#yandere second prince x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shesjustanothergeek · 6 months ago

Text

The Gods We Can Touch

Chapter One: My Dream

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Let's celebrate the first episode of season 2 with a new story! I'm publishing this before the show airs, so let's say a tentative prayer in case the first episode is Blood & Cheese. Thank you for reading! (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

Chapter Warnings: sexism (it's a patriarchal feudalistic society), brief descriptions of childbirth and death related to it, Alicent being delulu.

When Viserys Targaryen's wife, Aemma of House Arryn, had failed pregnancy after failed pregnancy, a girl was a welcomed result. It proved not only to Aemma herself and her King Husband that she could produce a child but to the realm that there was hope for a son, a much-preferred result.

“My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?” - Eugene Onegin by Alexander Pushkin

If a daughter were to be born seconds before a brother, it did not matter. He was the heir. If she was born decades before a boy, it did not matter. He was the heir. Or so the realm believed until the reign of Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Son of Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen, Grandson to the Old King Jaehaerys.

Queen Consort Aemma Arryn died in pursuit of something she could not control, screaming, wailing, begging her husband not to cut her open, but he did not listen, for the birth of a son was more important than the life of a woman.

The infant Baelon Targaryen died a day later, leaving King Viserys a widower with only a daughter with the same fair skin and hair as the woman he murdered. The woman who laid slain on her birthing bed, bright blue irises now glassy, blood pooling from her womb, was given a Targaryen funeral along with the Heir for a Day, as her good brother called him, her last surviving child whispering, “dragon fire” through tears, with the encouragement of the same man who lusted after her and the throne.

The result of a mother’s and son’s death gave way to grief and anger. Viserys, blinded by the insults levied against his dead child, broke centuries of tradition and named Westeros’ first female heir Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Daemon Targaryen was furious at the abuse of being cast aside for a girl of ten and four and took to Dragonstone, the rightful seat of the Iron Throne's successor, with his whore, Lady Misery, an enslaved Lysene sold into the sex trade that became the Prince's favorite mistress.

Daemon did not hate his niece. He loved his family far more than anyone believed, so he surrendered when the Realm's Delight flew on her dragon to confront her uncle.

Less than a year later, not nearly long enough to mourn the death of two people, Viserys Targaryen married Alicent of House Hightower, daughter of the Hand and dearest friend to his daughter. The King saw the union as an act of fortunate duty and desire instead of love. On that much, the young Alicent Hightower could agree. Perhaps, he thought, it was a way to ensure his daughter would always have her closest Lady around, but Viserys was a fool . He could not see past his blinding grief and selfish lust that he tore the two girls apart.

Rhaenyra Targaryen's mother was a girl her age, a girl she longed to have to accompany her on Syrax, explore the East, and eat cake, but that was never meant to be. The Gods provided as quickly as they took, and her lifelong confidant viewed her with such hate and distaste that Rhaenyra soon began to consider her the same.

“Stepdaughter,” Alicent called her at the Princess's wedding feast to Ser Laenor of House Velaryon. Her voice laced with enough venom, and her dress so green you would mistake her for a snake. This gave Rhaenyra a sickening feeling in her gut, which soon hardened into one of cool indifference.

And that was how they lived.

Silent and icy indifference as Queen Alicent walked through the Targaryen halls of the Red Keep in Hightower Green, birthing the King his first surviving sons and second daughter.

However, there was a moment of repreave in the Queen's and the Princess's glacial flippancy when her forgotten ally fell pregnant for the first time.

Alicent could not help herself from caring for her old friend during her first pregnancy. She quickly fell back into the role of her Lady, supplying Rhaenyra with food, oils, clothing, and occasionally companionship during the quarrelsome nine moons.

The Queen had almost found it within her heart to forgive Rhaenyra for her lies and false swearing beneath the Heart Tree all those years ago, and she did until the labors when she saw the brown tuft of hair atop a young babe's head.

At the time, Alicent did not have a moment to contemplate what that meant before her friend screamed, holding on so tightly to her hand that she thought it might break as the rest of the infant emerged. The babe's face was so purple and cord wrapped around their neck that Alicent nearly cried, fearing life had repeated itself. The nursemaids quickly cut the blue and pink veiny line that connected the child to its mother, turning the babe upside down and spanking it on the back until its cries rang out throughout Maegor’s Holdfast.

A girl.

There, screaming and curling their once lifeless fist, were you , the firstborn child of Rhaenyra Targaryen, only by a mere moment, finally breathing and wailing as they swaddled you in an embroidered black and red cloth, a boy soon following.

“What shall you name them, your highness?” the eldest midwife asked, nearly as out of air as Rhaenyra.

“We…” the princess breathed heavily, positioning herself in the birthing chair. “We had only thought of a boy with the help of Lord Corlys. Jacaerys,” she panted, her cheeks tinged pink, either from exertion or embarrassment from being so thoughtless. Alicent did not know.

The nurse holding Rhaenyra’s son passed him to her, all eyes lingering on that same flattened-down dark hair. “Shall we wait for the Prince, your highness?” another question, holding the unnamed girl.

“I think,” Rhaenyra groans, shifting her weight to account for the new one, “we shall be waiting for a while should my husband suddenly return from his travels.” She glanced at Alicent, watching her once closest friend pick at the skin of her nails. She grinned, a brilliant idea coming to mind as she ordered the maid to give her daughter to the Queen.

Alicent's doe eyes widened as she accepted. She peered down at the tiny bundle before her, still crying, purple face now a deep red and full of life. The Queen did not know what came over her as she leaned, bringing the child’s blotchy forehead to her lips, inhaling the unique scent only a newborn has. She noticed the muscles around where the babe's brows should be twitching, opening her eyes to reveal a mirror of Alicent’s own looking at her.

The Queen forgot for a moment that she was not her own and that she should be alarmed that the child's eyes bore no resemblance to their parents. Yet the Queen continued to smile down at the small fidgeting bundle in her grasp, her arms wiggling themselves out of their confines to clench and unclench. The cries now became softer but still there. Sounds that used to cause Alicent great distress now soothe her uneasy soul like a salve to a wound.

“What shall we call her, my Queen?” Rhaenyra questioned, a crooked smile on her face as Alicent broke from her revere. Her plush lips parted in surprise, looking as if a deer caught grazing alone in a field.

The Queen appeared bewildered, unprepared for such a monumental task; all faces turned to her. “I… I am unsure, Princess. I did not come prepared for such an honor.”

Rhaenyra kept the same lopsided grin on her lips, showing the tips of her white teeth. “Tis all mine. It's an honor to have the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms name my first born daughter.”

“An honor I accept gladly,” Alicent rushed, worried that her refusal would shatter their peace.

She paused, pursing her lips in thought. Despite having three and another on the way, she had never named a child. Helaena was the closest she had ever gotten, a familiar name within the Reach but made to fit the traditional Targaryen spelling. Alicent would have something to herself, one tiny sliver of something that belonged to her, and she was unsure what to do with it. She was confident that Rhaenyra would be content with any name she chose, but she wanted it to be unique, to mean something more than just a word.

Alicent thought of her mother then—her darling mother, whom she barely had a chance to spend life with before a fever took her. A mother that her father said she looked like an extension of, and suddenly, only one name felt right.

The Queen was constantly conflicted about every choice she made, every move. From the food she ate to the clothes she wore, Alicent always worried herself over it, wondering if she had made the correct decision, but in this, she was sure. No man, woman, or God could sway her from this choice. It was right. The Queen could feel it in the marrow of her bones that it was so.

“Aelora.”

Aelora, my light.

The King came bursting moments later, a servant dressed in a crimson gown, white apron, and cap standing anxiously beside him. He immediately went straight into the room, brushing past his wife in favor of his daughter. Alicent felt a sour taste in her mouth at the notion, pulling the quiet lump tighter to her chest.

“A boy and a girl!” Viserys excitedly hollered, Rhaenyra passing Jacaerys to him. Anxiousness settled over the birthing chamber, the midwives and maids observing with worrisome eyes at the head of brown hair. “ Ah! And I see they have inherited my favorite cousin's hair.”

He held the newborn with a reverence Alicent had never seen with her own, and she stepped back into the shadows of the onlookers. She peered down, catching the babe's eyes shut and face slack, still with the fresh scent of birth. She brought you to her forehead again as she took in this brief moment of joy, nose nuzzling the infant’s as she grunted at the intrusion.

“Aelora, the Gods’ Light. My shining light,” she whispered so softly against the babe's satin-smooth skin that it drifted into the air like dust, lost in the wind.

“Oh, and her eyes, too!” Viserys beamed, hoisting Jacaerys into the air as the wetnurses squealed in terror. “She will make a fine queen one day, and should the Gods allow it, you, a king.” Rhaenyra laughed at her father's antics, already planning the children’s marriage. She was too high on the feeling of birthing not one but two healthy babes, a boy and a girl, no less to care. Alicent's amber eyes flicked to her husband and then to your plump face, a frown pulling her lips.

Aegon had come quickly and without fuss. Though Alicent was merely a girl of ten and six when it happened, the moments leading up to it frightened her thoroughly. She worried her nails down to the quick, the pink fleshy beds exposed and bleeding whenever she would use too harsh of a grip.

She knew of what happened to Aemma Arryn, that the babe was stuck and couldn't turn to leave the womb, at least to the Maester’s belief. He gave the King a choice, not the woman who was writhing in pain as her body contracted, to either let the process play out with the chance that the child and his wife could perish or have him slice her open from hip to hip, dig through her guts and blood to pry the child out. Aemma Arryn had no voice in the matter from what she heard from the midwives, as her husband allowed a man to pull Prince Baelon straight from her womb.

Alicent did not want to face the same fate and prayed to the Mother day after day, night after night, until her knees were yellow and blue, and even then, she continued her efforts. She was alone in all this, with no one to confide in. Her father had told her to do her duty when she expressed concern. He assured her the King would allow no such thing if she did everything correctly. He offered no comfort, and Alicent longed for her dearest Princess. Her prayers were answered when that fateful day came, and the labors lasted no more than an hour.

She birthed a healthy boy with blonde hair and purple eyes, but even then, Viserys did not act the way he was now with Rhaenyra's children. A means to end all the uncertainty of an heir, her father said in words of solace. She hadn't understood what he meant then. Rhaenyra was the heir, crowned Princess of Dragonstone, and Lords swore allegiance to her across the realm. To Alicent, there was no uncertainty until there was.

Until Otto Hightower planted the rot that festered and spread in her mind that the girl she grew up alongside, the girl she spent so many days and nights with, the girl that had said she would forget her duty and fly off across the world eating nothing but cake with her friend by her side, would murder Alicent's children so they could not depose her reign.

She did not believe Rhaenyra was capable of cruelty, but then again, she had once considered her incapable of lying to her and was proven wrong.

She began to fuss as if the infant in her embrace could sense the Queen's unrest. Her delicate little face scrunched up as Alicent bounced her softly, cooing soothingly. She smiled despite her unpleasantness within, unfazed by the sudden outburst, unlike when Helaena had her fits as a child. Her daughter would have to meet her niece and nephew, along with Aegon. Aemond was too young. She wouldn't be able to keep a close eye on him.

Though he was half the size of Aegon when he was born, he had grown twice as fierce. At barely three years old, his nursemaids had to ceaselessly follow the moonlight-haired boy less than a step away lest he jump down a flight of stairs just to see if he could. Once, when Alicent dismissed the servants from Aemond's chambers as he readied for bed, she turned her back on him for a singular blink, and he opened his balcony doors and climbed over the railing to get a better view of the night sky. Alicent remembered how he kicked and screamed as she yanked him from the ledge, saying words and phrases she never knew, even at the age she was now.

“My Queen,” the wetnurse called like she had repeated herself as Alicent looked at the girl. “The young Princess needs her first feeding.” The woman held out her arms for her to hand over the fussing bundle, a calm but concerned expression on her face.

Alicent refused, curling her limbs as the babe squirmed, her cries becoming ear-piercing screams. She knew the child needed to eat but could not force her body to release the girl. It was as if her very bones denied the movement that was not keeping the hungry infant close to her. The fleeting thought that Alicent could feed the girl herself crossed her mind, but she shook it away, realizing the ludacrisy of it. It was improper for a woman of nobility to nurse their child. That's what the maids were for, the Queen told herself.

The wetnurse peered at her curiously, walking a pace closer, but Alicent stepped back as if she attempted to harm her. “The King has not held her yet,” she protested, looking towards her King-Husband in an attempt to prolong her time.

“All is well, Alicent. What kind of King refuses to let their babe grandchild eat?” he jested, tilting his head to the side playfully and exposing a gaping smile. It made Alicent want to vomit.

When she doesn't move to listen, the Queen stared at her husband like her silence could serve as a rejection of his words. Viserys sighed as Rhaenyra watched with piqued interest, wordlessly handing Jacaerys to another maid.

“Alicent, give her the child.”

She hesitated again, her brown eyes flickering to Rhaenyra when she did not offer for Alicent to stay while the maids worked. Once again, she mused bitterly, watching the infant intently as she relented. I give my dream away to you. A dream that was never indeed mine.

The Queen bowed to the Princess, congratulating her on the success as she took her leave, hand splaying over the swollen stomach of her emerald green gown. It felt too tight, the once smooth fabric now itching at her skin, the fine hairs on her arms catching between the threads.

How stupid she was to believe in Rhaenyra’s kindness. She felt like a girl again, the same girl who stood beneath the Weirwood, listening to her friend swear on her mother’s memory that she had not lain with a man, only to find out there was moontea delivered to her chambers.

A sudden kick was sent to the Queen's abdomen, halting her brisk pace as she doubled over within the pale redstone hall. Ser Criston Cole arrived moments later, helping her rise to her feet. She soothed the afflicted area with her palm, no doubt the cause being her own making. Despite the growing life inside of her, the Queen has now done it four times. Alicent believed the moment she laid her wide amber eyes on yours was the closest she had ever felt to being whole with someone in her life. It’s as if the child's very being was now a part of her, and every moment she was away, it felt as if she was missing a piece of her soul.

Rhaenyra flaunts and does as she pleases, lies, and tricks all she pleases. It made Alicent furious with a rage she had not felt for nearly a decade. Aelora will not become like her mother. The Green Queen will not allow it, even if she has to twist and shape the clay of Aelora's mind into something of her own. Aelora is her dream. She is the Gods' shining light, and Alicent will be damned if she allows Rhaenyra to blacken her glow.

Septon Eustace's Recount of Princess Aelora I Targaryen's Early Life

The young Velaryon princess, later taking her mother’s namesake, grew into a spritely and mischievous child, playing jests on her Septa and Prince Aemond with the aid of her brothers and the eldest of the Queen’s children, Prince Aegon. She did not develop into a traditional Targaryen beauty with blonde hair and violet eyes; instead, she had a golden chestnut crown with eyes to match. Many said she resembled Queen Alicent, though if anyone made the error of voicing it, they faced Princess Rhaenyra’s wrath.

Though her features were plain by Targaryen standards, the realm rejoiced in her beauty. Lords and ladies commissioned portraits of her countenance throughout the kingdom, proudly displaying a halcyon halo of red rubies adorning the top of her divine facade. The common folk coined the name “The Gods' Light” for the sweet girl. A glimpse of her was as close as one would get to the Maiden, and they cherished it whenever Princess Rhaenyra's faction made rare journeys to the Grand Sept.

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

I'm excited to write for my favorite war criminal, Visenya Incarnate, Aemond Targaryen. I'm just super happy to write Aemond smut! I'm also taking a different approach to this story because it will solely be based on the show (to the best of my ability), not the book, and will be released with the same progression. It will have accounts of the reader's life through the eyes of the Maester's. Of course, there will be some cannon divergence and whatnot, considering we're introducing a new character into the fray. This fic will also be a lot darker than what I've written in the past, including content such as childhood sexual assault and the after-effects of it, self-harm, depression, suicide, and unhealthy sibling dynamics/relationships.

This story is told from the second person's perspective. The reader only has a name for the sake of a title and the description of Strong features.

Y'all have no idea how fulfilling writing has been for me. It's given me purpose when I've felt like I had none. It's helped my mental health by giving me an outlet for self-expression and a good source of distraction from all the worries I have in life. I wish I could get paid for this!

I hope y'all will enjoy the story as much as I will writing it, and of course, thank you so much for taking the time to read this. You genuinely have no idea how much your support means to me, but I will continue to express it in the best way I know how. ♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠)

Ps. Alicent's mom's name is unknown in the show and the book, so I'm creating a name that combines my original idea with traditional Targaryen spelling.

Pronunciation: Uh-lore-uh, Ae-lore-uh

Origin: Latin

Meaning: dream, dreamer, shining light.

Biblical Meaning: God is light, God's light.

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf

899 notes · View notes

wordsbymae · 9 months ago

Text

Price of War

Ok I lied, I was gonna do something for an oc, but I have been obsessed with Arcadie: Second Born since I played it so I had to do very short piece inspired by it. Sorry if it isn't as good as you guys are used to! It has been awhile since I've written anything.

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

The last of your name, the last of your blood. The sole survivor of a massacre enacted solely to destroy your family, to murder each and everyone of you. The King and Queen were dead. Throats slashed from behind as they feasted and cheered atop their great seats. Next came your older brother and sister. They were fierce warriors but caught completely unaware, in the once assumed safety of their great familial hall. Cut down by those they once called friends. Your uncle, barely leaving his seat, was the fourth to fall. Numerous other family members, those you loved, those you cared for and even those you barely even knew, were slain after. Their blood mixing in with that of their fallen kin. Screams and cheers coming together in a wicked display of evil. Those not of your name ran for their lives, leaving behind their loyalty for the fallen royal family behind in the muck of betrayal.

It was an extermination. Leaving you, youngest of the King and Queen's children, and the last of your entire family, to live. It was due to no cunning or skill of yours that you were still alive. No mercy from above or a chance of fate. The traitor willed you to live and as such you were spared. But, as the traitor sat on the very seat your father was murdered on, used your mother's still warm body as a foot rest, and cleaned the sword he used to cut your brother down, you wished, and not for the last time, that you had fallen with your kin.

He sat before you, lazily wiping your brother's blood from his great sword. You recognised it as the sword your mother gifted him for a successful campaign in the east. The great hall was silent now. There had been gargles and moans of the dying but it was finally silent. Death had come for your once great house. Those complacent in the massacre stood tall and motionless, like statues that littered the walls. And like statues they held no guilt for what had occurred.

You stood, shaken and teary eyed. You tried to hold back emotion, lest the traitor in front of you saw you as weak. You had been dragged from your hiding place while your family was still being butchered, you thought the same would happen to you. Instead you were dragged through rivers of blood and over dying bodies. Your second cousin had gripped onto you ankle with such a force you could still feel his nails digging into your skin now. You could feel his blood drying on your face too, the memory of those who had been dragging you kicking and slashing him as he laid on the floor, until his grip finally loosened.

The traitor in front of you let out a sigh, lulling you back into the present. He seemed bored or at the very least disappointed.

"I thought it would have been harder" he spoke, pushing your mother's body back and forth with his foot, until he bored of it and pushed your mother down the stairs, to your very feet. You stared at her, her eyes dull, yet screaming at you with fear and sadness at the very same time.

" I thought it would take more to bring down the once great royal family". You couldn't tell if he actually wanted an answer, or was just pushing salt into the emotional wounds that littered you.

He stood and began to slowly walk down the steps to meet you. Upon coming across your mother's body he kicked her to the side. There was a time you found him attractive, there was once a time one might say you had 'feelings' for him. But it was nothing but a child's fancy. The man in front of you was no longer your childhood companion, no longer was he the trusted general of your father's armies, no longer the Kingdom's most valued hero. He was a murderer, a villain, a traitor. A suddenly occurred to you, that the tribes and chiefdoms that your father ordered him to raise to the ground, had known him long before you as only as that, an evil, wicked man.

"Do you know why I spared you?" he asks, the face of your childhood friend, corrupted with the blood of your kin.

You opened your mouth to answer. To tell him no, to tell him to go fuck himself, to make a morbid joke of him wanting to torture you in front of the kingdom. You weren't quite sure what you were going to say. But he cut you off, clearly not in the mood to discuss his internal plans.

"Because you are the key to peace and the price of war" he states, eyes drilling into yours. You stared back in confusion, he was never one for riddles.

" I have fought in countless battle, killed hundreds, caused pain to thousands, and what was it for? hmm? Nothing, not a single fucking thing" he spits, you try to step back, but he only inches closer.

"I was lied to, we were all lied to" he shouts, pointing to his men who stiffen as he does so. "we were told war is the maker of peace, we were told that for every life we take, every family we slaughter, our kingdom, our homeland would flourish. It was nothing but a filthy fucking lie."

He turns back to where he left his sword, leaning on your father's seat. He grabs it, and turns back to you.

"I was given this as a gift for my battles in the east, but it was not what was promised to me" he snarls, his arm lifting until the sword was pointed at you, he steps forward, the tip coming to rest under your chin.

"Your mother promised me you" he whispers, the anger from before shifting to desperation. His arm lowered and so did the sword.

"It was the one thing I asked for when I left for the front lines, that if I survived I would have your hand in marriage, as we had planned as children, as it should have always been. But your mother lied, told me that of course she would be honoured to have me as your husband if I came back a hero, but a soldier and a hero are not always the same. I did what I was told, killed all those who opposed us, and for what? A scrap of metal to be thrown at my feet because I was not noble enough? That unlike your family's spoiled brats, I actually fought along side my men? I didn't stand on some ridge over looking chaos and watch as if it was some sport?"

"They lied to me, about everything. Why we were fighting, why we were killing, why my soldiers had to die in a foreign land to a foreign hand. Peace we were told. It wasn't peace, it was greed. Now it is time for us to be greedy. It's time for us to make war to make peace. This land will be rid of those who sent us to war for scraps of metal and gold. And a new dawn, a new kingdom for the common people will be born. It's finally time for me to get what was promised to me, for all the shit I've been through, for all the blood I split, I finally will have you. And I will be the king this kingdom deserves"

You let go of a breath you didn't know you had.

"The kingdom will never accept you as king" you whisper, trying to swallow but only finding a parched mouth. "They will see you as nothing but a bloodthirsty tyrant"

He stares at you for a moment, until a deep chuckle fight past his lips. He laughs for a few moments, his silent statues of men begin cracking their façade and laugh along with him.

"Of course they will accept me. I'm the kingdom's valiant hero, who not only protected them from the eastern tribes, but rescued them from the tyranny of your parent's rule. You live a sheltered life your majesty, you know not of what is beyond the castle walls"

Your heart races. Surely your parent's were loved by all? They seemed to think so, hosting large parties and feasts in honour of the peasant and common folk. Yet you now only find it odd that your never truly saw common folk at these gathering, unless of course you count the servants.

The usurper king continues speaking.

"But suppose you are right, that there are some who would refuse to see me reign, well as you as my spouse, how could anyone refuse, after all you are the sole living survivor of your family, you are therefore the ruler of this kingdom, and with me as your king, none shall dare threaten us." he chuckles, a dark and violent sound.

"Any child of yours is the heir to the throne, and I intend to sire that child" his eyes gleam dangerously in the candle light of the hall.

You look down at your mother, kicked to the side, eyes open forever unseeing. For a moment you wished that you could lay down beside her one last time and be one with your family again, forever unseeing, yet forever out of reach of the usurper king's hands.

#yandere x reader #knight x princess #knight x prince #gender not mentioned #however implied at the end #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere prompts #yandere #usurper king #inspired by #arcardie second born #asb #yandere x gn!reader #gn!reader #somewhat implied female reader #murder #tw violence

111 notes · View notes

ficzhub · 4 months ago

Text

The Foreign Woman

Part 5

Aemond Targeryen x Older Myrish OC (Alexyse Majeríz)

✨✨✨✨

CW: hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, obsessive behavior, dysfunctional family, mommy issues, younger boys crush on older girl, duplicitous OC, creepy crush, jealous Aemond Targaryen, envious Aegon II Targaryen, emotional manipulation, possessive Aemond Targaryen, jealous Aegon II Targaryen, power imbalance, power dynamics, sex work, touch starved, prince/maid, bed sharing, elitism.

✨✨✨✨

Doubled

As relaxed as Aemond felt being held by his Maery for the seventh night in a row, he couldn't help but wake up a few times through the night and marvel at her face, at her closeness, at her scent that's changed slightly from when she'd first laid here and into something softer and more subtle throughout the night. She unfortunately makes sure to wake up well before the sun rises to catch Ms.Mochel before the day really began. She always kisses Aemond's forehead and leaves him tucked in his bed nice and warm before getting ready for the day to speak with her proximate. He ends up getting up not long after her, but to his regularly scheduled classes and trainings instead of following her again, despite his wish to. If he wanted to keep being someone worth his Maery's time, he can't stop doing his duties. Ser Criston Cole has begun training him alongside his older brother and the other children in the castle and its surroundings, (previously his nephews) before breaking fasts. He tries to focus as much as he can but his mind keeps trailing back to his Maery, what she would be doing now and unfortunately, for who? Where in the castle would she be now? How long until his mother finally just sets her with just him permanently so he doesn't have to share her attention?

"You seem distracted, brother." Aegon says quietly by his right, watching Ser Cole and Ser Willis dueling.

Aemond looks up at him to see his annoying, smug smirk. "Is someone on your mind?"

Aemond refuses to indulge his brother's taunts with a response, Aegon didn't need to know about Maery or if there's anything else clouding him.

Unfortunately for him, Aegon is now more than intrigued with the very effective maid. It's not as though he had been blind. The girl's beautiful, striking even. Her dark curls barely staying under her bonnet in the braid often coming somewhat undone through the day and framing her round face with the fallen pieces. Her tawny skin contrasting with her doe-like black eyes, dark lashes and eyebrows, the pink pout of her full lips. He suspects she's Dornish, one of their bastards perhaps though he can't match her accent to any he'd met.

He'd watch her now when Aemond couldn't, see her changing their linens, bending over the bed to secure the corners, preparing the oils for their baths, still getting her milk from the ranch hand in the back of the castle despite his grievous injuries curtesy of Aemond, not that anyone else knew that. But what gives him the most enjoyment is the same thing that wounds his insides. He watches as she makes her way back to his little brother's room faithfully every night for a week now and coddles him, dotes on him, asks him about his day and holds him tenderly until he falls asleep with his face pressed against her ample busom, wrapping his arms around her middle to make sure she doesn't get away from him.

It's not that he doesn't want his brother to have the comfort he needs, he's glad he does. It makes him feel less guilty about his teasing. It's that he'd kill for just a taste of the same. He doesn't know when she leaves, but never asks a single thing of Aemond as she holds him, never scolds him, only gently corrects if he ever says or does anything wrong. She hums him sweet songs and grazes her fingers over his head and his back, he imagines Aemond has never slept better while Aegon hasn't slept well without milk of the poppy since he was seven. Why must it be only Aemond that gets to experience the genuine comfort and care of a beautiful woman? Why can't he get anyone to care for him like that? Why can no one show him even a second of love without expecting anything in return? She even dotes on Daeron and Helaena, on occasion. Well, as much as one can dote on Helaena.

The second night he saw "Maery" doing that for his brother, he decided he'd ask for that the next day at the brothel. He'd go alone, without his mates and see what had him longing so badly for the girl. He went inside, had one of the girls do exactly what he asked her to do but having to get up, with her acting so clinically afterwards and paying for it not a minute later only had him rushing to get home and sobbing to himself in his bed, reaching for the strongest wine he could get his hands on to distract from the emptiness he felt flooded with. The transactional nature of it, the cold attitude of the whore after, how false it all felt, it left him feeling worse than when the queen strikes him or when his grandsire gives him that look of total derision and disappointment. At least he knows those feelings are real.

His mother hasn't held him the way Maery holds Aemond since he was five, she never looked at him like the maid looks at his brother, never asked him about his day, never hummed him lullabies or played with his hair. No one's ever given him that much comfort, he almost fears he'd be overwhelmed by it. Aemond was already considered much more tolerable than Aegon had ever been, but with his injury it's like everyone treats him with the utmost reverence and endearedness and respect. He'll never be as he was, but Aegon would give anything, including his eye, to be handled the way his brother is now.

"C'mon, too shy to tell me now?" He eggs on, shoving Aemond's shoulder. Perhaps more harshly than necessary, struggling to tamp down his jealousy.

"Enough, brother." Aemond demands, scowling at the ground.

"Boys," Ser Criston yells, making them stand at attention. He continues his demonstrative fight against Ser Willis but looks over at the two brothers to make sure they're paying attention.

Aemond glares up at Aegon, rubbing his shoulder and blush-inducingly, eager to tell his Maery about it later. Perhaps it'll even leave a bruise. Aegon's nostrils are flaring as though he's the one who hurt him and not the other way around. For a second, Aemond thinks he sees something more in his eyes than the usual teasing mischief.

Alexyse tries to get as much done as she can now that Aemond is focusing more on his duties, but she's noticed Aegon's been taking note of her recently now, too. Not as closely as Aemond, but enough to where it's creeping on her nerves. She received note from The Red Fingers just yesterday and came very close to being caught by Aegon. They're hastening her, wondering why she's gone so long without giving word to her exploits. How is she to tell them that instead of doing what's been ordered to her, she's taken to mothering the unmothered. She's a woman, and no matter how deadly, how precise and how cold they've proven themselves to be, it'll never be enough. There will always be those to doubt her abilities, who deny her skills. She sent back word of everything she's found out so far and hopes that'll tide them over with the last of the message being that she has more to come once she receives confirmation. Despite the fact that none of that information exists. It was all encoded of course, anyone who reads the note will just assume it was chicken scratch, or the dabblings of a child who just wanted to send something.

Still, this many eyes on her wasn't something she planned nor appreciates. If Aemond had been able to keep their little meetings to himself, that would've been one thing. But he watches her at every chance he gets, the other work staff has noticed and she suspects he's the reason Bylric was hurt. The poor boy is only fourteen and now it's uncertain if his right arm will ever function as it once had, which as a ranch hand is devastating.

She sits now, cleaning the floors of the children's wing with a solution of lye so to not hurt the stones and covering it with gray clay powder to seal, wondering how these people don't get sick more often. They floors before she came laid covered with "sweet rushes", a hay that sounds much more pleasant than it is, to catch everything that falls on the ground. From spit, to vomit from when someone gets nauseous, namely the prince as of late, the leakings men, likely other animals too. Ale droppings, dead animals, food scraps that lead to more rats coming in, and only the gods know what else.

If her mother or her mother's mother witnessed the filth of this place she wouldn't bother trying to clean, she'd just burn it down. The filth is more than just in the home, these people don't bathe as they should. Back in Myr the washing of one's self is daily, with aquafers that take clean, moving water all around the city. Even those without plumbing still wash daily in the rivers that start there and head downstream to the sea. The use of chamber pots shocked her, she can't imagine something more disgusting then hauling around one's own waste. Back home it's taken away by the water systems as well, the water is then disposed of using lye before being replaced in the system by fresh water. After you relieve yourself you clean your bum with a small moss page or wood pulp page sometimes even snake leaf, that you only use once before tossing it to rot and rejoin the dirt.

The scent of the city accosted her when she first arrived and it's been a struggle to grow accustomed to it. The common folk she understands. To bathe here, a large tub is required, plenty of access to clean water, most of which is stagnant here, availability of saponins is scarce, and the time it takes to bathe would cut into the day, that's not including the time to prepare for it. But she doesn't forgive the nobles. What excuses do they have to smell like onions and rot? They can douce themselves with all the floral oils they want, that won't cover the stench.

'I'm being too judgmental,' she thinks to herself 'I'm frustrated and worried that I might not complete my duty as instructed or to their satisfaction, but that is no fault of the people here.'

"Maery," Anida, a maid around her own age calls on her "The queen has summoned you to her chambers."

"Did she say why?" She asks

"Why would she tell me?" She asks with a smirk

"That's true. Thank you, I'll head there now." She gets up off the floor with Anida's help and heads to the queen's chambers with Anida taking her place.

Before she could even knock on the door, it's opened for her. The beautiful queen welcomes her in and gestures for “Maery” to sit across from her.

“I suppose you might be wondering why you’re being seated with me and not with the stuwart.” She begins

“The thought occurred to me, yes.”

“Ms.Mochel and Stuwart Ainsley have very differing opinions about you.”

‘Figures’ she thinks. That asshole Ainsley never treated her with very much respect, and clearly disliked her more than the other maids.

“I don’t know why, your grace.” She admits “Ms.Mochel always receives my work very well and has had me train some of the other maids of the keep.”

“Yes, which is precisely why I’ve summoned you here.” She says, placing a hand on Alexyse’s thigh “My sons have grown quite fond of you. Would you please tell me why, Maery?”

Alexyse didn’t know quite how she should respond to this. On the one hand, what she’s been doing is entirely inappropriate. On the other, it doesn’t seem like the queen is reacting too negatively.

“Well with Daeron all I do is be silly with him,” she begins “He’s only a boy of 6, I make small jokes as I do what’s required of me.”

“I see, and for Aemond?” She presses

“For Prince Aemond it’s a bit more complicated, your grace.” she goes “I first truly met Prince Aemond the night he lost his eye.”

At this, the queen looks down and nods.

“He put up a brave front but that night I went into his room and found him sobbing. He screamed at me to go, to leave him. He even threw something at me.”

The queen makes a small gasp

“Something soft, not anything dangerous. Still I couldn’t move from there, it was like I couldn’t understand what he was ordering me to do.”

“Then what?” Queen Alicent asks

This is the tricky part. How to tell the queen that she didn’t do her motherly duty to her son and instead left that for a perfect stranger to do in her stead?

“I must admit, what I did next was inappropriate.” Alexyse says, hoping that’ll soften the blow to both her and the queen’s ego. “I got into his bed and pressed him very tightly against my chest.”

She holds her breath and waits to see how the queen reacts, when her expression doesn’t change she continues.

“I don’t know why, I suppose it was just instinct. He’s a little boy and he was crying with no one to comfort him. He barely put up a fight before wrapping his arms around me and crying onto my chest.”

“Is that all?” She asks

“That happened that night? Yes.” Alexyse assures

“Are you why Aemond is so concerned with taking more baths?” She asks confused

Her brows furrow at this “I wouldn’t know, your grace.”

“Hmm” is all she says “What happened the following days?”

“The next night I went to change his linens and I found him there smiling at me and calling me my name. I thought the last night made him feel better and thought it would be all. But when I was going to leave and finish my work, he called me back. I told him I’d love to stay but that I had work to finish. The same thing happened the next night only he didn’t leave it at that.” She skips over the part where she stayed the second night with him too. “He went looking for me in the child’s maid’s quarters and when he found me, he woke me up and said he couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m terribly sorry about that Maery,” Queen Alicent says “I’ll make sure to keep his door guarded at night now, he shouldn’t be bothering at such hours for such things.”

“Truly it was less a bother and more a concern, your grace. I didn’t know how badly the loss of his eye had affected him. In any case, I’d rather he came to me and told me if something troubled him. Perhaps not in the middle of the night but since then he’s been trying to keep me with him while he sleeps. I leave once I’m sure he’s going to stay asleep but that’s gotten harder over the last few days.”

“Alright. Now Maery, why hasn’t it occurred to you to come to me about this?”

At this her brow furrows again in feigned confusion “Prince Aemond had told me he had gone to you about this himself. He said you’d assigned me to him and when I asked Ms.Mochel and Stuwart Ainsley, they didn’t negate it, your grace, only said I’m to do household chores while the prince is occupied but to tend to him exclusively when he’s not. I figured I needn’t bother you over something like this when my superiors and your underlings had already approved of it.”

“Well, I had been looking for a hand maid for Aemond but I was looking at noble girls. If he prefers you to them all however, I suppose that would be fine. As long as you don’t expect a noble marriage or something of that sort-“

“No your grace, of course not.”

Part 4 link:

@writingwenches

A03 link:

53 notes · View notes

lizzyiii · 2 months ago

Note

Hello, I would like to make an obscene yandere request to Aemond Targaryen for a cousin who is a Helen of Troy, she never met her cousins and Gwayne locked her in the lighthouse because the children in Antigua have already declared duels and fights for her, please

“Alexa play Angel by Massive Attack.”

A Beauty Too Tempting

pairing | aemond x cousin!reader word count | 5.4k summary | when aemond targaryen learns of his cousin—a beauty so captivating that men are willing to die for you—he becomes dangerously obsessed, determined to claim you for himself. tags | 18+ MDNI! smut, p in v, slight dubcon, fingering, oral sex (f) receiving, possessive sex, rough sex, virginity kink, breeding kink, obsession, dirty talk, no description for reader, creampie, religious guilt, guys this was crazzzyyy, yandere aemond, delusional aemond, obsessive aemond. a/n | this was such an interesting and creative prompt, damnnnn. also I think this might be the best smut I've ever written. KEEP BOTH HANDS ON THE PHONE (NOT PROOFREAD)

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Aemond had finally ascended.

His reckless, wine-soaked brother was a shadow of the past, burnt and broken beyond repair. Though the Seven Kingdoms still called him “Prince Regent,” Aemond knew he held the true power of a king—and wielded the might of a dragon unmatched in all the realm.

He was Prince Regent, yes, but also the rider of Vhagar, the Queen of Dragons, the slayer of Daemon Targaryen, the butcher of his treacherous half-sister and her rabble of bastards.

At God’s Eye, he had cast Daemon down, wresting from him the title of warrior to which he clung so stubbornly. And when Alys Strong’s deceit led him astray, she too had met the edge of his blade, her charms and false promises extinguished in the cold stone of Harrenhal’s dungeons. Now, what was left of his family was but the bones of the house.

Only his mother and his niece remained, the ones bound by duty and blood. Helaena, broken by grief and driven mad with sorrow, had thrown herself from her chamber balcony, finding an end that her shattered mind had long sought. Aegon, the crown’s fool, lay in a stupor of smoke and agony, burned and nearly lifeless after his fall from Moondancer’s flames.

But Aemond ruled now—his alone was the realm’s rightful power. The Seven Kingdoms were his to bend, as was his every desire. He had broken his betrothal to the Baratheon girl without a second thought; a warlord and dragonrider of his stature deserved a bride worthy of his legend. He was the last dragon of House Targaryen, and his queen would be a beauty revered, one whose grace and purity might rival the Maiden herself.

And that was when Aemond first heard of you.

Fleeting whispers had reached him from Oldtown, speaking of his uncle Gwayne’s daughter—a maiden so beautiful that men spoke of you as if you were touched by the gods. Tales claimed you had been cloistered away in the Watchtower’s highest chamber, veiled to protect the eyes and sanity of any man who caught sight of you.

There, concealed behind shadows and stone, you were kept far from the reach of suitors who risked life and honor in duels, each vying for even a single glimpse of your face.

Your father, Ser Gwayne Hightower, had fallen in the fires of the Dance, and your mother had died bearing you, leaving you alone in that desolate tower—an unclaimed jewel, hidden and waiting.

The thought stirred something fierce within Aemond. He would go to you, he decided. He would see this beauty so lauded, this Hightower daughter untouched by the world’s corruptions, and he would decide if you were worthy to become his Queen, his Targaryen bride. For if your beauty proved true, you would belong to him alone, bound by devotion and a loyalty owed only to the dragon and its rider.

After landing Vhagar just outside Oldtown, Aemond took a horse into the city, riding with the air of a conqueror. But even he was taken aback by the scene awaiting him. High walls surrounded the Watchtower of House Hightower, fortified and stern, yet it was the gathering outside that seized his attention.

Hundreds of men crowded the courtyard and spilled into the streets, shouting, some nearly brawling as they jostled against one another. Their voices rose in a fervent cacophony, names and cries echoing like a battle chant.

Aemond’s gaze swept over them with disdain. Fools, all of them, clamoring over the mere hope of being in your presence. As he approached the Tower’s gates, the guards lowered their spears and bowed their heads, recognizing the rider of Vhagar, the One-Eyed Prince who now held the realm in his grip.

They opened the gates without question, allowing him through to the Tower’s base, where a young servant girl waited nervously.

She kept her eyes down as she led him up the spiraling stairway to the highest chamber. But Aemond’s curiosity simmered, and his tone was sharp when he finally spoke. “Who are these men gathered outside? What madness drives them to swarm like starving wolves?”

The servant��s face went pale, but she dared to glance up briefly, voice trembling. “They’re suitors, my prince…men from every corner of the realm. Many have traveled from the Reach and the Riverlands, even as far as Dorne and the North, all to seek my lady’s hand.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, a dark satisfaction curling at the edge of his lips. While the Dance Of Dragons had gone on, you had become something of a legend—a prize for fools and hopeful knights. But you were not for them.

“Let them scream themselves hoarse,” he murmured coldly, mostly to himself, as they reached the final stretch of the climb. His voice softened, though the weight of his words was fierce. “By nightfall, they will know she belongs to me alone.”

The servant kept her gaze down, fearful of the silent promises in his tone. They finally reached the door to the high chamber, and with a deep breath, she pushed it open, bowing as he strode past her.

As Aemond stepped inside, the air was thick with expectation, and he knew: he would let none of those suitors have you—not while he still breathed.

A figure stood near the narrow window, framed by the dim light filtering through the high stone walls. Draped in a gown as pale as starlight, a delicate veil fell over your hair and face, obscuring your features with an ethereal softness.

You looked less like a woman of flesh and blood, more like some forgotten goddess cast down from the heavens, your beauty hidden behind gauze and shadow. Almost nervously, the servant girl who had led Aemond withdrew, sparing one last, uncertain glance before closing the heavy door, leaving him alone with the lady in white.

The room was silent but for the faint rustle of fabric as the veiled woman turned, your movements graceful yet guarded. You saw him—a tall, imposing figure shrouded in the black and crimson of House Targaryen, his silver hair gleaming like the steel at his hip.

Though your vision was blurred by the veil, there was no mistaking him. Even in the isolated walls of your tower, you had heard tales of him, whispered rumors that crept into your dreams. Aemond Targaryen—the One-Eyed Kinslayer, the dragonrider who had torn through his own blood, leaving most of House Targaryen ashes in his wake.

A shiver coursed through you as you lowered your head, barely daring to meet his single, penetrating gaze. You bent your head respectfully and murmured, “Your grace.”

