#a heir for wc: chapter five | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shibaraki · 2 years

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MASTERLIST | PART I | PART II | PART III

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: He was bestowed the name Katsuki. Where your people feared and cursed him, spoke of him as if he were all but a beast, Varene revered him as the symbol of victory. Tales of a gold crowned son who entered the world with the roar of a dragon. The gaping chasm between the two of you predated your marriage. Everything had been determined the moment you were born a woman.

TAGS: AFAB FEM reader (a half sib todoroki; she/her pronouns used; ‘princess’ ‘your grace’ ‘your majesty’), dragon king bakugo, sheltered reader, worldbuilding, miscommunication, oc dragons and draconic language, canon typical abuse (todoroki family), magic and bloodline abilities, marriages of convenience, kidnapping (reader kept in a small space), descriptions of blood and injury, pirate aizawa shouta (+ crew), bounty hunter shinsou hitoshi

WC: 15k

You are dipped in twilight. Swaddled in the late night chill and a silk robe, the soft hair on your arms rears. The candlelight had long been extinguished after you had retired to bed, but sleep escaped you. It was too quiet, too cold in a bed so large and so empty.

Months have passed since you were wedded to the renowned dragon king, Bakugo Katsuki, and there is yet for any sense of belonging to take root between the two of you. Or so it feels.

The sky is clear, a vast black canvas dotted with distant stars. You are alone again and Varene still does not feel like home.

You supposed that this solitude was far better than being back in Yiryn. Though you missed your mother and siblings desperately, it was difficult not to favour a country that did not scorn you. Born to King Enji’s paramour in a final, desperate effort for a suitable heir, your mother had been sought out due to Rei’s presumed inability to carry any more Todoroki children. One too frail, one a woman, one without fire. Stress and fear proved unfavourable conditions for carrying a babe. It’s that hostility which forced her first child, your eldest brother Touya, to arrive prematurely.

And just as Rei had been wedded to him for her abilities with ice, your mother had been chosen due to the blood that ran thick in her veins. Drachian's blood. Had luck been on your side you’d have been born with a natural affinity for communing with dragons, Draconic language engraved into your marrow, and your sire’s rather useful resistance to high heat. Put together, they were appealing traits to the Todoroki clan, who passed on the ability to wield fire through generations, and were seeking a connection to the ancient beasts after having lost their own a century ago.

Following your conception, it had not been known that the Queen, Rei, too was pregnant. Five months into your mothers gestation, the court became aware of another son growing handsomely beneath Rei’s many layers of skirt and trim. The Queen never begrudged your existence, only pleased to know her own youngest wouldn’t be alone. You were told the two women would often stand side by side, if only to press the swell of their bellies together, to keep you both close. You were raised alongside Shouto, and often nested together in the same crib during infancy. Given the choice, you might’ve remained inseparable.

While the same could not be said for your father, the siblings never treated you unequally. Touya had been particularly fond of you and frequently sought your company, a stark contrast to the obvious distaste for his youngest brother. You still think of him often. It became clear that Touya found comfort in the parts of you that reflected him. Unwanted. Unskilled. Born into failure. Draconic never shaped on your tongue, no matter how hard you tried. Another spurned child to bond with.

Like mother like daughter, you were fated to be another last resort. Gruelling tests and training throughout childhood proved you were unable to strengthen the Todoroki line, and so King Enji declared your only use to Yiryn was as a means of rebuilding an old, long weathered bridge with Varene.

The two countries once shared a rich history and culture, strained by war, famine and gold. The divide had worsened with every generation that passed. Even in the true Kingdom of Dragons, natural born Draconic speakers were far and few. Which is why Enji’s offer to them was most generous — suspiciously so. Marriage to a Todoroki princess, a Drachian carrier, that may produce Draconic speaking heirs.

The agreements passed without fanfare, and your illegitimacy proved to be of no consequence, as bastards are not recognised in Varene. All children were equally deserving. You found the sentiment incredibly loving. While it worked in his favour, your father had still privately branded them savages.

Being betrothed to the Dragon King had not been of your choosing, but you endeavoured to make the best of it. A chance to truly be connected to your ancestors, to know your culture outside of altered textbooks and poorly kept archives. In many ways you thought you’d been freed from your fathers clutches.

The celebrations went ahead in the tender green of spring, and at the beginning you had no complaints. You found your husband undoubtedly handsome — otherworldly, even. A broad chest painted in striking patterns of black, highlighting the thick scars he had won during the war. His shoulders were thick, like his arms, and covered by a grand red cape lined in fur that settled in the earth beneath his feet. His expression had been piercing, and you recall just how insecure you felt under his scrutiny. Eyes alight. The longer you looked the more you saw the flames dancing in his irises.

He was bestowed the name Katsuki. Where your peoples feared and cursed him, spoke of him as if he were all but a beast, Varene revered him as the symbol of victory. Tales of a gold crowned son who entered the world with the roar of a dragon. The gaping chasm between the two of you predated your marriage. Everything had been determined the moment you were born a woman.

You were taught to expect aggression from him the night of your wedding, and to practice submission from the moment you came of age. Sex was duty. Yet on that night he had touched you in ways you could not have imagined. Even now, in his absence, you can feel the hot impression of those fingers at your waist. Amidst the bliss you’d forgotten that his hands could conjure fire, too.

Katsuki had shaped your flesh around him, burrowed into you as if he was made to find home there. Like he belonged there. Lay aside — the kissing is what bewitched you. The careful manner in which he cradled your face, plucking his titles from your mouth. It felt like taking claim.

“My name,” he’d said. “Don’t fuckin’ call me ‘your highness’ or ‘my king’ in our marriage bed”.

When coiled so tightly beneath him, it was as if his weight was the only thing holding your seams together. You felt your body fall apart under his touch three times that night; three times more than you’d expected.

For all that, the next morning his side of the bed had been cold. And it remained cold every morning that followed.

Katsuki confused you like no other. He deigned to show you any other part of his life, and so you never asked. Presumably, You were not invited to sit in on his councils, you were not given permission to see his dragons, you were not to be without consort. The weeks he is absent — seemingly for no reason other than to avoid you — are spent in the gardens, or the stables, or ambling the winding corridors of a castle you might never truly be familiar with. You were a wife of convenience to be kept in the far wing of the castle, safe and ignorant.

Yet you remained well treated and feted. There are drapes of satin and silk lining your wardrobes, sheer fabrics and trains spilling out into the room. Jewels, chains and hairpins decorate the large vanity tucked against the corner of the room, ready for your ladies in waiting to pluck up each morning. Flowers are often left, as the season is ripe for bloom, and they imbue your quarters with the scent of summer's end.

Whenever your paths crossed he would address you warmly, in his own way, and he handled you gently if ever he joined you in bed. Katsuki likes to kiss you. Caught in the tender, rose petal press. To your lips, the curve of your shoulder, your breasts, your sex. Like clockwork, as the day breaks, it's as if he becomes indifferent to you. The linens on his side of the bed will be smooth, corners perfectly tucked, and so you’ll temper the hurt with humourless jokes that perhaps your husband really was like a beast from a storybook; commonly told to you as a child, the man who answered the moons call and transformed into a wolf. He was known across the realms as a dragon — perhaps the moon spoke riddles to him, too.

Love. Did you even know what it looked like? Could this unending, sombre ache have been it all along?

His political ambassador and closest confidant, Midoriya Izuku, has attempted to assuage you only once. It must’ve shown on your face. “Kacchan is just difficult,” the smile he gave you had been sincere, but a little sad. “He might not’ve been born with a Draconic tongue, but sometimes it can feel like his words and actions are speaking different languages”.

You paid heed, but in the weeks that passed your efforts were fruitless. Every day saw new people of different ilk pass through the grounds. The sights and sounds toiled away at your envy until it spread through your chest like flame to dry crop. You could understand the shackles placed upon you if you were not in a country that prided itself on freedom.

Sinking further over the balcony ledge, your body deflates with a sigh. Chatty cicadas and distant eldritch rumblings echo across the castle grounds, drawing your attention to the colossal structure built at the precipice of the castle grounds. Despite only ever seeing them from afar, the dragon's calls are but another bird’s song to you now. It draws an enigmatic, bone-deep instinct to the surface of your being that you cannot place.

Another screech. To anyone elses ear it would not sound any different, but you feel it prickling at the back of your neck. Words you’ve never heard and yet you understand. A zip along the length of your spine as you straighten, breath held in an effort to listen more closely. The moment of concentration is broken by the door to your quarters opening, wooden panels groaning in complaint. Startled, you turn on your heel.

Beneath the doorway, Katsuki stands bathed in a muted glow. The torches lining the corridors flicker dimly by the hour, their wicks burnt down to wax and casting a subtle, blonde halo around his head. You stare back at him, a solid silhouette, the lines and curves of your body visible beneath your gown as the moon shines through its fabric.

The tension breaks when he asks, “Why’re you still up?”

You refuse the urge to pull your robe close to your chest, knowing there was not much left to the imagination beneath the sheer cloth. Fingers wrung, your wedding ring is cool between your knuckles. “Couldn’t sleep. My thoughts are a little too loud tonight”.

He approaches you slowly, taking the time to observe you. With each step forward there is a resounding thud, wearing only his dark, loose fitted trousers and heavy leather boots. On his journey he begins to remove the various bracelets and rings from his person, reaching to unclasp the reformed dragon tooth from his earlobe and discarding them all atop your vanity.

The heat emanating from his body is stark amidst the cold night. You don’t move when he enters your space, a rough hand cupping your cheek. His tongue clicks in displeasure as the pad of his thumb strokes across your cheek, “Fuck. You’ll catch your death if you stay out here. Get in bed”.

“I can hardly feel it,” your muttering goes unheard and he unceremoniously pulls you into the room, crowding you against his front as both arms reach behind to lock the doors. Smoke fills your throat, a sweet tang of explosive magic sticking to the roof of your mouth. He remains still for a long moment, chin dipping to rest atop your crown.

“I’ll get in bed if you join me”.

You watch the exaggerated rise and fall of his chest as he huffs. “Just rest. I’m going to bathe first, s’gonna take a while”.

The smell lingers on your robe even after he steps away. Too strong to be from something innocent. Only now do you realise what you are tasting is mixed with blood. Glancing to his forearms, you see the skin there is darker. Dry streaks of brown, like he had tried to wipe most of it off before coming here.

“Are you okay? Did something happen—?!”

Katsuki turns away from you, rubbing at his inner wrist. Flecks of blood break off and litter the floor. He hums, “S’fine. Endraen’s nestlings hatched tonight and she wouldn’t let anyone near her”.

You can hear the unfettered pride in his voice. Like a true brother. To your knowledge, Endraen had been awaiting offspring for a while now. Many of her previous clutches were infertile, and their numbers had dwindled from six or seven to only four. It must be why she’s so vocal tonight. You wondered if she was speaking to her young ones, or warding off the others in the pit.

“That’s amazing, Katsuki,” in your excitement you grasp his bicep, sinking into his side with a grin. “How many, can I ask? Are they all well? Is she ?”

The corner of his mouth lifts amidst your rambling. “She’s doing good with ‘em so far. Got three outta four, two males and one female,” he breathes, in following his line of sight you see the blood has flaked away to make obvious numerous small bites lining his forearm. He clenches his hand as if to make sure he could still feel it, and the corded muscles shift, “Feisty little fuckers”.

You allay the urge to touch him and trace the weeping circle of baby teeth embedded into his skin. A wave of nervousness washes through you, hesitating before you ask, “Would I be able to go meet them?”

His nose wrinkles like your question left a bad taste on his tongue. “You’re my wife,” he answers plainly, “so you’re welcome to come and go as you please”.

You're uncertain whether it is his offhanded tone or the answer itself that irritates you. It was blatantly untrue. “Am I?” you mutter.

The regret is immediate and you feel him tense in your grip, his skin heated. You peer up at him, anticipation prickling. The specks of moonlight filling the bedroom refract in his eyes, smouldering. “Fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You think of all the days spent watching the grounds. Finding the highest window just to better the view. People of all ilk, loud and cheery, gesticulating as they speak. Simply coming and going, as they please, as he had said. Lacking was the stiff lip and rigidity you’d grown up with. So unlike the traditional rules of your own home, you’d been told that anyone could be anything in Varene if they so wished.

“What I mean is I feel as if I am the only one in this kingdom that is shackled,” you quietly argued. “Even your dragons are able to roam freely while I am hidden away in my quarters”.

A litany of emotions pass over Katsuki’s face as you speak. Disbelief, anger, confusion, regret. He replies through gritted teeth, “I have never told you to squirrel yourself away in our bedchambers”.

“No one has told me otherwise, either!”

“I am not your bastard of a father—!” you regain your balance as he abruptly tears away from you, and instinctively cower. A sharp inhale. The air in the room is hotter, ballooning in your lungs. Through the dark, his palms are emitting a golden glow.

“Oi,” he murmurs with a low, soothing cadence. Similar to the way you’ve witnessed him comfort Endraen’s. Still, it’s awkward in his mouth, lacking confidence. “You’re a grown adult. You don’t need my permission to do anything here. If that’s the reason you’ve been actin’ all skittish then you can quit it”.

Your eyes have adjusted, and you can see his jaw clench as he scowls. An intense sense of dejection emerges. He doesn’t understand. “But you’re my king—“

“I’m your husband ,” his voice raises again in momentary frustration, but as quick as it came, the anger dissipates. Shoulders sagged, he suddenly looks as tired as you feel.

“Just… fuck. We can talk about this tomorrow. It’s late”.

And then he’s slipping into the bathroom, careful to shut the door. It clicks quietly, leaving you in silence once more. He doesn’t understand.

You walk backwards towards the edge of the mattress with a heavy gait. There is blood drying on your fingers, cinching tightly like a second skin. Leaning against the bedpost, the pressure that had been building steadily behind your eyes finally bursts, and you let yourself cry.

Echoes of water as it ripples against the basin, distant yet loud in your ears as you suppress a sob. The chasm between you and Katsuki only grows more apparent as the days pass. Drilled into you from infancy — a king, a father, a husband. They are all the same thing.

He doesn’t understand.

Another's distorted cry spikes through your chest. Again, a voice not your own is clear in your mind. You startle to your feet, casting a hesitant glance back and forth from the balcony to the bathroom. “I am… permitted to come and go as I please,” you whisper resolutely, the material of your gown gathered into your fists.

It felt like a call for help. Virlym. Thief.

The fall from the balcony had not been too far, though you felt the impact still aching in your heels. Your skin frissons in the tepid air, thin robe pulled close to your chest. To be seen so scantily clad by anyone other than your husband would be more than inappropriate, but you close your ears to the anxiety before it can dissuade you.

Desperate, the voice in your head becomes louder as the distance lessens.

Getting lost in your search is an impossibility. The pit is a grand structure beside the castle, almost rivalling it in size and width. The entrance itself is a colossal, gaping opening, like the mouth of a cave. It dwarfs you.

What you know of the pit is from storybook and myth. It is a naturally occurring abyss, a wide, deep fissure in the earth that never ends. Dragons have migrated to Varene for millennia to mate, breed and nest, or simply to rest in their final years as they become too large, too old to fly. Their journeys would begin and end here; in the pit there are an untold number of caves dug into the cliff face, uneven rock and minerals providing perches and shelves. Dark and unreachable by human hand.

When the first chosen King discovered its existence he sought to protect it, and in return was gifted the opportunity to learn their ancient language. As the relationship between man and beast bloomed, only then was it discovered that people in a specific bloodline could be born with a Draconic tongue. They knew the language from birth, like a newborn fawn that instinctively knows how to walk.

You felt akin to a fawn yourself as you entered the maw, tiptoeing down the throat into the belly, seemingly larger on the inside than it is on the out. It is oddly bereft of guards, and not a keeper in sight. Nervous, you twist the wedding ring on your finger. There’s a foreign sense of magic present — the air is heavy, carrying a distinct metallic taste that itches as you inhale. You can feel it sink into your stomach.

The gravel crunches beneath your feet, uncomfortably sharp. Every step taken is louder than the other. You keep your breathing shallow, straining your ears to hear for any sign of life. Deeper and deeper, the smog of magic grows thick. There is no light, your vision obstructed by a sage tinted mist.

“Fuck! They’re heavy, why do I have to carry them all?” you freeze at the sharp voice, three shadowy silhouettes skulking towards you, the middle figure notably bulkier than the others. “I thought— Ah! I thought you said they were babies ”.

Someone hisses with anger, “They are. Now shut the fuck up! We don’t know when they’ll be coming back…”

The realisation slowly dawns. Advancing towards you are three men, cloaked and hooded. On the right is responsible for the metallic taste; he is the caster, outstretched and radiating, viridian runes etched into the palms of his hands. On the left another wields a long, well-worn mageblade, swinging lazily at his side without a care.

Amber eyes meet your own, wide and unblinking. A tremor wracks your body, breathes coming uncontrollably quick. The man in the middle. Wrapped around his torso in cloth and leather are two newborn dragons. All limp, limbs hung and bodies contorted, having been stuffed into the makeshift carrier.

“Oh? Looky here,” before you can react, the tip of the mageblade is tucked firmly against your jugular. “This is rather unexpected, Princess”.

At the back of your mind, you’d known the second you saw the blade. The design originated in Yiryn centuries ago, imbued with rare magic nullifying abilities that were eagerly sought after by neighbouring countries. Pinned to the collar of the man’s hood is a small brooch in the shape of a gourd canteen. You were sure, if given the opportunity to look closer, you’d find intricate flaming feathers engraved into the metal.

An organisation separate from his king's guard and bannermen. Unknown to the public and created to carry out his lawless and immoral whims — three of your fathers one hundred firebirds.

“What— what is your business here?”

Despite the effort, your voice shakes as you speak, the steel pressing closer until it breaks the surface of your skin. He laughs, ungainly on his feet.

“I could ask that of you. If memory serves me right, you used to be a good girl. But here you are—“ his eyes drag over your thinly clothed body, features twisting into a sneer, “—barely dressed and roaming around at night. That beastly king has rubbed off on you”.

“Hachi. Roku is damn near outta juice, so stop fuckin’ playin’ around,” the middle trespasser rumbles a warning, shifting the weight of the young strapped to his chest. Endraen’s young. Your heart splinters at the sight, fury stirring gut-deep. Impulse rears and it spurs you into action as you grab the sword's edge, incognisant to the sting across your palm.

Hachi continues in fits of laughter, stepping back with the force of your shove like it were inconsequential to him. The sound ricochets hauntingly through the cave, intermingling with your strained bursts of anger.

“Take them back to their mother, you—!”

The caster, Roku, lifts his hand and aims it at your head. The runes dance across his skin with a life of their own, luminescent and bright. In their glow you finally get a glimpse of him.

“We need to go. If you want me to sedate her it’ll require my focus to shift from the pit and they’re already waking up as we speak. Make a decision!”

Rather than a monster, he was remarkably unremarkable. Plain faced, a pale man you couldn’t pick in a crowd. His invisibility frightened you in ways you couldn’t understand. And it begged the question, how long had these men truly been here?

“...Even if we kill ‘er we’ll need to take the body…”

In the thick of your thoughts, Hachi knocks the hilt of his blade to your temple, startling you backwards. Knocked off balance, a sharp pain radiates through your left ankle, and he uses the advantage to completely restrain you. You yelp, losing strength. There’s no mercy in how he handles you. Arms pulled so far back you fear they’ll displace, numbness seeps into your fingers. “Kats—!”

Cut off, a grimy hand forcibly covers your mouth. Blunt nails sink into the swell of your cheek, and your cries are muffled as you struggle away from the hot breath on your ear. “None of that. Though I doubt that bastard’ll come searchin’ for a halfbreed like you,” he rasps.

His grip is too tight, keeping your jaw locked shut. Your breaths come ragged short, fingers clawing weakly at his forearm. A cold, wet sensation trickles down the side of your face, right where you’d been struck.

At that moment, a resonant growl reverberates through the earth beneath your feet. The soft hair on your arms lift, a divorced, bone-deep rage unfurling in your soul. It hurts — so hot that it’s cold, swelling in your throat. Intuitively, you know this feeling does not belong to you.

Endraen is waking. And so are the young, snuffling uncomfortably in their slings. They croak, a fragile little sound, and the roar grows louder. Their carrier curses.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! We’re leaving. You’ll need to haul us all to the safe house, there’s no way we’re not getting caught—”

“—You can’t be serious. Spatial magic stinks to high hell! They’ll be able to track us immediately!”

Pain courses through you as they try to yell over the noise, head hanging limp between your shoulders. Barely conscious, Hachi drags you forward. Roku, and the quiet man’s code you are yet to yet, are tucked side by side. He’s hushing the dragons, struggling with their weight.

You spare a glance further down into the pits, tears lining your eyes as they become heavy. An unassuming, small speck of light is beginning to form through the far distant fog. Desperate, you reach inwards to pluck at the fragments of your ancestors, thoughts calling out to Endraen in hopes that she’ll hear you; knuckles rubbing together to roll the wedding ring on your finger down to the tip, you let it fall into the dirt.

What was a pinprick begins to expand and glow, the air around you distorting in unrestrained heat. With a blistering roar, the light suddenly bursts forth. You’re forced between them, their arms interlocking to cage you as Roku bellows, recounting a spell in a language you cannot understand. The flames propel forwards at great speed, incandescent white. A mothers raucous fury. Closer now, your skin becomes uncomfortably tight, too small to fit around your bones, every breath a blistering sting in your oesophagus.

Please, your consciousness wanes. Don’t let Katsuki blame himself for this.

Somebody screams, and the ground is abruptly pulled from beneath your feet. Gravity escapes you. There’s a long moment of suspension and your body is in a freefall, an unnatural swoop through your stomach as your senses are thrown into alarm.

When you land the heat is ripped from your lungs and replaced with petrichor. Three men encase your body, the spells impact creating a gust of wind that disturbs the canopy of trees above, showering you in stray drops of old rain.

Your knees buckle into the damp grass. Roku stumbles away into the brush and vomits.

The safe house is five miles from the southern shoreline and surrounded by pungent scurvy grass, advantageous for disguising the smell of magic. Ninety three from the castle grounds. One hundred and fifty kilometres between you and your husband. You’re thrown into a room made of brick and mortar, tracking daylight through a single window by the ceiling barely the width of your shoulders. There’s a small cot lined up against the wall. In the corner, a lamplight and a bucket.

Your only relief is that the dragons are confined with you. During their first few days it would be normal to be kept in the pits, so the lack of light and room causes no issues in the beginning. They’re playful and rambunctious; most of the time is spent roughhousing, scenting the air or sleeping. When the sun is at its highest, their distinct colouring becomes visible. A marigold like their mother, and another the colour of ripe apricot. Nameless still, you wondered if their third sibling was alright.

In the absence of any weapon or opportunity to run, you fall back onto what has always served you most. Listening. There’s satisfaction in hearing them panic, kept on edge by this faux peace as the days pass. Bit by bit you piece the storyline together — a surreptitious ‘merchant’ by the name of Stendhal awaits the arrival of two abducted nestlings by the waters of Leilisle to transport them across to Reyath, a neighbouring continent.

Allies of King Enji would be there to receive them and train them for a number of years before returning to Yiryn, where they would be miraculously discovered, hidden away on Todoroki lands for the first time in over one hundred years — a magnificent gift from the Gods.

But King Enji knew nothing of dragons. They were not mares with gentle dispositions who could accept any rider, but hard headed creatures with a penchant for solitude. More importantly, the formative experiences that followed hatching greatly shaped their ability to bond with and trust humans. Tearing them from their mother would only hinder his plans.

You supposed it shouldn’t surprise you that your father knew nothing of nurturing, either.

Your presence is the biggest point of contention. Neither man knows what to do with you. Amidst their bickering outside your barricaded door, you learn the third man’s moniker. Shichi. He’s the one to bring you food and water — a plate stale and barebones, just enough to keep you afloat — and he’s the one to hunt beasties for the young. The wet slap of blood meeting tile. Hares and rabbits, mostly. You might never scrub the sound from your memory; but the dragons feasted and fought. Flesh stretched between pointed teeth, pulling apart til it thins like taffy and one corpse becomes two halves.

The days blur as you wait for the impending departure, blending into one long existence. You think of Katsuki. His handsome face, how his hair would splay gold across the pillow, the way his eyes always seemed brighter in the early dawn. You recall with fondness how his nose would wrinkle if you stared too long, like he’d tasted something bitter.

Maybe he prefers that you’re gone, now. Should they never find you, he’d be free to wed another of his own choosing — someone he loves. The possibility of escape seems dim, but you toy with it to pass the hours. In the event that you did get away, you distantly wonder if it’d even be worth going back.

Marigold and Apricot banish those thoughts as they come. They seem to be in tune to your emotional state, a fact that grows evermore blatant in such close quarters. Crying meant a snout shoved into your cheek, a torrid heat billowing through your dirtied robe as the infant chuffs. There is a stain trailing across the floorboards from where raw flesh has been dragged in their efforts to feed you.

“We must name you properly,” you mumble, stroking a hand down the length of their necks. Dragon scales, you discover, evolve with age. Shaped like petals, laying staggered and overlapping. A newborn’s skin is delicate like tissue paper, but already it is beginning to feel like dry leather.

They’re small, but only in comparison to how mountainous they would eventually become. The size of a lynx, if you had to guess. Though marigold is slightly bigger, her muzzle thicker and a wider arrowhead tail, as was common for female dragons.

“A dragon's name can inspire fear, valor, legends…” you push as hard as you can at her muzzle as she chomps carefully at your fingers, her powerful jaw closing with a resounding click. It’s enough to drive her back, and she trills happily. “Something that sounds regal might fit you best”.

A pitched, haunting whine builds in her brother's throat. He butts against your shoulder, and you endure the dull ache. That’ll bruise. “…Yours maybe a little more personable. Goofy”.

He snuffs unhappily.

“Gallant, then”.

Your playful bubble is burst by an unexpected slam, the door swinging open and bouncing on its hinges. The nestlings scatter, intertwining around one another where they’re hidden in the far corner of the room. Apricot gives a pitiful screech of complaint to the intruder.

Light floods in, forcing your eyes shut as you flinch. The familiar, hefty footfalls of Shichi draw them open, squinted to adjust. A plate is slid across the floor towards you. Two bread rolls. You’ve barely enough energy to lift yourself from the threadbare nest of blankets you’d created for yourself and the young, but the ache in your stomach is becoming painful.

“Make sure to finish all of it,” you pause, the crust cold against your lips as you wait. “We’re leaving for the dock tonight”.

You bite. It practically falls apart between teeth, dry and sour on your tongue. He advances, stepping further in and closing the door behind him. “We’re in the clear for now. Those giant winged rats completely missed us, and it seems he’s stopped looking for ya”.

Marigold hisses as if she understood, and Shichi stomps in her direction like a wild bull. Domineering her. He enjoys having power over such respected creatures. You’d like to see him do the same in a few months' time, when her hydrogen glands have developed.

You don’t interrupt as he speaks, knowing how he relished talking about himself. Tired as you are, it’s easier to let him be and tune it out. The bread is hard to swallow, sticking to the back of your throat, and you’re cold in the dragons’ absence as you eat.

Your interest piqued at the mention of entering Varene.

“—so much fuckin’ simpler entering a country than it is gettin’ out”.

You swallow thickly and interrupt him. “How… how did you get in?”

Shichi hums offhandedly, slumping back against the wall opposite. “Well. Your wedding was a pretty grand affair, wasn’it?” he meets your eyes, a quiet cruelty there. “People from all over travelled into the capital to celebrate. Us three blokes slipped across wi’ no problem”.

“You’ve… you were in Varene for six months?”

“These things take time,” a chill runs the length of your spine as he grins, kicking off the wet brick as he straightens up. “You should know that better than anyone, given the state of your marriage”.

Fuck you. If your position weren’t so precarious you might’ve spat it at him. Sensing your anger, the Apricot infant rears his head from beneath his sister's wing and screeches.

Orlit.

Shichi snarls and the sister loosens her jaw in a clear, purposeful warning that stops him in his tracks. Strings of saliva stretch and snap between her teeth, tongue flattening to reveal the swells in the back of her throat; you knew they were duds. He did not.

Amadea.

You’re led from the safehouse as the sky begins to bruise. Roku forces the nestlings into a deep sleep and throws an uncomfortable black cloak over your form, roughly pulling the hood over your head until you’re entirely shadowed. Heavy, open weave and coarse in texture like burlap, it scratches your skin tender.

At the very least, the length protects your calves from the nettled flora as Hachi drags you towards the clearing. There awaits a haggard carriage pulled by a chestnut mare, a method common for transporting goods and fruits. Unsuspecting. A dirt road spools out before you, shielded by the forest's overhang and winding onwards into the night, disappearing into solid darkness.

A rasped voice, lips moving against the shell of your ear that you try to run from, “Don’t get your hopes up. No one’s looking anymore. Not here, and certainly not on the bottom of the ocean”.

You shudder. Whether it is the late night air or the reality of what is about to happen, you can’t be sure.

There are piles of boxes stacked in the back, some full to the brim and coverless, others are locked securely. In the back is another, noticeably larger than the rest. You’ve seconds to process the implications as you’re thrown into it, back slamming against the floor of the wooden chest, breath knocked from your lungs.

Orlit and Amadea are forced into the space left, pressed up behind the crook of your knees and over your legs. There’s no room to stretch, your limbs bent even as you reach the far end of the box. Splaying your hands flat to the runes painted into the panelling, your eyes widen as panic wracks your body.

“Wait—!” Hachi shuts the lid with force, rocking the carriage on its axles. A final click. The sudden momentum slides you up, head thudding painfully against reinforced wood, and so you attempt to hunch into yourself.

There is no telling how much time passes. Perspiration clings to the nape of your neck, flinching involuntarily as everything begins to move. Ephemeral flecks of moonlight pierce through as the canopy shifts above. Your fingers curl, clawing fruitlessly and feeling the timber splinter. You bang against it until your knuckles are raw, splitting open on the surface. The dragons are entirely boneless, leaning the entirety of their weight onto you and shrinking the space even further.

You squeeze your eyes shut, finding solace in the darkness behind them. If you focus enough, you can shape the darkness until it looks like your marriage bed. No longer does it seep into your skin, gradually closing in. constricting and consuming. This is home. This is home. Lungs bloating with held breath, time and time again you reflexively gasp, struggling to allay the panic as the metallic tang dries out your tongue.

Katsuki sits on the edge — on his side of the mattress, still untouched — and leans over. A rough hand cupping your jaw. Slightly clammy, the breeze from the balcony behind him imbued with ash. You would often ball up into yourself like a pill bug as you slept, seeking comfort in a bed that always felt too big.

The memory smites your heart. He isn’t looking anymore, insecurity whispers. You cannot bring yourself to believe it. Whether it be denial or hope, in your soul you knew Katsuki to be stubborn. He mightn’t have fallen in love with you but he treated you well and respected you. You were his wife, and tucked into the nook behind your knees are his niece and nephew. You could only imagine him pursuing the abductors to the ends of the earth.

Yet Shichi’s cocksure smirk flashes through your mind, the image of him slumped back with his shoulders sagged. For the first time ever, he’d seemed truly relaxed. Assured. Because he was confident that it was true.

Recurring daylight provides little assistance in finding the runes, barely enough to cast a shadow. You need to rely on touch, seeking out the smooth texture of the paint. They sting the pads of your fingers as you trace them, vying to keep yourself grounded. There are two, each entirely different. While reading them was an impossibility — even in light; magic was a language you were never fluent with — you were willing to bet on one keeping the dragons sedated, and the other some sort of cloaking spell.

You arrive at the docks, lower abdomen bloated and stomach twisting in vivid hunger. Best guess is,two days have passed. Cursing at the men to let you out to relieve yourself and drink something had only engorged their spite. They intended to weigh your ankles and throw you overboard, so it would be naive to think they’d have any hospitable inclination toward you. The dragons, at the very least, needed to feed. Loss of nutrition at such an early stage could stunt their development, or worse, lead to death.

When the chest is opened again the moon is at its brightest, full and dancing along the ocean's surface. You hiss, flinching away from it as your eyes struggle to adjust, and are dragged unceremoniously by the collar out onto the ground, incognisant to pain.

“Get up,” and you’re lifted again by the throat like a stringless puppet. There is no sensation as your feet touch the ground, knees immediately buckling under your weight. Hachi sighs, dropping you carelessly. You choke on the dirt as it plumes around you.

“Massage your legs. Blood’ll flow back eventually,” he rocks forward into the balls of his feet, leaning to lift the hem of your skirt. You skitter, desperate to hide your naked skin, and hastily throw a handful of earth at him.

It misses with the weak, pendulous swing of your arm. “Don’t fucking touch me,” you croak.

“Oi, oi, calm down Majesty,” he releases the fabric, holding both hands out in mock surrender, “was just checkin’ if you’d turned blue”.

An incessant, pin pricking sensation crawls the length of your legs as phantom turns solid. You grip at your thighs, flesh bursting through the gaps between your fingers, and gasp through the pain. It’s as if you’re growing a new limb all together.

You take a moment to process the surroundings. The air is crisp, the smell of brine rolling in on the waves. Scanning the length of the horizons, your eyes fall onto the dock, dilapidated with sections embellished in thick barnacle build up and vacant aside from a single ship. The hull has high sides, bow and stern both fortified, left entirely unguarded. No longer in use by the common folk, it provides the perfect spot for smuggling goods in and out of Varene.

Behind you, the carriage is hidden at the edge of the treeline. The cicadas are chirping here, too. Shichi releases a strained groan as he carries a dragon over each shoulder, boots slipping along the loose gravel. Amadea’s wings stretch, a sign that she is slowly waking, and bat him in the face.

