateful. At the same time, you hated him, though it wasn't hate aimed at him. Nor at JJ.

It was hate aimed solely at yourself.

You allowed your desire to have him all to yourself to overshadow your sister.

The last play you performed during your first year of college was The Sorrows of Young Werther.

It was a huge event, a lot of work, rehearsals, and stress. Your contact with both Spencer and JJ suffered because you simply didn’t have the time. All of it… took a toll on your mental state. You were someone who threw herself deeply into the roles you played. You imagined the words spoken on stage as if they came from your own mouth, reflecting your true thoughts and desires. And even though you didn’t play the lead role, the suffering Werther, you began to live the play.

If woken up in the middle of the night with a slap to the face, you would’ve been able to recite the entire script, having read it so many times. You wrote on it with a pencil, highlighted passages, as if it were your personal Bible. At the same time, it filled you with a sense of patheticness. Was there anything you could do to avoid the fate of Werther?

It was evening, and you hadn’t left your apartment that day. You couldn’t even remember if you had gotten out of bed at all. Eventually, unable to look at the crossed-out script anymore, you shoved it under the bed. You had accumulated a lot of things there. You picked up a deck of cards.

You remembered that Christmas, the one where everything began. The Christmas tree and the three of you sitting on the carpet. Spencer, showing some odd trick, and you and JJ, trying to guess how he did it. You reveled in the memory of the early stage of your infatuation.

The phone rang.

"Can you come over?" JJ's voice came through without any greeting. Normally, you would have joked, asked how about a hello? “But she sounded too serious, frighteningly serious. You swallowed. "Please."

You started getting dressed before you even agreed. Because of course, you did. You knew it wasn’t about something trivial, something insignificant. That didn’t fit with JJ. Something real must have happened…

In moments like these, your complicated relationship with your sister was simplified. It was broken down into its basic elements, leaving only what was fundamental. The bond. A simple, pure sisterly bond that could be stretched but never broken.

You stepped inside, the door was open. That alone unnerved you. Your heart leaped into your throat as you heard her call you into the bathroom. JJ was sitting on the closed toilet seat, clutching something tightly in her hand.

"God, what happened? You have no idea how scared that phone call made me..."

"Can you look at this?" she interrupted, her usually tanned face was pale, just white, like snow or a blank sheet of paper.

You blinked in confusion and looked at the object she handed you. When you realized what it was, a sound escaped your lips, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

"Are you... are you... is this...?"

"I have no fucking idea, just check!"

You took the pregnancy test from her, and it slipped from your hands.

You stared at the positive result.

JJ wasn’t trembling, her body unnaturally stiff, her face unreadable. You didn’t know what to say, you had no idea what her stance was. It didn’t seem like it was a planned pregnancy; she hadn’t even been seeing anyone… Suddenly, a wave of terror gripped your back. What if...?

She could no longer wait for you to deliver the news. You were speechless, unable to say anything. Almost ripping the test from your hand, her mouth opened in shock.

You slowly approached to touch her shoulder. That gentle touch quickly turned into an embrace.

"JJ," you whispered into her neck, still terrified of what you might hear. But you pushed all the theories aside for once, focusing only on her. "What... what are you going to do now?"

Your sister held onto the hug, but when she pulled away, her eyes were filled with tears. Happy tears.

"I’m going to be a mom."

There it was—the happy news. God, you felt like you were about to start crying too. The only thing stopping you was...

"But what about... what about... who..." The question was shockingly hard to phrase. Each version of it sounded brutal in its own way. "Who’s the father?"

“His name is Will. We’ve been together for a while… I haven’t told anyone, we haven’t seen each other much lately and…”

You sank back into her arms, happy, truly happy. For a moment, a thought crossed your mind—that it could have been someone else’s child. You didn’t know what you would’ve done if that had turned out to be true. You stayed with her for several hours, both of you behaving as though you’d lost your minds. You took turns crying—when one of you stopped, the other started.

"But... you're the first person I've told," she said when you were about to leave. "And I want you to keep this just between us for now, okay? Don’t tell Mom, and not even Spencer."

"Of course, JJ, I wouldn't..."

You were a terrible sister. As soon as you left the apartment, you quickened your pace, determined to break the promise you had made. And you had nothing to defend yourself with, except for that surreal vision that had formed in your mind. You thought… that if Spencer found out…everything he felt for JJ would have to fade away. That was the way things went: your love interest moves on with someone else, you suffer for a while, and then you move on. Or not, but in fewer cases.

In any case, you fooled yourself into thinking that once he knew, he would turn in another direction. Toward you. The one who had loved him from the first sight. Well, more precisely, from the first conversation in the garage. You dialed his number, walking through the dark city, which suddenly seemed so small. So insignificant. All those people around, who were they? You felt like a madwoman, almost running without knowing where. Or maybe you did know. Or rather, your legs knew.

The fountain and the bench right next to it, where you spent time before every one of your plays. Just the two of you. All those conversations swirled in your ears so vividly that you didn’t even hear Spencer speak on the other end.

"We need to meet," you announced, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. "Please, it’s important. I need to tell you something. At our bench, okay?"

He was silent, clearly taken aback.

"You mean... like, now?" he asked, followed by a confused sigh. "I’m not in town right now… I’m visiting my mom," he explained, swallowing hard. You’d never met her, but you knew it was a sensitive subject for him.

You came to a stop, your chest heaving as you caught sight of the fountain in the distance—the destination of your hurried march. "I really can’t today," he added.

"Tomorrow then," you decided, undeterred.

"Can you at least tell me what’s going on? Don’t take this the wrong way, but… you sound really off. I think… I think I’m starting to worry…"

"Don’t worry. It’s nothing urgent. It can wait. I just need to tell you something, and it has to be face-to-face."

On the other end, he cleared his throat, still clearly off-balance, but eventually agreed. Just before you hung up, you drew in a deep breath and blurted out more words, almost without thinking.

"It’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. I want to…" you paused, a strange laugh escaping your lips. "Confess. It’s about… my feelings."

Spencer remained silent. He didn’t hang up, just stayed quiet. You couldn’t even hear his breathing, as if he’d moved the phone away from his ear, away from his mouth. You hesitated, suddenly hit by a thought. What if you… scared him? You pulled the phone away from your own ear for a moment as well, trying to calm your breathing, which had turned uneven, almost like a sob.

“So, tomorrow?” you asked to confirm.

The silence stretched on, and you nervously started biting your nail.

“Tomorrow’s gonna rain,” he said suddenly, his voice so soft you almost missed it. You frowned in confusion, letting out a questioning hum. “Tomorrow’s gonna rain. Let’s just meet at my place instead.”

It seemed logical, but somehow you were stuck on the vision of the two of you in that specific place. That bench, where he gave you his coat when you were freezing in your Ismene costume.

“No, please. I want it to be there. The rain… the rain doesn’t bother me,” you insisted.

“Okay,” he said with a hint of resignation, sounding a bit like he was giving in. “Okay, okay. Tomorrow. Fine.”

You slipped your phone into your pocket, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Even though you had nothing to do in this part of town, you could’ve just headed back home. Yet, you paused for a moment in front of the fountain. That’s when you realized you’d left your cigarettes at JJ’s apartment. Oddly, you didn’t care. Only one thing, one thought felt important right now.

Tomorrow. Sweet, long-awaited tomorrow.

The fountain. The water flowing through it. The water that never stopped. Just like your love—constant, despite never being returned.

You sat down on the bench, a single tear slipping from your eye. Somehow... deep down, you already knew that tomorrow wouldn’t come. Not the tomorrow you’d imagined. Not the one that would stay true to your hopes, your dreams, and your visions.

In that moment, you felt connected to another version of yourself—one sitting on this very bench, despite the pouring rain and the relentless passing of hours.