At the sound of your voice—soft and lilting, as if it had drifted down from the heavens—Aemond’s breath hitched, and he paused, his gaze never wavering. You sounded like the very embodiment of the myths that had reached him, a voice so pure it defied the violence that had carved his path to you.

He took slow, deliberate steps toward you, each one bringing him closer to the veiled creature he had come to claim. “I am not only your Prince Regent,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “I am your kin as well.”

You nodded, your lashes fluttering beneath the veil. “Of course…cousin,” you replied shyly, your voice no more than a murmur, though it reached him clearly in the silence of the chamber.

Aemond’s lips curved, a hint of satisfaction flickering across his face as he closed the distance between you. “You must know,” he continued, his tone possessive yet calm, “that I have not come all this way merely out of kinship. You are spoken of as if you were a queen in waiting…your beauty, your grace. Men would kill for a single look upon your face.”

Your cheeks warmed beneath the veil, though you dared not lift your head. The idea of such fierce, consuming attention unsettled you, yet you could not deny the pull he exerted on your senses—a dark, magnetic power that seemed to draw you closer, even as your instinct told you to step back.

“And now,” Aemond murmured, lifting a hand toward you, fingers ghosting over the edge of your veil, “it is I who have come to see if these tales hold truth. To decide if you are worthy…to stand beside me as my queen.” He let the words hang in the air, laden with meaning, with possession.

Beneath the veil, your lips parted, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The One-Eyed Prince had not come to court or woo you like the other men clamoring below; he had come to claim you, with a certainty that brooked no refusal.

“Tell me, cousin,” he whispered, his tone heavy with dark intent, a veiled promise lying beneath each word. “Would you defy me if I named you mine?”

He drew closer, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a shiver through you as your heart hammered against your ribs. The weight of his claim felt as tangible as the stone walls around you, and in that instant, you knew defiance was a luxury that held no place here.

Before you could gather the breath to respond, Aemond’s hand rose toward your veil, his fingertips hovering just above its delicate fabric. A sense of desperation seized you, and your voice broke through the silence, raw and pleading. “Don’t! Please… I only wish to spare you.”

Aemond’s lips curved in a faint, humorless chuckle, his eye gleaming with something far more dangerous than mere amusement. “Spare me?” he murmured, as though the very idea amused him.

“You misunderstand, cousin. I do not seek to be saved.” His voice softened, yet the iron in his tone was unmistakable. “I seek only to behold my future wife.”

Your heart raced, every instinct urging you to step back, but your body seemed to betray you, rooted to the spot as Aemond reached out, his fingers grazing the edge of your veil. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it, casting the thin fabric away and laying bare the face that had haunted his imagination.

The moment the veil fell, silence claimed the room, broken only by Aemond’s sharp intake of breath. His gaze devoured each feature of your face, sweeping over you with an intensity that bordered on reverence, as if he were drinking in the sight of a rare and coveted treasure.

He exhaled slowly, a low growl rumbling in his chest as his fingers traced a line along your cheek, his touch both possessive and tender. “Beautiful…” he breathed, his voice thick with awe and something deeper, something darker. “Far more than any tale could capture. You are… a vision.”

A flicker of fear mingled with the warmth on your cheeks, and you dared to lift your gaze to his, the intensity of his stare almost unbearable. He studied you, and you sensed it was not mere admiration that darkened his eye, but hunger—a need so consuming it seemed to radiate from him.

“From this day forward,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw, “you are mine. And I… I will allow no one, not even the gods, to take you from me.”

Your breath caught as Aemond’s fingers ghosted over your skin, sparking a fire that seemed to radiate through every inch of you. For a fleeting moment, your eyelids fluttered closed, helplessly savoring the sensation. But reality, sharp and undeniable, tore them open again, reminding you where you stood—and with whom.

“C-Cousin, please…” you murmured, your voice trembling as your hands pressed against the hard plane of his chest, a fragile attempt to create space. “This… this cannot be. You should not…”

The words stumbled from your lips, half-hearted at best, even as your body betrayed you, arching subtly toward him, drawn like steel to a magnet. A flush of warmth rose beneath your skin, pooling in your cheeks, and beneath the thin fabric of your gown, your nipples peaked, aching under his gaze. The rush of sensations nearly overwhelmed you, each one more intoxicating than the last.

Aemond’s lips curved in a knowing, wicked smile, his eye gleaming as he took in your struggle, your futile attempts at resistance. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, so close that his breath mingled with yours, warm and heady.

“Wrong?” he murmured, his voice a dark, velvet caress, each syllable dripping with unrestrained desire. “There is no wrong between us, cousin. Only what was always meant to be…only fate and desire.”

Your heart raced, pounding against his chest, each beat echoing the dangerous thrill of his words. His hand slipped to the nape of your neck, his touch firm and possessive, as though he could bind you to him with that single gesture. He tilted your head ever so slightly, his mouth hovering just above yours, his gaze burning with intent.

“We are bound by blood,” he whispered, his words low and fervent, “by something far stronger than any foolish notion of right or wrong.” His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, a featherlight touch that set your skin alight. “Do you not feel it, the way I do?”

You barely managed a nod, your mind clouded by the closeness, by the undeniable pull of him. With a fluid, almost predatory grace, Aemond’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, so close you could feel every contour of his lean frame pressing into yours.

His chest was a wall of heat, solid beneath your touch, and your breath hitched as you became all too aware of the hardness pressing insistently against your belly.

“Let me guide you,” he whispered, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and laced with promise, “to pleasures beyond the realm of mortal imagination.” His voice was low, dark, each word dripping with seduction as he continued, “Yield to me, and I shall make you mine in ways the world could scarcely comprehend.”

Every syllable curled around you, dissolving your remaining resistance like morning mist. Against all sense, your body softened, your resolve unraveling beneath his spell. Aemond’s words, woven with desire and power, coaxed you toward surrender. You melted against him, instinctively seeking the warmth he offered, your heart racing as his grip on you tightened possessively.

“Cousin…” you whispered, barely a breath, a mingling of plea and prayer.

Aemond’s lips curved, and he let out a soft, almost condescending click of his tongue, a smirk flickering in his eye. “I ask for so little,” he said, his tone deceptively light before his voice softened, becoming tender, almost reverent.

“Simply allow me to reign over you, to be the master of your heart and soul. Give me your loyalty, your love, your fear… let me own you in spirit and in flesh. Do that,” he murmured, his mouth grazing your jawline, “and I will serve you, worship you, slave to your every desire.”

A tremor ran through you as his hand drifted lower, fingers grazing the swell of your breast. Your nipple pebbled instantly, a jolt of pleasure-pain shooting straight to your core. You gasped, your hips involuntarily rolling against his straining erection.

“Please... ” you whimpered, your resistance breaking in the face of such carnal temptation. ”I-I am a maiden, a child of the Seven.”

A low chuckle rumbled in Aemond's chest as he felt your delicate form yield to his touch, your body betraying its innate desire despite your protests. His fingers curled around the plump mound of your breast, kneading the soft flesh through the thin fabric of your gown.

“Child no longer,” he rasped, his thumb circling your aching nipple, coaxing it to an even harder peak. ”Maidenhood ends today, and a woman shall be born.”

With a swift tug, he ripped the laces of the front of your gown, exposing the swells of your breasts to his hungry gaze. He palmed them roughly, thumbs teasing the stiff peaks as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, plundering the sweetness within with his tongue.

"Mine," he growled against your lips, his hands roaming your body possessively

Your cry of shock morphed into a moan of ecstasy as Aemond's mouth ravaged yours, his dominant presence swallowing your very essence. The rough handling of your breasts sent sparks of delight coursing through your veins, your nipples throbbing in time with the pounding of your heart.

"No...no," you breathed against his lips, the words tumbling out unbidden. "This is wrong... this is sinful."

Ignoring your feeble protests, Aemond continued to explore your body with unrestrained lust. His hands roamed freely over your curves, tracing the contours of your body with a reverence usually reserved for sacred texts.

“Sinful indeed,” his voice was a husky purr against your lips. “Yet how sweetly addictive it tastes.”

His hands trailed lower, bunching your skirts to your waist to find the damp curls at the apex of your thighs. He groaned at the wetness he found there, a testament to your body's readiness for him.

“Such a delectable little cunt...” he whispered, his fingers slipping between your folds to test your readiness.

Your head fell back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat as Aemond's skilled fingers delved deeper, stroking your slickened flesh with a confident touch. A shudder rippled through you, your hips canting upwards in desperate pursuit of more.

“P-please...” you gasped, your voice trembling with devastation. “I...I've never...”

Aemond's knowing smirk only heightened your mortification, yet it couldn't quell the inferno building inside you. Your body was aflame, craving the release only he could provide.

“I'm afraid...” you murmured though your eyes were glazed with desire.

Aemond's eye gleamed with triumph as he watched you squirm under his touch, your innocence and inexperience only fueling his desire. He pressed a finger inside you, feeling your tight walls clench around the invading digit.

“Fear not, sweet cousin,” he cooed, his voice dripping with false reassurance. “I will be gentle... at first.”

He pumped his finger slowly, savoring the exquisite sensation of your virgin passage yielding to his touch. His thumb circled your pearl, applying just enough pressure to send jolts of pleasure racing through your nerves.

“You're doing wonderfully,” he praised, his free hand sliding up your thigh to grip your hip firmly. “Now, let's see if we can't coax out that pretty little scream, hmm?”

Your mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the onslaught of sensations assaulting your senses. Aemond's fingers moved within you with a practiced ease, each thrust and twist sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“N-no...stop!” you managed to choke out, even as your body betrayed you, arching into his touch. “It's too much!”

Aemond's grin widened, his eye flashing with dark amusement at your futile attempts to resist. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching for more.

“Foolish girl,” he chided, his tone dripping with condescension. ”You crave this, every bit of it. Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind doesn't.”

He seized your wrists, pinning them above your head against the window as he loomed over you, his face inches from yours. His hot breath fanned across your cheeks, carrying the scent of smoke and masculine musk.

“Now, be a good little maiden and spread your legs for me,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding. “Let me taste you.”

Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, your body thrumming with a mix of fear and exhilaration as Aemond's dominance asserted itself. Despite your reservations, a traitorous part of you yearned for the promised pleasure, your core clenching in anticipation.

"N-no...I won't...” you stammered, even as your thighs trembled, betraying your resolve. Aemond's grip on your wrists tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he forced you to submit.

“Please...” the word escaped your lips before you could stop it, a plea for mercy that sounded suspiciously like a plea for more, though confusion filled you, ”Why would you wish to taste me?”

Aemond's gaze raked over your trembling form, drinking in every quiver and gasp with sadistic delight. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke, his words dripping with dark promise.

"Because, my dear cousin," he purred, "I want to devour every inch of you until you forget your own name. Until all you know is my touch, my taste, my possession."

With a wicked grin, he released your wrists, only to grab your waist and throw you down upon your bed. You had no time to react before he settled between your legs, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart as he lowered his head, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh.

Your heart raced, pounding in your ears as Aemond's words painted a vivid picture of degradation and desire. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly at his mercy as he positioned himself between your spread thighs.

“And then, once I've had my fill,” he continued, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your slit, “I'll make you beg for more.”

“No...please...” your protests dissolved into a whimper as his tongue made contact with your aching sex, the wet heat of it sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

Aemond chuckled darkly at your feeble attempts to resist, the vibrations of his laughter sending shivers through your core. He increased the pressure of his tongue, lapping at your slick folds with relish, savoring the taste of your arousal.

“It's too much...I c-can't take it...” even as you spoke, your hips bucked upward, seeking more of that intoxicating sensation. Your hands flew to his head, tangling in his hair as you tried to pull him closer, to grind yourself against his questing mouth.

“You lie, sweet cousin,” he murmured against your flesh, his voice muffled but unmistakable. “You crave this, crave me. Your body sings for me, begs for my touch.”

He sucked gently on your pearl, the suction pulling a sharp cry from your lips. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he feasted on your cunt, his skillful tongue driving you closer to the edge with each passing moment.

“Release for me,” he commanded, his eye locking onto yours, burning with an intense, possessive hunger. “Let go and give me everything.”

Your entire being was consumed by the inferno of pleasure that Aemond ignited within you. His words, his touch, his very presence overwhelmed your senses until nothing existed beyond the coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter in your core.

“Ahh...oh gods...Aemond!” your cries echoed off the stone walls as you said his name for the first time and he pushed you relentlessly towards your peak. Your back arched off the bed, your nails raking down his scalp as you held him close, grinding shamelessly against his face.

“Yes...yes! Don't stop...please don't stop...” you babbled incoherently, lost to the maelstrom of sensation. And then, with a final flick of his tongue, you shattered, your release ripping through you with the force of a tidal wave.

As your climax crashed over you, Aemond drank in your essence, reveling in the taste of your release. He lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure until you finally went limp beneath him, panting and dazed.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction as he gazed up at your flushed face. He crawled up your body, claiming your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to plunder the sweetness of your mouth.

“Now, let us see how well you respond to other pleasures,” he murmured against your lips, his hand sliding down to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple into a stiff peak. “We have only just begun to explore the depths of your devotion.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process the intensity of what had just transpired. Aemond's control over your body was absolute, leaving you weak and pliant in his grasp. Yet even as you trembled with aftershocks of pleasure, a thrill of anticipation coursed through you at his words.

“Other pleasure?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. Despite the fear that lingered, a spark of curiosity ignited within you, drawing you deeper into the unknown realm Aemond promised to show you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your breasts heaving with each ragged breath as he fondled them. The sensation of his calloused palm against your tender flesh sent jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core, making you ache for more.

Aemond's smile was a wicked curve of his lips as he watched your reaction, delighting in the way your body responded to his touch.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I speak of the exquisite agonies of pleasure, cousin. The kind that make you scream and beg for mercy even as you crave more. The sort that leave you trembling and spent, yet yearning for the next touch, the next thrust...”

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the juncture of your thighs before dipping into your drenched folds. He circled your sensitive pearl, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“Shall I show you these delights, Beloved? Shall I push you to the very brink of madness and back again, all for my own entertainment?”

A shiver ran down your spine at Aemond's words, a delicious chill that mixed with the heat building inside you. His touch was both gentle and ruthless, coaxing out responses you didn't know you possessed. Your hips bucked involuntarily as he stroked your most intimate places, seeking more friction and relief.

“Y-yes please...” you breathed, the word torn from you on a moan. Your hands came up to tangle in his long silver hair, holding him close as if to anchor yourself against the storm of sensations he unleashed.

Aemond's fingers danced across your sensitive flesh, pushing you higher and higher until you teetered on the edge of another release. Your vision blurred, your lungs burned for air, and still he teased, denying you the release you craved.

“Please...I need more,” you whined.

Aemond chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending vibrations through your quivering form. He released your pearl, his fingers trailing up your inner thigh before gripping your hip possessively.

“More, hmm?”

He leaned back, his piercing gaze drinking in every flush of color on your skin, every hitch of your breath. “Very well, cousin. Let us see how you fare against my cock.”

With a swift motion, he shed his trousers, freeing his rigid length. It stood proud and unyielding, the tip already glistening with pearly wetness. Aemond grasped your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he positioned himself between them.

Your eyes widened as Aemond revealed his manhood, the sight of it making your mouth go dry. The size and shape were intimidating, but a part of you thrilled at the prospect of being stretched so completely. You nodded, unable to find your voice as he spread your legs wider, exposing you fully to his hungry gaze.

“Are you ready to be filled, to be claimed in the most primal way possible?” He asked, his voice a husky growl.

"Yes...” you managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

Aemond's grip on your ankles tightened as he aligned himself with your entrance. The head of his cock pressed against your slick folds, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. You bit your lip, bracing yourself for the intrusion.

“Please don't hurt me,” you whispered, your voice tinged with desperation.

Aemond's expression softened slightly at your plea, though the intent in his eye remained unchanged - a fierce, almost feral hunger. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “I would never harm you, sweetling," he paused, "at least not unless you begged me to."

With that, he surged forward, his thick cock driving into your welcoming heat in one powerful stroke. Your cry echoed through the chamber as you were split open around him, your body stretching to accommodate his impressive girth.

“Fuck, you're tight,” he groaned, pausing for a moment to let her adjust. His hips flexed, pulling nearly all the way out before plunging back in, setting a relentless pace. So fucking perfect...

A sharp cry tore from your throat as Aemond's massive cock impaled you, the sudden invasion sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through your core. You arched your back, nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move within you, each thrust driving deeper and harder than the last.

"Gods...it's too much..." you panted, struggling to breathe through the intensity of the sensation. “You're so big...”

Despite the discomfort, your body seemed to mold itself to his, craving the stretch and fullness he provided. Your inner walls clenched around him, trying to draw him in even further.

“More...give me more...” you whimpered, your hips rising to meet his punishing rhythm.

Aemond grunted in satisfaction at your wanton pleas, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. The obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by your keening cries.

“That's it, take it all,” he growled, his hand fisting in your hair as he angled your head back. “Scream for me, let everyone hear how thoroughly I'm claiming you.”

His free hand slid between your joined bodies, finding your swollen pearl and rubbing mercilessly. The dual stimulation had you writhing beneath him, your body wound tighter than a bowstring.

"Come for me, Beloved,” Aemond demanded, his voice rough with lust. “Come on my cock like the desperate little maiden you are.”

The words fell from Aemond's lips like honeyed poison, stoking the flames of your desire until they consumed you whole. Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision blurring at the edges as ecstasy coursed through your veins.

“Yes! Oh gods, yes!” you screamed, your voice echoing off the stone walls.

Your inner muscles spasmed wildly around Aemond's pistoning cock, milking him for all he was worth. The pressure building at the base of your spine reached a fever pitch before exploding outward in a burst of pure bliss.

“Aemond!” your name was a ragged gasp as you convulsed beneath him, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you.

Aemond threw his head back with a triumphant roar as your orgasm triggered his own. His cock pulsed inside you, spilling his hot seed deep into your clencing cunt. Each jet seemed to last an eternity, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

“Take it all,” he snarled, grinding his pelvis against yours to ensure every drop was absorbed by your eager flesh. “You're mine now, forever and always.”

As the final spurts subsided, Aemond collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily as he savored the aftermath of their coupling.

When Aemond's release flooded your womb, you felt a sense of profound completion wash over you. Your body went limp beneath him, utterly spent yet deeply satisfied.

“Yours...” you echoed softly, the word falling from your kiss-swollen lips in a daze. “Forever and always...”

As exhaustion tugged at you, your limbs grew heavy, and the events of the day settled over you like a warm, thick blanket. Nestled in Aemond’s arms, you felt a strange comfort, a warmth you’d scarcely known, drawing you closer into his embrace as sleep beckoned. The solid strength of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it was all that held you tethered as your eyes drifted shut.

“Rest now, my love,” he murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rasp, laced with a possessiveness that left no doubt of his intentions. “We have much to discuss when you’ve recovered.”

Even as you slipped into the gentle embrace of sleep, Aemond remained vigilant, his gaze never leaving you. His mind churned with plans and possibilities, already anticipating the obstacles that lay ahead. He knew that securing his claim upon you—upon both of you—would not come easily.

His arm tightened around you, a silent vow to protect, to possess, to keep you from any force that might try to tear you from him. Whatever it took, no matter the cost, you would remain his. He would allow no other fate.

A faint, triumphant smile touched his lips as he studied your sleeping face, taking in the softness of your features, the way your hair curled against your cheek. Tonight, he would let himself bask in the satisfaction of knowing you were his, that he had claimed your body and heart as surely as he had marked it.

“Sleep well, my queen,” he whispered, reaching out to brush a stray curl from your brow with uncharacteristic gentleness. His thumb lingered a moment, tracing the curve of your cheek, committing every detail to memory.

“Tomorrow, I take you to your new home.”

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

#aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x you #aemond targaryen smut

1K notes · View notes

scara-writes · 9 months ago

Text

sweetheart

Yandere Emperor X Consort! (F)Reader X Yandere Crown Prince(platonic)

милашка-sweetheart according to google correct me if im wrong!

CW: kidnapped, reader is look down upon by the nobles, infantilize, forced pregnancy, dehumanizing, mentions of attempt suicide, false rumor, power imbalance, worshipping, delusional(?)

NOTE: Crown Prince is at the age of 16(he is your first/oldest son). Reader is around 36-38. Emperor is two year younger than the reader. Also I don't speak russian everything is google (the empire is not based on irl russian empire but a fantasy world like the manhwas/shoujou isekai we read) and english is not my first language you can clearly see when you read the story. This is purely a fiction and I do not mean to offend anyone.

I DO NOT CONDONE ANY ACTION IN THIS FICTION.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Running is not ideal for a 5 month pregnant woman like you.

When you tried to seek help from your parents for the first time, they never helped you because who would believe an illegitimate daughter who was frowned upon by nobles.

You are an illegitimate child of the duke and a humble maid who passed away shortly after giving birth, but despite this, you are a physically and mentally healthy child. You even managed to withstand the attempts of your stepmother and your half-sister to discredit you in the family, and didn't even find a help to your neglectful father who busies himself of taking home many women from brothel.

That was in the past but you were desperate when you ask for their assistance. However, you never heard from them ever since you bore your first child, Ize.

Ize your son. Your lovely crown prince son grew up to be like your husband with his teachings. You tried to persuade him to never listen to his father but he only shook his head and told you that all his teaching that he was learning from his old man was to protect you.

Afraid that it will stress you even more in this suffocating high walls to protect you during your pregnancy and well being, Ize-the crown prince would be willing to act like a little kid for you. He would occasionally brew you a cup of tea that you enjoy or give you a handmade gift, such as an embroidered handkerchief, to show you that he was thinking of you and that said skill you taught him when he was a child. Knowing the child, this kind of acts is for him appease the worries you have;he is different behind closed doors of your confined palace where your eyes and ears can't reach; your crown prince son is a different person who will be willing to shed the blood of others just for you.

And it seems that the morals that you taught him must have been thrown out of the window thanks to your husband.

So here you are after escaping from the hundreds gazes of a watchful loyal hounds around your palace you escape, it wasn't easy since you are carrying the emperor's second child. You heard on a passing by servants that the two tyrants had a meeting with the other nobles and the neighboring kingdom, this is a rare occurrence that the two left you alone. It took you an hour to escape the royal grounds before exploring around the town till you found a port that would take you to another country. This is your only chance to escape that suffocating palace that those two tyrants confined you in. Your Husband, Yuri can't leave you alone not when he found out that you are with his child-a second child at that. Even before you were pregnant with his first child, his wary gaze and infantilization to you had multiplied tenfold.

Your husband spread the rumors about you being mentally ill. But why would he do such a thing? You reflected to yourself and it devastate you to realize it was his scheme to prevent you from seeking help from his subjects to escape. Only the royal physician and your husband were aware of this bogus illness. It felt betrayal that he has to make that action so he can confide you more.

Your husband's scheme worked. Even your own son believed the spewing lies coming from his father, and the nobles never gossip about you as if it was a taboo ever since you were married to the emperor. Speaking ill about the emperor's consort was just as good as the reaper visiting you by the second you speak those words. Only praises coming from their filthy mouths were allowed.

No one bats an eye on you, even the servants who serves under you. They will bathe you, serve you food, refreshments, but none of them will engage or start a conversation with you. When someone last made an effort to assist your escape, a kind servant at that. The lowest mining pit, which is worse than death, The emperor bestowed upon them to be sent the servant's family, including the said servant. High ranked criminals labour in a pit there for 18 hours with a maximum 4 hour break the rest of the hour are for necessities like sleeping, with much less food and income. In short, a death torture for them.

You implore your husband to kill them rather than send them there, the only thing he said to you that it wasn't your fault they were sent there. Something along the lines of—"you were acting like this because of your condition. That servant was attempting to kill you." He told you that in front of other servants. Everyone compliments his action for 'protecting' you. His cunning red eyes looks at you that none of the servants and nobles noticed but you did. It was a warning for you to behave or he will do worse.

Yuri has never harmed you, physically. but he will harm others who want to separate you from him.

The only time you regret your decision is when you met Yuri—he was about to meet his demise by the hands of his brothers if it weren't for you stumbling to see him in the middle of the night on an alleyway of the tsvetok village struggling to breathe from the deep pools of his own blood. So you drag his half dead body into your abandoned chamber—which is rarely visited by servants—that your father bestowed for you when you were born. Aiding his deep wounds, helping him heal up, befriending him, falling in love—

You purse your lips and gave a small wince feeling your belly is starting to ache, the kick from your unborn child thumps under your long dress.

My child please, Now is not the time! you gently brush your belly soothingly before leaning on the lamp post that dimly lit the night. You sigh in relief when you felt the baby inside of you cease on kicking. Although you were a little further from the palace when you looked behind you, you still needed to move quickly. Right now, you assume that Yuri or a servant that was suppose to serve you had definitely find out that you were gone this afternoon and notify the knights and some of high ranking mage to find you immediately, but the sun had already been sunk by the evening. They must have been having a hard time finding you. A little more 18 minute walk and you'll be able to ride on the ship that will help you travel to another empire, or any nation.

"ort---s--ing!" you turn to your left to look one of the vendors of the nights were gossiping. A woman with her husband was panting, assuming he was running to deliver a news to his family. His cloth headband on his raggedy hair is soaking. He took a deep breath before repeating what he said earlier. A dread of fear rise from your throat as he uttered his next words,

"The Emperor's Consort is missing! The Emperor's knights are blocking all way out!"

You heart felt like dropping when you saw a nearby knight were looking one by one at the women nearby, specifically women who are similarly pregnant like you. Speaking of the devil, they are already here!

Knights in horses, mages running around the busy street. Some of them stopping women who has similar hair color as you to assess if they found the right person.

"Oh my! I'm hoping the consort is doing okay! She must have acted such way due to her failing mental state. The emperor must have been worried sick, I can't imagine the devastion look of the emperor especially their son!" said the woman to her husband.

You hid your hair with your cape and quickly blend in with the busy road of the night town. Muttering, "excuse me!", "Apologize!" As you force your way around the crowd. One arm around your belly to protect child, while your hand went to sling your bag with clothes and some gold coins. as you bump so many people on the crowd. You look edges of the town, at the gate, to see all the possible exits were starting to get block by the imperials knights and mages. You bit your lips frustration as you felt the hope of getting your freedom back is slipping away from your grasp.

Your plan of getting to the port has been discarded after seeing a two mage and three knights were on their way there. Even if you did go in town's gate the gatekeepers will inspect people who are exiting and entering.

But...

You look at the old man who was riding a donkey with his carriage towards to exit of the gate, fruits were laying under the cloth. An Idea quickly pop your head but you are desperate to leave this suffocating country so you have no choice but to execute it.

Your silent foot falls went behind on a slow moving carriage before climbing up silently and quickly, in your haste and desperation movement, you didn't feel as though you had torn your cape at the wooden edge of the carriage before taking the fabric that was covering the fruits that keeps them from dust and dirt. You carried a handful of fruits before slowly sitting down beside it then covering yourself with the said fabric and the remaining fruit fast enough before the knights from the gate of this region would notice you. You wince when one of the fruit hit your belly but not enough to endanger the baby.

"Have you seen this lady?" A man in his mid 60s look at the paper, he squint his eyes as he held his old lightly crack glasses to take a better look. Your (e/c) eyes look at the gapping hole of the carriage and gulp fearfully when you saw your portrait on the paper holding by the imperial knight.

"O-oh...sa-aw her!" you held your breath when the old man spoke. The two knights look at each other before listening to the next word of what the old man would say.

He lick his dry lips before continuing, his voice's struggling due to his old age, "If I-Im..not mistake-en the lady in the p-picture look like the lady I saw by the lampost o..on the rozahk street!"

You exhaled in relief since you mistakenly believed that the elderly man had just seen you, but he actually noticed you five minutes' walk from the gate to roza street. However, this would also let them know that you are actually close by.

The imperial knights gave the elderly merchant a nod as they hastily walked around the city, alerting a nearby mage to use a spell to track you. They quickly tell their subordinates for a new command.

You felt the carriage starts to move. Hugging yourself for reassurance especially at your upcoming baby that everything will be okay.

You weren't escaping just for yourself but for your second child that will be born. You don't want your kid to become like their older brother and learn from their father. Ruthless, and doesn't have a compassion to another human. You want your kid to have a brighter future, away from the blood shed. You hope that if you got caught or killed by your husband in the future. You will tell your second child to run away and never look back, when you are gone.

You ignored how uncomfortable it was to sleep in the fruits. You close your eyes and see the farm neighborhood that the carriage passed as well as the slowly dissipating kingdom that was beginning to appear as a dot on the horizon.

The abrupt shake of your ride woken you up. You hear noises outside the carriage and glance through the hole to see that light was creeping through, signaling that it was dawn but sun has yet to come in the horizon. What is happening?. You peek above the cloth seeing that you don't have enough visual on what's happening. A dusty road lay in front of you, and woods surrounded you. You turn around to look behind you and realize that the palace is no longer in sight. A sense of relief that you were indeed far from that prison.

A bunch of voices caught your ears, you turned to look to your right.

Your whole body went pale.

Your son-the crown prince was chatting with each of the roadside merchants who had just exited from their vehicle not far from where you were. The imperial warriors and mages that were conversing with the other sellers the same task as your son was doing just behind him.

You curse yourself, how did they come here to fast?

You need to leave before they notice that you are inside this carriage. Just as you swiftly escape your imprisonment. You carefully stood up, removing the fabric that was covering you and the fruits, ignoring the woozy and aches from your muscle pain for not moving too much from the entire night.

A creak was heard in your vehicle when you tried to climb down. Snapping your eyes back at them, to witness if they heard the mistake you made. To your relief, The prince and the other guards were still busy interrogating.

They didn't hear me..

You reach down and starts to stalk away from them, your hands were trembling. Stepping back to reach the wood just a 5 meters behind you. It didn't matter if you get lost in the woods, as long as they don't catch you.

No, you would rather live in a woods, in a forest where no one can reach you.

As you step forward carefully in to the woods, you didn't notice from your cautious and anxious state that your boots crack a twig, just like the cliché you previously read. The nearest knight snaps his head at the sound. He was perplexed before realizing that the woman from the paper in his hand resembles you.

"Her majes-"

You dash toward the woods. The imperial knights sought to catch up to you, as you heard him behind. You grab a nearby rock and shot it directly to his skull, and it hits him.

You ignored the yelp as he yells your honorific causing the nearby knights hear him and went for his aid, before they realize what he was yelling and starts to chase after you.

You felt the dress that was getting stuck on some of bushes and dried branches, resulting to have your dress to be ripped.

Heartbeat were thumping agressively, adrenaline were rushing around your body. One of your hands went up to your belly protecting it from getting injured despite your legs were now full of scratches and bruises from the twigs, and sharp edges of these woods. You feel your legs ache.

"Mother!" You faintly hear a galloping horses along with your son's voice behind you.

Your mistake was to look behind you while running away. You saw how your son and his guards were starting to gain just to bring you back to that hellhole. Your son Ize was reaching up his hand to take you back, his red orbs were full of concern and anxiousness.

"Mother! It's me,Ize! Please, slow down you will hurt yourself!"he yelled."Mother! Think about my sibling! Your child! Listen to me! Don't let this illness take over you!"

Poor child, he thought all of this nonsense that you are doing was because of your bogus illness.

You were about to stop when you saw a nearby cliff but a trunk made you tripped.

You screamed feeling a misstep when you realized you are falling, instinctively cradling your pregnant belly, protecting it as you roll down from the ground. A piercing scream was heard—from your son. Your head colliding to the three and it felt like your head would split open.

Your eyes were blurry from the impact. Touching your belly if there was injury. Atleast trying to feel your lower part if there was bleeding through your thighs other than your legs.

You look up at the steep cliff to see your son was sliding down, crying out your title as his mother. You saw his red orbs were full of tears as it glides down to his cheeks. The last thing you saw before your vision was consumed by the darkness was his hands reaching up to your head.

You were awoken by the sound of the chirping birds coming from the balcony.

You coughed, feeling the dryness from your throat. You eyes were blurry for a few minutes before clearing to see that you were back to the same imprisonment.

But....

It wasn't the same room you shared with your husband. Are you...even in the palace?

You took your time to assess your surroundings only to realize that the room has similarities of the royalties room that are exiled but it looked renovated, one of your husband's brothers used to live here before taking his own life. You felt grim about the thought of it.

After his brother's passing you heard from one of the maids that he turned it into a vacation palace for royalties.

It was different from the last time you saw it. It was much more cleaner and better. It looked good after it was renovated.

Wait, the baby.

THE BABY!

You eyes quickly gaze down to your belly. Hands quickly feeling around them, you exhale in relief when you felt a small kick from your stomach. You felt your tears at the edge of your eyes. It was a miracle that the heavens hadn't take your unborn child away.

I'm sorry baby...

They would have died from the stupidity you'd done!

You laid down to your right side of the bed and cradle in your stomach muttering a soft apologies and starts fluttering your eyes to go back to sleep.

But somethings not right. You felt like a pair of eyes watching you, looking at you.

Observing you.

You opened your eyes and look up only to see your pair of red eyes staring down at you.

Your husband, the emperor sitting on a wingback couch, his face resting at his hand while the elbow is resting at the arm of the couch beside him is a kettle with a cup that rest on top of the bedside table.

You feel your body tense up, you tried to get up and turn to look at your husband.

"Y-your majesty." You called but it sounded like a whisper. You don't know what he will do to you. Sure, he never hurt you physically but this is the first time you'd gotten far away from the place he imprison you in.

You gulped, will he hurt you this time?

"I-I'm... I.." you cannot come up a word,an excuse, what if he gets sick of you? What would happen to your child?

You felt your breath shorten. Tears are starting to swell up in your cheeks.

A rough hand brush on your cheeks before cupping it. You found your partner is already beside you on the bed.

He didn't speak he just let you weep as he brush away your tears. You stammer your words wanting to apologize. The emperor handed you a cup of water and you took it quenching the thirst from your larynx.

Once you drank it all, you hiccup trying to stop your tears from coming out. You felt his hands caressing your belly. "H-husband.."you gulped.

"hush,милашка."he commanded and you held your tongue and closed your eyes when he leans on your cheeks before engulfing you with his arms around you. You felt suffocating around him like a snake coiling around your body.

You feel tensed as he starts peppering kisses on your shoulders and neck before resting his lips to your earlobes, you shudder when he kissed it.

His right hand from your waist slid up under your loose sleeve before sliding it down, your emperor leaned down giving your shoulder a hickey. You whimpered trying to push him away but he hadn't budge an inch. Once he was satisfied he let your skin go with a pop before looking at the red mark he left.

The same hand went to brush your hair, tuck it behind your ear before leaning his forehead against yours. His red eyes held adoration, affection, but most of all obsession.

"милашка." He muttered closing his eyes sighing, he brush his lips against yours before deepening it.

He kept calling you, held you in his arms gently. The same arms that has full of blood that slay so many heads to get to the top of this food chain.

He laid you down before kissing every finger tips of yours and then clasping it with his rough hands as he called for you.

"милашка...."

".... my милашка..."

He pressed one kiss on your collarbone. "None of this is your fault..." He told you.

"... This illness will be the death of you."

Your heart broke for him. He really delude himself that everything you did to get away from him was because of your 'illness'.

"... Everything will be fine, darling. I will take care of you." He dampened his lips one last time onto your lips before leaving you in your new confinement.

3K notes · View notes

ctrlhope · 10 months ago

Text

Bound By Blood (m)

synopsis: A servant to the state since birth, forced to work for the royal family until you die. These are the conditions that have granted you life, yet are they are the same ones that can take everything away. He can take everything away. But he would never, for you are his future, his eternity.

k.taehyung x f.reader

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 16.0k

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: genre: royalty au, soft yandere, fluff, smut, smidge of angst

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: content: soft yandere!prince!taehyung, maid!reader, power imbalance, talks about death/violence, blood, slight predator/prey dynamics, manipulation, misunderstandings, dom!tae, tae calls reader lamb, oral (f.receiving), marriage related dirty talk, virginity kink/loss of virginity, size kink, praise, reader is fucked dumb, implied kissing reader while she sleeps, implied offscreen somno, implied stalking, ownership, tae is rlly sweet and adorable

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: notes: hello!!! this was meant to be a drabble but as you can see it spiralled out of control lmao. i got a little hyper fixated (and grew a really bad crush on this taehyung) so it ended up being way longer than i initially thought! regardless, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it!!

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The Kim Empire.

Your home, your family, your livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

They practically brandish your mind, have been since you were no more than a babe. Stuck in the clutches of everything Kim since you were born. Your mother a maid, your father gone from the face of the earth. At least as far as you are concerned he is, anyway.

He is better off dead. The alternative of him living scott free in some far off land, meanwhile you have to serve the hand and foot of the king sets no more than the bitter taste of coffee beans against your gums.

Bedding your mother, no more than a fresh-faced maid at the time. Outcasting her the second after when he had to have known the rules of the palace. The demise it would cost both her and her future daughter. Perhaps every generation that followed as well– if there were to be any, that is.

Housestaff are not meant to have relationships. They are meant to serve the king and his bountiful family. How are you meant to do anything else with a child bouncing at your hip, a husband grabbing at your ass.

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times. The words ingrained in your skull just as the brand you received when you were far too young to remember the pain of it. Evidence that you are bound to the palace by blood until the very moment you take your last breath.

The punishment for becoming pregnant within the walls of the palace are simple: your child belongs to them. For anything within the Kim Estate is their rightful property, given to them by the grace of god.

You, a gift from god to serve the empire. You would snort at the notion if training from a young age prohibited it. You are just a result of your mothers kindness, her naivety.

You could never find it within your heart to blame her. She was just a girl who thought she was in love. Fired for her love. Had her daughter taken from her to serve for her love.

Love is something you will never be granted the property of.

You will be granted an allowance to send home to your mother to keep her afloat. You will be granted a room to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat. A secure job in which you can never be fired– well. That is a lie. Though, your termination would come at the end of an axe, rather than a piece of paper.

You used to muse at the thought– when you were a young girl, no more than 11 or 12. Going through your melancholy years, hating the rest of the world for simply existing. For putting you in a position where you could not change your fate, instead had to endure your present. Feeling like a girl trapped in a tower just like the bedtime stories had always prescribed.

One time you had caused such a ruckus in front of the oldest Kim son you really did think you were going to get the axe. Hell, you were even prepared for it. Locked away in a cell for two nights, brought before the executor.

Right before the swing was meant to be brought down against your neck the head maid ran into the room, gave some sort of letter to the man. She apologised profusely, gripping your ear and dragging you away from the scene.

You hadn’t acted ary since then. It taught you your place. Made you realise the need to survive buried deep within your bones. In the innate way some sort of wildcat would lash out until it was bloodied and on its last breath.

You would not die at the end of a knife. You’d live your life, acting a maid until you could die peacefully of old age. Even if it meant surrendering yourself to servitude for the most annoying brat you’ve ever laid eyes on.

A quiet sigh slips past your lips at the mere thought of him. The sound would get you punished if anyone were to hear, especially in respect to the coveted crown prince of the kingdom. Few share the same opinion as you of him– but then again most that work here aren’t forced.

It is only when the stars are strung high in the sky that you allow yourself to feel such things. When you stay awake past the beginning of rest hours, most of the staff (save for the night shift) falling to sleep hours prior. Only then when you’re out in the gardens do you allow indignation to satiate your brain.

For the few hours of freedom you may hold dear until the next morning begins and you are forced to live the same day once more. Over and over again until the end of time.

Your fingertips reach out as you walk, bruised from the scrubbing of floors, to find purchase against the walls of flowers rimming the maze. Rough fingertips dance against the gentle petals of roses, lulling in the feeling. Picking themselves against the thorns without much of a thought, not withdrawing. Only pausing feet to observe.

How can something so delicate and beautiful wish to cause harm? It does not. It simply desires a way to survive. You could never fault it for that.

“Pretty, are they not?” A dark, husky voice sends cold down your spine. Hairs become on edge, back straightens taught, ears perk just as if you are an obedient dog. Fear flashing through your entire being.

You do not wish to turn around. Do not have any want to face the man that has caught the air in your lungs. The one catching you in the garden without any proper attire in place. Though you must. You must bow, grovel at his feet for forgiveness for allowing him to see you in your nightgown. For not being in bed as you should.

Prince Kim has never been known for being kind.

Your body acts for you while your mind sets on pause– taking several steps forward, bending your body at the hips to give a proper 90 degree bow. Your hands clasp before you, hair coming down in front of your face.

“Prince Kim–” You rush, suddenly out of breath, “Please forgive my insolence. I-I am not of right attire or mind to be standing in front of his excellency right now. Nor should I be excused for touching the property of the palace. I have no proper excuse and any punishment you decide will be deserving. Please forgive me.” The words recite from your lips like a bible– instruction of them being heard time and time again.

Cold night air whips at your ankles, fluttering the gown around your ankles. The chill only adding to the cold sweat you’ve discovered has perspired. Making your hair dance around your shoulders.

You expect something, anything really. A slap, a single word. Though there is only silence in response. Silence that extends far too long and feels far too pungent for your taste. If he was going to do something, you rather he just get it over with.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear the baritone of his voice once more.

“Pretty, are they not?” He asks again, repeating the same sentiments as before. Confusion bristles through as a kite in the summer air. Why is he asking you this? Is he not annoyed he caught a maid in such a level of disrobement? What is he trying to gain? What does he want?

All the questions you do not have any hope to answer rush through you causing you to feel confused and incomposed. Every boring lesson you were forced to sit through never taught you how to deal with this exact situation. You aren’t sure what he wants, nor your place in the garden. The thought scares you.

Against your better judgement, you allow your chin to tilt up only slightly. Only enough to look at the man– to try and read the expression on his face so you can better analyse your next action.

The shock you feel when you find his face is only inches from your own, frame bent down to make his eyes level with yours is something you cannot explain in words alone.

You would prefer to scream and run, however that is not an option at this moment, or so it appears. Instead, your eyes only widen in shock, in trepidation. Your mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as you stare.

Never before have you made eye contact with a member of the family. Never before have you had the luxury to view one so close. In any other circumstance, you suppose, you would surely be punished for such a thing. Someone lower should never view a future king in such a way.