“Shit— Hurry it up!”

The chest you’d inhabited is dragged towards the shoreline. Roku mutters under his breath as he straightens up, pointedly glaring at his peer as he pulls a small knife from the breast of his coat. Glinting in the moonlight, he runs the blade diagonally across his left palm without so much as a flinch, a familiar viridian glow spiralling up towards the wound.

As you’d suspected, once he has tucked the knife away Roku gathers the blood seeping down his forearm and kneels to repaint the runes with it. “Stop fuckin’ hovering over me. Put them down over there and get the meat out to keep them occupied while we wait for Stendhal”.

Orlit is thrown down beside you, and you rush to cushion his snout in the fall. Amadea lands unsteady on her feet, stretching her wings further to keep her balance in the initial drop, before sinking against your thigh. You stroke the crown of her skull, gently plucking at the horns either side. Their scales are already duller. If it had been just you that was taken, then running might be a possibility. But you cannot leave them behind, and trying to make it back to the city on foot with three men specialising in stealth seemed useless.

You stare longingly at the treeline, but you stay. Shichi throws a skinned carcass at your knees, the wet slap of flesh echoing into the night as rot perforates the air. Neither nestling moves. Setting your own discomfort aside, you pull the viscous sinew apart piece by piece, pressing it against their muzzle to help them eat.

Day breaks with the rising tide. Your hunger is sated with more insipid bread before you’re forced back into the box, into compliance, bloodied symbols suitably dried to the wood. You do not go without a fight, digging your heels into the dirt and letting the full weight of your body sag. But if Shichi can bear the weight of two dragons, yours is inconsequential. Misshapen, bruising ovals mark your arms, tender spots of skin littering the plane of your back.

The last thing you see is Hachi heading to greet a silhouette in the far distance, veering precariously over the edge of the deck with a hand entangled in the shroud. For reasons unknown to you, the firebirds do not want Stendhal to see you until you’re far into Leilisle’s abyss. You rock back and forth as the chest is thrown haphazardly, breathing in measured seconds to quell the anxiety building in your gut so you can focus.

But there is nothing to gauge. No conversation, no mood or atmosphere. You’re plunged into a heavy silence that fills your lungs like water. Your shouts go unheard. This time, as your fist comes into contact with the runes, it sparks violently. A fleeting, excruciating pain shoots along your forearm, before the sensation numbs.

Stendhal discovers you late into the second day, as Shichi opens the box for the first time. A large, haunting man, wrapped in tattered fabrics the colour of blood. He’s all sharp edges, face gaunt and sunken, yet alight with disdain. Fear grips you at the sight of him, rabbit's heart beating right out of your ribs. You stare up at him dazedly, but only when you’re lifted into a seating position does he meet your eyes.

Shichi doesn’t even blink, much less flinch, as Stendhal tucks the edge of a blade to his jugular. “This is what you’ve got me smuggling?” he snarls, tone serrated like the weapon he wields. The wound left is no deeper than a paper cut, but it weeps all the same. “You told me it was just some rare beastie nestlings”.

A rough hand grips your jaw, nonplussed. You tear at it as your mouth is forced open, the edge of a cup pressed to your lips. The water is forced down your throat, spilling over your chin and saturating your cloak. You swallow, eyes squeezing shut as you smother the urge to choke. Shichi releases a long suffering sigh.

“Can you honestly say that if you’d known about our precious Lady here,” the grip on your jaw tightens, his strength forcing your head to the side, plainly showing your face to Stendhal, “That you wouldn’t have killed us and sold her off yourself?”

“I would have told you to go fuck yourself,” the jagged blade presses deeper with his anger, “it takes two weeks to get to Reyath! Were you just going to have her wither away in there, you oaf?”

“Wouldn’t matter either way ‘cause we’re sinking her halfway across,” Shichi replies. He visibly swallows, throat contracting as the stream of blood seeps into his collar. “She’s of no consequence to us or the King”.

Reality stings — the truth is a skin you cannot take off. His fingertips bruise your cheeks, nails bitten and dirty. Any effort to twist away from him proves futile; like a snake, his hands will continue to constrict the more you struggle. Stendhal watches on without sympathy, a flat displeasure woven into his expression. He regards you as an inconvenience, you realise. It’s a look you’ve seen many times.

“Keep her out of my sight,” he says with finality, retracting the katana. He reaches overhead, slipping it into the strap at his back. “I will not be made an accomplice in this”.

Shichi nods, “You had no knowledge of it”.

And true to their word, you do not see Stendhal again. You’re kept in the underbelly, presumably, given small glances in the days that follow. You are checked on once every morning to ensure the dragons are fed through their disorientation — a job that falls to you, observing as their wings stretch becomes your only source of relief. The ache that spreads through your hips has dulled remarkably. Contorted to fit the confines of the box, your blood struggled to reach your limbs. Numbness proceeds the pain. That, you can handle. It’s the vertigo that keeps you from sleeping.

Should your eyes fall closed, your body is struck with an alarming spinning sensation, nausea worsening when your panic grows. So you fix your gaze on the paper thin cracks in the wood, drawing slow breath and tasting the salty sea air as it seeps through. Gone are the comforts of your imagination. Katsuki’s voice distorts, asphyxiating it as you hoard your clutch of memories in tightly held fists, scared of what might happen if you let go.

How long have you been missing, now? Almost two weeks? Near enough three?

“…Fuck…They’re sailing towards…!”

The sudden urgency holds your attention. You blink away the dryness, tongue sticking heavily to the roof of your mouth. It hurts to swallow, and as you grimace the skin on your lip begins to split.

“They’re pirates?”

You hear Stendhal’s voice above you. There’s an uncomfortable grit to it, grating on your ears like his throat had been lined with rottenstone. “Technically. Though you’d best be wary, ‘cause they’re altruistic bastards,” you flinch backwards, head meeting reinforced timber as a raucous thud impacts the outside of the box. “S’pathetic. Pretending like they’re heroes,” he spits.

“Fuckin— careful with the goods, Stendhal. Don’t disrupt the enchantment or those things’ll wake up”.

A scoff. “The enchantment is the last thing you’ll have to worry about if those fakes ask for a peek. Eraser doesn’t fuck around with trafficking”.

You hadn’t a clue what they were talking about. What you could infer from the muffled exchange is that someone was coming — another ship, likely sailing the same course. And hope for escape was contingent on their curiosity.

“It doesn’t matter. The cunt can check, I’ll make sure he won’t see a damn thing in there”.

Stendhal barks an abrupt laugh, his next words too muffled for you to hear. The distance grows and the conversation steadily quietens, laden footsteps marching further away from you.

“…What kind of a name is Eraser anyway…”

The hull groans then, rolling over a strong wave. Your centre of gravity is displaced and you feel another bout of nausea. Amadea and Orlit are still sleeping deeply, but you’ve noticed their consciousness surfacing now and then as the magic wanes. You wonder what it was that Roku used as a conduit for his spells, if he used one at all.

Some hereditary types could rely on the wielder as a conduit, like Katsuki’s or your brothers’, eventually draining their own energy. Rare, but not impossible, and it would explain the inconsistency. If so, these runes were likely painted in his own blood.

You grimace, wiping your fingers against the facsimile burlap around your shoulders. Nails catch on a stray thread, and you pull so hard it makes a ladder. The only benefit in having little to no circulation is that being numb means you can no longer feel its itch.

The minutes stretch. When you hear thunderous feet rushing across the deck, stumbling down the stairwell, it comes unexpectedly. You hadn’t heard any disruption in the ocean around you, nor any indication of an approaching threat. Your captors are yelling, their curses overlapping, and you can taste the magic surrounding you as it briefly strengthens.

“Get the fuck off our…!”

Their demands suddenly rasp and thin, lost with breath. Another can be heard over all the noise. They've an oddly melodious cadence, speaking his words like they were lyrics from a song. “Hey hey! If there’s nothing to worry about then why not just let Eraser have a peek, ya dig?”

A snarl, the unmistakable sounds of a tousle. “Hachi, would ya calm down? It’s just as he said,” Roku instructs, emphasising his words as if he were speaking between the lines, “we’ve got nothin’ to worry about”.

Nervous, you reach down to pet Orlit’s scaled skin, stroking the space between his brow bone with your thumb. There is no certainty that these pirates would help you — it's entirely possible they’ll take all three of you for more heinous purposes. Dragonhide is sold abroad for barrels of gold, and you’re under no illusion about the riches your own body could procure.

The chest is yet again unlocked. Your body pulls taut and you cower, muscles clenched with bated breath as you’re drenched in sunlight. Above you is a man in a washed out white shirt, open at the collar where the laces fall loosely. There’s a sabre tucked into the belt of his trousers, the broad handguard protruding at his hip. Dark hair slips forward to curtain his face as he bends to search the box, and from behind them are irises gleaming iridescent red.

To your surprise, they meet your own, piercing right through the enchantment. The pirate's disinterested expression immediately hardens at the sight of you, jaw visibly tightening where his teeth grit. His gaze drags toward the far end of the chest, finding the nestlings unconscious. Intuitively, you know to stay quiet; there’ll be more trouble if the others are alerted. Instead you watch as he fights to maintain composure. The exposed skin of his chest, covered in dark tufts of hair, expands with a deep inhale. He rolls his shoulders loose.

“See?” Roku goads. “All good”.

Eraser straightens his back, and you realise how tall he is. Broad. The type of man you do not want to disappoint. “Yeah,” he turns, gesturing with his hand as he speaks. You feel the baritone of his voice low in your belly. “It’s just cotton linens. Looks like moleskin and velveteen”.

“Velveteen? Well shit, Stendhal. Care to spare any..?”

Stendhal fumes, “Don’t involve me in your Robin Hood bullshit, Mic. I’m paid to move the goods, not to protect it or to sell it”.

The opposite hand motions to you, a signal to wait. One last glance from the corner of his eye, he gently shuts the chest without locking it. Your heart beats in your throat, and you contort yourself to press an ear to the wood, if only to hear your own fate.

There’s barely a scuffle. You might not have realised anything happened, had the magic not abruptly receded around you, copper dissipating and the air steadily replaced with sea salt. A distorted mewl builds in Amadea’s chest, her paws spread and claws extending as she stretches. The heat of her body drastically rises with consciousness, warm like the sun against your legs.

When it next opens, there’s another boy. A man, you should say. You avert your gaze from his own bare skin, chest visible in a loose black vest buttoned only to his sternum. He’s braced over you, violet hair in disarray and lean arms in plain view and decorated in scar tissue; most prominently a slash on his bicep, raised and pink as it curves around his muscle.

Squinting, the shadows beneath his eyes deepen, along with his voice. “I can’t see through the veil yet so I don’t know where you’re at but,” cautiously, he offers his hand into the unknown, “we aren’t here to hurt you”.

Swallowing against the staccato beat of your heart in your throat, you unfurl a hand from where it is curled like a cat's paw and take his. His breath hitches, lithe fingers grazing against the naked skin where your wedding ring should be. Palms kiss, he clasps firmly, helping you up and out of the box.

You see the moment your identity registers with him. He stalls, recognising you. Eyes widening, lips parted to quietly say, “Shit. You’re…”

“The nestlings are in there too,” you interrupt, the words rasping uncomfortably in your throat after days of silence, “please. I can’t carry them on my own”.

“Shit,” he repeats. You’re barely upright, awkward on your feet with the gait of a newborn deer. He hesitates for a split second before steadying you at the hip, warmth seeping through the cloak. “Okay. Okay,” he murmurs, sparing a desperate glance over his shoulder toward the steps. “Oi! One of you get over here—”

Another descends, lankier than the rest. The daylight leaking in from above circles his head like a halo, bejewelling the beautiful blonde braid pleated over his shoulder. There are a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose, strangely tinted. He skips the final step with a jump, landing loudly in his thick boots.

The man assesses the two of you from over the tinted lenses, lingering on your face. “What’s the problem kiddos?”

His fingers twitch impatiently as he spares you a quick glance, drawing awareness to just how close you are. “Need your help manoeuvring the nestlings. Her Maj— she can barely walk”.

You’re comforted by his efforts to conceal your identity, and amused that he’d instinctively fall back onto the use of proper titles. It revealed to you that, presumably, he’d either lived in Varene or visited often enough to be knowledgeable of you.

Hands cupped around his mouth to direct the sound of his voice towards the main deck, the blonde man bellows startlingly loud, “Yo! Shadow!”

The hand at your hip slides further at your abrupt flinch, arm wrapping around the small of your back. So different to the molten heat of your husband. His proximity plucks at your centre of gravity, a deeply cold sensation spreading throughout your chest. Vulnerability, and then an immediate feeling of shame.

“Forgive me for overstepping, Majesty,” he tells you under his breath, his face blooming a pale pink as he keeps his eyes locked firmly on his crewmate. “Use me for support and it’ll be over quickly”.

On your periphery, another appears fashioning a long black cloak not unlike your own, the train streaming down the steps like water, but you’re apathetic to their presence. You focus your energy on getting out of the box. Your tomb. Feeling returns to the tips of your toes, pleading with your mind to let them wiggle. Wires are still crossed, nerves dulled. You can bear weight on one leg but not the other, so as he’d suggested you brace against an unfamiliar chest for leverage, limbless as you try to bend the knee to slip over the open edge.

Bare feet meet damp wood. The knots and bumps scratch at your sole, and the hood hanging at your back is pulled over your head for discretion's sake. Gradually, you find yourself being led towards the upper deck. Whispers of disorientation, loss and anxiety on the edge of your consciousness.

The chambers in your heart cinch in a way you cannot ignore as the unmistakable sound of Amadea’s distress reaches your ears. Roku’s spell has worn off, and the nestlings are left confused by your absence. Frightened. Orlit croons. You whip around in the strangers embrace, gripped by a fierce protectiveness for them. “Don’t!” both men pause, one either end of the chest, but they do not lower.

Now that you’re looking, you see the newcomer draped in black is wearing a mask — unsettling eyes meet yours through two open round holes, the lower half of his face covered by what resembles a large beak.

You exhale, forcing some authority into your words. “Don’t take them from me”.

“Alright,” the slender blond concedes. He comes across warmly and easygoing, such a contrast to the venomous tone you’d heard him used upon first boarding the ship. Nodding towards ‘Shadow’, they start to shuffle the wooden chest over to where you stand at the foot of the steps.

“Let’s all go up together,” he smiles down at you, dipping to see you beneath the hood. “What’s your name by the way, kid? I’m Mic, but friends call me Yamada, and that lad behind ya is called Mimic”.

Mimic, Mic, Shadow. He knows, and yet he still asks. You aren’t sure why that makes you so happy. When you give your own name, he rolls it around his teeth, testing the syllables. Shadow bows his head in acknowledgment, beak tucking to sternum, but he doesn’t speak.

The breeze sinks its teeth into you, and you shrink into Mimic’s embrace. A cacophony floods your senses — waves lapping up the starboard, wind rushing across the surface and sending a spray of water onto the deck. Casting a great shadow is a double masted ship, wide sails billowing a ruckus, dwarfing the merchant's boat where it has sidled up on the left. Cutting across the cavern between the two is a wide, lengthy plank of wood.

Above it all, familiar, enraged voices. Tied together, back to back, you find the three firebirds struggling against rope. Looming over them is the dark haired man, the one who saw through the spell. One hand lazily swings the mageblade, his wrist twisting fluidly, while the other is fisted tightly into Roku’s scalp, head dragged up to force eye contact. You note that the runes in his arms have vanished.

“That scary guy is called Eraser,” Mic relays to you as he follows your line of sight, straining at the weight of the nestlings as he readjusts his grip, “or Aizawa, since you might be with us a while”.

Aizawa, you ponder. That name sounds incredibly familiar to you.

“Should you really be giving his name out like that?” Mimic murmurs, turning you away from your assailants and taking course toward the makeshift bridge. Mic barks a laugh, totally unrestrained. If the sudden shouting was anything to go by, you’d say Hachi had now become aware of your departure. The mission slipping like sand through their fingers.

“It’s fine. You know he doesn’t care about people knowing. The little lady isn’t gonna tattle, are ya?” Mic grins. “Just focus on getting everyone aboard. Make sure you find something clean for her to wear while the rest of the crew finishes up”.

Passing over the untamed oceans with bated breath, you feel as if you are outside of yourself. The drop is great, the depths ever greater. Overhead are wires, ropes and chains, men hanging like spiders from the shrouds and watching as you climb aboard the ship. They are all distinctly individual, yet working in synchrony. It isn’t a crew with a uniform, no memorable feature in their clothing or weaponry that might tie them to a specific band of pirates. Misfits, each and every one of them, all at home together.

You’re taken into the captain's quarters below the helm, spanning the width of the stern with a large set of windows overlooking the horizon. The first thing you see upon entering is the rounded voyage table, a clear centrepiece in the room; but more eye-catching are the shelves and bookcases draped in navy velvet curtains, storing leather bound books and rinky-dink treasures.

Mic and Shadow set the chest on the floor, lowering their heads into a subtle bow as they depart. Mimic gestures towards a bed tucked away into an alcove for more privacy as he ambles over to a set of drawers, jiggling the handle as it refuses to open. Inside are cotton shirts and dark pants, not unlike the clothing their captain wore.

He hesitates in handing them to you, instead bending to lay them across the mattress. “I’ll go find you something to eat after, so feel free to get changed into something more comfortable,” he says, an awkward demeanour about him, “I’ll… make sure to knock”.

“Okay,” you rasp, “thank you… Mimic?”

He nods, backing away in hesitance steps before retreating to the deck, closing the door soundly behind him. Amadea is the first to exit the chest in their absence, clumsily scurrying ahead to hide beneath the bed frame. Leaden with exhaustion, you collapse beside the clothing and rub the fabric between your fingers, feeling the phantom ring between your knuckles. Only then do you notice the crest embroidered into the sleeve cuff.

Aizawa. A clan originating in Yiryn that, long ago, wielded the ability to nullify all magics — the original creators of the mageblades. The last of their line were thought to have died out decades ago after attempting to flee the country over political differences, which had ended in violence. It would certainly explain why he could see through the cloaking spell.

If this was a descendant of the Aizawa’s, then did their hospitality mean you were safe, or were you perhaps a pig for them to fatten? An opportunity for vengeance?

You changed into the new clothes with haste and eyes kept firmly on the door. Dread knotted in your belly, tightening at every noise that passes, but nobody enters. The shirt is loose, sleeves hung comically over your hands, and the collar continues to slip forward bearing cleavage no matter how often you readjust it.

The pants are easier. You tighten the waist with string and roll the legs up mid calf, wincing at the bracelet of bruises swelling around your ankle that you soon cover with thick socks made to cushion leather boots. For the first time in weeks, the soles of your feet do not protest when laid flat.

These clothes hang awkwardly on your frame, so far removed from the soft silks, flowing skirts and tulle. You wring your hands together restlessly. The nakedness of your left ring finger is still stark. “Orlit,” with a short trill, his head lifts from inside the open chest once you call for him, bleary eyed as he surveys the surroundings. You push your discarded clothes across the bed and pat the space they once occupied, “come here”.

He listens. More and more, the nestlings have behaved in a way that indicates human understanding. Or rather, understanding of you . It puts to question all those years of your fathers berating, of the disappointment and abuse levied towards you because it was presumed you had inherited no affinity for Draconic.

With no concept of personal space, Orlit scrambles onto the bed and collapses into your lap. You wince at the sound of linens being torn beneath his claws, and watch as his limbs stretch. Feeling the hot huff of breath against your thigh, you can sense that he’s relieved by the extra space.

Pressure firm but careful in handling the hide you massage the leathery membrane stretched across thin bone, pleased to see they’d grown again, wings almost longer than the length of his body in just a few weeks. If he were at home with his birth mother, Orlit would very likely be nearing the age that’d see him pushed into the pit to fly. Another month or so, you estimate.

Amadea remains hidden for an unsettlingly long time. Known for being slightly more confident than her brother, you’d expected the roles to be reversed. Leaning over the edge to peer beneath the bed frame, you whisper her name and she responds with a long cry, so forlorn that your throat tightens.

L'gra. Fear.

How can I make this better? you want to ask. What can I do?

There’s regret that you did not observe how the pit keepers handled young dragons or ask your husband more prying questions. Katsuki wasn’t of Drachian blood, but it has never truly been synonymous with the royal bloodline. Kings are chosen in Varene. Yet, despite his inability to commune with his dragons the ancient way, he still deeply understood them. They were a mirror reflection of him. They enjoyed his brazen, loving nature. He was a flame you were drawn to, rather than a fire you fled from.

It makes you wonder how he would handle this situation — would he know how to soothe them?

Your thoughts drift to your mother then, your mawkish memory of her associated closely with the helplessness you feel in this moment. You wonder if she endured it too. If she cried as you wailed in fits of discomfort, turning away every comfort she offered, hating herself for it. You couldn’t tell her what you needed, not as a babe.

Not even now, as an adult.

“We’re going to be okay,” you lamented. If you closed your eyes, you could picture your younger self hiding beneath the bed with her. “I’ll do better. I’ll protect you”.

Mimic returns with a tentative knock on the door. Even after giving verbal permission to enter, he’s slow to open it. You watch, bemused, as he steps into the room with eyes kept to the floor.

“I’m clothed, Mimic. You’re fine to look”.

The muscles in his jaw clench, ears shifting beneath his unkempt violet hair, thick and trimmed shorter at the front, yet longer at the back. You notice the lobe is pierced with a silver hoop, and the shell is cuffed. Both pieces of jewellery are linked by a short, delicate chain.

“…The dragons?”

You smile nervously, glancing down to where Orlit is resting on your thigh, and Amadea atop your foot. “They’re calm. You’d know if they weren’t”.

He huffs a short laugh, more disbelief than amusement, and meets your gaze. From behind his back, he pulls out a sea biscuit. It’s colourless and round with the appearance of a sand dollar. “We have pickled vegetables and fruit, but I figured you might want to start small. S’bad to agitate your stomach”.

You take it, turning it between your fingers. You do not tell him that you’re sick of starchy food, bitterness already gathering on your tongue at the thought of tasting something so dry. When you don’t immediately devour it, his eyes narrow. “You need to eat something. I know those dickheads barely fed you,” he insists.

In silent acquiescence, you bring the biscuit to your mouth to take a performative bite. At the very least, it isn’t stale. Much softer, melting pleasantly on your palate. Amadea lifts her head at the sound of chewing, blinking expectantly at you. Swallowing the mouthful, you ask, “Is there anything for them to eat, too?”

Mimic scratches idly at the side of his cheek. “Wasn’t sure what they should be eating, since they’re nestlings. Gotta admit, I know next to nothing about dragons aside from the fact that they’re scary as all hell,” he replies. “We have fresh fish. Salted meat in the stores, too”.

“Either is fine but the fresh meat will probably be better,” you do not tell him how eventually, their stomachs will be strong enough to digest almost anything. Bone and rock, even certain metals, if they’re desperate. He nods, and as he turns to leave, “—again, thank you, Mimic”.

An abrupt halt in his step. Hand hovering on the door knob, he glances back at you. “Hitoshi,” he says. “My name’s Shinsou Hitoshi. Call me whichever you want”.

Hitoshi remains weary. You get the feeling he doesn’t know how to behave around you, but still graciously brings back what he promised. The dragons are ensnared by the pungent smell of brine as soon as it enters the room. A bag of fresh fish is thrown unceremoniously across the room, spilling out the opening of the sack onto the floor. He doesn’t stay long, driven away by the burst of violence between the two as they bicker over who gets what. You stay in place, knowing better than to pull them apart.

It wasn’t true anger. They were mostly playing, establishing a natural hierarchy. At this size, it wasn’t too much of a threat — yet. Katsuki used to recount with fondness about the bloodshed that sometimes followed a dragon feeding, especially amongst the larger females. “Endraen always wins though,” he’d told you with a grin. Sincere pride, not an inkling of arrogance. “That’s my fuckin’ girl”.

You’re left alone, for the most part. You supposed the crew were giving you privacy, or time to adjust. But it pushes you to the razor's edge of ambivalence, and impatience eventually urges you towards leaving the secluded quarters.

With the nestlings satiated, curled up in a bundle of torn up bed sheets that you hope will not be missed, you pluck up the courage to head out onto the deck. The instinct to be light footed and careful reminds you of the nights you would sneak across the palace grounds in Yiryn to see your siblings after a particularly rough meeting with Enji, skin still blistering.

Surprisingly, not one person stops you on the way. No questions as to where you were going, or what you were doing. Instead you receive numerous solemn nods, and the odd unpracticed bow in greeting. Word had spread.

Measured in steps, the distance between the door and the edge of the deck wasn’t all too great. The sea is calm, almost a cradle. She holds the ship in the depths of her palms and the wind spurs it forwards. So blue and clear, you can hardly decipher where the horizon begins.

Shouto would have loved it.

Aizawa is disturbingly quiet as he settles beside you, forearms resting against the deck and alcohol in hand. He is somehow one of the most intimidating men you’ve ever met, all the while having little to no presence. There is no immediate exchange of words, only your slow and purposeful breaths.

Dark eyes briefly flicker over your form. Aizawa pulls the bottle from his mouth with a resounding pop, leaving behind a sheen of rum, and tilts it forward. “Here,” he murmurs.

“Thanks,” you reach out, fingers wrapping around the bottle's neck and grazing his own. He’s warm, rough skinned. Neither of you comment on it, his gaze fixed pointedly on your expression as you bring the finish to your lips.

The aroma is rich, sweet like overly ripe bananas. You tip back, feeling it dry and bitter on your tongue. There are hints of vanilla and brown sugar, a sting to your throat that begs you to cough. You hear a quiet laugh.

“Too strong?”

Your expression twists, “It’s good. But it burns”.

“That’s why it’s good,” he smirks. “Seasick?”

You exhale, handing the bottle back. “Just thinking about my siblings. They only know of the ocean from picture books and maps”.

The dark hair that previously curtained his face has now been tucked away beneath the confines of a patterned cloth tied around his forehead, two loose tassels hanging by his temple. He’s pale for a seaman. It tells of his dedication to being a hermit. “They waiting for you back home?”

Your chin dips as you swallow, teeth sinking into the flesh of your inner cheek. The memory of the firebird brooch on your kidnappers' lapels flashes unbidden through your mind. Reflexively, you have begun to fiddle with the phantom ring on your finger. Aizawa cannot know that there is no home to go back to. It is a reality that wears you thin.

“No,” is your reply. Silence follows. Nervously, you glance towards him and find he is already right looking back at you. When he meets your gaze there’s an understanding there that you hadn’t expected.

“Is that why you haven’t asked where we’re taking you?”

Did it really matter?

“Could I ask you something?” — he nods, and the tassels bounce against his crown — “Do you resent me for what happened to your relatives?”

You’re shocked to hear him scoff. “Nothing happened to my clan, kid. They weren’t happy in Yiryn and they left before your—” he pauses to think, taking another swig as he does “—before your great great grandfather could imprison the last of them. Even if I did hold animosity toward the Todoroki name, you are far from at fault”.

“Our books say members were persecuted for treason and run out amidst political infighting. That’s why we have so few mageblades left…”

“There are few mageblades left because my previous relatives took most of their weaponry and fled with it,” he says, aimlessly passing his thumb over the top of his bottle, making a quiet sound with the trapped air. “King Enmei planned to use them in a surprise incursion along the East Varene border, despite having signed the peace treaty”.

Gracelessly, your only reply is “Oh”.

True, you had known not to trust most of the historical texts in the Todoroki library; but knowing that and hearing it are two different things. You recall the older blade he’d taken from Hachi. “It must be nice, then. To have a piece of your heritage back with you”.

He shrugs, though not unkindly. You feel a kinship with him that you hadn’t expected. That comfortability leads you to ask, “Do you ever feel like you don’t belong anywhere?”

A deep sigh. “Maybe at one time, yes,” Aizawa rubs idly at the scruff along his jaw and casts his eye toward the endless horizon. “Though that is fundamentally untrue”.

“Why?” you feel yourself grin, playful as you lean against the edge of the deck. “Do you belong to the oceans now?”

He huffs shortly, and it sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “No,” the hull rolls smoothly over a passing wave, sliding you into his side. Warmth seeps through the loose cotton of his shirt sleeves. Accepting the closeness, he nudges your arm to emphasise his point, “I belong to myself now”.

You think about your body being a home. About the sun rising and setting between skeletal window panes, of the child you outgrew that sleeps in an alcove carved into your sternum. How on worse nights, cowering away from the boom of Enji’s voice and embraced by Touya’s bandaged arms with Shouto curled at your side, you would retreat into yourself. For as long as you could remember, that was the only safe place you had.

At what point had that stopped being true, you wonder; at what point did the voice in your head become your fathers? The memories are diluted, and jaded, your own wants muddied by his footprints. There was a reason you stopped stepping inside of yourself.

“Oddly philosophical for a pirate,” you muse, pushing the thoughts aside. Aizawa huffs.

“Not a pirate. Now I'm just a man with a boat,” he turns at an angle, peering over his shoulder towards his crewmates' antics, “...and a soft spot for strays”.

You look alongside him to find the group of men huddled together, playing a game you couldn’t name if asked. They have two sets of dice in the bottom of a cup, shaken and thrown across the circle. On some numbers they cheer, on others they groan. Yamada, you recognise, is proudly gregarious, and off to the side Shadow and Hitoshi have paired off to watch in their own bubble of amusement.

“All I can say is, what you perceive isn’t always the whole truth,” he pulls your attention back, and you drink from the bottle as he offers it once more. This time, you swallow it smoothly, and the burn is pleasant. “Reality is often subjective. So don’t assume you aren’t wanted, or that you don’t belong, if it’s from the confines of your own head”.

You inhale, the sea salt bloats your lungs. Your body rolls with the rock of the ship as the ocean's temperament begins to change. Far off in the expanse of clear sky, there are bruising cumulonimbus clouds bleeding into blue. How befitting.

Aizawa continues through your silence. “We can take you to Varene after we get to the Valcana isles, if that’s what you want. We won’t be voyaging out again for a few weeks, so you have time to think about it”.

“You aren’t going to drag me back for whatever reward they’re offering?” you blurted, the concept of choice still so foreign. A stone of guilt sinks through your stomach as his expression pinches, a little hard to decipher.

“I’m no bounty hunter. I want you to make that decision yourself,” then his brow quirks, the distaste softening into quiet amusement, “Hitoshi is, though. He’ll know more than I do”.

You’re informed it’ll take another day and a half to reach the Isles of Valcana — a cluster of mountainous jewels in the middle of Leilisle, covered in lush green. It was renowned as a rest stop amongst all seamen, sailors, merchants and pirates alike. The population is a small one; only around six thousand people inhabited the main island, while the less accessible ones were largely left to nature.

The opportunity to question Hitoshi doesn’t present itself until the following morning, when the ship is mostly bereft. Many of the motley crew are resting, strung around the upper and lower decks as they sleep through their wicked hangovers.

It’s as good a time as any to let the nestlings stretch. You’d been assured that no one on the ship had ill intent toward either of you — in fact, Aizawa even allowed you to stay overnight in his quarters. “Don’t worry about this guy,” Mic had told you, the frame of his glasses slipping haphazardly down his nose, “he can fall asleep practically anywhere”.

Still early, you see the sun rising gently above the seam of the horizon and painting the ocean's surface a glorious expanse of orange and pink. Time always moves forward. You’re reminded of how vast the world is, and how infinitesimal you are in it.

Despite their freedom, the nestlings stick to your side. Amadea rumbles, a sound made in the depths of her chest, and you push playfully against her snout when she nuzzles at your elbow. You have set up camp below the foremast, right by the ship’s edge. Reaching out over the sea is the figure of a bare chested woman, her extended hand rising and falling with the waves.

The air is tepid, almost a caress. Your fingers work clumsily on a spare piece of rope you'd cut from a spool on Aizawa’s bookshelf. Knots weren’t something you knew from memory, but you had a vague image of what a bowline should look like.

You huff, examining the twists and turns. It definitely did not look like this.

Charmingly, he starts with, “You’re kinda bad at that, huh?”

Startled, you look up to see Hitoshi approaching with slow wading steps, like his boots were full of water. His eyes are where his true feelings lie, narrowed to focus on the nestlings by your knees.

Amadea remains at your side, full from her breakfast. Orlit, however, is becoming braver with every hour that passes. The food burns through him quicker, body moving with bubbling energy as he starts forward. “Orlit,” you call out in warning. It doesn’t reach him.

You knew intuitively that it was pure curiosity. Orlit had seen Hitoshi bring the food before, and thus recognised his voice. But the bounty hunter could only exercise caution, stumbling back and steadying himself with the rig.

“ Orlit ,” you repeat authoritatively. The nestling stops.

“Don’t worry,” you try your best to show Hitoshi a reassuring smile. “He means you no harm, they just associate you with food”.

A scoff, grip briefly tightening on the shroud as if preparing to jump up. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” he says, choosing to come closer anyway. The male dragon stays his place, even ducking his head coyly in what you’re sure is an apology.

His earring glints in the light as Hitoshi lowers himself onto his haunches, slow to settle with his legs crossed. The apprehension can’t be blamed. Amadea watches him like a hawk the entire way. “What’re you trying to make?”

“I was just playing around. It’s supposed to be a bowline knot,” you tell him, lips thinning as he laughs under his breath. He reaches across, pausing abruptly at Amadea’s grunt, and you relinquish your grip to give it over.

As he fashions the knot himself, it’s hard to keep track of his practiced hands. “The rabbit comes out of the hole, goes around back of the tree, and then jumps back into the hole,” he mutters rhythmically, a triumphant gleam in his eye as he brandishes the perfect bowline, waving it between the two of you. “Did you never learn that song as a kid?”

