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theeveninghour · 6 months

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All My Dreaming

Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby!

WC: 16.1k ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things.

Part 2

Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it.

Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo.

The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour.

When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous.

His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return.

It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into.

You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed.

Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal.

You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee.

You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit. But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.

Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.”

Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone.

“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure.

He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else.

“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.”

Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.

You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove.

You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully.

As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire.

Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.”

“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone.

You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked..

You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.

He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it.

“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift.

You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief.

“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes.

He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.

“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.

He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance.

You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment.

Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed.

“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.

Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon.

In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate.

Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room.

“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.

He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees.

Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.

“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction.

You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension.

“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.

“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel.

You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’

He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again.

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.

“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.” He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on.

“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind.

Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind.

“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.”

You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way.

“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.

Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.

He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.”

Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.

You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you.

“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment.

Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up.

That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive.

When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily.

Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features.

You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed.

Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness.

Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.

Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.

Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight.

When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”

This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple.

When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up.

On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here.

You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed.

As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose.

“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”

“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred.

Shit.

“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.

Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky.

You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed.

The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,�� he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead.

It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.

He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.

You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting.

“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit.

He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared.

You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand?

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles.

You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt.

“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head.

“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.

Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently.

The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming.

You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound.

“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.

He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago.

You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate.

Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you.

Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode.

He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian.

As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded.

They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try.

As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you.

Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives.

They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens.

As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook.

“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”

Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him.

Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!”

“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.

“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.

“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered.

Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.”

‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.

Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.

Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back.

“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home.

Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body.

You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.

Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you.

You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.”

He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically.

“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now.

“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.”

Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly.

“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained.

He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently.

Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own.

He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.”

The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life.

Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male.

You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time.

Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.”

You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit. You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.

“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly.

“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action.

“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee.

“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly.

You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off.

In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.

“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.”

You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading.

“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin.

“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth.

“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven.

Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier.

You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.”

You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed.

“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.”

Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile.

Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested.

He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you.

He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love.

“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.”

You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core.

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh.

He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations.

“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh.

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket.

“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself.

Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back.

He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch.

“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off.

His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up.

Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed.

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest.

“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.

“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.

“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked.

You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder.

He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there.

The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt.

Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.

You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest.

Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours.

You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf.

“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.

“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm.

You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard.

He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.”

You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked.

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cursedcola · 2 years

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Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw(Here!), Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. I've been thinking about maybe programming a small fan-made mini-otome using these ideas. Just for some practice for school while also being self indulgent hehe

Leona Kingscholar

Let’s just rip the bandaid off. Leona dates to marry. He’s not someone to invest his time in something troublesome, and frankly? Not many people catch his interest. Sure. He might think someone is physically attractive, but there’s a difference. He doesn’t follow the traditional path either. The ‘dating’ stage doesn’t last long because he’s already made up his mind prior to it.

Dating is pretty much just formality. The moment you agree to it, you’re essentially agreeing to marry him. He’s not going to put in effort for just anyone. Bonus points if he’s the one to confess his feelings first. That is basically concrete confirmation that he intends to marry you.

Leona proposing is inevitable. Only two things stand in his way: time and pride. Time, because he is no idiot. Your ways are unlike his people, and unlike him. He’s patient. He knows how to play the game. He can wait, but not forever. He’ll observe you over time and slip in questions here and there about your goals in life. Then he’ll find a good time frame. Please remember that Leona is not just an ambitious hot-head. He’s a smart one.

Then there is his pride. He will not put himself in a position that has a chance to fail. No. He will play dirty, and wait until you are tinkering with the idea of marriage. He’ll steer conversations towards talks of the future, and make it so you’re the one who starts them. All to get you warmed up to the idea of spending your life with him, and to a stage where he can clearly tell where you lie emotionally. He might appear neutral on the outside; however, it’s all according to plan. While you are just beginning to imagine your lives together, Leona’s already had the thought process long prior. You don’t need to know that though.

The icing on the cake is when you visit his home. Checka is Leona’s secret wingman. Your soft spot for the boy is something he takes advantage of, and lets Checka consume your attention during a tour of the palace. You meet his elder brother, who irritatingly pries for details about your relationship. Leona lets it go. Just this once, because he knows you feeling at home is more important in the long run. You share a room with him during your stay, and he made arrangements for small changes according to your tastes. You’re also gifted with a new wardrobe of traditional clothes for your stay, and given free reign of the area. Naturally you are guarded in secret, as per the King’s orders. His brother knows as well as Leona does that it is imperative that your stay goes well.

You will be touring landmarks and tourist spots within the continent as well. While Leona would much rather laze his free time away in his room (away from his family), he goes. Word spread that he was bringing home his partner. Thank the gossiping maids for that. Walking with you makes the rumors official, and is safer than having you walk alone with Checka and some royal guards. That would have arisen suspicion, and been troublesome. More troublesome than walking around and confirming to the public that you are not to be touched.

Ignoring the many remarks about how Leona is unusually active during his visit (thanks to you), his pride is high. You’ve thoroughly been slotted into his life, and are accepted. Any apprehensions about you denying him were snuffed out. The way you took to living with him so easily proves it. If you weren’t welcomed by his family? Well, it wouldn’t change anything. This scenario just makes what he’s about to do easier.

The first night you arrived, Farlan presented Leona with a Kingscholar family heirloom. A ring that has been in their family for generations. Not meant to be worn permanently, and only for proposals. Farlan used it to propose to his wife, and at the ceremony presented her with the ring he picked out. Now Leona will use it to propose to you.

One look at it and Leona declined. He’s spent his whole life chasing things that he couldn’t have because of his birth status. He would not yield this moment to tradition. Farlan was shocked, but rescinded the offer with a supportive smile. His brother had found himself, and the King was proud.

On the evening of your final night at the palace - Leona finds you alone on the balcony of your shared room. If he was going to do anything, it would be now. Initially he was 100% confident in getting your acceptance, but the longer he watches the less sure he becomes. Deep down there is rooted fear that he will once again become second choice, and that you’ll choose to return to your world over him. His hands are in his pockets, and one of them fists around the ring he prepared long ago.

Right when he moved to back out, you turned to come back inside. Your serene stature brightened at the sight of him, and he gained back some confidence. If you could only look at him that way forever…well, here goes nothing.

What are you doing out there without a coat? It gets extremely cold in the Savannah during the night. Do you want to get sick? I won’t be the one taking care of you….,” he sighs, pushing the door open, “Stubborn mule. Make some room, I’m coming out there….I’m near-certain that you figured it out, but this isn’t just a normal vacation. I brought you here to ask for your hand. What?? Stop playing dumb. Not your ‘hand’ hand - oh, for crying out- marriage! I am asking you to marry me!….I am taking the laughter as a yes, now give me your finger”

{ 'Everything the light touches...is our kingdom' - A golden sunrise. Befitting. He used to hate them. Hate that phrase too. Yet you are the sun that Leona has been searching for. He continues to fight against fate in hopes that his efforts will bare fruit, and you are living proof that there is a chance. Maybe not easily. His life might not be what he originally dreamed. He may not get to sit on a throne of light . Yet there is a light in his life, and he likes to think that fate did not bring it to him. No, he found you all on his own.}

Ruggie Bucchi

'I don't see why you haven't proposed to that young darling yet. Keep waiting and you'll miss your chance, boy'

Well, of all the things Ruggie expected to hear during his visit home, that wasn't one. Normally he'd be nagged over being away too long, or not writing home enough. This? It caught him off guard. Grandma was always sticking her nose where it didn't belong...but, maybe she had a point this time.

Your relationship. It's not something Ruggie has given much thought. It's uncharacteristic of him to get comfortable enough not to look a few steps ahead, but he's gone soft. A fact that he begrudgingly accepts with a grain of salt.

Naturally, he doesn't admit this out loud and instead changes the topic. On the outside, he acts normal and helps out around the house. However, internally he is thinking over his grandmother's prying.

Marriage. It's not necessarily 'beneficial,' to say the least. With only a few months left until graduation, he'll finally be entering the rat-race to secure himself a comfortable position for life. He's worked hard and developed connections to make it happen. The finish line is right there.

Where does that leave you? He can't necessarily be as flexible if he has a partner to worry about. It's a weak link, and might cause problems in his plans. The smart thing to do would be to break things off. After all, how many school romances get a happy ending? It's so unrealistic. He'll be busy with work, you'll have your own responsibilities, and eventually it will be like you are strangers with a title tying both of you together.

This reasoning alone is enough to settle the problem. It's just - he doesn't like it. It's the most realistic path and he hates it. If it was about finding a companion, then he could do it later in life.

But when he tries to picture that lifestyle with anyone other than you, it doesn't sit right. It's physically upsetting, and makes him nauseated.

Sleep evades him that night. Ruggie finds himself sitting in the kitchen doing homework, burning the midnight oil until he can think with a clear head. Naturally, his all-knowing grandmother finds him there and makes him spill his thoughts.

She's direct with her advice. It's rare for Ruggie to be stumped considering his quick-wit, and understanding emotions is a wisdom you gain with experience.

For someone like Ruggie, who's always maximized every outcome and thought ahead - you're a weakness. Something that he can't control, and yet exactly what he needs in life. We don't get to choose who we love in life. Love is unpredictable, and Ruggie's found it at a young age. Career opportunities come and go, but he will never get back the time spent at your side...so why not maximize that instead? Hm?

He leaves for NRC the following day. For the last time, considering it is his final year. On the way he stops at multiple markets and dips into his savings. With nothing but a ring and an idea, he ditches his stuff in his dorm and heads to Ramshackle.

He's not nervous. That left his system the night prior. His grandmother's tough advice hardened that up quick.

He knocks on the door, half expecting one of the resident ghosts to answer. Instead it's you, and he's down on one knee before you can speak. With one hand, he holds out the ring. The other itches his nose in attempt to hide his wobbly grin.

"Shishishishi~ I don't have to explain what's going on, right? I'm sure you can put two-and-two together quickly. Are you really so surprised that you have nothing to say? Hmm, I guess that I can take the lead. Pretty soon I'll be leaving. You still have another year here, and I can't promise that I will be around much. Until now, I had no plan for us. Likely because being with you is the most natural thing I have experienced. I've always aimed for a life of comfort, but now I want you in that picture too, y'know? So...when you graduate next year, will you marry me? I'll be patiently waiting, shishi~”

{Rose Quartz. The symbol of unconditional love and family. Something Ruggie hasn't experienced much in his life, and is grateful for. Ruggie did not want to choose a generic gem. Not for this. He may be known for cutting corners, but this is too important. He has done his fair share of trading, and knows exactly what to look for when shopping. No salesperson alive could convince him otherwise. You may not understand the meaning behind the gem, but that's alright. He doesn't mind, because this is the ring he'll see on your finger until you're both old and grey}

Jack Howl

Jack takes the longest out of all in his dorm. In result, his proposal is the most natural. Not to say that he does not put thought into it! Oh no, this poor lad hella overthinks the event. It's just getting him to the proposing stage is - well, anticlimactic?