Tomorrow. The tomorrow that never came.

taglist:

@she-wont-miss @mggslover @kakamixoxo @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @aristeia29 @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal mind #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds angst

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leclarifies · 3 months 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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just-aake · 3 months 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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paulyenvol6 · 4 months 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 · 9 months ago

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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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fanwarriorfictions · 2 months ago

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Help Me, Help You - Part Nine

Fenrys x F!Reader

Summary- Fenrys and Y/n both have a long way to go, but some good news brings them closer together

Warnings- Angst, they’re finally talking it out, a little sappy, slightly suggestive at the end

Series Masterlist

Part Nine

She fell asleep again, and Fenrys kept a steady watch over her, not daring to look away in case Maeve chased her from sleep again. He didn’t look up as Sartaq finally left with a quiet goodbye, the prince gently closing the door behind him as to not wake her. He just kept watching her, as if he could make sense of everything that had just happened.

He felt all the rolling emotions beneath his skin, the shock and agony, the fear and despair, the lust and something else. That something else was poised to strike at his heart, to scar him deeper than Maeve ever could so he ignored that vehemently.

His hand absently trailed over the smooth skin of his cheek, so soft, unmarked, like the skin was brand new, never even touched by the sun, only by her. He still couldn’t believe it, that she was a healer, that she had taken that scar from his skin without thought, so powerful, she was right to hide from Maeve. The queen wouldn’t have stopped at keeping her as a pet, power like that was threatening, especially to the valg.

There is a rolling nausea in his stomach at the reminder of the queen, of what she did to her pets, followed by great relief that Maeve had never found this female.

Y/n stirs in her sleep, shifting closer to him, as if she’d fall right off the edge. Fenrys can’t help the small smile on his lips as he watches her seek him out, and he rests his hand on her searching palm. She relaxes instantly, and it nearly shatters him.

Alone, she’d been alone for so long, trapped in the place her parents had died, with only a few visits from her brother to keep her sanity. He remembered the small leaves the male would take, Vaughan was never gone for more than a week or so, and he so rarely took those trips. Fenrys wonders if the male was scared someone would follow him, if Maeve would grow curious to where he’d gone.

He could see it, the order to follow the osprey to the small unassuming village on the edge of nowhere. Fenrys would’ve taken it, he took every chance he could to get away, to take Connall with him so Maeve wouldn’t set her sights on him.

He’d follow Vaughan to that little cottage by the lake, the water frozen solid except for the thin center. He’d watch as Y/n opened the door, her smile brighter than the sun, so happy to see her brother, it would have taken his breath away. Fenrys could see himself there, only long enough to watch those eyes assess him and his twin with that assessing glare, the anger shifting to fear when she realized who he was, who he served. He’d be helpless to stop the oath from tearing him back to Doranelle, where he’d have to tell Maeve exactly what and who he’d seen. He’d maybe see her once more, hissing and clawing at the males who dragged her before his queen, her brother unable to save her, Fenrys unable to do anything but watch as she was tucked away where Maeve kept her healers, close but hidden.

He understood why Vaughan had hidden her away, but he resented the male all the same for leaving her alone. More than that, he resented the dead queen who haunted every moment of their lives, even as ash on the wind.

Her head is pounding when she woke, a mixture of the fall she’d taken, and the pure exhaustion in her body. She tries to force her eyes to open, but the sunlight trickling in through the windows has her groaning in pain.

“Here,” Fenrys’s voice says beside her, a gentle hand on her cheek, “Drink.”

The order is followed by a cold glass pressing against her lips, sickly sweet liquid dancing across her tongue as she swallows three mouth fulls, soothing her sore throat.

“The healer dropped it off this morning for your head,” he says, taking the glass away and replacing it with his hand that gently swipes away the liquid dripping from the corner of her mouth.

She finally braves the light, squinting up at the male beside her. He’s sat in a chair from the sitting room pulled up by her bed, as if Fenrys had stayed beside her all night. That has her heart squeezing painfully in her chest.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

His hand lingers on her cheek, thumb brushing over her skin in a soft rhythm. Y/n purrs at the feeling eyes sliding shut in bliss. She feels warm like she’s intoxicated by the feeling, she wonders what exactly was that elixir the healer had gifted her.

Fenrys lets out a soft chuckle but doesn’t tease her for the cat like actions. He keeps brushing his thumb over her cheekbone and she has to fight the urge to nuzzle into his palm.

“Are you hungry?” His thumb doesn’t cease, still caressing her, “You slept through breakfast, lunch should be ready soon enough.”

She forces herself to look at him again despite the sleepiness that tugs at her. His features are relaxed, but his eyes hold all the raging emotions he’d had last night and the pain and sorrow hit her again.

“I-“

Fenrys shakes his head, the smooth skin of his cheek glowing golden in the sunlight streaming through the window, “Don’t say it again, kitten, it’s okay. Just tell me what you want to eat, I’m sure they have some of those little pastries you love left from breakfast.”

He hides it well, but not well enough to shield her heart from the pain she’d caused him, “That sounds perfect.”

He watches her for a moment longer, still holding her in his hand, “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

That nearly breaks her, “Okay.”

With one last swipe across her skin, he stands and walks to the door.

“Fenrys?”

He stills and turns towards her, she forces herself to sit up, only briefly wondering when and who’d changed her out of her lavender gown into the large white shirt.

Fenrys takes a step towards her, like he’s worried she’d fall right back down. He stops when she gives him a withering look, and he lets her struggle into a sitting position, leaning heavily on the pillows behind her.

“Thank you,” she says, eyeing the chair beside her, “for staying.”

Fenrys gives her a soft, sad smile, “Always, kitten.”

Fenrys avoided the crowded sitting room and the dining room to go straight to the kitchens. If any of the staff were surprised to see him there, no one said anything, only piled a tray high with pastries and fruits, some of the little sandwiches prepared for lunch, and two glasses of whatever fresh juice was in the crystal pitchers heading towards the dining hall.

He thought he’d make it back to Y/n’s room without being spotted but that hope dies less than a hall away.

“I didn’t quite believe him till now.”

Nesryn stands by the pillar marking the hall he needs to go down, her eyes soft and full of gentle warmth. Fenrys has the urge to turn his face away from the to observant woman but it’s no use, she’s already seen him, already figured out everything he was feeling even if he wasn’t sure himself.

“I was just coming to find you two,” she says, “I’d hoped to tell you over breakfast but Sartaq figured she was still resting.”

She mercifully doesn’t say anything else about the scar, Nesryn understands without having to be told to leave it alone. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to think about it, he spent the whole walk to and from the kitchens avoiding the sparkling floors beneath him, the reflection inside them.

“She just woke up,” Fenrys says, his brow furrowing as her words fully register, “What did you have to tell us?”

It was hard not to drop the tray in his hands and run down the hall to where Y/n still laid in her bed.

The door opens and Y/n startles, she’d nearly drifted back off while sitting up.

Her brain felt foggy and she desperately wanted to sleep but she forced herself to stay awake. Whatever the healer had given her had done its job a little to well, leaving her body relaxed and her mind blissfully blank of doubt and fear, perhaps it was not just for the pain, but for the mind as well.

“I’m surprised you’re still awake,” Fenrys says, taking the enormous tray in his hands and setting it on the bed beside her.

Her eyes roam over the spread of food, a ridiculous amount for just the two of them but she’s starving and isn’t going to complain.

Fenrys wordlessly sweeps food onto her plate, settling into his chair beside her while she eats the sweet pastries that had quickly became her favorites since they’d arrived, she hadn’t thought Fenrys had noticed.

He watches her eat, not touching his own food, and he doesn’t move a muscle while he waits for her to devour her plate. It takes her a moment, maybe a full tart, before she notes the oddity.

“Are you going to eat or just stare at me all day?”

Fenrys grins at her, at the slight bite in her tone, and it feels like the easy banter they’d had before arriving in this place, before everything had gone wrong. She wishes that grin met his eyes, wishes she couldn’t see past the carefully crafted walls he held around him. He is far from alright, in healing him, she’d broken something that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to fix.

“I wanted you to eat before I told you,” Fenrys shrugs, “I feel like you won’t have much of an appetite afterwards.”