“No,” your admittance has you feeling somewhat abashed. “I wasn’t allowed to listen to much music as a child”.

Hitoshi’s expression sours as he loosens the rope, “Well you’ll hear plenty from these losers to make up for it”. You smile when his anger softens at the mention of his crew, shuffling forward on your knees when you’re beckoned forward. “C’mon, I’ll show you how to do it”.

And he does, reciting the common ditty for you once more as he guides your fingers with the working end, or as you know it now, the rabbit. Then he covers your fist with his own, and you both pull together tightly, creating a bowline much like the one he’d shown you.

“Thank you Hitoshi,” you breathe, smiling down at the knot, feeling pleased with yourself. He inhales sharply and quickly retracts his hand as if you had burned him, rubbing it down the front of his vest.

Whatever thoughts had been brewing in Hitoshi’s mind are abruptly interrupted as Orlit lunges forward to take the rope between his molars. You release your grip before your arm is pulled from the socket, watching on fondly as he begins to shake it left and right like a pup.

Keeping your eyes on the young dragon while he gallivants across the deck, it’s as good a time as any to bring up what Aizawa had mentioned the day prior. “I heard that you’re a bounty hunter,” you needled, hoping it’d be leading enough.

It isn’t. “I am,” he concedes, picking at the seam of his boot.

“Then, don’t you want to hand me back over to Varene?”

The air around you changes slightly as the wind picks up. Hitoshi leans forward, almost curing into himself as he rests an elbow atop his knee, “Dunno. I heard you aren’t sure you want to go back home in the first place,” he returns, mouth quirked. “Trouble in paradise?”

It’s clear that he’s teasing, which is why you give your best effort in keeping the surge of defensiveness for your husband from showing on your face. You want to cling onto the building equilibrium for a little longer.

Habitually, you pinch the flesh on your ring finger. Weeks have passed and still you feel a vulnerable nakedness without it. Before you’re able to reply, you hear a regretful murmur of, “Sorry”.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you tell him, leaning back as Amadea lifts her neck, arching to stretch her wings. “It’s nice having people treat me as an equal”.

Orlit trills, calling out to his sister. It echoes over the waves as they lap against the hull, the sway strumming at your centre of gravity. “How much is on my head?”

“Enough to see me through two lifetimes without struggle. Not counting the nestlings,” he replies. “Your father is offering about the same. Word has it tensions are worsening between the two, and he’s laying blame on Varene for your disappearance”.

Regardless of your growing kinship with Hitoshi, there are still things you know aren’t for his ears. King Enji feigning anger, and having orchestrated the taking of the nestlings, is one of those things. The knowledge that where you could not mend a bridge, you were now being the tool to demolish it entirely, sits like lead in your chest.

Return to Varene with the truth, and war will surely erupt; you may only be further separated from your siblings, and your mother. Return to Yiryn with the nestlings and you’ll likely never see them, or Katsuki, ever again.

Suddenly, it is hard to speak past the swell in your throat.

Sensing your discomfort, Hitoshi mercifully drops the subject. Instead he lays out their plan for the day ahead. In a few short hours you’ll be at the port. With the markets thriving past noon, it’s decided you and the nestlings will remain in Aizawa’s quarters until dark, when it’ll be much safer to move you.

While the isles have quite a laissez-faire approach in order to provide a neutral place for people from all corners of the world, it was a fact that few sailors from both Varene and Yiryn could be passing through. Hiding you was simple enough, the nestlings were a little harder to explain away.

“We have a good idea of where you can stay for a bit,” Hitoshi explains offhandedly, staring at Orlit. Throughout the conversation, the young dragon had crept closer and closer, pressing himself to the floor in a show of surrender.

You felt his intent. The word is meaningful, cloying on your tongue. Thurirl — I’m not a threat. Orlit wanted to befriend the bounty hunter. This human’s hair is bright, and he brings good food. Such is a dragon's way of thinking. It’s unbearably cute.

“I don’t have any form of payment right now,” you reply, worrying the flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth; mostly an effort to fight a smile. Remaining quiet so as not to disrupt the moment, you watch his hand reach toward Orlits snout.

Every muscle in Hitoshi’s arm is visibly tense, like a spring coiled tight and ready to leap. Feelings of anticipation and excitement thrum through your veins, strong enough for you to appreciate how much the nestling is truly restraining himself as this new friend strokes over his head.

“You won’t need to pay. Eraser will take care of it,” he continues to speak as you protest, “believe me. He’s just like that. If you leave any payment you’ll find it back in your pocket without knowing how it got there”.

You laugh, “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience”.

“Something like that—”

“Hey, hey kiddos! Up and attem’,” Mic’s distinct voice shouts across the ship, startling you both apart. “We’re almost home!”

You aren’t aware of how long this journey had been for the crew, where they’d come from or with what purpose, but their muffled cheers from below deck tell you it has been long enough.

You, too, couldn’t wait to stand on solid ground.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader

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dearestgojo · 2 years

Text

Indifferent Love

Gojo x Fem reader

Summary: Satoru Gojo’s life gets turned around when you declare you’ve never held any feelings for him, and an arrangement is formed so that you may live the rest of your days in peace with each other. But upon your declaration, something stirs to life inside Satoru.

A/n: I tried to hurry to write this so I can't guarantee that the writing is that great, and there are probably more mistakes than usual.

Warnings: 18+. Fingering. Grinding. Wet dream. If I missed any please let me know I'm tired so something might have slipped past me.

Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Series Masterlist | Wc: 6.5k

Kenji Ono is a lot of things. A son and grandson to well-known doctors, a medical student doing his residency at his grandfather's hospital, and a future heir. He is the dream fantasy of most women; tall with dark hair and handsome, he has a boyish smile to top it off. Kenji is kind, protective, and observant. But there are also a lot of things Kenji Ono is not. He isn’t the great student his father and grandfather wanted. He was impatient and could have quite a temper when pushed to the end of his limit. Most importantly, Kenji is no longer your lover anymore.

And it kills him.

The prominent knot that twisted in the pit of his stomach made him search you out, despite you already ignoring his efforts to fix things, and beg on his knees for your forgiveness. Beg for you to listen to him, so that he may explain that things weren't as they seemed. At least from what he could remember from the night.

Kenji would stop making his plea until he got you to listen, which is how he ended up here. In a restaurant, a few blocks from the hospital his grandfather owned with Shoko Ieiri. He'd never been particularly close to either of your friends, he was a few years older than the three of you and had only met you and Utahime when Shoko had dragged the two of you to a party a co-worker had planned. As soon as his eyes landed on you, and your gentle smile as you greeted strangers, he knew he had to figure out a way to know who you were.

From then he'd made an effort to get somewhat closer to Shoko, who had recently started working part-time at the hospital as a nurse, and be able to get a chance to meet you again. After several parties to which only Shoko and Utahime showed up, he'd grown a bit closer to the ladder by association, and he did his best to get from as much as he could about you discreetly. But both of them are smart, and after several long months of trying to lay his eyes on your delicate smile once again, they'd both dragged you out to a party he was attending. Taking it into their hands to introduce the two of you, and plan small gatherings where they would leave the two of you alone.

And seating in front of Shoko right now, he can't help but wonder if she regrets ever introducing you.

Shoko brings her leg up to rest on the chair., and rests her chin on her knee while stirring the hot coffee in front of her. She doesn't think twice about informing Kenji of your wedding, "She's getting married at the end of the month."

Kenji feels the world tip on its axis. Everything he had ever dreamt of building with you crumbling between the fingers. Every discussion you had ever had about the future fades into nothingness as Shoko’s words repeat in his head. He wanted to be angry at how quickly you had moved on. How quickly you had tossed him aside for the man you had been engaged to for seven years. He wanted to yell at you for proving his biggest suspicions true. But he knew he had no right to. Kenji was nothing to you anymore. And though how he couldn't exactly remember how he had ended up in the situation that he did, he was the one who had sent your entire relationship to its downfall.

He grips his hands, his nails digging into his skin, nausea settling in the pit of his stomach, "What?"

"Don't act like you didn't hear me," Shoko answers, moving the food around on her plate, "I'm not telling you so you can win her over or anything like that, I just think you have the right to know. The two of you built something in the three years you were together. I think you deserve to at least know that she's moving on so that you can move on too. Y/n would probably skin me alive if she knew I was telling you this, so I'm warning you not to do anything stupid, she's already made up her mind about the wedding. And trust me when I say that Hime and I tried everything to get to not go through with it, but you know how stubborn y/n can be."

"I thought she didn't want to marry him," it's a mumble, Shoko barely picks it up over the clatter of the restaurant, but she manages to hear him.

She shrugs, staring out at the street, her lips pressed together, "She'd rather be tied to him the rest of her life than have someone cheat on her again."

"I didn't cheat," Kenji grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Then what exactly happened? 'Cause from the photos y/n showed us it didn't look like you were just talking."

Kenji's eyes squeeze shut, pain forming in the front of his head as he tries to remember what happened that night. All of it blurring together into one large mess that he could make sense of. "I don't know. I don't remember, okay? All I know is that I didn't sleep with that girl...as far as I can remember at least."

"As far as you can remember doesn't get y/n back," Shoko huffs out, setting her empty cup slowly and standing up from her chair, "so if you want to win her back you need to know for sure whether you did sleep with that girl or not." She looks Kenji over, swallowing loudly, and uttering, "Don't make me regret my choice of letting you close to her even more, Kenji."

Kenji remains seated long after Shoko's returned to the hospital. Turning her words over in his head as he tries to make sense of the glimpses of the night he supposedly cheated on you. All the frames bled into one another until he couldn't distinguish one event from another. The front of his head throbbed as he attempted to recall that night for the sake of your relationship. Kenji knew that if he tried hard enough he could make his case and save the relationship that had been ripped from between his fingers.

Because if there was one thing he was certain about in this life, it was that he would never dare look at another woman when he had you.

There are several things you never fathomed you would do before getting married, and on that list was having a proper date with the man you were to marry. Yet here you were somehow on the terrace of a famous local restaurant, sitting across from Satoru Gojo himself a week before your wedding. You had secretly hoped he'd reject the idea of doing such a thing, especially his last week as a single man, and were quite shocked when he agreed.

"For appearances, right?" He had asked over the phone, "Sure, I don't see why not. Might as well get to know each other."

Maybe you shouldn't have underestimated Satoru's dedication to the faux relationship you would present in front of others, and kept your mouth shut to be saved from the glances of acquaintances who were glancing at you. Whispering behind their menus after every lingering peek.

"They're staring," you mumble, raising your glass of wine.

Satoru skims around, waving at the onlookers who he catches looking, chuckling loud enough for them to hear, "Let them."

You glower, "It's your fault you know? If you hadn't built a reputation of being a lady's man they wouldn't be looking."

"Says who? They could be staring cause of the rumors going around about you and a secret lover," he challenges.

You don't flinch when he brings up the tale of your escapades with an unknown man, giving him no emotional indication of whether the story was true or false. You simply lean back in your chair and raise your chairs, and riposte, "I highly doubt that when you're the one who's had several close calls."

"So you do have a secret lover."

"And if I did? What's it to you? Jealous?" you inquire, watching Satoru's adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed.

He leans back in his seat, grinning, "Not at all."

You return his smile, eyes closing so you appear to be sweet and loving for the people glancing at your table, "Good. This marriage will work better if neither of us have any sort of feelings."

"Don't go falling for me then."

"Never in a million years."

The table falls silent again, the sound of your silverware clicking against the porcelain of your plates the only sound that fills the space. Your meal get's interrupted a few times as people approach your table to congratulate the two of you on your wedding, a few of the women looking at you with sympathetic glances before walking away. It's almost as if you can hear their thoughts as they sadly smile at you, can hear them calling you a fool for marrying the man who had no intentions of ever being faithful to you.

Lifting your glass of wine you smile against the curve, if they only knew that you were using Satoru for that exact reason. You had no desire, or intention, of forming any sort of emotional bond with him. You knew what you were getting by walking into this marriage. Marrying Satoru was a safe way of never risking getting heartbroken or having a hand laid on you again.

"I think we should look for our own place to live," He suddenly says, peering at you over the curve of his glass, interrupting your thoughts.

"What? Why?"

"Well, we'll be a married couple, so we can't keep living with our parents. It would also be hard to keep the help from talking when they notice we aren't acting like newlyweds," he explains.

"It's an arranged marriage, I don't think we're required to act like newlyweds in front of the help...I don't think anyone actually expects us to act like newlyweds when it's quite obvious you never wanted this," you state.

Satoru leans onto the table, his blue eyes staring into yours, white seafoam moving around in them, "Who said I never wanted this?"

For a moment, you feel your breath caught in your throat, your heart speeding while you lose yourself in his eyes. Composing yourself you clear your throat, leaning back into your chair "You've made it pretty clear, these past seven years, that you would rather be anywhere in the world than tied to me," you lean back across the table, fork dangling from your fingers, throwing his words back at him, "don't tell me you already fell for me."

Satoru leans back in his seat, his eyes scanning your face before he smirks. The light from outside hits your head at just the right angle casting a halo around you, and Satoru feels his heart beating against his ribcage, his mind running wild by how beautiful and angelic you look at the moment the words leave his curved lips. "Never in a million years."

The sun hides behind a cluster of clouds, the halo cast over you gone as you give him an apathetic, "Good. Then this marriage should go swimmingly."

You go back to eating your food, not letting the stares of the onlookers bother you anymore, but Satoru continues to study you. Examining the curve of your lashes, and the way your lips press together while you chew your food. He feels something inside of him cracking, something blossoming from out of the crevasse in his facade he had come to believe was the truth, a bloom he still stubbornly stomped on as he felt his chest fluttering.

Deep down Satoru knew he would eat his words and choke on them. Every single word and sentence repeated over the days, months, and years.

Satoru can hear the pitter-patter of the summer rain outside of the car, his eyes closed as he leans back into the driver's seat. It's been hours since he dropped off on the front steps of your house, and he seems to be able to do is crave your nearness again. The scent of your sweet perfume lingers in the car, mixing in with the smell of rain, intoxicating him and bidding him stay seated inside the car while the rain pours down.

He wonders how you've managed to captivate him, so quickly when he's been so sure that you are the last thing he wanted in this world. He could have any woman, and yet he's sitting here ready to jump off a cliff if you so desire him to. You must have put a hex on him to have him falling to his knees with just the simple sentence of you not wanting him as he had thought you did.

Searching the depths of his brain he attempts to find the signs of you falling out of love with him. At want moment you had stopped looking up at him with wide eyes as if he held the entire world in the palms of his hands. As far as he knew you had been attached to him since the first time he met you when you were but a newborn baby and he was barely starting to walk. Attached to his hip until you both came of age and it was proposed you marry each other.

All he can remember is you always stealing glances at him, your eyes fluttering whenever he'd catch you staring. He'd found them endearing at one point, he recalls.

Though there had been that one time when he was visiting for Christmas when he noticed you acting differently. You had greeted him with the same warm smile but made no attempt to converse with him. Every time he'd look up, he'd find you looking down at your phone, a soft smile toying on your lips, instead of looking at him. Maybe it had been then when your feelings for him had started to change in you.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he revs the engine again, pulling out of the driveway of his parents' home. He drives through the wet roads toward one of his favorite bars, located in the center of town. It's easy to find an empty parking space near it with all the rain, he barely even gets wet when he runs inside the safety of its roof.

It's mostly empty, save for a few men getting off work and seeking shelter from the rain and their nagging wives. He finds the empty bar stool, raising his fingers to order a drink, looking to his left he finds a man throwing his head back and downing his drink.

His black hair is a mess, falling into his eyes, which Satoru notices are a hazed over and his cheeks flushed. He can smell the alcohol wafting off of him with every blow of air he puffs out. Satoru watches as the man stands stumbling on his feet, leaving a wad of cash on the counter, and heading into the pouring rain.

Shrugging Satoru raises the glass placed in front of him, throwing his head back in a similar fashion that the man who left just did, the liquor burning the back of his throat. The bartender laughs, "Seems like you and that guy are having a tough night. Drowning out problems of the heart with strong liquor."

Satoru taps a finger on the edge of his glass, the bartender pouring more alcohol into his cups, returning his laugh, "Not exactly, I wouldn't call mine problems of the heart," He takes a sip of the glass, "when neither of us feels anything for the other." He looks at the employee in front of him, "Though I thought she did at one point which is making me wonder at what point she stopped."

"That's tough man. At least your not in that guy's shoes," the bartender points towards the door, "his girl is getting married."

Satoru chuckles raising his glass up, "At least." Satoru has a couple of more drinks before deciding it's time to go back home.

Satoru walks out into the street, the rain has stopped and there are a few people already hurrying home before the next shower comes. He stands there for a few minutes watching, breathing in the scent of the wet cement and ground. A few couples walk past him, and he watches as the girls cling to their boyfriends' arms, fluttering their long eyelashes, and their lips curving upwards when they lean towards them to whisper in their ears or tell a joke.

And he can't help but wonder if that could have been you and him. If that could be the two of you in the future. He doesn't dwell on the questions for too long and shakes his head, running off to his car. Choosing to ignore that he's even thinking of the possibility of a happy marriage at your side.

The day of your wedding comes, and you can feel the house quake from the excitement. There is constant movement within the house; maids scurry in and out of the spare room.

The room allows you to look out to the warm summer morning, and watch as birds fly to land on the small closed-off balcony while the hairdressers curl and pin your hair and adjust your make-up, their feathers catching the sunlight as they balance themselves on the leaves of the shrub outside. They stay perched on the leaves for a few moments, their little eyes peering through the window as their heads turn before they spread their wings and fly away.

"And done," you hear the stylist behind you mumble, putting the last hair decoration onto your hair.

Looking over your shoulder you give them a tight smile as they start gathering their things, "Thank you."

Your mother walks in as they walk out, her heels clicking on the white titles, and her red lips curving upwards, "You look, gorgeous dear," she says walking up to you, her hands coming up to cup your face. She pushes a few strands of hair out of your face, the stench of alcohol reaching your nose when she whines, "My little girl, my angel, is getting married."

Your hands come up to hold onto her wrists, pulling her hands off your face, "Thank you, mom," you place your hands between your bodies, "A little early to be drinking, no? Especially today of all days."

She gives you a meek smile, wriggling her wrists from your hold and lacing her fingers with yours, "I know I'm sorry. I had a small...disagreement with your father and need to let off some steam." Her gaze meets yours, "I promise no more drinking for the rest of the day."

There's a flutter of hope in your chest, but you knew better than to let the feeling last more than a few moments. It wasn't uncommon for your mother to have moments like these when she was sober, where she'd at you the tenderness of when you were young. You wonder at what point things had taken a turn. At what point in life did your father become a greedy heartless cheater and your mother a drunk? Or had life always been like this and you were just too young to remember it clearly

Exhaling softly you nod and return her cheerless smile, "Okay." You free your hand from hers, and smooth the front of your dress, feeling the rhinestones on the palms of your hands, ignoring her longing look.

"You do look beautiful. Satoru is extremely lucky to be marrying you," she compliments again, reaching up to adjust the heavy dangling earrings you're wearing, breathing under her breath, "I hope your married life is happier than mine." She suddenly lets go of your hands, clapping them loudly the noise resounding throughout the room, "I'm going to get the chauffeur to bring the car around, we need to head to the venue." She does a once over again, her fingers brushing the smooth fabric of the skirt of the dress before walking out. You watch her leave, the door closing behind her before you turn to look in the mirror.

You stare at yourself in awe, taking in the beauty of the dress for the first time. If you hadn't been as tired the day you went dress shopping you would've seen just how breathtaking the dress you had begrudgingly picked. A wedding ballgown with a plunging neckline that accentuated your breasts, the lace straps resting at the ends of your shoulders. The skirt of the dress matches the top extending out. Decorating the skirt of your dress is a shining lace-like material in the pattern of flowers, that shine brightly when the light hits them when you move. But what really catches the eye is the long veil Utahime placed on your head and situated to rest on your shoulders over the straps of the dress. The lace that's sewn onto your wedding dress is stitched along the edges of the veil, which travels down your back and fades into the train of the dress.

Tearing your eyes from the mirror you walk towards the loveseat in the room, becoming aware of how heavy the dress is. You struggle to find a way to sit down the train and veil, everytime you attempt to the veil ends up underneath you, pulling on your hair. After several tries, you give up and lean against one of the arms, sighing in defeat.

The room is quiet, only the ticking of the grand clock in the room fills the space. The silence leaves you alone with your thoughts, the urge to walk out of the house crawling up your spine, and an uneasy twist in your stomach as you wait for your mother to return. Is that what getting cold feet feels like? Is this the felt feeling Satoru felt every time he'd run off overseas? Is he also thinking about running off?

You bring your thumb up to your lips, chewing on the tip of the acrylic nails you had done yesterday, staring at the door. A few seconds pass and no one walks by or in. Pushing yourself up to stand and walk towards it, pausing right in front of it. Examining the door frame and the walls of the room around you, feeling jittery as you raise your hand up to the knob, hesitantly.

If Satoru could run away from you, from this marriage, this unwanted bond, so can you, you think to yourself turning the knob, If you're going to do this, the time is now.

The door is pushed open unexpectedly, causing you to stumble back a few steps. Your mother stands on the other side, a small surprised gasp leaving her lips as the door almost slams into your face, "What are you doing there?"

"I-i," you stumble over your words, feeling as if you've been doing something you shouldn't have been doing. And maybe you had, considering you were contemplating leaving Satoru at the altar and your father with empty pockets.

"Doesn't matter, driver and your dad are out in the front waiting for us, so come on let's go," your mother reaches for your arm, pulling you through the threshold. She pushes the small of your back, gathering the tail of the dress in her arms, "The bride can't be late to her own wedding."

Like any man about to get married, Satoru spends the entire morning doing nothing. He doesn't fret with wedding jitters as he lays back on his bed, listening to Suguru speak on the phone, his wedding suit still hanging from the hanger inside of his closet. The television in front of him is on with the sound all the was turned all the way down.

Satoru finds himself closing his eyes as Suguru continues to talk, letting his mind wander to what his wedding night with you would be like. His closed lids flicker as he drifts off into a nap. When he opens his eyes again, his still in his room, but Suguru is no longer there, and the lights have been dimmed down. He can hear clattering traveling from the restroom before you appear at the door. clad white lingerie. His eyes follow you as you silently walk up to the end of the bed, your fingers coming up to cup his face, your thumbs drawing circles into his cheeks. Satoru melts into your warm touch, his long fingers brushing over the tops of your thighs.

"You look beautiful," he whispers, sliding his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

"Do I?" you ask, your fingers finding his white hair.

Satoru inhales, pulling you into his lap, "Mmh."

He can smell the scent of your perfume as you settle down on his lap, his hands immediately falling on your waist as you rest back on him. The inside of his mouth flooded with saliva at the sight of the white lingerie set with embroidered butterflies on the sheer material. Satoru can see your nipple peeking through, pebbled from the cool air. He swallows down hard as you gently grind down on him, your mouth falling open as you feel him getting hard through the material of your panties and his slacks.

"Fuck, you're going to be the death of me," he respires, his fingers reaching to toy with your clit through your panties, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your chest. He lets out a groan when you grind into his fingers, your nose buried in the crown of his head. "Needy little thing aren't ya'. Don't worry I'll fuck you nice and good just as soon as I get you ready," he says pushing your panties to the side and gathering more of your slick in his fingers. He slowly pushes one in, moving it in and out, the heel of his hand hitting your clit. He relishes the way your walls clench around it. He curves it upwards, pushing a second in as he brushes your soft spot, listening to your small gasps for air and whines.

He makes a come hither motion with both of his fingers, your thighs shaking around his hand, "'Toru too much."

He moans as he feels you cum around his fingers, your walls gripping his fingers. He doesn't stop moving his fingers, helping you ride out your orgasm, "That's it princess, cum all over my fingers." Satoru watches you pant as you cum in awe, your mouth open and eyes squeezed shut. "Fucking hell you're so freaking hot when you cum," He pulls his fingers out and tosses you on the bed, hurriedly reaching down to pull his pants and boxers down, "Think you can come for me one more time, angel. Think you can cum all over my big fat cock?"

He positions himself at your entrance, his eyes never leaving your face as you nod, huffing out a quiet, "Yes. Want to cum all over your cock." Your eyes are drooping, hazed over with lust, your head moving up and down.

Satoru lets out a strangled groan, pushing the head of his length just past your clenching hole before a loud noise interrupts him. You slowly start to vanish from his vision as three more continuous resounding sounds echo throughout the room.

The fifth loud clap near his ear jerks him wake, Suguru calling out his name. Satoru's eyes pop open, Suguru is already walking away from him while speaking.

"Come on, man you have to get dressed. We have to head to the venue. Your wedding is in less than an hour," Suguru says, going into Satoru's closet to get his wedding suit.

Satoru stays seated in his spot, pants straining against his crotch. He clears his throat, "Give me a second." He reaches down to adjust his boxers, doing his best to hide the raging boner inside of them before he got up.

Your pacing back and forth in a small room in the venue, waiting for the ceremony to start. The palms of your hands sweat as you wait. Your eyes eye the door, which you approach slowly it and turn the knob. No one is outside, the hall bare of all signs of life. Taking a deep breath you walk towards a glass door at the end of the hall, that gives you a glimpse of a garden just beyond it.

You don't hesitate in pushing the door open, taking in a deep breath of the fresh air before stepping out into it. You spend a few minutes walking around the enclosed space, eyeing the high walls of the gate. The sound of the door you came in through opening tears your attention away from them, your head turning to see if Shoko and Hime have come to get you. To your surprise, you find the last person you want to see standing there holding the door open with the tip of his toe.

"What are you doing here? I told you I didn't ever want to see you again last time." you hiss, raising the skirt of your dress to walk away. But the weight of your dress weighs you down, making it easy for him to catch your wrist.

"Y/n, please listen to me. You're making a mistake. I need you to listen to me, so you can understand that I didn't mean to hurt you. That I didn't want to cause you any pain," Kenji begs, pulling you into his chest, stumbling over his words as he cups your cheek with his free hand. He presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes while breathing in the same air you breathe out, your heart pounding in your chest as you feel his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, "I know you don't want to marry him, I know that you don't love him. That you love me, so please, just let me explain."

You consider giving in to him and giving him a chance to explain himself. To give in to whatever excuse he comes up with, so you forgive him for sleeping with someone else. You so badly want to close your eyes and let his lips brush against yours.

But you don't. Instead, you push against his chest, letting the anger from his betrayal remind you that Kenji was not the person who had dreamt of marrying one day. That he had let his own vexation with the status of your relationship and the uncertainty if you would ever be able to be together, lead him to bed someone else in the place you had called home with him.

"How would you know? You slept with someone else because you thought I would fall in love with him. That would toss you aside because I had to marry him. What if that's what's happened now? What if I told you that you had been right and that I'm marrying him because I love him?"

Kenji reaches for you again, his grip tighter than before, "You don't mean that, y/n. I know you love me, what we felt doesn't go away over a few nights."

Your jerk your hand away from him, "Loved. I loved you, but not anymore," you snarl, fighting the sting of tears that threaten to spill. Take in slow breaths of air and steady your pounding heart. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get married."

Kenji follows you as you make your way back into the venue, his hands desperately trying to get a hold of you again before you disappear back inside. "Y/n look all I need is for you to listen and to give me some time. I promise on my life that I didn't cheat on you. You know how much I care about you. How much I love you."

You reach the door and pull it open, catching a Shoko walking towards the room you had been secluded in, "Save it Kenji, I don't have time." You lift your heavy skirt and walk into the building, letting the door swing shut behind you. But before it fully closes behind you, Kenji calls out one last time.

"I promise I'm going to prove how much I love you. Prove I didn't cheat. You'll be begging me to take you back, y/n."

His words fall heavy on your chest when you reach the room, Shoko walking out at the same time you reach it, "Where have you been?"

You wave your hand around, "Needed some fresh air."

Shoko quirks an eyebrow, but doesn't question you further as she gathers your dress to help you with it, "Okay, well we need to get you to the front, the wedding is about to start." She leads you down the hall, and to the front of the venue where most of the bridal party is along with you're father, who hooks his arm around yours as the first couple makes their way down the aisle.

He leans down towards your ear, whispering in it before he leads you down the aisle toward Satoru, "You look beautiful...I'm proud of you."

Most of the wedding ceremony is a blur to you, the officiate’s words barely reach you over the loud ringing in your ears. It's not until the person officiating your wedding asks Satoru to say his wedding vows that you come too.

"Repeat after me."

"I, Satoru Gojo, take you, y/n l/n, to be my wife," his eyes flicker as he looks into yours, "to have and to hold from this day forward," you swear you feel his hand tighten around your hand as he slides the ring on your finger, "for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until parted by death. This is my solemn vow."

The officiate then looks at you, signaling for the ring bearer to hand you the wedding band, "Repeat after me."

"I, y/n l/n, take you, Satoru Gojo, to be my husband," you repeat, "to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health," your eyes meet Satoru's, "to love and to cherish," the words feel heavy on your tongue as you loudly say them, knowing deep down that you could never actually give your heart to him, "until parted by death. This is my solemn vow."

From the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Kenji standing near the entrance of the venue his head shaking back and forth, as the officiate's words bounce off the walls of the venue, "I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Your eyes never leave Kenji as Satoru presses a quick kiss to your lips, the crowd around you clapping. You watch as he leaves, and you silently hope that it's the last time you ever see him.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind you is deafening, bouncing off the walls of the unfamiliar room. You’re unsure of what to do with yourself you find yourself fiddling with the soft material of the dress and moving around the room. It’s the typical room you’d expect a bachelor such as Satoru to have, the walls are bare of decorations and painted a light gray. There’s a single bed, a futon, and a drawer resting between what you assume is the walk-in closet and bathroom. The bed frame is a few inches off the ground, covered by a gray duvet, a few shades darker than the light gray of the walls. Surprisingly there’s a wooden headboard, but you might attribute that to the fact that Satoru still lived with his parents. There are two nightstands on either side of the bed, each with its own lamp that turns on when the switch of the overhead lights does. The white and black curtains of the room are drawn closed.

Stepping further in you see that the room is much cleaner than you expected it to be. The nightstands are bare save for the lamps, a pitcher of water with its empty glass, and Satoru’s phone charger. The drawer has a plant and a few picture frames of Satoru and Suguru the year they graduated high school and college, one of him and his mother that appears to have been taken recently, and another with both his parents when he graduated college. You walk closer and run your fingers through the edges of each picture as you look down at them.

“If you’re looking for photos of us together those are in the bottom left drawer. I can put some out if that would make you more comfortable.” Satoru says from the bed, where he’s bending down to take off his shoes.

Shaking your head you walk towards him, turning your back to him so that he can unzip the back of your dress, “There’s no need for that, you said we wouldn’t be here long so I don’t see a point.” The mattress shuffles behind you as he gets up, and your body jolts when you feel Satoru’s fingers touch your skin between your back shoulder blades, the sound of the zipper following.

“Okay. There.” He says when he reaches the part of your back you can reach, “I had the maids put your bags in the closet if you want to change.”

“Thanks.”

"Hey," you turn to look at Satoru, quirking an eyebrow at him, "I-I...let's try to get along."

You nod your head, "Okay." You walk into Satoru's restroom, noticing your bags near the entrance. You make quick work of changing out of the dress you had put on for the reception, letting it pull around your legs, and start on your daily nightly routine of showering and cleansing your face.

When you come back out Satoru is laying on one side of the bed, overhead lights and his lamp turned off, you assume his usual side, his back turned to the empty spot next to him. You approach the bed, grabbing a few of the pillows he had tossed aside, and putting them between you and him, before climbing next to him.

"You don't have to go that far," Satoru mumbles as you turn off the light, "I'm not going to touch you when you don't want to."

You stare at the unfamiliar ceiling, "That's what you say, but I don't trust you."

"Shouldn't you trust your hubby, wifey," you can hear the smile on his face when gives you the new nickname?

"Don't ever call me that again," you warn, turning to your side, "Now go to bed."

You feel the bed next to your shift, Satoru turning to his back, his elbow pushing the pillows further on your side, "Okay...Night, wifey."

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#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fic #jjk fic #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut

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ackerfics · 1 year

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FAMILY LINE — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc

act one, chapter five: the birth of the golden (wc: 9.1k) | masterlist

tw: poorly translated valyrian bc i used a translator online. forgive me.

117 AC

There is a reason why Aegon loves his name day.

People seem to remember him when the Grand Sept’s bells toll to start the one-week celebrations across King’s Landing, as expected of the first son of the King. The gates open to dozens of wheelhouses carrying the high nobles of the realm and the Keep has never been more colourful, housing each intricate combination of hues the Houses bear. Servants scurry among the floors of the castle to make the events as extravagant and fitting for a prince who the King begged the gods for, shipments are received in the docks for the banquet spreads to be laid out for a week, and fittings for new royal clothes are made each passing minute (Aegon wants to barf out his meal just to escape from it because apparently, the girls have their own fittings, so it’s just him, Aether, Aemond, Daemian, and Daeron). Mother won’t be breathing down his neck to pay more attention to his lessons and be more like Aemond, who has expressed a growing interest in history (a boring thing, if you ask him). Father won’t look at him like he is a passing face in the castle; for once, he gets to be a son.

Excitement ignites each limbal ring of his eyes, mixing in the light of the sun between the tendrils of cornflower blues he possesses, because on his name day, it’s not his half-sister, Rhaenyra, they greet with jovial cheer in the Keep, it’s him.

But his tenth name day is not about the first son of King Viserys.