All Jack requires is time. Once you've both settled in to your lives on an individual standpoint, with time comes thoughts of taking your relationship to the next level. As adults who have been together for years, it's only natural? At least for Jack. He has never been for or against getting married. So, there really is no internal battle for him to fight. He just? Lets himself be happy with the idea? I know, I know. It sounds too easy - but think about it. Jack is responsible, kind, and a bit like a golden retriever (or should I just say wolf?). He doesn't ignore his feelings. So if he feels that he want's to marry you, then why not? The worst that can happen is you say no.

There was no epiphany. No spark or overwhelming feeling of affection that made him want to marry you. No impending doom, nervousness, or special moment that he can pinpoint as 'the moment'. Nothing. You weren't even around.

He was merely finishing up morning jog and heading home. The thought casually entered his head, and he let it stay. Over time it reappeared over and over, until he felt that he'd heard it enough to act on it.

Jack is high-key observant and knows your likes and dislikes by heart. He feels that such an important moment is something he needs to think through deeply, and on his own. Many have been at the receiving end of his determination, and that doesn't exclude you. Once he's set his mind to something, there is no holding back. Over the course of weeks he proceeds to undergo self-reflection, and craft a proposal that he feels is perfect.

One question he spends time thinking about is 'where,' because Jack would prefer to do an intimate act like proposing somewhere private. The last thing he wants you to feel is pressure to accept, so he chooses to propose on a late night walk. This might arise suspicion since he isn't in workout gear, which is rare. Yet it's a price Jack is willing to pay. He's never been great with surprises anyways.

He tries to uphold some element of mystery though. Do not laugh, but he put the in a plastic bag and hid it inside the container for his protein powder. When times get tough, you have to get a little creative.

Right before your evening stroll, he says that he wants to make a shake (under the pretense that afterwards he'll work-out). In actuality, he takes an empty bottle and slips the ring inside.

While you're both walking, he shakes it around and 'complains' that nothing is coming out. With you completely unknowing, he opens the cap and feigns surprise. It makes you curious, and he hands over the bottle a bit too eagerly

It's light, you note instantly. A glance inside reveals the ring, and when you pull it out Jack stops walking. His face sets with determination despite the red hue overtaking his neck and ears.

Will you marry me?? -- oh wait, that was too blunt, wasn't it? Hang on!, " he takes a breath, and coughs into his fist, "So. I've been doing some thinking. We've been together for years now, and to me you've become irreplaceable. I don't know how else to describe how I feel, other than to say that you are the person I want to spend my life with. I can only hope that you feel this way too,"

{He isn't a man of the arts. Jack has no eye for fancy jewels, or what's an appropriate design. He originally thought to have the shop keeper help him decide. Yet, that felt impersonal. So he perused many stores, and did his best to imagine your reaction to seeing each ring. Nothing caught his eye until this peridot. A simple cut with an eye-catching color. Sure, it's not what others would recommend but he liked it. Who would Jack be to deny his gut instinct?}

#twst headcanons #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland leona #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst imagines #twst scenarios #leona kingscholar x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #jack howl x reader #twst lack #twst ruggie bucchi #twst leona kingscholar #series #twst x reader

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changbunnies · 10 months

Text

Aurora (18+)

♡ Pairing: Prince!Felix x Duke's Daughter!Reader

♡ Genre: light angst, fluff, arranged marriage au, royalty au, historical au, one sided pining to eventual mutual pining, slow burn-ish ??, eventual smut

♡ Word Count: 21.8k

♡ Summary: Y/N, a duke’s daughter in the southern territories of Miroh, is promised to crown prince Felix in the north in the hopes that the dueling territories will reach peace. Yet, despite how much she initially loathes the idea of being married and away from her family, she can’t help but fall in love with the prince she was promised to.

♡ Warnings: outdated traditions and views on women to suit the setting, felix is nothing but sweet but it takes the reader time to trust him, attempted cheating (not from reader or felix, you'll see), 1 mention of having children, kind of possesive felix? but not too much, i think that's it but lmk if i missed something!

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): felix calls reader "my love" (yes this needs a warning), so much kissing!! so many "i love you's!!" (a changbunnies smut staple), reader and felix are virgins, nipple play, oral (f + m receiving), handjob, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie

♡ Notes: you can also read the story on my ao3 where it is divded into chapters here, and if you're interested you can also check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

You knew well the day would come where you would be married off to a family looking to expand their power. You knew that you would have to leave behind all things you found familiar and comfortable to live in your husband’s estate.

You knew that your responsibilities as a nobleman’s daughter would catch up with you sooner rather than later. And despite knowing all these things in your mind, your heart had not felt prepared for the reality of your fate in the slightest.

Your night was spent in a grand ceremony of music and laughter as two families, one yours and the other your now husband’s, as well as commoners from all over the bustling town you would now call home, celebrated your new union. You were now Lee Y/N, wife to the northern king’s one and only son, Felix.

And while there was high likelihood that Felix would not sit on the throne for decades, the choice of who would become his wife was still something that had to be decided with the utmost care in the event that an unexpected tragedy befell his father.

Though you were not a princess, you were the eldest daughter of a grand duke. You were raised in elegance and novelty that most would never have the privilege of living in. You were also graceful, well mannered, and adored by your father’s people in the south, which was something the king valued when seeking out the ideal partner for his only heir. And with your union to the prince now solidified, the country was ever closer to a more unified and prosperous existence.

The ceremony itself consisted of fake smiles you had long practiced from a young age; a mask of joy and grace to hide your inner tumultuous feelings. When the celebrations had come to a close, and the time came to bid your farewells to your family as they made the long journey back home to the south, you did your best to hold back the tears and see them off with a smile.

You played the role you had been taught by your elders well, giving polite words of parting to the commoners who made it the ceremony and maintaining an elegant air around the royal family that you were now a part of. Felix let out a relieved sigh when the last of the guests departed, turning to you, his now wife, with a gentle smile afterwards.

“Shall we retire for the night as well?” he asks as he holds out his arm, clearly offering it to be linked with yours. You accept the offer easily, deciding that if anyone saw you reject your husband on such an offer it would reflect badly on your family’s manners. The last thing you needed were rumors to circulate about your parents ‘not raising you right.’

“I hope you’re not too ill at ease,” he says as you exit the ballroom together, “meeting your betrothed on the same day as your ceremony is quite a shock.” He’s certainly not wrong about that; it was easily the greatest shock of your life. In fact, you spent much of your month-long journey to the northern lands in denial, utterly convinced it must be a falsehood, or some manner of prolonged bad dream you would surely wake from.

Only on your arrival in the morning, when you had finally seen the royal castle with your own eyes and met your suitor and his family face to face, did your reality smack you squarely in the face. The truth of things could no longer be rejected; you were going to be married this evening whether you wished it so or not. You were left with no choice but to conform in that very moment, to accept your fate for what it is.

“Yes, it took me no small measure of adjustment, but I am grateful that you and your family have spared no effort in accomodating me.” You offered a kind word– after all, it was no lie that his family were much kinder people than you had expected them to be.

Once you reached the age of maturity, your family received countless marital requests from various suitors, many of whom were vile men beneath a mask of sincerity. You had watched your cousins marry into many such families, and found yourself dreading the day it would happen to you as well.

While it was undoubtedly unfortunate that you were forced into a marriage, the fact that Felix and his family seemed to hold genuine kindness in their hearts made you quite lucky. However, your luck being better than most did not mean you were happy about any of this.

Sure, the fact that you weren’t wed to a boorish man who felt the need to treat you like an object was a good thing, but that didn’t change that the freedom of choice was stripped away from you. You should feel relief that Felix seems to be a sweet person, or some sort of joy that your new family is seemingly considerate and caring, but you don’t.

What you feel instead is.. Well, you aren’t quite sure what name to put to the feeling, though dread felt the closest. Yes, you felt a looming dread over knowing that this was your life now, and you were never, and will never, be given a choice for something different.

“If there is anything at all I can do to help you in this transition, I ask that you do not hesitate to tell me.” Felix’s voice, while still much deeper than you had anticipated it to be, was soft and kind as he made the offer.

You could feel a hint of guilt for not appreciating such a thing as much you knew you should– he’s obviously trying his hardest to be kind to you, and despite that you’re just.. Unhappy. There was no other way to put it.

“I will, thank you,” you reply in your perfectly rehearsed well-mannered tone. You may hate the situation you’re in, but you won’t take it out on him. After all, he likely didn’t have a choice in this matter either, and he’s been nothing but sweet and accommodating to you thus far. As much as the rebellious part of your brain wishes to kick and scream and throw a tantrum, you don’t want to do anything that would hurt or reflect badly on your new husband.

“This is my– well, our, room,” He says as you approach two large, ornate doors, decorated with a wood carving of the royal family’s emblem standing proudly in the center: two soldiers mirroring each other with swords raised skyward, and a beautiful, intricately drawn phoenix beholden in the center. “We can enter if you wish, but I do not intend to force you to lie with me when you are not yet comfortable being next to me.”

“Truly? Is such a thing alright?” You nearly exclaim, unable to disguise the surprise in your voice at his statement. Felix smiles in the same sweet manner he has all night as he answers, “Of course! I know it’s.. Customary for newlyweds to lie together right away, but I have no desire to force you into an uncomfortable situation. And well.. I do hope that we’ll share a bed in the future, but I am more than willing to wait until you are ready.”

You felt truly taken aback as you stared at him. Sad to say, you half expected his tune to change once the two of you were alone. You'd heard many awful tales of men who are sweet and doting in the eye of the public, but change the moment they are behind closed doors, their true natures and selfish desires exposing themselves once there is no one they have to impress or keep up appearances for.

And also sad to say, it wouldn't have surprised you if the crown prince was one of those awful men; men in positions of power love to flaunt and make use of it, flashing their wealth and their status and forcing those beneath them into submission. You were lucky that in your father's lands in the south, you had enough status to prevent those men from harming you explicitly.

But here you were, in a forgein land, married to a man who was second only to his father, the king. A man who held substantial power over you in every regard now that you were wed, but was giving you the freedom of choice.

And then there was the statement that followed– he wants to lie with you, would likely be pleased if you did so this very night, but is willing to wait until you want to of your own regard. It's possible he is simply a smooth talker, years of diplomatic lessons and high social status turning him into a charasmatic liar, an effortless charmer.