You wish you could say he was a heinous, ugly beast for hatred of the palace alone. Yet you can’t, for he isn’t. He is beautiful.

Sure, you knew that already. Paintings of him are plastered across the walls– his face is everywhere eyes are able to reach. Yet this close, at this angle, you can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat. Can’t help but admire every facet of his complexion before being thrown in front of the lion again.

A gorgeous, blinding smile wipes across his face the moment you face him. Lips forming into an adorable box after he finally has your attention fully drawn on him. You’re startled back once again, sending your brain into a further whirlwind than before.

He desires an answer.

“I um… Yes. I suppose they are.” You nod slowly in response, following in his footsteps as he returns to full height.

You must follow his lead– it is how you will survive.

You usher a stray lock of hair over your shoulder, trying to stop it from hitting your face. The air starts to become stale again, feeling empty in the lack of his reply. It is awkward, and the way he stares at you, eyes darting around your face– your figure, has you feeling in some sort of girlish, embarrassed way.

You think you dislike the feeling.

“Are you a fan of roses?” His arms are pulled behind him, wrapped together as he bounces on his toes in something that looks like… boyish delight? The muddle of your brain can't help to understand a single thing. He is making no sense, trying to make conversation with you. Trying to find a morsel of companionship in someone who is meant to bow to him like he is the true god of your mortal plain.

You will have to oblige until he allows you to depart.

“I suppose so.”

He frowns. Try again.

“I adore them, the palace always has the most gorgeous petals all year round.” You smile at him, hoping it masks any discomfort you feel.

The smile returns to his own lips as he begins to walk. Tilting his head to you as a cue to join him. You try to keep your paces a few behind his own, a maid should never walk beside a member of the family. Though he only slows in response, matching your gate even though it is obvious he hates having to slow down.

Why is he behaving in this manner? It makes no sense to you.

“The flower of devotion.” He nods, breaking the silence once more and keeping his eyes straight ahead.

You almost want to admire his profile– the gentle curve of his nose, yet you refrain. Training your eyes ahead, keeping your fingers laced in front of you. Trying to look as put together as possible at this moment.

“Is it?” You quiz, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind it. Unbothered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose, flowing sleep pants.

“Of many other things, as well.” He nods, sending a slight smile at you.

“I don’t know much about the language of flowers.” Though it feels wrong to be talking with Prince Kim so casually, you try your best. The more you give in, mayhaps the sooner he’ll bore and the faster you will be able to run from the cage.

“Tell me your favourite, maybe I can tell you its meaning.” He pauses and you find yourself at the foot of the gazebo. He reaches out his hand, offering to help you up the small stairs of it.

All over again you find yourself taken aback. The prince is requesting that you touch him, not for his service, but your own. He desires to help you. Is for some reason treating you like a lady.

You don’t understand it, yet with great hesitation you oblige. You place your hand on his much larger one, allowing it to encase it. Help you up the stairs.

“I don’t know many…” You hope he cannot hear the hesitation in your tone, “Though I’ve always been fond of lilies.” You tell him, attempting to pull your hand away from his own as you reach the top.

He doesn’t allow it, keeping your small palm tight in his own. Fear trickles in once more, circling around your heart, constricting it.

You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him in the slightest. It is here where you shall face punishment for all the previous misdemeanours committed. White stone shall be painted with red and you will be left to your own devices to clean up the mess.

Your lungs start to take in more air, though of course you try to disguise it. Turning around to face him, to discover why he has kept you held firm, air is leaving your lungs for another reason entirely.

He holds your hand close, examining your fingers. Tilting it back and forth, smoothing his thumb over the back of your skin. If he takes note of the little dots of red, he doesn’t make comment of it. He only curls his fingers upwards, hooking against your own. Bringing your hand up to his lips as if it was the most delicate thing on earth. Staring at them with a passion you doubt you’ve ever seen before.

“Rebirth.” His breath fans across your knuckles, slowly lowering to place a gentle kiss against the skin. His lips are soft, so gentle against your weary flesh. So full of safety, so full of song.

When he retracts, he pulls away no more than a millimeter, though his grip tightens.

“Purity.”

Your first meeting with the prince had left you with a flurry of emotions, none of which you could hope to syphon through. For hours he kept you in the gazebo, sitting with you. Talking until it appeared the sun was cresting over the horizon.

He refused to release your hand the entire time. His fingers playing with your own, perhaps obsessed with the feeling of your tiny hand laced with his own pristine skin. Did not pay any attention the several times you tried to excuse yourself, only changing the subject of conversation to try and keep you in place.

It was strange. Confusing. You did not understand the reasoning or cause behind any of his actions.

Well, at least until the next morning while you were scrubbing the floors. Your friend Annabell cleaning right by your side. Catching up, gossiping about the new recruits found in the manner. It is only times like these when you actually get the chance to talk, to giggle with someone meant to be your equal in both age and house status.

The only chance you’re truly able to forget about the fact she is able to leave once her contract expires. But it does not matter– any small amount of spite you hold is slashed away by her kind smile. The understanding in her eyes as she treats you like just another maid set to work for the king instead of a captive.

It is only after the 7th yawn of the morning she asks about the poorly covered bags under your eyes. You had gone to bed with the rest of the girls, there is no reason you should be so tired. You never appear to be, at least it is not shown around others.

You struggle with yourself for a moment, trying to decide whether the night before was meant to be kept as a closely guarded secret to your chest. Yet one look at your closest confidant had you spilling everything.

The entire night– the stars, the flowers, the way he prattled on. How tight he gripped your dirty, calloused hand against his pristine soft ones.

You feel strange speaking of it, remembering it in any way. It causes your cheeks to heat and a fury to settle below your ribs.

It is a strange feeling, yet not an entirely unwanted one.

Your eyes train to the floor as you spill your soul, unable to keep it in once it starts pouring out. You try to keep your tone as neutral as possible– to tell her about the night as if it was a simple news story you heard from a guard. Though, you’re unsure of your success in the matter.

A poised laugh leaves the lips of your counter, her eyes cresting into half-moons.

“You cannot be serious right? You tell stories.” She giggles, shaking her head before continuing her assault on the floor.

You simply shake your own.

“It happened, I was as shocked in the moment as you seem to be now.” She lets out a small bellow of giggles once again.

“No, no. I believe it happened entirely. I’m only talking about the fluster of your face.” She giggles, lifting her rag and shaking it for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile.

“There is no such thing.” You laugh knowing that there is.

“Oh my heavens. Y/n, you cannot tell me you’ve grown fond of the Prince, have you?” Her words are hushed now, much more so than before. As if someone may be listening to the conversation.

You tense in reply, unsure of the answer yourself. The closest you’ve ever felt to fondness of another man was a stable boy a few years back. Only 17 at the time, head wrapped in romance novels that you didn’t entirely understand. He was handsome and he was kind. However just as you were starting to become closer to him, he was sent away to work at another palace.

You had not been optimistic since then.

She takes your silence as an answer in itself. Moving towards you, gripping your shoulders and hauling you to sit on your haunches. Forcing you to look at her face as she speaks.

“You cannot be serious.” She repeats again, hoping for any sign of doubt. All she receives is bewilderment in reply, “Y/n. You can never trust Prince Kim.”

You sigh, “I know, Anne, I–” You’re cut off with her own voice again.

“No, not in the way you’re imagining.” She sighs, letting her hands drop from your shoulders to continue scrubbing at the floor. Making work of herself as she speaks, “The other maids don’t tell you of much, do they?”

You can’t deny it. Your seclusion within the castle walls is only partly of your own design.

Other maids do not feel as though they can trust you, seeing as you are full property of the crown. In their eyes, you hold not a crumb of loyalty to your own kind. Few maids speak to you like Annabell does for fear the second they say anything wrong you are going to tell the world.

You would never, though your word is worth its weight in feathers to them.

“They don’t care for me as you do… no…” You admit, continuing to clean as well. She already knew the answer, letting out an exhale before she speaks.

“Prince Kim has a pension for… debauchery… I shall say,” She flinches at her own words, yet doesn’t know a better way to put it, “The variety in which he uses pretty words to seduce young ladies to bed with him. Royalty from other lands, general’s daughters, maids. It matters not. He likes them for the night then pretends they shall never exist again.”

Each word she speaks sends another stab into your gut. A dull pain blooming from the same places which a swirling was forming before.

Ah. It all makes sense now.

“Oh.”

“He has a particular fondness for the other maids, you know. Bedding them without a second thought.” A grimace forms on your friend's lips, scrubbing harder into the already shining floors, “There is no reason to form any sort of affection for that man. It will only end with his seed inside your core and a knife in your heart.”

Yes, everything she is saying makes perfect sense. You feel almost stupid to not see it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it– want to think about it in any sort of fashion. But this makes much more sense than the crown prince wanting to speak to you for any other purpose. Explains why he was acting as a true gentleman to someone so much lower than him.

However, you find that it does not take away the cavernous pit that has formed in your gut.

“I see, I have no desire for either.” You nod your head in understanding, not sure of what else to say. “I don’t understand why he’s taken an interest in me, though.”

She gawks, “I don’t understand why it has taken him so long to in the first place.” She shakes her head.

“Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Y/n, you must promise me. You will not fall for him, nor give any part of yourself to him. He is not someone that will care for you like you deserve.” She states, blue eyes piercing icicles into your own. She is determined and will not relent until you agree.

“I do not wish to. Not after hearing all of…” You make some sort of motion with your hand, “that. Anyone would be a fool to like him.”

You nod your head while Annabell smiles in agreement.

“Good.”

Those are the last words you exchange with anyone for hours. The rest of the day passed by with lightning, an endless turnstile of things to take care of. A ball was to be held soon meaning the castle would be a wreck for the next few days. Too much planning, cleaning, sewing, coordination had to take place before anyone could rest.

Honestly, you were grateful for it. A break from thinking was much needed. As is a good night’s rest.

You sigh, already imagining how lovely it would feel to pull off your shoes for the day. Peel the cotton off your body and replace your dress with something more comfortable.

Oo! Hopefully enough warm water will be left for a quick bath. That would be just wonderful, your muscles would be able to unfurl. The perfect thing to lull you into a glorious sleep.

Your arms stretch over your head as you finish descending the staircase into the maid hallways. Bones in your back pop from the pressure, causing a sigh to make its way from your lungs. Your nimble fingers make their way to the ribbon holding your hair in place, untying it and allowing the tresses to fall.

Soon you would be in the maid resting quarters– your appearance would matter not there anyway.

You send small smiles to other staff members passing you, those that have either just woken for the night or those who still have work to do. Yet in return, each one of them just stares at you with an incredulous look. Turning and whispering to their friends as if you were not still in front of them.

You can’t help to understand why. Those around you may not have considered you a friend, but they were never rude. Always polite when need be. It has you feeling strange, some type of nervousness as you get closer and closer to the hallway extending to the maids personal rooms.

Rounding the corner, you discover exactly why.

His frame looks entirely out of place standing there. A perfect, pristine picture in a hallway of drab, illuminated only by the lanterns hanging on the wall. Royal blue tunic draped on his shoulders only emphasising his status.

He looks as though he was never meant to be here. Like a mistake was made along the cobblestone walls. No, he looks as though he is meant to be among the living. Not in your dreary, windowless life. Nothing could change that.

You stand there frozen, a deer caught in the lanturn of a hunting party. A pounding of your heart, as well as the dark swell of your gut coming back to life. Why is he here? Why the hell does he have a bouquet of flowers?!

You wish to scream, but you don’t. You have already been caught.

His eyes look up from where he created a small pile of dirt on the floor. His face coming alight in an instant, pushing himself to full stature from where he once leaned against the wall. Long legs making their way towards you while he suddenly has the decency to hide the bouquet behind his back.

Annabell certainly did not mention this method of Prince Kim’s seduction. You had never seen him down here before.

“Hi.” Is all he says once he is finally face to face with you. His face bright and youthful. Excited.

It seems all formalities have been dropped in his mind, though you refuse the notion.

“Prince Kim.” You simply reply, lowering yourself in a curtsy.

He pays no mind, almost pretending you never did it in the first place. Instead, he simply rocks back and forth on his heels, bouncing slightly in delight. Wanting something, unable to voice it.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, hoping to end the encounter swiftly to stop all of the prying eyes leering into your being.

“I brought you something.” His eyes do not break contact with yours once and you can see his hand twitch by his side as if it wants to reach out for something. You're glad he has the decency to hold back, so you shall do the same by pretending you never saw the flowers in the first place.

You choose not to ask yourself why he brought you a present. It must just be a trick of seduction.

“I am honoured to accept such a thing.” You send a small smile his way, something between real and fake. It seems to make him beam.

His arm comes out from behind, holding the flowers between both of your bodies. You look down at them, shock written across your features.

Sure, you had noted them as flowers before. But you think these may be the prettiest ones you’ve seen in your whole life. Petals of orange, white, and purple cloud in your eyes. Stomatas filled with the sweet pollen.

Lilies. All different kinds– ones you’ve never seen before.

They’re out of season, at least you think they are. How did he get these? Why is he giving them to you? Why is he trying to get the butterflies to return? Why is he trying to make your heart explode?

“Prince Kim…” You’re not sure what to say– instead gently reaching out to feel the velvet of a petal. Staring intently at their colours, unable to pull your eyes away.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His voice is a husk of a whisper, as if you’re the only two in the hallway. As if other maids are not passing, as if they are not staring at the two of you.

“Yes… I… I’m not sure what to say.” It is all so hypnotic.

“Thank you would be a good beginning, no?” His smile is soft, a light chuckle present in the tone.

You pause, tilting your head to look up at him fully– a large, real smile donning your lips.

“Yes. Thank you.”

You feel as if you are floating, just as you would when reading those romance books in your late teen years. Like the world has stopped moving save for the prince in front of you slowly passing the flowers into your arms.

Your hands brush against each other and you feel his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slight. Wishing to grab onto your hand just as he had done the night before. Wishing to insect every line that traces over your fresh once more.

However, he refrains. Allowing his ringed fingers to sink themselves into his pockets.

“I was just going to have them delivered. I’m not really meant to be down here, you know,” His smile is shy, “But I didn’t know your room. That, and I wanted to see you again.”

You look down, unable to keep the eye contact he presses you for. Prince Kim is too much for you. You don’t understand how he couldn’t be too much for anyone.

“Oh…” You’re a flush, “Thank you for saying that.”

“It is nothing to thank me for.” He chuckles, bangs dimming the hues of his eyes, “I’m sure I bored you with all of my ramblings.”

He did, partly, but that was more discombobulation for the situation and a sense of tiredness creeping into your bones. You shake your head quickly.

“Of course not. I had.. Fun.” Mayhaps fun isn’t the right term, yet there is no word that exactly describes your emotions of last night, nor the ones of today.

“As did I.” His lips are tight in a smile again, feet bouncing on their heels once more. He’s nervous, wants to say something again but isn’t sure how.

You’re not sure how to feel about learning what that habit means. Not sure how to feel about what any of this means. You have not had a moment alone to truly dissect what all of it is.

“I would love to spend the night talking to you again, if you would allow me.” You don’t think you would love anything more, yet you know you would not be able to function. Would probably make a fool of yourself, too.

“I-I think it would be best if I were to get some rest… I had not even an hour before I had to start working last night.”

He frowns, “That’s not good for your health…” He pauses, searching your face for any signs of distress, “Then let's talk in your room. I will only stay until you sleep.”

You pause, air drifting back into your lungs.

Ah. Right.

The words of your friend sink in once again, breaking you out of whatever trance he had put you under. Whatever spell he laced through both of your ears to have you singing songs of praises for him and the crown.

He wants you as a notch in a bedpost. Nothing more. It is clear as day and you are a fool to think anything other than that. This is all just a cleverly rehearsed show. You will not fall victim like your mother.

All royalty is the same. Use use use. Beat a dead horse until it stops coughing up any sort of reprise.

Your posture is suddenly tense, fist gripping the flowers so tight your knuckles appear white.

How dare he think so low of you. How dare he think he might be able to fuck you for nothing.

“Men are not allowed in the women's private quarters.” Your voice is staunch, though it is not as if he can tell nor cares.

If he does, he doesn’t show it.

“Ah,” The lilt is still evident in his tone, the cat playing with the mouse, “But I am not any man, am I?” His body leans a bit closer, pulling his face parallel to your own. Smirk playing on his lips.

Beauty is a deceptive thing, isn’t it? “When I am king I’ll make it so I can see you whenever we both desire.” Something heats in your gut at those words, yet anger quells it just as fast.

“It is a shame that you are not King yet, then.” You nod politely in his direction, trying to excuse yourself. Yet your words only seem to excite something in his eyes, lighting a fire behind them.

“My, I didn’t know you felt that way.” He smiles coy. A flustered sensation overcomes you as you realise the double meaning behind your words. You had made it sound like you wanted him in that way when that could not be farther from the truth.

“I do not.” You state, your voice ice. Though once again, it seems that it does not pierce him.

“There is no reason to be so cold, Y/n.” He sing songs, tapping one of his long fingers against the side of his head.

“I am not being cold! You are just not listening.” You sigh in exasperation. Exhaustion and annoyance make you forget yourself, causing your volume to rise just as his own does. This only seems to excite him more.

“I have heard enough.” He giggles, boyish and what others would describe as cute. Right before you’re able to argue back once again, he cuts in with his own voice once more.

“I will leave you for now. Find a pretty place for the flowers.”

He smiles generously at you, beginning to walk away, “Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.”

In your shamble of a disposition, you’re left stuck there. Staring at his back as he retreats down the hallway.

The shock of everything that had just transpired coming over you all at once. How poorly you had behaved. How you spoke to him. He could have you killed for any one of those things however instead he left you with a bouquet of flowers and a promise for another night.

You scramble to find yourself, to move yourself from out of the eyeline of every other maid. To make your way to your room, your one sanctuary as quickly as possible.

It is only when you’re in those walls, hard oak door shut firmly beside you that you have to remind yourself of your promise to your best friend. Remember that the prince fights his battles with words and emotions.

Your second meeting with the man had left you even more confused than the first. Thousands of questions and emotions real through your bones at a pace your brain can’t manage to understand. Leaves you fuming, trying to form a single coherent thought as you analyse the last two nights with a ferocity unimagined.

In your state, however, you neglect to think of the one question that should be dancing before you, held on a string just out of reach.

Why did he know your name?

It is apparent that since that night, Prince Kim has located which room you find habitance in.

This morning, another letter has found itself slipped under the base of your door. They have become commonplace now– letters detailing apologies for why he was unable to visit, what he had gone about on his day, his regrets that he has not heard back from you in what feels like ages.

He’s tried to speak to you a few times in the palace when you work. His eyes always trained on you with something you’re unable to describe when you clean nearby.

You wish you could say it was perverse in manner, but it was nothing of the sort.

Every once and awhile you would catch a lily pinned to his breast pocket. He would send you a secret smile whenever it caught your attention. As if it was a tale meant for only the two of you to know. As if he wanted to carry a portion of you with him.

You may be naive in saying so, nor do you have much experience in the matter, but these do not feel like the actions of a man who simply wishes to find home under your dress. These feel more personal. More extravagant than anything else.

Nevertheless, you ignore every single advance. Annabell made you promise, and it was a promise you were intent on keeping until your dying breath.

Put the letters away in a box, never to be responded to. Avoided looking at him whenever he was near. Rushed out of rooms when it appeared he was intent on making his war for you.

Icing out the prince is what is best. Whatever lilies he will wilt and die and you will be able to continue on with your hatred of the Kim family as well as your blood pact with the throne.

You only wish it was that easy.

“Y/n!! Miss Y/n!!” There is a scramble outside of the door, voices hailing for your presence. You don’t know why– you’re on wash duty. Anyone, unless they’re extraordinarily new, would know that.

The voice grows more erratic, more panicked. As if their life depends on finding you in that very moment. The other maids in the quarters send their glaces to you, urging you to go yet not one opens their mouths.

At least one bonus of endenturing your entire life to the palace is that you have grown in rank. More than 10 years has granted you a decent position.

A hushed sigh slips past your lips and your hands find themselves forcing the pile of sheets into the washing tub. Your hands quickly wipe away at your apron, ridding them of any moisture before pushing open the door.

Stepping into the hallway lined with stone you notice only a single girl. Her entire form shaking as she paces the hall– panicked. Blonde curls bouncing with every step, cheeks a fluster.

A new recruit, indeed. Celley is the name she wears.

She had just entered with the last batch of new maids, starting at the palace no more than 2 months ago. She was a recruit you were unsure of– not having a lick of grace or balance, nor any experience with serving. But you suppose there are many reasons maids are chosen.

You do not like to think of them.

Her feet are suddenly clamouring over to you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’ve stepped in the hallway. Her small, shaking hands grip your shoulders, holding you with all the will she seems to possess.

“Excuse me have you seen–” She stops herself, tiny pants pausing as her eyes go wide, “Oh my days! Miss Y/n! You must hurry!” She rushes, hand gripping your wrist as she tries to pull you away.

Though your face twists in confusion, your feet remain firm.

“What’s the matter?” You ask, both sympathy and concern entering your frame. You can admonish her later for her lack of manners, however now, the girl seems truly frightened. Her large steel eyes looking back at you, pleading.

“The crown prince! He’s!” She’s out of breath once again, continuing to try and urge you on.

This time, the second the word prince is muttered, you begin to follow her pace, “He’s lost his mind! He’s going on a firing spree! Locking up anyone who tries to calm him!”

“What? Why is that? Did something happen?” You ask hushed, urging the girl to keep her voice down. Though you both are similar in age, it is apparent who has experienced this type of thing before.

“He got into some kind of spat with his father. His instructor was fired when he tried to continue on with their lesson.” It seems she understood your message, continuing to hurry you down the halls.

“And what am I meant to do?”

“I-I don’t know!” She lets out a quiet yelp, pulling you closer as you exit the maid hallways and enter the palace ones, “His personal maid is away visiting family. She said to leave everything to you if something were to happen! I-I didn’t know what else to do!”

Damn Eleanor and everything she stands for. Why the hell did she have to bring your name into this?! Shouldn’t the head maid be called in times like this?! Not you, someone who wants nothing to do with any member of the royal family. Especially the crown prince himself. Sure, there must be rumours spreading around but you had managed nearly three weeks without speaking to him!

You let out a sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident, more put together. You will do this, and you will come out victorious. Every battle before has left you victor. What is one more?

“I understand. It will be dealt with.”

The least you can gain is the idyllic picture of the prince to be shattered forever. That would be the most ideal outcome, something to truly force him out of your heart for good. You will not fall prey to him and his earthly desires. He will not win your heart.

At least that is what you hope.

The throne room's doors stand before you, delicate lacings of gold worth more than your entire being etched into its surface. A glittering picture for what is sure to be a bloodbath behind its contents.

A deep inhale of warm air fills your lungs, hand pressing against the door as you force it open. Face someone you have not wanted to see nor extinguish the flames of in nearly a month.

He stands before you, 20 paces ahead. A broken bottle in his hand as he heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the passion of ten thousand suns. The look of murder in his eyes as he stares down at a maid, her form on the ground. Bowing with as much might as she can possess, looking for any exit possible. Few other maids stand around the room, keeping their heads low, avoiding any eye contact possible.

Though he looks like a mad man– mayhaps a god of war himself, not a single hair is out of place on his head. He is still the picture of sovereignty. And though your breath spikes, you find that you are not afraid.

What a strange feeling it is.

The creak of the door sends single to him, has him whipping his head to face you. Anger etched into his features, a new target befalling his sight.

You stand tall, moving towards him. You will rise to the position given to you, even if it shall mean your inevitable downfall. As long as the new staff are safe.

Only, when he looks to you, no wrath is found. No anger or deceit. The second his eyes meet your own, his expression drops along with the bottle in his hands. More glass littering the floor in its wake.

His eyes soften, his lips turning from a sneer into a gentle frown. His shoulders automatically lower, and suddenly it appears that there is no one else in the room. His legs move automatically, carrying themselves to you with such a hurried pace you would have thought he had seen a long lost friend.

Oddly, this scares you more than when he was angered.

You start into a bow, “Prince Kim, I’ve come in place of–”

His arms wrap themselves around you before you can speak another word. Pulling you in, wrapping you into his scent as you're pressed against his sturdy chest. Strong arms keep you in place as he tries to make his body become one with your own.

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, one hand raising to tie itself in your hair. It forces you to stay in place, stay attached to him just the way he wants you to be. Allows him to inhale, breathing in all of you. Finally delving into the scent that he has been craving.

Your eyes only widen, hands staying firm at your side in shock. Heart beginning to race, head becoming lost in the soaps that only a member of a family could possibly own.

You’re not sure what to do. How to behave. As far as you are concerned or aware, this is something that no other has had happen before. At least not so openly. Not so brazenly in front of a myriad of other people.

But, it seems to calm him. To placate him in a way you’re not sure anyone could explain.

You try to make a small twisting motion with your hand, try to urge everyone else to leave while they have the chance.

They seem to take it, exiting the room as fast as possible.

You’re sure word of this will spread throughout the castle quickly. You hope the consequences will not be dire.

“Prince Kim–” You begin to speak after everyone has cleared out, after he holds you for what feels like a lifetime. You can’t find it in you to want him to pull away, no matter how embarrassing this seems.

“Shh,” He quickly silences you with a gentle press of his lips to your pulse, “Let me stay like this for a moment.”

You are unable to move. Unable to breathe after he kisses you. War could begin in that very moment and you’re not sure you would have noticed in the slightest. You are stunned into obeying his whim as he simply inhales and exhales.

The umber in his voice only comes after a millennia, after his shoulders have completely sagged. After all the tension is removed from his body.

“You didn’t respond to my letters.” He still doesn’t pull away, his grip on your hair tightening a fraction.

You pause.

“I…I didn’t know where to send them.” You lie and his hand loosens. The correct answer.

“My study. Put them under the door to my study.” He instructs like a king would.

You’re not sure why the tone of his voice sends shocks to your gut. Pooling into something you only find in your dreams.

“But if someone were to see them–”

“Let them.” Mumbles in your ear to you and you alone, a growl practically spiking through his voice, “I want them to know.”

Oh. This is new. This is definitely new. This is not the same way you felt with the stable boy years ago. This has become something entirely alienating. A completely different beast. You know that now as his baritone voice sends waves straight through your gut.

You simply nod in reply, your mouth unwilling to say anything back. The arm around your lower back grows more firm.

“Tell me where you will put your replies.” He commands into your ear.

“Under the door to your study.” Your reply is automatic, years of answering to the kingdom evident in your tone.

He sighs, unfurling his fingers from your locks to gently pet the top of your head, “Good girl.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft as he touches you.

“Good lamb.”

You sigh, fingers deftly searching through your wardrobe for just a single pair of underwear. But once again, you turn up empty. It seems like every day that passes, another pair disappears without your knowledge.

Perhaps one of the new girls is causing a fuss, messing up the laundry for everyone else.

That is the only logical solution, at least.

But logic doesn’t seem to make much sense at all anymore. You couldn’t hope to understand why few of your other belongings have come up indignant as well.

Your favourite perfume, one of your stuffed animals, even your toothbrush! All have magically vanished from thin air over the course of the last week.

It is too bad that you haven’t had the time to think about it, either. Preparations for the ball have been raging throughout the palace. Everyone has been on their toes, unwilling to face the wrath of the planners as they try to make everything perfect.

You have had not one moment alone to think, either swept up in cleaning, decorating, or well… recently you and the prince have been going on walks through the garden at night. Though that doesn’t matter much. It doesn’t mean anything– just another thing he made you promise to. Claiming he wishes to spend as much time with you as he can.

His recent fixation is trying to get you to call him by his true name.

You would never dare, nothing is more inappropriate than such a title. It is something only his most beloved is meant to call him, and that person is certainly not you.

You try to force any thoughts of him out of your head, though it is clearly a fruitless endeavour. Especially with the dream you had the night prior.

His hands finding themselves between your legs, touching you in a way no other has.

You flush, quickly shaking all thoughts of the night away.

The tea! Your tea, yes. A prescription from the doctor for this very thing.

More often than not, you wake to find a mess between your thighs. Sticky arousal between them in a perverse fashion. The region sensitive and overstimulated combined with a mess of dreams. More sexual in nature than ever before.

Embarrassed, you had turned to the only person you could trust. The palace staff’s doctor.

She had told you it was normal– that you were simply having what she described as ‘wet-dreams’. The title alone made you feel embarrassed.

Nevertheless, she prescribed you a tea to help calm your nerves. It was meant to be passifying in nature, calming any lush desires you may have beginning to form.

You were not sure how it functioned, however you trusted her. Found that it quelled whatever fire burned inside of your heart for the time being.

Perhaps just a new oddity to add to your reality, you suppose.

Finally, you find a proper set of undergarments to pull over your legs. Letting out a breath in relief now that you finally have them.

Today is going to be busier than the last month combined– the ball is tonight. You know for a fact you will be rushed around the palace all day, fixing everything into an acute sense of perfection that only the Kim family is known for.

You reach to spray your second favourite perfume across your skin, only to find that the bottle has gone missing as well.

Your hairs stand on edge, a dark pit forming in your stomach.

It is all too strange for you to want to understand.

Okay, now you’re sure Annabell must be wrong. She has to be, right? There is no other conclusion possible.

The thoughts run through your head as you pace the small confines of your room. Thumb between your lips, biting the skin feverishly. Contemplating what it is exactly that you should do. A heavy box sitting on your bed, a letter laying next to it along with a single lily.

A month ago, you met Prince Kim in the gardens. A month ago you spoke to him all night long. A month ago he brought you flowers. He has been leaving you letters ever since. Three weeks ago he held you in his arms, made you promise to write him back. Made you promise to meet him in the gardens as many nights as you can.

But this, you could not accept. You could not possibly think this is real. Why has he gifted you something like this?

A dress lays on your bed. The most gorgeous dress you have ever seen, in fact. Lined with crystals and gems, many layers of tulle poof from the underskirt. It must’ve cost a fortune, but it was not meant for you. It is a dress meant for a princess, not a simple maid of the palace. Not… Not someone the prince simply wanted to bed.

So why did it lie here, along with a lace mask and a pair of shoes. Why did it come with a note from the Prince, telling you to put it on for tonight's events? Is this why the head maid dismissed you so early?

No. You could not. You will not make a fool of yourself. You do not belong up there, dressed as a princess when you are far from the thing. That is your decision. It will be the one you stick to.

Even as hours tick past on the clock, even as you can hear the night in full swing, you stay locked in your room. Feeling the same as you did when you were a girl locked in the dungeon all those years ago. Helpless, indignant, stubborn.

Lost in your thoughts as you try to piece together a puzzle that has several spaces missing. Feelings for the stable boy– life with him, it would have been easier than this. You’re sure of it.

You allow yourself to imagine what life could have been like if he stayed. It would have been a cosy, peaceful. A straightforward one that didn’t leave so many questions in your head. Jungkook was always like that, spoke his mind without leaving anything to be guessed. You adored it, wished you could revel in it now. Wish you could kiss him under the cherry tree once more.

A pounding wakes you from the dream you were just beginning to weave. Loud, angry knuckles against the firm oak of your door startling you to your feet in an instant. Chills running down your spine as if your body already knew who was behind it.

You wait too long to reply, another series of rapts following in quick succession. You’re in trouble. You’ve angered the prince in a way you’re not sure you’ll be able to find your way out of, but you have no choice. He knows your inside. You know you must face him. You must be brave.

Right before another series of knocks can echo against the walls, you finally pull the door open.

There stands the man you knew would be there all along, sculpted like the lord had made him himself. You wish you could behold him properly, to stare at his beauty in the suit specially prepared for this night. One he asked your opinion of several times during its construction.

But you are unable to, not when his shoulders heave like a bull planning its charge. Not when his eyes are narrowed into a glare that enters your soul without consequence. Never before had you felt his anger directed at you.

The future king would be a fearsome thing.

“It appears you are not dead.” He states, cold and detached in a way you have never heard before. It makes you feel small, feel weak. Though by now, you know he wants an answer. He will not accept the lack of one from you anymore.

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, “I suppose not…”

“Then what do you suppose.” You flinch. You’re not sure.

“I– Prince Kim…”

“Taehyung.” He interjects, though you ignore him. Only his future wife is meant to call him by that name.

“Prince Kim, I could not possibly accept this gift. You have to understand.” The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink. To appear as small as possible to placate the lion you’ve wondered into the den of.

“I do not. You are to accept any gift I am to give you.” He is stern as if lecturing the ground beneath him. He looks massive in your tiny room, taking up much more space than you wish to grant him.

You begin to grow frustrated, annoyed. Does he have no sanity? Does he really think it is okay to play with the hearts of women so carelessly? It is disgusting. Repulsive even! You do not deserve anything like this. You begin to grow tense, grow firm like a wolf cornered. Ready to lash out with no remorse.

That is what you are, anyway. A cornered animal with no hope to escape.

“I won’t.” You raise your shoulders, stand taller and stare him straight in the eyes. If this will have you sent to the axe then so be it.

He grows just as tense in reply, his lips forming a sneer as he takes a step closer towards you.

Never before has Prince Kim been opposed like this before, you’re sure of it. The way his irises become darker is proof.

“And why is that, lamb?” He mocks, and the fire inside of you only begins to glow brighter Of course, you’re just the lamb that's wandered into the lion's den. The lamb being prepared for meal.

Steam clouds around your head, jaw becoming tense as you try to hold back your rage. Rage for your mother, rage for the life she was taunted into the same way the prince is trying to do to you now.

“I will not become another woman you bed and then lay waste to!” You practically shout, unable to hold back your emotions anymore.

His nostrils flare, “Excuse me?”

“You heard my words.” You state back, indignant, “I will not be an idiot. I will not become another woman who you use for your own pleasures!”

You hear him scoff, head turning away from you for the first time as he looks around your room.

“You think that little of me?” His eyes make their way back to you, his face having the expression of somewhat… hurt?

Suddenly, you’re unsure. You feel stupid all over again though you’re not entirely conscious as to why. You hurt him? How could you possibly hurt the most powerful person in the country?

You falter in your stance, and it is obvious that he takes notice. Uses it to his advantage as he takes another step closer, makes his hand find your own. His thumb brushing soothingly over the knuckle. His hands are always so soft.

“What else am I meant to think? I’ve heard the stories, Prince Kim.” Where once was fire lays blistering coals. Hot to the touch yet unyielding in their passion. The air in the room has changed in much the same way.

“Tell me of them.” He asks you, his voice now gentle, soft.

It is strange, the complete change he’s had since first entering your room. Has your brain going a little haywire. Especially with the way he stares at your hands. Like they could be locked forever.

“I…” You feel flush, embarrassed to mutter the words in front of the prince, “I’ve heard you seduce women… princesses, noblemen’s daughters, maids… the lot. Then you abandon them the next morning with your seed in their core and a knife in their heart.”

You keep your eyes to your feet, face feeling hot by repeating the words of your friend. You refuse to look at him, you cannot take the embarrassment.

A light chuckle leaves his lips, a hand coming up to attempt to muffle them, “Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. You’re baring your soul to him! How dare he laugh!

He coughs to muffle the rest of the sound, returning to the moment, “I apologise. I just had the realisation. You’re jealous of them, aren’t you lamb?”

A mess of flutters takes up your stomach, your shoulders raising in alarm. Your lips open to try and form words, to try and deny the allegations made your way, yet you are entirely unable.

Especially with the way he moves closer, crowds your space with such ease. Leads close to you, whispers words in your ear, voice lower than before.

“You wish it to just be you I lay with, is that so?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as another, more erotic chill finds its way down your spine.

“Th-That isn’t–” You try to speak, but your voice sounds as light as air. He moves closer, arm carrying itself around your back, pulling you flush against him as he speaks sinful words. Words only for you.

“Ah…” He sighs in relief, lips practically touching your ear once you’re finally connected to him, “You don’t like it when I go fuck your friends then come to spend my nights talking to you… writing to you… touching myself to the thought of you.”

You cannot take it. You cannot take this, take him. Your head is spinning, clouding with the drug known as Prince Kim. Your knees feel weak, your limbs feel all too heavy. How can someone so pretty say such sinful words without a second thought. It’s too much. Far more than your poor little heart can take.

Your arms come up, press as firm as they can against his chest despite how weak they feel.

“Mmm…?” He asks in response, pulling back to look down on your face. Mock confusion spread across his features. He takes a step back, pretending to look you up and down. Like he is just playing a game of poker while all of your tells are as clear as day.

“Or is that not what you wish?” He asks, head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “You would like things to remain the same?” He smiles, drawing conclusions all on his own.

He pauses, waits for you to say something, anything before continuing. But you do not, so he will keep playing this game by himself.

“Then I shall go find someone to keep me company for the night. Mmm..” He taps his chin in contemplation, turning on his heels, meanwhile panic and dread fills every facet of your being, “What were those ones you’re friends with again? Celley? That pretty blonde? Oh, or maybe Annabell. I’m sure she would be prepared to go for a second round.”

What? What? No, No! What is he talking about? Why is he starting to walk away?! Wait, Annabell, second time?! She has before?!

Oh heavens, oh gods.

“Anyway, I'll be sure to write to you after. Have a good night, dream of me.” You begin to hyperventilate as he takes one step out the door. No, he can’t leave. You don’t want him to. You don’t want him to be with anybody else. You can’t let it happen. You can’t afford such a thing! Ever! That is not where he is meant to be!

Your body carries you before your mind does. Hand slipping out, gripping onto the back of his coat with all of the strength you can muster. Feet planted firm in your room, doing everything in your power to not let him leave.

It is really too bad you do not see the sick smile that forms on his lips. Maybe then the pieces of the puzzle would have finally clicked in place.

Instead he only tilts his head backwards, painting a complexion of boredom.

“N-No! I don’t want that!” You finally manage to stutter out, knuckles turning white with the strength you hold onto him. Afraid if you let go in the slightest he will pull away and disappear forever. “I don’t want you to be with other women!”

The silence that follows your confession feels a mile long.

“Then go put on the dress.” Out of any response there could be, that certainly was not the one you were anticipating.

“What…?”

His chin tilts in the direction of it, urging you on, “If that is the truth, then go put on the dress.”

“I…” You hesitate for only a moment, but scramble to motion once the prince turns to leave once again.

You make quick paces to your bed, keeping your back to him. You feel his eyes on your back, intent on giving you no privacy to ensure you follow through on his order.

In fact, all he does is close the door behind you. Making sure no one will be able to see in. No one will be able to watch you save for him.

You slowly peel off the cotton of your nightgown, trying to appear brave even though his eyes are trained on your form. Even if your slip still remains on, you have never been this uncovered in front of a man before. You feel entirely bare.

You do not look at him as you finally find your way through the tool, slipping the garment over your head with struggle, yet his face is practically predatory.

You don’t know his plans, or what he wishes to gain. You never do.

As the fabric settles over your hips, half of you wants to question how the size is perfect, but you refrain. Too embarrassed by everything else to even consider it an option. Your hands reach behind you to attempt to lace up the back on your own, yet another pair are already present in their place.

When did he get so close? How did he get so close without you hearing a thing? Your heartbeat must be the only sound in your ears, that must be it.

His fingers work down your spine, tightening the dress so it fits you perfectly. Tying it off with skill you did not know he had. You feel his breath on the back of your neck. A fire begins to grow in your core.

“I was going to present you to my father tonight.” He admits, placing a gentle kiss to the base of your neck, “The ball was meant to find my bride.”

“Oh.” Those are the only words you can say when he is so close, arms enclosing around your waist. Pulling your back flush with his chest.

Only words you can manage at the revelation.

“Imagine his disappointment, more so my own when the girl I had been speaking to him about did not show.” He grunts, almost as if it hurt him. Guiding your body to stand in front of the full mirror in your room. Asking– telling you to look at yourself.

The sight is strange, yet incredible. The crown prince of the entire nation standing in your bedroom, in the maids quarters. Surrounded by squalor and chaos. Arms wrapped around a maid dressed as if she could be a queen.

You look up at him to the best of your ability, regret plastered across your features, “Prince Kim–”

“Taehyung.”

“--I’m so sorry.” He does not look you in the eyes. They stay trained ahead, not straying once from the mirror. One hand rubbing small circles into the fabric covering your stomach, the other sliding to your waist.

He touches you without care, without reason. Feeling you against him for all that it is worth.

“Actions have consequences, that is all. They can come later.” He states plainly, “For now I just wish to indulge in you.”

He brings his face down, placing it right next to yours. His hand rises, making your chin face the mirror as well.

He forces you to make eye contact with him through it, forces you to understand each of his words clearly.

“You’ll let me do that, won’t you?”

You take a deep breath, gulping down all the air you can manage. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more.

With no more than a nod, his lips are on yours.

Spinning you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands cupping your cheeks with such intensity you fear they may become etched into your skin forever. Keeping your lips closed against his own.

His body cages you in, pressing entirely against you. Forming against you in perfect harmony, feeling two souls become one. Feeling each other fully for the first time– no pretence or public eye in the way to stop it.

His teeth nip at your lower lip, biting in a way that has you opening them in pain. He takes the opportunity to lick his way inside, somehow pushing even closer to your body.

Something hard presses against you and the discovery has your knees wishing to collapse.

The prince can’t possibly be this big. He simply can’t.

The kiss has you reeling, unsure of anything. Unsure of what to do at all. It is nothing like your first kiss under the cherry tree with Jungkook. That was soft and sweet, docile as two people discover something new.

This, this is nothing of the sort. It is hungry. It is a beast that has been starved, finally getting its first meal. It is intoxicating. It is needy and desperate in a way that has your fingers trying to press themselves even deeper into the glass. It has your breath being robbed. Your lifeforce wilts away to satisfy only the prince.

The groan he lets out as you finally give into him, finally allow him to take control of the kiss as arousal pools in your gut. It is one of the most deadly siren’s calls you think you’ve ever heard. One that would have any woman throwing themselves overboard for just a taste.

“Finally,” He grunts, pulling no more than a millilitre away from your lips, wetness still connecting them, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for you.” He mumbles, hungrily connecting his mouth back to your own.

Before you know it, you’re lost in the man once again. Allowing him to move you, to guide you to your bed without withdrawing from you once. Tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull away. Making you drunk off of his taste, off of him.