It unfortunately revolves around a little Prince that isn’t him.

Aesira has been a constant in the life of her first cousin once removed (she’ll call him his nephew anyway for her own sake) ever since he was born.

Jacaerys Velaryon is the name that he carries but his colouring is neither of his parentages, that much is true. Aesira is not blind; she can see that there is no shed of anything Targaryen in that little body of his except for the glint of something purple within his brown eyes when the light touches them perfectly. As a babe, his features hadn’t settled in; but as he reached two name days, the curls of brown framing his face and the button nose adorably sitting on his face is very much a reminder that he is not trueborn like Aesira and her brothers. Yet her cousin, Rhaenyra, looks at him like he is the light of his life — pride in the crinkles around her eyes and love lacing every bit of her smile.

It is also during these times that Aesira feels a palpable emotion that is completely unfamiliar to her.

Among her and her siblings, Aesira is the only one who maintained a connection to the Heir of Uncle Viserys, which lies in affable smiles exchanged in passing, knowing glances whenever someone mentions the paintings and tapestries plastered on the Keep’s walls, and understanding squeezes around smaller hands as a Lord points out how similar the two look in certain angles. How bittersweet it is when this string tying them together stems from something so inevitable and cruel, crafting a masterpiece so beautiful that many people remark it to be as precious as the titles they carry — The Realm’s Delight and The Flower of the Realm. The two are often seen walking together in the labyrinth hedges of the gardens when their schedules are kind enough to allow them, donning contrasting colours on their dresses as if they are from different Houses altogether. It is a sight when they grace the castle with their combined presence — both of which embody the ethereal beauty only Targaryens can achieve.

However, it is during these meetings with Rhaenyra that Aesira sees how much the Heir dislikes anything related to the Queen, the animosity radiating in the slight curl on her top lip when she breathes a word related to the most powerful woman in the realm. When Aesira revealed that the dresses she had in her closet were all commissioned by the Queen, Rhaenyra sent a few of her old dresses, the colouring as bold as her character — all reds and blacks and so Targaryen. When she mentioned a word about her tea sessions with the Queen, her gracious cousin proposed having daily outings of their own in the gardens, promising an abundance of their favourite cakes and more gossip happening around the court. She once shared her observations with Aether and her brother had the gall to laugh it out, comparing it to his petty rivalry with Aegon whenever they had their fights. Now that she sees it from both sides, Aesira surmises that Rhaenyra and the Queen’s indifference and anger at each other aren’t that much different from Aegon and Aether’s dynamic (but the latter pair always goes back to being partners in crime). She is not as clueless as she seems; she can see the longing in the Queen’s eyes when she stares at Rhaenyra too long and the affliction hanging over Rhaenyra’s head when she is around the Queen.

It is one Lady Redwyne who told her that the two women cementing roles in her life held a rare affection for each other while they were in their childhood. A pleasant surprise that sparks Aesira’s interest. Their relationship became strained, according to Lady Redwyne, when Uncle Viserys announced to wed the Queen during a Small Council meeting. It became the thinnest of threads when something scandalous involving someone so roguish happened in the middle of the night. Aesira didn’t have to ask who this someone was when the glares from the other Ladies landed on Lady Redwyne soon after. Of course, he was a part of it. Now, the court Ladies are silently dividing themselves between the Heir and the Queen, gossiping about the next big story and betting on who will win an argument if one ever surfaces. While they giggled behind their decorative fans about the recruits for the City Watch, Aesira was left mulling over the information she just heard, answering questions when they were only addressed to her.

When little Jacaerys was born, a hesitant Queen Alicent went to visit the babe with Aesira in tow, offering their congratulations to the married couple. Aesira held her hand the entire time to prevent her from picking on her nails, a habit that the girl noticed from the moment they had their second tea session.

That unfamiliar emotion bubbling in her stomach started tickling her insides during this visit.

Rhaenyra, while wearing faux pleasantries upon facing the Queen and her inquiring gaze, looked so different when staring down at Jacaerys. Aesira never imagined her bold older cousin being this soft around someone, especially after hearing her badmouth every single thing she hated in court. She never realised it back then but it was the start of the change happening within Rhaenyra — a change that was dipped in nostalgia. Mother wore that look when gazing at her and Aether. Gone is the Rhaenyra who accompanied her to the gardens and gone are the daily meetups involving cake.

It started bubbling again when she heard the Queen grumble about the defining features morphing Jacaerys into a toddler.

Brown hair and brown eyes and the swish of a gold cloak following Rhaenyra’s every step. Aesira gives it the benefit of the doubt. She knows about the lineage running in Lord Laenor’s blood — parts of Baratheon courtesy of Princess Rhaenys.

But everything seemed to change when she happened to witness Ser Harwin Strong gazing upon Jacaerys with the same love painted in Rhaenyra’s eyes while the toddler stood on wobbly feet during his attempted walks — Rhaenyra’s little group gathering in the gardens for the joyous moment. When the treasonous thought forms in her mind, she took that time to look at Lord Laenor, seeing the exact proud emotion on his face when he cheered for Jacaerys to reach him in his small, baby steps. The sight burned her eyes and throat. That ugly emotion is painting her in the same shade of green the Queen prefers having on her gowns. While not looking like a trueborn Targaryen, Jacaerys has a father that will never leave him and a mother who will never die from childbirth. It’s unfair. Aesira looked down, swallowing the onset of bitterness covering her whole figure, hating the fact that she happened to enter this specific area of the gardens during an intimate moment shared by a family.

“Jace, where are you going, my boy?” Lord Laenor’s voice echoed in Aesira’s ear when she turned around to choose another area of the gardens to read her book. “Can he even walk that fast at this age?”

A small body wrapped around her skirt, stopping her in her tracks.

“Aesira?” Rhaenyra asked.

Aesira slowly looked down at the one responsible for preventing her from getting out of this mess. A gummy smile beamed up at her, little specks of white peeking through the grin. She blinked in place, her hands wringing with the fabric of her skirts. There were bound to have creases after this encounter. The number of times she saw Jacaerys was when he was still swaddled. Now reaching his first name day, the boy was growing into a little boy who would be a menace now that he learned how to walk.

Right when she was about to gently pry Jacaerys’s hands off of her clothes, she heard the smallest, most adorable voice calling for her.

“Thira!” Jacaerys cheered with a pure smile, bouncing on the heels of his feet.

Rhaenyra grunted from the bench, pushing herself to stand while placing a hand on her pregnant belly. “It seems like he adores you.”

“Thira!”

Aesira stared at Rhaenyra for a good minute. The small hands clutching her dress tightened, shaking her to capture her attention from The Realm’s Delight to the babe staring at her like she placed the stars for him to point out. Maybe that was what she looked like to Little Jacaerys’s eyes — a star maiden glowing with the sun’s halo around her head as he stared at her ever so adoringly. Lord Laenor chuckled from his haunched position on the ground, amusement pushing his head to shake from side to side.

She tilted her head, now fully looking at Jacaerys, who seemed to shine brighter now that she did. “Hello,” she greeted.

Jacaerys giggled, an endearing sound that lightened up their area of the gardens. “Hello!”

Masking the unfamiliar feeling and replacing it with polite cheer, Aesira let go of her skirts and turned to the little Prince craning his neck to fully see her in all her glory. She gave the adults behind them a questioning glance. Once she got a smile from Rhaenyra, raised eyebrows from Lord Laenor, and a neutral expression expected from a knight, Aesira picked up Jacaerys off the ground and balanced him on her hips. The babe squealed at the new person carrying him that wasn’t his mother, father, or the sworn sword assigned to protect them. The hesitance in her actions resulted in jerky movements that were unbelievable for someone who started caring for her baby brother when she was a child of five name days. But this babe wasn’t her Daemian. The scent on little Jacaerys was completely different yet so similar to her brother; as well as the feeling of him in her arms contrasted with Daemian’s calm nature. Aesira never realised that she was starting to bounce Jacaerys in her arms until the babe erupted into giggles again.

“I believe this is the first time we have ever interacted, Lady Aesira,” a deep voice pulled her attention from gazing at Jacaerys’s gummy smile to a man with beautiful dark skin and tight white locks. He placed a hand on his chest, bowing at her by inclining down his chin. “Laenor Velaryon. It is a pleasure to meet the little Lady everyone has been raving about in court.”

Aesira curtsied with Jacaerys in her hold. “It is my pleasure to meet one of the honourable knights who braved through the War for the Stepstones. You did the crown and throne a great service — may the Seven bless you, good Ser.”

Lord Laenor bellowed a hearty laugh. “The Ladies must have been floating in your praises whenever you’re with them, my Lady.”

“I was merely saying the truth, my Lord.”

“Huh,” Lord Laenor hummed. “He has no shed of himself in you, I presume?”

“Laenor,” Rhaenyra cut in.

“What?” The Velaryon Heir swivelled to give Rhaenyra a look that showed he wasn’t following until the Princess narrowed her eyes at him. His expression didn’t change even after turning around to face Aesira again. She knew better — this man held every right to show contempt for the same person she hated. He was, after all, the brother of the young Lady Daemon has taken away to Essos, never to be seen again by her family and friends. It was almost a tale of romance fit for novels. Aesira had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from scoffing from the depth of her thoughts. Lord Laenor shrugged in a nonchalance that was innate to every man hailing from the nobility. Aesira figured this was him trying not to make the situation heavy with the topic he was walking on like a tightrope. “It’s so refreshing to see his child be so different from him. Must be the Arryn in you, huh?” He raised his hands in the air. “I’m going to shut my loose lips before I find myself on the other end of someone’s pregnancy hormones. Forgive me for bringing him up, my Lady. I, myself, have expressed what I felt about him way too many times and all of them were not nice.”

So, she was correct. Lord Laenor didn’t like her father as much as she did.

“Thira!” Aesira felt her cheeks being patted by smaller hands and pudgy fingers. Jacaerys had his adorable face scrunched up. “Me!”

“Pardon, little Prince,” Aesira murmured, brushing her nose against his, which resulted in another round of pleased giggles. “I’m looking at you now.”

Lord Laenor chuckled at the side. “I believe we are witnessing the start of something remarkable.”

The Lady Targaryen nods her head in agreement. “Yes, seeing Prince Jacaerys walk earlier made me remember the time when my little brother did it for the first time as well. It is quite remarkable.”

“That’s not quite what I mean.”

“Laenor,” came Rhaenyra’s stern voice.

“Sorry, Rhaenyra.” A large grin pulled on Lord Laenor’s face. “I was merely stating the obvious.”

It was at that exact moment that Aesira received a wet kiss on her lips, the giver of the token of affection laughing while clapping his hands. Warmth and nostalgia blanket her in a cocoon existing only to enclose her and Jacaerys in this speck of one’s afternoon. Without her control, Aesira genuinely smiled at the little Prince, even if it was as small as a twitch.

Rhaenyra sighed. “I’m sorry for having Jace come to you without any warning.” She walked toward Aesira and her son, her hands cradling her belly, and back straight with the weight of the realm on her shoulders. She didn’t forget to give Lord Laenor a look that had the man retreating to where Ser Harwin was stationed with his hawk-like eyes. Rhaenyra didn’t hesitate in running her hand over Aesira’s hair, her fingers hitting the butterfly slips nestling on either side of her head, which served as the only ornament and style decorating Aesira’s hair. “Nevertheless, it warms my heart that he has taken a liking to you.”

“I don’t mind it, cousin, and it warms my heart as well that he likes me.”

And during her tea sessions with the Queen, Aesira asked what was bothering her the whole time, “Is it wrong for me to hate a child, Your Grace?”

Alicent looked up from her cup of calming tea. “Little one?”

She remained spaced out, simply staring at a piece of honey cake. “There’s this ugly, unfamiliar emotion brewing inside me whenever I look at Jacaerys. It is mostly when I see him getting love despite not looking like me and my brothers.” Aesira met the Queen’s wide eyes. “Am I a terrible person?”

“Oh, sweetling,” the Queen’s touch is filled with care, “it is normal for children to feel envious of others. There is nothing wrong with feeling this way.” So, it was Envy who was responsible for her feeling mixed emotions around Jacaerys. The Queen was having none of her looking away. She tipped Aesira’s chin to affectionately pinch her cheek. “Don’t ever think that you are lacking love in this lifetime. My existence disproves your negative thoughts.”

Aesira looked down. “But he has a father.”

The Queen’s bottom lip jutted out in that signature pout she carried whenever she was troubled. “A mother’s love equals that of a father’s. What matters most, in the end, is how you will blossom with the love that was given to you when you were young. It is up to you, little one, to decide how you choose to live your precious life.”

So, she douses the small spark of envy in her, and becomes a constant in Jacaerys’s life until more firewood turns it into something bigger and different that she has no choice but to let it burn her from the inside out.

Aesira finally finishes her gift for him — a handkerchief embroidered with a golden dragon, topped off with his name in an elegant cursive that took her an entire day to perfect (and days to practise). Helaena is a blessing to have with her during her sewing lessons with their Septa; the younger girl already mastered looping the needle through thick fabrics with her fixation, boasting pieces that depict the most bizarre and most beautiful insects she discovered in the gardens. It was also she who suggested learning how to sew a dragon, providing no explanation whatsoever except that she saw it in her dreams. Since Helaena knows more than she lets on, Aesira trusts her judgement and finds herself with prickles of blood on her fingertips and nights spent in front of her fireplace to figure out the proper loop making up the dragon’s neck.

And here she is now, carefully running her thumbs over the material, while waiting for her handmaiden to finish styling her hair.

The door opens and the Queen enters in one of her emerald gowns, her crown sparkling in the natural light filtering in Aesira’s solar. “I’ll take it from here, Belinda,” she directs her words to Aesira’s handmaiden.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Belinda curtsies before smiling at Aesira. “My Lady.”

Aesira returns the smile. “Thank you for helping me with the dress, Belinda.”

The handmaiden's lips quiver in a more heartfelt beam. She is replaced by the Queen’s softer hands and brighter disposition. The woman gathers the entirety of her hair and runs her fingers through the waves, smiling at Aesira through the looking glass.

“I always love doing your hair,” the Queen wistfully states, “that and putting clips in Helaena’s.” She chuckles, never looking away from weaving her fingers through Aesira’s tresses; molten white-gold that is almost otherworldly, a piece of molten sunlight on earth. The Queen eyes the various accessories littering the vanity, most probably from Belinda laying everything out before trying a style that will match Aesira’s dress. It is a pale blue piece that is more tulle than anything, the sleeves draping down in a bell shape down to the girl’s elbows. The skin on her wrist is decorated by a couple of bracelets to make up for the lack of an entire sleeve. “Do you want something simple or an updo, little one?”

“I would very much prefer a simple style, Your Grace,” Aesira answers with a smile. “I want Aegon to have his day.”

The Queen squeezes her shoulders, a wordless sign of gratitude, before twisting and pulling out strands of hair from a section she parts. Aesira doesn’t even feel anything while the Queen does her task. The slightest bit of prodding she feels is from when a series of flower pins are inserted into her hair. It’s times like this that Aesira truly feels at ease, her eyelids drooping by the second. With her head slightly tilted down, she lets herself be enveloped by the Queen’s occasional humming.

“Do you like it, little one?” The Queen asks while putting on the finishing touches to her hair — a forehead circlet that falls gently on her skin. It is all she has. While the rest of the royal family bear their tiaras and crowns, Aesira is the only one in her siblings to have jewellery that mimics the diadems commissioned for the princesses and princes of King Viserys and Queen Alicent. The aquamarine gemstone is sparkling with every bit of regality Aesira has. Her hair is done in a half-up, half-down style, with some sections on her head shaped to become small roses, and in between every one of them are accessories that Uncle Viserys gave her — bundles of iridescent flowers in one. The Queen takes her silence as a positive reaction, her shoulders pulling back in pride. “You are a delightful sight, little one — one of the prettiest girls to ever grace the halls.” The woman can’t help herself; she places a small kiss on the crown of Aesira’s hair. Her eyes catch sight of the handkerchief in between a flustered Aesira’s hands. “Is that a present for Aegon?”

Aesira nods after collecting herself. Sometimes, she gets lost every time the Queen gives her affection. “It’s not much but I hope Aegon will like it.”

The Queen makes a noise in her throat that is awfully like a snort. “That boy loves everything involving you. I’d be surprised if he begs for a gift from you. Just your presence might be enough for him to last the entire name day celebrations the King arranged for him.”

“It’s my first time embroidering something this special, you see. There are mistakes like this one right here,” Aesira lifts the handkerchief so that the Queen can see the little tangle between three threads. “Hel helped me through some of the process so I pray to the Seven that he doesn’t see the parts I struggled with.” She looks up to meet the Queen’s pretty brown eyes (she loves looking at them; the shade is very different compared to the usual purples she sees every day from her brothers). “But I highly doubt that my presence is enough of a present for him when he’s always excited for his name day since I knew him. He’s particular with this specific name day compared to the others, though.”

“I think I know the reason why,” the Queen casually says, her head slightly tilting to the side to assess any stray strands in the girl’s hair.

Aesira moves to fully face the Queen, turning her body to do so. “I believe I don’t follow, Your Grace.” She is usually not privy to Aegon’s little secrets (or the secrets that he chooses to share with her) but his vibrating excitement to this name day doesn’t come into light whenever it’s just the two of them; even Aether doesn’t know about why their friend wants to enter into the double-digit number so badly and that’s saying something. The only person who knows about it is Helaena, which is a first. But the girl said Aegon didn’t tell her, with the boy supporting it by saying that the Princess was being weird again. She knew about it because once again, she dreamt it in her deepest slumbers — one of the rare moments where she doesn’t wake up screaming and crying. “He didn’t say anything to me or Aether.”

“You recall what the Septa said about finding eligible brides when you reach a certain age?”

Oh, so, it’s this moment. “Aegon is going to be dancing during the feast to find his potential betrothed. Septa Marlow briefly told us about it.” She remembers the meaningful, levelled look the Septa gave her while she was reciting the words as if they were ingrained in her brain with how many times she has repeated it through the years — Septa Marlow is older than any of her guardians at the moment. “She mentioned that maybe the King might push him to pick a fair maiden to be his first dance for the feast but it should be a calculated choice because the court would start spreading stories about it.”

The Queen appreciates her quick thinking by pinching her chin between her forefinger and thumb, shaking it side by side, and humming under her breath. “We all know who this fair maiden is — the budding Flower of the Realm.”

It was a title said with adoration inside the Keep, rivalling that of the Siren of the Vale who lured men to their deaths. But Aesira is not a lady who men would fight a war for nor is she a woman who will bring men to their knees to get a single drop of her beauty in their palms. The title she is given is not granted to her by male singers commissioned by the royal family to sing occasionally in the halls — it was carefully coined by Ladies who have found her company quite sublime. A little flower, not just because of her blossoming beauty but also because of the way she carries herself at her young age. One of the older Ladies, one Lady Tully, told her that she felt like a consolation to the drabness of the court, that when a certain Lady was feeling a range of emotions, she was there to say the perfect words to make them feel better. And very much like how the realm relied on flowers to convey their thoughts, Aesira does it perfectly, or so the other Ladies claim to the Queen in passing, which reaches her ears since the Queen loves sharing what the Ladies and Lords say about her wards. With the spreading songs, the people of King’s Landing are all excited to see the little Lady away from the castle and in their cobblestone streets; but that will come at a later time.

Aesira slowly traces random patterns on Aegon’s handkerchief with her thumbs. “Aegon is a close friend of mine — it would be an honour if he chooses me to dance with him at the opening feast. Though, I would appreciate it more if he doesn’t kiss my cheek in front of the entire court.”

Queen Alicent lets out a little laugh. “He still does it every time.”

“Yes, as a form of greeting, he says.”

“That sounds very much like our Aegon. I will tell him to aim his kiss at your hand instead.”

Aesira snorts, a very unladylike sound she only does around her family. “Like he will listen.”

“If I add your name to the instruction, he will. Your power over him is akin to territories bending the knee to a conqueror of a foreign land. I wonder how he will fare when he gets older.”

“Seven Hells,” Aesira grumbles. “I do not wish to imagine it.”

“It is to your demise, little one. Your aversion to it is reasonable.” The air becomes wistful yet again. “It is rare in the realm to have a union built on love.” Aesira is already anticipating it. The court was already crafting the most bizarre theories since a year ago and as she believes, it will be inevitable and hard to avoid now that Aegon has reached ten name days old, which is older than most boys in the realm when they receive word of their first betrothals. “I will tell you this now, sweet flower, that the King is planning on betrothing you to Aegon, the idea was tickling his mind the moment Aegon showed you the flowers in the gardens nearly five years ago. This will not serve as a warning but it is a reminder that your life will possibly change like a snap of someone’s fingers, with your coming role as a Princess of the realm. Again, as someone who cares for you as a mother does, let me see you as my little one for a little while longer.”

Aesira stares into the looking glass. The weight of the forehead circlet is invisible as it is extravagant.

The Queen presses another kiss on Aesira’s head. “Let us go, little one — the people are waiting.”

For once in her life, Aesira has something to ponder that weighs an entire kingdom. In actuality, she doesn’t know what to feel about her possible betrothal to Aegon — she doesn’t particularly hate the thought nor does she appeal to it. At the end of the day, she’s still a child and she has so much she wants to do; finish her tutoring, be a Lady that can travel around the realm and to the lands beyond the Narrow Sea, and have her name remembered as someone true to herself — Aesira wants to be her mother. The late Lady Aellara Targaryen was someone who wore her kindness up her sleeve instead of her emotions. Aesira, to this day, still thinks that her mother might have been the Mother reincarnated and that her strength lies not just in her beauty but in her courageous kindness as well. The people of Dragonstone always seemed to brighten when her mother visited their streets, inquiring about the overall condition of the villages and offering a weekly feast in the main squares, all from the kitchens of the imposing castle in the distance. She was a beacon who shone for those who needed a spark of light in the dead of the night — Aesira wants to be like that to someone.

But then she remembers the person who robbed her mother of the life that could have been the salvation of others. Because it all comes back to him, doesn’t it? The very man who took her flying on Caraxes’s back when she was but a child of two name days. The man who promised his little princess that she would see bigger things and that he would always be there to protect her. He was also the same man who left her twin brother in Maegor’s tunnels. Will her impending marriage with Lord Something be as bad as the marriage shared by her parents? Will she be left on the birthing bed screaming and bloody while her husband flew to some parts of their home island? Will he leave their children behind when the Stranger tucks her last breath in the many last breaths they collected?

The more Aesira immerses herself in this new life of hers—away from Dragonstone, away from where everything started—he never left.

Now, this fear of her future husband becoming like him starts forming in the pit of her stomach and she wishes she is born like her brothers, a child with a cock swinging between her legs.

Aesira just wishes Aegon won’t be like him.

The first thing she knows that something is wrong is when there is a lack of kisses on her cheek.

Aegon is dismayed, his chest rising and falling faster than normal. His lip is quivering in a frown that makes his entire face into an expression of misery without even trying. The Queen is not that different. Both of them are sporting looks of varying distress, with an interlacing sign of anger in the Queen’s Despite his Targaryen colouring, Aegon looks like his mother through and through — the wide eyes that seem to be a mirror of their soul, the jut in their bottom lip when things get frustrated, the jitters in their fingers that urge them to pick on their skin. With that, she places her hand around his to prevent him from damaging his fingers any further. And while the tourney is shedding blood on the grounds below, Aesira is setting her eyes on the boy beside her, both of them not paying attention to the knights roaring their glee after winning another bout.

“Aegon?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Egg?”

There is a slight squeeze enveloping her hand.

“What is wrong?” She tries asking again. Where is his excitement? Who dares douse it? It is one thing to be slightly perturbed by his secretive giggles before the celebrations but it is another matter altogether to be worried about what might have silenced it. Her voice is almost a whisper that only they can hear. She does it to not catch her brother’s attention since Aegon looks like he’s about to cry any moment now. Besides, Aether is vibrating in his seat after another round of Ser Criston pulverising his opponent. “Aegon, will you tell me what’s troubling you?”

He doesn’t get to answer because the King rises from his seat at the top of their descending balcony to announce, “Gentle people of King’s Landing and those who have journeyed far and wide to be able to experience the revels we have prepared, I have news that I am most happy to share.” He pauses until he makes sure there are no rounds ongoing below and that the nobles of different colours hold out their ears to listen to what he has to say.

Aesira looks over her shoulder to watch the old King as he takes his time enunciating his words over the large tourney court. Everybody bates their breath in anticipation of his next statement. Aesira only turns away from him when Aegon once again squeezes her hand with his. She can’t help but cup her free hand over the one she is holding, her thumb rubbing circles on his skin. He glances at her from the corners of his eyes, his gratitude forming in a tiny smirk pulling on his lips. He’s about to lean his head on hers, one of the many gestures Aesira receives from Aegon, when the King continues his little speech.

“House Targaryen and dragons have always been set in stone for so many centuries. And today I am proud to say that my grandson, little Jacaerys Velaryon, is a dragonrider! The first Targaryen to have his dragon egg hatch in the Keep after our very own Realm’s Delight many years ago! Let’s be merry for another purpose to enjoy the grand festivities!”

Foolish, foolish King.

The entire arena cheers. The night will be merry indeed; for King Viserys loves nothing more than throwing flamboyant parties and honouring his Heir and her spawns. The only ones who seem to have wilted at the announcement are the Queen and her family. Trueborn Targaryens from the Queen and after ten years, not one of their dragon eggs hatched, with the hurt being carried by her the most. And now this humiliation. After exchanging a concerned glance with her twin brother, Aesira happens to catch Rhaenyra at the worst moment possible. Arrogance and smugness ooze off of her like she is born with a crown on her head. Princess Rhaenyra is the only one with her back straight on the balcony and the only one who has a smile on her face like a radiant beam of sunlight in between thick thunderclouds. Aesira knows that Rhaenyra holds a years-long dispute with the Queen and nothing has been more clear to her than this specific one.

Rhaenyra in black and Aunt Alicent in green.

Rhaenyra in the light and Aunt Alicent always in her shadow.

Rhaenyra the mother of a brown-haired dragonrider and Aunt Alicent with silver-haired dragonless children.

But the one who matters the most is holding back tears gripping her hand like it’s his lifeline.

The firewood inside her chest fuels the fire that’s been put out. Aesira feels her aunt’s shame, her younger cousins’ sorrow, and Aegon’s need to be small. What should be a day for Aegon is a day for someone else instead. She has never felt this anger since the day Aether was found wailing and muddied. She doesn’t realise she has been staring at Rhaenyra and her husband long enough for the older woman to meet her eyes. The surprise on the Heir’s face is apparent, seeing so much emotion and at the same time nothing on her younger cousin. Aesira simply stares and stares, letting Rhaenyra feel the consequences of her actions, for choosing the most inopportune moment to tell the King that Jacaerys’s egg just hatched. Because who does that on someone's name day? It is until Rhaenyra looks away with no hint of remorse for her half-brother, her chin higher in the air with an elegance expected of a Princess, that Aesira sees her in a completely different light.

“Sira,” Aegon finally speaks.

She loses her glare and tilts her head to face Aegon’s lowered one. “Do you want me to call for a maidservant to bring you dark chocolate cake?”

Aegon shakes his head. “Thank you for sitting next to me.”

Before the tourney started, Aegon fought with Aether to have Aesira next to him. On the usual tourneys in King’s Landing, Aesira is seen between her brothers with Aegon next to his siblings but on this specific one, he wanted Aesira beside him. She told her twin brother that this is one of her many gifts for Aegon, which the Prince received only with a small smile on his face — very uncharacteristic of him.

She pulls their hands until they rest on her lap. “Helaena said you will ride a dragon made from the hands of the sun.” He is about to pull his hand away from her but she holds them tighter, which finally makes Aegon look at her. She can feel his eyes even when she’s not looking at him — always. “If you don’t believe it because it came from Helaena, believe it because I’m the one who told you instead.”

“Helaena says the weirdest things sometimes.”

Aesira mindlessly wrote phrases on the back of Aegon’s hand, never noticing the boy’s cheeks reddening at the sensation. “She dreamt of you riding this dragon. You know how I hold Helaena’s words in high regard, Egg.”

Aegon pouts. “I know, Sira.”

“Say, Aegon.”

“Hmm?”

The lilac in her eyes bloom into brilliant gems, Aegon reflected on her pupils. “How about we have a little adventure to the Dragonpit after the tourney? I think it’s about time you officially meet Starfell.”

Starfell is a sight for the most oneiric of dreams.

A lithe body that brings the illusion of a clear spring of water; sharp, slitted eyes bearing the night sky with little pinpricks in the iris that were like charted constellations; ice blue membranes lining up the underside of her white wings; those who have seen her claim to have seen the legendary phenomenon of a fallen star coming to kiss the ground. From the moment the dragonkeepers saw her being guided to the Dragonpit (it was quite the struggle since the little she-dragon barred ferocious bites to those hands who dared to wrap chains around her body in an attempt to detain her), they instantly knew that this specific creature came from the same clutch of eggs Dreamfyre laid all those years ago — Achilles, Aether’s dragon, as well.

Aegon holds his breath when this majestic beast lowers her neck to assess the newcomer her bonded walks in with. He can’t help but flinch at the trills coming from the creature’s long throat. Panic sets in as Aesira leaves his side to walk toward Starfell. “Sira—” His breath catches in his throat at the smile directed at him over her shoulder, the hand reaching for her in the air lowering until they drop to his side. It hurts seeing that the serene smile on her face comes from the one thing he wants the most — a dragon. He feels the envy creeping into his chest, entangling with his veins, while he watches Aesira laugh at every nudge her dragon gives her. Speaking of the dragon, Starfell once again regards him in chilling eyes that sparkle in the dim light of the Dragonpit.

“Lykirī, ñuha gevie riña. Lykirī. Nyke māzigon lēda iā raqiros. Zȳhon brōzi iksis aegon.” (Be calm, my beautiful girl. Be calm. I came with a friend. His name is Aegon.)

Her voice sounds like water, flowing around him in every syllable the Valyrian language has. It sounds prettier than the songs he’s heard from the court bards. It’s a beautiful language as said by Father and by the Maesters he has learned his history from but this is the first time someone has said words coated with such care that it doesn’t sound foreign from the usual common tongue at all. Maybe this is what Aesira has been muttering a lot lately, with him catching her in the library during his daily expeditions around the Keep. He doesn’t understand any word of it, except for one word — lykirī (a dragon command he’s learned while waiting for his dragon egg to hatch), but it doesn’t grate his ears as he expects it to with the way someone should pronounce it.

Aegon doesn’t mind listening to her talk like this all day.

“W-What did you say?” he asks, still standing in the spot she’s left him on like a lost child. “I’ve only understood one term.”

With her hand still on Starfell’s snout, Aesira giggles under her breath before beckoning Aegon closer to her. “I introduced you to her, Aegon. Come on, take one step at a time. I’m here to placate her if the situation requires it.”

Aegon gives the dragonkeeper stationed to accompany the two of them a glance. The old man nods his head in encouragement, a deep bow that has his chin touching the top of his chest. Taking a deep breath, Aegon follows Aesira’s instructions and takes one step at a time, gauging the dragon’s reactions at every pad of his shoe-clad feet on the ground. The pretty creature doesn’t move an inch from her perch yet her eyes track down his movements. A surge of confidence brings him to make determined steps until he’s found himself beside Aesira, inches away from the opalescent scales of glacial blue. Starfell is even more beautiful up close — a dragon fit for the prettiest girl in all the realm. Aegon cranes his neck to look at Starfell in awe, slightly jumping when a smaller hand covers one of his, directing him to feel the scales underneath his palm.

It’s a mistake to look over his shoulder because Aesira is so close to him that he can deeply register the scent of expensive lavender oils on her hair and a hint of citrus on her neck. Each individual eyelash covering her eyes acts like little butterfly wings every time she blinks. There is a little constellation of freckles dotting her nose. Her cheeks are tinted with a natural shade of enjoyment brought by the elation of meeting her dragon after a while. Aegon has never seen these features of hers up close since he closes his eyes when he gives her his greetings (cheek kisses). He gets the sudden urge to place a gentle kiss on her plump cheek, right on the apples rising from her never-dimming smile. Aegon slowly leans down, his eyes open this time.

The lilacs she has for her eyes flicker from her dragon to him. He stops at the last second. They’re closer this time. His heart is racing and pounding as if he has run from the Keep to the Dragonpit. He can hear every thump made against the walls of his chest. Can Aesira hear it, too?

“Egg, Starfell. Starfell, Egg.”

He wears the warmth on his cheek while looking up at the dragon, who lowers her head right in front of him. A couple of wavy locks are pulled toward Starfell, with the dragon inhaling his scent. Aegon says without looking away from Starfell, “How do I say hello in Valyrian?”

“Rytsas.”

Aegon nods. “Rytsas, Starfell.”

Starfell responds through a series of clicking sounds that are very much like the chirping of birds at dawn.

Laughter dipped in gaiety makes his torso shake. Aegon’s eyes are like the sun, feeling the thrill of having a dragon not bare its teeth at him like every warning he’s received if he’s planning on walking to the Dragonpit with one goal in mind. “She likes me, Sira!” He cheers.

Aesira’s voice contains bewilderment. “That she does.”

He looks back at her, only to find her staring at Starfell with a confused scrunch on her eyebrows. “You sound surprised.”