She fidgets in her seat, suddenly nervous as to what he has to say, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Calm down, kitten,” Fenrys takes her fidgeting hand in his own, “I can see the wheels in that brain of yours spinning out of control, it’s okay. I have good news and bad news.”

His wicked smile stretches across his face, no longer tugging uncomfortably at the missing scar on his cheek, this was the smile her brother had told her about, the infamous Fenrys Moonbeam grin that had males and females, men and women, falling at his feet, why her brother had been firm that she would never meet the male. This smile promised mischief and fun, and Y/n felt her stomach flip in anticipation at whatever news he had up his sleeve.

“Bad news first,” Fenrys holds up a finger, “We need to pack our stuff and leave , like, now.”

Fenrys holds up that second finger before she can think to much about that, “Good news, Nesryn received word from Borte this morning, a fae osprey showed up on her doorstep and is being held by the Eridun clan. Not a prisoner Borte claims, but he isn’t slipping away this time.”

Her heart stops beating for one, two, three seconds, she goes so incredibly still that his grin falls to a worried expression, and then she’s leaping into his arms in an explosion of movement that sends them tumbling to the ground.

Fenrys shouts in surprise, wrapping his arms around her to shield her from the fall, she lands on top of him and she’s laughing wildly, her eyes filling with tears as she clings to him.

“I can’t tell if you’re happy or if you’re trying to kill me,” Fenrys says, and his arms around her waist hold so tightly that she’s sure he’s ready for either.

“I didn’t mean to I just, gods, I’m sorry,” she says, digging her face into the soft fabric of his shirt, not caring that her tears now soak through the material, her emotions overwhelming her, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he orders gently, shifting to sit them upright, the motion has her sitting in his lap, his arms still clutching her tightly to his chest, “There is nothing to be sorry for.”

She pulls back, shifting in his lap to look at him. He looks at her with raw emotion that has her reaching for him, the healing powers in her chest desperately trying to fix what had been broken, to mend him, but she can’t. She doesn’t even know where to start.

Her fingers trail over the smooth skin on his cheek, and his eyes shutter, closing before she can see too much. She knows he isn’t just talking about her outburst, or the tears staining his shirts, he truly doesn’t blame her for what she had done last night. But she blames herself.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, “I never meant to hurt you, to take away something that meant so much to you. I know you kept it for a reason and I had no right-“

“Stop,” he orders again, his hand capturing her own, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I did,” she says letting their hands fall between them, “I know you don’t blame me, but I wouldn’t be mad if you hated me for this.”

Her head falls, all the elation from knowing her brother was safe and would be waiting for her was muted by the agony that no amount of calming elixir could dampen.

“I kept it to punish myself,” Fenrys says, fast like the truth was ripped from his lips before he could change his mind, “For what happened in Doranelle, to Connall. I kept it so I could stop seeing his face in every mirror I looked in.”

Her heart shatters all over again, and she wants to cry but she doesn’t let the tears fall, this wasn’t about her. She stays silent, waiting for him to continue, or to shove her off and realize that he actually did hate her for what she’d done.

“I wanted to remember it all,” he says, his voice cracking, “what she’d done to him, to me. To suffer even a fraction of the pain he’d felt in those final moments.”

Y/n hates herself for the tear that falls down her cheek against her will. Hates the way he reaches for her, as if she’s the one that needs to be comforted right now.

“I drove that sword through her heart but I let her control me, months after her death,” he says, holding her face in his hands, “Let her control my dreams, my mind, my body.”

She knew, knew there was more that he wanted to say but couldn’t. If the queen wasn’t already ash on the wind, Y/n would hunt her down and kill her. Apparently her healing abilities were exactly what she needed to kill the queen she’d been terrified of her entire life.

“You did nothing wrong,” Fenrys says firmly, forcing her to look him in the eyes, “my self imposed punishment is mine to bear, not yours.”

“You don’t deserve to suffer,” she says, “You deserve to find light again, to be happy in spite of her.”

She remembers what Nesryn said, that Fenrys was still clawing his way out of the darkness that the war left them all in, Y/n wonders if he’d even attempted to climb.

Fenrys searches her gaze, like there was something he needed to see in them, and when he finds it, there is this relief that floods through him, and there just beyond it, dread.

“I don’t deserve the light,” he says and Y/n shifts back, ready to argue with him, to force him to see that he did, “I don’t deserve it but I’ll try, I promise.”

That had to be good enough, trying meant he wanted to find it, wanted to move forward, not back. Y/n reaches for him again, touching the scar above his brow, and she felt that darkness beneath the faint line. It would linger, it would fight him, but she would not let it consume him.

Driven by an invisible force, like a string tugging on her, she brings her lips to that scar, lightly grazing the skin, feeling that darkness, feeling it recoil away from her. Her power stirs, wanting to fix, to heal the wound, but she holds it back, she will not take this away from him to, not when he had a long fight ahead of him to heal himself.

“You’ll find it,” she whispers against his skin, “And when you do, you’ll be worthy of it, I promise.”

She pulls back, but Fenrys doesn’t let her get far, his hands trapping her face between them, one slipping behind her neck to gently tug her to him. The kiss lacks the fiery heat it held last night, the all consuming blaze that left her falling into sweet oblivion. This was delicate, a kiss to seal the promises they made to each other, to seal this strange bond between them. This kiss was a promise of itself, that they would find their way out of the dark, together.

Together sounds perfect, sounds so completely right that she can’t help but lean further into him, her lips parting to let him in. The slow building heat is so different than last night, but so perfect. The hand on her cheek falls to her waist, pulling her flush against him, like he needs to feel her there, like she isn’t close enough. And then that fire in her stomach is building, her body reacting to him like it was made just for him. She could lose herself in him, blissfully and wholly, and the panic of losing control has her pulling back, her magic swirling in her palms.

Fenrys senses her hesitation and he pulls away just to rest his brow against her own, a sigh leaving his lips, “We have a long day ahead of us, we need to pack.”

It sounds like he’s telling himself more than her, “Okay.”

The hand on her nape trails down to her shoulder, tugging at the white material of her shirt, well, not hers, it was to large to be her own, and it dawns on her that it must be his. It all dawns on her then, so lost in the emotional highs and lows, she’s wearing his shirt, only his shirt, sitting on his lap.

His hand descends further, “You should wear my shirts more often, kitten.”

He keeps his tone light, as if he was taunting her like he’d done for weeks now, but this felt different, there was heat in it, truth behind it. Fenrys doesn’t look at her face to gauge her reaction, his hand descending further, leaving a trail of fire down her arm to her wrist. He lifts the limb to his lips, and his touch ghosts over her pulse point and the feeling draws a gasp from her.

“I should get dressed,” she whispers, trying to steady her breathing.

Fenrys nods, once, twice, and then he lets her go. It’s an effort to haul herself off the ground, an even greater effort to turn her back to him and walk to the armoire. The door swings open and she catches his reflection in the mirror, and her head swims at the sight, his eyes are on her, solely on her, the bare legs beneath his large shirt, honed in like that first night in the palace, when only a towel had separated her from him. Just like then, it ignites her whole, and she fights back the rising panic at the reaction, she wouldn’t ruin this, not again, no matter how much it scares her, they would find the light, together.

Fenrys’s eyes travel upwards, lingering briefly on the hem of the shirt before gliding over her backside, tracing her like he could see through the fabric. And then his eyes meet hers in the mirror, locked solely on her own, avoiding his reflection, it breaks the spell just enough.

“I’ll see if Nesryn has any flight leathers for you,” Fenrys says slowly, and he turns around sharply.

She’s only able to breathe when the door shuts softly behind him.

You’ll be worthy of it. He would be, he would fight like hell to be, worthy of the light, worthy of her.