When he kisses you like this, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to live without him.

Your knees hit the frame of your bed and all of a sudden you're falling backwards onto its plush lining. Panting, trying to regain some of the air he stole from you.

For the first time you’re able to look up at him, to discover the mess that he has become. Cheeks red, lips swollen. Eyes dark and twisted with lust. Hair ruffled messily from where your fingers laid. Shoulders rising and falling with effort as he catches his breath as well.

He looks gorgeous and you can’t help yourself hoping this will be only a sight for you forever.

He leans down, pecking your lips once more, “I couldn’t stop myself from imagining this. Since the moment I placed an order for your dress.”

He huffs, dropping to his knees in front of you. You sit up on your elbows, face twisted into confusion as you look down at him.

God. It is too dangerous to look at him right now. You know that as another wave of heat runs straight to your core.

“Pushing up the future queen's skirt.” He groans, hands gaining purchase on your hips, pulling you down so your waist sits at the edge of the bed, “Letting myself have a taste of her while everyone else at the party danced.”

O-Oh. Oh. He sees you as, oh god.

His fingers bunch in the material of your skirt, drawing in a shaky inhale as he holds onto any drop of sanity left.

When he sees no hesitation from you, he slowly begins to push the material up your legs. Eyes trained on your own, looking to you for any sign of discomfort.

“Have her come undone on my tongue while no else was the wiser.” He groans as he finally comes face to face with your panty covered core.

Your brain moves at a snail's pace, trying to keep up with every tiny movement the prince makes. Trying to process his words while your head becomes fuzzy with your own arousal.

You feel like mush, so pliable in his grip.

His large hands slowly begin to part your thighs, to look at what he has been craving for so long when your brain catches up with you, embarrassment overcoming your being.

“Y-You can’t! I-it is dirty to do such a thing.” At least, that is what you had been taught. Though, the look in his eyes and the growl from his throat tells you the opposite.

“You could never be dirty. No part of you could ever be.” The sound he lets out is more akin to an animal than anything else, and suddenly you feel like a schoolgirl. Flustered and embarrassed beyond anything else.

The muscles of your thighs untense, the look on your face blushed and biting.

“You will let me?” He asks again, and despite your embarrassment, you nod. He is going to be king… his word is rule afterall. He wishes it, so it will happen. You could not be more pleased to oblige.

His grip on your thighs is more firm than before, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he pries your legs apart. He lets a groan resonate from the back of his throat at the sight. Panties sticking to your center, wetness pooling just behind causing the material to almost become transparent before him.

You did not know it was possible for a man to have such an effect on you.

Without a second thought, he pushes the material down your thighs. His tongue licking a long stripe up your cunt, savouring the flavour for every cent it is worth.

He moans at the taste, not wasting a second before he dives back in. Lapping against you like it is his last meal.

A mewl leaves your lips, too many feelings crossing you at once for any of them to be worth anything.

Embarrassment, shame, fear all vanish the moment his lips wrap around your clit, sucking against the small bundle of nerves in a manner that has your back arching against the bed. Fingertips digging into the sheets to find a second lease on life.

You try to look down at him, to find him between all of your small pants of pleasure, however he is gone. Disappearing until the layers of fabric while he brings you sensations you never thought were possible.

His tongue moves like it is made to pleasure only you. Taking turns flicking your clit to lowering into your center. Licking up any bit of arousal he can make out. Trailing up once again to press flat against the bundle of nerves.

All of it has your legs kicking, your breath melting.

He is not quiet either, letting you know exactly how much he adores this. Adores the feeling of your thighs wrapped tight around his head. Adores every little sound and reaction you have to give him. Adores the taste of you on his tongue. It was only meant for him.

It feels like he has been wishing to do this far longer than you would ever know. Consuming you whole from the inside out. Causing you to become addicted, to desire him just as much as he carnally craves you.

His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking out every ounce of pleasure that he is willing to give you. Your adorable mewls and whines grow louder, peaking every time he sucks on your clit.

A coil has begun to form in your gut, feeling as though it could snap at any second. You wish you could see him, to look at his face and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. Observe the exact look on his face as he licks your cunt.

You try to picture it. Try to imagine the way he would look up at you from between your legs. The dark umber his eyes would become, the gentle circles he would rub into your thigh as you finally make eye contact.

Your walls clench around his tongue, sending a new waves of whines out of your mouth. He somehow moves faster, more precisely with every movement. Like he is able to hone in on the exact things that have your thighs quivering.

His tongue moves up, takes your small, worn clit into his mouth. Alternating between sucking against it, flicking at it, and pressing against it firm with the flat of his tongue.

Without warning, nor any reprise, one of his thick fingers is thrust into your wet heat. Filling you in a way you have never been able to do to yourself. Stretching you. And all of a sudden, you’re flying off the edge of a precipice.

“Prince Kim!” Your back arches off of the bed, head thrown back against the mattress as you let out a moan. Your hips jolt, cunt squeezing around his fingers, heels digging into the floor as you come undone before him.

He works you through it with ease and grace, finger slowly thrusting in and out. Tongue firmly planted against your clit to ride you through your high.

It would not be your last of the night. He must be gentle.

Slowly, you relax against the bed, chest heaving from exertion. He pulls away from you, standing to full height before leaning over your shaking form.

Your arousal coats his face, a sheen from his lips and chin evident against the soft yellow glow of the room. He looks down at you, concern and adoration written across his features. Though in his eyes, it appears that the beast has yet to be quelled.

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You taste yourself against them.

“You are delicious. I wish to eat you every night until I die.” He mumbles against your lips, his knee sliding between your legs. Muscle pressing against your swollen cunt.

You try to flinch away, yet the hand on your hip keeps you in place.

He will not have you running away.

Not now.

Your cheeks flush at his words, wide eyes looking up at him like he is all that matters.

He is.

He presses his knee further against your pussy while his lips trail down the column of your neck. Urging you towards the headboard with no words spoken until your head is against the pillows.

Your arms wind their way around his neck, keeping him in place, “I-if we were married, I would let you.” You manage to speak, your voice shaky.

He only smiles in reply. Fingers digging deeper into your waist as if he is holding himself back.

“Then we shall call this practice for our wedding night.” He smiles, sitting back on his heels.

Marriage, wedding night. You allow the thought to ghost through your mind, willing it to be reality.

He smiles down at you, taking note in the way you seem to gleam at the idea. A small chuckle leaves his lips, you really are too cute for your own good.

His voice is no more than a whisper, forcing you to stay enrapt, “You will let me, right?” He asks, eyes glancing down to where his pants strain against his hips, “I wish to make love to my future wife.”

Your mouth practically waters at the sight, his hard cock pressed taught against the expensive material. You swear there may even be a wet spot where his cum has leaked through.

Your pussy clenches, wanting nothing more for him to find his way inside. For him to claim you for himself. Destroy you so no other man can have you in the same way.

You struggle against yourself for no more than a moment, but the way his hand reaches down, grips at his cock. Brushes his thumb over the surface has you moaning in want.

“Please.”

He smiles, the motion following swift. All at once his hands unbutton his pants, pushing the material down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. He groans at the feeling, thick length hitting his stomach. Pretty pre-cum dripping down the side.

Your eyes go wide. If you imagined him to be large before, seeing it now looked impossible. He is thick, long. Far too big to ever hope to fit inside of you.

But the desperate groan in his voice, the hungry look in his eyes only has you spreading your legs. Wishing nothing more than for him to destroy you.

One hand wraps around the base as he moves closer, the other forcing the skirt of your dress as high as it will allow. He makes space for himself in between your thighs, slotting himself in. Ready to do what he has been waiting years for.

Not yet.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry. So he leans down, planting a gentle, soothing kiss to your lips. One filled with years of time behind it.

He knows he must be careful with you. Knows all of his patience will have been worth it when he is finally able to take your virginity.

“Will it hurt?” You as quietly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. You find comfort in him. Find a sense of safety within his eyes.

He nods in response, “Only for a little while, I promise.” He mumbles against your lips, placing a soft kiss against them once more.

He slowly rubs the fat head between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your hips buck slightly in response, and he can’t help but smirk.

So sensitive. So ready for him.

As much as he wants to be rough, he can’t. He can’t scare you away just yet.

He looks into your eyes once more, “Ready?” He asks, giving you one final chance to back out. You only nod your head, pulling him close, hiding your face in his neck.

His head catches on your opening with the final drag of his length through your lips. His hands practically shake in excitement, as he guides himself inside. Letting go only once the tip is buried within your walls.

He feels your teeth sink into his coat, your body burning with the stretch of him. He only has the first inch inside, yet you think it is more than you could possibly take.

A choked cry leaves your lips as he continues to slowly thrust inside. Your arms cling to him as tight as possible. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as he fills you, forming your entire body just around him. Just around his cock.

He pauses only once half of his cock is buried in your needy cunt. You feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, to bring you back down to reality from the pain you feel digging at your core. Trying to bring you some sense of comfort.

You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes, expecting to see them soft. Filled with concern. Though there is nothing of the sort there.

Behind his bangs is only the look of pure insanity.

Though he tries to be compassionate, he really does.

“Are you doing okay?” His voice is strangled, coming out in only desperate cracks. He shakes, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself inside. Fuck himself deeper and deeper, until your cunt is shaped for his cock alone.

But he holds restraint. Just enough.

The way he looks at you, the way he speaks has a wave of pleasure rushing through your skin. Your walls clamp around him, tightening even more.

He is falling apart before you, because of you.

He has gone mad because of you.

The feeling only makes you want to urge him on. See just how far the prince can fall.

You nod your head, looking at him with all the affections in the world, “Don’t stop.”

He groans at your words, mind losing itself as he snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock inside until his hips are firm against your own. Teeth digging into the fragile skin of your neck.

You cry out in pain, your walls squeezing around him in shock. Pain coursing through your entire system as you are filled to the brim. Walls stretched as wide as humanly possible. The head of cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your lungs.

“Shit.” He groans, mouth falling open, “This pretty thing is wrapped around me so tight, lamb. So fucking tight I can’t think.”

He slowly tries to move his hips, though you only shout in response. Your legs wrap around his back, doing their utmost to keep him in place.

“Hurts!” You whine, shaking your head quickly.

Fucking hell. What is the point of a pussy as sweet as your own if he can’t use it properly?

His hand moves between your legs, growl of impatience slipping past his lips as his fingers find your clit. They work with urgency, with need. Rubbing tight circles into it, trying to get you to feel the same pleasure he does.

You whine, overstimulated. Shots fired in all directions leaving you messy and confused.

With every circle, a mewl sounds from your throat. Slowly your legs behind him loosen, the pain from before mixing with pleasure to become something wonderful. Something that has you whimpering for him to not stop.

“See?” He grunts, slowly slipping out of your heat until only the tip remains, “We were made for each other.”

He forces his cock back inside, fucking you open just for him. Only ever for him.

Your nails dig into his back, heels digging into the mattress as you moan for him. As your cunt becomes addicted to the feeling of him filling you so perfectly. Addicted to everything he has to offer.

He moves too fast, too hard for you to even hope to keep up with. Hips pistoning into you, forcing you to take everything he has to give and more. Forcing you to be the perfect little doll for him, give him all the pleasure he can want and more. White mixing with red around the base of his cock.

Your back arches off the mattress to try and get closer to him, to try and keep up with him in any hope of the sentiment. Hips trying their best to keep him as close and as deep as possible, knowing they crave one thing and one thing alone.

“Prince Kim!” You moan, yet he growls in response. A sharp slap to your thigh sounds throughout the room as his hips pause, fingers removing themselves from your clit.

“That isn’t my name to you anymore.” His voice is low, menacing in your ear. One more poke of the bear and you will be punished. “Tae–Hyung.”

He emphasises the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, one that brushes against the bundle inside of you. One that leaves you crying out for him. Clinging on to him.

“Say it.” He grunts, animalistic and desperate. Yet you’re too lost in yourself to realise how debauched he’s become. Looking less and less like a man, more like a demon come to lay waste to your soul.

That is close enough to the truth, anyway.

“Say it until it becomes the only word you know. Every question I ask, every time I fuck myself into this sweet little cunt. Your only reply should be my name.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at him.

Your fucked out little features as you bob your head in compliance.

“I-I” You swallow, trying to understand his words as he pounds away at your core, “I understand!”

He smiles, almost proud of the work he has done today.

His hips only move impossibly faster, impossibly harder in a way that has that knot in your gut tightening once more.

“We’ll start simple then. What is my name?” He asks, angling his hips to press against your sweet spot with ever slight movement. Breathe panting, his mind falling deeper and deeper into the thralls of your body.

“P-Prin–” You stop yourself, a pinch coming down on your skin, “Taehyung!”

He groans, almost coming undone as he hears your name fall from your lips for the very first time. The pretty sound your voice makes with every letter.

It could be the only thing he hears for the rest of his life.

“Who are you going to marry?”

You whine, your head thrashing around slightly. He smiles. You must really enjoy the idea of that, huh?

“T-Taehyung!” You manage to stutter out again, feeling your release coming closer and closer as the seconds pass by.

“Who is the man you have fallen for?” The answer to the question is easy, especially when he is fucking into you like you’re the only woman that matters. Nothing matters except for him.

“Taehyung!” Your brain is too fuzzy to process anything else. Anything other than the way his cock fills you. Anything other than the one word he told you is your gospel.

“Who is the boy that kissed you under the cherry tree?” You don’t even know anymore.

Does any man exist beside Taehyung anyway? You doubt it.

“Taehyung!” He smiles into your neck.

“Who was the boy that was going to have you killed? That saved your life?” His words don’t process through your ears, yet you know what you are meant to say anyway.

“Taehyung!” He groans, his hips stuttering, losing their pace ever so slightly.

“Who do you belong to?”

“Taehyung!” You whine, your thighs shaking. The coil so tight you think you may just die if it doesn’t come undone in this very moment.

His breath is quiet, only a rough whisper in your ear, “Cum.”

Just as your king commands, you fall apart around him. White dots in the corner of your eyes as you clamp down around him, your legs pulling him close. A cry of his name leaving your lungs as if it is the very air you breathe.

You feel him paint the inside of your walls white, his hips stuttering– fucking himself as deep into you as he could possibly manage. If you had any sense left in your little head you would have told him to pull out, yet your brain is so high. Filled with pleasure that only Taehyung can provide.

Waves of arousal crash around you as he slows his hips, ensuring that you ride out your orgasm to its fullest before pulling away. You wish he could stay buried inside of you, just like that. Yet you doubt that would be very wise.

“Was that good for you, little lamb?” He asks, slowly helping you into a sit. You’re not sure how to properly answer– mouth feeling dry. Your head has not yet come crashing back down, though that is probably a good thing.

Facing reality is too scary right now. Especially when Taehyung is so warm. So caring as he removes your dress. Slips your nightgown back over your soiled body.

“Very…” You nod, unable to take your eyes off of him as he moves around the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, removing his shirt and dress-coat. Placing them over the back of a chair. Neatly hanging the dress on a hook, taking care that it is not damaged in any way.

Your arms find themselves reaching out to him, trying to pull him closer to you. He smiles once he takes notice.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” It is clear he was already planning on it, but hearing the words make you smile oh-so bright.

“Yes, please.” You nod quickly, eyes already feeling tired. You did not know how he had so much energy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Right now he is meant to be in your bed, arms around you. In fact, you become annoyed that he isn’t already.

“Alright.” He smiles, slipping next to your form. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

You feel so safe. So warm with him. So protected that you can’t stop yourself from falling asleep.

“Goodnight my lamb.”

The Kim Empire.

His home, his family, his livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

Yet, the only thoughts that seem to brandish his mind since the young age of 15 are about you.

When you first stumbled in front of him, carrying a tray of tea. Spilling it all over his shoes. That quick curse that left your lips before looking up at him. The wide, doelike vision you had once recognition had set in. One the realisation of error set into your bones.

He will never forget the way his heart began to race in that very moment. The way he felt a cloth of sickness overcome his whole body at the mere sight of you. Looking so serendipitous below him.

At first he thought it was hate, how silly he had been back then. Ah, the way he sent you to be killed was just funny to him now. He is grateful he talked to his mother before your execution date. Spilling his soul to her, detailing how he could not seem to remove you from his brain.

Ah, he was lucky he managed to get the letter to the executioner in time. What a pity that would be if he couldn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been able to lay next to you now. Wouldn’t be able to play with your hair, caress you like he pleases.

It is truly too bad that was not his only trial on the road towards you. It was really a pity he had to send Jungkook away. Taehyung quite liked the kid. He was fun to play with and wouldn’t shy away from his games.

But he just had to try and seduce you. Poor thing. You really were too innocent at the time. More than eager to kiss him for no reason. To give him even a peace of your heart that was meant for Taehyung alone.

He remembers as clear as day, the rage he felt as he watched your soft lips press against another mans. How terribly he wanted to go out and strike Jungkook with a sword. Of course he didn’t though, that would have scared you away. He would have hated that.

He thanks god every day he was really your first kiss, even if you didn’t know it.

Patiences was the hardest battle of all, and he will admit, he has faltered a few times over the years. Kisses stolen while you sleep, a few of your belongings robbed to keep him satiated. Mayhaps a few trips to your room in the night.

But who could blame him? He was a man in love. There was nothing that could stop him when he was so hungry for you.

Ah, and then of course his father. He wanted to separate your love as well. A maid could never possibly be suited to be queen, blah blah. He doesn’t care. And at least that fight allowed him to hug you for the first time.

God. You felt so perfect in his arms, then and now. You have always been meant for this. Meant for him.

If his father plans to keep standing in the way, he will simply have to remove him from the equation. His bonds to the man are as thick as water. He cares more for you than he possibly could anyone else.

You’ve belonged to him since you were born, anyway. If a maid becomes pregnant while working for the castle, her child becomes property of the state. Of the crown. Of him.

It only makes sense that you are meant to be with him until death. It is the path lined for you. Your fate since birth.

He knows it as his delicate fingers trace over the small patches of blood dirtying the sheets. Evidence of the hours before, of your virginity robbed. Of your promises to him.

You are bound to him by blood after all.

4K notes · View notes

ozzgin · 9 months ago

Note

More of the yandere monster???? Like their married life, him being such a cutie cutie and the reader is a willing person to his yandere tendencies. Like him physically fighting someone for flirting with her for .01 second and her just being 😍🥰

Alright anon, seeing as this has once again resurfaced, I'll cover a little bit of marital life as per your suggestion. (I'm hoping you're referring to the older sibling monster)

Yandere! Monster Husband x Reader

A little change of plans and the wedding you've been kidnapped for continued without a hitch, except you married the monstrous sibling instead. Made for an awkward celebratory dinner, but no one dared to oppose the Beast.

Content: female reader, monster romance, mildly NSFW, saga of the monster hoe reader continues

[First part]

The next family dinner was quiet. You couldn't help but wonder if your horniness had gone too far, slowly chewing your food and occasionally peeking at the ex-groom with remorseful eyes. Poor guy, you thought. "Well, it's quite convenient, isn't it?" he finally said, breaking the silence. The cutlery sounds paused, and you lifted your gaze again. The man flashed you a radiant smile, which emphasized his handsome features even more. "I mean, we weren't sure we'd ever find a wife for my brother. He has a bit of an attitude, and even monsters are afraid of him. The only marriage attempt-" his speech was interrupted by a grunt, and you turned towards your monstrous boyfriend. The older sibling was frowning, visibly embarrassed. "Oh, I remember!" the mother of the siblings, a halfling herself, suddenly chuckled into her glass, taking a generous sip before continuing: "We'd arranged for a fellow monster to meet him, and the poor soul got so frightened she blended in with the background! Took us two days to find her! She came from a chameleon family, I recall."

Everyone at the table began to laugh and you joined, although with a mild annoyance tinged into your voice. So what, there was no reason for you to be plagued by guilt? You even refused a night escapade with your boyfriend until things "settled", as a way to be respectful towards the cucked party. All for naught. At least now you could be ravaged without further consequences. When the mother in law had pulled you aside hours earlier to make sure you weren't coerced into this arrangement, you had to hold back from crassly confessing you'd slurp her son empty of fluids at any hour of the day. Some things are better left untold.

Unfortunately, one detail couldn't be changed in time: the guest list. As this had been an event meant to strengthen the ties between humans, no one outside of the immediate family graced the venue with their monstrous presence. Many guests were intrigued by the outcome of the affair, terribly curious to see the famed wife-to-be of the gruesome, feared Head of the royal army. Even more so once they discovered it was a regular human by all means. "Fascinating!", the old ladies would occasionally cry out, clutching the plump, expensive pearls adorning their necks. You had to frequently excuse yourself in order to dodge the rather indecent questions regarding your relationship. Except when you did manage to sneak away, one of the younger men of names and titles you never registered would approach you for a dance. "Truly a pitiful matter", they'd whisper much too close to your ear. "You would've made a lovely bride for a fellow human."

"You're unexpectedly calm about this", the prince mentioned to his older brother at some point during the wedding night. "Are you not bothered by all the acquaintances flocking to your bride?" The monster shook his head with a sigh. He hadn't known you for that long yet, but one thing he was certain of: it's not humans he needed to fear.

Indeed, having a wife with a monster kink is particularly challenging when most of the husband's work involves similar creatures. The first months after the marriage were stalked by the insidious doubt that his luck was just that: mere coincidence. Would you have displayed the same interest had he not been the only beast at the table? Would you still pick him in a room full of monsters? Such questions followed him each day, feeding into an ever-growing jealousy.

"What are you doing here!", he exclaimed in despair once he noticed your arrival at his training camp. "You forgot your lunch", you explained, eyebrows raised in confusion. Oh, for fuck's sake. He quickly pulled you away, glaring at the subordinates startled by the commotion. They must've been eyeing (Y/N) like rabid dogs, he thought. Next thing you know, you'll be scooped away by some horned scoundrel. He can't have that.

Initially, the rage-filled, obsession-driven fuck you'd receive almost daily was welcomed with shameless begging. The way your monster husband would pin you down under his claws and thrust into you so hard, you could see its movement in waves across your stomach. The way he'd forcefully spread your legs, hungrily sinking his nails into the soft flesh of your thighs and gnawing your shoulders in delirious need. The tears that sheepishly formed in the corners of your hooded eyes would only incite him more. "Bite onto my hand if you can't take it anymore", he'd coo without stopping. As much as you liked to be left a limp, drooling mess, the soreness grew unbearable. Enough was enough when you found yourself carrying a cushion to sit down on any surface.

"Listen, we need to have a talk." You greeted him solemnly once he returned from his military duties. Oh, no. Absolutely not. The monstrous husband bit his lips in panic, immediately going through a mental list of all his subordinates. Or was it someone in the family that slithered their way into your heart? Is that what it was about, that you'd found a different creature? No matter, you weren't going anywhere. "I don't want to hear about it", he declared dramatically. "I have a bruised cervix!" you shouted in disbelief. "Huh?" He stared at you. "It hurts even when I lay down, man. You have to tone it down. At least for a little while."

Ah. Awkward. You noticed his flinch, and patted the empty seat next to you. "What did you think I was going to say?" The bench groaned under the weight of his gargantuan body. Hands folded in his lap like a punished schoolboy, your husband began to narrate the tale of his seething envy and frenzied passion for you. You must understand, he's never cared for anyone as much. To hell with duty and honor, he would kill his own father if his touch on you lingered one second longer than permitted. "Alright, but you must control yourself a little", you reminded him gently. "Never, my urge to obliterate any threat in my path is insatiable", he concluded with vehemence. "Yes, yes, that I understand. The sex, I mean", you gesticulated. "Of course. My apologies, I got sidetracked."

Somehow, he didn't expect to leave this conversation with a cathartic approval of his possessiveness. "Surely you must be upset by my fanatical behavior", he suggested meekly. "Oh no, it's part of your charm", you reassured him with a smile. "It's just not that sustainable in bed without the occasional break." You pat your stomach to express your misfortune.

Sadly, your monster fucking dreams must adhere to the laws of biology.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #monster x reader #monster x human #terato #teratophillia #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #monster imagine #monster romance #monster husband #monster smut #monster fucker #female reader

6K notes · View notes

bunnis-monsters · 2 months ago

Text

The mating bond of a prince

Yandere!Demon Prince x Fem!Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 17th

Oct 16

Oct 18

summary:

warning: dubcon, kind of angsty, breeding, mating, marking, possessive and obsessive behavior

a/n: I wanna do more with this concept, but here’s a snippet for monstertober because I’m behind ><

Demons were said to be cruel creatures incapable of love or empathy, soulless beings that fed on fear and misery… and for the most part, that was true.

But what humans didn’t know about demons was one simple fact. There is only one person that they will ever love and care for…

Their mate.

Every demon was born into the world with one thought in their mind.

To find their mate.

Soon, other thoughts would pop up from time to time. They had to eat to continue the search for their mate, tear down humans cities to help their species thrive so their mate would have a comfortable place to live once they found them.

If they didn’t fight to end human civilization, where would their mates live and raise young? Taking their beloved back to hell with them was out of the question!

This was how the demon king managed to help demon numbers increase and keep his army growing. If each demon was born with the urge to procreate and create a good nesting ground for their mate, they could be easily controlled.

He just hadn’t expected his son, the prince of hell to be bound to a human.

The prince had recently conquered a small village. As he went about killing the men, his entire body began to throb.

In the distance, he smelled something that had his head spinning. One of the small cottages was on fire, that heavenly scent coming from inside.

He felt his body being pulled towards it, so he completely ignored the humans attempting to kill him and walked towards the cottage.

Breaking down the door was easy, but being enveloped in your overwhelming scent made it hard to think.

The second he saw you, injured and barely confused as a fellow demon stood over your fragile, human body, he felt something he had never felt before.

Protective.

Within seconds he was shirking your body, his claw drenched in the demons blood from ripping his throat out. Why was he doing this? You were just some human woman, but his soul was bound to you.

He couldn’t let you die.

When you woke up, you were somewhere strange… some sort of contraption beeped next to you, the beeps increasing in frequency as you sat up and looked around… only to spot a demon by your bed.

All you felt was pure terror.

You stared at the creature whose specifies was responsible for the deaths of so many of your friends and family, who killed innocents in cold blood. Tears streamed down your face as you tried to speak.

“Please… let me go…”

But when the prince looked into your eyes for the first time, his body felt like it had been set on fire.

He loved you, and you were his mate.

Not once in his life had he ever looked upon another creature with such fondness and care. The prince made his way to your bed, kneeling by your side and taking your hand.

“My love… oh, my darling do not fear… here you are safe, you’ll be treasured for all eternity…”

He kissed the back of your hand, your gut burning with anger and shame. This thing had taken you as some sort of… bride?

“W-what about my family?”

The words finally came out after a few days in the hospital. In this time, you learned that demon society was far ahead of the human one, with machines that could monitor your heart rate and medicines that kept you from being in pain.

It was… comfortable.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and cold. “What about them? They are humans, they will be culled like the rest.”

You clutched your blanket in your fists, your eyes welling up with tears. Something about you crying made his chest ache, and the prince reached out to caress your cheek.

“Why do you cry? Are you not comfortable?”

The demon could not comprehend your feelings towards your loved ones. He simply saw them as pests that needed to be eradicated, and could only feel love for you, his mate.

“They’re my family, I love them!”

Your sudden exclamation had him raising an eyebrow, his tail twitching. Were they really that important?

The prince knew that every human from your village was already dead, there was no way your family had survived. But to placate his mate, he wrapped his tail around you, using his soft black wings to encircle you and bring you close.

“I’ll have my men escort them somewhere safe. You may not see them, but they will live.”

This lie made you relax, and you settled into his arms. You felt like you could finally rest, and slept like a baby for the first time since you had been taken away.

The prince wanted to take things slow, but news that his mate had turned out to be a human woman spread through the kingdom until it reached his father.

He was called in to meet with the King, who was displeased, but mildly amused.

“I hear you’ve taken on a human mate, my son. You know how the royal court will react.”

The prince nodded, standing tall and confident in front of his father. “I am prepared to defend my mate to my dying breath, as would any demon.”

“That’s all well and good, but a human mate is an eyesore. You should hurry up and get her pregnant, there will be less danger once an heir is produced.”

Everyone knew that demon blood was powerful, being the dominant trait in every pairing. Once she was pregnant with the heir to the throne, not a single creature would dare to touch her.

It had only been a week since you had been home from the hospital, staying with the demon prince when suddenly approached you.

“My love…”

His lips peppered across your neck, hands holding onto your waist before sliding to your hips. “I wanted to wait… to give you time to adjust…”

You froze when his tail moved between your legs, rubbing against your clothed cunt. “But this is the only way to keep you safe… please, don’t be afraid… I’ll be gentle.”

The pieces slowly came together as his tail played with your cunt, rubbing against your panties before slipping under them and toying with your clit.

His hand was on your belly, eyes darting between your face and thighs. The way he moved his hand around your stomach…

He was going to breed you.

You squirmed for a bit, letting out an uncomfortable whine, but settled down when his clawed hand danced across your chest, groping one of your breasts as his face buried itself into your neck.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, love… this life is comfortable, isn’t it? I can give you a life of peace and safety, where you don’t have to fear war or pain. You’ll be taken care of.”

The very thought of some human male touching his lover made a growl rumble in his chest. You’d be staying with him, that wasn’t an option… but he wanted it to be something you chose yourself.

It felt sinful feeling wet from the demon playing with your fat pussy. His fingers pumped in and out of your as the tip of his tail continued to stimulate your clit, your juices flowing down your thighs.

He said your family was safe… was it so bad to let this demon take you as his mate? You were tired of long nights full of screams from people running from demons, of days without a proper meal as you rationed your supplies so you wouldn’t have to leave your home.

Couldn’t you live a comfortable life? You’ve suffered enough…

So you let him pin you down, watching as his fat cock rubbed against your leg. You had never seen a man naked before, so you were unsure if the size was normal… but you knew it had to be bigger than average.

His wings fluttered as his cock rested against your thigh. It nudges you, his tail lifting from your cunt to your tits, playing with them.

“I love you… more than you could ever imagine. You never have to want for anything again. I’ll give you everything…”

The pain of him taking your virginity made you cry out, your nails digging into his forearm. It didn’t hurt him at all, and he simply cooed, his wings soft as he dried his best to comfort you.

“Shh… shh… oh, my love I know it hurts. It won’t be for long…”

His lips pressed against your forehead, sweat already beading down. It wasn’t easy trying to take something so large inside of you for the first time…

The second you eased into it a bit, he pulled back out and slammed into you. He hadn’t meant to be rough, but he had struggled to control his urge to breed you from the second he realized you were his mate.

“I love you…” he murmured, gripping your hips as he fucked you, his teeth lightly gracing your neck. He wanted to cover you in bites and hickeys, claiming you completely.

He wasn’t done with you until your belly bulged with his cum. You smelled so much like him that he was a sappy mess.

You were exhausted, sore, and in need of a bath… but your demon mate curled around you protectively, kissing all over your body.

Within a month you were confirmed to be pregnant, and were moved into the palace as a princess.

You’d live a life of comfort… but were practically betraying your species by baring the future demon prince.

The current demon prince would soon be king, and you his queen.

An honor and the biggest shame.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

2K notes · View notes

lufyuu · 3 months ago

Text

,, Tied Up Prince ''

Psychotic villain x Isekai'd second prince male reader

Tw/s: bondage, stockholm syndrome-ish, reader is into how the villain puts him in his place, dub-con, ripping clothes, degration, angry sex, punished reader, yandere-like oc, agressive sex.

The original post

The sound of blades clashing is loud. Ear deafening even. The sound continues for what feels like a century to the young man. When it finally stops, he lets out a frustrated sigh. Not being able to guess what will happen next.

The masked man refuses to fall down on his knees. Instead, he limps a bit while looking up at the sword wielding main character, his sword casted aside. His long messy hair covers even more of his features due to the fact his mask has sustained some damage and yet he still finds a way to taunt the other. “你真的觉得这样就结束了吗？” , letting out a chuckle. With only a few seconds left in the episode, the viewer watches in anticipation, wondering what will happen. The semi masked man limps towards the other and out of nowhere, throws needles towards the main character. As he passes out, so do the end credits.

"WHAT!??? IT CAN'T END LIKE THIS???", you freak out over the cliffhanger ending, urgently scrolling to see if it's ongoing or if there are more episodes— unfortunately, it's neither. You feel as if you're about to metaphorically cry due to frustration. Nobody warned you there'd be a huge cliffhanger after 50 episodes! "God damnit!", you yell at nobody in particular while trying to do more research. Maybe if you look hard enough, the 51st episode will appear...right?

Even after 2 hours, you refuse to give up. You've wasted almost 3 whole days to watch this stupid series, it can't just end like that. You even go through some tiktok comments and edits too find any clues to an episode 51. Though, it's odd that nobody cares to mention the fact that there's a huge cliffhanger on the last episode. Everyone seems to be okay with it? That can't be right. Either everyone's crazy or you're going crazy.

"AHA!", you finally find a "clue" of some sort in the official website. It states that although the series does end on episode 50, it's based off of a novel which is completed. Without a second thought, you search it up only to find that the novel name is...your name? It clearly says [Name] [L. Name] as the title. As they say, curiosity killed the cat. You mindlessly click on the link.

“我们终将相遇，灵魂伴侣。”

.ᐟ.ᐟ

'My head's killing me...', when you open your eyes, you're faced with a ceiling. It wouldn't be odd if it weren't for the fact that it's not your ceiling. "What the...", you instantly sit up on the bed to look around. Not only is the ceiling not the one you usually wake up to, the entire room isnt even yours. You scramble to get on your feet, almost sprinting towards the door. When you are about to open it, it opens from the other side. "Ah!", the short, well dressed girl lets out a shocked noise, "your highness, you're up early", she regains her composure and sesms to be waiting for something. You stay quiet for a few seconds which prompts her to try and break the silence, "may I come in..?", to which you take a step to the right, allowing her to enter the spacious bedroom and put down a tray with food. Before she exits, she opens the windows for you to which you thank her for as she walks out the room, leaving you all alone once more.

"Gosh it's bright out", you walk over to the now opened window and look out. The scent of nature lingers on your nose, it calms your panicked mind in just a few seconds. The birds chirping, the leaves rustling, the sun shining brightly. Far different from the traffic jam and loud vehicles you'd normally hear. This gives you enough time to think about the situation in a calm and rational manner. 'Your highness?', is what you think of, along with the fact that the room and environment is vastly different from the messy, dark room you would usually wake up to. Questioning yourself only led to even more questions and so, you turn to look at the plate that has been served to you. Two steamed buns and a few fruits for nutrients.

"Alright let's see what I can find!", you have some optimism in you as you begin your "investigation". The courtyard is ridiculously big and so are the halls. You alnost got lost halfway in! Deciding it's time for a little break, you sit down on a nearby pavilion. "I've been here for almost an hour, am I just dreaming..", you pinch yourself a few times but end up with a red cheek and still no answers. "Ow...", you sigh, nothing has given you any answers.

"What's gotten you so stressed?", a voice rings out behind you, prompting you to turn around just enough to get a glance. A good-looking and well built man stands behind with a small smile on his face. He takes a few steps forward and sits next to you, "I don't think I've ever heard you sigh that loudly before", he tries to lighten up the mood seeing how blue you look right now. "Well...", realizing something, you do a double take, "Zhou Jian!?", you jump up in disbelief to which he responds with a very shocked face, "yes..?", he looks worried for your well, "was I really gone that long?", he chuckles and scratches his head, "I could have sworn it was just a month", you could only stand frozen in time, jaw almost wide open but you manage to keep it closed. "C'mon, sit down, tell 哥哥 what's on your mind", he smiles with his eyes closed, patting the seat next to him. You slowly sit down while staring bullets into him. "Are you mad at me?", he asks with a worried expression, you turn away, realizing your stare was bothering him. "Ahem no, of course not", in all honesty, you're trying your best to act like a younger sibling and it sure it hard when your older brother is THE Zhou Jian.

He had previously heard of your dissatisfaction with how he is almost always away from home so it wasn't unreasonable for him to think that way. "Hm, then?", he asks, tilting his head and moving closer to you. You don't even know what you want...maybe just a bit of help 'recalling' who you are. Of course you can't just say you lost your memories or something like that, it'd worry Zhou Jian.

What to do...you have to continue exploring this strange world but also can't risk alerting Zhou Jian...That's it!

"I think I just need a stroll out", you look at him. He tenses up and his eyebrows begin furrow. "You know that's not a good idea", he shakes his head, shit you just fucked up..how were you supoosed to know you're not allowed out?? "Please? There's something I need to do", you try to plead, "and I won't be out an hour", but no matter how you persist, he doesn't waver. "弟弟, if it truly is important, I'll send someone to do whatever it is for you", he offers an alternative but that doesn't work for you. There is no way to convince him so you think of another idea. You close your eyes for a moment and nod, "it's okay, I changed my mind", giving a half smile.

"Oh...they're so tall..", you look at the walls you planned to climb to get out. You never learned how to climb a rope either so that's out of the question. Maybe your secret get out plan won't be happening afterall.

'Think [Name], think!'

You pace around, trying to think of another plan. Those cliche romance shows lied to you! You can't possibly climb a tall building. While pacing around, you can't help but feel as if you're forgetting something but what? You try your best to recall the whole series, the plot, what happened and what started it.

"Zhou Jian has to defend his kingdom against the villain due to the fact that...", you talk to yourself, trying to regain memory of the show, "the villain seeks out the Kingdom's rumoured hidden temple in order to seize...", as if everything's connected, you remember the most important thing, "..the power within!", your fist gently hits your palm, and your eyes widen with excitement. "That means I probably have powers like that too!", you almost let out a happy noise but remembering that you are most likely going to be spotted faster if you do, you contain yourself. "How to activate it..", you try to think of jumping over the wall, maybe gracefully flying over to the other side but nothing happens. "They make it look so effortless in the shows", you start to wonder if there's really not a single system window to guide you.

"Your highness! It's time for your tea", a maid is clearly looking for you, shouting loudly as she searches for you everywhere. "Oh shit!", you'll get found out in no time if you don't escape now! A sudden wave of panic sends your body suddenly flying over the 40ft tall cement wall. "W-wAoHH", You brace for impact but fortunately for you, your body doesn't hit the ground roughly, infact, your fall is cushioned by an invisible object. You need time to process what just happened but the guards right around the corner says otherwise. Without missing another second, your legs sprint towards the town in hopes of not getting caught red handed. 'It seems my magic is unstable..is it because I'm not from here or is it just my new body that's weak..?'

You huff and huff due to how fast you just ran from the imperial palace to the bustling streets. After a while, you pull yourself together and look around, finally noticing the amazing scent of the street food being sold. "Excuse me", a little girl says, trying to get past you as you're blocking the middle, "sorry!", you instantly move to the side to let her get past. "Now, where to start", your eyes dart around, a mom and daughter sharing a tanghulu, a couple enjoying their stroll together and even a homeless looking man being given a baozi to eat. Looking at everything up close in person gives a different feeling than when you're watching behind a screen. Despite being here, you still have little to no clue as to who you are in this world and what your purpose is. All you know if that you're the brother of the protagonist. In the original show, there were no mentions of the protagonist ever having a younger brother so people assumed he's an only child. The only heir to the thrown, who knew there would be a spare?

Well you can't dwell on that too much, you have to at least find out what arc you're in right now. Maybe by knowing, you'd be able to assist the protagonist in fighting! Technically you're the main character now that you've isekai'd into the world so there's no way you'd be in any sort of danger!

You turn your attention to your right, the neverending displays of food makes your mouth water. Unfortunately, due to you not paying much attention to where you're walking, you bump into someone. The impact was enough to send you stumbling backwards. The stranger's hand instinctively wraps around your waist, preventing you from falling onto the people behind you and potentially creating a domino effect. His taller stature surprises you. Only when you stabilize yourself, he removes his hand. "Next time, be more aware of your surroundings", his voice is somewhat elegant yet intimidating and indifferent. You can't really diciphere him as his face is covered by a very oddly terrifying mask. It definitely stands out which makes you wonder if he does like the attention if brings him or simply he's unaware of his unique accessory. Though, before you can ask anything, he walks in past you, dissapearing into the crowd. Something about him seemed...very familiar.

After several hours of strolling and finding absolutely nothing, you notice the sun going down, dusk is coming and the night is about to settle in. So, you decide to get back to the palace the same way you got out of it, panicking and then being thrown over the wall.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Nobody seemed to have questioned why you were gone for half the day. Fortunate for you of course but does beg the question why nobody noticed a prince going missing.

In the morning, however, the same maid who had been calling out to you for tea did question where you were. "I wasn't feeling tea", was your simple yet effective answer.

"Gosh I was out for so long and yet found nothing in return", you kick a rock in the courtyard while sighing loudly. The masked man already erased from your mind. What's even worse is that with your hair this long, it takes more effort to take care of it, not to mention the hanfu which made you stand out like a sore thumb. At just a glance, one could tell you're royalty due to your attire. Maybe you should have thought of that before going out yesterday. This time, you'll dress up just like any other commoner there. There must be at least one that doesn't look like a prince's daily outfit in the closet. You look through the ginormous closet, sorting them out one by one until you finally stumble across an acceptable one.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Back to the bustling streets once more. The smell of food is still as amazing as you remember it. You seem to have forgotten something but fret not, your stomach is here to remind you of it. "I forgot...I didn't have breakfast..", you vaguely remember the picture of a plate filled with food on the table of your room. Well you can't turn back now, you're too far in. "I'll just buy something in the market", you say to yourself, walking towards the nearest food stall which sells roasted meat on sticks. The sight is already mouth watering, you can't wait to sink your teeth into it. "老板! One roasted meat please", you grin ear to ear knowing you'd have one in your hands in a few seconds, "that'll be 3 coins", did you even bring any money? You desperately try to search your hanfu for any signs of coins but to no avail. "C-can I have it...for free?", you awkwardly ask, "hah? Who do you think you are, just so you know, have to feed my family too."

'Time to pull out my status' you thought to yourself, "well, I'm—", "I'll pay for it", a hand behind you gives a few coins to the seller, prompting the seller to give the roasted meat to you. You look behind to see who had stolen your spotlight only to be face to face with yet another mask. The same mask actually. "Thank you but I could handle it by myself", you give a slight smile, "oh? It seems to me you had no money, or perhaps you'd like to pay me back?", you can tell he's a bit annoyed but what you can't tell is that he's amused. "In that case, I take it back", getting a sudden eerie feeling from the man, you leave immediately and he watches you run off.