She now narrows her eyes at Starfell. “That is because I am. Did you know that Starfell made it her personal mission to snap at anyone when she first came to King’s Landing?” He fixes her with a questioning look. Aesira answers him by squeezing the hand she’s covering on Starfell’s scales. Once again, he can’t look away from her when pensiveness paints her as if she is a subject in the most important painting in the Keep’s atelier. “She’s always so protective of me back in Dragonstone. We weren’t that much apart when me and my brothers were there, Achilles and Ajax are the same with them. When news of us being warded in King’s Landing by Uncle Viserys, she felt my melancholy that she threatened everyone who took a single step to take her from me; you should’ve seen the way she spread her wings, Egg.” He stiffens at the feeling of her leaning her head on his shoulder. This is uncharted waters. What should he do? Be still, you idiot, says the voice in his head that awfully sounds like a mix of Aether and Aemond. “Ever since she’s in the Dragonpit, she has developed a dislike for any dragonkeeper trying to chain her. She’s probably the freest dragon in here.”

“That’s,” Aegon gulps at the proximity, the scent purely associated with her covering his entire senses, “wonderful. Starfell sounds like she loves you very much.”

Aesira snorts before covering her mouth.

Aegon loses the tension in his shoulder to laugh. “Was that a snort I just heard?”

She looks away from him. “No, you must have heard it wrong. I was merely clearing my throat.”

He grins at her. “Where did my fair maiden go? Who is this imposter with me right now?”

“You’re testing me, Egg.”

Aegon shrugs now that her head isn’t leaning on his shoulder. He can breathe easier now. “I have to say; it sounds adorable. You should lose all your Lady regalia when you’re with me, princess.”

Aesira nudges him with her elbow, making him grunt at the force. “Don’t call me that!”

“Why can’t I when you look like that?” He nods his head to all the accessories still in her hair, especially the forehead circlet that matches his eyes (he likes to think it does match his eyes even when it’s a few shades off). “You even dressed the part.” He chooses to never voice out that he will make her his princess, fearing that voice in his head that sounds like both of his nightmares combined and also her pushing him to the ground. “But truthfully?” Aesira sends him a disbelieving expression. A natural smile tugs on his lips, reaching his eyes in childlike merriment. “You look beautiful, Sira.” His smile grows when Aesira’s eyes widen, her cheeks glowing in a pretty shade of carnation. Maybe he’ll give her a carnation bouquet from the gardens. Though he’ll have to be sly to evade the gardeners who poured their heart out to make the gardens the way it is.

“And will you stop looking at me like that?!”

Aegon sputters, forgetting that they are still in front of Starfell. He takes both of his hands to cover his face from Aesira’s onslaught of painless smacks. “What? I said I speak the truth.” Her face gains another shade of red, probably rose, and Aegon’s grin gets wider. He reaches a hand to pinch her warm cheek, cooing at how soft it is in between his fingers. “Don’t be mad at me, Princess Aesira.”

“Seven Hells,” Aesira grumbles but it comes out as something warbled from the way Aegon keeps pinching her cheek. “And here I was, thinking of inviting you to ride with me on Starfell once she’s alright to saddle two.”

Every single time spent with Aesira is filled with genuine laughter that Aegon doesn’t realise the time has flown so high over their heads. Starfell has been permitted by the dragonkeepers to roam around the neighbouring islands for her next meal, something that only the she-dragon and her fellow brothers have, which would be the reason behind her larger size for a dragon of nine name days. With Aesira’s hand firmly in his, Aegon wonders if his dragon grows to reach the size of Starfell or Achilles, Aether’s dragon who he saw for brief moments before he took off to the skies to follow his sister. Ser Arryk Cargyll (or is it Erryk) stands tall at the entrance of the Dragonpit, waiting for the two little children so that he can safely escort them back to the Keep.

But then he hears a call — a song pulling him in.

Aegon stops in his tracks, turning to the tunnels underground making up the Dragonpit. For the first time in his short life, he feels a strong sense of purpose — he has to follow where this call will lead him. Never hearing the shouts for his name and the distressed shouts of the Kingsguard sent to fetch them, Aegon runs down to the Dragonpit, letting this song guide him through the tunnels. Left. Right. Straight ahead. There is no light in here, only darkness stretching on for miles on end, almost swallowing him whole with nothing left to salvage. He doesn’t know how much time he’s spent avoiding steep stairs or sleeping dragons but he knows he’s near to the source of the lonely yet beautiful song. Behind him, he can faintly hear the clunking of armour. Ser Cargyll definitely followed him down here. He pays it no mind and focuses on the increasing volume echoing across the walls of the Dragonpit; it’s a surprise that no dragons have heard the call, the hall is silent except for this song. Aegon’s run becomes a slow walk, his head so wrapped up in this amalgamation of notes that has him in a trance, having no care for the safety of his person until he meets the singer. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, eyelids fluttering in trepidation. Whatever is residing a few paces in front of him will be the singer of the ballad pulling on every fibre of his reasoning. It’s becoming louder and louder.

Gold is the only thing he can see in this darkness.

Aegon releases a shaky breath. “Rytsas.”

The golden raises itself from his position and nears his face to Aegon’s. For some reason, Aegon feels safe. When he tilts his head, the dragon follows suit. A small laugh tickles his chest, “Who are you?” He mutters under his breath. As if the dragon understands him, a large snout is nudged on Aegon’s torso, reminiscent of how Aesira does when he teases her. The dragon now fully stands from lying down and walks with pounding footsteps toward him. Underneath all the gold, there are pink membranes lining his wings. Aegon’s breath is taken away from him. “What do you want me to do?” Common tongue is all he can utter, taking note to himself to ask Aesira to read Valyrian texts to him in addition to all the tutoring and training. The dragon lowers himself in front of Aegon. “What?”

The dragon makes a clicking noise in his throat, shaking his head a little and flapping his wide wings around.

“D-Do you want me to climb on your back?” Aegon looks around. “But there are no saddles around here.” Another set of clicking sounds. “Alright, alright. Just let me,” he grunts, carefully choosing scaffolds in between the dragon’s wings. He balances himself with both arms spread out on either side of him until he finds himself sitting on the most comfortable area on the dragon’s back, a juncture between his torso and neck. The feeling of powerful muscles underneath him sends a shudder down his spine. Magic thrums with each breath the dragon makes and Aegon thinks that maybe his blood is responding to the ancient ichor running down the large beast’s veins. The moment he is on the dragon’s back, it feels like the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria are tying together a string that’s stronger than the pillars holding the Keep together. It sets his entire body on a height of confidence, his posture losing that residue of melancholy that followed him from the tourney. Aegon looks down at the unnamed creature. “Now what?”

The Dragonpit’s walls pass by him in a blur, the dragon’s claws propelling him to run. Aegon doesn’t register that the screams following them are his own.

“Sunfyre! Dohaerās, lykirī!”

Dragonkeepers keep shouting commands at the dragon but the magnificent beast with gold for his scales bypasses them to the open doors of the giant Dragonpit. Tucking his wings close to his body, Sunfyre twirls his body before opening his gigantic wings again, letting the wind take him higher over King’s Landing.

He opens his eyes and the world is in the palms of his hands. The ocean has never felt this vast and all-consuming. The skies have never felt this near to his fingertips. He keeps clinging onto the dragon’s back and he swears he will never let this moment go. He’s sure that the smallfolk of King’s Landing open their doors to see the new shadow covering their streets, baffled at the intricate colouring his dragon possesses (they’re pointing and gaping with their hands over their mouths), and that they can hear him scream out in pure, unadulterated joy.

The golden Sunfyre has been claimed and it only means one thing.

Aegon Targaryen is a dragonrider — a trueborn Targaryen with magic in his bones and divinity in the threads of his hair.

this is already on my ao3 so if you want more chapters, click on this link

if you want to be added to the taglist, send an ask or reply <33

taglist: @winxschester @darylandbethfanforever9 @averyyreads

#— rory's passages 🌼#— family line | hotd ☀️#aegon ii x oc #aegon x oc #hotd x oc #hotd x reader #aegon targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii fic #aegon ii fanfic #aegon the elder

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chigirisprincess · 1 year

Text

On the Phoenix' Perch | Prologue.

D. Ragnvindr.

General Series Warnings: 18+ only minors dni, gn afab reader, historical au, canonical character death, parental loss, grief, angst, familial bonding, ragbros, courtship, class differences, some references to canon typical gender stereotypes, slow burn, eventual smut, several minor side ships, unfinished multi-chapter fic.

Wc. 2.0k

❝For the first time in the five years following his fathers' death, Diluc Ragnvindr returns home. After the terrible affair that had been his seventeenth birthday, Diluc re-enters society and claims his rightful place as the head of his family. Bound by duty and haunted by the ghost of his father, Diluc strives to uphold the Ragnvindr legacy while also navigating the dreaded social season. Vowing to find love and continue the Ragnvindr line, Diluc chases the coattails of the man he thinks his father wished for him to become.

Failed love affairs and blunders drive him right back out of society, but in retracing the footsteps of another lifetime, Diluc might just find what he is looking for❞

[See future updates on ao3 @ dearbraus]

The day Viscount Ragnvindr died was not meant to be a tragic one.

Diluc, the young master and heir to the Ragnvindr clan had just turned seventeen. Though still cherubic and shrouded in the essence of boyhood, Diluc had stepped into society that day. Celebrations of grandeur crept around the corner with each passing day until April thirtieth had finally arrived after an arduous winter, he couldn’t wait to finally relish in the frivolities and luxuries his father saved only for the most special of occasions.

His younger brother, Kaeya had been so excited too. He could hardly sleep and rose before the sun to wish Diluc the happiest of days. Kaeya loved parties, the theatricality of it all but he was only fifteen, still too young to spend more than a few precious moments soaking up the festivities before Adelinde, their governess, helped him to bed. That day though, he was allowed to dance to his heart's content and sip on sweet lemonade until his tongue grew tart.

It was all the two boys could have ever wanted, and their father, Crepus could feel his heart swell thrice its size, adoration and pride filling every fibre of his being. There truly could never be a father quite so proud of his sons in all of Dulcis, so overwrought with love that he’d pluck the sun, the moon, and all of the stars in the sky if they so wished for it.

How unfortunate it was that as the hours bleed late into the night that tragedy would befall the Ragnvindr family. In the span of a few short minutes, Diluc and Kaeya’s world went from that of a dream to a nightmare.

A chill drifted into the ballroom, ice biting through the warmth that collected amongst the throngs of bodies spinning around the room in a waltz. Diluc, ever the dutiful son, slipped between cheerful embraces in search of the miscreant so his father wouldn’t have to but all he found was broken glass and his father's crumpled figure. Silky strands of hair spun by scarlet lay splayed across the carpet, dampened by streaks of metallic crimson. It stained Diluc’s shirt, the new one the modiste embroider as a gift to the family, and seeped into the cream-coloured flowers of his mother's favourite carpet as Diluc gathered Crepus into his arms.

Diluc didn’t realise he had screamed until others came rushing in, a stampede of prying busybodies who traded gossip like children traded marbles. His father's blood bubbled from the gaping wound that tore through his chest, his hands not enough to quell the bleeding no matter how he tried. Tears hot and angry stung his eyes, a frustrated cry clawing at his throat, fervently willing Diluc to feel the anguish that had struck him. But, Diluc felt nothing, too numbed with panic to do anything other than compress the wound, until Kaeya’s desperate plea reached his ears.

It was caught between a haggard breath and a flurry of sniffles, hardly coherent for anyone but Diluc.

He doesn’t remember much from that night, but Diluc remembers how raw his chest felt when he barked out an order for Kaeya, willing him to stay back and close his eyes. Kaeya didn’t need to watch another father die. He had already lost too much at such a young age, his heart would break. Diluc could not bear the thought of it.

That night, minutes before the clock struck midnight, Crepus took his last breath. His two sons' names lingered on his tongue as the light faded from his eyes— his dying breath lost on the eager ears which desperately sought out those last few words.

Diluc was gone the morning after Crepus had been laid to rest, the only evidence of his departure was an empty armoire and Crepus’ timepiece having gone missing. His bedroom in the Aquilae Estate had been largely untouched, to the naked eye it’d have seemed like an ordinary living quarter but the life that had once occupied had been swiftly snuffed out and the servants knew it the moment they had gone to refresh his linens. The young master had deserted his newly acquired postage, swiftly slipping into obscurity.

He was meant to attend the Akademiya, Alicante’s most prestigious post-secondary school, come fall. Elzer, Crepus’ steward, contacted the institute every few weeks in the hopes of hearing any news in regards to Diluc’s welfare but no matter how often the man sent word, he never learned anything more of his status. Until he was slated to begin classes and a notice of prolonged absence was sent to the estate, along with a hefty fine for overdue tuition fees– Kaeya who was still but a boy had to foot the bill now that he had assumed the position of head of the Raginvindr clan. There was no amount of money or tutors or governesses that could have prepared him for losing an entire family for the second time.

Even with Elzer’s guiding hand, Kaeya’s nimble knees buckled beneath the weight of aristocracy. At nights when he felt lost and that familiar feeling of loneliness began to creep in with the self-doubt, all Kaeya could find himself wishing for was his big brother. In his eyes, he knew everything; Diluc was the smartest person Kaeya had ever met, even smarter than their father. But, Diluc was gone. He’d disappeared faster than the moon and the stars did when morning sat on the horizon, though he never reappeared when evening came as they did.

When Diluc did return, Kaeya was nearly a man grown.

Though, society with all its barbs did not see it that way.

Kaeya had been a man since the mere age of fifteen and now, at twenty he was everything that Diluc should have been. College-educated, knowledgeable about the Ragnvindr business, and ready for marriage. Diluc was none of those things, he was no more grown than he had been at eighteen though now he sported reddish stubble on his jaw, his features weathered from whatever travels he embarked on. He looked every bit the man Crepus had been at his age, a ghost occupying a fleshy body. It terrified the staff when he returned one winter's night. The sun had long since been laid to rest and snow fell from the sky in big white clumps. Diluc appeared on the veranda of the Aquilae Estate with nothing but the singular case he had taken within him so long ago.

Anyone could have mistaken him for his father.

But, Crepus too had long since laid to rest and the young master was all that remained of him. The plains of Diluc’s face were but a map of their late master, a mirror image that forced a bleak reminder into their hearts when he stepped through his childhood home for the first time in five years. A stranger now, no longer the joyful young man they knew him to be. He wandered the halls like a well-worn memory that had begun to fray at the edges. Whatever sadness was felt by the servants, was swallowed by a far greater melancholy that tugged at Diluc’s heartstrings like a long-lost melody.

They tugged at Kaeya’s too.

For he too was a stranger in the eyes of a man who was once his brother.

He wore the face of familiarity well, but when Diluc gazed upon his features, ones that he once knew so well, neither man could feel anything but estranged.

Estranged by distance, time, and loss.

It all hung in the air between them, unspoken, neither willing to be the first to bare his soul or tear open the newly healed wounds that throbbed with each passing second.

It would hurt too much, to hash out the feelings both had worked so diligently to bury deep within their souls. They harboured two lifetimes worth of sadness and heartache, and somehow it would hurt even more.

Diluc longed too, though. He longed to pour his heart and every fibre of his being before his brother. To speak the words that he should have long ago, they sat heavily on his chest and danced upon the tip of his tongue, taunting him as his throat swallowed itself up until he choked on his guilt. That’s what kept him truly silent, the guilt of it all. Diluc was selfish, that much he had accepted but to speak it into the air and allow it to settle, he could never do. To admit it, was to admit that he was everything his father had not raised him to be, and to be a disappointment to Crepus was all that he had feared.

So, brothers turned to strangers.

One silent, a frown permanently etched onto his once cherubic features; the other boisterous, he filled the gaps of silence with well-crafted paragraphs that spoke too much but revealed far too little.

It was strangely befitting for the brothers to play such a balancing act. Two sides of the same coin, aching to be melted and returned to the earth once more.

As days turned into weeks, and then months into years, no warmth had yet to fill the hearth of the place they called home. A layer of frost prickled their skin and kept their feet pressed firmly in place so they remained five feet apart, always. Diluc would muse to himself that it was better to keep the distance because the grief might hurt less in the end. How sweet, naiveté could be

It was a tragedy to see all that Kaeya had lost in a matter of minutes.

The relief that should have filled him the moment he saw his brother's face once more did not fill him, instead, it was dread. Dulcis, like all of Alicante, was built around the egos of eldest sons. They may as well have put all the stars and the moon into the night skies with how they were cradled like young gods, always deserving, forever in want. It mattered nought that Kaeya is the son who stayed and strived to carry his father's legacy upon his narrow shoulders despite being no less of an unknowledgeable boy than he had been the night before Crepus died. He knew little of the family business, as a second son there was no need for him to learn more than how to assist his brother's pursuits. A lifetime of lessons was compressed into mere months and as years with no family became more familiar than it was strange, all that Kaeya had built for himself, for the Ragnvindr name, was to be ripped from between his bare fingers.

Diluc was home.

The title of Viscount Ragnvindr was his, Kaeya was simply keeping it warm for the day that Diluc finally felt strong enough to bear the burden that was noble society.

It would have been cruel of Kaeya to resent Diluc for returning home. He spent countless, sleepless nights praying to whomever would listen, to return Diluc home safely, or even for a letter detailing his wellbeing. For years, Kaeya wished for nothing more than to see his brother again, but when he stood before him in an ill-fitting wool coat, Kaeya wished that no one had listened.

Kaeya knew what it made him, an awful brother and an even worse person– but, was it fair? If you’d ask Kaeya while he lay spread bare, chest heaved and sweat dabbled he’d confess that he did not think it was. As much as he loved Diluc, the closet remnant of his own flesh and blood, why should he be so entitled to a title he never longed for? Kaeya did, he spent many balmy summer days dreaming of when the King or Queen would be so gracious as to bestow a title to him.

Lord Alberich sounded divine, far better than sir.

If Kaeya had been a worse man he may have fought it. His fathers raised him to be good and kind. Kaeya could never hurt Diluc, he could not bare for him to feel as hollow as he did. It was the respectable thing to do, to step down as Viscount and shepherd Diluc into society and into the Ragnvindr clan.

It’s what Crepus would have wanted.

#diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc smut #diluc ragnvindr smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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the-mad-starker · 2 years

Text

Starker Smut: The Daily Life of a Stark Heir [3/6]

Merry Christmas and happy holidays! 🎉🎁🎄

Hope you're all having a great day and are safe and warm 💗 I told myself I wouldn't post until I have the next chapter done but I really wanted to release this early 🎁

Summary: Peter Stark, the Heir to Stark Industries, gets called in for an emergency board meeting.

Notes: Omegaverse, starkercest, alpha Tony Stark, Omega Peter Parker, intersex omegas, vaginal sex, anal sex, creampie, knotting, free use, somnophilia, kitchen sex

New Notes: blowjobs, oral knotting, cockwarming, exhibitionism

WC: 2014 (AO3 Link)

Tumblr: Ch1 | Ch2

🎁🎁🎁

He gives his dad a peck on the cheek before running off to class. The omega carries with him the heavy scent of his father and that's how he likes it. The scent warns away other unwanted alphas and boasts of his dad as a powerful alpha, virile and powerful, to other omegas.

Everyone knows who his father is though but the deeply embedded scent is just another way to rub it in.

Then for the next few hours, the only thing on his mind are the lectures, assignments, and the random silly memes Ned sends him interspersed throughout. He's entirely focused and only has to excuse himself once when he feels the trickle of his father's come start to wet his underwear.

Even then, it only takes him a minute to clean up in the bathroom and he's back in his seat shortly after.

He expects to spend a quiet hour in the library and get started on an assignment when a text comes in.

Boss Lady (12:33 PM)

Hey Pete, the board called an "emergency" meeting and you know how Tony gets in those. Think you can swing by if I send Happy to get you?

Peter winces at how dumb those board members can get but he's not surprised.

His dad has a gala tonight and whenever his dad has one of those, there's always the alphas on the board that want to give him a hard time. Throw a gala, have an "emergency" that requires his dad's attention. It's like clockwork and it's entirely unnecessary.

Bottom line, they just want to waste his dad's time because of his decision in making his omega son his heir.

Not all omegas are lucky to have their alpha parent fighting for them to take over as CEO of a multi billion company. So this is one of those things that falls under his responsibilities. Peter needs to fulfill his duties as Tony Stark's one and only heir and he'll do it with a smile.

So of course, Peter shoots Pepper a confirmation that he'll be there. Not even five minutes later, Happy's picking him up and it feels even shorter than that when he walks into the conference room just as the board members settle into their seats.

Despite not expecting him, his father gives him a toothy grin and pats his lap. The board members fall silent, displeased.

Peter ignores them and saunters over, his scent unfurling in the room full of red faced alphas. He settles in his alpha's warm lap with a cheeky smile. Already, he can feel his dad's cock perking up, pushing against his pants and seeking the warmth of Peter's body.

He kisses his dad and when Tony swipes his tongue between his lips, he lets out an audible moan. It's just loud enough to be heard by the rest of the room.

"Pete, how was class?" Tony says when he pulls away. He's delaying the meeting and it's his power to do so.

The other alphas are impatient but with Peter there, they know that his father won't even bother pretending to care about what they have to say. They're just grumpy that their plans are now ruined. Instead of low-key berating his father for an hour, they'll have to sit there and pretend not to notice Peter taking care of his dad.

"I have another one at 3," he tells his dad as though he hadn't already known.

Tony nods, "We'll keep this short then."

Peter smiles in gratitude. Inwardly, he mentally sticks his tongue out at the SI board.

"Let's get started then," Tony says. He gives Peter's ass a brief squeeze before he looks pointedly at the cushion on the floor.

Peter knows his duty.

The omega obediently slips to his knees and settles on the comfortable cushion. He pays no mind as the alphas start to talk since he trusts his dad to take care of any issues they bring up.

Peter's only responsibility is his father's hardening alpha cock.

By the time he takes his dad's cock out of his pants, it's already half hard and getting even harder with his touch. He gives it a few firm strokes just like his father likes and he makes sure to focus on the sensitive underside of the glans. Under his care, his dad's cock swells to its full impressive size and the slit starts weeping thick drops of precome.

It's only then that Peter leans forward and opens his mouth. While the board members are trying to dissuade his father, trying to make him name another alpha as his heir, Tony's son starts sucking his cock. They don't even pretend to lead into it. He can hear the reasons being presented even while he's focused on swirling his tongue around his dad's cockhead.

For that reason, Peter makes sure to make this blowjob extra messy. It's no hardship for him to suck loudly or to make sure his drool drips all along the length so that the wet sucking sounds mix in with the alphas' voices. It even turns him on a bit, makes his cocklet push against his own pants, to hear the filthy sounds his mouth makes as he sucks and licks to his heart's content.

"Mm…" Peter moans when his dad slips his fingers into his curls. A high pitched yelp cuts through all the noise when his dad's grip tightens and he shoves Peter's face down towards his groin.

Peter has been trained to take his daddy's cock but even he gags at the sudden intrusion into his mouth. He regains control of his muscles, forcing them to relax so that his dad's alpha cock slips to the back. His daddy is a true alpha, all intimidating length and girth, big enough to make any omega cry.

It's only Peter's familiarity with his daddy's cock that makes deepthroating bearable. He's been trained well, after all, and he's learned how to take all of it. He's had to if he wants to take his daddy's knot in his mouth and Peter's always been the ambitious sort. Probably a trait from his father.

"Guh… ugh…!" Peter gurgles around his dad's cock, tears beading at the corners of his eyes.

His lips drag up and down the hard length guided by his dad's grip. More spit wets his daddy's cock even though Peter tries so hard to keep the seal of his mouth tight around the now slippery flesh.

For the first time since the start, his daddy looks down at him gagging on his cock and Tony gives him an approving nod. His eyes are dark with hunger and Peter knows that the only reason why he hasn't been hauled up and bent over the table is because of their audience.

It's not that it'd be a faux pas for Tony to fuck his son in front of the SI board members. His father just doesn't want to give them that treat. Those dirty perverted alphas would no doubt drool over Peter's young body being fucked open, no matter how much they disapprove of him being Heir.

They don't deserve to see him, his father has often declared. It's Peter's duty to take his father whenever and wherever so he doesn't care if Tony we're to fuck him right here and now.

It's not his choice, though, so he lets it pass.

When Tony pulls him off his erection, Peter makes sure to keep his hands tugging on his father's spit wet cock to keep him hard. His father's musk fills his nose and he pants, tongue lolling out.

His daddy can't help the temptation and shoves his thumb in Peter's mouth.

Peter sucks on it like he would his cock, swirling his tongue around the finger and closing his pink lips around the joint.

"Good boy," Tony praises him, the pad of his thumb rubbing over the enticing surface of his tongue.

"Mr. Stark…" one of the board members try to catch his attention.

"A moment," his dad snaps at him but his eyes never leave Peter's face. His thumb slips out with a small pop and he thumbs at Peter's swollen lips. The omega kisses it, giving his daddy an innocent smile.

Silence falls upon the room, the only exception being father and son.

"My knot, Pete," Tony urges him.

He leads the omega to the base of his cock where his knot is a soft but noticeable bulge. Despite not being fully formed, it's still such a sensitive place for alphas. Because of that, his daddy shudders when Peter starts to lick around the loose skin there.

"Fuck, kid… that's it, just like how I taught you." His daddy doesn't bother to lower his voice, making it clear just what's happening.

Peter moans loud and clear at the praise. He attaches his lips to the bulge there, sucking little kisses to the soft knot.

"Fuck…" His daddy hisses, hips thrusting up. His balls push against Peter's chin and the omega adjusts himself so he can keep teasing the knot.

It drives his dad insane so when Tony pulls him up and shoves his cock back in his mouth, Peter expects it. He takes it easily and tries his best to relax his throat. Even then, it's difficult to take the entire throbbing length.

His dad's alpha cock fucks in and out of his mouth and Peter forces himself to go limp, to just let his dad take over and take his pleasure. The fullness is overwhelming but once again, Peter's training kicks in. He moans and gurgles around the thrusting length, spit and drool dripping down his chin and making a mess between his daddy's legs.

That all goes ignored. There's a feral tint to his daddy's dark eyes, pupils enlarged so there's barely any brown, as he watches Peter take his cock.

When the knot starts to bump against his lips, Peter lets go completely, becoming nothing more than a hole for his father to use. Those last few inches that Tony has to force him to take is the epitome of Peter's training. His lips stretch around the knot and the huge girth of it shoves his tongue flat in his mouth.

When his father comes, he doesn't even taste the bitter seed that floods out of his daddy's cock. It goes straight down his throat and Peter swallows load after load, tears slipping down his cheeks and eyelashes fluttering with every swallow.

"Oh, fuck, baby… That's it, sweetheart, there you go…" his daddy praises him, "Taking daddy's knot so well… Look at you, baby, your pretty lips stretched around me like a good boy…"

His dad can feel every swallow and his hips twitch minutely as though he can't help but push into the sweet warmth of his son's mouth.

"Such a good boy…" his daddy pets his hair, brushes away his tears. "You gonna keep daddy's knot nice and warm while he works?"

By now, his belly feels like it's filling up nicely. Vaguely, Peter remembers only having a bag of chips before Happy picked him up. Maybe it's good that this meeting had happened, he got a belly full of protein after all.

Peter looks up at his daddy, mouth full and eyes hazy. He's willing to do anything his daddy wants while he's floating in this come induced stupor. His daddy's cock throbs with every pulse. He wishes he could taste his daddy's come, but at least none of it is going to waste.

"Mm…" Peter answers the only way he can.

"Good boy…" his daddy praises him one last time before he turns his attention to the board.

He keeps his fingers in Peter's hair, idly petting his curls. The omega continues to nurse on his daddy's cock, suckling gently and keeping the knot cradled in his mouth.

Peter maintains his position and is lulled into a trance with his father's scent in his lungs, his dad's cock and knot in his mouth, and his belly full of come.

#starker #madstarker: the daily life of a stark heir #madstarker writes #moody mads #omegaverse #starkercest #nff #SFStarkercest23

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fandomsaligninstories · 6 months

Text

Year Two: Parseltongue

Chapter List WC: 1,535

Every student around Violet tensed up and started muttering, moving back away from the table. Whatever Harry was saying seemed to cause the snake to stop moving, but then it turned to face Justin Finch-Fletchly, a second-year Hufflepuff. It suddenly moved towards him, hissing in it's face. Everyone around them froze as the snake turned back to stare at Harry.

"Vipera Evanesca." Snape's voice was hard as he spoke the spell, causing the snake to burn away.

"What are you playing at?!" Justin shouted at Harry. Harry only stared at Justin, a confused expression on his face.

Harry looked at both the professors before rushing out of the hall, Hermione and Ron running after them.

"What was that?" Violet questioned, looking to Hannah and Aimee, who both had terrified expressions.

"He's a Parselmouth..." Aimee responded, "He speaks Parseltongue."

Violet snapped her fingers in front of Aimee's face, capturing her full attention, "I don't know what that means."

"Parseltongue," Hannah explained, "He can talk to snakes. It's a very, very rare gift that very few people have. It's typically only Slytherins that can speak it..."

"I told you he was the Heir!" Justin was suddenly beside them, fear in his voice, "I told you, didn't I?!"

"Yes, I believe you now, Justin." Hannah answered.

"What? You think Harry's the Heir because he can speak to snakes?" Everyone was in shock, she decided. Surely they weren't thinking clearly, "How do you know he didn't just warn the snake away?"

"Are you mad?" Justin snapped at her, "You saw it! He was obviously telling it to attack!"

"But it didn't attack, now did it?!" Violet snapped back.

"Okay, let's go!" Aimee drug Violet out of the hall by her arm, the two of them escaping the chaos.

Once in the hall, the two girls moved to the side as the rest of the students exited. They waited for Hannah, who was still speaking to Justin.

Suddenly a pair of grey eyes were in front of Violet's, causing her to stumble back.

"What gives?" She demanded, until she realized it was only Draco. Then she shouted, "What was that?!"

"What was what?" He snapped back, "The fact that your little mate is a Parseltongue?!"

"Why'd you spell a snake at him? And how was I to know he's a Parselmouth?! I didn't even know what that was until five minutes ago!"

"Oh, right! You've been defending him all year, so surely you knew something!"

Draco was in Violet's face now, his anger overwhelming. Before Violet could respond, Draco was thrown back away from her.

Violet blinked up at Cedric, who was seething in anger. His hands were fisted at his sides, "Don't you ever get near her again."

"Cedric!" She shoved past him, kneeling beside Draco, who was laid out on the ground, blinking up at the ceiling, "Draco? Draco! Did you hit your head? Look at me."

"You- you can't be serious." Cedric stuttered, "After what he just did, how could you possibly-"

"Alright, Cedric, I think they get it." Aimee pulled the boy back by his arm, guiding him down the stairs, "We should go."

Cedric was still muttering as they left. Violet was still sat beside Draco, who was sat up and mentally cursing Cedric. For the moment his anger was forgotten.

"I'm fine, stop fussing." He gently pushed Violet's hands away, which had been feeling the back of his head for any injury, "Violet, really!"

"Sorry, I just wanted to make sure." Then she smacked him on the shoulder, "And that's what you get for coming at me like that! I had no idea about Harry, Draco. But even so, I don't think he meant any harm."

His tone was a mixture of intrigue and frustration, "How could you defend him?"

"The same way I defend you; I truly believe you're both innocent."

Draco pushed up to his feet, holding out a hand to help Violet up. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he just let his eyes roam over her face. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes focused on him. No matter how much time they spent together, she still couldn't fully figure him out. One moment he was kind and gentle, the next angry and deceiving.

He left without another word. Violet would've taken it personally, but she knew by now that that was just how he was.

━━━━━━⊱༻ ༺⊰━━━━━━

18th December, 1992, Friday

Violet was on her way out of the library, having spent most of the evening with Draco, when she stopped at the entrance. Some of the other Hufflepuffs, Hannah included, were having a not-so-quiet conversation at the table around the corner. She saw Harry a little bit away, listening to the conversation. She thought she'd ask if he was alright, then she heard what the others were saying.

Ernie Macmillan, a fellow Hufflepuff second year, was saying, "Well, Justin let it slip to Potter that he was Muggle-born."

Another second year, whose name Violet didn't know, asked, "And you think Potter's the Heir of Slytherin?"

"I know." Ernie responded, "He's a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that's a mark of a dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one that could talk to snakes?"

"They called Slytherin himself serpent-tongue." Violet was surprised Hannah joined the conversation. She knew her friend thought Harry the Heir, but she wasn't usually a gossip.

After another minute, Violet had heard enough. Harry must've too, because he stormed off. Violet went after him, following him through the back halls. They were heading towards the Hufflepuff house, it seemed. She caught up to him in what she thought was an empty hall, as he paused in the middle of it.

"You alright, Harry?" He didn't seem to notice her presence, as he stood in the middle of the hallway. She looked around him then, noticing Nearly Headless Nick floating there, unmoving. Then, to her horror, she saw Justin laying on the ground. Both the boy and ghost had been petrified.

Harry kneeled in front of Justin, reaching out to touch him.

"Merlin's beard, Harry! What happened?!"

He jumped slightly, turning back to look at her, "It wasn't me!"

"Well, obviously." She rolled her eyes, stepping closer. Justin's face was frozen in terror, his eyes and mouth wide, arms out in front of him, and skin pale.

Just then, Filch rounded the corner, observing the scene quickly, "Caught in the act. I'll have you out this time, Potter."

Harry and Violet whipped around, their pleas falling on deaf ears. As Filch departed, Harry moved to the wall of windows, watching something. Violet leaned forward to see what it was. She nearly screamed when she saw the line of spiders crawling out.

Filch and Professor McGonagall rounded the corner. McGonagall let out a gasp, moving around to observe Nick and Justin, then she turned to Violet.

"You're alright?" The Professor patted the girls shoulders and arms, as if checking to make sure, then she turned to Harry when she was content that Violet was unharmed.