Tag list -

@emma-andrea1 @mgchaser @anxious-study @lees-chaotic-brain @girl-math-aint-mathing @mali22 @nikt-wazny-y @theworthlessqueen @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @lethargicluv @hannzoaks @batboygirlie @foxysouls @kiarathace @jesskidding3 @raginghellfire

#I am so sorry this has literally taken me forever #this is for anyone that is still interested in this #throne of glass #throne of glass x reader #tog #tog x reader #fenrys tog #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys x reader

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kckt88 · 3 months ago

Text

Scorched Hearts XVIII

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

Five Years Later - A new dragon rider takes to the sky, Helaena reveals a glimpse of the future and Jaehaerys harbours a crush.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Revelations, Mild Violence, Female Examination, Aegon Being Vulnerable, Prophecy, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, P in V, Pregnancy, Crush, Obsession, Brothel Visit.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 7370

A.N - Features a Five year Time Skip and a Four Month Time Skip.

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, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx

The clang of steel echoed across the training grounds as Aemond and Rhaegar sparred, the boy’s focused expression mirroring his father’s.

Their swords collided with precision, Aemond offering steady words of guidance between strikes.

“Keep your stance strong, Rhaegar. Don’t overextend,” Aemond said, his voice even yet encouraging.

“Yes, Father,” Rhaegar replied, adjusting his footing as they circled each other. He lunged again, their swords meeting in a flurry of movement.

On the sidelines, Elaena and Daenys watched eagerly, wooden swords clutched tightly in their hands.

They cheered Rhaegar on, their excitement bubbling over into playful jabs at each other as they mimicked their brother’s moves.

Valaena stood above on the ramparts, a soft smile gracing her lips as she observed her family. A small tug on her dress drew her attention down to Aemon, his violet eyes wide with anticipation.

“Mama, I want to try!” Aemon said, his fists balled in excitement.

“If you wish, sweet boy,” Valaena replied, lifting him into her arms.

She carried him down to the training grounds, placing him gently on his feet.

Aemon immediately walked toward the weapons cart; his eyes alight with wonder.

“No, Aemon, don’t touch those. They’re sharp,” Valaena called after him, quickly handing him a small wooden sword instead. “Here, this is more suited for a young warrior.”

Aemon grinned, gripping the toy sword and mimicking Aemond’s earlier moves.

Valaena gasped dramatically, clasping her hands to her chest. “Oh no! Who will save me from this fearsome swordsman?”

Elaena and Daenys eagerly joined in, raising their wooden swords. “We will, Mama!” Elaena declared.

“None shall defeat us!” Daenys added with a fierce grin, stepping forward to defend their mother.

Aemon giggled and attacked with his sisters, their playful sparring drawing laughter from Valaena.

The cheerful scene, however, did not sit well with all present.

Valaena noticed disapproving glances from a group of older lords and knights observing nearby. Their frowns deepened as they muttered among themselves.

The merriment paused when Elaena, in her excitement, accidentally bumped into one of the knights.

The man grunted, scowling as he turned toward the girl. “Watch it, girl,” he barked.

Valaena stepped forward, her tone icy. “Excuse me, ser. There’s no need for such rudeness—it was an accident.”

The knight sneered. “The training grounds are no place for your kind”

Valaena’s face flushed with anger, her fists clenching. “My kind?” she spat.

“Women should stick to embroidery and birthing babes.” snapped the Knight.

“Watch your tongue, ser, or I shall have it removed” snarled Valaena.

The knight scoffed, about to retort, but his words caught in his throat as a blade suddenly pressed against his neck.

Rhaegar, his face a mask of controlled fury, held his sword steady.

“Be mindful of how you address the future queen of the seven kingdoms, ser,” he growled, his eyes narrowed.

The knight’s eyes darted nervously; his earlier bravado gone. “My apologies, my prince,” he stammered.

Rhaegar pressed the blade a fraction deeper. “It is not me who deserves your apology. It is my mother.”

The knight turned to Valaena, his voice shaking. “Forgive me, Princess.”

Valaena’s gaze remained hard for a moment before she gave a curt nod. “Apology accepted.”

Rhaegar lowered his sword, watching the knight retreat hurriedly.

Valaena placed a hand on her son’s shoulder, her features softening.

“Thank you, sweet boy. But I could have handled him myself.”

Rhaegar sheathed his sword, meeting her eyes. “I know, Mother. But a good son defends his family.”

She smiled, running her fingers through his long silver hair. “So much like your father.”

Aemond approached then, his own smile proud.

Elaena, Daenys, and Aemon trailed behind him.

“Ah, so now you appear,” Valaena teased.

Aemond smirked, draping an arm around Rhaegar’s shoulders.

“Our son had it under control,” he said, giving Rhaegar a nod of approval. “You did well. I’m proud of you.”

Rhaegar beamed under his father’s praise, standing a little taller. “Thank you, Father.”

Aemond turned to his younger children, his gaze playful. “Now, who’s next?”

Elaena, Daenys and Aemon raised their hands, shouting, “Me! Me! Me!”

Aemond tapped his chin in mock thought. “Hmm, I can’t seem to decide. I guess I’ll have to unleash the tickle monster instead!”

The children’s eyes widened, and they shrieked in delight as Aemond lunged toward them.

“No, Daddy, no!” they cried, the three of them scattering in all directions as Aemond gave chase, their joint laughter echoing through the training grounds.

Later that day, Valaena lay on the bed, her legs propped up as Maester Gerardys conducted his examination.

His hands moved with practiced ease as he finished, finally sitting back with a satisfied nod.

“Everything seems to be in good working order, Princess,” he said, his tone reassuring.

Valaena huffed in frustration. “Then why is it taking so long for my husband’s seed to take root again? We already have four children.”

Gerardys smiled as he washed his hands in a basin. “You’ve been regularly consuming moon tea for the last five years, correct? Oh, you can sit up now.”

Valaena pulled her dress down and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Yes,” she replied, folding her hands in her lap.

“After every encounter?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, her tone clipped.

Gerardys raised a brow. “Forgive me, Princess, but have there been many encounters between you and Prince Aemond?”

Valaena’s lips curled into a small smile. “You could say that. My husband is a very insatiable man, Maester.”

Gerardys chuckled. “The prince is a young, virile man. It’s perfectly normal.”

“I’m sure there are some who would disagree with that,” Valaena quipped, her cheeks warming.

Gerardys laughed again. “There’s nothing wrong with a man wanting his wife, even if it is multiple times a day.”

Valaena blushed deeper. “Do you think the moon tea has lingering effects, then?”

“It is quite possible,” Gerardys said thoughtfully. “But as it has only been a couple of months since you stopped taking it, I’d say your body just needs time to adjust.”

Valaena nodded, her brow furrowing. “What if it’s damaged me permanently?”

Gerardys shook his head. “You still have your regular monthly bleedings, and you are in excellent health, Princess. I don’t foresee any long-term damage. You simply need to be patient.”

Valaena huffed, crossing her arms. “Aemond has said the same thing.”

Gerardys chuckled. “Your husband is a wise man, Princess. Although, I admit I’m surprised you managed to convince him to try for another child after what happened last time.”

Valaena sighed, her expression softening. “When I first asked, Aemond dismissed the idea outright. He refused to even consider it. But over time, he changed his mind. I think the regular check-ups and meetings with you have helped to ease his fears.”

“His fears were well justified-” Gerardys said gently. “But I’m glad to have helped. And you’ve both agreed that this will be the last-”

“Yes,” Valaena murmured. “It’s the right decision-I just knew in my heart that I wanted another-”

Just then, Aemond entered the room, his presence commanding as always.

He greeted Gerardys with a nod. “Grand Maester.”

“My Prince,” Gerardys replied.

Valaena looked up. “Is everything all right?”

Aemond’s expression softened. “The children want to go flying. I wondered if you’d like to accompany us.”

Valaena smiled. “I think we’re done here.”

Gerardys nodded. “Indeed, we are. Good day to you both.”

Once the Maester left, Aemond’s gaze lingered on Valaena, his voice gentle. “Is everything truly all right?”

“It was just a check-up,” she assured him. “I was a little worried about why it’s taking so long for your seed to take root-”

Aemond’s lips quirked into a knowing smile. “Is it the moon tea?”

Valaena nodded. “Gerardys thinks so. He said to give it time and everything should be fine.”

Aemond cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Then we’ll wait-I’m sure it won’t be much longer”

Valaena nodded and smiled, leaning into his touch before standing. “Flying, then?”