You run until you're sure he wouldn't be able to see you anymore. "Jeez what even was that..", you wonder to yourself, why did your guts just tell you to run?? That's odd. Really though, something about that man is super familiar but what?

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

6 months have passed since you've been transmigrated to this world. Fortunately, you adapted quite a long time ago. The strange masked man hasn't been seen at all and because of that, you forgot all about him. The past few months have been relatively peaceful, with some royal guards getting occasional injuries from the amount of fights they've been in. Thankfully, Zhou Jian isn't one of them. You had a hard time accepting that your life in the original world might never return but hey, at least you're treated like royalty. The only downside is that you still aren't allowed outside. A huge bummer.

You enjoy some afternoon tea with Zhou Jian as bonding time for the two of you. "I'm surprised you haven't been sent to the battlefield yet", you jokingly comment, earning you a playful glare from the protagonist, "don't jinx it", he puts his porcelain teacup down, "though, it is strange that the scoundrel hasn't shown up in a while", he's referring to his enemy, the man who has been trying to get rid of your kingdom so they say it. "He's so mysterious too, no matter how many men I send to discover more about him, it's as if he doesn't exist at all but at the same time, he does", Zhou Jian says, looking up and wondering to himself, confused. "One day when you do catch him maybe you'll find out who he truly is", you sip on the hot fragrant tea. The two of you chat for a while before a guard interrupts it.

"Your highness! It's an emergency! The King himself has personally requested you on the battlefield to fight alongside him, it seems the enemies have gotten stronger", the voice is panicked, shaky, stumbling over his own words and trying his hardest to keep his composure but ultimately failing, miserably. Zhou Jian immediately gets up, grabbing the weapon he always carries by his side and rushing out with the guard, "I'm going to be back soon", he glances at you while he says this. Without anyone to chat with, you get up from your seat and head towards the library. Behind you, the servants bow as they take the cups and desserts away.

Even when night falls, neither the king nor Zhou Jian has returned. It's quite common for soldiers to camp out for a few days so you don't worry too much about it.

The hallways are oddly quiet. Probably since there are less guards and servants surrounding the place seeing as a few went to tend to the King and heir. More peace and quiet for you. The stars at night twinkle, the moon glowing so brightly, the sound of crickets. Not even the cold air bothers you. You yawn a bit, "time for bed", your legs carry you to the bed, not as comfortable as the one you had back at home but you can still sleep on it. You tuck yourself into bed and close your eyes, wondering what you'll have for brekafast tomorrow.

At the stroke of midnight, the sounds of blood gushing doesn't even wake you up. No scream can be heard due to the intruder's silencing them. "PROTECT THE SECOND PRI—", the loud voice cuts off, indicating the murder of the man. The imperial palace is a mess, filled with fresh blood and dead bodies. You sleep peacefully, blissfully unaware of the massacre happening just outside your room. Even the door creaking open doesn't wake you up from your deep slumber. A tall man hovers over you, a crown in his hand. He mumbles something but it's so quite that not even a soul can hear it. With a snap of his fingers, your hands and ankles are bound together respectively without you ever even noticing it.

"你真是个可爱的睡美人"

.ᐟ.ᐟ

Your eyes are half open, your vision all blurry due to just waking up. Your whole body aches but when you go to stretch, you find it to not be possible. You struggle and notice your hands and ankles bound by something that's glowing red. It hurts whenever you try to get rid of it. "Go on, the sight of you struggling amuses me", a voice says out loud from a corner of the room. The masked man gets up from his seat and as he walks closer to where you are bound, you notice that his mask is slightly damaged. Well, a part of it has broken off, revealing his blood colored eye.

He carries himself with such elegance that you'd think he's royalty at a first glance. He brings himself down to your level, his eye crinkle softly at the corner, the look on your face is just so adorable. "I never would have thought we'd meet again, 小王子", he grabs your chin, lifting it up so you two make eye contact. "I had an inkling you were apart of their little kingdom, I just didn't expect you to be so naive", he continues while looking at your frustrated face which he adores, "did you really think those pesky little servants could ever protect you?", you turn your head to the side, not wanting to even touch him. It is honestly a bit embarrassing for you as you've watched this whole series, know the plot and yet here you are, kidnapped by the villain himself of whom you finally remember the name of, Xu RenFeng, and not even getting the chance to put up a fight.

Xu RenFeng thinks for a moment, the silence deafening. "How about this, you and I become partners so to say", you're confused by what he's suggesting but he elaborates, "since you're hidden and have no purpose in that palace, you could be with me could you not?", he looks at you expectantly with a psychotic look in his eye. "I would kill you now but you're way too adorable to be killed just like that, I'm offering a role of a lifetime", while it does tempt you in a way, you're still not too sure about dying with him at the end. "No thank you", you don't even look at him as you say this, "I'll give you some more time to think", he stands tall and turns around, walking out the door to your prison.

To say it's a prison is exaggerating. At least it looks like an average bedroom. Not as luxurious as the one you had before but still comfortable. After a few seconds pass, you find your hands and ankles no longer bounded, giving you some freedom to explore the room you've been captured in.

Of course the surviving servants and royal guards had to inform their king and future king what had happened. From the massacre of many, many servants to the second prince going missing, presumably taken by their enemy. "We should've known it was a trap the moment he left", the King is referring to the man himself, Xu RenFeng. "Why would he want [Name]?", Zhou Jian questions, frustrated by how the situation has gone from manageable to a complete mess. His hands balled into fists, worrying for his brother's safety. They have to find you, and fast.

Meanwhile, you've been held in the room for about 5 hours. All you've been up to is trying to think of a plan to maybe just maybe, trick him long enough for the psychotic guy to let you go. From what you've seen in the show itself, he is a very calm and calculating individual, making it hard for anyone to get past him. "Gosh, it seems that the only way to get out is by relying on brute force!", compated to modern times, the door isn't made out of very strong material, maybe you can knock it down or something. When you body slam the door, it doesn't move an inch. "Well that goes my plan", you just sit against the door you had just tried to body slam in defeat.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

As days passed, you try a different method of breaking out each day but they all fail in getting you out the the prison-like room. The only time the door would open was when Xu RenFeng himself would bring you food and place it on the table in the room. Even then, when the door opened, you would be bound once more. At least the food was always good. Each time he brought food to you, he'd try to persuade you into joining him. Something about you really did pull him in. You had power over him whether you knew or not.

One day, when there's a knock on the door, you get an idea. Xu RenFeng enters the room in silence, holding a plate in one hand. He puts the food down and as he's about to open his mouth, "can you eat with me?", you ask, surprising him. Today he's wearing a different style of mask. It doesn't cover his lower face, only the eyes. You wonder why he covers his face and remain mysterious. Even towards the end of his life, he never once took off his mask. The reason was never revealed. Though, it did add to his charm which is why a lot of people fell for the guy. He hesitates but gives a slight nod, closing the door with a wave of his hand.

He takes the seat across from you, not having anything on his side of the table. "Oh, I thought you'd grab your own food?", you ask while munching down on the prepared food. "No, I'd rather enjoy the view while I can", his lips turn into a smirk. Unsettling but not the weirdest thing he's said while with you. You get a bit nervous, wanting to pull off the plan but what if he notices beforehand? 'Agh, no more overthinking it, it's now or never [Name]!', you think to yourself and reach over the table, violently tearing the mask off his face, taking him by complete surprise. With great strength and agility, he grabs ahold of your wrist which has his mask. You stare at his face. He wasn't an average looking man. No scars or bruises. Instead, he's the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on. You're left speechless and so is he for a few seconds.

The look of shock in his eyes is replaced with that of anger. Without uttering a single word and with your wrist still held in his hand, he walks over to your side of the table, glaring at you before pulling you to the bed and throwing you on it. Fortunately you aren't hurt, only frightened. You're pinned to the bedframe by the intimidating villain. Your back is against the frame and you have nowhere to run. "I've been painstakingly patient with you and yet here you are taking off my mask. Was it not obvious to you I didn't want it off, EVER?", to say he's angry is an understatement, his eyes are even more psychotic. All you can do is freeze up due to fear, knowing neither fight nor flight are options in this very moment. You can't muster up an apology, both due to fear and also the feeling of superiority, to you, this man is just a character, he'll be no longer once you find a way back to your home! Without an answer, he takes it as you not wanting to apologize. "Do you really think just because you're a prince that I can't hurt you?", he chuckles at your pathetic expression. With another snap of his fingers, you're bound once more.

As much as you'd like to deny it, the way he's aggressively holding you is really turning you on. Xu RenFeng grabs at your clothes and rips them, leaving your body vulnerable to the man. "What a sight", he looks at you up and down. You try to cover your face with your hands because of embarrassment but he pushes your hands away. "Oh my prince, don't hide your adorable expressions", he purrs.

When you blink, his hanfu has already been diacarded on the floor not far from the bed. "Won't you help a stressed man out?", with his clothes being gone, you can see his hard cock. You stare at it for a little too long, long enough for Xu RenFeng to notice. "Hm? Lost for words are we?", he seems proud of that. "I..It's..—", you bite your lip to contain the moan you were about to let out as the man lifts your legs up to his shoulder and stretches you out with two fingers. "There's a much easier way for this but I'd rather do the old fashioned way to see how you writhe in pleasure just from my fingers. You close your eyes shut, clenched fists as his fingers move around inside, "I'll stretch you so well that this big cock slips right in", just that alone makes you tighten up, earning a satisfied hum from the other. Before long, he decides it's time to add another finger, stretching you out even more. "Ah..ngh...", your moans aren't really heard, the noises you let out are more comparable to humming. Xu RenFeng doesn't like that one bit.

His take his wet fingers out of your tight hole, leaving you feeling empty and opening your eyes as to why he did that. Relying on his strength, he pulls you onto his lap, your hole hovering over his cock, almost touching the tip. "Hu–aggh", you barely have time to react before he plunges you down all the way. You let out the loudest moan that Xu RenFeng's servants are able to hear from outside the magic-sealed room. "What an amazing voice you have, 小王子", he looks up at the person who is unable to speak due to the pain and pleasure he has brought them. His cock remains inside your hole without moving an inch, "a-are you trying to tease me...move", you try to stimulate yourself by bouncing on his cock to the best of your abilities but you can't seem to do that due to him having a tight grip on your waist. "You're so fragile, I'll have an easier time breaking you", he lifts you up until the only thing left inside is his tip and immediately slams you back down on his large cock, repeating this over and over again. "Fuck..", he groans while you're almost screaming-moaning. You never imagined this would be how your first time would go. Xu RenFeng pounds your ass so rough and fast that your ass is turning red.

You feel his precum inside you as he hits your prostate over and over, showing no mercy. "Your hole was made for my cock, wasn't it?", you can't even come uo with a response in that cock filled head of yous, "I'll make sure you remember the shape of my cock by fucking you everyday", he lets out a deep laugh, watching you bounce up and down his cock. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he goes deeper until you can't think of anything anymore. You cum while moaning loudly, still being bounced up and down. The stimulation is driving you crazy, everything feels like a fever dream. Not long after you came and without warning, he cums inside while still pounding you, not stopping for a second. He's cumming as he's thrusting inside, giving a new sensation you never thought you'd feel. "I see you're enjoying this more than I am, how adorable that expression of yours", he points out, "aren't I glad I picked you up along the way", if he could, he would have given himself a pat on the back that moment. You try to push him off, wanting to go at your own pace or to possibly just take a breather, "ah-ah, we're not done", he keeps thrusting deep inside, "don't worry, I'll return you in one piece to your family soon~"

He didn't stop until he had pumped at least a few cups worth of cum inside of you. You passed out due to how rough he was being. Xu RenFeng made sure to tuck you into bed. When he came out the room with his mask back on, he appeared to be very refreshed, some servants even whispered to the others that he was practically glowing. All because of a certain young prince named [Name].

You may not know it yet but you're now stuck with a psycho of a man.

Translation notes!

你真的觉得这样就结束了吗？

Do you really thinks this is over?

老版

Boss (in this context, used to address shopkeepers/vendors you want to buy from)

我们终将相遇，灵魂伴侣。

We will meet eventually, soulmate.

弟弟

Little brother/younger brother

哥哥

Big brother/elder brother

你真是个可爱的睡美人

You really are a cute sleeping beauty

小王子

Little prince (endearing)

I have so many ideas for this man but couldn't fit all of them in one fic🥹

There's this one kink I know you'll love but unfortunately didn't make the cut, maybe next time/drabble!

#male reader #bottom male reader #oc x reader #oc x male reader #x male reader #yandere x male reader #yandere x reader #isekai #isekai male reader #top male character #「 by the hands of xin 」#xin's xu renfeng ☆

2K notes · View notes

shesjustanothergeek · 6 months ago

Text

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Two: The Gods' Light

IAemond Targaryen x Strong! Readerl

Masterlist of Series

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Writing a child's inner dialogue was interesting. Besides being very plain and blunt, I didn't know how to write it. Writing for a child will be challenging, but I'm more than up for it. Enjoy reading! :)

Chapter Warnings: Aegon is psychotic, animal cruelty, just sibling things, Alicent being dululu.

As you hurried through the echoing halls of the Red Keep, your swift strides outpacing those of your brothers, you clutched a dragon egg close to your chest. You could feel its smooth, warm surface drumming with growing life beneath your fingers, determined not to let it slip from your grasp. The moment’s thrill spurred you on as you raced through the ancient corridors.

Moments ago, as you sat with Jace and Luke, enjoying a midday meal of goat cheese and dried meats, Ser Harwin suddenly appeared in the garden, out of breath from his hurried journey from Maegor’s Holdfast. He excitedly conveyed the news that your mother had just given birth. The announcement filled you with anticipation, eager to visit the Dragonpit and choose an egg from Syrax’s clutch for the new arrival.

You were restricted from visiting your dragon whenever you desired, making each visit to the Pit a momentous occasion. Gaelithox, your loyal mount, was only accessible during carefully organized training sessions under the vigilant supervision of the Keepers and your trusted protector. While you had made remarkable progress with your affectionate dragon, the Keepers could not trust you with it alone.

Jace was still grappling with getting Vermax to heed simple commands. The memory of the Keepers urging your younger brother to stand firm and not yield to fear remained vivid. However, when the volatile olive-scaled juvenile lunged forward, Jace faltered and tumbled onto his back, leaving a lasting impression as Aegon and Aemond teased him for days. Unlike Aegon, whose voice echoed like a cackling witch from the tales your maids told before bed, you stifled laughter. Later that evening, your mother reprimanded you when Jace told the incident during supper, silently mouthing the words ‘tattletale’ to your slightly younger brother.

But none of that mattered now. Mother had a babe, and you desperately wished for a sister. It wasn’t that you disliked your brothers; it was just lonely. Jace and Luke shared their Septon with Aegon and Aemond, and you had Septa Marlow, your mother’s former teacher. It was so incredibly boring to sit there in silence with the old crone droning on and on about the duty of a high-born lady, different types of needlework, dances, manners, other Houses, and the importance of virtue, a word you had yet to understand the meaning of.

You asked your mother on more than one occasion to allow you to learn with Helaena, but she said no, saying something about how she was an odd girl with a fascination for unusual things. You didn’t understand why that was a bad trait. You liked how Helaena played with bugs, recalling the many times you counted the legs of crickets you found underneath rocks in the gardens for her.

When the flowers of King’s Landing had blossomed in the spring, you pleaded with your mother to allow you to spend a day with Helaena in the Godswood. Spring brought out all the little creatures, and your Aunt was always chatty during this time. You fondly remember spending hours capturing beetles, crickets, dragonflies, grasshoppers, and numerous moths and butterflies. You ended up with so many of them that you barely had enough jars to take to your Aunt’s room.

The atmosphere was filled with joy until Aegon arrived. His usual confident stride was noticeably absent, and it was clear that he was not in good spirits. This was unusual, as Aegon was typically the epitome of happiness, and his distress weighed heavily on you. Acting on impulse, you beckoned him over. As he stood before you and his sister, his hands tucked in his pockets, you tried to cheer him up by sharing the day’s events with a hopeful smile. When you suggested showing him a butterfly, he nodded in agreement. You retrieved one carefully, handing it as gently as Helaena had taught you, being mindful not to harm its delicate wings.

You opened your palms slowly to show him. It was bright yellow with black markings, fluttering softly in your grasp. You told him to be careful as you tenderly placed it in Aegon’s hands and told him about the multiflora rose bush you found it from. Turning your head to show him where it was, Aegon crushed the butterfly in his fist, smashing the thinly winged insect as the off-white guts splattered across his palms. You couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing to something you and Helaena took great pride in, never mind that the creature was innocent of whatever hateful reasoning he had behind this.

You recalled how Aegon wiped the remnants of the butterfly across your shocked face in finality and smiled the smile you hoped for, showing the crumpled, wiry black legs and torn shreds of paper-thin wings on his palm.

Helaena screamed. You can still remember the sound of it, piercing your ears and making them feel as if they bled. Aegon rubbed the tiny leftover specs of the carcass onto her head to get her to quiet, bellowing the same cackle he always did. After that, you couldn’t recall much, only a sudden anger you had never felt before, blurry vision, and being pulled off Aegon’s whimpering form. You were still unsure about how you found yourself pummeling your uncle’s face in the same way he did the bug.

The Queen, accompanied by Ser Criston, discovered you trying to embrace Helaena. However, the young girl shied away, retreating into a crouched position, her knees to her chest and her face buried between them. Overwhelmed with emotion, you sought solace in Queen Alicent’s arms, burying your head in her skirts. As she inquired about the events, she tenderly ran her jeweled hands over your messy hair while you struggled to say your feelings, too choked up to speak coherently. She lifted you into her arms in a comforting gesture, providing security and reassurance.

You remembered how her scent lingered in the air—frankincense mixed with something more worldly, a delicate aroma that clung to her soft skin and auburn hair. With a determined expression, she assured you that Aegon would be punished for his actions, a look of resolve you had never seen on her before. She then gently carried you over to her eldest son, who was still visibly upset, wiping at his eyes and tending to his busted lip.

Alicent ordered him to apologize, you still in her arms, your face hidden within her neck as your crying turned to sniffles. Aegon did it begrudgingly, and you could tell he did not mean it, but it was enough to appease the Queen as she carried you to her chambers, commanding a maid to bring a fresh bowl of warm water and lemon tarts, though you much-preferred orange, with some floral smelling tea.

With the tenderness reminiscent of your mother, she gently wiped away the tears and butterfly guts from your face, reassuring you that you were a radiant embodiment of the Seven’s divine light, as lovely as the Maiden herself, and expressed her pride in having someone with a sense of justice akin to the Father’s at her side.

You never understood why your mother didn’t want you to be around the Queen. She was lovely and kind and always had the tastiest snacks at her disposal. You remembered wishing one night after she had yelled at you for running away from your Septa that Queen Alicent was your mother. She would never hurt your feelings as your birth mother had.

“I want to show Mother the egg!” Luke whined at you as you reached her bed chamber doors.

“No, I’m going to,” you tell Luke, keeping the egg closer.

“But why?” he asked, sounding on the verge of tears, petulantly stomping his tiny foot.

“Because I’m the eldest,” you quipped as you kept the egg out of his grasp.

“Luke was the one who chose it! You just picked it up,” Jace countered, sounding way too smart for his good.

You started to voice your objections once more, but just then, Ser Harwin turned the corner and caught up with the group of you. Anticipating that Luke would inform Harwin about your refusal to give him the egg, you let out an exaggerated groan, rolled your eyes, and reluctantly handed it to your younger brother.

“Little Princes and Princess, you know better than to run away from me. I should tell your mother about this.” For a moment, you were worried that Ser Harwin might be serious, but then you saw his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“We won’t do it again, Ser Harwin,” Jace answered. You knew he was lying; your mother’s sworn protector seemed to think that, too.

“We will be calm when we enter, yes?” Ser Harwin commanded rather than asked.

You all nod, not saying a peep as he opens the door to your Mother’s chambers, though the sound of three pairs of little feet running across the stone floor defeats Harwin Strong’s fleeting hope.

“Look what we brought, mother!” Jacaerys exclaimed, showing her the near-black-scaled egg in his grasp. “We chose the egg for the babe!”

The Princess sat in a cushioned chair, her arms cradling a small bundle wrapped in intricately sewn brown and gold fabric. From within the bundle, tiny grunts were heard, adding to the air of anticipation and curiosity in the room.

“That looks like the perfect one,” she kindly replied, grunting as she shifted in her seat.

Your mother smiled at the three of you, leaning forward in her cushioned armchair to show her newest addition to her pride and joy. Pulling the fabric that obscured your sibling’s face away, you stared, a coo of awe filling the air as your brothers placed the dragon egg into the warming pot. He didn’t look much of anything right now, save for the same brown eyes the three of you shared. Your brother’s skin flushed peachy as he opened his toothless mouth to yawn.

“I let Luke choose,” you added, tugging the fabric as you poked his plump cheek. It was soft and warm under your finger, smoother than anything you had ever felt.

Your mother placed a hand on the crown of your brown hair, a stark contrast to the white of hers and your father’s as she caressed the silky strands. “Thank you, my darling. That was very kind.”

“It is not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, Princess,” Ser Harwin spoke, a pride you didn’t have to look to see heard within his voice. “I thought it best to escort the lads and lady.”

“Laenor and I thank you, Commander,” she nodded gratefully, the tips of her teeth showing between her pink lips.

The adults continued to converse, but you and your siblings were too concerned with the new addition to pay any attention. Jace and Luke soon found their way to your side, Ser Harwin standing behind your mother with a gentle smile as they peered into the fabric.

“Why doesn’t he have any teeth?” Luke questioned, his dark brows drawn together in confusion. Your mother chuckled and glanced at her sworn protector above as you answered.

“He was born a few hours ago, Luke. Of course he doesn’t have teeth,” you jeered, staring incredulously at him.

“Now, be nice, dear heart,” Rhaenyra scolded. “He has never seen a babe before. You asked the same questions when he was born.”

You scowled with sealed lips, returning your vision to the bundle in her arms. He was cute, but when your mother told you his name and that you were waiting for your father to come, you sighed, plopping onto a plush settee.

“Joffrey?” Jace asked, ignoring a begging Luke pleading to hold his brother.

“Joffrey,” she answered gracefully. “A name your father and I chose together like all of you.” She stroked the lanugo hair on your brother’s head, bringing her lips to his crown.

You stared at your mother with scrunched brows, confused about why they picked such a non-Targaryen and Velaryon name. She indeed named her children in Laenor’s absence, but you knew she did not name you.

“Queen Alicent named me mother. Not you. She said you weren’t expecting a girl, so you had her decide.” Rhaenyra’s violet eyes flicked to you, a look you could only understand as restrained annoyance on her chiseled face. You did not mean to upset her, your head lowering in embarrassment. You were only telling the truth.

“And what an honor it is to be named by the Queen Consort,” she expressed, a slight smile on her rosy lips. Her strained voice betrayed any tenderness she attempted to show, furthering your shame in displeasing her for only saying what you believed was fact.

The embarrassment did not last long. Your father barreled through the door with the sound of boisterous laughter. You shot out of your seat, your brothers hollering in greeting as your father swooped you into his strong arms without warning. You squealed. You kicked your feet with joy as Laenor Velaryon held you within his warm embrace, a smile gracing his features as he swung your wiggling form back and forth.

Rhaenyra smiled gracefully, still holding your younger brother in her tired arms. She observed the three of you clinging to your father as his companion stood a respectable distance away. Her heart felt complete at the sight, and her exhausted gaze traveled to Ser Harwin, a soft grin squinting her eyes.

“Father, what stories of your travels do you have?” Jace asked, eager, a grin pulling his cherubic cheeks as you flung over Laenor’s shoulder with a giggle.

You waved to Ser Qarl, his chiseled face offering a teasing look as you giggled. Luke’s mop of brown curls barely reached your father’s waist as he hugged him, peering up. His dark eyes were wide with excitement as you waited for the exciting tales he would undoubtedly have for you three.

Before your father could answer, your mother spoke, her maternal presence reasoning like a cloud covering the scorching sun, her voice firm but gentle. She commanded you to leave with the squire and your father. Each of you attempted to argue with her, groaning that you hadn’t seen him for a moon and wanted to hear what he had to say.

“Mother, it’s been forever since we last saw Father!” Jace complained, his tone so whiney and spoiled that it had Ser Harwin chuckling.

“You will give me no lip, you three,” she commanded sternly, her face glistening with sweat. “You shall hear all your father has to say and more once you finish your lessons in the Pit.”

Rhaenyra nodded to her husband as she placed your new brother into Ser Harwin’s arms, observing for a long moment as her lithe fingers stroked the silky skin of the babe’s temple. With a grunt, Laenor placed you back onto the ground, bestowing each of you a kiss on your dark crowns before the squire and Laenor led the trio of you out.

The air was always thick within the Dragonpit, blankets of smoke from torches and incense permeating the cavernous expanse of the halls as it struggled to cover the scent of dragon. When you entered, it nearly choked your lungs, constantly rubbing at your watery eyes as the Dragonkeepers brought forth your little dragon from the deep with rattling chains.

Your uncles, Aemond and Aegon, stood beside you and your brothers in green garments. The younger’s freckled face was sullen as he watched your juvenile dragon flap its viridian wings, kicking its chained legs impatiently. Aegon appeared bored, sputtering his lips and rolling his violet eyes with annoyance.

You ignored the eldest prince, giggling at your mount’s antics, and took a step forward, reaching an unguarded palm out before a Keeper abruptly smacked it away. Gaelithox released a loud hiss at the Elder’s action, strings of saliva splattering on the stone floor as his blood-red eyes bulged out of their sockets, jerking his chains. Scowling, you crossed your arms, waiting for their instructions as you quelled the ire that began to rise at their scolding.

Aegon released a chuckle from behind, swaying on his feet as you turned, fixing him and Aemond, who mirrored his expressions with a fiery glare. You had always felt that your uncles disliked you, and even though they were of a similar age, you did not feel comfortable in their company, a constant bubbly sensation that felt like a beast was attempting to claw out of your stomach whenever Aegon or Aemond was near. Yet a part of you still craved their attention, their acceptance, feeling that if you did whatever one of them wanted, finally, they would like you.

It never worked, at least not truly.

Eventually, you found that if you could not receive the validation from both, one would do.

When Aemond and Aegon followed you to the gardens one summer afternoon, both intent on harping about your “insulting appearance to the eyes,” you snapped. It was the first time you heard the word bastard hurled towards you. You were five years of age and had yet to understand.

Your mother always told you to treat your uncles kindly even when they did not do the same. The goodness in you did not want to hurt them, whether it be physically or their feelings, but with no brothers to defend you and no guards around to escort you away, you were left with no choice after Aemond yanked a piece of your dark hair so hard it came out of your scalp.

“I am more of a Targaryen than you, Aemond! I have a dragon!”

You turned to Aegon next, ready to scream that even though he was born a male, your mother remained the Iron Throne’s heir, but the words stayed inside you. The king’s eldest son stopped you with a boisterous laugh, placing a gangly arm on your shoulder as he praised you for your immature insults.

Something shifted in the dynamic between the five of you that day. No longer were you and your brothers the dirt underneath your uncle’s shoes. Now, the four of you were comrades. The relationship was still tense, but you had found the secret to redirecting your torment.

“Princess,” the Dragonkeeper translated the other, “you have excelled in your bonding with Gaelithox, but he is still young and unpredictable.” You looked into the man’s eyes, anxious to hear what the next task for you to master would be.

Yes, Gaeli was still a juvenile, not yet grown into his leafy-colored body, the red scales lining his sides and wings placed with a lighter yellow-green, but he was bound to you. That was the most crucial part. There could be no command of an animal if it did not trust you and you, them. It took everything within not to roll your eyes.

“Ivestragī zirȳla jikagon,” (Let him go) the Elder Keeper nodded, having the others release the chains of your dragon.

Gaeli stalked forward, his clawed legs slapping on the stone floor as he hissed, his arrowhead swaying and observing the people before him. You could hear the panicked whispers of the men, demanding you tell your dragon to stop as he continued his swift march forward. You understood that his intent was the Elder who chastised you and had half a mind to allow Gaeli to scare him, his crimson orbs set on the man who did not falter.

Jace grabbed the hem of your matching navy skirt in anxiety and attempted to pull you back, fearing what the dragon might do, but you held steadfast, a self-assured smirk gracing your features.

“Kelīs!” (Halt) you commanded confidently with your chest, beaming once your dragon ceased its pursuit with the tilt of its triangle-shaped head.

Aegon appeared bored with the ordeal, exaggerating a yawn as he flipped his frizzy blonde hair from his face. You could not ignore the pang of hurt at his disinterest, seeking more validation and praise from him that you would not get unless at someone’s expense. Aemond had hidden his face from your view behind his older brother, his sun-spotted cheeks dusted pink as you peered around to make eye contact, only for him to sneer and turn away.

Twat.

“Pay close attention, Uncle Aemond. Mayhaps one day you will be in this position, but I do believe it won’t be for a very long, long time,” you snickered, the sensation of less than leaving as you noticed Aegon’s smirk. Facing the Keeper and his translator, you could never remember the name of once more, you spoke. “When will I be able to fly Gaeli? I am able to control him well enough.”

The older man grimaced, wiping the sweat across his ebony brow as he gave an unconvincing expression. “Gaelithox is not yet riding age, and there is still much for you to learn, your highness, before you are ready to make such feats,” the translator expressed.

A pout formed on your plush lips, looking to Gaeli and back to the half a dozen Keepers and Wards. It was as if your dragon could sense your annoyance, releasing a deep hiss within the back of his throat and unhinging his jaw as he lunged at the Elder, swiftly jerked by the chains at his ankles. You could not hide your amusement at the adolescent and earned a scolding in High Valyrian that you could not comprehend nor care about.

“Gaelithox kostagon botta aōha botagon. Pōnta issi vēdros. Istia gūrēñagon naejot control zirȳ gō kostā kipagon.” (Gaelithox can sense your emotions. They are volatile, but you must learn to control them before you can ride.)

A grin spread across your plump cheeks, a mischievous thought coming to mind as you turned to look at Aegon, who was still quite bored. The hurt did not lessen, and quickly, you glanced at the Keepers out of the corner of your eye as you took a few paces back, ensuring your brothers were behind you as you inhaled and spoke the few words you knew of High Valyrian off your pink tongue.

“Sōvēs!” (fly)

Gaelithox didn’t hesitate for a moment. With a mighty leap, he soared into the air, his shimmering emerald wings creating a whirlwind of dirt and debris that engulfed the Keepers. His joyful songs filled the air as he gracefully flew above you, the chains on his legs and torso barely out of the reach of the Dragonwards. You watched in wonder as your dragonling glided effortlessly across the ceiling of the Pit, moving above each of you with the grace and agility of a bird. The men in their gray and crimson garb scattered around the cave’s entrance like ants whose hill had been disturbed, desperately trying to seize Gaeli’s chains.

As you turned to look behind, you bloomed, a smile so bright on your countenance that you felt it would burn all who witnessed it. Jace and Luke stared at you proudly, the youngest trying to run to you but was held back by a Kingsguard. Luke still had much to learn with Arrax. For one, your little brother was deathly afraid of him despite his denial, an emotion the dragon could sense during the training sessions.

A surge of relief washed over you as you looked at Aegon, whose laughter filled the air in response to your impish choices. He warmly placed his pale, sinewy hand on your shoulder in approval while his younger brother Aemond remained concealed behind him. Despite the Dragonkeepers’ urgent calls for Gaelithox to land, you couldn’t help but savor the feeling of self-satisfaction that his gesture brought.

“Ao dovodedha riña! Aōha giēñilaros hen bisa ozletti kessa sagon se morghon hen sȳz vali! Aōha muña kessa rȳbagon hen bisa,” (You ignorant girl! Your misuse of this bond will be the death of good men! Your mother will hear of this) the Elder shouted, grabbing your shoulders as if his ire could force sense into you.

Once you decided that you had tortured the handlers enough, you told Gaeli to land, which he did so with low, begrudging noises, the vibration of his weight rattling your bones. The rest of the training session went uneventful as you commanded your mount to stay, lay down, and heel, the usual tricks that you and Gaeli had long grown bored of after the first successful attempts.

When your dragon was tired, nipping at the Keepers who tried to redirect him back to the task, they called an end, bringing forth a white and brown goat as a reward for Gaeli’s patience, a bell jingling around its neck. His scaly, clawed feet tapped against the floor with an excited rhythm, evoking the image of a pup eagerly anticipating its meal. He suddenly lunged towards it but halted abruptly in response to your brief noise.

“Lykirī. Where are your manners, Gaeli?” (Be calm), you teased, earning a quick reprimand from the Head Dragonkeeper for your childishness.

“You must treat these beasts with caution and respect, Princess, lest you get burned. They are wild, barely tamed creatures. They allow you this bond,” the translator conveyed, his accent thick and worry etched in his tone.

You groaned, interrupted by an impatient screech from your dragon as a line of drool dropped from in between his finger-length fangs. After a quick apology, you allowed Gaelithox to feast, commanding with a decisive “dracarys.” The red eyes of your dragon shone like rubies in his orange flames. His obsidian pupils slit as he burned the goat to a charred crisp, tearing at its flesh into chunks.

After begrudging praise from the Keepers as they led Gaeli back into his nest, it was now Jace’s turn to repeat the same routine, although much less eventful. He was anxious to train Vermax, barely containing his excitement as his dragon whistled. His mount approached him with purpose, olive and scarlet toned body thumping with each step as the younger Keeper translated the Elder’s words.

“Call Vermax to heel Prince Jacaerys.”

Jace looked to the dark-skinned man who scolded you for your arrogance earlier, scars across his skin and listened.

“Dohaerās.” (Serve) And Vermax obeyed, stopping a few paces before your barely younger brother, horned head tilting in interest.

The Elder looked down at your brother, a proud smile on his bearded mouth, and nodded in approval. You should have felt the same that Jace was advancing in his sessions and closely catching up to you, but all you felt was the burning sensation of envy in your stomach, which you buried with an encouraging expression to your brother. You did not understand why you felt such a thing as he was urged back to his dragon, who had taken notice of a snow-white sheep belting in the distance.

He was your brother, your twin, as close to the same as one could be. It would be best if you were ecstatic that Jace was blossoming into a fine dragon knight. Still, you did not, and guilt and jealousy overwhelmed you as he waited for the instructions, an overeager Vermax ready to devour the unaware sheep.

Just as quickly as the feeling came, it went as you watched how Vermax disobeyed Jace’s commands to halt his pursuit of the animal. The only thing holding the young dragon back was the Warders’ staff.

“You must hold mastery over your dragon, my young prince,” the translator spoke, “as Prince Aegon has with Sunfyre.” High Valyrian rolled off the Elder’s tongue with deep rumbles as he talked to an embarrassed Jace. “Once they are fully bound to you, they will refuse to take instruction from any other, much like your older sister.”

Vermax released an ear-piercing screech of frustration as his yellow eyes bore into the roped sheep, belting in primal terror as it attempted to escape a fate over which it had no control. Jace nodded to the older man, shame replaced with excitement coursing through his veins as he hopped from foot to foot.

“Can I say it?” he asked anxiously, brown eyes wide with a youthful glow that reflected your own with your dragonling. The Elder nodded in affirmation as Jace glanced back to you and where you stood in front of Aegon, the man swiftly pushing your brother forward in admonishment for his brief action of immature reassurance.

Your brother turned with a broad smile you feared would split his face in two as you heard the shuffle of shoes behind you. Aemond found himself peering over your shorter form as he studied the dragon, slinking closer and closer to its prey, screeches of a predator ready to pounce echoing off the caverns. You looked at your younger uncle with confusion. Your eyebrows scrunched together as he paid you no mind. Unsure of why you did so, you took a step to the side, allowing him more room to observe as your brother shouted gleefully.

“Dracarys, Vermax!”

Perhaps a subconscious part of you felt bad for your dragonless uncle, hoping to give him at least a taste of what power one felt when in command of a beast such as this. Besides, it was the right thing to do. You knew he would not notice such kindness from you and did not expect anything in return, nor did you want it, as Vermax’s orange flames charred the flesh of the snow-white sheep.

You approached Jace once the lesson ended, giving him an encouraging hug from behind. You knew this was a remarkable feat for him. Jace and you were the same, a sentiment shared by both and your family on countless occasions. Spending every waking moment with someone, sharing the same bed, meals, toys, and friends, it was no surprise that you confided in one another and shared affections that traditional siblings did not have. You tended to mother your brother, a flaw that your natural mother had scolded you on, but that did not stop you as you kissed Jace on his warm, smooth cheek, whispering what he could do better with his dragon the next time.

You only wanted the best for your brother, and you desperately wanted to share your triumphs with the person you spent all your days with, even if it was selfish.

Chattering behind you caught your attention, seeing Aegon approach his younger brother as he flippantly stroked a piece of unruly frizz from his face.

“Aemond, we have a surprise for you,” he confided, placing an encouraging hand at his brother’s mid-back.

The youngest prince of King Viserys looked skeptically at his kin, gaze downcast. “What is it?” he asked warily, shoulders hunched. Luke gave a cheeky grin and kicked the dirt with his toes.

“Something very special,” your brother answered as you watched him scamper off into the darkness of the Pit.

You and Jace gazed at your uncles, confused, a twinge of hurt poking at your chest at having been left out of the “surprise” as you grabbed his hand for support. Subconsciously, you rubbed your thumb over his knuckles, feeling uneasy in your heart as Jace looked eagerly to where his brother went.

“You’re the only one of us without a dragon,” Aegon began, escorting Aemond to his intended destination, waiting for his response.

“Indeed,” the young prince answered curtly. Aemond still lowered his head, silver hair tied back as he followed his older sibling blindly.

You could tell Aegon was holding a barely restrained smile, gesturing with his pale hands and continuing. “And we felt badly about it, so we found one for you.”

You cocked your head as you followed at a distance. A part of you was anxious to see what Aegon planned, knowing from his history in the back of your mind that it would not be as kind as he was making it out to be. Nonetheless, you intently listened as Aemond protested with suspicion.

“A dragon? How?”

Your uncle smirked, stopping just before the ramp of the Dragonpit sloped down to where the Keepers held the animals. You heard the squeals of a creature you could not recognize due to the echoes bouncing off the stone walls. It sent an ominous, almost eerie feeling through your bones.

“The Gods provide,” Aegon answered alisively.

Moments later, your younger brother led a plump, pink pig with wooden wings strapped to its hairy pot belly up to the four of you.

“Behold! The Pink Dread,” Luke and Aegon announced simultaneously, cheering as if this was the most fantastic find in the history of Westeros.

“Be sure to mount her carefully. The first flight is always rough.”

This was hideous. This was horrendous. This was a terrible, awful, no-good deed that would surely wind up with all of you receiving a reprimand from your parents. But why... why was it so funny?

You released a noise akin to a gag, a failed attempt to stifle a laugh as your brothers and elder uncle snorted in unison. Unable to control your giggles, you covered your mouth, releasing Jace’s hand as you ran over to Aemond, nudging his side.

“Don’t be so rude, Uncle! She is a very fine creature, worthy of having such a noble rider,” you teased, but he gave no reaction, only staring at the winged pig with a sullen, dejected expression on his freckled countenance.

It only made you feel slightly wrong… slightly.

When Aegon decided the fun had outstayed its welcome, he walked away, laughter fading as the three of you followed his coattails like ducklings to their mother out of the Dragonpit, leaving a dejected Aemond to stare at his new gift.

You spared a glance back to your uncle as the yellow sun peeked into the expanse of the Pit. Guilt crawled up your back like dark clouds before a storm, hesitating your exit as he became aware of your gaze. Aemond still stood where the four of you left him, radiating an aura of hurt, apathy, and anger. Flames lit your cheeks in shame as you stepped back towards your younger uncle, only to be swiftly stopped by the other, Aegon’s larger hand placing itself on your crown as he forced you to follow his march out of the Dragonpit.

There was no reason for this guilt. Aemond would undoubtedly hurt you or your feelings regardless of the jokes your siblings and Aegon played on him. It was only a matter of time until the word bastard spewed from his chapped lips.

The sun felt warm on your skin as you were helped into the carriage, awaiting the return of the five of you home, though you missed one. Judging by the bright orb's position, it would soon be time for your daily lessons with Septa Marlow. The woman was so old that she often fell asleep during your embroidery lessons, an easy chance for you to escape the crone’s torture that she called learning.

The ride to the Red Keep was quick, and the amount of time it took your Septa to fall asleep was even faster, much to your delight. You found yourself wandering the halls, staring at the paintings depicting great battles with dragons and portraits of your ancestors, unsure what would peak your fancy and seeking anything to entertain you. Your brothers were in their lessons that were undoubtedly more enticing than yours, and your father would most likely be with your mother, seeing as there was a new addition to the family.

“What are you doing wandering about the halls, Princess?” the velvet voice of Queen Alicent rang out.

Finally, your musings were answered.

You demurely smiled at the Queen, giving her a short curtsy in your Velaryon blue gown, tiny silver seahorses embroidered into the bodice. “Septa Marlow fell asleep again, and she looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake her,” you answered with a childish coyness that never failed to endear Alicent. You were her shining light, after all.

The Queen chuckled, a noise you heard few and far between as she offered you a delicate palm, accepting it without hesitation. Your mother never approved of you spending time unchaperoned with her for reasons you could never comprehend. She was family, your grandmother, to be precise, and she was the one who gave you a name. It should be more than natural to accompany her on outings and luncheons.

“You should not be alone, Princess. ’Tis unsafe for a girl of your age to be unaccompanied in the Keep. I am going to Helaena’s room to pay her a visit. Come,” Alicent stated without so much as a sliver of space for protests.

“Why is it unsafe, your majesty?” you questioned with a raised brow, curious who or what would try to hurt you. “It’s my home and I’m a princess. No one would try to hurt me.”

The Queen stopped her movements, glancing down at your much shorter form as a sigh escaped her mouth. “You are still a child, my light, and many people would love to snatch it away and keep it for themselves. Those even close to you could wish you harm.”