"Professor," He tried, "I swear I didn't."

"This is out of my hands, Potter." Despite her words, her tone was sympathetic. Violet wasn't the only one who believed Harry was innocent.

"Return to your dormitory immediately, Ms. Ellis." McGonagall said, not giving the girl a chance to defend Harry. She watched Violet's every move until she was out of sight.

Violet was out of breath when she entered her dorm, having ran the whole way there. Aimee and Caroline both looked up, startled. She was surprised to find Hannah there, too.

"It's Justin! And Nearly Headless Nick!" She gasped, "They've been petrified!"

"What?!" The girls jumped up, rushing towards to Violet.

Violet told them everything. Or, rather, almost everything. She might've changed the story just enough to have her friends believe that Harry and Violet had been walking together. She didn't want to give them any further reason to believe he's the Heir.

"I can't believe it!" Hannah was shaking her head, "I feel sorry that you and Harry heard that, but surely you understand, Violet?"

"I don't like it, but yes, I do." Violet didn't want to admit it, but she fully understood why so many believed it was Harry.

"Poor Justin." Aimee sighed, "At least we leave for holiday in a few days, then we won't have to worry about anyone else being attacked."

"Sure," Caroline scoffed, "Until we have to come back."

"Not helping," Violet snapped, tired of her friend's bad attitude.

Caroline glared at the girl, turning on her heel and stomping back to her bed, "Whatever, Violet. I'll be down in the common room if you need me." The last part was pointed at Aimee and Hannah, but Violet only shrugged it off.

Once Caroline was out of the room, Aimee quirked an eyebrow at Violet, "What's with you two?"

Violet shrugged, "I honestly don't know anymore."

Hannah shook her head, dropping onto her bed, "Well, I hope you two make up soon. It'll be a long few months when we get back from holiday if you two are still fighting."

Violet couldn't agree more. It seemed like she and Caroline never got along anymore. It wasn't for a lack of trying; Violet had tried to apologize to Caroline for her behavior, for skipping out on her and starting arguments over the topic of the Heir, but Caroline just never seemed to care. Violet had given up trying. She didn't want to lose her friend, but she didn't want to keep fighting either.

━⊱༻ ༺⊰━ TAGLIST: @stellarlune-love

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rhaenyraslaena · 2 years

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title: the heiress who never was wc: 1.1k (preview) summary: it is growing close to princess daenaera's targaryen's seventeenth nameday, still yet a carefree life close to her adoring elder sister rhaenyra and doting father viserys. but she's keenly aware that her station will demand marriage soon even if there is only one in the world she truly desires. notes: strictly a preview of a chapter i am working on (the actual chapter is 5k words) but wanted to preview daenaera's and rhaenyra's relationship bc i love them so

Rhaenyra raises the gown of expensive Myrish lace and azure Qartheen silk patterned with silver threaded dragons, placed beneath the inspection of her younger sister’s lavender gaze. Daenaera thinks it’s a reflection of the bright, deep blue waters of the great Summer Sea and it’s so silken to the touch that it is a reminder of cool water washing over her hands. As if she were washing her hands in the cold stream that runs in the gardens of their summer palace — a gentle kind of coolness that leaves her refreshed and wanting for nothing more. A reminder of their days spent without care in their summer palace located just at the edge of the Summer Sea.

“A gift for your seventeenth nameday from Lady Tyrell of Highgarden herself.” Rhaenyra muses, an eager, jeweled finger running over the smoothness of the silk — it is a gown that her elder sister would don herself if Daenaera chooses to discreetly not accept the gift. “Her youngest son Gawayne is all of eighteen summers himself.”

“Are you really trying to rid yourself of my presence that quickly, sweet sister?” A laugh drops from softly painted lips, the glimmer of amusement tinting the already light shade of her eyes. “Had enough of all of us flocking to you like hens flocking to their pens?”

A brow of silver arches with her slight tease accompanied by a flick of her gaze over the swell of her elder sister’s stomach cloaked beneath thick, expensive wool of their traditional colors of scarlet and black. Her elder sister’s marriage with Ser Laenor had proven to be more than merely fruitful in the first five years, with two sons following one another before being joined by a third pregnancy in the early spring of this year.

“Oh, hush now.” Rhaenyra pats her arm with another hand, this time jeweled with the sapphires and emeralds that had once belonged to their ancestress Rhaenys herself.

“You’re all over mothering hens to me but you’re one hen that I would always want by my side.”

“Then why do you speak of marriage? As well as your marriage has gone with Ser Laenor, don’t forget that you were half forced into the decision by Father.”

At twenty summers, her sister Rhaenyra is the true representation of the word ‘delight’ and as courageous as she had ever been since their years of adolescence, the fire not yet have departed from the depths of her deep violet eyes. Daenaera would even dare to claim that flames of her stubborn pride had grown even more into violet flames that gleam like the amethysts that are set in Daenaera’s personal tiara. And a fact that is most certain to Daenaera is that there would be not a single intention of her sister to palace her within the same position as she had been — not if Rhaenyra could help it. Rhaenyra had long proven that since their girlhood even after she had been handed the reins of being the heir to the Iron Throne at the tender age of twelve.

A stretch of eight years had passed between the celebration of her sister’s newly given position to this day — passing in a blur of memories and the chaos that is their family.

“Much I would rather my younger sister remain in the freedom that is given to maidens, the talk of marriage will surely intensify with your seventeenth year. It’s a slight. . . preparation. Father will want to search for a proper bridegroom that will suit our family interests and be worthy of our house.”

Words do not part Daenaera’s lips as feels the rush of heat pool beneath her cheeks and dust them a pretty pink upon the surface, her thoughts drifting to a certain lord with a mane of silver gold hair unwillingly. It is not a thought that is banished with ease when the topic of marriage does enter their conversations.

“I suppose that Ser Gawayne would not be a terrible match. Tyrell funds in our father’s royal coffers would be very pleasant indeed.”

A gasp touched with surprise parts her lips when the elder of the sisters reaches to her, grasping the soft skin of her cheek between two fingers in a pinch. It is not pain filled but it is a pinch of arning, just as the ones that had been given to both herself and Rhaenyra as their lady mother had come to scold them over some petty matter or another.

“Pray tell me how my sweet little sister is aware of such matters? Has our father indulged you in his secrets or has the queen poisoned your mind with the worries of a kingdom that should not stress you out.”

An utterance of a word does not arrive in a few moments — even if her nameday of adulthood grows nearer and nearer, the elder Rhaenyra remains the ever vigilant and distrusting guard that stands watch over Daenaera. Merely three years separate the sisters and yet her elder sister acts a mother to her, a second one after their lady mother had died in an attempt of giving their father a son.

And it also had been Rhaenyra that had seen to it personally that she was not reared under the guidance of their father’s second queen, after all a dragon must be among other dragons in order to thrive.

“I may not be as worldly as you, Sister, but that does not make me daft.” If one were to be present for even a mere day at the Red Keep, it would be a most obvious thing to note that Viserys I Targaryen is a man not wise with his coin and the royal coffers of House Targaryen.

Daenaera had long become dependent upon a private source that meddles in the secrets of the court and provides her with the information — even if unsavory — that is not said within her ears. Daenaera prefers not to dwell over the rage that Rhaenerya would feel should she know of Daenaera’s intimate knowledge of the corruption of the court nor the fate of her ‘spy’ should they be exposed (likely by the dragonfire of her sister’s golden mount Syrax).

It is a bond of inseparability that is the two sisters’ relationship and yet Rhaenyra still paints this portrait of her as an innocuous person unknowing of the world and all too trusting.

Perhaps a justification for the streak of overprotectiveness that burns her heart.

“Of course not, Daenaera. I am merely curious because previously you never had held any interest in learning the affairs of our kingdoms until later.”

“I see those ladies at court gossipping and chatting away about nothing while eating cake and drinking their tea. I would not rather become a foolish princess wasting her time in such frivolous activities.”.

#oc: princess daenaera targaryen #ch: rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd oc #asoiaf oc #house of the dragon oc #a song of ice and fire oc #got oc #game of thrones oc #house targaryen #targaryen oc #fandom: house of the dragon #fandom: a song of ice and fire #fandom: game of thrones #penned by khadija

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matchstixx · 18 hours

Text

The People We Think We Know

Chapter 1

Pairing: Tobirama x fem!Reader

WC: 2,145

CW: None (9.16.2024)

Madara’s brothers’ names come from sennokami and fineillsignup, I liked their theories.

Read on Ao3

[Series Master List]

| Next Chapter ->

Madara isn’t completely surprised when his father decides to take the girl in as a ward. His mother and father had always wished for a daughter.

He had seen the small flicker–not quite disappointment–the day that it was announced that Tajima had been ‘blessed with a fifth son' upon Izuna’s birth. Their second child was planned to be named Myoko, changed to Kou when the medical staff revealed him to be a boy. And initially they brushed it off, happy to have two strong, healthy boys to take up their positions as immediate heirs. So, they tried again, picking out the beautiful and cute name of Kurohime; and everyone chuckled and joked–when Kuro was born–about his mother’s ability to bless her husband with so many sons.

And then Mother nearly died giving birth to Togakushi. Madara was four at the time, but he vaguely recalls the entire pregnancy was rough for her; morning sickness through the entirety of it, fainting spells, migraines, if something could go wrong it probably did. He vividly remembers having to leave a sobbing three-year-old Kou with a one-year-old Kuro while he went running to the medical building the first time she passed out. When Father had returned later that night from a skirmish at the border, he had praised his quick thinking before spending the rest of the night quietly hunched over Mother as she rested, her hand tightly grasped to his chest. The medical team and midwives discouraged another pregnancy when they had to use resuscitation techniques on her and Togakushi during the birth.

Then, one night as Madara lay awake, he listened through a crack in the shoji as the sound drifted down the hall of his Mother begging Father to try one more time. Just once more, to try for a girl once more, and regardless of the outcome they would stop at five. His father quietly, hesitantly, agreed. And soon enough, Izuna was born.

The midwives had chastised them for trying again so soon after the previous pregnancy, and correctly, this time around was fairly hard on her body again. Not to the same degree, but enough so that Mother and Father fully acknowledged that pushing the boundaries any further would end up costing them more than just 9 months of horrible discomfort.

After the midwives leave, Father opens the door to let him and his brothers in to see little Izuna coddled to Mother’s chest. They chatter and coo and awe at him, draped across Mother’s legs and lap. He sits quietly as his brothers eventually nod off in a pile together, small hands twisting and clutching the blankets while he dutifully holds a straight back. And as a five-year-old Madara politely remains at Mother’s side, she gestures him closer, cradling his head to her chest where he can look at his youngest brother.

He’s a tiny thing. Face scrunched but skin smooth and the smallest shock of black hair on his head. Madara can only think of the reason why Izuna was born, the quiet whispers not meant for his ears–recalls that tiny flicker on Father’s face. And when he looks at Mother’s face, she has a soft smile–a genuine, loving one as she has had for every child she has born into the world–but there is a lingering sadness. So, he looks at his youngest brother, his littlest brother, his last brother, and vows to always keep safe this soul that, while loved, is not quite what was wanted.

—

It’s two years after Izuna is born that she appears. The Summer Solstice Celebration was in full swing, with dancing, singing, cheering. Everyone brought out food to pick at, lovers are running about with small streamers, parents with young kids are sitting watching a shadow puppet play, while older kids toss dice. Some of the elders grouse about the lack of the fireworks show, a tradition that was discontinued after the fighting with other clans had grown too costly; a commodity that can’t be afforded when weapons and armor are paramount.

Things are calming down as the sun sets, the younger children are practically comatose from a day of play–to the relief of some parents. The matriarch's of each house are calling to their eldests to come clean plates and dishes, getting only answering groans and complaints. It’s a scream from one of the mikos that has everyone snapping to attention.

Madara races to his room for his weapons as others leap either towards the shrine or into homes. He briefly hears Mother calling for him to come back as she balances Izuna on a hip and tells Kou to watch Kuro and Toga as the sound of her sandals quickly follow behind.

Father is already there with three other shinobi when Madara arrives with a couple kunai in hand. The miko is scolding a small child near the entrance of the shrine that is cowering with her arms crossed protectively over her head. Madara can see the slight quivering rattling her entire body as the adults stare down with distrustful gazes.

“Mayuri,” Tajima cuts off the incensed miko with a stern look, “What happened, whose child is this?”

She turns to him with down turned brows, “I don’t know. But what I do know is that I found her shoveling the food offerings for Amaterasu into her mouth like a starving animal.”

Mother arrives behind him, quickly catching up even when ladened with a two-year-old on her hip. “Madara, don’t go running off like that, you aren’t old enough for battle yet! What if a raid had been happening?”

“Yoko,” Tajima calls, pinching his nose, “If that were the case, you shouldn’t be running about either.”

“Oh shush, husband mine,” she waves a hand as she steps forward. “I could sense that there was no threat.”

Father sighs–a sarcastic ‘I wonder where our children get their hard-headedness from’ dropping quietly from his lips–as Mother swats his shoulder with a coy smile before turning to the small girl.

She silently looks at the child for a long moment, taking in the rice bag that had a neck and arm holes torn into it, a feeble and sad imitation of clothing. The fading light of the sun filters through the back of the church, shining through one of the windows to cast a warm yellow square of luminance across Mother as she smiles warmly and lowers herself to the ground.

“Now, what is your name, little one?” She coos.

The girl stares up at Yoko like she is the sun itself. Her breaths stutter out of her unevenly, bringing her hands down to clutch at the front of her rice bag dressings.

“Speak, girl!” One of the shinobi standing about growls, digging his heel into her back, subsequently knocking her to the floor.

The air seems to heat up dangerously as Yoko sends him a scathing look. Madara can see the way Mother’s lip curls into a snarling sneer, the heat of rage licking at her tongue that dampens when the girl speaks for the first time.

“[Name].”

She’s struggling back to her knees as she repeats it two more times.

“And I’m…,” she uncurls five fingers one by one before thrusting them out to everyone. “This many years old.” And Madara practically sees how Mother’s heart melts.

“My, that is quite old!” Yoko cheers with a starlight warm smile that the girl returns with a bashful one. “Do you know where your parents are? They must be worried about you.”

[Name] wilts, curling around herself. She shakes her head. “They went to sleep a long time ago. I tried to wake them up, but I guess they’re dreams are too happy.”

The dread in the air is palpable. Madara is seven, but he understands death. He’s had to ever since he started his shinobi training; even more so as his tenth birthday gets closer, signaling his formal introduction to the battlefield.

Mother looks to Father with a knowing look. Father simply closes his eyes.

His mother and father had always wished for a daughter.

—

She looks different, not quite like anyone from any clan that he has seen. The curve of her nose, the angle of her jaw, the lines of her face when she smiles or frowns. Madara notices all of this as she sits at the dinner table with them. His brothers all stare at her as the table is set. She seems blissfully unaware of their eyes, instead her attention gazes about the dining room, tracing the wooden beams and paper shoji screens.

She’s freshly cleaned and wrapped in a clean simple yukata by Mother’s hand–although, the sound of clattering and splashing that had come from the bathroom earlier was a testament to the difficulty of the entire endeavor. The two had come out later with the girl adamantly hiding her embarrassment with her hands and Mother bearing a beaming smile despite her rolled up sleeves being soaking wet. Father had just given her an unimpressed look before carefully pressing about the importance of not scaring their ‘guest.’

Father finally sits at the head of the table, gives thanks for the food and begins to eat. Everyone else calls back their thanks and Madara watches as the girl stumbles through it, trying to mimic the words. He watches as she picks up her chopsticks and leans over to bring the food to her mouth.

The sound of Mother clearing her throat has [Name] looking up at her like a deer watching for predators. Mother pointedly glances at everyone else at the table with their bowls held in hand. Abashedly, [Name] picks up her bowl and straightens her posture; Mother gives a small nod and dinner continues quietly. It’s hard for Madara to fathom how she knows how to use chopsticks and yet is unaware of good manners. Part of him supposes that perhaps she didn’t come from a well off family, or that maybe her family didn’t care.

Regardless, it’s odd, she’s odd.

After dinner, Mother calls out to him as his brothers collect the dishes. “Show [Name] to her room and help her set out the futon.”

“Yes, Haha-ue.” He nonchalantly brushes her hand away when she runs her fingers through his unruly hair, a quiet laugh leaving her as his ears burn red.

He can’t help but think how loud her steps are as they walk through the halls; the boards creak and groan under each of her steps, making the house sing an alarming tune. He isn’t used to the noise of it, even two-year-old Izuna is starting to learn which slats warble and how to avoid them–such is the habits of a shinobi home. It sets his teeth on edge and the hair on the back of his neck stands and won’t settle the longer that he feels her walking behind him.

When they get to the room, one that used to be his aunts before she was killed in a raid, he steps to the side when sliding open the door and gestures her in first. The way bile crawls up the back of his throat when she tilts her head almost knowingly at him makes him want to slam the door behind her in disregard of Mother’s command. But he resists as she steps in and looks around the room. Madara has to force himself to make his movements look less rushed than they actually are. Yanking the futon out of the closet haphazardly in an attempt to make the swing look casual and not like he wants to be ten miles away from this room–from this girl.

When he’s done smoothing out the blanket–as minimal as his effort was–he stands to look at the girl that had been watching him silently the entire time. There is something about her that doesn’t sit right, actions and words feeling disjointed and too experienced for her 5-year-old self. The futon separates them and it feels like his first battlefield, staring down this stranger in his home with the odd face, and odd mannerisms, and odd actions. And he feels powerful as he gathers up a heavy breath to give her a devastatingly serious glare with his words, “Chichi-ue allowing you to sleep here doesn’t make you my sister or a part of this family, you hear.”

And blankly in return, “I know, goodnight.”

Numbly, Madara stares at the closed door of the room that the girl had just shoved him out of, a deep seated embarrassment crawling up onto his cheeks in a warm flush. He doesn’t stomp down the hall, because he is a shinobi and he is above that.

(He hears as his brothers cackle when Father calls down the hall about the racket he’s making; and he swears he hears the girl chuckle too even though he would never be able to prove it.)

| Next Chapter ->

#tobirama x reader #x reader #reader insert #madara uchiha #isekai #transmigration #fix it fic #world building #headcanons #naruto series

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coffee-latte-sprite · 2 years

Text

Damian Al Ghul and the Annoying Reporter

Series Masterlist

AgedUp!damian al ghul x fem!reader

Chapter 9

WC: 2,500

Warnings: murder, feelings, high-key rom-com scene (they are in Paris, what do you expect?)

Synopsis:

Wanting to make a name for herself, Y/N does the unthinkable and tries to interview the heir to the League of Assassins. Although, it doesn’t go as planned. How will she be able to salvage this, especially when Damian Al Ghul doesn’t like strangers?

The trio continues their journey without a hitch. (For the most part.)

Y/N was caught in every single tourist trap there was in Italy, which was happily accompanied by her new camera. She had more photos of their adventures than of what the original purpose of the camera was for.

They went to the colosseum, where “supposably” the movie Luca was inspired from, and Y/N tried to see the Pope.

(They were escorted out)

Damian was dragged everywhere, and stopped giving up a fight. He supposed going to a little “event’ for an hour was better than her complainning about not going for five hours. Titus was also loving everything as well.

He was getting attention from everyone and getting free food from restaurants. He didn’t see many downsides.

Then, as they move around the country, people start to give Y/N and Damian a label.

A couple.

Weather it be they were newly-weds, just dating, engaged, or married for a while (people thought this when they argued) they were labeled. One time they were eating out and people congratulated them on getting married.

Y/N was so in shock she didn’t say anything for a solid ten minutes, while Damian immediately thanked them and went back to eating.

Y/N was floored by Damian. He was okay with being mistakened as a couple?

He just replied that it was harder to explain their relationship than just saying “thanks.”

Besides, Damian didn’t care what others thought, he had other things he had to get done. Like getting Y/N out of Italy and into France.

They took a train out of the country and into the other. They spent 16 hours on the train and in first class (as usual) and Y/N and Titus were getting stir crazy.

They decided to try every dish the train had to offer, while Damain had a protein shake and a salad.

He didn’t mind Y/N and Titus in the background enjoying themselves and constantly spending his money. He thought it would bother him, but as he saw her smile and heard her laugh, he had no issues.

===

“Thank GOD we are off that train.” Y/N said as she stretched out her back on the train platform. Her suitcase was stationed at her feet while Titus was stretching out as well.

Damian gave them a glance, “You were walking around the whole time. We had a whole car to yourself!” He said exasperated as he spent most of his time charting out their course.

Y/N waved him off, “still to small.”

He rolled his eyes as he picked up his bag and suitcase and started walking.

“Wait up!” She yelled as she picked up her luggage as well.

Damian unconsciously slowed as he pulled out a map of Paris.

Y/N then let a smile grace her face.

He was warming up to her.

“Do you want to go to the hotel here, here, or here?” He asked her as he showed her the map of the city and pointed to the top 3 hotels.

“Hmm.” She hummed as she looked at them. After the second city together, Damian started to ask for her opinion on many things.

Where they would eat, where they would sleep, and what chew toys Titus would like. He didn’t understand why he began to ask for her opinion, but he enjoyed listening to it.

(That is when he isn’t getting an earful because he messed up)

“How about this one.” She said as she pointed to the closest one to the station.

“Great,” He said as he folded up the map and they began walking.

They walked in silence and Y/N became hyper aware of everyone around them. All of the women were practically drooling over him and all of the men were getting out to the way.

She then looked down at herself. She didn’t have the perfect body as those other women. She hasn’t had a shower in a couple of . . . days. And she knew she looked like a wreck as she has been having trouble sleeping.

Then she looked at Damian. He was perfect. His hair didn’t seem out of place and his clothes didn’t look wrinkled.

She started to run her hands through her hair to try and comb it out.

Damian took notice, “What are you doing? Scared someone will reconize you?” He teased as he knew she was illegally traveling with him.

She didn’t respond as she wsn’t sure how to answer, but before she could open her mouth.

“You look fine. Don’t worry about it.” He siad as he kept walking.

He didn’t look at her, but she knew he meant it. She smiled again, and he smiled back.

===

“Can we please go?” She asked as she batted her lashes at him.

Damian lowered the newspaper to let his eyes overlook the paper to see her staring at him.

“No,” He replied as the newspaper flipped back up.

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why not?”

He lowered the newspaper again, “It’s not time yet.” The newspaper went back up.

“But they will close soon!” She yelled as she went back to her hotel bed and flopped onto it.

“That’s what you think.” He said behind the paper.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.” He said.

As she opened her mouth again, there was a knock on the door. Y/N sprang up in surprise and Damian remained still.

She whispered yelled to him, “Aren’t you going to do anything?”

He answered normally, “Open it.”

Anxiety ripped through her.

“I’m right here, nothing will happen.” He said as his eyes came over the top of the paper.

“Promise?” “Promise.” He repeated and went back to reading the French Press.

She slowly got off the bed and tip-toed to the door. She looked around the room for the nearest weapon and saw a lamp. She nodded to herself.

If this meeting goes South, she has a weapon.

Titus was also acutely aware of the new presence behind the door and was ready to pounce from his bed at any moment.

Y/N then looked through the peep-hole in the door to see a man dressed in hotel attire and a large flat box in his arms.

She opened the door to see the man to look relieved.

“Miss L/N, this is for you.” He said as he then gave her the box. She took and thanked the man as he quickly left.

She looked at the box in confusion as she kicked the door closed and laid the box on the bed.

“Do you think this could be a bomb?” She said as she looked at it in skeptism.

“Titus is trained to smell for bombs, and he seems to be okay with it. So. . . no.”

Y/N nodded as he opened the box very slowly. The thin cardboard opened to see tissue paper over the top. “Huh?” She said as she wasn’t expecting this.

She took out the tissue paper and gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth in shock and Damian jolted up from his seat in fear.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he strided over to her.

She was scrambling for words as she began to scream-talk: “IT-IT--oh my GOD! IT’S BEAUTIFUL!” She then reached into the box to pull out a dress. It was a deep royal blue that was floor length. It was elegant as its silk fabric grazed her finger tips. As she pulled it out further, she noticed that around its shoulders was a cape that covered the back of the dress.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. I-I-I don’t even know what to say!” She squealed as she held the dress up to herself and played with it.

“I’m glad you like it. I was worried that-”

Y/N cut him short, “Wait, you bought this?” She asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes, I saw how upset you were earlier. My mother always told me that when ever a woman is down on herself, she needs an elegant night out.” He quoted.

Y/N blinked, once, twice.

“Am I dead?” She asked as her arms went slack.

“I am not that lucky.” He responded and went back to his chair by the window.

“Wait, no seriously, are you feeling alright?” She asked as she went to his side and put the back of her hand to his forehead to feel his body heat.

He huffed and gently pulled her hand away. “I am doing fine. The only health scare I have is you.” He then opened the newspaper. He was on the crossword puzzle.

“But why would--WAIT! Are you planning on leaving me on the streets and leave me here?” She yelled as she grabbed the collar of his shirt and and pulled him to her as she shook him. “ANSWER ME!”

He then grabbed her hands and raised a brow, “No, I was going to leave you tomorrow when you were sleeping.”

She screamed bloody-murder and Damian was sure he was deaf.

===

Damian was kidding. He threw out the notion of leaving her behind as soon as she sprung to life after falling off the cliff. He realized that even inadvertently trying to kill her didn’t work, simply leaving her wouldn’t work either.

And through his (very limited) experience of working with others, he decided to let himself relax into her. He stopped trying to fight and let them bind together. He gives, she takes, she gives (to Titus) and he takes. Ever since Rome, they fell into the gentle rythm of each other, and he didn’t mind it.

It was (embarrassingly) to say, he began to enjoy her snarky remarks and sense of wonder and excitement of adventure. (Even if she was terrible at it)

He liked waking up to see her in the other bed with messy hair, he liked coming back to her and seeing her playing with Titus. She stopped become a hindrance in his mind, to a necessity.

And that scared him senseless.

He didn’t relize how much she has wiggled into his life. He didn’t relize how many decisions he would make now that revolves around her input.

He was scared so senseless he stopped caring about everything but her.

And that is why they were together at the eiffel tower. He payed off the guards to let them come up to the top at night and they set up a little dinner table. Full of their favoirte foods.

He was drinking wine as he watched Y/N’s eyes light up with glee as she looked at the city below. The soft glow of the night light made him hazy. Her bright smile made him weak. Her perfect laugh made him enamored.

And as she looked back at him with that happy glow of hers, he knew then and there, he was screwed. Totally and utterly screwed.

That was scarest moment of his life.

“So, Mr. AlGhul, what do you want me to ask you first?” She asked as took a sample of the cheese platter near her.

When did her voice sound so alluring?

When did that dress make her look like a goddess?

“Anything.” He said not registering her question.

This was the arrangement he claimed for the “night out.” The only reason why they were staying together was the reason of her needing an interview with him.

That is why they were having dinner together. Once this was over, they could safely part ways.

No strings attached as they would say.

“So,” she drawed out as she brought out a pencil and pad of paper. “When did you know you were the heir of the league?”

“When I was born.” He deadpanned.

She paused, “Not really what I meant. Here, let me rephrase: when did the pressure of being the heir hit you?”

“When I was born.” He repeated as he took a bite out of his dish.

She scowled. “Come on, answer the question seriously.”

“I am! As soon as I was born I was expected to not cry and stay silent when asked.” He said as a pain crossed his face.

Y/N stayed silent, now feeling bad. “Isn’t that a little. . . insensitive?” She asaked.

“Nothing I’m not used to.” He replied as he took another sip of wine.

“So, have they changed since you were born?” She asked hoping for him to answer differently.

“Yes.” he paused, “they got worse.”

Y/N soured, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I handled it.” He stared off into the distance.

They continued their interview for hours. Their questions got lighter and their connection deepened.

Y/N then relized how funny he was and relized how her heart quickened when his attention was only on her.

When did that happen?

===

Y/N was quickly asleep when they got back to the hotel room. She changed and snuggled under the covers with Titus. She thanked him again for the night out and interview.

Damian was content with his life now.

He then changed out of his suit and into another. His League of Assassin uniform.

He tied his suit tight and a black cloth wrapped around his face, leaving only his eyes while his katana was joined at his hip.

He had ulterior motives to coming to Paris and not going straight to the ferry to get them to the UK. He had one more loose end he had to cut.

Ubu. One of Slade’s minions who was there to take down the league.

Damian went swiftly through the night as people dismissed him as a shadow or a trick of the light.

He was precise in his moves as his blade cut through his victim. He was seamless in his plan as he made a symbol out of his victim and lept back into the darkness where his heart broke once again.

He was no good.

He was a monster.

He was the perfect serial killer.

He looked at his hands as ruby red covered his skin. This is what he truly is.

He isn’t a son of Bruce Wayne, but the son of a asylum, trapping him forever in his clutches.

He looked down at his hotel window from above. Why would he ever let her into his life? Why would he allow himself into her life? Why would he allow himself to fall prey to her?

Why in world, would he break the number one rule his mother had?

“Never have attachments. They make you weak.”

Why in the Hell would he let himself fall like this, especially when it hurt this much.

His heart was breaking. His soul was falling apart at the seams at all of the relizations.

She deserved someone better.

He fell to his knee as he clasped his chest. It hurt. It all hurt.

He bit his lip in frustration at himself. His throat bobbed with a sting. It hurt.

Then as he gasped for air to stop his tears as he realized, he was in love.

A/N: "oh wow, I finally got this out :|" Anyway- thank you for your patience!!

@royalmuffinsworld / @rory-cakess / /@jasontoddsloverrrr / @rivas0309 / @giselatropicana / @atlaincorrect / @acupnoodle / @geeksareunique / @1-800-cherri / @mymomsdisappointment / @lolsnack / @dreamsdemxn / @hollyharper / @bl6o6dy

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houseofkingdoms · 6 months

Text

Dear diary,

I'm home from the wedding of Wilhelmina. It was a beautiful wedding. So well organised and in a beautiful setting. I loved being there. It was also nice chatting with her again. I have many memories of playing with her as little girls and now we are both in our twenties and getting married. Life goes fast. It will be great doing this together too. Getting married and maybe having children. Probably, she is the heir also and while Jean isn't the heir we will have to produce one. So children it is. I hope they can play with eachother in the future.

Jean wasn't more talkative now then he was when I visited him. It's alright. I will do the talking for now. Maybe I just have to find something he is interested in and wants to talk about.

Love, Rosemund

Back I Beginning I Spreadsheet I Next

#sims 4 #royal kingdoms #a heir for willow creek #a heir for wc: chapter five #rosemund of britchester

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kithtaehyung · 3 years

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The Five Huntsmen (Teaser) | PJM

➵ title: the five huntsmen (m) ➵ pairing: prince!jimin x princess!reader(f) ➵ teaser wc: 2.8k ➵ total wc: tbd, possibly 20-30k ➵ fairytale: the twelve huntsmen ➵ genres/rating: 18+ ; angst, fluff, smut ; fantasy, royalty, strangers(?) to lovers ➵ warnings: language, ANGST, fighting, weapons, blood, betrayal, shifters (humans to animals, vice versa), final nsfw warnings to be added to full fic when posted but nothing’s needed for the teaser ➵ summary: you and prince jimin have promised to marry, but his father falls deathly ill, so he ventures back home to see him one last time. news of your lover choosing to wed another princess leaves you thoroughly distraught—until your mother tells you there’s fight in you yet. besides, isn’t the handsome heir to that throne in need of elite guards for protection for his coronation? perhaps the likes of hooded, masked huntsmen you had secretly been training with ever since you could run? ➵ note: this fic will be posted as part of the bangtan grimm event hosted by the amazing @hobeemin!! hope you’re all ready for some fairytales coming to life with a bangtan spin. i may break this up into chapters depending on the ending word count, as well. ➵ taglist: open! message me, comment, or mention in a reblog to be added! ➵ tentative release: september 6th, 2021, 8pm est

“That one looks like you.”

“If that one looks like me, I can’t believe you haven’t fled by now.”

Your beloved prince chuckles beside you and, while your palms are tenderly pressed, you can’t help but compare the sound to the very clouds floating across your vision. Like the scent of honeysuckle and verdpine that twirls around your prone forms, his soft laughs are some of your favorite things.

The pair of you didn’t plan on cloud watching at first. Your stroll through the castle gardens was supposed to be a quick one since the kitchens were almost done with the afternoon meal. But you didn’t mind the way Jimin suddenly planted his bottom on a random patch of soft grass, even softer fingers tugging you down to join him. You definitely berated him for being the cause of dirtying your dress, though, at which he simply winked in triumph.

His hand squeezes yours into the cool ground as he hums, “Maybe I have a type.”

“Puffy and fleeting?”

“Puffy… Fleeting… Lazy…”

Your nudge against his shoulder kicks another chuckle out of his throat. “I am not any of those things.” You ignore the look he sends you as he shifts his head.

“Right. And I’m not a prince.”

“I am not lazy.”

“But you are puffy and fleeting?”

“Looks like someone doesn’t want to stay for supper.”

Without pause, Jimin rolls his form over your side. “I don’t need to stay for that if I can have you right now,” he murmurs, the words dripping onto your face and painting it one shade darker.

“Oh?”

“Mm,” he purrs, drawing the syllable out. After a flicker of mischief you catch too late, Jimin’s whole tone suddenly changes as he yells, “Think fast!”

Fingers dive into your side, launching you off the ground with a gasp and tugging yelps out of your throat.

“Laughter suits you more than words,” your prince loftily jokes as you swipe at his thin wrists, trying to get back at him through your giggling duress.

You also attempt to nudge Jimin with one of your knees, but he has your dress mercilessly pinned.