Aemond smiled. “Yes.”

“Let me change into my riding leathers,” Valaena said, already moving toward the wardrobe.

“I’ll wait,” Aemond said, his voice warm with quiet affection.

Aemond and Valaena rode together on horseback towards the grassy meadow, the light wind tugging at their cloaks as the rhythmic thud of hooves beat against the ground.

The dragons rested ahead, their massive forms casting long shadows in the afternoon light.

“Where are the children?” Valaena asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

Aemond gave a small nod. “They went ahead with Aegon. They couldn’t wait to see the dragons.”

As they drew nearer, Valaena’s eyes scanned the familiar sight of Sapphyre, Hūra, and Valerion, who lingered near Vhagar, Silverwing, and Sunfyre.

Her brow furrowed. She saw no sign of Karnax—or Aemon.

Then a flash of red caught her eye, and her heart leapt into her throat.

Karnax’s sleek form skimmed low to the ground, and on his back, small but unmistakable, was Aemon.

Valaena gasped, then screamed, “Aemon!” Her voice cracked with a mixture of fear and disbelief as she leapt off her horse, with Aemond following closely.

She clutched at Aemond’s riding leathers, her eyes wide and frantic. “Our son—he’s—he’s flying!”

Aemond’s expression darkened, and without hesitation, he stormed toward Aegon, seizing him by the collar.

“You were supposed to be watching him!” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “What in the gods’ name are you playing at?”

Aegon shrugged lazily, a smirk on his lips. “Relax, brother. He’s fine. They’re not flying too high.”

“Karnax isn’t even saddled!” Aemond snapped, his fury barely contained. “Aemon could slip and fall—he could crack his head on the ground, you fool!”

Valaena, meanwhile, was fixated on her son, shouting commands. “Karnax! Rȳbās, Parmot, Aderī!” (Obey, down, quickly).

The young dragon hesitated at first, his youthful defiance showing.

But when Vhagar reared up and let out a bone-rattling roar, Karnax let out a terrified squeak and immediately complied, circling once more before landing with a small thud.

As the dragon’s talons touched the ground, Aemon slid off his back.

Valaena was on him in an instant, pulling him close and running her hands over his small frame, checking him for injury.

“Aemon,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “-don’t you ever do that again. Riding without supervision is dangerous!”

Aemon pouted, his lower lip wobbling. “But Mama, I just want to fly, and uncle Aeg was watching-”

Valaena sighed, her anger melting into tender concern as she hugged him tightly.

“I know, sweet boy, but your uncle should have been more responsible, and you must wait until you’re a little bit older. Promise me.”

Aemon sniffled, nodding. “I promise.”

“Your not in trouble. It’s just if anything happened to you-”

“I’m sorry mama” whispered Aemon as he hugged her tight, his face buried in her neck.

“Shh it’s ok. I’ve got you” muttered Valaena as she lifted him into her arms.

Aegon, still watching with an amused expression, drawled, “See? The boy’s fine. And now he’ll go down in history as the youngest dragon rider.”

Before Aegon could react further, Aemond’s fist collided with his face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Blood poured from his nose as he clutched it, gasping. “Seven hells, Aemond!”

“You may do as you wish with your own children,” Aemond said, his voice cold as ice. “But when it comes to mine, you will ensure their safety-”

Aegon groaned, still cradling his bleeding nose. “Aemon was safe! Besides, it’s an honour—”

Aemond’s teeth bared as he lunged again, but Rhaegar stepped in, a hand on his father’s chest.

“Father. Stop-”

Aemond growled low in his throat but relented, delivering a sharp kick to Aegon’s leg as he passed.

“You better stay out of my sight for the rest of the fucking week-”

Aegon nodded meekly his shoulders slumping slightly.

Rhaegar lingered for a moment “Sorry Uncle Aeg-father is just being protective and-”

Aegon rose to his feet, his hand still pressed to his face “Don’t worry about it kid, it’s not the first time your father’s punched me, and it won’t be the last”.

Rhaegar reached into his cloak and pulled out a handkerchief “Here-”

Despite the pain Aegon smiled as he took the piece of cotton cloth “Thanks”

Rhaegar smiled slightly and then followed after Aemond.

Aemond knelt before Aemon, his fierce demeanour quickly softening. “Are you all right, son?”

Aemon nodded quickly. “I’m okay, Daddy.”

Aemond ruffled his curly silver hair. “You gave your mother and me quite a scare.”

“I’m sorry,” Aemon whispered, his small voice full of guilt.

Aemond’s tone was firm but gentle. “What you did was dangerous. Karnax might your bonded dragon, but he’s still young, and so are you.”

Aemon met his father’s gaze, his eyes full of earnest determination. “But I knew, Daddy. I knew he was ready.”

Aemond frowned slightly. “How?”

“In my heart, I could feel him-” Aemon said simply.

Valaena kissed her son’s head. “We just want you to be safe.”

“I am, Mama. Karnax will protect me.”

Aemond stood, taking Valaena’s hand in his. “Go stand with your brother and sisters, Aemon.”

As Aemon ran off, Valaena squeezed Aemond’s hand. “He’s determined, I’ll give him that.”

Aemond sighed, his eye following their youngest. “We should have known something like this would happen. Their bond is very strong.”

“Just like Rhaegar and Sapphyre,” Valaena said. “But at least Rhaegar was older when he first flew.”

“Not much older,” Aemond replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Valaena nodded solemnly. “Aemon must start lessons with the dragon keepers immediately. And we’ll need to keep a closer eye on him. We were lucky today.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened as he glanced at Aegon, who stood near Sunfyre, blood still streaming from his nose.

“I know,” he muttered, feeling a pang of remorse for his violent outburst.

As Valaena joined the children, Aegon’s earlier words echoed in Aemond’s mind.

Aemon was indeed the youngest dragon rider. And though he would never admit it out loud, a swell of pride filled his chest.

Aegon lounged in a chair, head tilted back, groaning softly as Lirri dabbed at his nose with a warm, damp cloth.

He winced when she pressed a little too hard, letting out a pitiful whimper.

"My brother," Aegon muttered, voice nasally from the swelling, "the absolute twat."

Lirri hummed softly as she continued her work. “Well, at least your nose is not broken.”

Aegon exhaled in relief, but his composure quickly crumbled as a tear slid down his cheek.

“I would never harm any of my nieces or nephews,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “I was watching Aemon the whole time, I swear. I-I just—”

His words dissolved into quiet sobs. Lirri set the cloth aside and pulled him gently into her arms.

“Shhh, my dragon,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. “My lord was just worried for his son. That’s all.”

Aegon clung to her, his body trembling. “I know,” he choked out. “But I would never see any of them hurt. I try, Lirri. I know I’m not the best father or uncle, but I try. I really do.”

“I know you do,” Lirri soothed, her voice calm and reassuring.

Aegon buried his face in her shoulder. “It’s so hard. I want to be good, but whatever I do, it’s never enough.”

Lirri pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. “You trying is enough.”

He leaned into her touch, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t know, Lirri. Everyone thinks I’m just some blundering fool who doesn’t care about anyone, but that’s not true.”

“I know it’s not true,” Lirri said softly. “You have much love in your heart. I see it when you speak with your sons or when you pretend to know about flowers for your daughter. And you show me great love.”

Aegon offered a sad smile. “I feel ashamed that I can’t love my own wife the way I love you. Helaena- she’s, my sister. But I can’t love her as a wife.”

Lirri held his face against her chest, gently stroking his hair. “Your wife is a kind lady. She understands.”

Aegon nodded, his voice quiet. “Hel is-wholly unique. I think she’s weird, but in a good way. She makes me smile, but I don’t love her beyond that of a sister.”

Lirri chuckled softly. “Your family has very strange ways. Uncle marries niece, brother marries sister.”

Aegon laughed through his tears. “Not enough branches on the family tree.”

Lirri smiled. “Luke wanted daughter to marry my lord’s son, but my lord he refused.”