Was it in his true character to treat women with such consideration, or were you an exception until he got you where he wanted you? Did he sincerely view you are more than an object to be had, or was he going to play the long game, waiting until the moment you lower your guard and become comfortable to strike?

Regardless of the answer, you feel truly thankful in the moment. You've had a whirlwind of emotions today, and not needing to immediately lie with your new husband takes an immense weight of your weary shoulders. You're happy to have the space to decompress alone in your own private space offered to you.

“The maid’s have prepared a room for you further down the hall. Shall I take you?” he asks, the sweet smile having not at all faded. You hesitate a moment before you nod, not wishing to offend him should you appear too eager or if this part of a game he wishes to play, using your vulnerability as a pawn. “Yes, please.”

“Very well,” he replies as he leads you further past the room that you are supposed to share together. The walk down the hall is rather quick, ending just a few yards away from your starting point. “I hope you don’t mind, I wanted your room to be in proximity to mine in case you have need of me,” he clarifies as you approach the door to what will be your bedroom for the foreseeable future.

“Truthfully, it’s more than I was expecting. I appreciate it,” you smile your first genuine one of the night, truly relieved to not have to share a bed with a relative stranger right away, and to have the space you need to process what your life will be like from this night onward. Felix unlinks your joined arms and opens the door for you to enter, his apparant kindness unfaltering.

The moment you step inside your new room, you are in awe. Even for what is likely a small guest room, it’s still much larger than your bedroom back at your family’s modest estate. The furniture is well crafted and beautifully adorned in gentle blue and white shades. In the corner of the room, you see that your belongings from home have been neatly placed, with essentials on top and personal comforts at the bottom.

This surprised you most of all; not only was he kind enough to prepare a separate room for you, but he had all your belongings brought here ahead of time, as if he already knew this would be your answer.

Behind you, Felix stands in the doorway, having not followed you into the room. He wore an expression of anxious anticipation, waiting to hear what you thought of where you’d be sleeping. He was as patient as he possibly could be, hoping silently that whatever opinion you held would be positive. He truly wanted you to feel safe and comfortable here, so that one day you could grow to have a genuine connection with him.

When you turned back towards him, your soft smile made the anxiety welling within his breast wash away in an instant. “It’s to your liking?” he asks, and you respond with a nod. “It’s lovely, thank you.”

Truthfully, you felt another tinge of guilt for doubting his pure intentions just moments prior. The way relief instantly washed over his face was a clear indicator that he was truly trying his best to make you comfortable.

“Ah, I’m relieved to hear that!” Felix holds his hand over his heart, as if it had just been racing in his chest; and to be fair, perhaps it was– he did seem genuinely considerate in all his actions, and he must’ve been nervous up to this point. “Before I go, should I call some maids to help you remove your gown? It looks rather intricate, so..”

Felix’s observation wasn’t wrong; getting your wedding gown on early this afternoon required the help of your mother, sister, and many others, and you didn’t feel you’d be able to remove everything on your own.

So, you gave your approval to receive the maid’s help, and Felix nods, “I’ll alert them quickly so you can get your rest soon. Knights will also be posted in front of your room at all times starting now, and maids will come to your room routinely, so please notify them if anything is needed urgently.”

He was about to turn to leave but stops, hesitantly meeting your eyes one last time before he departs. “Uhm– good night, I’ll see you tomorrow.” His smile was bashful, and you found his subtle, soft change in demeanor oddly endearing.

While you were still very much uneasy about being in this place, and had your issues with being married, it’d be a lie to say that Felix’s earnest efforts to make you happy and comfortable weren’t helpful, and that maybe with him as your husband, you could be happy someday.

You groan as you are wrestled from sleep by a quick succession of knocks on your door; not urgent in any way, but loud enough to rouse you out of the pleasant dream you were having. Groggily, you stand from your bed, rubbing your eyes as you step toward the door.

You open it slowly, and come to see Felix standing before you with a tray of various foods in hand. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I brought you breakfast. May I come in?” You nod and step to the side to allow him entry, letting your assigned guards close the door behind him.

“The maids said they couldn’t wake you, so I decided to give it a try at my first available moment,” he explains as he sets the tray down on your bed. “I’m still unsure of your preferences, so I got a little of everything. I hope there’s something here you enjoy.”

It has been just a few weeks since you officially became a member of the royal family and Felix’s wife, but you still often found yourself being taken aback by just how thoughtful and earnest he was towards you.

He seemed to have even the little things in mind when trying to accommodate you, and you often found yourself unsure on how to react to such kindness. In the end, you settle for a simple thank you as you climb back to your spot in bed to eat under the comfort of the blanket.

“When you’re finished, I would like to take you on a tour of the castle if you’re not opposed. I believe getting familiar with your surroundings will aid in your adjustment,” he says, watching you carefully for any change in expression. It is true that since your arrival, you’ve spent most of your time holed up in your room, not coming out unless there was need for it.

And though you were perfectly content to continue to do so, you could understand how it would become a problem, not just for Felix but for yourself as well. You can’t spend the rest of your days hiding away in your guest room, and you won’t adjust to your new life any easier if you don’t at least try to familiarize yourself with your surroundings.

Besides all that, Felix has been incredibly sweet and patient thus far. You owe it to him to try, at the very least. His face lights up when you give your agreement, an earnest delight painting his face. You weren’t sure why he was so eager to offer you comfort, or why he always seemed so happy when you returned his smiles, but that pleasant quality of his was undeniably helpful in easing the ache in your heart.

"I still have some things to take care of with my father before we begin, so take your time finishing your breakfast and getting ready. I'll be back later," he continues to smile as he stands, seemingly excited about what the afternoon will hold for you (and he is excited! There is so much to show you, and he hopes you love everything the castle has to offer.)

Your maids enter the room shortly after Felix departs, ready to help you with whatever you may need, and to begin tidying up once you've finished eating. You're not sure how long Felix will be, so you follow his advice to take your time, leisurely eating your breakfast and making small talk with the maids as you do.

You were nervous to speak with them your first few days here, unsure of what sort of dynamic they had with the royal family, but you all warmed up to eachother rather quickly. They were kind, playful but still professional, and the ones around your age were especially excitable when it came to the prospect of gossip and dressing up.

Even when you weren't interjecting into conversation, you enjoyed listening to them talk about romance, what they think of the working men in town, what dresses they plan to buy with their savings and what they'll do when they have a free night to spend out. You especially liked to listen to them talk about Felix.

Some of them had been here for years, and they knew much about him that you hadn't come to learn yet. It seemed that he'd always been sweet and kind, gentle and shy as a boy, but grew more confident with age and experience. Despite that, according to them, there were still many times where you could catch him becoming pink in the face, shyness blooming over it the way it had when he was still small.

It made you curious– what did Felix look like when he was shy? You were sure he must be beautiful; you're not blind after all, you can clearly see that the man you married is handsome beyond what words could describe. Being against an arranged marriage is completely seperate from recognizing that the man you were promised to looks like he was sculpted straight from God's own hands.

But it takes more than beauty for you to have feelings for someone, and that's why you liked hearing the tales of his youth, moments that reflected that the Felix you met is the genuine him, no tricks and no falsehoods. And maybe one day, you would see him be shy, and seeing it would spark feelings in your gut that you hadn't felt since the time you were a child with your first crush.

“Are you ready to begin the tour?” Felix smiles brightly as he holds out his arm for you the same way he had on the night of your marriage. You had just finished taming your hair and tying half of it behind you with a ribbon when he arrived back at your room, free of whatever his duties were and ready to dedicate the rest of his afternoon to you.

When you first stepped out, Felix’s timid stare didn’t go unnoticed by the maids, who insisted on helping you despite being told you were capable of getting ready on your own.

You chose a simple, muted yellow gown with white trim accents to wear from the clothes you brought with you from home. It was one of your favorite dresses to wear casually as it was light, airy, and easy to walk in. You had no plans to do anything extravagant, but your assigned maids insisted on you wearing at least some jewelry, so you let them place a pearl necklace on you with dainty earrings to match.

And so, the maids secretly beamed with delight at Felix’s reaction to your appearance (though it wasn’t their added accessories that caught his attention in the first place; it was simply you.) “I’m ready, thank you,” you say as you accept his invitation to link your arms together.

Felix shifts his gaze from you to the maids, giving them instructions to finish tidying your room while the two of you are out. They bow politely, getting straight to work on cleaning as you step out of your room, and you can hear their soft, delighted giggles even as you are led down the hall.

The tour started about as you expected, with Felix leading you from room to room and stating simple facts such as “this where my older sister and her husband sleep’ or ‘this is the hall where your family will stay when they next visit’ and so on.

Typically, daughters move out of their family homes upon being wed, their entire purpose to give their husband’s family a successful lineage and ideal heir, but you suppose a special exception is made when you’re part of the royal family. You wonder how different your life would be if the expectation to leave your family behind wasn’t placed upon you from birth.

He has a younger sister as well, one who has yet to be wed and who you met only briefly, but you wonder if she’ll be allowed to live in the castle as well when her time comes, if her husband’s family will have guest rooms just as yours will, and if she’ll have the luxury to stay in the place she’s familiar and comfortable for her entire life.

You know his sisters aren’t much different from you, really. Women often don’t have freedom of choice, and you especially doubt the princesses ever get a say in what comes next for them (even if the king and queen are caring people), but at least they still have their home, and their family right there with them.

You were envious of that; you missed your home and your family so much. Would there ever be a day where you could see the place you grew up in again? How much older would your family be the next time you saw them?

Your younger sister, who was still small and naive– how different would she be? How much taller, how much more mature? It saddened you to think about, and you had to consciously make an effort to not think about it any further, and focus instead on the things Felix was showing to you.

He skips past the dining hall and ballroom since you’ve already become well acquainted with them from the wedding ceremony, and instead brings you to the royal library as your next stop. It was an understatement to say it was gorgeous, but you could find no words to do it justice.

It was the largest library you’d ever seen, equipped with grand staircases and beautiful handcrafted spandrels carved into the arches. The bookshelves reached up the ceilings and covered every wall, apart from the back section where large ornate windows filtered in sunlight from the gardens outside (which Felix assured you that you’d be seeing soon.)

“This is incredible, I’ve never seen such an impressive library!” you practically beam, unable to hide your excitement at the impressive collection of books. You’ve always been a fan of literature, spending countless hours losing yourself in fantasy worlds and star-crossed romances.

“I could spend all my days here and still not read everything,” you muse with a smile as you wind your way through various bookshelves, taking note of every title that peaks your interest.

“With such an extensive collection, there’s bound to be something that suits your tastes,” he says with a smile of his own as he follows you through the winding path of bookcases, “feel free to grab anything you’d like! You are allowed to take from the library as you please.”