No matter. When he’s busy attacking your sides, you jut your arms out to tackle his armpits, shouting, “I should say the same to you!”

Love and mirth swirl around the garden as you and Jimin try to best each other. Though his hands are quick, yours end up quicker, eliciting the loveliest of cackles and unabashed noises.

“Okay, okay! I surrender,” he relents after a series of your attacks. The pair of you settle back into the grass, chests heaving and cheeks burning. “You’re really cutting down my dignity today.”

“Shouldn’t you be used to this by now?”

“I am.” The prince takes your hand and wraps it around his torso. “Which is why I will be prepared for when we’re married.”

Affection blooms in your chest as you smile, knowing that he will be your greatest companion, your softest, sturdiest shield. Your marriage will be the joining of two already thriving kingdoms—Avarest and Zenborn—sealing their protection and fortune even tighter. But more than that, you know that he will be a gracious man, a generous lover—and you will be just the same. “Good thing, too,” you whisper, eyes alight with starfire. “I’ve trained you well.”

Jimin’s face softens with content, stray locks rolling across his forehead as he looks at nothing but you. Though sunlight bathes the garden around him in gold, his smile outshines it all—endless, breathtaking. “I love you,” he whispers ardently. “I’ll always love you.”

“And I you.” In a burst of passion, you cup the back of his head, digging your fingers into his soft strands while you claim his mouth with confidence. At his soft groan, you harden your embrace before situating yourself on top of his now-dirtied dress robes.

Not that either of you truly care.

Your knees dig into the grass on either side of him, and you smile at the tender hands swimming in the waves of your dress. “Forever.”

“No more talking,” Jimin whispers, brows furrowed and impatient. “Kiss me.”

You oblige, latching your lips onto the expanse of his neck. The swipes of your tongue push deeper the more your prince moans underneath you, and you can start to feel a bulge lifting your belly, despite the multiple layers of dastardly clothing between.

Jimin shoves your face away from his neck with his jaw, clutching your lips right after. Everything is heightened when he does, as if your passion brings out the best qualities of the surrounding flora. Right as you yank Jimin’s hair and demand him to ruin you for all the daffodils to see, a calm voice weasels behind you, taking you and your prince by surprise.

Immediately, you twist your body around. Standing with the air of someone with terrible news is one of your soldiers, still shifted. You know the otter’s name—for you know everyone’s in your castle—but it is irrelevant. “Pardon me, Princess. And Your Highness.”

Your ascent back to your feet is stiff, with Jimin straightening and staying by your side. When the armored shifter doesn’t divulge any further, you fake patience, “You have news for me, dear?”

The poor otter’s reply comes out stilted, “It’s… It’s news for Prince Jimin.”

“Me?” When you turn towards your lover, his brows are already deeply set, his feet seeming to move forward on their own accord. “What’s wrong?”

“Your father,” the soldier sighs, claws nervously tutting and voice shaken. “King Park has fallen ill. Word is that he doesn’t have much time.”

“What?” Jimin’s eyes threaten to fall when he shakily responds, giving way to suspicion. “He was in great health when I left. What happened?”

Your otter soldier shakes his head before explaining, “I’m afraid I don’t know for sure, Your Highness, but... rumors are that he got injured by a viperboar while out on his hunt.”

“Great Valahara,” you whisper piously, reaching out to clutch Jimin’s billowy sleeve. “My love…”

When he doesn’t budge for a moment, worry sprouts quickly from your heart; when he turns, it fades into a dull aching, and you want to wipe the rush of tears from his eyes.

Your prince’s voice is clogged when he whispers, “I must go to see him… Before he...”

“You must,” you agree, though laden with longing already. “Go.”

“Your horse is ready, Prince Jimin.”

When the man ignores the otter and positions himself in front of you, you can tell he’s trying his best to memorize your face. “It may be long before I see you again,” he whispers, eyes downcast and pink-rimmed. And he is right.

“I’ll be here. I will wait for you.”

A forehead presses into yours. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“But you must.”

Trembling fingers grip your own, giving them a good squeeze before a kiss is planted in the ridges of your bones.

“I’ll always love you.”

“Forever.”

You don’t know how much time has passed since your prince departed. But you know that the ache you feel in your chest creeps further and further into the rest of your limbs, like the slow approach of frost before winter’s claim. Trudging. Lethargic. The constant longing weighs you down like an anchor plummeting deeper and deeper into the Wandering Sea.

But you don’t let it keep you there. You busy yourself doing many things: helping your mother delegate duties around the castle, assisting your father in constructing new roadways as Avarest grows and grows.

And even though all of these tasks keep you moving, the one thing that always wakes your spirit, without fail, only happens in the dead of night, when even the duskfall owls flap to their treetops to sleep.

Your dagger clashes with another as you block your opponent’s fourth blow, angry orange sparks bouncing between your black clothes.

Training. Sparring. Fighting.

That is what keeps your veins alight, your blood pulsing—the pure blood of a princess that’s adored by many, never known to fight when the stars are at their brightest.

A low kick threatens to take out your knees, but you leap backward before propelling yourself towards your attacker, your low stance almost allowing a hit before your blow is defended. One, two, three metal clangs later, you’re still both left unscathed.

Almost no one knows of these late nights you spend in Hobsknock Forest, hidden from civilian life deep within its perimeter. Only high flying animals would be able to spot your hideaway—a clearing littered with weapons, broken training equipment, and boxes of replacements.

It’s one of the bases of your Kingdom’s masked assassins, created by your mother herself.

The Huntsmen.

Your feet find purchase as you cross your arms to avoid a dagger to your head, and your knee launches up in an attempt to catch their solid stomach. A full fight of punches, dagger swipes, and kicks erupts, your muscles burning and singing with each hit.

“Someone’s enjoying this a bit too much,” your masked sparring partner notes, his eyes shining and smug.

You block a punch and grab his arm. “Talking about yourself, Taehyung?”

He’s going hard tonight. Whenever this happens, he’s either bored out of his mind or they have a mission coming up. Regardless, you don’t care; in fact, the exertion is a great way to blow off the steam you’ve kept condensed inside of your bones.

He wrenches himself free before slicing at your side, and you jump backwards to avoid the swipe. “You seem pretty eager to me,” you observe with a huff.

Stopping for a moment, Taehyung assumes a fighting stance. “I am,” he admits. “We’re leaving soon.”

“For?”

He throws himself forward, barely catching you off-guard before you tilt to the side and scrape your dagger against his. Rude.

Grunting while pressing his weapon against yours, your partner sighs, “I’ll tell you, but you won’t like it.”

“What do you mean,” you seethe, thrusting your arm out in a quick succession of strikes—all parried.

He leaps to the side to swipe at your abdomen, but you quickly dodge by rolling away. “He’s gone,” the masked boy breathes out. “King Park is dead.”

He doesn’t give you another chance to speak because he launches himself forward, his long legs allowing him to cover the entire distance you created. Grunting, you keep your defenses up, your feet backing up with every swift clash.

Metallic hits ring across the clearing, arguing with another sparring match happening beside you and the sound of a bowstring tightening for another training shot.

When your back hits a tree, you duck to avoid a neck blow, splinters raining on your head before you roll and skid a few meters away.

But Taehyung stops when he sees you breathing a bit harder than normal. Taking his grace period to catch your breath, you wipe a hand across your forehead, puffs warming your cheeks behind your mask. “And?”

“We’re tasked to help… Him.”

Oxygen threatens to abandon you. “...Jimin?”

His voice is hardened when he confirms, “Yes. But there’s more.”

Suddenly, a stern voice addressing your partner juts into your conversation. You whip your head to the side to see Seokjin—the eldest Huntsmen—giving his younger friend a knowing look as his bow rests against his leg.

You don’t look away from him as you respond to Taehyung, fire erupting in your eyes. “Just tell me.”

“His coronation is coming up.” When you side-eye your partner, he’s deftly playing catch with his weapon, the black metal barely grabbing the light of the moon in its edges. Snatching his dagger from the air, Taehyung continues, “And he’s set to marry a princess from Balon. I don’t remember which one, though. They have way too many.”

Your heart suddenly doesn’t know how to function, its beating ceasing and its pathways closing. Gulping to try to dislodge the emotions in your throat, you struggle to even respond, words and pleas and disbelief dying on your tongue.

Jimin?

Your prince?

To wed… another?

Around your dagger, fingers tremble. Your eyes, unblinking.

There are voices around you, whispers that get closer and closer. But you don’t register them. They mean nothing. Everything means nothing.

“I’ll always love you.”

“Princess?”

Your focus snaps into place as you feel a tense hand on your shoulder. When you finally look around you, all four of the young men you have been accompanying that night are regarding you with caution. Worry.

They’re Huntsmen, after all. They must have sensed your distress before your esophagus even closed.

Regarding the one with his hand on your shoulder, you blink before starting to breathe again. “I’m fine, Hoseok,” you whisper. “I just… It’s shocking, is all.”

The man removes his hand from you after giving a reassuring squeeze. “We know. I’m sorry.”

Fiddling with your weapon as you start to gain control of your fingers, you shake your head. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

Turning, you nod to another one of your Huntsmen, your friends, your closest companions since childhood. “Yes, Kook, I’m sure. I just need to be alone.” You start to walk away from their concerning stares, the weight of them beginning to suffocate.

When you reach the edge of the clearing, you throw your weapon into the ground, the dagger’s top glinting in the night as you immerse yourself in the shadows of the forest canopy.

It is much later when you visit your mother in her study—knowing she will be there, as she always is—to see if what they say is true. When she sadly validates their claims, you fling yourself on her lap, distressed and confused and utterly betrayed.

Why didn’t anyone tell you? Why did you have to find out this way?

“A messenger hawk flew in just this morning,” the Queen whispers, smoothing your hair with both her words and her fingers.

But you cannot be consoled. You don’t know what to do. The both of you were going to be betrothed. To each other.

How could Jimin forget so quickly? There’s no way he could have… Right?

“We were supposed to wed,” you choke on your solid fist.

“Why speak as if it’s already untrue?”

“You received the message,” you sniff, bitterly. “It’s already set in stone.”

“You don’t know for sure unless you find out.”

A pause. When you look up into her caring eyes and search them for answers, you see sparks of rebellion, flecks of what she’s trying to convey.

Is she telling you to question it?

Is she telling you to find out… yourself?

Brows furrow and lips purse as you rasp, “Mother… What are you saying?”

“I believe you already know.”

“But why?”

“The ones that never question things never end up with what they truly want,” she whispers as she brushes over your hair once more. “Even I didn’t bow down to royal customs, didn’t accept them as fate. I would be a hypocrite if I told you any different.”

“But he betrayed me, mother,” you sigh, hot tears leaking from your eyes.

“How do you know that for sure?”

Something in you turns like a key in a lock, opening a box of suspicion that leaks into the rest of your body. The Queen has a point. What if something happened? What if there’s something you’re missing? You’ve been bombarded with so much emotion that it has clouded any logic or judgment.

But… You’re the princess. You must stay in your kingdom. How are you supposed to just show up unannounced in another part of the realm and expect everything to be okay? What can you possibly use as an excuse to go other than jealousy or rage or suspicion?

All of your doubts and fears are plastered on your face, but your mother swipes them away with a gentle thumb. “Be smart, and keep a sharp eye,” she advises. “I’ll deal with your father.”

“I…” How is she able to instill this much trust and responsibility in you? You have a firm relationship with the Queen, but this isn’t something you ever thought she would let you do. “Mother, I don’t even know how I would go.”

“But I do. After all… You’ve trained with them all this time.”

You freeze.

What?

There’s no way she knows about that.

You’ve made sure to keep that secret hidden from everyone. From the time you begged them to let you train with them as a little girl, you made sure to suppress that part of your life. All the times you snuck around, the nights you slipped into your covers fresh and clean for the mornings, the times you deftly fibbed about your activities.

Tonight, you even made sure to wash after training and dress into your flowing night clothes. Your voice is disbelieving as you breathe out, “How do you know?”

The Queen simply smiles down upon your quivering gaze. “Because while your clothes and scent may lie…” Loving fingers travel along your arm. “You cannot hide the strength under your skin, or the energy in your eyes.”

She knew this entire time?

Why hadn’t she said anything?

You want to ask your mother so many things, unearth other secrets she has about her past—but she ends the conversation before you utter another word.

“There’s fight in you yet, child,” she says, hushed. “Now go. The Huntsmen leave at dawn.”

to be continued...

a/n: ahhh if you made it to the end, hello! i am SO excited for this piece and i’m having a blast writing it, so i hope you all enjoy it, as well. :D taglist is open so message, comment, dm, or mention in a reblog if you want to be added. i wanted some fantasy au’s on my blog so HERE WE GO!! lastly, here’s the link to my masterlist if you want to peruse, and my inbox is always open if you’d like to chat!🏹

#bts fics #bts imagines #bts reactions #beegrimm #btsgoldnet #purplearmynet #clubjimin #jimin angst #jimin fluff #jimin smut #jimin x reader #teasers #blacklist term for fics:#*ryenfictalk #ryenwrites #*latest #bangtaninn #btshoneyhive

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nightshade-minho · 4 years

Text

-Embers- (3)

Warnings: heartbreak, jealousy, anxiety, blood, injury, feelings of depression and extreme sadness, but dw it’s not all angsty! this fic has a lot of fluffy moments + this particular chapter is lowkey felix centric + the rest of skz finally make an appearance.

Wc: 8.5k

He shot awake, groaning.

It was too early.

Minho blinked, eyes desperately running over the familiar room as he slipped out of his dream further. His heart was pounding a mile a minute as he closed them again, desperately trying to forget what he’d just seen.

Nightmares like the one he had last night had been frequent before Jisu showed up in his life. Apparently, now they were back.

He sat up. It was still dark outside, the sun weak and just as tired as he was.

He was about to slide out of bed when a pale arm wrapped itself around his waist, pulling him back a little. He looked to the side, humming and pushing a strand of hair behind his sleepy fiancée’s ear. “Hm?”

“No, Min, stay…” She mumbled in her sleep, making him sigh as he took her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

“I’ll be back soon, don’t worry.” He carefully freed himself from her grip, watching as she rolled to the other side, back facing him as she grumbled in her sleep.

Another sigh left his lips.

Minho carefully left the room, after pulling on his clothes hastily. Closing the door behind him softly, he started down the halls, knowing his dad's room was at the other end.

He’d asked to meet him in the morning, causing him to be anxious. What did he want to talk about?

The hallways were depressingly familiar. It felt like he’d been running down them just days ago, holding your hand and giggling at how slippery the floors were after the maids cleaned it.

There it was again. That ever present heartache that never seemed to truly go away. Pain, regret...he hated how much he missed his old life. Despised the way his heart longed for something, or someone he knew was no longer his.

He was deep in his thoughts, when he saw you.

You.

He swore his heart skipped several beats at the sight.

He really didn’t want to run into you first thing in the morning. To be honest, he was way too tired to put on a façade at the moment.

He watched you for a few seconds, wondering what to do. You were standing in front of the window, which was a little too high for you to comfortably look out of. Stood endearingly on your tiptoes, there was a coffee mug in one hand as you observed the sun rising.

He contemplated turning around. He wasn't ready for this, not right now.

Turning his head, he frantically searched the doors lining the hallway for his father’s. There.

Walking quickly, he padded in the opposite direction, pushing open the door and closing it behind him as quietly as possible.

Shit. This definitely wasn't his father's room. In fact, this particular room seemed a little too familiar for comfort. He was just about to turn and get the hell out of there- when he heard your voice.

"M-minho?"

Fuck.

Minho cursed himself, turning around slowly and facing you, avoiding your eyes. He tried his best to keep his face impassive. There was no way he was going to let his emotions show...years of repressing them had taught him well.

"I seem to have lost my way." He muttered, clearing his throat. He stared past you at the wall, determined not to make eye contact.

Eye contact was dangerous.

Minho had always loved your eyes, and had never missed an opportunity to stare into them. He remembered how much you’d squirm when he did that, how red your cheeks would get when he refused to break eye contact. He used to love making you a blushing mess under him.

Mr. Yang used to call the eyes a ‘window to the soul’. Minho could see where he was coming from. Within your eyes, he could see every tiny emotion, every little thought flitting across your brain. Looking into them was the most intimate act of all to him.

He refused to look into your eyes now because he wasn't ready to see the pain that was inevitably there. He'd already caught a few glimpses of your vulnerable, heartbroken demeanor...and he detested the way the sight made him feel.

That’s your fault, Minho. The reason she looks like she’s lost everything. That’s on you.

Minho knew he wasn't ready- cause he didn’t even need to look at you. The mere thought of you was making his heart almost burst out of his chest. That’s how overwhelming and potent all these fucking feelings were.

But he had to stay cold. Just for a while longer, he reminded himself. The suffering only had to go on for a while longer.

"I was searching for my father." He added after a few seconds of silence.

You nodded, staring at the floor. "His room’s opposite to mine." you mumbled softly, realizing to your horror that tears were already pricking at your eyes.

No. You wouldn't cry. You couldn’t...god, it was so hard to hold them back.

Minho peeked up for a second, regretting it as soon as his eyes landed on you.

He'd never seen you look so tormented.

It was that exact expression you had on right now. The one that had haunted each and every one of his dreams last night...the one he’d caught a glimpse of when Jisu opened the door.

Fuck, he really had to get out of here. Minho knew he couldn't stay in this room for a minute longer, or he might do something that he'd regret.

"Thank you." he walked past you and into the hallway, staring straight ahead. As soon as he walked far enough, he let out the breath he'd been holding.

That was close.

***

You watched as Minho left, sighing and heading over to your wardrobe, desperately trying to ignore your beating heart. You had to focus.

Tomorrow, the first trial would begin. Soon enough, you and the other competitors would have to move to the outskirts near the forest, where you would be staying for the next week, training in preparation for it.

You’d already packed a few outfits as well as some trinkets, your lucky charms. Namely, your mother’s button, your favorite book and a dragon claw necklace Minho had gifted you. You’d hesitated before adding the last one, but had ultimately decided it was still important regardless of the state of your relationship with the person who'd given it to you.

You had to win this thing. Your father was pretty clear- you had to prove everyone wrong and subvert their opinions, or else the consequences would be terrifying. The stakes were high, and so was the amount of stress clogging you up.

It was up to you to restore honor to the Ember name. And in order to do that, you had to get over Minho- although you were pretty sure it would be the most difficult thing you’ve ever had to do.

You breathed in deeply, shaking your head and turning around to look at your mirror, observing your reflection. This was it. This was your time, the moment you'd been waiting for. And you had to be ready for it.

So you pushed the despair as deep down as possible, deciding there was a bigger purpose to be fulfilled here. There was no way the pain would go away any time soon...but for now, suppressing it was the way to go.

You walked over to your wardrobe, pulling out thick pants and combat boots, choosing the most fiery red shirt in your closet. Pausing for a second, you stared at your bag before deciding to go get the dragon claw.

You tied it around your neck gently, letting it lie against your skin. Looking over your completed outfit in the mirror, you felt satisfaction coursing you at the reflection that greeted you.

There was a message you were hoping to get across today.

***

You moved across the hall to the dining room, stopping in front of the large doors. Taking in a deep breath, you grabbed the handle. This is it. You can do this.

You exhaled, pushing it open.

You’d never seen so many people in one room before...the table had never been so packed.

There were five participants from each village, and they were elementally varied. This meant that there were about twenty people at the table. Surprisingly, the chiefs and advisors weren’t in the room.

There were a few familiar faces, though. There was Minho, sat between Jisu and Changbin. The latter looked up, scoffing when he saw you before turning back to his food. You sighed. Changbin and you didn’t have much of a good relationship even before his family left your village to join Minho’s, so you hadn’t expected much else.

Looking away, a smile lit up your face when you noticed Mr. Yang’s son, Jeongin, sat next to the empty seat which was supposed to be yours. On the other side of your seat was Felix, who turned around when he noticed you coming. Seeing the two smiling boys made your heart just a little lighter, and you breathed in deeply as you went to take your seat. Maybe this wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking after all.

***

Minho glanced up when he saw you enter, prepared to look away immediately- he couldn’t have Jisu catching him stare- but paused when he saw the dragon claw around your neck. It was the one he’d given you all those years ago, the one he’d found near the lake. You still wear it?

You were smiling at the Terra heir as you sat next to him, turning to smile at Jeongin. Confusion flitted over his features for a second- you didn’t look like you were in pain anymore. In fact, your eyes were filled with joy as Jeongin muttered something that made you and Felix laugh.

“Babe?”

“Wha- huh? Oh-” Minho ripped his eyes away, looking at his fiancée’s suspicious expression.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Why would you think it isn’t?”

Jisu frowned, sighing and nodding after a second as she turned back to her food.

Minho swallowed, playing with his fingers as he stared at his lap. He ignored the sounds of more laughter erupting from your side of the table, picking up his fork and stabbing the chicken forcefully.

The table was filled with chatter as the young adults dug into their food. He tried to tune out the noises around him, but it was difficult. Everyone was so intent on befriending each other, that basic etiquette was forgotten.

These friendships would be short lived, though. After today, everyone at this table would have to be enemies, competing in the most important championship to date. There would be no room for amity. Of course, alliances would be formed- but eventually those would be shattered as well, and it would be every person for themselves.

A survival of the fittest, if you will. That’s how it always worked around here...and truth be told, he didn’t see that changing any time soon.

***

You giggled as Jeongin regaled you with yet another joke, slapping his arm as you doubled over in laughter. Minho was forgotten as you laughed along, glad to be in their company.

“Dad hates the jokes I write.” He chuckled. “So I’m glad to see you enjoy them, at least.”

“I do!” You grinned, turning to look at Felix as he nodded. “I like them too. You really should become a comedian or something.”

“Dad says comedy isn’t a suitable career path for Aers.”

“Nonsense Jeongin, I’ll talk some sense into him.” You nodded in determination, making Jeongin chuckle.

“Please do. Sometimes I feel like he loves you more than me.” He shook his head, smiling.

“Well, I know for a fact he does.” You joke, making Jeongin pout teasingly. You made a mental note to visit Mr. Yang when you could, since you hadn’t seen him in a while. He was more of a father figure to you than your actual dad, really.

You sighed and stared at your plate at the thought of your father, spooning the porridge into your mouth as Jeongin turned to his other side, talking to a guy from your village who looked slightly familiar.

"Are you nervous or anything?"

You looked up at Felix. His smile was so…reassuring. It only served to make your heart feel warmer, and you found yourself leaning closer to hear his voice better.

"Kind of? Not that much. I've been waiting for this for a long time."

"Ah...so you're looking forward to the championships? Hm...I guess that's understandable."

You raised an eyebrow at his tone. "Is it not for you?"

"Well..." Felix sighed. "To be honest, both my dragon and I are pacifists. My true passion is gardening, and Flore likes helping me with that..." Felix shrugged. "I’m not really a fan of duels and battles. I'm only participating cause my parents need me to."

"Oh...that’s terrible. Hopefully this whole thing goes well, and you don’t have to participate in anything too grotesque."

"Yeah. I almost wish there were eliminations, it would allow for an easy escape. Just mess up a little, and boom." he chuckled.

You took another spoonful, giggling. "Ah, if only, hm?”

He smiled at you widely, and you returned it. His eyes were looking into yours, his gaze flitting down to your lips for a second.

"You have a bit of porridge there..." he used his thumb to swipe it off, licking it right after and winking at you.

You blushed, taking a napkin to clean your chin further as Felix let out a soft chuckle, tilting his head at you. Ah, he found you so adorable.

The two of you were completely oblivious to Minho's piercing glare from the opposite of the table.

A nudge to his side caused Minho to startle for the second time that morning, looking to the side at Jisu.

"Seriously, what's up with you today? You've been weird since we woke up." She mumbled, glancing over to look at what Minho had been glaring at. She frowned as she watched you and Felix talk, looking back at Minho.

"Nothing.” He insisted. "It's nothing. I'm just sleep deprived, and stressed about having to live in the wilderness, I guess. You know how much I like our comfy bed...although as long as I get to cuddle you, even the tent will be comfortable enough."

Jisu raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Okay, but-”

Suddenly, the big doors opened once more. Everyone at the table looked up as the four chiefs entered, followed by the guards. They all stood with your father in the front, and he cleared his throat, requesting some silence.

It took a few minutes for the chatter to finally clear, and your father stood up straighter as he nodded.

“Good morning. Are you all ready for the championships?”

There was boisterous cheering, fading away when your father raised a hand.

"Well, well...it seems like just yesterday all of you were children, getting matched with their dragons. But now, you’re all grown up, and thus have to go through the trials we all go through. To prove our worth. This is more than just a competition." He reminded firmly.

"It isn’t which village wins that’s important. No, this is a rite of passage for all of you. Prove yourselves to the world."

"We all went through these trials, once. However, they weren’t this dramatized, and definitely wasn’t a competition. However this year, the four villages decided to hold a championship and compete with each other, so as to strengthen bonds and give you all an incentive to improve. This is the first time in centuries that all four villages have convened like this! I know it feels crowded right now, but remember it’s all for your benefit.” Your father nodded. “I hope you all do well. Now, Chief Farran will provide you the information you need to know about the trials.”

Felix’s father moved forward, clearing his throat. “Right, as you all know, there will be three trials in total. The first one will take place tomorrow afternoon. You have until then to prepare. More information about the trial will be provided right before it starts. Now, all twenty of you will be moved to the woods right after this breakfast. All the villagers will be watching, so keep your heads high and carry yourselves with poise.”

There were a few whispers around, understandably nervous ones as well as more confident people who were ready to show themselves off.

You felt like you were stuck between the two, unable to make up your mind. Were the butterflies in your stomach brought on by nervousness or excitement? You weren’t exactly sure.

“Right, you can all get back to your meals, now. We’ll be back in about half an hour to begin the procession.”

Everyone bowed their heads respectfully, resuming their meals as you noticed your father shoot a knowing look at you as he left, glancing between you and Felix. You sighed to yourself, turning back to your plate and finishing off your porridge.

“Hey- Y/n.” You turned to the side, looking at Jeongin as you chewed what was in your mouth. “Hm?”

“We...we have an idea. We talked about this before you showed up…” Jeongin pointed to himself, Felix and the guy next to him. You squinted at him, realizing you’d seen him hanging out with Jeongin before. You were blanking on his name, though.

“Seungmin, tell her.” Ah, that was it.

The man looked at you, moving his seat forward a little to talk to you properly. “Um, it’s really not that big of a deal. Not a huge plan or anything. I was just thinking…” He looked across the table, and you followed his gaze to Minho and Jisu.

“With them being together, I’m pretty sure the participants from their villages will have formed an alliance. So, I think it would be prudent for you and Felix to do the same.”

“Ohh.” You looked at Felix, nodding. “Sure, that actually sounds like it would be good idea.” He grinned in agreement.

“Mhm, I would love to form an alliance with a pretty lady like you~” You blushed at his words as he held his hand out for you to shake.

“Done.”

“We’ll discuss strategies later, how’s that sound?”

“Great.” You felt like you were high in the clouds, one step closer to your goal.

For the remaining time, the four of you talked, swapping a few strategies and stories about your dragons. You hadn’t felt this light in ages, able to shed your worries for a while.

“And that’s how Flore helped me pl-”

The doors were opened again, so suddenly that a few people at the table were startled. Looking up, you realized the chiefs were back, this time with the advisors and wives, as well as a bunch of guards. There was a new man standing in front of them all though, and you recognized him as one of your old professors, Mr. Flint. To your knowledge, he was the one who masterminded the trials.

“Good morning, everyone! I hope you all are full and satisfied. We’re going to move through the village now, a procession of sorts. Don’t be daunted by the amount of people out there, walk elegantly. Your belongings will be given to you once you reach, so don’t worry about that.” He spoke in his high-pitched voice, an almost musical lilt to his tone.

Everyone started finishing up, a few maids entering the room to put away the plates. You caught a glimpse of Sylvia as she came in, giving her a smile.

The girl’s gaze seemed to be fixed on Felix’s face rather than yours, though. You raised an eyebrow, humming to yourself thoughtfully when your train of thought got interrupted by Flint.

“Is everyone ready? We must leave now. Follow me, please.”

The others got up, the room filling with noise once more as the guards ushered you to stand in two lines. You took your place behind Felix and in front of Jeongin.

You were ready for this. You’d never been more ready for anything in your life.

***

Minho swallowed as he followed the line, Jisu in front of him. He watched her ponytail swish side to side mindlessly, drifting back to what had happened this morning as he walked.

There were so many people on either sides of the procession, an abundance of cheering villagers who had left their homes to watch. There was virtually no space between the people, packed together like sardines as they eagerly ran their eyes over the rows of competitors.

It was the perfect opportunity for everyone to size up the participants. Despite being illegal, he knew there would be quite a few people betting on the outcome, hoping to make a quick buck.

‘Minho, you know what you have to do.’

He remembered his father’s words, biting his lip and groaning internally. He didn’t want to obey him, but he had to. He didn’t have any other choice.

He felt like he was thrashing in deep, black water...drowning without any hope of survival. He didn’t know what awaited him within the void, once he inevitably sunk. He felt blind, helpless.

Knowing you were close by only made him feel worse, your presence confusing him even more. Sighing, Minho plunged deeper into his thoughts, the cheering becoming a dull noise in the background as he walked almost mechanically.

That is...until the booing started.

He snapped out of it, looking up in confusion with widened eyes. He looked around, noticing everyone else’s expression mirroring his. Why was there a sudden shift from cheering?

Among them, you were looking around in bewilderment as well. Your eyes finally spotted the people who were booing...and that’s when you realized they were looking right at you.

These people were angry at you.

You frowned as you began to see more and more of those people. There were only a few, but they were loud, holding banners and waving them as they glared.

Your heart dropped as you saw what was written on the banners. "Stick to tradition!" one said. Another said "Ember has crumbled." Yet another one claimed that the championships were showing favoritism to a chief’s daughter.

Most people were cheering...yet your heart still ached at the sight. Yes, your dad had warned you that not everyone would be on board with such an arrangement...it still hurt, though. You already felt unwanted enough.

No. Stay strong. You would prove them wrong...you would show them the bond you and Aeracus shared. Both you and him deserved to be a part of this.

The booing died down as you moved onto a new stretch, filled with more cheering villagers. Felix gave you a sympathetic look, slowing down a little so that he could whisper to you. “Ignore them.” He mumbled. You nodded, blinking hard and trying to stay tough.

A few minutes later, you noticed a little girl on the side, smiling at you, holding up a drawing made up of scribbles. You squinted, recognizing it was you from the hair color and little fire doodles.

Your heart melted at the sight, and you felt a lot better as you blew a kiss to the girl, giggling. There were a lot of people smiling at you in this part of town. You felt relieved, thankful that it was only a small pocket of villagers hating you. The smiles of the people around you lifted your spirits, and you sighed in relief.

The rest of the walk passed relatively quickly. The villagers and houses started thinning out, and soon enough you’d reached the outskirts, the forest in the distance. The campground was already ready, and half the tents were up.

It was so much quieter out here. There weren’t many people living here except for the stable workers, whose cottages were littered on the vast expanse of grass right outside the forest.

Of course, this was home to some very important creatures as well. Deeper into the forest was a large clearing, where the dragon stables were located. Of course, Aeracus was in a different stable further into the woods, along with your father’s dragon. You imagined that he would have company now, what with the other chiefs and their children bringing their dragons as well.

Flint turned around abruptly, coming to a stop and facing everyone, along with the four chiefs.

“This is where you’ll be staying for the next few days. You will train, eat and sleep here. Tomorrow morning there will be a small training session, hosted by yours truly. I will also explain the rules of the first trial at said session.”

Someone raised their hand. It was Changbin.

“Sir, could you give us a hint for the trial? What will be involved?”

Flint shook his head firmly. “All will be explained later. For now, just focus on the people around you.”

Changbin glared, his hand dropping as he grumbled to himself.

“Now, if no one else has any questions…” He paused, raising an eyebrow. After a few seconds of silence, he hummed, clasping his hands together. “We will be taking our leave now. Sirs?”

They left, your father shooting a meaningful look at you once more. You sighed, turning away. The lines disintegrated, everyone milling about and forming little groups almost immediately. Felix came up behind you, his voice extremely close to your ear as you swivelled to face him.

“I love camping.” He said, his hands in his pockets as he looked around, taking in the greenery. “Probably my favorite part out of all this. Hey, let’s go check out our tent?”

“Our tent?”

“Yeah…” Felix turned slightly pink, scratching the back of his neck. “There are two bigger tents, for the heirs. I believe it’s supposed to be Minho and I staying in one and you and Jisu in the other…” He glanced over at Minho and Jisu, his arm wrapped around her waist as they chatted to Changbin and two other men.

“...However, I have a feeling those two wouldn’t appreciate being separated.”

You shrugged. Well, he had a point. And...why not? After all, the tent was big enough for the two of you. It wasn’t scandalous, by any means.

“Sure.” You glanced at the stable workers pitching the heirs’ tents, humming to yourself.

Felix chuckled, nodding. “Hm...so what do you want to do while we wait?”

You thought for a second. You had an idea, but you weren’t so sure about it.

Fuck it. “Maybe...hm. There’s a lake nearby. Do you want to go there? It’s very pretty, a quiet place to talk. As a Terra, I think you would love it.”

“A lake? Sounds interesting, sure!” Felix sounded eager. You beamed as you took his wrist, leading him off.

Minho watched from the distance as you led Felix in the direction towards a lake he knew all too well. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

How could you take him to your special place? The thought of you bringing someone else into the space that belonged only to him and you made him burn with anger.