Aegon snorted. “No surprise there. Lucerys is the bastard whelp who took his eye.”

Lirri nodded. “Boy even went to Queen, but my lord—he was very angry.”

Aegon leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “What did he do?”

Lirri hesitated, then said, “He threatened to carve out both of boys eyes and shove them down his throat if he ever mentioned it again.”

Aegon whistled low. “Understandable. What’s Valaena’s take on it?”

“She agreed with my lord,” Lirri said simply.

Aegon laughed heartily. “She’s a good wife. My brother, the twat, got what he always wanted.”

Lirri tilted her head, her curiosity mirrored in her gaze. “What did he want?”

Aegon sighed, his laughter fading. “Growing up was- difficult. We were ignored by our father. Our mother tried, but she was young herself. We didn’t have much love.”

“Oh, my love,” Lirri murmured, her heart aching for him.

“Aemond had it worse,” Aegon continued. “He didn’t have a dragon, and we bullied him for it and played cruel pranks on him”

“That was not nice,” Lirri said gently.

Aegon nodded, his face clouded with regret. “I know. I regret it now, but we were kids. I didn’t realize how much it hurt him. His saving grace was Valaena.”

Lirri’s lips curved into a small smile. “She tells me many stories of childhood.”

Aegon smiled wistfully. “She was Aemond’s only friend.”

Lirri leaned in closer. “Many things stood in their way, but they found their love.”

“They did,” Aegon said, a faint trace of admiration in his voice. “Valaena gave Aemond the love he deserves.”

Lirri placed her hands on his cheeks, her touch warm and grounding. “And I give you the love you deserve.”

Aegon’s eyes softened. “I’m not sure I do sometimes.”

“You do,” Lirri whispered.

Aegon pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. He sighed deeply, contentment washing over him as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling her familiar scent.

For the first time that day, he felt at peace.

Aemond paced back and forth in his chambers, his bare feet moving soundlessly across the stone floor.

His chest rose and fell with quick, agitated breaths, his long silver hair flowing unbound over his shoulders.

Dressed only in breeches, he muttered furiously under his breath, his frustration palpable, the incident with Aegon playing on his mind.

Valaena sat cross-legged on their bed, her gaze following his every move. She sighed softly, breaking the tense silence.

“My love, could you please stop pacing? You’re making me dizzy.”

Aemond halted abruptly, his expression tight with guilt. “I let my anger get the better of me”, I_ shouldn't have hit him"

Valaena held out a hand, beckoning him. “Come here.”

Aemond hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, taking her hand in his and lacing their fingers together.

Valaena’s thumb traced soothing circles on his skin as she said gently, “It’s regrettable, yes. But given the situation, your reaction wasn’t entirely unwarranted.”

Aemond sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Aemon is not yet six name days, and already he’s a dragon rider.”

Valaena’s lips quirked in a soft smile. “Rhaegar wasn’t much older when he first took to the skies with Sapphyre.”

Aemond sat heavily beside her on the bed, his voice quieter now. “Our children were born for the sky.”

“As were you,” Valaena replied, her tone warm and affectionate. She tilted her head, her eyes alight with memory. “I still remember the little boy who gazed at the dragons with such wonder and awe.”

Aemond’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I wanted so badly to have a dragon of my own.”

“I know the feeling,” Valaena said, her voice soft with understanding.

Aemond leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers. “We got our dragons in the end, ābrazȳrys,” he murmured, his voice tender. (Wife).

Valaena’s fingers gently caressed the scarred side of his face, her touch lingering under the sapphire set in place of his lost eye.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, her Valyrian lilting and sweet. “Sīr gevie.” (So beautiful).

Aemond’s gaze darkened with affection and desire, and he closed the gap between them, kissing her passionately.

His hand slid around the back of her neck, tangling in her dark hair as he deepened the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, a pink hue colouring his pale skin.

“Can I, have you?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse, vulnerability flickering in his eye.

Valaena smiled, her hands sliding over his shoulders. “Yes.”

Aemond grinned, his usual stoicism giving way to unrestrained joy as he gently eased her back onto the bed.

His lips found hers once more, fervent and insistent, while his fingers deftly worked at the laces of her dress.

The silken fabric slipped from her body, discarded to the side.

Aemond paused, his eye raking over her, a teasing smirk curving his lips.

“No small clothes,” he remarked, his tone playful. “What a naughty wife I have.”

Valaena laughed softly, pulling him down into another kiss, her hands trailing over the strong lines of his back.

“Give me your seed husband, and see it take root within me once more” whispered Valaena.

Aemond groaned against her lips, before he kissed her again, more fiercely now.

His hands were everywhere—skimming her waist, her thighs, her breasts.

He fumbled briefly with the ties of his breeches before freeing his hard pulsating cock.

Without hesitation, he slid into her, his control snapping like a thread. His thrusts were immediate and unrelenting, his need for her overwhelming.

Aemond’s hips drove into hers, the sound of their bodies meeting echoing around their chambers.

Aemond’s teeth found her shoulder, biting down just enough to leave a mark, his way of claiming her.

Valaena gasped, her nails raking down his back as she clung to him, her body arching to meet his every movement.

There was no gentleness in him now—only raw, unbridled passion, his love and desire for her consuming them both.

Valaena walked arm in arm with Helaena through the lush Red Keep gardens, the scent of flowers mingling with the crisp autumn air.

Helaena turned to her with a serene smile. “How are you feeling today?”

Valaena sighed, pressing a hand lightly to her stomach. “Like I’m going to throw up.”

Helaena chuckled softly. “Women endure many things when it comes to being with child.”

“I don’t recall ever feeling like this with the others,” Valaena muttered, her face slightly pale as she rubbed her slightly swollen stomach.

Helaena’s expression grew thoughtful. “Every cricket is different.”

Valaena quirked a brow at her good sister’s unique phrasing. “Will this cricket be healthy?”

“They will be,” Helaena assured her with a gentle smile and Valaena let out a sigh of relief.

They walked in companionable silence for a few moments before Helaena spoke again. “How has my brother taken to the news of the pregnancy?”

Valaena smiled softly, her gaze drifting over the neatly trimmed hedges. “He’s happy, but worried. Grand Maester Gerardys has been helping ease his fears.”

Helaena chuckled. “Aemond feared his cricket would never sing again. But you shall be fine and in time, your own crickets will grow and have their own. You’ll be surrounded by so many, all of them singing. Such a wonderful song for many years. Then she will come-”

Valaena tilted her head curiously. “She will come?”

Helaena’s faraway gaze sharpened just slightly, her lips curving into a cryptic smile. “A special cricket. The one who was promised. Many years from now, she will come from you and Aemond, your blood-”

Valaena felt a chill race down her spine despite the warmth of the day. “Helaena-”

“The unburnt,” Helaena continued, her voice taking on a dreamlike quality, “the mother. She will come-so beautiful”

“You’ve seen her?” asked Valaena.

Helaena nods “In my dreams I see, the dark haired dragon, the cold demons with blue eyes beyond the wall and her I see her. She sits the Iron Throne, the crown of gold upon her head, she wears your silver dragon chain-your great granddaughter many times over-I’ve also seen the child she names in your honour-”

Valaena stared at her good sister, a thousand questions swirling in her mind, but Helaena had already turned her attention to a nearby spider spinning its delicate web between two branches.

Her violet eyes lit up with excitement.

“Valaena, come look! So wondrous, don’t you think?”

Despite her curiosity at Helaena’s musings Valaena stepped closer, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

She glanced briefly at the intricate web. “Yeah, wonderful,” she said with a half-hearted nod.

Helaena leaned in; her fascination palpable. “I truly appreciate the spider’s talent for web-making. A fascinating spectacle.”

Valaena grimaced, crossing her arms. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Helaena glanced at her, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Are you afraid?”

Valaena hesitated. “Spiders and bugs have their place in the world-just not anywhere near me.”

Helaena laughed softly, reaching out her hand. The spider skittered onto her palm, and she inspected it with care. “They are more frightened of you, you know.”

Valaena stepped back instinctively. “I’ll take your word for that too.”