Your head whipped up towards Alicent faster than humanly possible, a horrified look on your visage. People close to you? What could she mean? Could it be your maids? The servants who changed your sheets, washed your clothes, or made your food? Could your mother wish to hurt you? Your brother? Your hair prickled at the thought, causing your skin to itch and become uncomfortable. You could not say anything in response.

You followed the Queen to your Aunt’s quarters without strife, a sinking feeling in your gut as her ringed hand enveloped yours in a blanket of maternal security. Alicent would never hurt you… would she?

The same scent of frankincense wafted into your nose as the Queen led you. It sent pleasant shivers down your spine, making you forget the discontent as you passed lords and ladies of the court, a warm sense of joy tickling your stomach. You looked at Queen Alicent, the natural light filtering through the windows, to see specks of dust dancing in the air behind her auburn hair.

Admiration washed over you as you studied her, a crown of weaved golden threads resting atop her curled updo. She wore earrings of silver metal intricately smelted together, an emerald gem placed in the center with droplets of pearl glinting in the sun. Her gown was green, a usual statement color of her House, and she had a modest cloak covering her shoulders and cut sleeves. She was so beautiful, more beautiful than anyone you had ever seen besides your mother, and it filled you with a sense of deep admiration that nearly overwhelmed you.

Cackles echoed in the distance of the red rock walls of the Keep, a group of ladies adorned in extravagant garbs striding in the opposite direction of the pair of you. Their piercing laughter abruptly ended as they spotted you hand in hand with the Queen, appearing as if they saw a ghost. They stood there, still, unmoving, their eyes following you, despite the impropriety of gawking at the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms and a daughter of the heir, whispering words of gossip.

Your adoration of Alicent was forgotten about as a sinking feeling of inadequacy hollowed your chest, somehow knowing they were speaking of you. The Queen felt hesitation in your steps as you passed by the women, uncertainty causing you to squeeze her golden-ringed fingers tighter.

“Pay no mind to them, my light,” Alicent encouraged, rubbing a comforting thumb over your knuckles as you did with Jace. You tried to listen to her words and disregard the judgmental stares of the ladies, but you could not and heard one whispering.

“Seven! She looks more like the Queen than her mother!”

The laughter soon carried on as a lump formed in your throat. Your arms felt prickly again, as if the hair got stuck between the threads of your clothes, pulling and tugging uncomfortably as you attempted to scratch the sensation. Queen Alicent glanced down at the sudden clawing at your limbs. Her plush lips pouted in a curious expression, recognition flashing in her amber eyes as she smoothed the stray hairs of your braid, kissing the top of your head in comfort.

Soon, you entered Helaena’s chambers, her Septa dressed in humble charcoal gray clothing, sitting next to your Aunt as she hunched over an ancient tome. The modestly dressed woman stood and bowed at the arrival of the Queen, exiting without words as you sat on a Myrish rug. A glass case filled with different types of insects rested on the delicate fabric, taking note of a giant dead obsidian scorpion in it. You could not hide the shudder the creature brought as your Aunt found her place next to you, bringing out another small casing.

“What is in that one, Helaena?” you asked, peering curiously over her shoulder. She recoiled at your sudden presence, slightly shifting away from you as a pang of hurt hit your core at the action. She disregarded your question and focused on her hidden creature, but you paid no attention to it, happy to be by her side.

Alicent sat on the opposite side of her daughter, crossing one leg and bending the other to get into a comfortable position. Though the rug was lavish, it did not provide much cushioning for larger bodies. As your Aunt opened the wooden box, a creature you had never seen crawled along the side, with what seemed to be a thousand tiny legs hidden underneath a shiny black body. You tried to hide your shock as Helaena picked it up, allowing it to crawl along her pale, dainty fingers. Another shudder of disgust came over you as you watched the bug’s legs move too quickly to be something of this world, nausea bubbling in your stomach.

“This one has sixty rings. Two pairs of legs on each. That’s two-hundred and forty,” Helaena stated, her violet gaze trained on the creature. She seemed as if in another world as she spoke, talking to those around her but not registering your presence.

You intently observed as she allowed the bug to crawl up her satin dress sleeve before placing it back into her palm to study it more. You never understood Helaena’s fascination with the things, but you didn’t deter her from it, even when she brought out creatures such as this. It was never something you were interested in yourself, as you would much prefer to spend time plucking flowers like other girls your age. However, you respected them nonetheless.

“Yes, it is,” the Queen agreed, her facial expressions showing exasperation despite her encouraging words. You moved closer to Helaena with a morbid fascination to see the thing, though you still felt repulsed.

Your Aunt was silent for a beat, entranced with the new addition to her collection, seeming as if she forgot your and Alicent’s existence. Her voice was the only thing that indicated recognition. “Would you like to hold it?” she asked airily.

Unsure if she was speaking to you, you did not respond. Only when Helaena turned her pale face to you did you respond with a swift shake of your head. Your Aunt took no offense to the refusal, continuing to examine it. “It has eyes, though I did not believe it can see.”

Alicent released a noiseless sigh. She seemed tired of her child’s interests since they were not ordinary, making you feel bad for Helaena. Though people believed she did not perceive the world for what it was, she wasn’t blind. Your Aunt felt and understood emotions like the rest of you, but she did not act like everyone else. It did not mean she was not human.

“And why is that so, do you think?” the Queen asked, her velvet voice bland with feigned interest.

“It is beyond our understanding,” Helaena plainly answered, allowing the quiet to resonate as your eyes flicked between them.

“I suppose you’re right,” Alicent replied, placing what was intended to be a comforting hand onto Helaena’s elbow. Your Aunt flinched, trying to free herself from her mother’s touch but knowing she could not force a guardian to listen to their child. “Some things are just beyond our understanding,” she finished, begrudgingly letting go.

You observed the exchange with critical eyes. Your brow scrunched in the offense for Helaena and confusion. The Queen knew her daughter did not like touch unless she was the one to initiate it, but she still insisted on invading her space with the ignorant hope that Helaena would one day accept her affections. You supposed that was why the Queen liked spending time with you, as you were a more typical child, embracing any affection.

Suddenly, the door to Helaena’s chambers opened with a clanking of metal and squeal of hinges as a Kingsguard gripping harshly onto Aemond’s arm entered. The three of you turned to face the noise, confusion mixed with surprise matching each of your faces.

“Your grace,” the Kingsguard announced as Aemond struggled in his grasp. Questions etched your brows as she stood and went to her son. You understood he had done something wrong by the shame covering his face like the ash dusting it.

“Aemond!” she exclaimed. “What have you done?” She took her son by his shoulders, palpating his soot-covered visage to ensure there were no wounds.

“He did it again,” Helaena answered for the guard as you glanced at her for an explanation.

Aemond being covered in ash and escorted by a guard seemed a common occurrence for the three of them, and it needed no explanation. Aemond smelled of smoke and incense, a scent you recognized from that of the Dragonpit. Had he still been in there this whole time?

“After how many times you’ve been warned? Must I have you confined to your chambers?” Alicent interrogated, exasperation evident in her tone. She stared at him with words ready to scold before her son interrupted with a protest.

“They made me do it!”

They? Was he referring to you, Aegon, and your brothers? You didn’t coerce Aemond into the depths of the Dragonpit, where he likely encountered a dragon that wasn’t his own. How could he hold you responsible for his own choices?

“As if you needed encouragement! Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding,” she admonished with a shake of her head.

Aemond’s eyes widened with tears as he tried to comprehend his mother’s lack of understanding. He felt a profound sense of hopelessness and powerlessness in the situation, believing that he had no alternative but to respond in the manner he did, his blonde hair in disarray. It was evident that you hadn’t realized the extent of the pain you caused him. What you perceived as a simple jest had deeply wounded him.

“They gave me a pig!” He shrieked, tears finally falling from his violet eyes as you looked anywhere but at the mother and son before you. “They gave me a pig,” he admitted softer this time, sniffling with chagrin.

Guilt overcame you at the hurt your uncle displayed, emotions gathering in your throat as your digits went under your sleeves, tugging at the hair that had been bothering you all day. You didn’t realize the joke had wounded Aemond as profoundly as it had, shame rising and covering your heart.

“They said they had a dragon for me,” your uncle confessed, gaze downcast as Helaena began to lose interest in the conversation before her.

“The last ring has no legs at all,” she said as if you should also share her nonchalant sentiment and fall into her world. You ignored her; all your attention focused on the impending storm unleashed upon you once Aemond told Alicent what the four of you did.

“But it was a pig,” your uncle declared, a scornful gaze directed at you as Alicent turned to face your shrunken form.

“Is this true?” she interrogated, ire directed at you instead of her son as you hesitated. “Is it true?”

The Queen had never crossed with you before, and it caused an unwelcome sensation in your stomach. “I didn’t know they were going to do it!” you exclaimed, shame heating your cheeks. “I wouldn’t have let them if I knew!”

“Liar! You laughed!” Aemond protested, hurt evident in his voice as he pointed an accusing digit. “You and Aegon love to torment me!”

“Only because you do it first! You call me a bastard and pull my hair! I’m not a bastard!” you argued, tears wetting your cheeks at the intensity of your sudden anger.

The Queen’s disappointment abruptly left at your words, swiftly turning to Aemond as her face blanched. “Aemond, she is your kin. You mustn’t call her such things,” she implored, eyes wide with a meaning behind them you couldn’t place.

“But mother, you–”

“No, Aemond,” she interrupted urgently, stopping your uncle from saying something that would cause another uproar from you and find its way to Rhaenyra. “You must apologize. Both of you. You are family and need to be kind to one another even when they have upset you.” Alicent turned and extended a palm out, encouraging you to make the first step of amends for your participation in the cruel joke you played on Aemond.

You knew he would not accept your apology, though it was sincere. There was no intended malice with your laughter toward Aemond in the Pit. It was what was expected of you to do. You would have become his brother’s next victim if you hadn’t gone along with Aegon when Luke brought out the pig.

“I’m sorry, Aemond. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” you confessed, plucking at the hairs on your forearms to ease the discontent in your heart. He refused to reply with an apology of his own, glaring down at you with such a fierceness you feared that you would wilt. “You will have a dragon one day, uncle. There are many still unclaimed at Dragonstone, and wild ones too! Perhaps you could come with us when we visit in the summer?”

“You laughed,” Aemond glowered, voice cracking. The pain he disguised as anger slipped through his scornful mask, causing your mouth to be thick.

You could tell he wanted to hit you as he usually would in these situations; his hands balled into fists at his sides, but suddenly, they became limp, and a wave of affection and comfort for your uncle pulled you towards him. You wrapped your arms around Aemond, hugging him so tightly you were unsure if he could breathe, burying your face in his neck. After a long day outside, he smelled of sweat and dragon smoke, a hint of expensive amber-scented soap on his skin. Aemond did not return the action, but you sensed he no longer wanted to hurt you as much.

“I love you, uncle, and I know we’ll fly together on dragonback someday,” you encouraged, holding him impossibly tighter. Partly to distract yourself from your guilt and partly because you knew that despite his cold, sullen demeanor, he too enjoyed the rare warmth of embrace even though it was by the one he despised.

Human touch was still touch.

Alicent smiled, a joy welling inside her chest that she had not felt in decades. This was the start of something new, a seed planted in the first rays of spring with the hopes of a bountiful harvest in autumn, but Aemond refused to give it thought, focused only on the ridicule you, Aegon, and your brothers caused him.

You were not like Rhaenyra in more ways than the Queen initially thought. You were Alicent’s child, not in this life, but another where she was not a queen and was not a game piece her father moved about how he pleased. She could bring a proposal to match the one she rejected from Princess Rhaenyra with one of her sons. At least in that way, she could ensure your bright mind would not become tainted by Rhaenyra’s blackened rot.

The Queen gently stroked your and Aemond’s hair, a tender smile on her plump lips, and pressed a kiss atop both your crowns—so different yet so intertwined in ways children could not comprehend.

Alicent’s shining light, her dream. A dream that never was indeed hers.

“He will have to close an eye.”

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

The reader’s dragon is based on a snake that caught my eye while watching a Nat Geo documentary. It’s called Pope’s Green Pit Viper and is native to Southeast Asia. I initially didn’t think it was a real snake because it looked so cool! They are also the only snakes to give birth to live young, like mammals, and have heat vision.

Also, for those who don't know, Gaelithox is part of the Fourteen Flames, the Gods of Old Valyria. He's the god of fire, stars, moon, sun, and dawn, the rival of Meraxes. Pretty on the nose there, huh?

Thank you so much for reading! I’m so excited to have y’all see what I’ve been cooking up, and I look forward to hearing y’all’s thoughts!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager

516 notes · View notes

erosiism · 4 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 | yandere! prince x male! reader | NSFW

pairing: horny! prince x oblivious! male reader

CONTAINS:

blowjob

overstimulation

bathtub sex

dick riding (literally)

nipple play

fingering

sorry i think im turning into a nsfw tumblr page with a sprinkle of gore, fluff and angst lol might contain small tiny discrepancies as i edited it from third person to second person. | taken from my fic on wattpad called possession thank you for 1k followers on tumblr! please comment, reblog, and like if you enjoyed this

The situation you had gotten yourself in was rather dire.

For the longest period of time, you had been unaware of your best friend’s feelings — the crown prince — and just how strong his affections were towards you.

And that included not knowing how horny Isidor — your best friend — was.

And now that both of your feelings were out in the open, that meant that the air was practically suffocating with sexual tension.

You sat across him on the bed, jumbling up your words as you tried to tackle this nefarious topic.

"I—" You faltered. "What I mean to say is, I know you're sexually aroused. You've made that clear..." you trailed off, voice small. "And I know you're being very patient with me."

"Yes, Y/n." Isidor said slowly, "...what are you trying to say?"

Why is he making me say it? you thought with frustration, just—!

You reeled the prince in for a kiss, cupping the prince’s cheek and pouring all the things you couldn't figure out how to say at that moment in that kiss. Then when both your lips were both red and swollen (they already were, from all the initial kisses), you looked at Isidor with a meaningful glance.

Realization flashed through Isidor's eyes. It was followed by a smoldering glint that signaled his lust.

Encouraged by his reaction — you struggled on, "you don't have to wait. You don't have to be patient."

Isidor was painfully hard by then, his cock throbbing and pulsing as blood rushed up to its surface.

"Y/n," Isidor murmured in a strangled voice, "say it. You know, I am curious about how sound-proofed our dorm truly is. Let's test it out, shall we?"

"I—"

You had barely gotten the words out before Isidor was crowding you against the walls, tongue licking a stripe up your neck from your open collar. Oh, you tasted godly — Isidor would carve his hips against your own and engrave his initials to your brain — he would make you say his name in a feverish heat.

Isidor's hands started to slide under our shirt, staring at you with eager eyes. "Say what you want, Y/n — and I shall give."

"I want," you panted, "you to fuck me."

I want you to fuck me.

Following your bold declaration, Isidor's remaining sanity that he prided himself on had dissipated into nothingness. For an extremely long period of time, Isidor had thought he still had remarkable self control, considering that he, up until this point, had not made any significant advances towards you, the man he loved.

But you had now given him explicit permission — had almost begged for it, even.

Isidor angled himself into a tilt, dragging his lips along your sensitive own. You gasped — and Isidor took this as an opportunity to slide his tongue into the gap of your mouth, plunging right into the heart of your mouth.

And oh, he sure took his time to explore. You found yourself grasping for something to support yourself with, as every single time Isidor would move, your limbs would grow weak.

And soon, when the two of you broke apart, there was an obscene, sliver slick of saliva at the edge of your lips. Sensual, sensitive, and alluring.

"You're sensitive," Isidor whispered, "now this is going to be fun..."

And even that last kiss had careened into something else entirely — into a debauched, obscene mess. At that moment, there was no rhythm to the kiss — there was nothing controlled about your movements. Isidor's grip on your waist was bruising and lacked the tenderness that it usually had.

"You're hard," Isidor said, almost seeming proud — "aren't you, Y/n?" He reached down to your hard length and squeezed, causing you to release a soft moan, grinding yourself against Isidor.

"Ah—don't —" you swallowed, "Isidor."

Isidor wanted to ruin you. He wanted to mark the skin that seemed to call him in —to lick the skin that was peppered and powdered with pink. He wanted to stake his claim on your body, to show that you were truly his, and solely his. Only his.

Isidor didn't respond, instead grasping your pants and pulling it down in a deft motion, tossing it to the other side of the room where it lay forgotten. And now you could be seen hard, aching — with your boxers painfully restraining your boner. Isidor licked his lips, the other hand grabbing your shirt and also tossing it away carelessly. Yourbare skin looked like a feast to Isidor: it was unblemished, untouched, and provided as the perfect canvas for Isidor to litter his marks and kisses on.

"Perhaps we should do something about this," Isidor murmured, one finger reaching to jerk your cock, still clothed beneath your boxers, the other slowly peeling off the last layer of fabric like Isidor was uncovering a prize. "Right, Y/n?"

"Don't tell me you're planning on—" you swallowed back a moan, a hand flying to your mouth as you stifled the lewd sounds slipping from your mouth. "I-Isidor��"

How unfair. Isidor was completely clothed still, while you were already naked and bare for him to see. Isidor pressed his cheek to the head of your cock, his eyes gleaming. His hands had started to wrap around your girth, lips curling into a smirk. And here you were initially worrying about giving head — when as it turned out, Isidor was going to be the one giving it to you.

Precum was already leaking from the top of your cock, sluggishly dripping down your whole length. You started to writhe, your train of thought forgotten. Your whole body was riled up, all restless energy and pure jittery nerves. Your hands flew up to weave into dark strands of hair as Isidor started to move, bobbing his head to swallow your cock whole. You felt a sudden jolt of pleasure as all you could feel was the slickness, wetness and pure heat of Isidor's mouth enveloping your body, deep-throating him. A wanton moan left your mouth.

"Shhh," Isidor murmured, "I'll make you feel good, darling. You can make those noises when I truly fuck you later."

Isidor was awfully good at giving head, to the extent you started to suspect he had done it before. And it was not before long when your cock started to twitch as you felt your imminent release. Desperately, you tried to pry Isidor's lips from your length, but the prince stayed stubbornly, his eyes traveling towards to meet yours. Your thighs spread further apart, your ass angling upwards, cock jerking in Isidor's mouth, fervently begging for more.

Smug. Isidor looked smug, like he knew he was responsible for your first release.

You watched with mortification as Isidor's Adam apple bobbed, the white liquid sliding down his throat. But your mind was already driven from pleasure and your eyes were glazed, your vision indescribably heavy. You grew slack as low breaths escaped your lips, your chest rising up and down as you looked at Isidor, cheeks reddening.

Why was the fuck — sorry for the crude language — was the crown prince licking his lips?

"You came so fast," Isidor murmured, "perhaps I should have delayed it so you would have the energy to continue on. Perhaps I should have waited so that you would come with my cock inside you. But no matter — I can think of a lot better ways to make you come again..." Isidor pressed a firm kiss to the base of your neck, straightening his back to be on eye level with you. "Can you continue?"

It was stupid to think how a simple blowjob had rendered you utterly gone.

I'm not going to last, you thought, I really won't. Because from the looks of it, Isidor had plenty of ideas in mind.

"Not fair," your voice was garbled, "I've already come once and you haven't even taken your clothes off yet."

"Would you like to do the honor?" Isidor tilted his head teasingly, reveling in the feel of your bare skin underneath his fingers, "would you, Y/n?"

You nodded your head weakly. Your hands reached out, trembling, to fumble clumsily with the band of the prince's pants and boxers, slowly pulling it down like Isidor had done earlier. Isidor was impatient — he was already deftly and quickly unbuttoning his own shirt, discarding it into the pile that your clothes had formed.

And oh, you could see how the prince had been so truly tortured for the past year, in all the moments you had been oblivious to his advances. The tip of his bulbous cock was so swollen and red that you marveled at it — but a strange feeling settled into the pits of your stomach: how were you supposed to fit it in?

"Well," Isidor said in a low voice, "now that the matter of our clothes has been settled..." Slowly yet roughly, Isidor pushed you down to press flush against the bed, using his hands to pin you down and secure you. Your head was now resting on the pillows placed against the bed frame.

There was a brief stretch of silence.

"What are you doing?" You asked feebly, seeing how Isidor seemed to be so transfixed with you, "aren't you going to do something?"

"Admiring you." Isidor breathed out, "seeing how all this —" Isidor's hands gingerly traveled across the expanse of your chest, before resting upon your nipple and twisting it — "is mine now. Seeing how all that I've lusted for...every inch of you is all mine to touch."

"Isidor," you said, your voice cracking. "You're torturing yourself by waiting."

"And don't I know it." Isidor smiled.

"Isidor," you whined, your voice needy as the prince's fingers grazed your other nipple, "just—"

"Starving for it, are you?" Isidor kissed your bud, swirling his tongue around it. There was a sheen of saliva between your hard nipple and Isidor's mouth as he finished sucking it. Isidor moved towards the crook of your neck temporarily, lightly scraping his skin with teeth, just enough for a small mark to blossom as it followed the fangs of his teeth. You let out an unconscious moan, feeling as slight pain started to settle in.

Isidor looked with satisfaction at the mark that now adorned your neck, resuming his earlier actions — your hands twitched, body arching up as Isidor played idly with your nipple, rolling it leisurely between his fingers before pinching the sensitive and red bud.

A hand stopped you from rolling your hips towards Isidor's hard cock, pressing you further against the bed. Teeth tugged at your earlobe, biting it gently and possessively as light kisses were then bestowed upon your skin. A hopeless and tender groan fell from your lips as Isidor moved down to latch onto your other nipple — the one that had been spared earlier — glancing at you with a starved look.

"You taste so good..." Isidor mumbled, seeming to be lost in whatever pleasure he was experiencing — "ah, I just want to fuck you already."

Isidor was a prince. His language was often flowery and not crude. And yet now obscenities were being spewed from his lips like nothing. It made your chest tingle as you saw the power you held over the prince — as you realized the power the two of you had over each other.

Oh, you could bring Isidor down to his knees.

Your thighs were spread further apart, Isidor slotting himself right in between them as if he belonged there.

"I'll prepare you," Isidor leaned back as he opened the bedside drawer and took out a bottle of lube, making you immediately ask: how do you have lube so readily available? — to which, Isidor answered: for myself. "I'll prepare you, Y/n."

Ah fuck...you’re so cute. You are so, so cute. I just want to put it in already — I just want to fuck you already, Isidor thought in desperation, I just want you. But for the sake of your bottom half in the future...

Isidor coated his fingers and cock liberally with the slick liquid, his touch hot as he capped the bottle, chucking it to the side. The last vestiges of coherent, calm thoughts were slowly starting to vanish from Isidor's mind — so close. He was so close to feeling your walls squeezing along his hard length, just like he had always envisioned in his dirty dreams —

Heat surged through you, positively blazing as Isidor pressed two fingers relentlessly against your hole. The foreign sensation grounded you — sparks of pleasure tingled down your spine as Isidor wiggled his fingers around, pressing down onto your prostate. It held your impending orgasm at bay — albeit briefly — but you welcomed the feelings, moan after moan leaving your lips, the lewd sound mixing with the filthy sounds echoing around the room.

You hoped fervently that the rooms were advertised like they were — soundproof.

But even with two, you felt so full. It burned, yes, especially when Isidor added a third.

"Mgh," you moaned, "Isidor—ah, hngh—"

"I've waited, Y/n," Isidor purred, "I deserve to be a little selfish, don't I?"

Isidor was practically scissoring you open, consistently pressing down to the most sensitive spot in your hole — you writhed on those fingers as they plunged in deeper, milking your prostate with precise strokes. And when those fingers left, you felt empty, your walls clenching around nothing. A last finger trailed lightly over your twitching rim, the touch featherlight and gentle, yet as you were already sensitive from your earlier orgasm, you couldn't help but jolt at his touch.

"You took my fingers so willingly," Isidor cooed, "makes you wonder how you'll take my cock, right?"

"Will you — ah —" you panted, feeling your vision black out for the briefest moment — "Isidor —"

"Are you tired?" One last kiss was pressed onto your lips, chaste, but no less satisfying as the others — "bear with me a little longer."

"Isidor," you whined, giving a petulant moan. You were unsure of what you wanted. No, actually, screw that — you knew exactly what he wanted. You ran your nails along Isidor's back, causing the prince to hiss slightly, "just — just do what you want. Do what you want with me."

"Isn't that inviting?" Isidor's voice held no restraint, as he practically towered over you. "isn't that too inviting, Y/n?"

"Please — mgh,” you were sobbing now, tears streaming down your face. It was not of pain, however — it was due to the pure pleasure and ecstasy thrumming below your skin.

Isidor wiped away at your tear-smeared cheeks, shushing you softly and thumbing at your waist with sweetness and tenderness. "Oh," Isidor panted, "I promise you it won't hurt. I can't promise you that I'll be gentle, but —"

"Fuck me."

Isidor's head snapped up to meet you, real hunger swirling in his eyes. The nips on your skin veered into bites, and soon Isidor started to line his cock to the rim of your sensitive hole. As the tip prodded your entrance, you found Isidor's arms wrapping around your body, pulling you closer. Isidor grunted slightly as he started to press in slowly, as your body rejoiced at the feel of Isidor's girth entering your body, your walls tightening around it.

"Hah," you panted, "I-Isidor—"

The prince paused, allowing you to accommodate his size. Isidor grabbed your thighs, and in a quick motion, threw your legs over his shoulder, forcing you to lift your hips. And Isidor's grip on your hip stayed.

Trembling, you let out a wanton groan when you felt the tip of Isidor's cock twitch as it brushed against the hot, slick ring of muscle, clearly eager to plunge inside. And you were more than ready to accommodate it — to accommodate the warmth; the demand. A filthy sound echoed yet again around the room as Isidor pushed his cock deeper into you. And you couldn't help but keen as you felt yourself being breached, violent shivers wrecking and coursing through you as Isidor slid in with his entire length in a single thrust.

Slowly but surely, Isidor bottomed out, sinking deeper, splitting you open and punching all the air out of you. You were left gasping, breathing in and out rapidly. Isidor was huge, you thought, left shaking at the stretch, with Isidor all the way in. Your vision turned black for a moment, and you feared you would pass out from overstimulation. But that moment passed, and you were still there. Alive.

Your legs were suspended over Isidor's shoulder, your back upright against the bed frame. And Isidor started off with a slow pace, and slowly set up a steady rhythm that left you gutted every time the prince thrusted back in.

Isidor wrapped his arms around you and pulled you until the two of you were impossibly close, his cock rubbing deep against your insides, causing you to gasp against the skin of Isidor's neck. Briefly, Isidor seemed to catch sight of your reflection in a tiny mirror on the bedside table — and the prince smiled as he grabbed your chin and angled you towards it.

You flushed.

"Look how pretty you are, Y/n. Look, Y/n. Look at your pretty little face. Look at your eyes...your nose...your lips. Such a cutie just for me, right?"

You could not answer — it felt like you were getting pried open to the point that your brain couldn't register anything.

The pace had started to increase, and Isidor had clearly become greedier with his thrusts turning more vicious and earth-shattering. Each one sent you pushed against the bed frame, and Isidor burrowed his head into your neck, breathing heavily in your ear.

"Haa — You feel so good," Isidor looked almost relieved that all his pent up sexual frustration over the months — the year — had finally been resolved, "oh, Y/n...you take me so well — aren't you just made for me?"

Compliments and sweet sensibilities continued to roll off Isidor's lips.

"Aren't you just such a pet?" Isidor breathed out shakily, "Aren't you just perfect for me? Fuck —” You rolled his hips amidst a delicious burn. Something blazed in Isidor — he slammed in deeper than the previous thrust, dragging his length over your prostate.

"My stamina — it's terribly bad," you choked out, spots beginning to swarm around your vision. But still your body continued to move against Isidor's.

"And yet you're still doing wonderfully." Isidor murmured, pressing a kiss onto your lips. Your lips were bitten raw and almost bloody, but Isidor's lips were slick and hot, and that sent more pleasure tingling down your spine — "aren't you?"

You seemed to burn. You didn't know just how your body was still holding up — when you would have expected that it would have been gone by now. But you couldn't dwell upon it — soft lips met yours, the movement languorous and easy as Isidor's mouth explored yours.

Isidor's hands moved up to frame your face, shaking a little bit from the emotions coursing through him. He'd wanted this. Had yearned for it for years. And here he was, with his cock in you, watching as pleasure blazed in his beloved's eyes.

Nothing could compare to the feeling of your mouth against his, the way your skin felt underneath his soft caresses, frantic and urgent. Yes — Isidor, though starved, could be gentle, reverent, adoring. The kiss was so soft, tender, and sweet that it made you dizzy.

"Isidor, please — haa, fuck me," you pleaded. You felt the cock inside of you twitch, the sensation almost too much for your tightly wound body. It felt near overwhelming how deep Isidor reached, how thoroughly stretched your ass was around the throbbing erection inside of you.

Isidor's pace was faster now, and his thrusts were going sloppy. You could feel the way Isidor tugged your hair to kiss you wildly and messily unlike the previous soft kisses — and with a low groan of your name, Isidor buried himself to the hilt, spilling himself deep inside of you. Warmth — pure warmth pooled low in your belly, and Isidor's cock pulsed with the last of its release. This was cherished, inviting warmth, and Isidor pressed a firm kiss onto your forehead and shifted his hips back, slipping out. His cock had softened compared to before and yet still —

You felt completely and utterly gone. Boneless. Used.

You could feel Isidor's cum slowly trickling out of your abused hole, but you currently cared very little about sullying yourself or the sheets.

"I'll clean you," Isidor said hoarsely, wrapping you in his arms. "Come here, darling."

Your vision was fading in and out — you were immensely tired, and yet — how horny was Isidor? You would have expected for his appetite to have been whetted after the prince spilled all that in you — after he had relentlessly pounded you — but still, Isidor's stamina had not waned. If anything, the prince was only stopping out of consideration.

You allowed yourself to be carried and to be brought into the bathroom — there were a few wet and sloppy kisses exchanged between the two of you, with Isidor nearly pressing onto you against the table — but whether it was fortunate or unfortunate, Isidor managed to turn on the tap, run the bath, and enter the bath along with you. There were a few peaceful minutes as you collected your thoughts and feelings, your breaths managing to steady.

And it was with mirth you realized that just a while ago, the two of you had bathed here, with you utterly oblivious.

And now you weren’t oblivious to the fact that Isidor — he was still horny. It was concerning how a human could hold so much hunger for someone.

...Should I...?

You cupped the prince's cheek, looking at him meaningfully while using your leg to nudge Isidor's erection. Despite how exhausted you were — though those few minutes had saved your lungs, albeit temporarily — you were selfish enough to want the both of you to feel satisfied. You wanted the first time to be equally desirable for both of you. And besides...you did need to train your stamina, didn't you?

"Are you that insatiable?" You asked, tilting your head. Your voice was now rendered hoarse. You felt like you had just gotten the living lights fucked out of you mercilessly — your back was aching, with the countless of times you had nearly been folded against the bed frame — and your nipples and lips were sore, having been bitten.

A heated sensation went right to Isidor's cock.

"You can still fuck me," you murmured, "here."

In normal circumstances, Isidor would have said no. But here you were. pliant, offering him this decision — how could the prince resist?

"You might regret this decision," Isidor warned, starting to move towards you. One hand held the back of your head, so the proceeding thrust would not cause you to topple right over — while the other hand gripped your already bruised hip. It was a rather interesting position, with you straddled over him, Isidor's cock pressed against your stomach.

You smiled gently. "I won't. So you're really that insatiable, I suppose."

With that final affirmation, Isidor lifted your hips slowly, dragging his length over the puffiness of your hole. It was much too ambitious to think about fucking you again but god, Isidor so wanted to. And he would. Isidor would fuck you again, with your

Your hole was slick and wet already from the earlier rounds, and so slipping it in was easy. In fact, so easy — that Isidor started to marvel at just how made for each other you two were — and his gaze dropped down to the evidence of the penetration — the slight bulge in your lower stomach. Your ass was sitting so sweetly and nicely on his cock, your walls squeezed around it. You gave a little moan as you started to adjust yourself.

Isidor's voice came out so wrecked it was almost inaudible — and he answered your question belatedly. "I'm afraid that yes, I am. I am that insatiable."

You were on his lap — you were —

...Riding him, amidst the waters.

The evidence of your previous pleasures was smeared between the two of your bodies, and Isidor languidly rolled once more into you, thrusting into your prostate once more. And all you could do was sit there prettily and gasp as your cock twitched against your abdomen, leaking more fluid onto yourself.

Your hands tightened around Isidor's neck, pulling him down for another filthy, wet kiss. Endless shivers and tiny spasms wrecked through you as Isidor kept fucking you, with moans and sounds falling all over your kiss-swollen lips. The pleasure in your body started to build once more. Exhaustion riddled your body, and yet your walls continued to clench around Isidor's intrusion, with the prince's fingers digging into your hips, his rhythm faltering for a split second before returning. This time, the thrust was faster and harder. Isidor was practically splitting you open.

Overstimulated, You felt like you were gone.

Your lips met with his in a mix of saliva and tongue, and you shuddered as Isidor grounded himself further, pushing his way inside until he was impossibly deep in you. The water sloshed around the two of you, and for the briefest moment, you wondered what it would have been like for your entire body to be beneath the water.

Whatever obscene sounds you made were muffled by Isidor's hungry mouth on yours, unrelenting and harsh. You were devoured, ravished, treasured — and you loved every bit of it.

Your stomach swooped as Isidor broke the kiss and started rocking into you faster, the thrusts stronger and deeper now as he took pleasure from your obedient body. With your breathing ragged and uneven, you closed your eyes and let the sensations wash over you. You could feel everything — the way Isidor pressed inside of you, the way Isidor fucked you until guttural cries were forcibly spilled from your mouth. You could feel the unrestrained desire, the pace quickening. There was the steady roll of hips against an addicting burn — Isidor thrusted in and out, his cock sliding into your wet hole continuously.

"Fuck," Isidor breathed out, "you're so perfect."

Your hole stretched so impossibly wide, taking in the prince deeply. There were a never ending mix of grunts, groans, and moans from the both of you, coupled with aborted renditions of Isidor's name — you were rendered speechless and helpless.

You could feel the sensation vividly — the warmth spreading through your belly, anchoring you. The searing heat that was diffusing in you, building and building until it threatened to overwhelm you. For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, you felt the imminent sensation of your release.

Isidor thrusted, harder, pressing his cock as deep into you as it could go. You clenched around Isidor, muscles constricting involuntarily and rippling around the cock fucking you open. A low groan sounded below you, as Isidor's hips stuttered for a brief second before he found his rhythm again. Your body was wet with the water but the slipperiness of it only reduced the friction between Isidor’s and your body — Isidor took your lips in his, ravaging them.

"Fuck," Isidor panted, voice strained from the effort of plowing into you. "You're so cute." The prince could not seem to stop the honeyed praises from falling from his lips.

Another thrust ripped a moan from your throat. Isidor was pounding into you, his motions merciless and relentless. You clawed at his back, your walls tightening as he struggled to accommodate Isidor's size.

You pushed your hips back down — Isidor's body responded, and he flexed his hips just in time to meet with your downward grind, and that was the last straw. It was enough for you to release once more, and your back arched as you spilled on the thick length lodged right against your prostate, walls quivering. Isidor had come too, and now the both of you were panting, with you seated firmly on the prince's cock. The spilled seed leaked from your puffy and tender hole.

You could feel yourself really about to black out this time round. It was a miracle that you had made it this far — if not for the small break you had had in the bath, you would have collapsed by now. Strong, muscular hands wrapped around your waist, and Isidor was pressing tender kiss after kiss on the marks littered on your skin. It was like the prince was trying to map everything out again.

Lips rasped against your cheek, and you felt a hand brush your loose hair away from your face. Isidor's voice was low and sweet as he spoke: "Rest well, darling."

And with that, you blacked out, your exhausted body slumping against the cold tiles of the bathroom.

please support me by reblogging, liking, and commenting

#eroswrites #male reader #yandere x male reader #male reader insert #soft yandere #x bottom male reader #yandere smut #yandere oc x reader #yandere male x male reader #yandere x you #layout inspired by vei sama

2K notes · View notes

yanderenightmare · 11 months ago

Text

FEM x M INSERT masterlist

Fem reader x male insert

Yandere and other Kidnapping Tales ~

Yandere kidnapper takes your virginty:

♡ VIRGINITY

Yandere captor has too much libido:

♡ REMINDER

Thirsty thoughts on big yanderes x tiny darlings:

♡ GENTLE GIANT

Yandere kidnapper softly nonconning darling:

♡ soft noncon

Yanderes who keep you high as a kite:

♡ HIGH AS A KITE

Yandere captor using you as his pretty rope-bunny:

♡ ROPE-BUNNY

Yanderes who's obsessed with breeding:

♡ FORCED BREEDING

Spending Valentine's Day with your incel kidnapper:

♡ HAPPY VALENTINES

Yandere kidnapper is a sexual sadist:

♡ RIBBED CONDOMS

Yandere captor staking claim to all your holes:

♡ STUFFED

Misogynist boyfriend keeps you captive:

♡ A SHITTY MOVIE

Strange Yandere keeps you locked inside his playroom:

♡ THE PLAYROOM

Your sweet boyfriend shows his true colors:

♡ TRUE COLORS

Your rich boyfriend buys you everything:

♡ PROPERTY

Poly yanderes with captive reader in apocolypse au:

♡ THE BUNKER

Witnessing your own mental state descend into Stockholm Syndrome:

♡ GONE MAD

Your trip-sitter isn't as trustworthy as you think:

♡ TRIP-SITTER

Boyfriends and Husbands~

Simpy boyfriend is unabashedly obsessed with your ass:

♡ ASS

Boyfriend is embarrassed:

♡ POST NUT CLARITY

Sweet boyfriend won't stop talking about anal:

♡ SECOND VIRGINITY

Snugglebug boyfriends who're just so clingy and hopeless:

♡ VIRGINAL

Your toxic boyfriend is a little old-fashioned-minded:

♡ BENEVOLENT SEXIST

Breaking up with you bad boyfriend:

♡ BAD BREAKUP

Condescending boyfriend:

♡ HOPELESS

Businessman x trophy wife:

♡ TASTE OF MONEY

Reformed bully boyfriend wants to roleplay the past:

♡ REFRAMING TRAUMA

You break up with your sorry-ass gamer boyfriend. He does not take it well:

♡ GAMER-RAGE

Rich husband owns everything you have:

♡ BARBIE

Incest and Pesudo-incest ~

Step-bro creeps on you:

♡ CREEP STEP-BRO

Step-daddy puts you in your place:

♡ TRAINING

Omegaverse and other Hybrid Tales ~

Pet collector buys bunny reader:

♡ BOUGHT & SOLD ♡ THE OTHER PETS

Beast boyfriend x human reader:

♡ INSTINCTS

Poly wolfboys x bunny reader:

♡ BUNNYHOLES ♡ GROOMING

You were certain you were an Alpha, but as it turns out...

♡ TWIST OF FATE

Hybrid bear yandere takes bunny darling captive:

♡ BUNNIES MAKE THE BEST SLUTS

You're sent to an omega institution for behavioral correcting:

♡ THE OMEGA INSTITUTION

Patronizing soft dom Alpha:

♡ OVERWHELMED

Behemoth dominant Omega x tiny Alpha reader:

♡ UNNATURAL ♡ part two

Alpha is dogshit at courting Omega reader:

♡ SWEATER WEATHER

Sword and Sorcery ~

Massive warrior claims you as his war prize:

♡ WAR PRIZE

Orc master loves making a cum-slut out of his pretty elf slave:

♡ ORC x ELF ♡ ORC x ELF

You become the spoiled prince's personal maid:

♡ FARM ANIMAL

Elf reader captured and gangbanged by orcs:

♡ THE PILLORY ♡ PART TWO

Cruel Emperor makes a harem out of all his bastard sons and daughters:

♡ HALFBLOODS

Set in medieval times, you get punished by the parish priest for gossiping:

♡ BRANK'S BRIDLE

Bullies and other College Tales ~

You let your bully fuck you in exchange for him leaving you alone:

♡ WORSE OFF

Your childhood bully tracks you down:

♡ APOLOGETIC BULLY only avaliable on AO3 ♡ PART TWO

When the playboy finally falls in love:

♡ PLAYBOY

Your strict teacher fucks your throat raw in detention:

♡ DETENTION

You're a popular airhead, and he's your loser tutor:

♡ BLIND TRUST

Teacher teaches you a hard lesson:

♡ HARD LESSON

Pretty reader x virgin loser boy:

♡ VIRGIN BOY

Boss-man and other Office Tales ~

Boss uses his assistant whenever he wants and however he wants:

♡ BOSS

The old-fashioned boss with intern reader:

♡ NEW INTERN

Colleague crushing on reader in office au:

♡ CUT TO THE CHASE

Loser colleague crushes on mean girl reader:

♡ ERRAND BOY

Miscellaneous ~

Reader owes the mob:

♡ PROPERTY

You're not cheap, but you're worth it:

♡ FAVORITE WHORE

You're not really a model, but the brash photographer doesn't care:

♡ PHOTOGRAPHER ♡ PART TWO

♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk smut #bnha smut #yandere bnha #mha smut #my hero smut #yandere demon slayer #yandere csm #yandere aot

4K notes · View notes

dollgxtz · 20 days ago

Text

His Watchful Eye Pt.13

Word Count: 18.2k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, some smut, masturbation, forced orgasm, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, xavier appears, gunshot, slight bloodshed, attempted murder

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti, @exorcxqsm, @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze, @mavphorias, @babylavendersblog, @burntoutfrogacademic, @sinstae, @certainduckanchor, @ladyackermanisdead, @sh4nn, @milkandstarlight, @lilyadora, @depressedwhore, @nyumin, @kiwookse, @anisha24-blog1, @weepingluminarytale, @xxhayashixx, @hesperisms, @adraxsteia, @hargun-s @cayraeley, @xxfaithlynxx

AN: This is on A03! Sorry this took so long yall, I had a lot going on in my personal life! You guys get to find out the baby’s gender in this chapter so buckle up <33

“Why?” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible. “Why would you show me something like this?” His gaze softens, and he leans closer, resting his forehead against yours. “Because I love you,” he says simply. “And I’ll never let anything take you from me. Nothing, not even death can keep us apart.”