Oh, you intend on doing just that. You suppose you should start with just a few for now though; the library isn’t going anywhere after all, and neither are you.

It takes some time, but you eventually decide on a handful books to bring back to your room first, mostly fantasy romance titles (because how can you resist the call of your favorite genre?) Felix, who had been watching fondly as you made your selections, quickly instructs a nearby maid to bring your selections back to your room before asking if you’re ready for the tour of the castle to resume.

In much higher spirits than when you began, you happily link your arms with Felix again, eager to see what else the castle has to offer you. There’s not much more for you to see on the inside; you’re briefly shown the knight’s barracks and the maid’s quarters, as well as the informal living space his family prefers to relax together in when they have the time. (It’s still extremely elegant and beautiful for an “informal” space, but you digress– they’re royalty, after all.)

He leads you to the gardens next, which until now you had only seen briefly from the windows, and wow, is it more stunning when actually in front of you than you ever would have believed. All the flowers and hedges are well maintained and vibrant in color, a cobblestone path laid before you and winding around the garden carefully, lattice fence work protecting the flowers in the back and maintaining the border.

There’s ponds littered about, the cleanest and bluest you’d ever seen, the fish inside clearly visible even at a distance. In the center lies a beautiful marble fountain, with large, meticulously detailed sculptures of what you assume to be a goddess to adorn the surroundings.

It’s all utterly breathtaking, beyond anything you’d ever seen at home in the south. As you reach the end of the cobblestone path, there lies an iron wrought gazebo with matching seating and a table beneath, right in the center.

Felix unlinks your arms and steps up first, holding his hand out to you to accept as you proceed carefully up the few steps up to the gazebo. He pulls a chair out for you, smiling when you accept the seat and then takes his own seat directly across from you. There’s still a chill in the air, as spring has only just begun to set in the north, but the sunlight that filters through the iron keeps you sufficiently warm.

“Would you like some tea? You must be tired after all the walking we’ve done,” Felix asks after he’s gotten more comfortable in his seat, the iron cold at first but warming up quickly due to his own body heat.

“That’d be lovely,” you answer sincerely, and he smiles again, looking around quickly for any nearby attendants he can call to assist the two of you. Within minutes you are provided with fresh tea, as well as a handful of biscuit style cookies, and you thank the maids for their quick work as warmly as you can.

“It’s been so long since I last walked the entirety of the castle grounds, I’d forgotten how tiring it is,” Felix sighs after he takes a sip of his tea, seemingly unphased by the high temperature of it. You on the other hand are snacking on the cookies you’d been provided as you wait for the tea to cool, having no desire to scorch your tongue and potentially embarrass yourself in front of your husband.

“Yes, I can’t imagine doing it daily. The maids certainly have their work cut out for them,” you empathize, truly hoping they feel appreciated for all the work they’ve done for you thus far, and have done for what you imagine to be decades for some of them. You didn’t have much help on your family’s estate back home, as it was much less grand in comparison to the splendor of the castle you now live in.

The moments that follow are serene; you listen to Felix talk about various things pertaining to the castle as you sip your tea, including stories of how he used to get lost as a child and always needed someone's help to get back to where he needed to be. You laughed once, when he told you about a time he got stuck in a utility closet and cried until he was discovered by a maid, who had to spend several minutes calming him down before carrying him back to his room.

It was a cute story, and you couldn’t help but giggle from how he dramatically explained the darkness that encompassed him, and how terrified 7 year old Felix was at that moment. You were worried for a moment after that it’d seem like you were laughing at him and not with him, but the way he smiled at you after he heard your laugh told you he was perfectly happy with your reaction.

It was the first time he heard you laugh since you arrived– genuinely laugh, and he liked it. It made him feel warm, and gave him hope that you were finally starting to feel comfortable around him. He’d never hurt you, and he hoped that as you grew closer to him, you could genuinely love him one day. That’s all he wants really; to love the person he’s married to, and be loved in return.

He’s seen it happen before; his parents, whose marriage was decided long before he was born but was the truest form of love he’d ever seen, and with his older sister, who was against her marriage at first but came to be truly in love with the man she was promised to. He wanted that to– to love and be loved with all his heart, to have something special and all his own with the woman he was promised to. And he'd work hard, do everything he could to show you that he was someone worthy to give your heart to.

You stayed in the gardens for some time, simply talking and enjoying the scenery until the sun began to shift behind the trees. The shade brought a deeper chill with it, a slight shiver crawling over your skin each time the wind blew. “Let’s go back inside, there’s still something I want to show you,” Felix suggests upon seeing the way your body tensed from the chill creeping over you. You easily accept the offer, letting him lead you out of the gardens and back to the castle.

Warmth immediately spreads through you when you’re back inside the castle’s walls, body releasing its cold tension as you let Felix guide you to where he wants to go next, your arm linked in his as is coming to be your norm.

You come to a now familiar hall– the one with your bedrooms, and Felix stops in front of the doors to his room, the one you will one day share in the future. “Your room..?” you ask, looking at him inquisitively.

“I’m not asking you to move in yet, just to see it, if that’s okay with you,” he explains his intentions, ensuring that he means you no harm by inviting you into the private space. Felix has given you no reason to mistrust him at all, and while there is some slight hesitancy due to your own fears, you agree easier than you expected yourself to.

He’s trustworthy, you think; he’s a gentleman through and through, and he’s shown you more than once how considerate and respectful he is, so.. Why not? The royal knights guarding his room open the doors for you at Felix’s signal, and the two of you step inside together, letting the guards close the door behind you to offer you privacy (not that you necessarily need it at the moment.)

His room is similar to yours, with much of the same features, but much larger in scale and with items you imagine are specific to Felix’s own tastes. His furniture holds the same blue and white tones as yours, but with the additions of a lovely yellow, reminiscent of the sun shining in an almost clear sky.

He has a fireplace, only slightly larger than the one in your room, and you can tell even from a distance that his attached bath is very grand in both appearance and size. The biggest difference from your own room however has to be the piano sitting in the corner of his room, large and spectacular in its handcrafted design.

You cautiously step closer to it, carefully running your hand over the sleekly painted black wood, fingertips tracing over the gold leaf accents. “This is beautiful,” you say, turning back to look at him when you’re done admiring the beauty of what you can only assume is his personal piano, “do you play?”

“I learned as a boy,” he answers with a beaming smile full of pride as he takes a seat in front of the keys, “I haven’t had much time to play recently, but it’s one of my favorite things to do. I always feel the happiest when I’m playing.”

He motions for you to take a seat on the nearby chaise, so you do, sitting comfortably against the soft cushion. “Would you like to hear a song?” he asks, a bit nervous but eager to show you what he can do after years of diligent practice.

“I’d love that,” you reply, his infectious joy causing you to smile as well. You watch as he turns his attention to the keys in front of him, his face changing as he closes his eyes, the smile you had become accustomed to seeing fading as he prepared to focus.

The song starts soft and slow, and while you didn’t recognize the melody, you found it entrancing and indescribably beautiful and serene. You watched and listened in awe as he continued, his eyes still closed and body swaying along with the melody he was playing. His ability to play without looking at the keys or sheet music amazed you, and attested to the fact that this is indeed something he loves to do.

You clapped when he finished the song, and his expression immediately returned to the vibrant smile he often held. “That was beautiful Felix! You’re really talented,” you praise him earnestly, truly moved by his talent.

“Oh, no, anyone who has played as long as I have can do that,” he insists despite the light blush crawling on his features from your compliment.

“You’re being modest,” you say, hoping he recognizes that you truly mean it, and aren’t just saying so to be kind or polite. You’ve seen a fair amount of people play the piano in your time attending balls and banquets, but saw no one as talented and clearly passionate as Prince Felix.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to being so openly complimented, or the fact that he had never played in front of anyone but his family, but he found that the praise affected him in a way he couldn’t have anticipated.

No, it was because it was you specifically complimenting him that made his face flush and heart beat just the tiniest bit faster. Was it strange to hope to hear you compliment him more in the future? Maybe one day you’d compliment his appearance; tell him he was handsome, or beautiful, or cute even. He’d be happy with any of them, as long as they were from you.

He'll tell you too– how beautiful you are when you smile, your excitement over your books cute, your very presence endearing. He knows it's too soon to call his feelings love, because how do you fall in love with a stranger in only a few weeks time? But he's certain that one day, maybe not too far off from today, it will be love, and the warmth and joy he feels whenever you look at him will expand tenfold, beyond anything he's ever experienced before now.

Since the first time you’d entered Felix’s room and he’d played the piano for you, it had become routine for you to spend most of your days there with him, listening to him calmly play melodies while you silently read your books. It was nice listening to him play while you were reading; it felt like it added a special ambience, and helped you get even further lost in the tales written on the page.

Sometimes you’d even notice him watching you read from your peripheral, smiling to himself for just a moment before he turned his attention back to the keys. When his fingers grew tired, you’d start to read aloud, oftentimes at his own request. Felix explained that he liked listening to you read, and you imagined that the feeling was similar to how you felt listening to him play piano.

Relaxing, comfortable, serene; that’s how the two of you felt listening to the other. Honestly, you were embarrassed to do so at first; after all, the book you were reading at the time had to do with with a woman in a magical fantasy land falling in love with an elf, and you would’ve been extremely embarrassed if he laughed at the concept or shamed you for your taste in literature.

However, you found that he listened to you intently, like the tale you were reading from the pages was of the utmost importance for him to hear. He’d ask follow up questions when you were further in the book than he last heard, often asking what happened next and if the characters had overcome whatever trial they had been facing yet.

Felix remembered all the details of what you read to him– the setting, the character’s names, what their thoughts and feelings were at the point you’d read them to him. It impressed you, as well made you feel warm and a little fuzzy. It showed how much he genuinely cared, that he listened to you and cared about the things you care about, that he wanted to know what you like beyond a superficial level.

Whenever night came however, you retreated back to your own room, promising you’d return the next day. Maybe it was silly to not officially move into the bedroom you were meant to share when you had begun to spend most of your days there, but you simply weren’t ready to yet. You’d grown to trust Felix quite a bit, but sleeping next to him still seemed a step too far out of your comfort zone.

You also worried it’d send him the wrong message– you didn’t want him to think anything would come of you sharing a bed just yet. You just found his presence comforting, and that was all. You knew, since the very day you first came here, that he hoped the two of you would share his room when you were ready, but you didn’t want to unintentionally give him something he thought was more than it was supposed to be.

It seemed so.. Intimate, much more than you had ever been with someone. You liked him, and you trusted him, that much was true– but enough to share a bed? It was nerve wracking to think about, and while you knew it would happen someday, there was no need to rush it along; especially not when he was giving you the freedom and space to tackle your marriage on your own terms.