He scrunched his eyes shut, groaning. “Get it together, Minho.” He mumbled to himself intently. Should he slap himself? Would that help? Or maybe he should dunk his head in ice-cold water-

“Minho, I’m worried.”

He blinked, tilting his head at Jisu as he looked back at her.

“Worried? Why, princess?”

She shook her head, not replying as she stared at the ground. She looked saddened. He cursed himself, pressing his lips together. “Jisu…”

He gently grabbed her arms and pulled her in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Don’t be worried about me, okay?” He swallowed. “I’m perfectly fine, here by your side…” He breathed in.

“I don’t need anyone else.”

***

You swept apart the vines with your hands. Here you were. Excitement filled you as you pulled Felix in, waiting to see his reaction.

“Behold!” You waved your arms dramatically, giggling.

“Wow…” Felix’s mouth turned into a small O, his eyes running over the hidden lake in front of him. He’d never seen anything like it.

“It’s so beautiful, oh my god-” He ran his eyes over the crystal clear lake. It looked almost like glass, almost like he could walk on it if he tried. Hyacinths, water lilies and lotuses were dotted in and around it. The little clearing was closed off from the rest of the forest, large vines and sweeping willows hiding it from view...it was ethereal.

You grinned at his reaction. “It is, isn’t it? I...I spent a lot of time here when I was younger.” You said, going over and sitting down in front of it. You ran your hands over the slightly damp grass, sighing. “It’s been a while. I haven’t come here in ages.”

He sat next to you after a few more minutes admiring the sight in front of him. “Why?” He asked curiously, looking at the lake. He took a stone from his side and threw it in, watching as it sent ripples through the deep turquoise waters.

“Hm.” You changed the subject, not wanting to delve into that just yet. “What do you think tomorrow’s trial will be testing?”

“Ah, I don’t have a clue. The fact that we’ll barely get a day to prepare makes me all the more nervous.” He mumbled, putting his chin in his palm. The lake-side air was fragrant, and served to clear his head.

“I understand...but don’t be too scared, okay? You’ll have a lot of people behind your back. The alliance was a wonderful idea...” You mused, watching as a butterfly perched on Felix’s outstretched finger.

“You’re like some sort of fairytale princess.” You giggled, noticing a tiny bluebird flying closer.

“Animals love me, although it does go both ways.” He laughed. “It’s one of the side effects of being a Terra, I guess.”

“Ah. Being an Ember just means half your own people are scared of you.” You smiled wryly, inhaling as you lay back. Felix watched as you did so, looking conflicted as he wondered what to tell you. After all, there was no point in comforting you when what you’d said was true.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night.” You interrupted his thoughts, stretching slightly as your eyes fluttered closed. He watched you, smiling as he moved a little closer.

“Use my lap as a pillow.” He said softly, and you obliged. Tired, you felt yourself fall asleep, despite trying not to. Everything just felt so...comfortable.

Felix tentatively reached down, stroking your hair as carefully as he could.

A few minutes later you were napping soundly, lightly snoring as you nuzzled into him. He felt something inexplicable clutch his heart at the sight of you, scrunching your nose up cutely in your sleep.

Breathing softly, he pulled you closer into his arms, leaning back as he started to feel sleepy himself. It was just so calm, so quiet in that little clearing...and somehow, your presence just made him feel all the more relaxed.

The heady scent hovering around him made him feel more drowsy. It was probably due to the flowers that were in abundance around him...but he knew part of it was your scent.

Sighing softly, he pressed you closer, inhaling your perfume as he fell asleep.

***

You woke up, blinking sleepily as you observed your surroundings. Somehow, you were back in your tent, huddled up in bed. Someone must have put you here...

Felix. You remembered falling asleep next to him at the lake. Your cheeks flushed at the thought of him caring enough to carry you here without disturbing your sleep.

You slid out of bed slowly, heading to your bag. Humming to yourself, you started unpacking as you looked around. You didn’t want to waste any more time asleep.

It was a beige tent, with a few lanterns lighting it in a warm glow. It looked cozy, spacious and so...romantic. You tried not to think about how Jisu and Minho were currently using a tent much like this one. God knows what they were doing.

As you finished arranging your items, you heard the cloth being moved aside as Felix stepped in, coming up behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you beamed at him.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, coming closer to you and ruffling your hair. You nodded, feeling a sudden urge to hug him out of nowhere. You remembered how warm and soft he’d felt earlier today...you wanted to feel those arms around you once more.

Controlling yourself, you clasped your hands together as he gently took your hand.

“There’s a bonfire outside, everyone’s sitting around it and getting to know each other better. Come with me?”

Hm. As tempting as that sounded, you reminded yourself that you had a huge day tomorrow. You had to rest up for the big event and preserve as much energy as possible. That is, if you wanted to do this right.

Besides...there was another reason.

You sighed. "Oh. Um, I don't know. You can go on without me, I'll be fine."

Felix sighed, tilting his head. "Pleaaase? It's boring without you."

You raised an eyebrow. "What about Jeongin and Seungmin? And your other friends from your village..."

Felix chuckled. "They want you there too. Please, Y/n?"

The way he was pouting at you made you almost want to give in, but then your brain decided to show you a nasty image of Jisu kissing Minho by the fire, and once again you were determined to stay in your tent.

"I’m sorry, Felix, but....I just don't think I belong there. I don’t know many people…”

“You know me, Jeongin and Seungmin!” He pointed out, throwing your reasoning right back at you.

You groaned. Fuck, there was no avoiding it. You were going to have to tell him the truth.

"Well.” You picked at the fluff of your pillow as you sat down on the edge of your bed. “It’s actually because..." you took in a deep breath, as he looked at you in concern.

"The Aer heir and the Aqua heiress..."

Felix hummed, nodding. He’d kind of figured it was somehow related to them, considering the way he'd seen you staring at them all dejected.

"Well...it just- I don't know, I can't watch it. You can call me jealous, and you’d be absolutely right. Tears come to my eyes every time I see them, I feel weak and pathetic." You mumble, tugging at your fingers. "And weak is the opposite of what I want to feel right now. I need to feel strong for tomorrow. I can't be thinking about him."

Felix sighed, watching as your bottom lip quivered. He’d heard tales about Minho and you, but the rumors were now confirmed.

"Look...you deserve better."

"Do I?" You didn't know. After all, Minho couldn't be blamed for hating you. You just wished he'd trusted you enough to know better. To know you wouldn’t betray him like that, that you wouldn’t let go without a fight. You'd done everything you could.

"Y/n...please come? I'm here for you. We don't even have to look at them, or even acknowledge his existence." He placed his hand on top of yours. You swallowed, shrugging after a few minutes of thought.

"Ugh. You know what, fine!" You agreed. It would be fine...like Felix said, all you had to do was ignore them.

“Also, if your problem is not knowing enough people...I’ll introduce you to the others from my village as well. How does that sound?”

You sniffed, smiling through your wet eyes as you rubbed them. “Okay…I’d love that.”

“Great.” He grinned and took your hand, lifting you up and leading you out of the tent.

The sky was dark by now, but the light from the tents lit up the landscape. The two of you descended into the space where all the smaller tents were located, and Felix dragged you over to the nearest one.

He pushed aside the curtain, letting you go in first and following.

"This is Chan and Jisung!" Felix introduced, gesturing to the two men sitting on the bed, who looked up as you entered. They had warm smiles on their faces as they turned to you, their faces filled with interest.

“Who do we have here?” Chan asked. His smile was kind, his aura welcoming as he sat up. The man next to him looked a lot more chaotic- his grin was wider, and although he was slimmer, his presence felt larger than life.

"This is Y/n, don’t pretend you don’t know.” Felix smirked. “Chan's an Aqua, and Jisung's an Ember, like you." He explained, letting go of you as he introduced the two.

Jisung grinned as he stuck his hand out for you to shake. "So you're the Ember heiress. I've heard about you."

"Good things, I hope." You joked as you shook his hand.

He shrugs. "Well...most of them are. There are rumors, but those exist about everyone. In fact-"

"Anyway." Felix cleared his throat. “These two are my closest friends.” He shot a look at Jisung, begging him to behave. “They're also a part of our alliance. I th-"

It was his turn to be interrupted as the curtain was suddenly swished to the side, Jeongin grinning at you. "Hey guys, the campfire's started! Come quick, or you’ll have to sit on the grass."

Chan stood up quickly, followed by Jisung. "Oh, good! I'm starving. See you, Lixie. Y/n, it was nice meeting you! Let’s go eat, now." His stomach growled and he let out a small, apologetic laugh as Jisung snickered. “Let’s just leave.”

They left the tent, offering you smiles before leaving you and Felix alone.

"Hey..." He placed his hands on your shoulders, noticing your nervous expression. "It'll be alright."

You looked back at Felix, breathing in and nodding. Yes, it's gonna be fine...right?

Felix gazed at you, pressing his lips together as he observed your expression morph into one that was calmer. His heart pounded faster at the sight.

His gaze flitted down to your lips for a second. Hm. He inhaled before leaning in just a little, making your heart beat faster.

Was this happening?

You found yourself staying in place as he did so, almost wanting to lean in just a little more and close the distance between your-

"Why are you guys taking so damn long-" Jeongin appeared from behind the curtain again, Felix pulling away quickly at the sound of his voice.

"Um...did I interrupt anything?" He frowned, looking at the two of you in confusion.

"Um, no! You d-didn't". You glanced at a very red Felix, taking your hand in his in a stroke of bravery. His palms were warm, soft...and you felt your heart flutter just the tiniest bit as he squeezed your hand.

"Let’s go."

As you walked out, you realized just how majestic the bonfire really was. It was close by, near the mass of tents.

The flames rose high in the air, sending plumes of smoke up into the atmosphere. You noticed Changbin kneeling near it, his hand hovering over red scales. Ah, he was probably using the extracted dragon scales to make the fire more powerful.

There were smaller tents littered around the fire, and for a second you wished you were in one of them instead. Especially after what had happened in the morning, you somehow didn’t want to be known as a chief’s daughter anymore.

You and Felix went to sit down on the bench next to Chan, internally sighing as you realized Jisu and Minho were sat right across from you.

To make things worse, she was sitting right on his lap. You felt nauseous all over again...but then it all disappeared, as you felt Felix's fingers wrap around yours once more. Looking up, you blushed slightly, his expression making something in you twist.

"We should play a game!" Jisu announced loudly, bouncing on Minho's lap a little and making him grip her hips to stay in place. She giggled as he did so, looking right at you and smirking.

Whatever. For some reason, right now you found yourself not caring as much as you did before.

"Mhm, great idea, babe." Minho mumbled, looking at you and Felix uncomfortably. Why were the two of you sitting so close to each other? Why the fuck was he holding your hand? He frowned, internally panicking for a second when your eyes suddenly met his.

Fuck- no way he could let you think he'd been staring. Minho quickly averted his eyes, placing his lips on Jisu’s neck and kissing gently. He glanced up momentarily to see if you were still watching. You were.

He decided to up the ante a little bit- he started sucking on the skin, making Jisu jolt in surprise. "M-min..."

"Hey lovebirds, you know there are other people here right?" Jisung shouted out, causing everyone else to laugh.

"Like, get a room." He sniggered.

Yes. You liked Jisung.

A red flush spread across Minho's cheeks, but he just shrugged, burying his nose in her neck and staying like that.

"A-anyway..." she continued, clearing her throat. "I was thinking of a kind of game where we spin something, and the person it points to has to answer a question truthfully?"

Ah yes, you'd heard of this game. Somehow, a bad feeling had already started to settle in your gut, just after listening to her explain the premise of the game.

There were a chorus of nods and agreements. After all, it didn't really matter what the game was. All everyone wanted to do was drink and horse around, before tomorrow when they would inevitably have to be more serious. Jisu nodded at the responses, turning to her side. "Jinnie, can you pass me that?"

A tall, blonde man next to her nodded, passing her the bottle. He was strikingly handsome and also definitely from her village. An Aqua too...he was dressed almost as luxuriously as she was, making you think he was probably the son of one of the advisors.

"Let's start.” Bending over a little, she placed the bottle on the ground, spinning it.

It landed on Seungmin.

“Right…” She placed a hand on her chin, ignoring the way Minho’s hands had tensed slightly.

“What was your most embarrassing moment?” Jisu asked finally, looking at the man expectantly.

“Well...probably that one time I proposed to a dude I barely knew. It was a bet, but still kinda embarrassing. After all, he didn’t know that.” He chuckled, looking pointedly at Minho.

Minho’s eyes widened in recognition. Oh. So that’s why he looked so familiar. Well, he'd badly misread that situation.

“Interesting.” There were a few scattered laughs as the bottle was taken by Changbin, who spun the bottle and landed on a girl from Felix’s village.

The game continued like that, a lot of secrets being revealed, stories of various kinds being told. It was actually quite fun, and having Felix hold your hand did make you a lot more comfortable. You were able to laugh along with everyone else, the mirth in the atmosphere contagious.

That is, until the bottle finally passed into Jisu’s hands once more. You felt a sense of unease return, gripping at you.

She spun it, and you all watched as the bottle turned round and round...finally landing on you.

She sat up, her eyes lighting up as she noticed who it landed on. Rubbing her hands together, she screwed her face up in thought as she prepared a question in her head. There was an unsettling smirk on her face.

“Hmm...I have a good question for you.” She paused for a second, staring deep into your eyes and making your stomach churn. Something was about to go wrong. You just couldn’t tell what.

“Here it is. Your dragon and your best friend are both in danger. Who do you save?” She asked nonchalantly.

No...

Your eyes bulged out of your head as the words left her mouth, and so did Minho’s. Confused, the others looked at your expressions, shifting uncomfortably as realization dawned on some of them. The rumors had been widespread when it had happened, and you remembered just how horrified you'd felt then.

Terror, icy and unforgiving, was beginning to pierce into your heart. You had to divert the situation before it could go anywhere too unpleasant.

“C-can I have another question?” You mumbled, staring at the ground, ignoring the concerned looks of your new friends.

“No." She pursed her lips "Why are you scared to answer the question, Y/n?” She grinned widely, ignoring Minho’s sharp warning squeeze. He was starting to feel the dread overcome him as well, and his mind was screaming at him to stop this. But...he just couldn't. He felt so numb.

“I’m...not scared-”

“But that’s exactly what you are. Scared. A fucking coward, isn’t that right? I know you’d-”

“Stop.” You said in a small voice, pulling your hands away from Felix’s and curling them into fists.

“No. Everyone deserves to know.” She was starting to get worked up. “It’s all your fault, everything is. And I want the whole world to-”

“That’s enough!” Minho shouted firmly, moving Jisu off his lap and glaring at her. He'd let it go too far, and he realized that fact in horror. Fuck, why didn't he react earlier? He felt that familiar sinking feeling from before hit him, slamming into him like a hammer.

She shut up immediately, still glaring at you. Minho looked up shakily to see your eyes filled with angry tears, staring right at him as you stood up.

His heart pounding, his voice quivered as he stood up as well, taking a step towards you. “Y/n, please-”

“No.” You held a hand up, bottom lip quivering. “I don’t want to hear it.” You put your head in your hands, breathing in and out. Calm down, it’s ok-

But it wasn't, was it?

“You’re pathetic.” Jisu hissed. “It’s your fault your dragon’s dead, not M-”

“For the love of god, shut up!” Minho shouted at his fiancée, turning back to you as you shook your head. He felt himself starting to shake uncontrollably at the sight of you, looking absolutely betrayed as you stared at the ground.

“I- I have to...can’t do this..” You muttered, the tears flowing as you turned around, walking away as quickly as you could.

“Y/n, wait-” You heard Felix’s saddened voice calling after you. You ignored it. You could feel all their eyes burning into your back. You just couldn't stay here for a second longer.

You broke into a sprint, running and running as more tears spilled. You ran past the tents, into the forest, as fast as you could. Ran between the trees, your mind all over the place.

Everything was dark. So dark, you could barely see what was in front of you. But you ran anyway, desperately in the direction of the one being who could possibly comfort you right now.

Somehow, it had also started to rain. A slow drizzle at first...but then the heavens opened up, drenching you. As if you needed further reminders that the universe hated you.

When you finally reached the clearing housing the stables, you placed your hands on your knees, your chest heaving as you tried to regain your composure.

Calming down just a little bit, you swung open the door and walked into the large stable. Unlike before when there had been only Aeracus and your father’s dragon, now there were more, belonging to the chiefs and the heirs. They were all asleep currently.

The other dragons seemed normal enough, colorful and adorned with finery...except Minho’s and his father’s. You felt that familiar uneasiness fill you when you looked at the sleeping ebony creatures. They just didn't look natural, and definitely didn't look like Aer dragons.

You moved to the very end, rubbing at your eyes as you tried to make sense of what had just transpired. You couldn’t believe any of it.

So that’s what Minho assumed happened. How could he?

Your heart throbbed as you were taken back to that terrible, fateful night. The sheer trepidation and anxiety that had filled you, the overwhelming agony you'd gone through.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled. Stop. Don't take yourself back there, it's not worth it.

Looking up, you let yourself smile sadly as your eyes landed on Aeracus, fast asleep in his stall. You wanted to talk to him...but couldn’t risk waking him up from his slumber. Sighing, you sunk down to the ground instead, resting yourself against a bale of hay.

Bringing your knees up to your chest, you cried into your arms, wishing you could just disappear. Everything was just too much for you to process.

At the moment, you weren't exactly clear on what your goals were anymore. All you knew was you felt embarrassed, hurt and petrified.

Tired, too. Your limbs ached from the run, perspiration dripping from your forehead. There wasn't much else you could do but try to sleep. And so you closed your eyes, trying to clear all the thoughts away.

You were just about slipping into dreamland when suddenly, there was a loud, urgent knock on the door. Your eyes widened in shock, lifting your face from your knees as you stared at the door of the stable.

Who could it possibly be?

You sat up slightly, confused. Rubbing your eyes, you stood up shakily. Was it Felix, finally come to get you? Or Jeongin, perhaps?

Who in their right mind would venture out to you when the downpour was this heavy? You took in an anxious breath, slowly lifting yourself up.

As the knocking continued, you stood up and walked over hastily, deciding to open the door before it could get any louder and cause the dragons to wake.

Your hand closed around the handle, your heart slamming against your ribcage in fear, reminiscent of the raindrops falling against the stable walls.

Finally, you pulled the door open.

Your eyes widened as you stared at the last person you’d expected to see.

There he was, in front of you. His heavy, dazed eyes wildly searched your shocked ones as he tried to move forward. He was out of breath, soaked, distressed and...wounded?

"Minho, you-" Before you could say much more, Minho's eyes shut as he collapsed into your arms.

That was when you properly noticed the blood seeping through his shirt, staining the fabric a deep red. What the fuck-

Minho blinked up at your aghast face, wincing and swallowing as he clutched onto your shirt tightly. "Y-Y/n...please…” He begged, trying to suck in a breath, desperately failing.

“Help.”

#minho smut #minho angst #lee know smut #lee know angst #skz angst #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #Skz smut #minho x reader #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #minho imagines #felix x reader #felix imagines #lee know series #skz series #stray kids series #lee know x y/n #felix x y/n

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thestayway90 · 4 years

Text

Reign of Lies: Chapter 1 (SKZ Royal Fantasy AU)

Author: thestayway90

WC: 2873

Warnings: None

Characters: Stray Kids OT8 Royal Family, Alexis (OFC), Elora (OFC)

Relationships: Changbin x Alexis (OFC)

Summary: An angsty Royal AU where Alexis (OFC), as her fathers only daughter and therefore the kingdoms only Princess, is sent to marry a Prince of their rival Kingdom to ensure Peace. However, after arriving at her new home, Alexis quickly finds out not all is what it seems…

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Did I start another series even though I’ve already got one still ongoing??? yes yes I did...

But in my defence I've had this idea sitting for a while and finally got round to doing something with it!!! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Also a side note this will contain SKZxSKZ relationships... obviously these are written for fanfic and not based on reality so please don't take them seriously... this is all just for fun and entertainments sake :)

I’m a little nervous about posting this one but enjoy <3

Alexis straightened her skirts nervously. Her outfit felt heavy and suffocating in the warm sunlight that streamed through a large side window. The climate was so much warmer here than the cooler weather she was used to back home.

Elora stepped in front of her, deft fingers fixing Alexis’ collar as she told the older girl briskly, “Walk in there with your head held high and show them what you’re made of.”

Alexis smiled down at her sister and best friend, grasping one of her hands tightly. “What would I do without you?” She asked rhetorically as Elora took a step back, staying on Alexis’ right where she would always be within sight.

“You would be a mess,” Elora replied unnecessarily in a deadpan voice, drawing a surprised laugh from her sister.

Suddenly the double doors in front of the two girls was flung wide open and a herald bellowed loudly into the large space behind. “Princess Alexis, Duchess of Vitova and Alzilicia, beloved Daughter of King Tobias of Mava.” He took a breath then continued as the girls took their first steps through the doorway. “And her companion, Lady Elora.”

Alexis concentrated on not tripping over her cumbersome skirts, keeping her eyes on the floor until she reached the foot of a set of stairs that led up onto a low platform.

Pausing at the end, she sunk into a low curtesy, seeing Elora copy the movement in her peripheral vision, and finally looked up.

She sucked in a breath, wobbling a little in the curtsey she was still holding, as her eyes swept over eight imposing figures ranged around the front of the room.

Standing proud in the centre was who, she imagined must be, the King she had heard so much about. King Chan didn’t look as imposing as his reputation would suggest, an easy smile gracing his lips, his black hair cut short and shockingly coloured a bright ruby red on top.

Standing slightly back from his right shoulder was a man with the sculptured looks of a statue, and to the kings left stood four boys, who Alexis assumed were the Kings younger brothers, the Princes of Roalun. Alexis let her eyes linger on the four figures, wondering which one was Prince Changbin, her soon to be husband.

Finally her gaze fell on two boys, standing to the side of the platform, her eyes widening as she took in the most beautiful people she had ever seen. One was tall and lean, long blonde locks falling over his forehead, partly covering intense liquid brown eyes. The other was shorter with a petite figure and silvery blonde hair that seemed to shine even in the shadows he stood in. But it was his eyes that drew the most attention. One was such a dark brown that it looked black, the other, in stark contrast was a shockingly bright light blue. The pair made such an achingly beautiful sight that Alexis had to advert her eyes but couldn’t stop herself continuing to steal glances in their direction.

Alexis straightened from her curtesy and, heeding her sisters advice, held her head high, fixing the King with an unwavering gaze.

To her surprise King Chan smiled even wider at her and launched himself down the stairs, wrapping her in a tight hug when he reached the bottom.

“Welcome, Princess Alexis. The Kingdom of Roalun is so pleased to have you here at last.”

The King pulled back and kissed her on both cheeks.

Alexis startled a little, feeling unbalanced as she replied slightly stiffly, “Thank you for the kind welcome, Your Majesty.”

“Oh none of that,” the King scoffed, waving a hand at her. “We are soon to be Brother and Sister. Chan will do just fine.” Chan motioned for the five boys still up on the platform to join him.

He grabbed the sculpted man first, pulling him to his side and wrapping an arm lovingly around his waist. “Let me introduce you to my Husband, Prince Minho.”

Minho inclined his head, his feelings hidden behind his cool expression. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Princess Alexis.”

“Just Alexis please,” Alexis insisted, getting the feeling that this court preferred a less formal approach to their Royalty.

“And these three are my baby brothers.” The boys grimaced at the title, none of them looking even close to being babies. “Prince Jisung, Prince Seungmin and the youngest, Prince Jeongin.”

Alexis’ eyes drifted over the three very different brothers but her gaze settled at the last boy, standing silently, head bowed.

“And this is Prince Changbin, Heir to Roalun and your future spouse,” Chan introduced so casually that Alexis fought not to wince at the informality.

Changbin finally looked up, bowing low to her. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Princess. I hope your time here will be agreeable.”

Alexis felt her heart drop at his distant but polite distant tone. His greeting made it sound like she was only visiting for a holiday, not moving to a completely foreign kingdom to become his wife.

Before she could speak to him at all, Changbin gave her another quick bow and then turned to Chan. “I really must be going, brother. The Generals are waiting for me.”

Chan’s brow creased into a frown but he nodded his consent. Changbin retreated at a brisk pace, Alexis watching after him in confusion.

Chan cleared his throat. “Unfortunately my brothers position as the Head of Military keeps him very busy.”

Alexis smiled and nodded her understanding, hiding her consternation behind what she hoped was a polite bland expression.

Chan then beckoned to the two boys still standing to one side. “And these two fine gentlemen are my brothers, Lord Hyunjin and Lord Felix.”

Hyunjin groaned in a dramatic voice, rolling his eyes as he approached. “You know how I hate being introduced as Lord, Channie,” the tall blonde complained. He reached over and grasped one of Alexis’ hands, placing a quick kiss onto the back of it, smiling crookedly up at her. “I’m so happy to meet you, Alexis. I’m very glad to finally be adding some femininity to our little family.”

Chan glared at the inappropriate words while Alexis struggled not to turn and look at Elora as she heard the other girl suppressing laughter.

Alexis concentrated her attention back on the King. “I thought you only had four brothers?” She questioned unthinkingly, her curiosity around the weird dynamic of this foreign court getting the better of her.

Chan gave a loud bark of laughter, pleased at her straight forwardness. “Hyunjin and Felix’s father was my father’s best friend and advisor. When their parents passed away my father took them in as his own. We’ve spent our whole lives together.”

Alexis turned her eyes on the two brothers, Felix having joined them, standing silently next Hyunjin. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine. Ask away,” Hyunjin said flippantly, waving his hands around airily. “This is to be your family as well. You have a right to ask about it.”

“Talking about family,” Alexis turned and beckoned Elora towards her, grabbing hold of the younger girls arm and holding her tight against her side, relieved at her solid presence. “This is my sister, Lady Elora.”

“Just Elora please,” Elora interrupted, shaking her head at the formal title.

“Lovely to meet you, Elora,” Chan said, smiling widely at Alexis’ sister, putting Alexis at ease.

Alexis immediately felt favourable towards anyone who treated Elora with kindness and respect. The younger girl had too often received scorn and distain from others, making Alexis very protective of her sister.

“I’m sure you are tired after your long journey,” the one called Jisung spoke up, clearly picking up the signs of exhaustion that both Alexis and Elora was exhibiting. “Should I show you to your rooms now so you can have a rest before dinner?” The kind boy posed it as a question, not wanting to impose on them.

“If His Majes…” Alexis stopped herself and continued pink staining her cheeks, unused to such informality. “If Chan does not mind us being excused. A rest sounds wonderful right now.”

Chan frowned a little, concern creasing his brow. “Oh dear. In my excitement I forgot what a long day you’ve both had. Of course you may go, please. Go rest and we can talk more over dinner.”

Chan gave both Alexis and Elora tight hugs before Jisung beckoned for them to follow him out. Alexis and Elora curtseyed to the royal family and then exited the throne room, feeling much more relaxed than when they had entered.

Jisung chatted amiably as he led them through a maze of corridors before stopping in front of a pair of large doors. Alexis looked at the masterpiece in front of her in awe as she heard Elora’s quiet exclamation of amazement.

Jisung had a smug look on his face. “Do you like them? They were specifically made for you. In fact the whole room was specifically decorated for you.”

Alexis felt her heart constrict at the startling act of thoughtfulness that she hadn’t expected when being forced into an arranged marriage in a country at war with her own.

The doors were painted a solid gold with beautifully ornate pearl and turquoise inlays making up intricate patterns of flowers and animals. Alexis raised a hand to brush against a perfect depiction of a peacock with full plumage proudly of display.

“He heard you liked animals.” Jisung’s voice pulled Alexis out of her reverie and back to the present.

“Who heard?” She asked unthinkingly, still in awe of the artwork that was simply the entrance to her rooms.

“Changbin of course,” Jisung said matter-of-factly, reaching over and pushing the doors open. “The inside is all Hyunjin though,” the boy continued as he stepped inside, Elora following close behind him.

Alexis took one more moment to admire the first sign of consideration that she’d received from her future spouse, before following the other two inside.

This time the opulence before her made Alexis’ jaw drop and eyes widen in shock, as she turned in a full 360 to try and take in every detail surrounding them.

The colour palette of the door was continued into the rooms, gold, pearl and turquoise hues mirrored throughout the furnishings and decorations.

They were standing in a large sitting area, the ceiling draped in gold and white cloth, a large brazier of gold hung from the ceiling dripping strings of pearls that sparkled in the late afternoon light. The chairs were large and comfy, their brilliant turquoise upholstery offset by gold trim. A low table stood before a fireplace, surrounded by multicoloured floor cushions and covered by an intricately embroidered table runner that depicted brightly coloured scenes of animals found in Roalun. Through a set of white shuttered doors to her right, Alexis could see an absolutely enormous fourposter bed draped with beautiful hangings of sheer gold and turquoise.

But what attracted Alexis attention the most were the doors directly in front of her that were flung wide open giving an unobstructed view of the outside. She walked over, feeling like she was in a haze, out onto a large balcony, pressing up against the railing as she took in the view.

As the Palace was built strategically at the top of a hill, the city of Epiris was laid out like a tapestry below her, extending down the slope until it hit the bank of Lake Lilies, continuing to spread along the lakes edge on either side. The lake was a breathtaking sight, glistening in the sunlight, large enough that you could barely glimpse the other side. She could see from her position the place where the Mairis River flowed into the lake and immediately took in the two garrison towers on either side, brows pinching when she remembered exactly why she was here.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Jisung said as he came to stand beside her. Elora was still inside, already starting to unpack their trunks, always happier when things were in their proper place.

“It’s stunning,” Alexis agreed, closing her eyes for a moment and basking in the sunlight. They stood in silence for a moment, Alexis feeling slightly bewildered with how comfortable she was already feeling in her new home.

“Can I ask you something?” Jisung sounded hesitant. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel like it.”

Alexis opened her eyes and looked over at him. He now had his back towards the view, leaning against the railing as he fixed her with a serious look.

“Sure.”

“Did you have a choice? About coming here, I mean?”

Alexis considered the question for a moment, her silence making the other boy jittery.

“Not exactly,” Alexis finally answered. “I’m sure if I had put up more of a fuss, the King wouldn’t have sent me, but I’m also pretty sure if I’d done that he would’ve renounced my title, leaving me with no prospects and no way to keep Elora safe.”

Jisungs expression softened, pity shining in his eyes. “Not really a choice then,” he commented softly.

“Not really, no,” Alexis replied, giving him a small smile. He returned it with one of understanding, making Alexis wonder what non-choices had been given to him and the close-knit family around him.

“You know we didn’t even know Roalun had a Princess until Chan told us about you coming to marry one of us,” a voice chimed up from behind them, making both of them spin around in shock. Jeongin, the baby of the family, stood in the doorway, his face openly curious.

“Jeongin, you can’t just walk into other peoples rooms,” Jisung berated his younger brother, looking ready to throttle the boy.

“The door was open.” Jeongin shrugged slightly, not seemingly bothered by the scolding.

He fixed his gaze back on Alexis. “Are you really a Princess? Because I learnt in History that King Tobias only had sons.”

Jisung whacked the younger boy over the head. “You don’t ask questions like that you dimwit!”

“It’s okay. He should know if I’m to be his sister-in-law,” Alexis consoled the embarrassed elder boy.

She turned her gaze back to Jeongin. “My father is the King but my mother isn’t Queen Lillian. My mother is her sister, Lady Edelyn, the former Duchess of Vitova and Alzilicia. The Princes are my half-brothers. The reason you didn’t know that Roalun had a Princess is because up until a month ago there wasn’t one. Although the King had claimed me as his daughter, I was still only a Lady, one day to be Duchess of my mother lands. However, when the King saw an opportunity to seal the Peace Treaty with Roalun by connecting our two Kingdoms through marriage, he gave me the title of Princess and shipped me off here, and as my mother is dead there was no one to stop him doing it.”

Jeongin looked shocked, eyes wide as he tried to make sense of Alexis’ story. Jisung on the other hand didn’t look surprised, his expression empathetic, which made the newly made Princess feel a little bit better about exposing her complicated past.

“Does that make you a Princess as well?” Jeongin unthinkingly asked Elora as the other girl joined them.

Alexis stiffened, immediately shooting Jeongin a glare, even though she knew he didn’t mean any harm by it.

Elora grimaced and shook her head, quickly blurting out, “No, I will never be a Princess,” before quickly disappearing back inside.

Jisung slapped Jeongin over the head once again. “Idiot!”

“Wait, what did I say?” Jeongin was genuinely confused which made Alexis soften her irritation at the younger boy slightly.

“It’s a sensitive topic for Elora. Just leave it alone, alright,” she told him, a hand going to her forehead and her exhaustion finally caught up with her.

“If you don’t mind, I think I might go lay down for a bit,” she told the two boys, walking back inside.

“Of course. Someone will come and get get you when it’s time for dinner,” Jisung said, taking Jeongins arm and dragging him out of the room with him. Jeongin smiled widely and gave Alexis a cute wave goodbye before the door slammed shut in his face.

Alexis smiled and gave a chuckle at the cute boy, shaking her head as she went to check on Elora.

She found her sister already asleep on top of the covers of her bed in her own slightly smaller room. Her face was still scrunched in distress and Alexis reached out a hand to smooth the hair off of her forehead, Elora immediately relaxing at her touch. Sighing, Alexis grabbed a rug and covered her up, quietly tiptoeing out of the room and softly closing the door behind her.

Fighting to keep her eyes open, she stumbled into her own room and crawled into the massive bed, burrowing deep under the covers.

The last thing she saw before succumbing to sleep was the detailed picture of a Mountain Lion painted onto the ceiling of her room, the sparkling afternoon sunlight making it look alive.

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