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.11 Pt.12 Pt.14

“You cheater!” Luke’s voice rang out, his mock outrage echoing through the living room.

“I am not! You just don’t know how to bluff!” Kieran shot back, motioning smugly as he held up his cards.

Their playful bickering was punctuated by the sound of your laughter, bright and unrestrained. “Oh, come on, Luke. Even I could see that bluff coming a mile away,” you teased, playfully nudging his arm.

From his office, Sylus heard every word through Mephisto’s watchful feed. The robotic crow perched unnoticed in the corner, its camera lens fixed on the lively scene. Sylus barely glanced at the open laptop on his desk, his attention locked on the display showing you sitting on the couch, basically sandwiched between his two henchmen.

He should have been reading the stack of files in front of him. Instead, he found himself captivated—and annoyed—by the scene unfolding in his living room. His grip tightened on the edge of his desk as he watched you laugh again, this time leaning closer to Luke.

His jaw clenched. That laugh. The one you’d been so stingy with around him lately. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t logical. But it stung to hear it so freely given to anyone else.

What was this feeling gnawing at him? Jealousy? Sylus almost scoffed at the thought. How absurd. How ridiculous. To feel envious of his own henchmen? Of Luke, who couldn’t bluff his way out of a paper bag, or Kieran, who treated life like one endless game? And yet, when he saw Luke’s body shift ever so close to yours as he dealt another hand, Sylus felt a flare of irritation that was hard to ignore.

Then you laughed again, harder this time, doubling over and putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder as he said something undoubtedly stupid. Sylus didn’t even hear the joke. He didn’t care. The sight of your hand lingering there for just a second too long made his chest tighten.

With a sharp motion, he snapped his laptop shut, the sound echoing through the quiet of his office. He couldn’t watch this anymore. His thoughts swirled as he rose from his chair, straightening his cuffs and adjusting his tie.

It wasn’t as though he distrusted Luke or Kieran. They were loyal, dependable—idiots, perhaps, but loyal ones. This wasn’t about them. No, this was about you. The way you laughed so easily with them. The way your guard seemed to drop just a little in their presence. The genuineness of your laugh.

Why did you never look at him like that?

He didn’t want to be thinking this way. He didn’t want to feel this irrational, suffocating jealousy. But the ache in his chest, the bitterness that twisted his thoughts, refused to be ignored.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Sylus made his way to the living room.

The energy in the room shifted the moment Sylus entered. His presence was a tangible thing, heavy and commanding, cutting through the casual warmth like a knife. Luke and Kieran stiffened immediately, their playful banter dying on their lips. Kieran subtly adjusted his posture, sitting up straighter, while Luke avoided Sylus’s gaze altogether, pretending to be very interested in his cards.

And you? You froze for just a fraction of a second, your smile fading as your eyes flicked to him. Then, as if remembering the role you were supposed to play, you quickly plastered on a fake smile and greeted him, “Sylus. I didn’t hear you come in.”

The sound of your voice, so polite, so calculated, made his chest ache. He hated the mask you wore around him. Hated that you still felt the need to pretend. And yet, seeing your fleeting moment of unease just before the mask slipped into place was enough to soothe his earlier jealousy—if only slightly.

Sylus’s gaze swept over the room, landing on Luke and Kieran, who were doing a poor job of hiding their discomfort. He couldn’t blame them. They weren’t stupid. They knew when they’d crossed an invisible line.

“Luke. Kieran.” His tone was calm, but the undercurrent of authority was unmistakable. “There’s something I need you to take care of for me. Now.”

Luke glanced at Kieran, and the two exchanged a silent look before nodding in unison. “Of course, boss,” Luke said quickly, already rising from the couch.

“What is it?” Kieran asked, his usual bravado tempered by the tension in the air.

Sylus didn’t elaborate. He simply fixed them with a pointed look, one that said, You don’t need to know. Just go. They got the message loud and clear.

Luke hesitated for half a second, glancing at you as if to say goodbye, but a sharp glance from Sylus sent him scurrying after Kieran. As the door closed behind them, Sylus felt a faint sense of satisfaction. The air in the room was quieter now, calmer.

It was just the two of you.

You leaned back on the couch, crossing your arms as you looked at him. “That seemed urgent,” you said, your tone light, but he could hear the faint edge beneath it.

Sylus tilted his head, studying you with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You seemed to be having fun.”

“I was,” you said simply, your expression unreadable.

Sylus’s gaze flickered to you as you shifted on the couch, adjusting the hem of your dress absentmindedly. The soft fabric stretched over the faint swell of your belly, a small but undeniable reminder of the life growing inside you—his child. His chest swelled with a mixture of pride and possessiveness as his eyes lingered on you. You were around 14 weeks now, well into the second trimester, and the subtle changes in your body were impossible to miss.

Yet, your next words snapped him out of his thoughts.

“When do you think Luke and Kieran will be back?” you asked casually, your tone light and conversational, but it struck Sylus like a slap. He kept his expression neutral, but inside, irritation flared.

Oh? So you’re eager for their company again? Why?

The question churned in his mind, and despite the years of self-control he’d mastered, it took effort to keep his irritation from showing. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with a small, unreadable smile. “I’m not sure,” he replied smoothly. “Why? Missing them already?”

The way you hesitated, your eyes darting to the side before giving a half-hearted shrug, only added fuel to the quiet storm brewing inside him. “They’re fun to be around,” you said, your voice nonchalant, but Sylus didn’t miss the faint trace of genuine fondness in your tone. It made his blood simmer, though he kept his composure.

Fun to be around? Was he not enough? Sylus’s jaw tightened imperceptibly as he kept his gaze steady on you. Had he been spending too much time away? Between overseeing Onychinus operations and ensuring your comfort, had he let too much distance form between you?

He exhaled slowly, keeping the irritation buried deep as he considered the past few weeks. Yes, he’d been away from you for longer stretches, monitoring operations and handling things you didn’t need to be involved in. But that was for your safety, for your comfort. And yet…was this the result? You sitting here, glowing in a dress he bought, carrying his child, but asking about them?

He’d seen it in the way you laughed with them, the way your walls seemed to come down just a little when they were around. They were playful, easygoing—no doubt filling some gap you felt in this new life. But you didn’t need them. You wanted a playmate? He was all you needed. And he’d make sure of it.

His gaze drifted back to the small curve of your belly, visible now even when you sat. The sight grounded him, softened the sharp edge of his irritation. There was no denying that he wanted to be closer to you. That he needed to be closer to you. Perhaps he hadn’t been as attentive as he should’ve been lately. Perhaps he needed to show you that you didn’t need anyone else.

“I see,” he said finally, his tone light but carrying an undertone of finality. “Well, I’ll make sure they’re not gone too long. But perhaps…” He paused, allowing himself a small smile as he leaned against the armrest of the couch, his gaze locking onto yours. “We should spend more time together, too. You and I.”

Your head tilted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing your features before you masked it with a polite smile. “Sure,” you said softly, though your tone lacked the warmth he’d been hoping for. Still, it didn’t matter.

He waited, expecting you to say more, but when you didn’t, the silence between you grew heavier. Finally, Sylus broke it. “You spend a lot of time with them,” he said casually, though his voice was carefully controlled. “You never ask to spend time with me like that.”

You hesitated, glancing away. “Oh, well…” You trailed off, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who plays card games, I guess.”

Sylus chuckled at that, a low sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked, his tone almost amused, though there was a distinct sharpness to it.

When you didn’t respond immediately, he let the silence stretch, studying you. The way your gaze flicked downward, your subtle shift in posture—every movement spoke volumes to him. You weren’t oblivious to the tension.

“I think,” he said finally, his voice dipping lower, “that you’re underestimating me, kitten.”

For a moment, you didn’t respond, your gaze fixed on a random spot on the floor. Then, you forced a small smile and looked up at him. “Maybe I am,” you said softly. "I just...know you get busy with running Onychinus. The twins are good company."

Sylus’s thoughts solidified as he watched you shift uncomfortably, his irritation fading into a calm resolve. Yes, you wanted company. He could give you that. He would give you everything you needed and more. Luke and Kieran’s involvement? That would be limited. They had their roles to play, but you were his. They didn’t belong in this picture the way he did.

His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, to feel the baby growing inside you, to remind you that no one could provide for you the way he could. But instead, he straightened and adjusted his cuffs, his smile never faltering.

“You don’t need them,” he said, his voice soft and low, more to himself than to you. “I’m all you need.”

And he would make sure you believed it.

Sylus sat across from you, his gaze sharp, unwavering. He didn’t miss the irritation in your posture, the way your arms crossed defensively, or how you deliberately avoided looking at him. He let it slide, deciding to wait until the right moment to address it—or ignore it entirely. He reached into his pocket, retrieving a small bottle of pills. The sound of the capsules rattling against the plastic broke the tension in the room.

He watched as your eyes flicked to the bottle, curiosity sparking in your expression. "What’s that?" you asked, your tone laced with suspicion.

Sylus allowed a small, knowing smirk to tug at the corner of his lips. He raised the bottle slightly, watching your reaction as he spoke. "Prenatal vitamins," he said plainly, enjoying the flicker of confusion that crossed your face.

Your brows furrowed as you processed his words, and you reached for the bottle. Sylus, of course, pulled it back just out of your reach, a subtle power play he couldn’t help but indulge in. "Prenatals?" you repeated, your tone sharpening. "Shouldn’t I have been taking those a lot sooner?"

Sylus nodded, his expression softening. "Yes, you should have," he admitted, surprising even himself with the hint of vulnerability in his voice. “I didn’t want you taking any pills without being absolutely sure they were safe."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze locking onto yours. "I made sure everything you needed was in your meals instead," he continued, his voice calm but firm. He didn’t add how much work had gone into ensuring every bite you took was perfectly tailored for the baby’s growth. That wasn’t the point.

The point was that now it was time to adjust.

Your reaction was predictable. Annoyance flickered in your eyes, quickly replaced by a restrained sort of frustration as you processed his words. He could almost see you weighing your response, debating whether to argue or let it go.

Before you could choose, Sylus shifted in his seat, his voice lowering as he let the full weight of his authority settle into his tone. "From now on, you’re going to take these. Non-negotiable. Same rules as your meals."

He saw the moment you realized what he was about to say, the slight stiffening of your shoulders, the tightening of your jaw. Still, he said it anyway. "If you don’t, Xavier-."

"Stop," you snapped, cutting him off before he could elaborate. Your voice was sharp, laced with anger, and for a moment, Sylus was struck by how fierce you looked. Your hands were trembling slightly, but your glare was unwavering. "I don't want to hear about that."

He let the words hang in the air for a moment before leaning back, his expression unreadable. "Then don’t make it an issue," he said quietly, his tone lacking the edge it had held moments ago. He didn’t particularly enjoy making you upset, but he wouldn’t hesitate to do so if it meant ensuring the health of the baby.

You stared at him for a long moment, your emotions flashing across your face in quick succession—anger, frustration, and something softer, something he couldn’t quite place. Finally, you snatched the bottle from his hand, muttering a begrudging

"Okay."

Sylus tilted his head slightly, studying you as you turned away. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the way you gripped the bottle tightly in your hand as though it was the last thing in the world you wanted to hold. He could feel your resentment radiating off of you, and it hurt him a little. it wouldn't always be like this.

You'd eventually come to understand his strictness for the sake of the baby.

Sylus watched as you curled up on your side, facing away from him, clearly making a pointed effort to ignore him. His lips curved into a faint smile. It was...endearing, in its own way—this little display of attitude. He leaned back against the couch, his arms resting casually on the cushions. He could chalk it up to your hormones, or perhaps just a passing mood, but either way, it didn’t bother him as much as it intrigued him. You were becoming bolder these days, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether to find it amusing or concerning.

His gaze softened slightly, taking in the sight of your belly against the fabric of your dress. The sight tempered his initial urge to tease you further. He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm.

"Now that that's out of the way, what do you want for lunch?"

You didn’t answer, your silence deliberate and pointed. Sylus arched an eyebrow, watching the way your body tensed as if bracing for some unseen battle. A flicker of amusement played across his features. It was like you were daring him to push harder, to pry the answer from you.

He let the silence stretch for a moment, studying you. Then, leaning back into the couch, he crossed one leg over the other, his tone softening as he tried again.

"Sweetie," he said, his voice low and coaxing, "don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. I asked you a question."

You shifted slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like you might continue ignoring him. But then you turned over abruptly, fixing him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

"What?!" you snapped, your tone edged with irritation.

Sylus arched his eyebrow higher, his expression cool and measured as he held your gaze. His silence was deliberate, calculated—a quiet reminder for you to rethink your tone. He didn’t need to say anything. The weight of his gaze was enough.

You faltered almost immediately, your defiance softening as you glanced away, your face tinged with frustration and what might have been embarrassment.

"Sorry," you muttered, the apology reluctant but still sincere enough to pacify him.

Sylus let the moment linger before nodding, his expression easing as he leaned forward slightly. "It’s okay," he said, his voice gentle now. "Just tell me what you want to eat."

You sighed, curling in on yourself a bit more, your knees pulled closer to your chest. Well...as much as you could anyway. Your hand absently moved to your stomach, a gesture that caught Sylus’s attention. He watched the way your fingers brushed over the curve, your touch almost absentminded but protective.

"Something light," you murmured finally, your voice quieter now, almost tentative. "My stomach hurts...French onion soup. And the chai tea the chef made last time."

Sylus considered your request for a moment, taking in the way you avoided his gaze, the subtle downturn of your lips. You were still moody, clearly uncomfortable, but there was something vulnerable about the way you were curled up like that. He felt the faintest pang of sympathy—or perhaps fondness.

Reaching out, he brushed his fingers gently over your shoulder, the touch brief but deliberate. "French onion soup and chai tea," he repeated, his tone soft and warm. "I’ll let the chef know."

He straightened, standing to his full height, and smoothed the front of his shirt with practiced ease. "Just rest, kitten. I'll handle it." His voice held a note of authority, but the underlying affection was unmistakable.

As he moved toward the kitchen to speak to the chef, he glanced back at you once more. You’d turned away again, but this time, your movements seemed less defiant, more resigned. The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. Your moods were a puzzle, but they were a puzzle he was growing fond of solving.

You glanced at him briefly, a flicker of something grateful passing across your face before you looked away again. Sylus allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, feeling the odd mix of protectiveness and amusement that you often stirred in him.

Your moodiness didn't surprise him though, in fact, he quite enjoyed being on the other end of your feistiness. You reminded him of a kitten hissing at its owner only to ask for pets and food right after. You could snap, glare, even ignore him, but in the end, you still depended on him. He would always ensure you had what you needed, no matter how stubborn or sullen you became.

His steps slowed again as he noticed your figure slumped slightly, your head resting against the plush cushions. You had fallen asleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest confirming that another wave of pregnancy-induced exhaustion had overtaken you.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You’d been napping more and more lately, another symptom of the life growing inside you. It was amusing in a way—how quickly you could go from irritated to fast asleep. He made a mental note to wake you up before the food was ready. He didn’t want your soup going cold.

Going back over to you, he grabbed a blanket from the armchair of the couch, and gently covered you before making his leave.

As he entered the kitchen, Sylus gave the chef specific instructions on your meal, detailing everything from the flavor of the chai tea to the amount of sodium in the soup. He wasn’t one for micromanaging in most cases, but when it came to your comfort, he left nothing to chance.

Satisfied, Sylus made his way down the hall to meet with Luke and Kieran. The twins were waiting in the den, their expressions shifting the moment he walked in. Luke scratched the back of his head, his usual easy demeanor replaced with something sheepish, while Kieran gripped his hands together as though he was ready to say something but hadn’t quite mustered the courage.

Sylus arched an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Something on your minds?”

Luke cleared his throat, shuffling slightly. “Uh, boss...about earlier...” He avoided eye contact, his voice lower than usual. “I wanted to apologize for...getting too close.”

Sylus’s gaze narrowed slightly, studying Luke’s awkward stance. He knew exactly what the man was referring to, and while Sylus appreciated the apology, it didn’t erase the irritation that lingered in the back of his mind.

Kieran stepped in, his tone more matter-of-fact. “And, uh, we’ve got an update. Finally caught a lead on the guy we’ve been tracking.”

Sylus’s expression shifted at the mention, his focus sharpening instantly. During his two-week trip, he’d been following every scrap of information about the human trafficking ring, determined to see it dismantled. Exterminated every pest involved possible. But the ringleader had proved elusive, vanishing without a single trace after Reese’s death.

“And?” Sylus prompted, his tone calm but expectant.

Kieran exchanged a glance with Luke before continuing. “We traced a connection back to Reese. Turns out, the bastard’s father isn’t happy about his son dying. He’s been sniffing around, looking for answers.”

Sylus let out a short laugh, the sound cold and humorless. “His father, huh? Funny. Didn’t seem to care much about his precious son when he left him to rot in that old house surrounded by crack.”

The twins didn’t respond immediately, though Kieran’s let out a faint laugh at Sylus’s remark. Luke shifted uncomfortably, his hands tucked into his pockets as if unsure whether to laugh or remain serious.

Sylus crossed his arms, his mind churning through the implications. So, the ringleader wasn’t completely off the grid after all. His son’s death had stirred him into action, but whether out of vengeance or a twisted sense of pride, Sylus didn’t care. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that this lead could be the break they’d been waiting for.

“Do we have a possible location?” Sylus asked, his voice sharp with intent. "Any information on the woman?"

“No location,” Kieran admitted, his tone tinged with frustration. “But it’s only a matter of time. We’ve got eyes on his usual contacts. The woman responsible for the blood draws...her name is Serene Grey. Twenty six years old, originally from Snowcrest. Father is Adam Grey, former chief medical officer of Asko Hospital. Has a brother that works at Asko as well by the name of Noah Grey."

"Upon digging for more info on Noah, we discovered he actually works for E.V.E.R as...head researcher."

Sylus nodded, the gears turning in his mind as he considered the next steps. Reese had been an obstacle, an annoyance at best. His father would likely prove more challenging—but Sylus welcomed the opportunity. If the man was bold enough to seek revenge, he would find nothing but destruction waiting for him.

As for the woman....this was getting interesting.

“We'll pay a visit to her old man soon,” Sylus instructed, his tone firm. “And Luke?”

“Yeah, boss?” Luke replied, his shoulders stiffening slightly.

Sylus fixed him with a pointed look. “Don't let it happen again.”

Luke nodded quickly, muttering a hasty, “Got it.”

They further discussed some details and with that, Sylus dismissed them, his thoughts already shifting back to you. As he made his way back toward the living room, he glanced at his watch. The food would be ready soon, and he wanted to wake you gently. You might not realize it yet, but your comfort and safety were his top priorities—and he would ensure they stayed that way.

When Sylus stepped back into the living room, you were still curled on the couch where he’d left you, your figure bundled into a loose throw blanket, your breathing slow and even as you napped. His chest tightened as he paused to look at you, taking in the subtle changes in your form—the swell of your belly, the softness in your expression as you slept.

It was almost too peaceful to disturb, but he knew the chef would soon be done with the food. You needed to eat, and he wouldn’t let your soup grow cold, not when you’d been struggling to keep anything down for weeks prior.

He knelt beside the couch, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. “Honey” he murmured softly, his tone low and coaxing. “It’s time to wake up.”

A faint groan escaped you, your brows furrowing as you shifted under the blanket. Your eyes fluttered open halfway, barely registering him as you burrowed deeper into the cushions, your face half-hidden.

“Go away,” you mumbled, your voice muffled and thick with sleep.

Sylus smirked, resting his arm along the edge of the couch as he leaned closer. “Come on, kitten. You’ve been asleep for a while. The food’s almost ready.”

“Don’t want food anymore,” you muttered, turning your head away from him. “I want to sleep.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and indulgent. “Well I'm sure the little one wants food. You'll be irritated later too if you don't eat now.”

You huffed, clutching the edge of the blanket like a shield. “I’m not a baby, Sylus. I can decide if I’m hungry or not.”

“Mm, not a baby, but you sure whine like one when you’re woken up,” he teased, his hand lightly stroking your arm through the blanket. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be, you know.”

You cracked one eye open, glaring at him with as much annoyance as you could muster in your half-asleep state. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re adorable,” he replied, his voice softening as he leaned closer. “Now, come on. Sit up for me. Let’s not make a fuss.”

You sighed dramatically, but ultimately shift to a sitting position. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, the blanket slipping down your shoulders as you blinked groggily at him.

“See? Not so bad,” he said, his tone soothing as his hand found the small of your back, steadying you. “You’re doing so well, kitten. I’m proud of you.”

The words seemingly caught you off guard, your sleep-fogged mind taking a moment to process them. You gave him a half-hearted glare, though the obvious nervousness in your demeanor gave you away.

“Don’t patronize me,” you mumbled, brushing your hair out of your face.

“I’m not,” he said, his expression softening further. “You're growing a baby, its a lot of stress on the body. It’s okay to need rest, but you need to eat too. Let me take care of you.”

His words, though tender, only seemed to add to your frustration. You didn’t want to need him, didn’t want to rely on his care. That much was obvious. But he hoped you were going to start realizing how much you needed him as time passed and your body grew heavier.

“Fine,” you muttered, folding your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the couch. “Not like I have much choice.”

His lips quirked into a small smile as he brushed his fingers against your cheek, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”

You rolled your eyes, but Sylus didn't miss the tiniest of smiles that appeared on your lips before it disappeared just as quickly. He felt his heart flutter at the sight of it. Was it genuine? Did he actually manage to make you smile genuinely?

“Wait here,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll bring the food over when it’s ready. Don’t fall back asleep on me, alright?”

Sylus glanced back over his shoulder as he stepped into the kitchen, his sharp eyes catching the way you shifted on the couch. You hadn’t quite settled back under the blanket, but you looked like you were contemplating it, your hand absently brushing over the soft fabric.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You could be stubborn, but there was something about these moments—the quiet vulnerability you tried so hard to mask—that softened him in ways he didn’t expect.

“She’s exhausted,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else as he reached for the tray the chef had prepared. “And moody as hell.”

But even as he said it, there was no trace of annoyance in his voice. If anything, there was a quiet fondness, an odd warmth that settled in his chest. He didn’t mind your little barbs, your occasional defiance. It kept things interesting, kept him on his toes.

What bothered him more than your sharp tongue was the exhaustion he’d seen in your eyes, the weight you carried despite his efforts to make things easier for you. He knew he couldn’t fix everything—not all at once—but he could do this much. He could make sure you ate, rested, and had everything you needed.

Carrying the tray back into the living room, he found you still sitting upright, albeit reluctantly, your gaze flicking toward him as he approached.

“There we go,” he said, setting the tray down on the table in front of you. “Just like you asked—French onion soup and chai tea. All exactly how you like it.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your expression a mix of irritation and reluctant gratitude as you reached for the tea.

Sylus knelt beside the couch, his hand resting on the armrest as he looked up at you, his tone softening into a laugh. “You’ll feel less moody once you eat.”

He meant it, not just about the food, but about everything. He would keep at it, keep working to wear down the walls you’d put up between you. He had time, after all.

"Yeah yeah...whatever...".

As he watched you take your first tentative sip of tea, a quiet determination settled in him. He didn’t necessarily need your approval—not yet, anyway—but he wanted it. He would earn it. Slowly, steadily, he would prove to you that this wasn’t just about the baby.

This was about you too.

The days had started blending together, each one marked by the strange chaos your body seemed determined to throw your way. For the most part, the nausea had subsided—thank God for that small mercy—but other symptoms had eagerly taken its place. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so achy, so irritable, so out of control. Your body didn’t feel like yours anymore, and the thought made your chest tighten if you lingered on it for too long.

The bump was the worst reminder. It wasn’t big yet, not obvious to anyone but you and Sylus, but every time you caught your reflection or brushed your hand against your stomach, it was there. An unignorable swell that seemed to grow more pronounced with each passing day.

Is it too early for this? you wondered earlier that evening, turning sideways in the bathroom mirror. You’d stared at the slight curve with a mixture of denial and disbelief. Shouldn’t I be smaller at sixteen weeks? The idea that your body might be working faster than normal made your stomach churn, but you shoved the thought aside. You couldn’t afford to let paranoia swallow you whole.

Still, the changes were hard to ignore. Your moods swung like a pendulum, flipping between cranky, melancholic, and just plain tired. And then there was the neediness—a subtle, insidious thing that snuck up on you when you weren’t expecting it. It wasn’t just the way you barked orders at Sylus, demanding more tea or a specific meal; it was how much you found yourself leaning on him, sometimes without even realizing it. He seemed to thrive on it, which only made it worse.

Sometimes you caught yourself bossing him around just to test the limits of his patience. But when he didn’t snap, when he indulged your whims with that strange mixture of love and affection, you hated how grateful you felt. It was annoying. Frustrating. And a little comforting, though you’d never admit it to him.

“This tea is cold,” you say flatly, setting the cup down on the table in front of you with a soft clink.

Sylus glances up from his seat across the room, where he’s casually flipping through files. He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Cold already? Didn’t I just bring that to you?”

You cross your arms, leaning back against the couch cushions. “And yet, here we are. Cold tea.”

He chuckles under his breath, setting the files aside and standing. “Since when did I become your butler?”

“Blame your baby,” you say, giving him a tired but pointed look. “I didn’t ask to feel like this, you know. The least you can do is keep my tea warm.”

He smirks, picking up the cup and holding it up as if weighing it. “You know, I could just let you drink it as is. Room temperature isn’t so bad.”

You glare at him, narrowing your eyes. “Sylus...”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he laughs softly, shaking his head as he heads to the kitchen. “Anything for you, sweetie,” he says over his shoulder, his tone dripping with smugness.

When he returns with the reheated tea, he hands it to you, his gaze lingering on your face. “Better?”

You take a sip, giving a small nod. “For now.”

“For now?” he repeats, amusement flickering in his voice.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I might need a refill later.”

Sylus leans against the arm of the couch, watching you with an almost infuriatingly amused expression. “Anything else, kitten? Or are you just going to keep ordering me around all day?”

“Well…” you pause, shifting slightly and pretending to mull it over. “A pillow for my back wouldn’t hurt.”

He doesn’t move at first, just stares at you with a grin that’s both indulgent and teasing. “You’ve got quite the list it seems.”

“I’m pregnant, remember?” you reply sharply, looking him square in the eye. “That was your idea. So now you get to deal with it.”

He chuckles again, shaking his head as he grabs a pillow from the other chair and places it behind your back with surprising gentleness.

“There,” he says, his tone mockingly sweet. “Anything else, or am I allowed to sit down now?”

You smirk, taking another sip of tea. “I’ll let you know.”

Sylus leans down, his lips curling into a smirk just inches from your ear. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re like this,” he murmurs, before straightening and sitting back in his chair, his smugness still palpable.

“And you're lucky my tea is warm now” you quip again, enjoying the brief flicker of surprise in his eyes before he bursts into quiet laughter.

For now, you’ve won this small battle—and it feels pretty good.

Tonight, though, that confidence was nowhere to be found. You woke up drenched in sweat, your back aching as you tried to stretch out against the mattress. The room felt stifling, like the air was pressing down on you, and your throat was parched, so dry it felt like sandpaper. Your breasts, now twice the size they normally were, ached. Your back didn't feel any better. Your stomach felt like it was on fire. You groaned, reaching blindly for the glass of water on the nightstand, only to find it empty.

“Ugh, seriously?” you muttered, rolling over to look across the room. Sylus was there, sitting in his usual chair with a book in his lap. He looked calm, almost serene in the dim light, and for a moment you hated him for it.

“Sylus,” you called weakly, your voice hoarse. He glanced up, his eyes softening when they met yours.

“Hmm?”

“Water. I need more water,” you said, your voice bordering on a whine.

“I’ll get it in a bit, sweetie,” he replied, not moving from his seat.

You blinked at him, disbelief turning quickly to anger. “Please do it now. I feel like I’m gonna die of thirst!” you snapped, your voice breaking slightly as frustration bubbled up inside you.

Sylus raised an eyebrow but still didn’t move, clearly not taking your outburst too seriously. “You’re not going to die,” he said with a faint chuckle.

That did it. Hot tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them, spilling over as a sob broke from your throat. “You don’t get it! I’m fucking thirsty, and I’m sweating like crazy, and my back hurts, and—”

Your voice cracked, and you covered your face with your hands, tears spilling between your fingers as you sob. Sylus was on his feet immediately, crossing the room to kneel beside you.

“Okay, okay,” he said softly, his hands brushing yours aside to reveal your tear-streaked face. “I’m sorry. I’ll get your water right now, alright?”

You sniffled, nodding miserably as he stroked your cheek with surprising tenderness. He really was being more lenient with you. He stood and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, returning moments later with a freshly filled glass.

“Here,” he said, handing it to you as you struggled to sit up. “Drink slowly.”

You did as he said, the cool water soothing your throat and easing some of the heat in your chest. When you handed the glass back, Sylus sat beside you, his gaze warm and amused.

“You’re being extra fussy tonight, kitten” he teased gently, brushing a strand of hair from your damp forehead.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, turning your face into the pillow to hide your embarrassment. You hate him. You hate him. You hate him. Stupid pregnancy hormones.

He chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay to be fussy,” he murmured. “You’re allowed to feel however you need to feel. I'm here, and I promise I'll move faster.”

You didn’t respond, your exhaustion pulling you back toward sleep. But as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but feel a small, grudging sense of gratitude for him. The situation was still awful...but at the very least he was helpful more often than not.

As the days drag on...something else begins to get harder and harder to ignore. It starts in your chest, spreading lower like a slow burn, and you shift in your seat, trying to shake the feeling off. There’s no reason for this. You’re just tired, emotional—pregnancy hormones doing what they do best. And yet, the ache persists, coiling in your stomach, a dull and relentless reminder of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

You curl your legs beneath you, drawing your arms around your knees as if the action alone could protect you from the thoughts creeping into your mind. Thoughts of warmth. Of touch.

It’s pathetic, really. You’ve spent every waking moment fighting against Sylus’s suffocating presence, building walls to keep yourself sane, and now your own body is betraying you. A part of you craves the very thing you swore you’d never ask for.

The realization hits you hard, and your fists clench against your knees. You’re horny. There’s no other way to describe it. The longing has burrowed into your core, gnawing at your resolve, and it’s almost unbearable.

Your lips press into a thin line as an image flashes in your mind—Sylus’s broad chest, the toned muscle beneath his shirts that you’ve tried so hard to ignore. The memory of his deep voice rumbles in your ears, soothing and infuriating all at once. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to force the image away, but it lingers, like an unwelcome guest taking up residence in your thoughts.

You shake your head violently, gripping the pillow behind you as though it’s a lifeline. No. Absolutely not. You’re not doing this. You’re not going there. You won’t let yourself fall into this trap, no matter how loud the ache screams inside you.

Sylus is attractive. Objectively, maddeningly so. That fact you can’t deny, but it doesn’t erase the monster he is. The outside may look like something out of a magazine—perfectly crafted to draw you in—but the inside? That’s where the truth lies. Beneath that chiseled exterior is someone who has taken everything from you, someone who thrives on control, who manipulates and twists and owns every space he inhabits.

And yet…

Your hands shake slightly as you rub at your temples, the guilt swelling alongside the ache. How could you even entertain this? How could you feel something—anything—that even bordered on desire for him? It feels like a betrayal of yourself, of everything you’ve endured.

You glance toward the other side of the room, where Sylus sits, his long legs stretched out as he reads something on his tablet. He'd been oddly quiet this morning. He’s entirely unaware of the storm raging inside you, his calm, confident aura infuriatingly unshaken.

You can’t do this. You can’t let this get the better of you. Whatever this feeling is, it’s nothing more than hormones. You’ll fight it, like you fight everything else. Because no matter how tempting his warmth might seem in this moment, you know better.

The outside may be beautiful, but the inside is rotten. And you refuse to let yourself forget that.

Fighting it proved to be harder than you thought though. You found yourself drifting into indecent thoughts about Sylus despite how hard you were trying to distract yourself. And while it seemed he was none the wiser, you couldn't let yourself be caught. So...you come up with a plan. Its simple. Just wait for him to leave for awhile. Then you can find relief. No doubt he'll end up taking Mephisto with him, and the twins never enter without knocking first.

Yes. Simple...

With finally Sylus gone on one of his many business endeavors, the silence of the room beckons you, offering a rare moment to chase the relief you crave. You lie back on the bed, your breath shallow, heart racing with anticipation and desperation. Your hands move with a familiar urgency to your heat, seeking to quell the storm of emotions raging inside you.

You close your eyes, trying to summon the faces from the flickering screens of porn you once watched, fantasies that used to bring you to blissful release. Yet now, they feel hollow, like echoes in a cavernous void.

Xavier's face appears unbidden, a ghostly specter that twists your heart with longing and pain. You shove the image aside, unwilling to let it linger, to let it hurt you more than it already has. The more you fight against it, the more the ache in your core swells, an insatiable beast that refuses to be tamed.

Your fingers move against your aching clit with increasing urgency, but the pleasure you seek dances just out of reach, a cruel mirage. Frustration mounts, your body tense with the effort of chasing a release that remains elusive. Each attempt feels more futile than the last, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you strain against the confines of your own mind.

It feels as if your body has turned traitor, mocking you with its stubborn refusal to yield. The need is a fire burning inside, consuming you from the inside out, leaving you raw and exposed. A low, guttural cry escapes your lips, a sound echoing in the empty room, testament to your solitary struggle.

Your hand falls away, defeated, your body still thrumming with that desperate ache. It remains, a relentless reminder of your captivity, both within these walls and within yourself.

Why can't you finish? This should be easy...is it nerves? Maybe the trauma you've been through is making this difficult? It has to be. No way in hell that bastard stole your ability to orgasm. You try and try for what seems like forever, growing increasingly frustrated with each failed attempt at reaching bliss.

Come on, just… just relax. It's just your body. Don't think about it. Don't think about him. Don't think about why you're even in this situation. Just…

Red eyes. Sharp jaw. Deep voice. Chiseled abs. Your mind begins to swim with him and you hate it. You hate it so much and yet as if your fingers have a mind of their own you begin to actually feel immense satisfaction at the thought of his face.

How did it come to this? A prisoner in your own body, at the mercy of a monster. And now, this…this ache that refuses to subside ? It's like your body is betraying you, craving touch, any touch, even as your mind screams in revolt.

"You could've just asked for my help."

You snap up, pulse quickening as Sylus comes into view in the doorway, watching as if he just caught a mouse in a trap. A small smile plastered on his face as he takes in the disheveled state of your body.

His voice is smooth, dripping with a confidence that makes your skin crawl even as it sends a shiver down your spine. He steps into the room, closing the door behind him, the air charged with his presence.

"Get out," you snap, trying to muster defiance, but your voice betrays you, laced with a tremor of desperation. You snap your legs together as he draws closer to the bed.

Sylus chuckles softly, moving closer with a predator's grace. "Stressing yourself isn't good for the baby, honey" he murmurs, as if offering a kindness. He sits beside you, his gaze assessing, the weight of his attention a tangible force.

"Open your legs. Let me help you."

Your heart races, every nerve in your body on edge as he reaches out, brushing your hand aside with a gentle insistence. His touch ignites a war within you, your mind screaming in protest even as your traitorous body responds with a shiver of anticipation.

He gently but firmly pushes your legs furthur apart and slides down to circle your clit with his thumb.

You loathe him, despise the power he holds over you, yet the heat of his fingers against your sensitive clit sends a jolt of pleasure through you, sharp and undeniable. His touch is maddening, a mix of precision and pressure that leaves you gasping, your back arching involuntarily against the thin mattress.

"Stop," you breathe, a plea tangled with a moan, your body at odds with your will. But he ignores you, his fingers moving with a practiced expertise that draws reluctant cries of pleasure from your lips.

"Ah! Mghn..."

You hate this. But your body loves it. You try and push yourself back against the headboard, further away from his hand but he just follows, even going as far to take his free hand and pin you down by your chest, ceasing any further struggle to get away.

No. No. No. No.

Sylus's touch is gentle, yet insistent, coaxing a response from your body. You try to resist, to will yourself into numbness, but it's no use. Your clit pulses under his fingers, the sensation building, growing, until you're on the cusp of orgasm.

"You're fighting it, kitten" he whispers, leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Let go."

The words are a dark caress, and despite the hatred simmering beneath your skin, the relentless pleasure he coaxes from you drags you towards a precipice you can't deny. Tension coils in your belly, tighter and tighter, until it snaps, a white-hot explosion of sensation that leaves you trembling and breathless.

You lay there, shattered and whole, the aftermath of your climax a bittersweet balm against the reality of your captivity. Sylus withdraws his hand, leaving you bereft and aching, a reminder of your betrayal by your own desires.

Sylus watches you carefully, his gaze soft yet piercing as he strokes your cheek with deliberate tenderness. His fingers brush away the stray tears slipping down your face, and his voice drops to a near whisper, low and soothing as he leans in close.

“That feels better, doesn’t it, sweetie?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours in the gentlest of kisses.

Your breath catches, shame clawing at your chest like a vice. A fresh wave of tears wells in your eyes, spilling over as his words echo in your ears. How could you let this happen again?

You nod.

The warmth of his arms encircles you, his presence overwhelming yet inescapable. Every part of you screams to push him away, to reclaim some piece of yourself, but you can’t move. You’re frozen in his hold, trapped between the comfort he offers and the revulsion that churns in your stomach.

Sylus shifts slightly, his hands moving with care as he adjusts your clothes, ensuring every part of you is covered once again. His touch is meticulous, deliberate, as though he’s putting the pieces back together, though you know he’s the one who broke them in the first place.

You don’t resist. You don’t say a word. The tears flow silently as he presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment too long.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, cradling you closer, his voice laced with something you can’t quite decipher—satisfaction, maybe, or perhaps something deeper. “Just let it out.”

And you do. Because there’s no one else. No one else to turn to. No one else to hold you in this moment, no matter how much you wish it weren’t him.

Sylus’s arms tighten around you, his steady heartbeat pressing against your own, a cruel reminder of how much power he holds over you. He reaches down and caresses the now very obvious curve of your pregnant belly. This is what he wants. The realization strikes you like a blow to the gut, but it doesn’t change the reality.

He’s made it very clear: there’s no one else.

The tears continue to fall, the weight of your shame and helplessness crashing over you. The relief, the longing to hold him close, the urge to shove him away. It all swirls in your head and escapes in the form of wet tears. And Sylus holds you through it all, his presence consuming, suffocating, and maddeningly inescapable.

The days following that night are...strange. You can’t quite put your finger on it. There’s no anger bubbling beneath the surface, no fire demanding you lash out or rebel in some small, insignificant way. You just feel...drained. Exhausted. It’s as though the pregnancy has drained you of everything, leaving you with only enough energy to exist in this fragile limbo.

You avoid Sylus more than usual, though it’s impossible to fully escape him. He notices, of course—he always does. His eyes track your every movement, his brow furrowing in concern each time you pass him with barely a word.

“Are you feeling sick again?” he asks one evening, leaning against the doorway of the library where you’ve buried yourself in a pile of books you aren’t even reading. His voice is softer than usual, tinged with something almost like worry. “Do you want anything?”

You shake your head quickly, not looking up. “No. I’m fine. The pregnancy’s just...taking its toll, that’s all.”

It’s a half-truth. Physically, the changes to your body are draining—your back aches constantly, your feet swell more than you’d like to admit, and your appetite has become a ravenous, insatiable beast. But none of that is what’s really bothering you. No, what keeps you quiet and withdrawn is something you can’t even begin to say aloud.

You’re scared.

Scared of the way your heart stutters when Sylus brushes past you. Scared of the way your pulse quickens when his hand lingers on your lower back or brushes your cheek. Scared of the heat that rushes to your face when you see him changing, his toned chest and sharp features invading your thoughts in ways you don’t want them to.

Why is this happening? You hate him. You hate what he’s done, how he’s stolen everything from you. So why does your stomach flutter when he smiles at you? Why do you find yourself leaning into his touches before you even realize it?

It’s confusing, maddening, and you can’t let yourself dwell on it. So you don’t. You shove those feelings down, deep enough that they can’t reach you.

Instead, you turn to food. It’s one of the only things that makes sense anymore, one of the few sources of comfort that doesn’t terrify you. But tonight, nothing in the house appeals to you. Not the chef’s carefully crafted meals, not the endless trays of snacks Sylus insists on having ready for you. No, you want something specific—something from a bakery back in Linkon. Its a craving that's been bothering you for awhile.

You sit on the couch, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, working up the courage to ask. It feels ridiculous, but eventually, you can’t help yourself.

“Sylus?” you say softly, glancing over at him.

He looks up immediately, his piercing gaze locking onto you. “Yes, sweetie?”

You hesitate for a moment before blurting it out. “I...I want a dessert. From a bakery in Linkon.”

His brows furrow slightly, a mix of suspicion and curiosity playing on his face. “Why there? The chef can make you anything you want.”

“It’s...it won’t be the same,” you insist, trying to sound casual. “The baby wants that specific one.”

At that, Sylus chuckles, the deep sound sending an irritating warmth through you. “The baby wants it? Or you?”

You bite your lip, refusing to meet his gaze. “Both.”

He smiles slightly, studying you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before nodding. “Alright. I’ll get it for you soon. I think I have an idea of which one you're talking about”

The words catch you off guard, and before you can stop yourself, you murmur, “Thank you.”

Sylus smiles, clearly pleased with your response, but you can’t help the heavy feeling in your chest. Thanking him...for a danish. The irony isn’t lost on you. This man has stolen everything from you—your freedom, your life as you knew it—and yet here you are, expressing gratitude over something as trivial as a pastry.

It didn't shock you that he already knew the bakery you were talking about. He had stalked you for quite awhile. Of course he knew.

Nothing was a secret with him. He always knew.

You turn your face away, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as Sylus leans back in his chair, content. And once again, you’re left alone with your thoughts, spiraling in the confusion and bitterness of it all.