But on nights like tonight, when your heart was heavy and tears pricked the corner of your eyes, you wondered if you should’ve just moved in with Felix already. It was only a matter of time before the warm weather brought rain with it, and alongside the downpour came thunderstorms. You weren’t sure what time of night it was when the crash of thunder woke you from your sleep, but as the grogginess faded and the sound sat with you, your heart ached terribly.

You didn’t hate thunderstorms– in fact, you didn’t mind them at all, usually finding them quite pleasant to watch and listen to. It was your sister that hated them, who’d crawl into your bed every time one struck, trembling hands rousing you from your deep slumber and clinging to you the moment you awoke and offered her a place next to you. And each time a thunderstorm rolled through, you couldn't help but think about her, sadness encroaching over you without any means to stop it.

What was the weather like back home, you wondered? Had spring's rain been gentle to her so far or were the storms as prevalant there as they were here? Would your sister suffer through it alone now that you weren’t there to comfort her? Your parents were kind, but you weren’t entirely sure they’d allow her to crawl into bed with them, or to hold her close as she cried the way you always had.

How much of the remainder of her childhood would you come to miss? In just a few years time, she’ll be a woman the same as you, married into a new family and away from the last of her comforts. You don’t hate where you are now, nor do you hate Felix or the family you now call your own, but you miss the people you grew up with, and your little sister most of all.

You miss holding her hand, hugging her when she’s scared, wiping away her tears when she’s sad or frightened. You miss guiding her through the lessons you once took, helping her to understand and offering the help you didn’t have then due to being the oldest. You miss giggling together when sharing stories, how cute she looked when happily accepting and showcasing your hand-me-down dresses that were now hers.

Before you knew it, tears rolled down your cheeks, the ache in your chest unable to be ignored or pushed aside any longer. It was as if all the sadness you’d been harboring surfaced all at once, and the moment one tear fell, another followed, and another, until you were openly sobbing, unable to control or stop it from happening.

You thought again of Felix, who was just a short trip down the hall from you. Would it be alright to go see him? You promised you’d go to him if you needed something, and well.. You could use some comfort, if you were being honest with yourself.

If you lit some candles and tried to read to distract your mind, all you’d effectively do is blur the pages and stain them with your tears, unable to focus on the words in front of you as your mind swirled and processed all your emotions. Felix, while still relatively new to you and finding his place in your life, is your family now.

Who else can you approach with your melancholy if not him? He’s sweet– he’ll comfort you, he’ll listen to you, he’ll be patient and considerate. In the nearly 2 months since you’d first arrived, he’s always shown you just how gentle of a person he is. And he always seemed genuine when expressing his desire to share his life with you, and be someone you could trust and rely on.

You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself, wiping the tears from your face as you rise from your bed. Your night guards seem surprised when the doors to your room open and you emerge from them, but ultimately they say nothing, letting you walk down the hall without interruption and closing your doors for you.

Felix’s guards, who recognize you even in the dim light of the candles on the walls as his wife, acknowledge you with a brief, professional nod when you stop in front of the doors. You hesitate there for a moment, wondering if this is really okay or if you should abandon this idea and turn back to your room.

But his guards, who mistake your hesitance as you waiting for them to open the doors, do so as quietly as they can, motioning for you to go ahead and step inside the room. Well, there’s no going back now that they’ve opened the doors for you, so you quietly step inside, thanking them softly and letting them pull the large doors shut behind you.

The room is dark, the light that would normally pour in from the moon being obscured by the dark rain clouds that hang in the sky. His candles are all responsibly blown out, but your eyes are adjusted to the darkness enough to find your way to his bed regardless.

You swallow, hand trembling as you reach out to him, shaking him gently and mirroring the actions your sister used to take when she woke you up at night. He groans sleepily, voice deep and gravely as he stirs awake, eyes slowly drawing open, wearily looking for the source of what woke him. Felix sees you standing above him, but it takes his sleep-addled brain a moment to process the sight, half wondering if his weary eyes are playing a trick on him.

But no, it really is you, looking at him with sad eyes and a quivering bottom lip, and he can feel the tremble in your hand that rests on his shoulder now that he’s fully conscious. He sits up quickly, concern painting his face as he gives you his undivided attention.

“Y/N, what’s the matter? Has something happened?” Your voice wavers as you try to tell him, I’m sad, I’m lonely, I miss everyone from home, but it doesn’t fully come out, the words dying in your throat as tears well in your eyes again.

He opens his arms to you and you crumble into them, burying your head in his chest as you allow yourself to cry. He sympathetically whispers your name, careful as he wraps his arms around you in a hug, conscious of where he allows his hands to rest.

He doesn’t know what's wrong, what has brought you to such tears, but he’s glad you came to him with them. It would’ve saddened Felix to later learn that you suffered in your room alone when he would’ve gladly done whatever he could for you.

And then he hears it– the crack of thunder, lightning illuminating the room for a brief moment before you’re sheathed again in darkness. Was that the problem? Were you frightened? You weren’t of course, but he didn’t know that, and he comforted you through your sobbing as if you were.

“It’s okay, you’re safe, I’m here with you,” he told you, his voice a deep whisper, holding you just a bit together whenever lightning struck, fully believing the problem was that you were afraid. Despite the misconception, you were comforted all the same. This was exactly what you were hoping for, what you needed to hear.

The storm eventually recedes, as does your sobbing, the room becoming ever so slightly more illuminated as the rain clouds pass onward. He can see your face more clearly now when you look at him again, can see how wet and shiny your cheeks have become from fallen tears, but you also appear calmer, your lip trembling much less and breaths more stable.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asks softly, carefully, and it is now you become hyper aware of the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, of your head resting against his chest, of the sound of his heartbeat in your ears.

You relax your fingers, which you realize were clutching his sleep shirt quite hard, the fabric having become harshly wrinkled from your grasp. He loosens his arms to let you lift yourself away from him, watching silently as you wipe your face clean.

You hesitate to meet his gaze– not because you feel embarrassed over your outpouring of your emotions, but conscious of how close you just were, and how natural it felt to have his arms around you. Maybe the fact that it felt so right is a testament of how close you’ve grown in the time you've been here, and how comfortable he makes you feel.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” you mutter quietly now that you’ve found your voice again; you know his duties leave him tired, so there’s a tinge of guilt you feel for interrupting his rest. “Don’t say that, I’m glad you woke me,” he assures you, and he’d reach out and hug you tight again if he knew he could.

You believe him– you know how earnest and sincere Felix is, and that he cares about you; maybe not in the way a husband cares about his wife, but cares nonetheless. You should be honest too, clarify why you were really crying so he doesn’t grow to think you’re genuinely afraid of thunderstorms.

“I, uh– I’m not afraid of storms, that’s not why I was crying. Well, it was, but not because I was frightened,” you explain, and Felix looks a bit puzzled, but nods anyways, listening carefully to what you tell him. You tell him everything– how your sister was afraid of them, how you spent many dark nights easing her fears, and how your tears were born from how much you miss her, and your family as a whole.

His heart breaks for you, truly, it does. He assumed you missed your family, he took notice of how close you were to them on the night of your ceremony, but there was no way he could’ve known how deep your pain was. And really, he can’t imagine what it’s like to be in your situation.

What if it was him who had to separate from his parents and siblings to live somewhere new? Would he be able to handle it with as much acceptance and grace as you have? You never complained about anything, even when you were saddened.

You treated everyone around you kindly, never spoke ill of anyone or about your circumstances, and that’s when he realizes you have much more inner strength than he’d known. There’s a small prick of guilt he feels for taking you away from your family, but even if it wasn’t him that you married, it still would’ve happened to you someday.

He wishes he knew what he could say or do to comfort you the best; there was nothing that could completely take the ache away, of that he was sure, but if he could make it better somehow then he’d do whatever he could. You can see the gears turning in his brain, can see him struggle with finding the words to say, unsure if what he’d done for you thus far was good enough.

And there’s a new dilemma brewing in your mind– what do you do now that you’re calm? Do you just.. leave? Go back to your solitude and spend the rest of the night alone? If you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t entirely want to go back to your room.

Maybe it was time for you to finally move in with Felix, and share the room, share the bed, as you were meant to. It’s a strange feeling you don’t entirely recognize and know what to do with; you just know that you want to stay here, with him, and feel his arms around you again.

Maybe it’s simply because he’s all you have here; which isn’t entirely true, but it is how you feel. Do you have a family here? Yes, the royal family is your family now too. Do you have friends here? Yes, you’ve grown quite close to your maids and other staff you interact with.

But are you comfortable enough to be vulnerable in front of them, or to share your feelings of loneliness and homesickness? No, and in that regard, Felix is all you have.

Felix is your companion in this lonely place, the person who makes your days brighter and bearable through the melancholy, the one who ebbs away your sadness and replaces it with warmth. And you spend all your days with him, next to him, talking to him, sharing everything, including silence.

Would it be so bad to allow yourself this comfort? To finally take a step forward and move into the room you were meant to share? There’s a part of you that’s scared to take that step, afraid to confront what your desire to be close to him means, unsure how to unravel and make sense of the complexities of your thoughts.

But there is an undeniable truth– Felix is your husband, and that would likely never change. So even if you don’t love him, wasn’t it okay to be close to him regardless? He makes you smile, he makes you laugh with his stories and jokes, he plays the piano for you and listens to you so intently, he makes you feel warm and fuzzy; and he told you he wants you to be here.

Maybe he doesn’t love you yet, but he’s expressed that he wants to, that he hopes the two of you will look at each other fondly and live happily. And maybe you don’t love him yet, but that doesn’t mean that the day you do is far off.

You look at him, take in the compassion and concern he holds for you, allow the feeling of warmth to seep into your pores; you may not be in love with him, but you do still have love for him. Isn’t that enough?

“Felix, if it’s alright.. Can I–” you pause a moment, shy apprehension prickling your skin, but you collect yourself enough to continue, “I want to stay. Here, with you.” You can see even in the low light how his eyes widen, though it’s hard to decipher whether or not his surprise is pleasant, but you hope it is given how he’s expressed his hopes for the future.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, not at all against the idea, just surprised by your admission. “I don’t want to be alone again, at least not tonight,” you explain, hoping he understands, “And I don’t have to move in completely if you’re not ready for me to, but.. I spend all my days here with you anyways, so.. I want to, if that’s okay.”

Felix’s heart is racing, his face growing pinker by the second, and he feels lucky you’re making this confession in the darkness, where you can’t easily tell how obvious his blush is. “Of course you can stay,” he says, shifting more to the side to allow you the space you need to get comfortable under his thick blanket.