“You are a dragon rider,” Helaena teased, “and yet you fear a harmless spider.”

“We all have our fears,” Valaena shot back, folding her arms defensively.

Helaena smiled, extending her hand toward her. “Come, she will not harm you.”

Valaena shuddered but willed herself to step closer, her movements cautious. “If I get bitten, I’m blaming you.”

Helaena’s voice was soothing. “See? She’s not so bad.”

Valaena leaned in reluctantly. “I suppose.”

Helaena’s smile turned mischievous. “You should hold her.”

Valaena’s eyes widened. “No. No way. Not doing it.”

“Stop being a coward,” Helaena said with a playful lilt.

Bristling at the word, Valaena scowled. “Fine.” She thrust out her hand, clearly regretting her decision even before the spider was gently placed in her trembling palm.

Helaena’s face lit with triumph. “See? She’s quite harmless.”

Valaena swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the small creature. “I-I suppose.”

But then the spider suddenly darted up her arm. Valaena shrieked, flailing wildly.

“Get it off! Get it off!” she cried, hopping in place, her voice echoing through the gardens.

Helaena stood back, laughing uncontrollably, making no effort to intervene.

Before Valaena could work herself into a full panic, a hand reached out calmly and plucked the spider from her hair.

Valaena spun around, her breaths coming fast, to find Jaehaerys—Helaena and Aegon’s sixteen year old son—smiling at her as he carefully released the spider onto a nearby bush.

“Thank you, Jae,” Valaena said, smoothing down her dress and catching her breath.

“You’re welcome, Auntie,” Jaehaerys replied softly, his cheeks tinged pink and bashful smile endearing.

Valaena shot a withering glance at Helaena, who was still laughing. “That was really mean.”

Helaena grinned, wiping a tear from her eye. “It was funny, though.”

Scoffing, Valaena turned back to Jaehaerys, who was still standing nearby. “Jae, would you mind escorting me back to my chambers? Lest your mother finds a millipede next—Seven knows what she’d do with it.”

Helaena’s laughter echoed through the gardens as Valaena departed, arm in arm with Jaehaerys.

As they strolled toward her chambers, Valaena glanced sidelong at Jaehaerys, his face still tinged with a blush from earlier.

She decided to shift the conversation to lighter matters. “So, Jaehaerys,” she began casually, “-Have you chosen a lady to marry yet?”

Jaehaerys immediately shook his head, his silver hair catching the late afternoon light.

“No. Although I’m grateful for Queen Rhaenyra’s decision to let me choose my own bride-” He hesitated, his expression conflicted. “-I’m not sure I like any of the ladies that were presented to me.”

Valaena raised a brow, intrigued. “None of them caught your interest at all?”

Jaehaerys sighed, his cheeks darkening. “I-I couldn’t stand them, to be honest. They spoke with empty words and wore false smiles. I want more than that. A woman who challenges me, who shares my interests. Someone I can have a real conversation with.”

Valaena smiled warmly. “A fair desire, Jaehaerys. I’m sure there’s someone out there who fits that description.”

Jaehaerys hesitated, his face reddening further before a shy smile crept onto his lips. “There is someone I like.”

“Oh?” Valaena said, her curiosity piqued. “What’s she like?”

“She’s-a bit older than me,” he admitted, glancing away. “But she’s so beautiful. I-I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Valaena nodded thoughtfully. “Have you told her how you feel?”

Jaehaerys’ blush deepened, and he shook his head quickly. “No. She already has a husband-and-and children.”

Valaena’s brows lifted slightly. “I see. Does she know of your affections?”

“No,” Jaehaerys replied firmly, his voice low. “And I’d much prefer it if it stays that way.”

Valaena’s smile was gentle but knowing. “Well, perhaps your affections would be better placed elsewhere.”

Jaehaerys sighed, his frustration evident. “I know it’s wrong to feel this way about a married woman. But I can’t help it. I think about her all the time—her smile, her eyes, her dark hair, the sound of her laugh, and her-her body.”

Valaena regarded him carefully. “You’re nearly a man grown, Jae. It’s natural to have certain-urges.”

Jaehaerys ran a hand through his hair, his voice strained. “It drives me mad. These feelings—I can’t talk to Mother about it; she lives in a world of her own making. And my Father, well he tried to help, but I’m not sure his advice was much help.”

“What do you mean?” Valaena asked, tilting her head.

Jaehaerys looked around, ensuring no one was within earshot, and then lowered his voice. “The Streets of Silk,” he confessed. “He suggested I-I find a woman there.”

Valaena rolled her eyes. “Aegon and his great advice.”

Jaehaerys nodded, his face a mix of embarrassment and exasperation. “There were so many beautiful women. One in particular—Selsei or Sylvi? I can’t quite remember her name—but she was quite a bit older.”

Valaena’s brow furrowed slightly. “You didn’t lie with her, did you?”

Jaehaerys shook his head quickly. “No. Why?”

“The name Sylvi is-familiar, that’s all,” Valaena said cautiously. “But go on-”

Jaehaerys hesitated again, his voice growing even quieter. “There was one who looks a bit like the woman I like. Well, sort of, if you squint. Same hair colour, similar build. So I-I-”

“You lay with her and pretend she’s the woman you like,” Valaena finished softly.

Jaehaerys nodded, his shame evident. “I feel so disgusted with myself, but I can’t stop. I keep going back.”

Valaena stopped and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, before pulling him into a gentle hug. “You’re being safe, aren’t you?”

Jaehaerys clung to her dress, his face pressed against her, his voice muffled. “Yes, I don’t, you know f-finish inside.”

Valaena, seemingly unaware of Jaehaerys’ hand resting on her hip, sighed. “Perhaps I’m not the best person to give advice on such matters. Maybe Aemond—”

Jaehaerys recoiled suddenly, his face a mask of horror. “No! Not Aemond!”

Without another word, he turned and bolted down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

“Jaehaerys!” Valaena called after him, her voice laced with concern.

But he was already gone. She stood there for a moment, shaking her head with a bemused smile before continuing on to her chambers alone.

Jaehaerys stormed into his chambers, slamming the heavy wooden door shut and locking it behind him.

His breaths came quick and shallow, his mind racing. He began to pace, his feet thudding against the cold stone floor.

“Stupid, stupid,” he muttered angrily to himself. “I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have told her. What the fuck was I thinking?”

Frustration boiled over, and his eyes landed on a wine jug sitting on the table. He grabbed it, intending to pour himself a large cup, but his hand froze.

In a sudden burst of fury, he hurled the jug against the wall. It shattered with a satisfying crash, red wine splattering across the stones like spilled blood.

Jaehaerys sank onto the edge of his bed, his hands trembling, as he reached into his bedside table.

His heart pounding in his chest as he took hold of the familiar piece of fabric he’d stolen—once part of Valaena’s dress.

He brought it to his face, inhaling deeply, as if her scent alone could quench the maddening thirst that consumed him.

But it couldn’t. It never did.

His mind was a swirling storm of thoughts, every one of them tethered to her. The curve of her lips when she smiled, the soft lilt of her voice when she spoke his name. He closed his eyes, and the memories came flooding back, vivid and torturous.

The way she had hugged him earlier, her hands resting gently on his shoulders, the warmth of her body against his—it had ignited a fire in him that no amount of restraint could extinguish.

“Valaena,” he whispered hoarsely, the name a prayer and a curse.

His desire for her was no longer a fleeting thought or a simple infatuation. It had rooted itself deep in his soul, festering and growing until it consumed him entirely.

He thought of her constantly, his days revolving around the hope of catching a glimpse of her, hearing her laugh, or being close enough to feel the faintest brush of her hand.

He knew it was wrong. Gods, he knew. She was his uncle Aemond’s wife, a woman bound by vows and honour.

But acknowledging the truth did nothing to lessen the ache in his chest or the burning in his veins. He wanted her in ways that made him feel both powerful and utterly helpless.

Late at night, when the castle was quiet, his thoughts grew darker. He would sit by the window, staring out at the cold expanse of the night sky, and imagine what it would be like if things were different.