Later that day, Sylus presents you with the danish you’d requested, the golden pastry nestled neatly on a small plate. Its flaky layers glisten under the soft light, and the smell alone—warm, buttery, and slightly tangy—makes your mouth water. You can tell he’s proud of himself, standing there as if awaiting praise.

“A lemon-raspberry danish,” he says with a slight grin, watching as you reach for it.

You hesitantly pick it up, the texture soft under your fingers, and take a cautious bite. The tangy sweetness of the raspberry filling bursts against your tongue, perfectly balanced by the buttery flakiness of the pastry and the sharp zest of lemon. It’s exactly how you remembered it—nostalgic, comforting, and bittersweet all at once.

The flavors transport you to a memory you hadn’t revisited in a long time. You and Tara sitting on the steps outside that very bakery in Linkon, sharing a box of pastries. It was a sunny afternoon, the kind that made the city feel alive in the best way. Tara had just finished a long rant about some guy who ghosted her after three dates, her dramatic hand gestures making you laugh so hard you nearly choked on your own danish.

“Seriously, if he’s not texting back, it’s his loss. You’re too good for him anyway,” you’d said between bites, nudging her with your shoulder.

“Oh, stop. You’re only saying that because I shared my last danish with you,” Tara teased, swiping at a smudge of powdered sugar on her lip.

The two of you had laughed until your sides hurt, the world feeling light and uncomplicated in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

But as the memory fades, your smile falters. No doubt Sylus had been watching then too—stalking, waiting. His shadow had been there even in your happiest moments, lurking unseen, ready to strike when you least expected it. A wave of nausea creeps up your spine as the realization settles in. Your grip on the danish tightens for a moment, then slackens as tears prick at your eyes.

Just as you’re about to take another bite, something strange happens. A sudden flutter in your stomach, light and quick like a butterfly’s wings. You gasp audibly, your fingers losing their hold on the danish, sending it tumbling to the floor.

Sylus’s brows knit together in confusion as he steps closer. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You press a trembling hand to your stomach, your heart racing as you feel it again—another flutter, faint but undeniable. “I—I think…the baby moved,” you whisper, barely able to process the words as they leave your mouth.

Sylus’s eyes widen, his gaze immediately dropping to your bump. The softness in his expression surprises you, and when he speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically gentle. “Can I feel?” he asks, his hand hovering uncertainly over your stomach, not quite touching.

You hesitate, your mind a chaotic mix of emotions. Do you even have a choice? You swallow hard, nodding slowly. “Yes…sure. Go ahead.”

His large hand presses carefully against the curve of your belly, warm and steady. The room falls silent, the air thick with anticipation as neither of you move, waiting for something to happen. Then, there it is again—a faint, fleeting flutter, like the soft brush of a feather.

Sylus’s face lights up with unmistakable joy, his grin wide and unguarded. For a brief moment, he looks almost boyish, overcome with awe and excitement. “Did you feel that?” he asks, his voice just above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might scare the baby away.

You nod, still in shock, your hand joining his on your bump instinctively. “I did,” you murmur, your thoughts a whirlwind. It feels so surreal, this moment of connection with the life growing inside you.

“It’s the sugar,” Sylus explains, his tone light and filled with a wonder you’d never seen in him before. “I read somewhere that babies tend to move more when their mothers eat something sweet. It must’ve gotten a rush from that danish.”

You glance up at him, his eyes still glued to your stomach, and for a moment, you see nothing but pure, unfiltered happiness. It leaves you feeling...confused. While Sylus basks in the moment, your own feelings remain a tangled mess of shock, fear, and something you don’t dare name.

The words tumbled out of your mouth almost unconsciously:

"That’s cool."

Cool? Cool was not the word. It wasn’t even close. You were reeling, overwhelmed by the undeniable reality. It’s alive. It’s real. The bump you’d been trying to push out of your thoughts, the changes to your body, the way your emotions and cravings had pulled you in so many directions—it all had culminated in this undeniable moment. The baby moved. The life growing inside you, something you’d been pretending didn’t truly exist, had just made itself known in the most undeniable way.

Your hand lingered on your stomach, frozen there as if pressing harder might help you process it. Your breaths quickened. Your chest felt tight. This was happening. It was all happening. There was no pretending anymore. No amount of denial or mental gymnastics could take this away now. You were going to be a mom. And the weight of that realization hit you like a wave crashing over your head, pulling you under, leaving you gasping for air.

Your vision blurred, the edges of the room spinning. “I need to sit down,” you murmured, your voice shaky and uneven.

Sylus was by your side in an instant, guiding you gently toward the couch. His hands were steady on your arms, his voice soft and soothing as he helped you ease down onto the cushions. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he said, his tone reassuring but filled with a concern that only made the knot in your chest tighten further.

The moment your head hit the couch, the tears started. Quiet at first, a few strangled hiccups that escaped before you could stop them. Then the floodgates opened, and sobs wracked your body, shaking you to your very core. You didn’t even know why you were apologizing as the words slipped out between gasps for air. “I'm-I'm sorry...I’m just-hic-scared…I’m not ready to be a mom. I don't know what to do with a baby.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, the raw emotion pouring out of you. Anger, fear, sadness—they all collided, creating a storm in your chest that you couldn’t contain. This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. You hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t wanted this. And yet here you were, forced to face a future you weren’t ready for, a responsibility you couldn’t escape.

Sylus knelt beside you, his expression filled with a tenderness that only made the ache in your heart worse. He didn’t look angry or frustrated, didn’t seem irritated by your outburst. Instead, he cupped your tear-streaked face, his thumb gently brushing away the dampness on your cheeks. “I know,” he murmured, his voice calm, steady. “I know it’s a lot, sweetie. And I know you’re scared.”

You shook your head weakly, wanting to protest, wanting to shout, to blame him for all of it. But the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was cry as his touch stayed constant, grounding you in a way you didn’t want to admit you needed. His presence, his warmth, the way he was handling you like something fragile—it was infuriating and comforting all at once.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Sylus continued, his voice low, almost a whisper now. “I’m right here. Let me worry about everything else. All you have to do is focus on the baby. Just focus on staying healthy, on taking care of yourself. That’s all I want. You’re not alone, I promise.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, both suffocating and oddly reassuring. You didn’t want to be comforted by him. You didn’t want to feel like he was on your side, like he cared about you. But the way he was looking at you—his eyes soft, his touch gentle—made it harder to resist the crack in your armor.

The sobs quieted, your breathing slowing as his hands moved to gently rub your back. “It’s okay,” he whispered again, his tone as soothing as the repetitive motion of his hand. “You’re okay.”

But were you? You didn’t feel okay. You felt trapped, lost, like the world was crumbling around you. And yet, there was this flicker of something in your chest. A tiny, almost imperceptible spark of hope that maybe…just maybe…you could survive this. You didn’t know if you’d ever be okay, but for now, you let yourself lean into his touch, your body too drained to push him away.

You felt his hand move to your stomach again, resting there lightly. “You’re doing so good,” he said softly, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like awe. “Better than you think.”

Sylus's hand lingered on your stomach, his thumb gently tracing slow circles over the fabric of your dress as if he could soothe you through the small gesture. His gaze flickered between your face and your bump, his expression an almost unreadable mixture of tenderness and determination.

“You know,” he said softly, his voice breaking the quiet, “in just a week, we’ll find out if it’s a boy or a girl.”

The words hit you like a second wave. A week. Seven days. The thought of knowing felt surreal, overwhelming. Another tangible piece of this puzzle that had forced its way into your life. You didn’t respond immediately, your mind swimming with the implications. Finding out the gender would make it feel even more real.

Sylus’s lips curved into a small, warm smile as if he were savoring the thought himself. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he continued, his voice low and steady. “What they might be like, who they’ll look like more…you or me.”

His eyes softened further as he looked down at you. “I’m hoping they’ll have your kindness, your strength. But maybe with my stubbornness,” he teased gently, as if trying to coax a smile from you.

You said nothing, too caught in the tidal wave of emotions crashing over you. A baby. A week from now, you’d know more about the life growing inside you, and there was no running from it. The warmth of his hand against your stomach, his voice filled with quiet excitement—it was too much. It felt suffocating and yet oddly comforting, as if a small, rebellious part of you wanted to hold onto that warmth even as the rest of you wanted to push him away.

Sylus must have noticed your silence because his hand moved from your stomach to your cheek again, gently cupping it. “I know this is a lot,” he murmured, his voice soft. “But you’re doing so well. Just one step at a time, okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly even as fresh tears welled in your eyes. You hated that you couldn’t hold it together, hated how easily he could break through your defenses with his touch and his words. But as the exhaustion weighed you down, you found yourself leaning into his hand, too drained to fight back any longer.

“A week,” you echoed weakly, the word barely a whisper. Your voice cracked, betraying the emotion bubbling just under the surface.

“A week,” Sylus repeated, his tone full of quiet promise. “And no matter what, I’ll be right here with you.”

Dr. Merrill's voice was calm and measured, a steady rhythm that filled the small, sterile room. “So far, everything looks fantastic,” he said, his gaze fixed on the screen as he maneuvered the ultrasound wand over your belly. The cool gel smeared across your skin sent shivers up your spine, but it was nothing compared to the anxiety tightening in your chest.

“The baby is progressing much faster than anticipated. Based on the measurements, it appears that your 19 almost 20 weeks despite being only 18 weeks currently."

Your stomach clenched, your mind latching onto his words like barbed wire. Faster than anticipated? How could that even be possible? What did that mean? Was there something wrong? A flurry of questions raced through your mind, fear bubbling up and threatening to overwhelm you.

Dr. Merrill seemed to sense your panic because he glanced at you, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he said quickly. “The growth is steady and healthy, which is what matters. Every pregnancy is unique, especially in cases like yours. The baby’s just growing a little ahead of schedule.”

You nodded faintly, but his words did little to ease the knot in your stomach. Your eyes flicked to Sylus, who sat beside you, his gaze unwavering on the monitor. He looked calm, composed, but there was an intensity in his eyes that made your skin prickle. This was his doing, wasn’t it? Whatever...abnormality he had passed on to the baby was now manifesting, and you were the one who had to carry it.

“Are you both still wanting to know the baby’s gender?” Dr. Merrill asked, breaking through your spiraling thoughts.

Before you could even open your mouth, Sylus responded. “Yes,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for debate.

You blinked, your throat tightening. Of course, he wanted to know. Of course, he would make the decision without asking you. You wanted to feel angry about it, but the truth was, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know. The idea of knowing made it all so much more real, more permanent, and you weren’t ready for that.

Dr. Merrill hummed, turning back to the screen. “Let me get a clearer image here,” he said, adjusting the wand slightly. “Sometimes they like to get in weird positions, and it can be hard to tell.”

The room fell silent, save for the rhythmic whooshing of the baby’s heartbeat echoing through the monitor. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at the screen, watching the grainy, shadowy outline of the baby move. It was surreal, seeing the small, growing life inside you, knowing it was real, that it was happening.

“Ah,” Dr. Merrill said, his face lighting up with a smile. “There we go. Congratulations—it’s a girl.”

A girl.

The words hit you like a freight train. A girl. Your whole world tilted, the ground beneath you crumbling as a rush of emotions surged through you. You didn’t know how to feel, didn’t know how to process the news. A girl. An innocent, fragile little girl.

Your chest tightened painfully as the reality of it sank in. Sylus was going to be her father. This little girl, this pure and precious life, would grow up with him as her role model, her protector. The thought made your stomach churn. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve the chance to shape her, to mold her.

He didn't deserve a girl. Or any child for that matter.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you had to fight to keep them from falling. You couldn’t cry here, not in front of him. But the overwhelming wave of despair was suffocating, threatening to pull you under. Despite the conflicting feelings of having this child, you still felt this innate need to protect an innocent life. But how could you, when you were trapped, powerless yourself?

Sylus’s voice cut through the haze, soft and filled with a soft tenderness. “A girl…” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the screen. His lips curved into a small, genuine smile, and for a moment, he looked almost human. Almost. “She’s perfect.”

You had to clench your fists to keep from glaring at him. Perfect? How dare he call her that? How dare he speak about her as if he had any right to feel pride, to feel joy? The tears threatened to spill over, and you bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay composed.

“She is,” Dr. Merrill agreed with a smile. “Everything looks great. Strong heartbeat, good development. You’re doing a wonderful job.”

You couldn’t respond. Your throat felt too tight, your chest too heavy. A girl. The word echoed in your mind, over and over, until it was all you could hear. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to release the storm raging inside you. But you couldn’t. All you could do was sit there, nodding faintly, as if everything was fine.

The words "It's a girl" echoed in your mind, even as the room fell back into a quieter rhythm. Dr. Merrill continued his commentary, pointing out the baby’s developing features, but his voice faded into the background. A girl. Your world felt like it was spinning, the weight of the revelation pressing on your chest. Your hands instinctively moved to your stomach, palm resting on the faint bump that seemed more real than ever before.

As Sylus’s gaze remained fixed on the screen, a smile softening his features, you felt a chill run down your spine. Would he hurt her? Would he hurt you again? The thought struck like lightning, sharp and unwelcome, jolting you back into a reality you thought you had begun to adjust to. Sylus had always been unpredictable—dangerously calm, calculated. He claimed to love you, but that love came with chains, both literal and metaphorical.

Your pulse quickened, fear worming its way through you, coiling tightly around your heart. You thought about the punishment weeks ago, the cold detachment in his eyes even as he had cooed reassurances afterward. He had meant to teach you a lesson, or so he said. Was there a limit to what he would do? What if his twisted vision of love clashed with the reality of raising a child? Would he lash out? Would he expect you to be the perfect mother, the perfect partner, and punish you if you weren’t?

Your fingers dug into your dress, clutching the fabric as a wave of nausea swept over you—not the kind brought on by pregnancy, but the kind born of dread. You glanced at Sylus out of the corner of your eye. He looked so…tender, so impossibly gentle as he studied the ultrasound image of the baby. It was jarring, a dissonance you couldn’t reconcile. How could someone so dangerous appear so human in moments like this?

You tried to push the fear away, reminding yourself of the past few weeks. He’d been softer, more attentive, letting you get away with small defiance here and there. But was it guilt? Or manipulation? Was he lulling you into a false sense of security, only to remind you later who held the power?

The thoughts swirled, relentless, until you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned your gaze back to the screen, focusing on the tiny outline of your daughter. The tears you had fought earlier pricked your eyes again, and you blinked rapidly, willing them away. You couldn’t cry, not now. Not in front of Sylus.

“Are you okay?” His voice broke through your spiral, soft and tinged with concern.

Your throat tightened as you looked at him, his expression gentle but expectant. You forced a smile, a weak, hollow thing that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

Sylus reached out, his hand brushing yours as he gave it a small squeeze. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed,” he said softly. "You’re not alone. I’m here.”

The words should have been comforting, but they only made the fear twist deeper. You managed a small nod, not trusting yourself to speak. As Dr. Merrill continued, explaining the next steps in the pregnancy and when your next appointment would be, your mind kept drifting back to the same question.

Would he hurt you again? Would he hurt her?

You weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer.

The dim light of the hospital room flickered softly, casting a pale glow over Xavier’s prone figure. The IV line in his arm fed him a steady drip of the experimental treatment Dr. Grey had promised would revolutionize recovery. The liquid in the IV bag shimmered faintly, almost unnaturally, as if alive. Xavier had been staring at it for hours now, unwilling or unable to look away.

Pain wracked his body. His bones ached, deep and constant, as though the marrow itself was burning. His broken ribs throbbed with every breath, his arm screamed with a phantom intensity, and his leg...He grit his teeth against the agony that threatened to drown him entirely. This was what he had agreed to—this hellish, unrelenting torment.

He had to keep reminding himself why.

You.

The image of your face swam before his closed eyes, your smile now tinged with shadows of fear and sadness. It was the only thing keeping him grounded as his body betrayed him. The treatment worked fast, Dr. Grey had said. But it didn’t work gently.

The first sign of its effects had come on the second day. His bruises, deep and grotesque, began to fade with alarming speed, mottled greens and yellows overtaking purples and blacks. But with that strange acceleration came a new kind of pain. The kind that started from the inside. It felt as if his bones were knitting together too quickly, the cells regenerating faster than his body could handle. His skin itched and burned around the fractures, and he found himself clawing at his casts in a desperate attempt to relieve it.

By the third day, he was writhing in his bed. A low, guttural groan escaped him as his body contorted, trying to find a position that would ease the agony. Every movement felt like needles piercing his skin, his muscles spasming involuntarily. The nurse came in once, her face pale, clearly unsure of how to handle what she was seeing.

"Mr. Xavier, should I—should I call Dr. Grey?" she stammered, her fingers hovering over the emergency button.

"No," Xavier growled through clenched teeth. His voice was hoarse, guttural, almost feral. "I can handle it."

He had to handle it. There was no choice.

By the end of the first week, the pain began to transform. It didn’t lessen exactly, but it shifted, becoming a deeper, heavier pressure. His body felt foreign, as though it was no longer his own. He stared at his hand one night, flexing the fingers that had been nearly useless days before. The movement was smoother, stronger, almost unnervingly precise.

The dreams began soon after.

They started as whispers in the dark, strange, disjointed voices calling his name. They spoke in languages he didn’t understand, yet somehow the meaning seeped into his mind. Images followed—the deep, glowing eyes of something monstrous, endless fields of bone and ash, and your voice, soft and distant, calling for him to save you. He’d wake drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest, the pain in his ribs a dull echo compared to the terror in his mind.

Dr. Grey visited him on the tenth day, his expression equal parts excitement and curiosity as he examined Xavier.

“Remarkable,” Grey murmured, his gloved hands tracing over the edges of Xavier’s still-healing ribs. “The calcification is nearly complete. The rate at which your body is mending itself is unprecedented.”

“It doesn’t feel remarkable,” Xavier muttered, his voice gravelly. He shifted in bed, wincing as a sharp jolt ran down his leg.

Dr. Grey chuckled softly. “Yes, I imagine it doesn’t. Pain is a natural byproduct of accelerated cellular regeneration. Your body is essentially rewriting itself. Old cells are being discarded, new ones are forming, stronger, more efficient. It’s fascinating.”

“Fascinating,” Xavier bit out. “Tell me this is worth it.”

Dr. Grey’s gaze met his, and for the first time, there was something almost reverent in the doctor’s expression. “Oh, it’s worth it. You’re not just healing, Mr. Xavier. You’re becoming...something more. You’re going to feel it soon.”

“Feel what?” Xavier demanded, but Grey only smiled.

By the twelfth day, he felt it.

Strength. Pure, raw strength coursing through his veins like fire. His muscles no longer felt weak and atrophied, but alive, buzzing with energy. He tested it hesitantly, clenching his hand into a fist. The simple motion made the metal frame of the hospital bed groan.

“What the hell…” he muttered, staring at his hand in disbelief.

The dreams grew more vivid that night. This time, it wasn’t just whispers and shadows—it was you. You stood before him, your hand outstretched, your eyes filled with fear and longing. But before he could reach you, Sylus appeared, his form larger than life, his presence suffocating. His laugh echoed around Xavier like a taunt.

He regularly woke up gasping, his entire body drenched in sweat.

By the two-week mark, Dr. Grey returned for another check-in, this time bringing a portable scanner to examine Xavier’s progress.

“The bone density is incredible,” Grey said, almost giddy. “You’ve surpassed even my most optimistic projections. Tell me, how does it feel?”

“Like I’m being ripped apart and stitched back together,” Xavier said flatly, though there was a hint of awe in his voice. “But…I feel stronger.”

Grey nodded, his eyes gleaming. “You are stronger. Faster, too, I imagine. Your body is adapting to a level of efficiency most humans could only dream of.”

Xavier clenched his fists, testing the strength he could feel bubbling just beneath the surface. He looked at Grey, his expression hard. “I need this to work. I need to be ready.”

“It’s working,” Grey assured him. “You’re already becoming something extraordinary.”

Xavier’s jaw tightened as he looked out the window, his resolve hardening. He would endure whatever it took. The pain, the dreams, the uncertainty—none of it mattered if it meant he could stand against Sylus and win.

And bring you back where you belonged.

The hospital room was no longer a place of recovery—it had become a crucible. Xavier sat on the edge of the bed, his posture rigid, his face etched with exhaustion and determination. His body felt alien, heavier, more robust. Each breath he took was deeper, his lungs expanding with a power he hadn’t felt in years. The IV, once a lifeline, had been removed days ago, though the marks on his arm remained, faint reminders of the transformation he was enduring.

He flexed his fingers, watching as veins bulged beneath his skin. His hand felt like it could crush steel. His leg, the one that had been shattered, now supported him with ease. He stood, testing his weight experimentally, and the floor beneath him groaned faintly. The pain, once constant and unrelenting, was now gone, replaced by an intense, simmering energy that coursed through his veins like electricity.

But this wasn’t just healing.

This was something else.

The night before, the dreams had taken a dark turn. You weren’t in them this time—Sylus was. His face loomed larger than life, his voice a haunting echo in Xavier’s mind.

“You still think you can save her?” Sylus’s laugh was sharp and cruel.

“You’re weak. I’m not.”

The dream shifted, and Xavier was in a room of mirrors. His reflection stared back at him—at first. Then it began to change, the features warping into something unrecognizable. His body grew monstrous, his skin taking on a faint shimmer, his veins glowing faintly beneath the surface. His own voice boomed, low and guttural.

“You can’t win by becoming me.”

Xavier had woken up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. But the worst part wasn’t the dream—it was the lingering sense of truth in Sylus’s words.

What even is he?

Dr. Grey entered the room now, his presence a sharp interruption to Xavier’s spiraling thoughts. The doctor’s face was alight with excitement, a clipboard in hand as he approached with brisk steps.

“Xavier,” Grey began, his voice almost reverent, “you’re beyond what I could have imagined. Your scans are perfect—better than perfect. Your bones, your muscles, even your cardiovascular system have all strengthened exponentially. You’re no longer recovering—you’re evolving.”

Xavier looked up, his expression unreadable. “What exactly am I evolving into?”

Grey hesitated, his professional composure faltering. “Something better.”

“That’s not an answer,” Xavier said, his voice low and dangerous. His hands clenched into fists, and the sound of his knuckles cracking echoed ominously in the room.

Grey took a step back, holding his clipboard defensively. “We’re still learning. But Xavier, this isn’t a curse—it’s a gift. You’re stronger, faster, more resilient than any hunter we’ve seen. And this is just the beginning.”

Xavier’s jaw tightened as he processed the words. A gift? It felt more like a curse. His body was different, yes, but his mind… his mind felt fractured. The dreams, the voices, the way he could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears—it didn't seem human. And that terrified him.

Later that night, the pain returned. It wasn’t the sharp, acute agony of before—it was deeper, more primal. His body burned from the inside out, the energy coursing through him reaching a boiling point. He doubled over, gasping for air, sweat pouring from his body as he collapsed to the floor.

“What’s…happening…” he groaned, his voice barely audible.

Dr. Grey burst into the room moments later, his expression a mixture of fascination and concern. “It’s the final phase,” he said, almost breathless. “Your body is adjusting. You need to ride it out.”

“Ride it out?” Xavier snarled, his voice laced with anger and desperation. “It feels like I’m dying.”

“You’re not,” Grey assured him, though his wide eyes betrayed his own uncertainty. “Your body is adapting to the new cellular structure. This is the turning point.”

Xavier growled, his fingers digging into the tiled floor as he fought against the searing heat that consumed him. His veins pulsed visibly beneath his skin, glowing faintly as the transformation reached its peak. He let out a guttural roar, his entire body convulsing as the energy erupted within him.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

Xavier collapsed onto the floor, his chest heaving, his body drenched in sweat. He looked himself over. He still looked the same. Nothing had really changed in appearance. But he felt it—a new strength, raw and untamed, thrumming through every fiber of his being. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, the floor cracking beneath his weight as he moved.

Grey approached cautiously, his eyes wide with awe. “How do you feel?”

Xavier looked up, his eyes meeting Grey’s with a piercing intensity. “Stronger,” he said simply, his voice low and steady.

Grey nodded, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. “It worked...it fucking worked. After all this time".

Xavier stood slowly, testing his new body. He felt…unstoppable. The fear, the pain, the weakness—all of it was gone, replaced by an unshakable resolve. He clenched his fists, turning to the doctor.

"Explain what the hell just happened to me. Now".

The nursery was almost done. The soft pastel colors you’d chosen covered the walls, delicate stenciled clouds floating above the crib. The rocking chair you’d insisted on was placed just right near the window, and Sylus had made sure every little touch met your exact specifications. It should have filled you with pride—or at least contentment—but instead, your chest felt heavy. Each item in the room was a reminder of the life being built here. One you weren’t sure you could ever truly belong to.

The past month had been...interesting. For one, everything hurt. Boobs, back, legs, feet. The cravings had been intense too. Sylus had been more than happy to indulge you of course, and he never complained when you would be up all night eating snacks in bed. Your need for touch and attention had been getting...intense. You refused to have Sylus touch you in that way again though. Thankfully he had backed off. You had gotten noticeably bigger and it seemed as though was trying to be careful.

It still clawed at the back of your mind though. An unknown, festering longing. But you shoved it down.

Sylus had even gotten a custom pregnancy pillow made for you, curved just for your shape. It was incredible. And the best part, was now you had an excuse not to be so close to him in bed now. He had even joked that the pillow might replace him. If you didn't know any better you'd say that things had gotten...normal. Everyday was a internal battle in your head but on the outside? You were just his pregnant fiancé.

Nothing more.

You stood in the middle of the room, admiring the handiwork. So much time had passed. How many weeks had it been now? You had to be at least six months. A life so distant from your own, yet you’d molded yourself into the role so well. Too well. You could feel Sylus’s presence behind you, a constant weight at your back, as if he were as much a part of this space as the furniture. His gaze was heavy, observing your every move.

You masked your true feelings with a small smile, directing Luke on where to place the stuffed animals and instructing Kieran to adjust the curtains for the hundredth time.

“They’re not even, Kieran. Please fix it.”

"Yes m'aam!"

The twins didn’t protest. They simply obeyed, accustomed to your meticulous demands over the past few weeks. Sylus stood at the doorway, his sharp gaze following every movement. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, but you could feel his eyes on you like a brand.

“Actually,” you said after a moment, turning toward Sylus, “don’t you think they deserve a break? They’ve been working hard.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking slightly as if amused by your suggestion. “A break? You think they need a break?”

You nodded, feigning innocence. “Of course. They’ve done a lot, and we’re almost done here. I think they’ve earned it.”

The room went silent for a moment, the tension thick as Sylus studied you. You held your breath, wondering if you had pushed too far. But then, to your surprise, he nodded.

“Fine,” he said, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. “Luke, Kieran, take an hour. Go.”

The twins didn’t need to be told twice. They quickly gathered their things and left, exchanging another glance as they passed you, their steps echoing down the hall. The silence they left behind was deafening.

You let out a small sigh, your gaze drifting to the room. It was beautiful, almost surreal. So much time had passed since you started this charade, and yet it felt like no time at all. You’d molded yourself into this role so well it almost scared you.

“This is nice,” you murmured, running your fingers along the edge of the crib. “Really nice.”

You had gotten really used to lying through your teeth.

“It is,” he replied smoothly. “Thanks to you.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you focused on the closet, noting the empty shelves waiting to be filled. That gave you an idea—a reckless one. “We should go to Linkon,” you said suddenly, turning to look at him. “There’s so much more we need. Baby supplies, clothes, toys. It’d be nice to pick some things out myself. Linkon has some really nice stores.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. Sylus’s eyes darkened slightly, his brow arching as he studied you. “Linkon?” he repeated, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. “And why, exactly, would you want to go to Linkon? So you can run and take my baby to your ex-lover?”

The accusation hit you like a blow, and for a moment, your breath caught in your throat. Was he onto you? Had it been that obvious?"

“Seriously?” you snapped, unable to keep the frustration from bubbling over. “Do you have to see ulterior motives in everything I do? I just want to pick out some things for the baby. Linkon is my birthplace. Of course I'd want to get my own daughter's stuff from there. That’s all.”

Sylus stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. The heat of his body seemed to surround you as he gazed down at you, unblinking. “Don’t lie to me,” he said softly, but his tone was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Don’t think for a second that I actually believe you’ve accepted this.”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, anger and fear battling for dominance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, feigning innocence, but your voice wavered.

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound. “You’ve gotten good at lying, I’ll give you that. But not good enough.”

Your pulse raced as he leaned in closer, his presence overwhelming. You could feel the walls closing in, the nursery that had felt so spacious moments ago now suffocating. Your mind scrambled for something—anything—to diffuse the tension.

“I just thought it would be nice,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “To pick out a few things out for the baby myself. Isn’t that normal? Isn’t that what you want? For me to be...invested in this?”

"Are you truly invested though? “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re really thinking?” he says, his tone soft but firm, each word cutting deeper than the last.

"Lets end this little game of ours, kitten".

Your pulse quickened and you felt like your heart just dropped in your stomach. Fuck. Fuck. He had known the entire time?? The entire time?

You step back instinctively, your shoulders brushing against the wall as he closes the space between you. His presence is overwhelming, his gaze pinning you in place. “Sylus, I don’t—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I’ve given you everything. I played along. Don’t think for a second I'd be dumb enough to think you've accepted all of this the second I propose.”

Your mind races as you scramble to regain control of the situation. “Sylus, no,” you say, your voice trembling with false sincerity.

“I want to be with you,” you blurted out, the words bitter on your tongue. They felt like shards of glass cutting through your throat as you forced them out. You hated yourself for saying them, but you hated him more for putting you in this position.

He stares at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours as if he’s weighing your words. Then, slowly, he reaches for your hand, his fingers closing around yours with deliberate care. “Prove it,” he whispers, pulling your hand to his chest. “Resonate with me.”

“What?” you whisper, your breath hitching.

“I know all about your Aethor core,” he says, his voice steady but laced with a quiet intensity. “It’s controlled by your heart, isn’t it? If you want to be with me, truly, then you should have no problem resonating with me.”

The words felt like a trap closing in around you. Where did he even get information like that? Your mind raced, your chest tightening as the weight of his demand pressed down on you. His hand held yours firmly against his chest, and you could feel the faint flicker of energy radiating from him. The room seemed to shimmer, faint bursts of light and energy sparking between you as his Evol intertwined with yours.

But nothing happened.

The flickers of energy faded, the room falling into silence once more, leaving only the sound of your labored breathing and the thundering of your heart. Nothing. There was nothing.

Sylus’s jaw tightened, his fingers slowly releasing your hand as the weight of the failure settled between you. His eyes darkened, the cold edge of disappointment cutting through the air like a blade. “I knew it,” he muttered, his voice low and heavy with something deeper than anger—hurt.

“Sylus, please,” you started, but he stepped back, his expression a storm of emotion that left you reeling. Hurt. Anger. Sadness. It all seemed to blur together in the lines of his face.

“I wanted to believe you,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with bitterness. “I wanted to believe that you were finally…” He trailed off, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he turned away from you.

The weight of his disappointment crushed you, but fear and anger burned hotter in your chest. “What do you want from me, Sylus?” you snapped, your voice breaking. “You think I can just forget everything you’ve done? Everything you’ve taken from me?”

He turned back to you, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I’ve given you everything you could ever need,” he said, his voice rising. “I’ve protected you. I’ve provided for you. All I’ve asked is for you to let go of the past and accept what’s here, what’s now. You can’t even give me that.”

You feel your own emotions boiling over, the weight of his accusations too much to bear. “Well maybe if you weren't a fucking freak who kidnaps girls off the street and impregnates them, maybe you'd have someone that loves you!” you say tears streaming down your face.

There's nothing but silence. Sylus says nothing, unmoving. You can feel his irritation radiating off of him but he stays still.

"Is that how you really feel?"

"Yes. There hasn't been a day where I haven't hated you. I hate you. All want to do is murder you right now."

Sylus’s movements were slow and deliberate, each step toward you carrying a weight that made your breath catch in your throat. His expression remained unreadable, his eyes locked onto yours with a calmness that only made your panic worse. Then, to your utter horror, he reached to his side and pulled out a sleek, black gun, holding it firmly in his hand.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage as he extended it toward you, pressing the cool metal into your trembling hands. "W-what are you—" you stammered, your voice breaking as you stared at the weapon.

His voice was low, steady, almost too calm. “You said you wanted to murder me,” he said, his gaze never wavering from yours. “Here’s your chance.”

Your heart pounds erratically in your chest, your entire body trembling as you grip the weapon tighter. “Sylus…” you whisper, your voice breaking.

His hands come up slowly, his movements deliberate as he guides yours, positioning your finger over the trigger. “I’ll make it easy for you,” he murmurs, his gaze steady and calm, but his words are laced with an unsettling challenge. “End it. If you hate me that much, take your shot.”

“What...!” you cry, shaking your head as tears stream freely down your face. “Sylus, stop!” But his grip on your hands is iron, unyielding, as he guides the barrel steadily to his chest.

“This is what you wanted,” he says softly, his voice carrying a mix of defiance and something heartbreakingly tender. “To kill me, isn’t it?”

The room feels like it’s spinning. Your chest tightens, your breath shallow and erratic as his words twist deeper into your mind.

Do I hate him? Do I really want this?

Your thoughts clash violently, a storm of anger, fear, and confusion tearing through you.

“You’re fucking crazy,” you sob, your voice cracking. “I hate you. I fucking hate you!” The words leave your mouth like venom, but even as you say them, a flicker of doubt lurks in the back of your mind.

Do I hate him enough for this?

Sylus doesn’t flinch. His gaze is steady, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an unnerving combination of determination and something heartbreakingly tender. He presses the barrel harder against his chest, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then prove it. Pull the trigger."

“I...wait,” you choke, shaking your head as sobs rack your body. The gun feels impossibly heavy in your hands, like it’s tethered to the weight of the entire world. “No, I can’t...I can’t do this.”

“Why not?” he challenges, his grip firm but not forceful, his words cutting deep. “You’ve said it over and over—how much you hate me, how much you want me gone. Do it. End it.”

Your mind is in chaos. You see flashes of everything—his cruelty, his control, his moments of tenderness. You hate him. You hate him. Don’t you?

But then why does your hand tremble so much? Why does your heart ache as you look into his eyes, calm and accepting? He deserves this. He deserves this, doesn’t he?

"Do you want some help?" he asks, seemingly unaffected by your tears.

“Sylus,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, shaking your head. “Please…stop.”

He ignores you and simply gives you a small smile, his eyes boring into yours. "I'd rather die by your hands anyways".

Before you can process his words, his finger joins yours on the trigger, and in a single, horrifying moment, he pulls it. The deafening crack of the gunshot echoes in the room, reverberating in your ears as Sylus staggers back.

The recoil jolts through your arms, and the force sends the gun clattering to the floor. Sylus staggers back a step, his hand clutching his chest where the bullet tore through him. Blood blooms against his shirt, dark and stark against the fabric, spreading rapidly.

Your knees hit the floor as a strangled scream rips from your throat. “No! No, no, no…Sylus!” you cry, crawling toward him, your hands reaching out instinctively. “You can’t die…You can’t die!” Your voice cracks with desperation as you press your palms to his chest, trying to stop the flow of blood. “Are you fucking crazy?!”

His breathing is shallow, his body warm as blood pulses out of him. You feel your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, your vision blurring as you sob uncontrollably. “Sylus, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you clutch at him. “I didn’t mean it… I didn’t mean what I said…I'm sorry. Please I'm sorry.”

And then, just as your hands grow slick with his blood, something impossible happens. The wound begins to close. Slowly, impossibly, the torn flesh knits itself back together, the blood retreating as if drawn back into his body. The hole in his chest seals completely, leaving only unbroken, unmarred skin.

Your mouth drops in horror, your mind spinning, every rational thought crumbling under the weight of what you’ve just witnessed. “Wh-what…what are you?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Sylus sits up slowly, brushing your hands aside with a faint smile. “Yours,” he says softly, as if the answer should have been obvious.

You scramble back, your body trembling as you struggle to process what you’ve just witnessed. “No…no, this isn’t possible,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You can’t… you shouldn’t…”

“Does this show you,” he murmurs, leaning closer as his voice drops to a soothing tone. “That I’m not going anywhere? No matter how much you fight me, no matter how much you think you hate me. I’m here. Always. You wanted to take my life, now you've taken it.”

"I-I...you're alive? After getting shot...?"

You sink even lower to the ground, beginning to tremble on your side. Relief, confusion, distress all encompass your mind. Your hands fly to your face, trembling as you try to block out the sight of him, the impossibility of what just happened. Hot tears spill freely, soaking your palms, and the sound of your ragged breathing fills the suffocating silence of the room.

What are you?

The words burn in your mind, a question you can’t force past your lips. You shake your head, trying to push away the horror of his unbroken gaze, his calm acceptance of the bullet meant to end him. The very same man who pressed a gun to his own chest and showed you the futility of your anger.

He's actually a monster...? A real monster...?

The tears come harder, your body shaking as the truth of your situation sinks in deeper than ever before. You’re trapped with a man who defies the very laws of life and death. You can’t fight him, can’t win, can’t escape. And now…now you carry his child.

Your hands drift to your belly, the slight curve that has grown over the past weeks now feeling heavier than it ever has. A new wave of anguish wells up in you as your mind spirals. What kind of child has he put inside you? Is this baby even human?

The thought fills you with dread, and you cry harder, burying your face in your hands as the room blurs around you. You can still feel Sylus’s presence, his eyes on you, unwavering. But you can’t look at him. You can’t bear to see the man who holds you captive, the man who claims to love you, the man who just proved he’s more than a simple man.

The sound of his steady breath fills the room, a sharp contrast to your sobbing. But then, as you finally look up through tear-blurred eyes, you see it—his chest, the place where the bullet tore through, now whole. The blood remains on his shirt, a stark, visceral reminder, but the flesh beneath is unbroken, smooth. Impossible.

Your breath hitches, and a new wave of sobs wracks your body. What kind of monster is he? What kind of thing are you trapped with? You shake your head, trembling, as you bury your face in your hands again.

You don’t hear him approach, but then you feel it—his hands, warm and steady, gently cupping your shoulders to lift you up onto your feet. His touch doesn’t feel cold or monstrous. It feels human, tender even, and it only makes your sobs harder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice low and thick with emotion. “I had to show you. I had to…” There’s something fragile in his tone, almost pleading, as if he’s begging for you to understand.

His hands slide down your arms, wrapping around you as he pulls you close. You stiffen instinctively, your mind screaming at you to pull away, but your body is weak, wrung out from the flood of emotions and the unbearable reality pressing down on you.

“You’re scared,” he murmurs, his lips close to your ear. “I know. But you don’t have to be. You’ll never have to be afraid of me harming you, sweetie. Not ever.” His arms tighten around you, his warmth radiating through your shaking form. “I’ll protect you. I’ll protect her.”

His words break through the storm of your sobs, a reminder of the life growing inside you—the child he forced upon you, the child who’s part of him. The tears don’t stop, but they shift, mingling with a deep, guttural dread.

He pulls back slightly, his hands moving to cup your tear-streaked face. His thumbs brush softly against your cheeks, wiping away the tears. “I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “I know I scared you, but I needed you to see that no matter what you do, I’ll always come back to you.”

You stare at him, your mind a swirling storm of emotions—fear, relief, anger, confusion, and, beneath it all, something you don’t want to name. Something terrifying.

“Why?” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible. “Why would you show me something like this?”

His gaze softens, and he leans closer, resting his forehead against yours. “Because I love you,” he says simply. “And I’ll never let anything take you from me. Nothing, not even death can keep us apart.”

You feel the weight of his words, their suffocating finality, and you squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. You hate him. You hate him so much. But in this moment, with his hands so steady and his voice so soothing, you feel yourself falling apart, breaking into pieces in the arms of the man who shattered your life.

You cry against him until your chest aches, until the tears won’t come anymore, until you’re left hollow and trembling in his arms. Your breaths slow, but your heart still pounds, fear and confusion swirling in your mind.

And then you feel it.

A small, sudden flutter in your stomach, faint but unmistakable. Your breath catches, your body freezing as the sensation repeats, soft yet insistent, like a tiny whisper from within.

Your hand flies instinctively to your belly, fingers trembling as they press against the fabric of your dress. The baby kicks again, stronger this time, as if responding directly to your overwhelming emotions. The realization crashes over you like a tidal wave, and fresh tears pour down your face, your vision blurring under the weight of this new reality.

She can feel it.

Your baby—this innocent life inside of you—is aware. Aware of your turmoil, your anguish, your fear. She’s not even born yet, and already she’s being touched by the chaos swirling around you. The thought steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping in the stillness of the room.

She can feel everything.

The truth sears through you, sharp and unrelenting. You feel your body quaking, your hand pressing harder against your stomach as though you can shield her, protect her from the storm you’ve unwittingly pulled her into. You can’t let her feel this. You can’t let her suffer for your despair.

You close your eyes tightly, willing yourself to take deep, even breaths. It’s okay. You’re okay.

The words echo in your mind like a mantra, shaky but desperate, as you fight to calm your racing heart. You try to project it outward, to send a wave of reassurance down to her, to let her know she’s safe, even if you don’t fully believe it yourself. You don’t know how to love this baby yet, not completely, not with everything you’re carrying. But if there’s one thing you can do, one thing you have the strength for, it’s this: you can at least let her feel that everything is okay.

She deserves that much.

But as your breathing steadies and the kicking subsides, replaced by a faint, comforting stillness, the weight of the same question slams into you once more. Your mind spirals with questions, each one darker and heavier than the last. But one in particular prevails.

What kind of monstrosity is he?

Your gaze shifts toward Sylus, who’s gazing down at you, his face a mixture of concern and an unsettling calm. He’s too much—too strong, too powerful, too inhuman. His very presence warps reality, bends it around him in ways that leave you gasping for air. He isn’t a man, not really. He’s something else entirely, something that defies everything you thought you knew about the world.

“Sylus…what are you?”

The question echos unanswered in the stillness of the room, their weight pressing down on you as the last shreds of your hope slip further from reach.

#umi writes ♡︎#sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace smut #lads #sylus x reader smut #love and deepspace #lnds #l&ds #lnds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #love and deep space sylus #xavier x reader #lads smut #lads scenarios

630 notes · View notes