He’s stiff when he first lies down next to you, unsure of whether or not it was okay to touch you, whether or not you’d even like it if something as simple as his arm being pressed against yours was alright with you. He already knew he was undeniably attracted to you, but he’d never do something if you were uncomfortable, or touch you without explicit permission, even if the touch was meant to be comforting as opposed to romantic.

But you reach out to him first, softly ask him to hug you again, and he’s more than happy to oblige your request. You can hear the rapid beat of his heart as you move in close, and you wonder if he’s nervous; you are too, to be fair.

You’ve never lied this close to a man before, or let one hold you in his arms the way you let Felix, never shared a bed with anyone but family. But you want this, and despite the nerves that come with doing something so new to you, you’re happy, comfortable.

Felix’s heart begins to slow the longer you lie together, as does yours, and the exhaustion that comes with crying, as well as being woken in the middle of the night, takes hold over you. You fall asleep first, though Felix is not far behind you, the soft sound of your even breaths akin to a lullaby in his fatigued state.

You’re warm, comfortable, safe; you may not have all the things that were once familiar to you, but you have Felix, a person who radiates kindness and compassion, a person who despite everything, makes you happy.

There’s part of you that wonders if sharing a room with Felix was a decision made too hastily; not because he did anything wrong, but because it came with unforeseen challenges. What was the challenge? Dressing, undressing, bathing to name a few.

He was always respectful, kept his back turned to you whilst you were changing or kept himself away from the attached bath if you were in it. And you likewise never peeked towards him when the opposite occurred.

You certainly didn’t regret your decision– after all, you spent all your days with Felix, so it only made sense to spend your nights with him too now that you felt comfortable enough. But there was a certain timidness that came with undressing in the presence of a man, even if said man wasn’t looking and had his gaze fixed to the wall until you were finished. You wondered though, wouldn’t there come a day where he was allowed to look?

The thought of Felix someday looking at your exposed, bare skin made an unfamiliar feeling well in your gut– one that was entirely foreign to you, but not at all unpleasant. Butterflies, perhaps? You’d read about the sensation in your novels, the characters often expressing how seeing the one they love made their stomach react in ways strange and new.

And as explained in the countless romances you read, your heart would race when he held your gaze after you emerged from the bath, your face would flush whenever his touch lingered for longer than what you would consider typical of a friendly relationship.

It was no exaggeration to say that sharing a room with Felix brought you even closer than before. Once you got past your initial shyness, the weeks that followed were some of the most pleasant you’d had.

You settled into a nice routine, sharing breakfast before he had to depart to attend to his royal duties. You spent the rest of your morning and early afternoon perusing the library shelves for your next read or sitting out in the gardens, sometimes reading in the warm light of the sun, sometimes simply enjoying the scenery around you.

You’d reunite at dinner time, sometimes sharing that time with family in the dining hall and other times eating in the privacy and comfort of your room. Felix would often insist that you bathe first, ever a gentleman to you, but on days he seemed particularly worn out and exhausted you would do your best to convince him he needed one more than you, encouraged him to relax and let the hot water soothe away any aches.

No matter the order of the bath, your nights would end the same; you’d spend the last few hours of your day listening to Felix play the piano as you read, oftentimes reading your literature aloud once he grew tired and joined you where you sat, whether that be the chaise facing the piano, the sofa across from the fireplace, or simply the bed.

On the nights he was extra tired, his eyes would grow heavy and close as you read to him, and when you gently told him he was falling asleep, he’d mumble that he was still listening, urging you to continue.

It was endearing, and there was a certain joy you felt in lulling him to sleep with your softly spoken words, knowing that even as the comfort seeped into his bones and urged him to rest, all he wanted was to listen to you. You liked to think it even helped him, hoping that you brought him as much solace as he brought you, hoping that you alleviated and dispelled any troubles simply by being there for him the way he was for you.

Tonight was another such day; the changing of the season brought with it longer, warmer days, and often the sun wouldn’t begin to sink until you were already well into your nightly routine. The moon had just begun to emerge when Felix settled down on the sofa next to you, making sure he lit the candles before he sat as darkness began to settle in.

It was a bit of a challenge at times to read in the dim, wavering light of the candles, but you’d grown used to it in your time as a novel enjoyer, and you welcomed the cozy atmosphere the candlelight brought. He listened to you intently at first, but the more you spoke the words from the pages, with your steady, soft and even pace, the more sleep called to him, and it became a struggle for his eyes to remain open.

His head rested against the back of the sofa, the cushion acting as a pillow for his weary body. Your softly spoken words, along with the low light the candles brought to the room, were enough to call him to sleep much faster than he’d otherwise expect. You pause when you notice his eyes have completely closed, not sure if he’s still listening with his eyes shut, or is indeed asleep as you suspect.

But when he makes no reaction to your pause, you are certain sleep has taken him, and you smile as you quietly close your book. You set it down on the nearby table, wondering if you should try and wake him, request him to move to the bed, or if it’d be better to bring over a blanket and let him be.

You look at him, quietly taking in the sight of his sleeping form. Felix is beautiful, even whilst sleeping, and you wonder if he knows that. His eyelashes are long, his freckles a unique and expansive constellation, his parted lips and honeyed skin almost entracing to look at, begging to be admired by all who look.

And admire him you did, in quiet moments like this. Moments where everything was serene, in the space belonging only to the two of you, a space where you are the only ones who exist.

Carefully, you reach out to him, gently tapping on his shoulder until he stirs. “Felix,” you call softly, and he barely opens his eyes, letting out a small, groggy ‘hmm?’ in response.

“You fell asleep,” you tell him quietly, voice almost a whisper, “let’s go to bed.” He hums his agreement, which due to his deep, sleepy voice sounds more like a grumble. You rise from the sofa first, offering a hand for stability if he needs it.

He falls to the bed with a grunt, barely managing to pull the blankets up over his shoulders, and you can’t help but giggle at the display. You work your way around the room before you join him, blowing out the candles until the room’s only illumination comes from the moonlight peaking through the window curtains.

You’re not quite as tired as Felix, but you settle into bed regardless, knowing that once you’re under the blankets and comfortably next to him, sleep won’t be all that far behind. Felix has been working extra hard lately, preparing for an upcoming ball to celebrate the summer solstice.

Apparently they hold it annually, as well as one for the winter solstice, but you had arrived at winter’s end, after that celebration had already concluded. It keeps the spirits of the commoners high, gives them an event to look forward to, as well as a chance to mingle with those from other, father towns who come in to join the celebration of the season.

That’s not its only purpose however; it also gives the royal family a chance to meet with other officials and people of high standing beyond that of just letters, and ensure that they continue to have a prosperous, mutually beneficial relationship. Dukes, barons, soldiers who have returned from war-torn fields– it’s important for the king, and by extension Felix, to know where they stand with all of them.

Of course, you were no stranger to lessons in diplomacy, but you’re sure there is much more Felix has to keep in mind than simply being diplomatic. There’s a lot that goes into the politics of the kingdom, and you can’t imagine the weight that falls on his shoulders, knowing that one day he’ll inherit the responsibility of deciding the future of everyone within his territory.

It’s also possible that someday, your knowledge from growing up in the south will be a vital asset to him, and that he’ll seek your input on how to govern the farthest reaches of the kingdom. You sigh a little, moving in closer to Felix.

It’s best not to stress yourself out with thoughts about governing the kingdom, or about the upcoming ball; it’ll be your first ball as a married couple in the public eye, and there’s a separate set of nerves that come along with that. You wonder how much like a couple you should act; should you stay glued to his side, act lovey-dovey for the duration of the night, or would that be unseemly for royalty to do?

It’s possible there’s no need for you to appear in love– after all, it’s no secret that arranged marriages can be loveless. But still, you think it’d be beneficial for the people to see you genuinely care for Felix– it could set a positive example, and show that the north and south have no need to fight against each other.

You think if you just act natural, and don’t put too much thought and effort into “proving” you love Felix, then the people will see your honest feelings come through. And besides, you told yourself you wouldn't worry about such things now that you were in bed, so your only priority should be going to sleep.

Felix’s arm rests around your waist, which is normal for you now. After the first night, when he hugged you until you fell asleep, it felt nice to wake up with his arm still there, holding you close. He apologized the next morning when you woke up, worried that he may have made you uncomfortable, though he didn’t have control of where his arm lied once he’d fallen deeply into sleep.

You assured him though that it was perfectly fine– in fact, it was comfortable, and you enjoyed the closeness after feeling so lonely. It became a natural part of how you slept, his arm always around you, sometimes loosely, and other times strongly keeping you close.

Now was one such time you were held loosely, his arm limp with sleep but you didn’t mind; it gives you the ability to easily adjust your position turning so that his hand was against your back and your head could rest close to his chest. Your movement rouses him slightly, and he instinctively holds you tighter.

You whisper an apology for unintentionally waking him with your movement, not entirely sure that he’s even alert enough to truly hear you, but you say it regardless. You guess he does hear you, because he mumbles a response, though it’s not entirely decipherable. “..ove you.”

“Hmm?” you hum in question, glancing up to look at him, but it’s no use– he’s back to sleep within seconds, as if he was never awoken at all.

Oh well, it likely wasn’t anything important, probably just dreamy ramblings of a tired mind, or an acceptance of your apology. Maybe tomorrow you can ask him if he dreamt anything pleasant, or if you appeared to him in your dreams the same way he had begun to in yours.

You were well into the solstice ball, sighing as you stood off to the side of all the dancing, feeling exhausted from everything you were experiencing. You thought your wedding was tiring, but this was somehow even worse; when you got married to Felix, only locals to the town were welcome inside the castle to witness it and celebrate, otherwise chaos could ensue.

But with the solstice ball, any and everyone was welcome, and with that came a myriad of people for you to meet and communicate with. Most who attended were eager to see the prince’s wife, curious about what sort of woman he’d married, and you couldn’t help but be anxious about what opinion they’d hold of you after seeing you in the flesh.

Honestly, you wanted to make a good impression; you’d be saddened if you were unliked by those who would one day be your people alongside Felix. Your father was someone who governed with compassion, and the royal family were much the same, and you hoped they could see you held the same values.

Still, it was tiring to portray your best self for hours without end, and you took the opportunity for a break at the first moment you could. You stayed at Felix’s side for the first hour of the evening before going your separate ways, him mingling with various men of high status while you traveled the ballroom floor, introducing yourself to as many people as you could.

There were still many people for you to meet and talk with, but hopefully they’d understand your need to take a moment for yourself. You sipped on some water, your throat thankful for the soothing liquid, having become quite parched from all the talking you’d done.

You also looked yourself over briefly in one of the ballroom’s mirrors, making sure everything about your appearance was still neatly in place. You had went out to town with Felix to get a new dress, and it arrived mere days before the ball, just in time.