What if she were his? What if he could kiss her, hold her, worship her in the way his uncle did?

The thought made his pulse quicken.

Even now, as her body changed with pregnancy, she seemed even more radiant to him. Her curves, the gentle swell of her belly—it all drove him mad.

Yet the knowledge that it was another of his uncle’s children that grew within her made his blood boil.

It was Aemond’s seed, that had taken route not his.

His uncle got to have her—again and again. Aemond could hold her, kiss her, taste her, and claim her in every way.

The bitterness festered, poisoning his heart. He hated that he couldn’t hate Aemond fully.

His uncle was a formidable man, someone Jaehaerys greatly admired.

But now, that admiration was tainted by envy. Aemond had the heart of the woman Jaehaerys adored, and every time he saw them together, it felt like a reminder of his own inadequacy.

Jaehaerys’ stomach churned as he remembered stumbling upon them in the library. He hadn’t meant to spy, but once he saw them, he was frozen.

The sight of Aemond pressing Valaena against the shelves, her hands tangled in his long silver hair, her lips parted in soft moans of pleasure.

The way she clung to him, the raw intimacy between them—it was more than Jaehaerys could bear.

He had returned to his chambers that night, burning with shame and desire, as he fucked his fist seeking his own release with thoughts of her in his mind.

But it wasn’t enough to simply imagine. He began to collect small tokens—things she touched, things she wore.

A ribbon that had once bound her hair. A goblet she had drunk from. They were insignificant objects to anyone else, but to Jaehaerys, they were treasures, reminders of the woman who haunted his every waking moment.

His obsession grew more intense with each passing day. He found himself lingering in places where he knew she would be his eyes always drawn to her like a moth to flame.

Every word she spoke to him, every smile she offered, he clung to as if it were a lifeline. And when she wasn’t near, he would close his eyes and replay those moments over and over, seeking solace in the echo of her presence.

One night, he found himself standing outside her chambers, his hand hovering over the door.

His heart raced as he imagined what lay beyond—the quiet intimacy of her space, the scent of her lingering in the air.

He wanted to knock, to see her, to be close to her even if only for a moment. But the rational part of his mind screamed at him to stop.

To walk away before he crossed a line that could never be uncrossed eventually he turned and fled, but the shame followed him.

He hated himself for these feelings, but he couldn’t stop.

Valaena was everything he wanted, everything he couldn’t have. And the more he tried to resist, the stronger the pull became.

He reached into the drawer again and pulled out a lock of dark hair, —a trinket offered by the whore he visited in the Streets of Silk. She bore only a fleeting resemblance to Valaena, her hair the same deep shade, her figure similar if he squinted.

But it was enough. Enough for him to close his eyes and pretend.

The visits offered him temporary respite. In the dim, perfumed rooms of the brothel, he could let go of his tortured thoughts, lose himself in the illusion that he was with the woman he truly desired.

He would murmur Valaena’s name under his breath, too softly for the whore to hear, as he sought the solace that always felt just out of reach.

But peace was a cruel illusion. The moment his pleasure faded, the desire surged back, more insistent and corrosive than before.

It crept into his veins, festering like a sickness, consuming his every thought. No matter how many times he sought release, the ache returned, gnawing at him from the inside out.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. His fingers tangled in his silver hair as he let out a low, frustrated groan.

The weight of his obsession felt unbearable, and yet he couldn’t shake it. He didn’t want to.

"She doesn’t even know," he whispered bitterly. "She’ll never know."

The whore had tried to comfort him once, sensing the depth of his torment. She had run her hands through his hair, murmured sweet nothings in a voice that tried to mimic warmth.

But it wasn’t her touch he craved, nor her voice that soothed him. She was a substitute, a pale shadow of what he truly longed for.

And yet, he kept returning to her, desperate for the brief reprieve she could offer. Desperate to quiet the storm raging inside him, if only for a little while.

Jaehaerys stood abruptly, he paced the room, his chest heaving with every breath. His need for Valaena had taken root so deeply that it felt as though it might tear him apart.

Jaehaerys groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Gods,” he whispered. “I’m pathetic.”

He knew the danger he was in. If Aemond ever discovered his feelings—or worse, his actions—Jaehaerys was certain he’d be murdered in his bed.

His uncle’s temper was well known, he was a fearsome warrior, and commanded Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world.

Jaehaerys sank to his knees beside his bed. His whispered words filled the empty room, a confession to the shadows.

“I would give anything for you, Valaena. Anything.”

But deep down, he knew his desires would only lead to ruin—for her, for him, and for everyone caught in the web of his unrelenting obsession.

The air in Jaehaerys’ chambers became suffocating, thick with the weight of his torment. His mind spun in an endless loop of desire and frustration, the image of Valaena seared into his thoughts.

He clenched his jaw, his hands trembling as he fought to steady himself, but the pressure was unbearable. The ache clawed at him, demanding release.

He couldn’t stay here. Not like this.

With a sharp intake of breath, Jaehaerys grabbed his cloak from the chair, throwing it over his shoulders and pulling up the hood.

The heavy fabric concealing him well enough.

Jaehaerys slipped out of his chambers, moving quickly through the dimly lit corridors. The castle was quiet, most of its inhabitants long since retired for the night.

His boots echoed softly against the stone floors, but he paid the sound no mind. His destination was clear.

The streets of King’s Landing were filthy, the stench of waste and unwashed bodies hanging thick in the air.

But Jaehaerys barely noticed. His path through the labyrinthine alleys was well-rehearsed, his feet carrying him toward the familiar doorway of the brothel.

He pushed open the door, stepping into the warm, perfumed haze of the establishment.

The madam Selsei or Sylvi greeted him with a knowing smile, but Jaehaerys didn’t stop to exchange pleasantries.

He handed her a few coins, more than necessary, and she gestured toward the room he always used.

Inside, she was waiting. The woman he had come to rely on, her dark hair loose over her shoulders, her lips curved in a practiced smile.

She rose from the bed as he entered, her eyes flicking over him with a mixture of curiosity and understanding.

“Back so soon, my prince?” she teased gently, but Jaehaerys didn’t respond. He shrugged off his cloak, letting it fall to the floor as he crossed the room toward her.

“Do as we’ve done before,” said Jaehaerys, his voice low and strained.

The whore nodded, stepping closer. She reached out, her fingers brushing over his cheek, a touch meant to comfort.

Jaehaerys closed his eyes, letting himself imagine it was Valaena’s hand, her warmth, her presence.

The woman guided him to the bed, her movements slow and deliberate. She knew what he wanted, what he needed.

She whispered soft words of affection, her voice a pale imitation of the one he truly craved. But it was enough to fuel the illusion.

Jaehaerys let himself fall into the fantasy, his mind crafting a world where he could have her—just for a little while, he closed his eyes as he laid back on the bed.

In those fleeting moments, he could almost believe that the fire within him had been quenched.

But as the act drew to its inevitable end, the illusion shattered, leaving only emptiness in its wake.

The whore lay beside him, her hand resting lightly on his chest, but the solace he sought remained elusive.

Jaehaerys stared at the ceiling, his breath still heavy. The desire had been momentarily sated, but already he could feel it creeping back, festering in the dark corners of his mind.

He turned his head, looking at the woman beside him. She smiled softly, but her face didn’t hold the same magic anymore. It was never really her he wanted.

“It will never be enough,” he muttered, his voice thick with self-loathing.

The whore said nothing, only stroking his hair gently, as if she understood.

But Jaehaerys knew she didn’t.

She couldn’t. No one could.

With a sigh, he sat up and began to dress quickly before pulling his cloak back around him. He handed her more coins, avoiding her gaze.

“Until next time, my Prince,” she said quietly.

Jaehaerys didn’t reply. He left the room as silently as he had entered, his heart heavy with the burden of his forbidden longing.

TBC

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond targaryen

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97linelover · 4 months ago

Text

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 · 4 months ago

Text

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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sunflowersandsapphires · 8 months ago

Text

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.

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victoria-writes · 11 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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