You expressed that you were worried about your appearance, the dresses you’d brought from home being expensive and beautiful, sure, but still falling short when compared to the lavish gowns his sisters and mother wore.

Felix, who didn’t entirely realize he was speaking his thoughts aloud, said you’d look beautiful in anything, and both of your faces went red, before he coughed awkwardly and quickly changed the subject, saying that they could simply buy you a new dress if you’d needed it.

You did also consider borrowing a gown from his older sister, but he insisted that was nonsense when they were more than capable of buying something specifically for you, and so you’d agreed to go out to town with him, going to a seamstress well-respected and trusted by the royal family.

It was your first outing since your arrival, not because anything necessarily stopped you from leaving if you wanted to, but simply because it required the coordination and cooperation of the royal guard accompanying you, and really, you had no need to leave until then.

After the seamstress’ daughter took your measurements, and you answered various questions pertaining to color and style, as well as looking over and feeling various samples of fabric, you were free to leave, with the promise that once your dress was ready, her daughter would bring it to the castle, along with an alteration kit if any adjustments were needed. Before returning to the castle, Felix brought you to a jeweler, and you also passed a bookstore, where you couldn’t help but notice your favorite novel was on display.

Felix asked about it when you noticed your subtle pause to look, asked if you wanted to go inside and look around, or buy the copy of your favorite novel that was on display, but you told him there was no need. After all, you still had your very well-loved copy at home (which, while beginning to fall apart, was still perfectly readable and sentimental to you), and countless books in the library you still had interest in before feeling the need to purchase any new ones.

All that to say, your night on the town was well spent, and you were thankful how well your gown and jewelry came together, and you truly felt good about your appearance tonight. Your maids also dutifully perfected your hair and makeup, and even hours into the night, you found no imperfection with either.

Felix also went red in the face when he first saw your completed look, much to the delight of your maids, who had to suppress their gleeful giggles; it seemed they loved when Felix looked at you with awe. You allow an attending maid to take your water from your hands when you are finished with it, thanking them with sincere politeness.

You give yourself another moment to collect yourself before returning to the main ballroom floor, careful not to bump into those dancing as you make your way through the crowd of people. You hoped to locate Felix, and see whether or not he’s still caught up in whatever political talk he was having when you last brushed past him.

Instead, you hear a familiar voice questioningly call your name, and you pause, stopping to look around for the source. It couldn’t be.. could it? “Christopher!” you gasp, met with the sight of a boy, now man, you hadn't seen in nearly 3 years, “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t you know? My station is just a few towns over,” he explains with a smile. Honestly, you were completely shocked. Your fathers were close friends, and though Chris was a few years older than you, you’d spent a lot of time together due to the close relationship of your fathers, both personal and professional.

While your father is a duke, Chris’ was a very well-respected knight, who earned the title of baron due to his unwavering loyalty and dedication to serving your father, having sworn his fealty to him many years ago, before you were even born. Chris had similar ambitions as his father, and dedicated himself to training from a young age, always expressing that one day he’d serve the royal family. Coincidentally, he was also your first, and only, childhood crush.

And truly, you didn’t know that he lived in a relatively short proximity to the town you now called home. Upon meeting the requirements to join the royal guard, he was sent north to receive further orders, and you’d lost contact with him not long afterwards, with the only news you’d learned being that he married a year after moving from the town you both grew up in– an arranged marriage, same as you.

His wife, as far as you were aware, was a local girl whose family offered a significant dowry to be married to such a well-respected and honorable family. You wondered more than once if he was happy, and if your father ever considered Chris as a potential husband to you, but in recent times you stopped lingering on such thoughts completely. Your situation was set in stone, and you didn’t bother entertaining thoughts on what-if’s and could-be’s now that you too were married.

“I didn’t! But it’s nice to see you again, I didn’t expect to see a familiar face,” you tell him sincerely; disregarding the childhood feelings you once held for him, it truly is nice to see a friend from home again.

“I was surprised when I heard you were the one Prince Felix married, and so I had to take this chance to see you again, and see the truth of it for myself.” You giggle a little, imagine what Chris must’ve looked like when he learned his childhood friend had married someone so important.

“I was surprised too, believe me. I never anticipated marrying into the royal family,” you say, smiling as you speak. Though there were hardships that came with being relocated and away from family, now that you were growing accustomed to your life here, you actually found it pleasant. And you really enjoyed Felix’s presence; while you were initially upset about your marriage, you had truly begun to view it as a good thing in the recent weeks.

“Did your wife come too? It’d be lovely to meet her,” you ask as a follow up, hoping she was somewhere nearby. “Mm, she’s here somewhere,” he replies, much more dismissive about the topic than you’d expect him to be.

It makes you want to ask if his relationship with her is bad, but perhaps that’s not appropriate to ask given the circumstances. “Would you like to dance?” he asks, quickly shifting focus, and you hesitate, a slight frown forming on your face.

Normally, you wouldn’t be opposed to sharing a dance with a friend, but the circumstances surrounding your lives have changed substantially since you were last in contact. You’re both married, and even if it meant nothing beyond friendship for either of you, there was an image that needed to be upheld at all times, especially in the eyes of the public.

And you couldn’t help but think about what his wife, or Felix, would think if they saw you dancing with each other. Felix knew Chris by name alone from times you talked about home, but there was no way for him to know what he looked like. And in turn, you don’t know if Chris’ wife knows who you even are, if you’d be crossing a boundary in your respective relationships without even knowing it.

Further still, the thought of Felix seeing you in the arms of another and being upset, or even jealous, is enough to deter you from making that decision. You’re trying to form something real with Felix despite the circumstances that brought you together, and you won’t do anything to hinder that.

You want him to know that you respect your marriage, and that you won’t put his feelings in jeopardy by entertaining the advances of other men. Not that you think Chris means anything by his request, but still– better to be safe about these things than sorry.

It’s strange though; you already knew you like Felix quite a lot, and care about his feelings, but there’s something beyond that, that makes you want to abide by the sanctity of your marriage. Technically speaking, you only have to be a devoted wife in public. It’s no secret that those in arranged marriages have concubines and secret affairs. If you truly wanted to, you could do the same, but you have no wish to do so.

Is it loyalty? Love? All you really understand is that you never want to do anything to break Felix’s heart. You also don’t know if he even has enough romantic interest in you to be jealous in the first place, but either way, that’s not an emotion you want to cause him to feel. Some may be happy to see their betrothed jealous, but you’re not that kind of woman; instead, you’d feel rather guilty and apologetic.

You glance across the crowd, spotting Felix still mingling with his father and other men of high status, completely unaware of the situation you’ve found yourself in. Hopefully, you can return to his side soon, once you're done catching up with Chris. “I’m afraid I can’t,” you finally say, hoping he understands your need to politely turn him down.

“What a shame,” he sighs a bit, his hand reaching out to you and settling on your arm, near your shoulder, “You look beautiful tonight. I would’ve loved to share a dance with you, as adults.”

“O-Oh, thank you,” you mutter, taken aback by the words that left him. The Chris you knew was never so forward, nor did he ever openly compliment you. If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely sure how to respond; this was a situation your younger self would have dreamed of, but now you just feel.. odd.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful, even when we were kids. I never imagined this where life would take us, but.. If it’s your public image that worries you, maybe I could seek you out later, and we could have some alone time?” he continues seamlessly, as if this is a sentence he’s practiced in his head over and over again.

Again, this is something your younger self would’ve been ecstatic about, even prayed for, but now you just feel.. uncomfortable. You don’t feel flattered by his compliment, nor do you like the implication of his statement, and you recoil away from the hand that lingers uncomfortably on your arm.

“We can't do that,” you say firmly, doing your utmost to make it clear you have no desire to partake in a scandalous relationship with him. You liked him once, but you were a kid then, and what you feel now for Felix is much more grounded in reality than the puppy love you had for Chris.

“Why not?” he asks, looking at you with eyes that would’ve once made you melt. And there is genuine hurt there, which you do feel sorry about, but you simply don’t return the sentiment he seems to have. “We're both married. Shouldn't you be loyal to your wife?” you counter; even if your marriage to Felix isn’t born of “real” love, you have no interest in infidelity, nor do you want to be the reason Chris is unfaithful in his marriage.

“I don't love her, I never have. And though I moved of my own volition, I always wondered what would’ve happened if I stayed behind, and expressed my desires to make you mine. But what of you? Do you love your husband?” His words, his question, make you swallow, unsure how best to respond. You liked him once, that much is true, but you like Felix more. What you have with him.. You value it, deeply.

It’s easy for a 14 year old to say they’re in love with their crush when they’ve never experienced what real, adult love feels like. There are times, even now, when you’re unsure of what the beating of your heart truly means, but there is one thing that you know for certain– you love Felix, much, much more sincerely than you ever loved Christopher. The difference between loving him, and being in love with him, make little difference in this case.

Though, the more you’ve thought about it, the more you’ve come to think that maybe you are really, actually in love with him. You wouldn’t desire him if you didn’t, wouldn’t be up at night wondering what it would feel like to kiss him, or what kind of father he’d be to the children you’d one day have. You wouldn’t feel a void in your chest at the thought of no longer being by his side, even deeper than the one you’d felt upon moving away from home.

And if there is anything your time reading romance novels has taught you, it’s that love is more than temporary butterflies and racing of the heart. Love is more than excitement, than desire, than the heat of his touch on your body; love, real love, is the comfort you feel in his presence. The safety, the hours spent together talking or relaxing, even in the comfortable silence you share during a meal– that is love.

When you can’t imagine your life without him in it, when even the mundane sounds fun as long as it’s with him, when you still feel warm and fuzzy in his presence even after the butterflies have passed, that is love. Now that you’ve come to know what life is like when Felix is next to you, holding you, sleeping with you, sharing his voice and his talents with you, you never want to know what the absence of him would feel like.

All of that is to say, you think you’ve had your answer all along; you don’t just love Felix. You’re in love with Felix.

“If I must tell you.. I do. I love Felix, truly. He’s a wonderful man,” you answer honestly, and Chris holds a deep frown. It must feel unfair– that’s how you felt about your circumstances at first. There’s no way for you to know how long he had feelings for you, but you were able to move on, while he clearly hadn’t. And truthfully, you feel sorry for him; none of this is his fault, but still.. You can’t change how you feel.

“Surely you don’t mean that,” Chris says, a bit desperate, and again, your heart twists. You do mean it, unfortunately for him. And you have no intention of letting him think he has a chance to change your mind, when quite frankly, he doesn’t. Unbeknownst to you, Felix would glance your way whenever he was able to, always wanting to make sure you were handling yourself well.

It was your first solstice ball after all, and he imagined it could be overwhelming and tiring for you to mingle with so many people you had never met before. He just wanted to keep an eye on you, make sure you weren’t getting burnt out from the countless interactions with others. And that’s when he sees it– a man he doesn’t know, his hand lingering on your arm, and you, looking up at him with a troubled expression on your face.

The look of discomfort you hold as the man continues to speak, hand still on you despite how you recoil.. He can’t help but clench his fists, a foreign sort of distaste bubbling within his veins. He can see your expression change as you speak– still uncomfortable, but not quite distressed. Sad, maybe? Perhaps this guy was being forward with you, and you were trying your best to look sympathetic as you gently turn him down.

“If you’ll excuse me, there’s something I must attend to,” Felix says politely as he bows towards his father and his peers, not lingering to answer questions, though he really should if he doesn’t want to appear rude. He approaches you with haste, though still careful to not appear in too much of a hurry or frantic– he doesn’t want those around him to suspect something is amiss.

The man’s hand is thankfully no longer on you, he realizes as he comes closer– it’d be terribly unbecoming of someone of his status to cause a scene. “There you are, my love! I was looking everywhere for you,” Felix says with a smile as he approaches you, wrapping you in his arms as if the other man doesn’t exist at all.

Your face reddens, heart picking up; my love, he called you my love! You’re aware this is likely only happening because he spotted you and was able to perceive how you felt, but still, your heart reacts to the words nonetheless.

“Who’s this?” Felix asks as he turns his attention to the man in front of you, his hand resting on your waist in a motion that you’d easily be able to interpret as defensive, possessive.

“O-Oh, uhm– this is Christopher. Do you remember what I told you, about how we grew up together due to our fathers being good friends? We ran into each other, and were just catching up,” you explain, and Chris, not wanting to make a fool of himself, easily goes along with your words.

“Oh, how lovely. It's a pleasure to meet an old friend of yours,” Felix smiles jovially, extending a hand out to Chris. He accepts it, and the two politely shake hands, with Chris feeling a degree of shame and embarrassment. This definitely isn’t his finest hour; but maybe now that you’ve firmly rejected him, he can try to find happiness in his own life, love in his own marriage.

“My deepest apologies for interrupting your reunion, but I thought it was time my wife and I shared a dance,” he says to Chris before looking back at you with a smile, and it’s so utterly charming that you practically feel your legs turn to jelly, “Shall we, my love?”

God, your face must look so red right now. But after the few seconds it takes to finish processing, you gladly accept, offering a timid smile. Felix bows politely to Chris before he leads you away by the waist, your heart still racing as you follow his lead. Away from the crowd of people, he stops and turns to you, the natural charisma he held melting away the moment your eyes meet.

“Are you alright? I’m– I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable at all, I just..” You smile softly, and shake your head; I liked it, I want to hear you call me ‘my love’ again, I want you to keep wrapping your arms around me and holding me by the waist you want to say, but don't. Instead you carefully lean up, placing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you Felix.”

His face grows red, his hand reaching up to his face, fingertips lingering over the spot you kissed him. He smiles cutely, shy and sweet, heart pounding even from something so small. He’s infatuated with you, after all, and any affection from you is enough to make his body react.

“Why don't we really go have that dance?” you ask with a smile, holding your hand out for him to take. You shared a dance when you first married of course, as is customary, but this one would be different; as opposed to a dance between newlyweds with no love between them, now you could say you were dancing with the only man you’d ever sincerely loved.

“Of course, my love,” he replies as he takes your hand in his, leading you to the center of the ballroom floor, both of you bashfully smiling and giddy with affection for the other. You do your best to ignore the stares of others around you, most of them just eager to see the display of love from the newest royal couple in front of them, and keep your focus entirely on Felix.

You can’t help but notice the way his eyes linger on his lips before he shifts his attention back to your eyes, his cheeks dusted a pretty shade of pink contrasted against his freckles. You really want him to kiss you, if you’re being honest, but you don’t think it’d be entirely wise to share your first kiss with the eyes of the entire ballroom on you.

Maybe, if either of you can conjure your bravery later on, you can kiss in the privacy of your shared room, free to indulge in the feeling of each other for as long as you wish too. Though, perhaps you should stop thinking such thoughts for the moment, lest Felix realizes you’re blushing way too hard. For now, you'll just enjoy the moment you're sharing with him, knowing now, with all your heart, that your love for him is true.

The remainder of your night continued without incident, sharing a few more dances with Felix before you separated again to continue mingling. You saw Christopher again briefly, where he apologized for his behavior and then brought you over to meet his wife.

She really seemed like a sweet girl, and you hoped that Chris would be more open to the idea of loving her now that there were no “what-ifs” keeping him held back. She also seemed quite genuinely infatuated with him, which you couldn’t blame her for– Chris was strikingly handsome, and you might have still held similar feelings for him if it wasn’t for Felix.

When the ball came to a close, you were eager to get back to your room and get your aching feet out of the heels you’d worn to match your gown, as well as get the heavy, dangly earrings off your ears. You insist that Felix bathe first, as it will take you quite some time to remove all your accessories, get your hair down from the way it was styled, and out of your intricate gown (not as intricate as your wedding gown, of course, but still enough that you wouldn’t be able to remove it swiftly.)

He didn’t take all that long in the bath, spending just enough time to wash up and effectively dry off, entering your room after he’s changed into his sleep clothes. He respectfully keeps his eyes away from you until he’s sat comfortably away from where you are at the vanity, your dress off and left only in your undergarments. You were brushing out your hair, making sure it was completely tamed and smoothed down to make washing easier before you enter the bath.

You take a quick glance at Felix before you enter the attached bath, his back turned to you as he nervously fiddles with his thumbs. You soak in the tub for some time, letting the hot water soothe you until it turns cooler, now comfortably warm as you take time washing your hair and body.

Normally you wouldn’t take such a long time in the bath, but it was just so relaxing after the long day you’ve had, and you indulged in the comfort it offered you before you got out to dry off and slip on fresh clothes.

You half expected for Felix to be in bed already, but when you step out you see that he was waiting up for you, sitting atop the blankets of your bed, back against the headboard. “Sorry I took so long, you didn’t have to wait for me,” you say as you step to your designated side of the bed, mirroring his position against the headboard.

“Well, I didn’t want to go straight to bed without having some down time with you,” he explains a bit timidly, and you smile, finding him endlessly sweet.

The light in the room is low, the only candles lit now being the ones closest to your bed. He sits up straighter, turning to you with a nervous disposition, and you watch him curiously, wondering what’s on his mind to make him look at you in such a way. “Listen, before we go to bed, I, uh– I actually have something for you,” Felix says, meeting your gaze timidly.

“Really? What is it?” you ask, having not expected to receive anything so suddenly. Well, sudden to you, but Felix had actually been planning this for quite some time. He steadies his nerves and turns to his nightstand, opening the drawer and digging through it until he finds what he needs– a book.

You recognize it instantly when it’s in front of you; it’s a new, almost pristine copy of the book you told him was your favorite, the one you insisted you didn’t need when you stopped to look at it the day you were out together. “When did you get this?” you ask in surprise, carefully taking it in your hands and ghosting your fingers over the cover.

“The same night you saw it, I asked a guard to discreetly purchase it for you,” he explains with a soft, sheepish smile, hoping you’re pleased. “There’s something else,” he says, and you glance up at him in even further surprise. Gently, he takes the book from your hands, opening it to a specific page.

“I.. before giving it to you, I wanted to read it, understand for myself why it's your favorite. So.. I did, and there’s a part that really resonates with me, and.. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to read it to you,” he explains, and your heart stirs, thumping wildly in your chest.

How is he so considerate and perfect? You almost can’t believe it, and you don't even know how he found the time to read it without you knowing, but you can ask him about it later. For now, you're much more interested in the fact that he not only read your favorite novel, but wants to share a part he loved with you, a part that spoke to him, and wants you to listen to him read it in his beautiful, deep voice.

He swallows, takes a breath, hands trembling a bit as he holds the book open and looks down at the page in front of him. You watch him with full attention, somehow feeling just as nervous; you don’t know what he intends to read, and as you yourself have read this story countless times, it’s hard to imagine which specific part he’d like the most– there were just so many possibilities and moments you loved to try and guess. But then he starts, and immediately, you feel your heart positively melt.

"Taeryn stares at her, his fingertips ghosting her skin, his eyes transfixed in her stare, her gaze swallowing him whole. And he knows, as his fingers brush her hair softly out of her face, as her cheeks burn and breath hitches with his gentle touch, that he loves her.

He loves her as naturally as he breathes air; to love her is effortless, as easy as it is to simply be. He loves her for as many reasons as there are stars in the sky– countless, never ending. She engulfs him, enraptures him, a moth unable to resist her bright, beckoning flame.

And he knows, from the way every synapse in his brain fires when their lips meet, how his blood burns in his veins simply from her touch, that there is no greater feeling beyond this. To be lost in her is God's greatest gift, and he will thank Him for the rest of his days, because what else could compare to the pure bliss of loving with all that you are, and being loved in return?”

The words that you already found so beautiful sound even more so coming from him, and you can’t help but suck in a breath as you listen to him speak the words written on the page, as if he’s mirroring the character, feeling the very same emotion.

He closes the book slowly, and your heart races when his eyes meet yours again. What should you say? It was beautiful? Thank you? That doesn’t feel like nearly enough to describe how you feel or how much you appreciate this gesture.

Felix carefully sets the book to the side, his palms beginning to clam up as he looks at you. He planned this for a specific reason, but now that he’s met with the most critical moment of all, his mouth feels dry, and his chest tightens as his heart accelerates.

He wants to tell you he loves you, and maybe he’s been reading the signs all wrong, but he thinks you love him too, he hopes you do. Maybe your affection for him doesn’t go past platonic, which he would learn to accept with time, but it would truly break his heart if you didn’t feel the same.

So he hopes, he prays, with all his heart, that when he tells you how he feels, you’ll reciprocate. You can tell what he wants to say, even with your lack of romantic experience, it’s obvious; no one commits to a gesture so thoughtful and romantic without the intent to become something greater. Given your time reading romance, that’s something you feel confident enough to say– Felix loves you. And you love him too.

So you meet him halfway, inching ever so slightly closer to him, looking him in the eyes as you do. His eyes dart from your eyes to your lips and then back again, his breath beginning to go uneven. Felix looks at you, eyes full of love, awe, and wonder, and not wasting another breath, he kisses you, his hands reaching to your face, holding it in his hands. It’s chaste and careful, your eyes remaining closed for several seconds after he’s pulled away, your body buzzing with elation.

“I– I didn’t get to tell you earlier, but you looked so beautiful today and I–” he swallows, nervous to continue, but pushing through it the best he could, “I wanted to tell you, wanted to kiss you, and I.. love you.” It feels as if a million butterflies are in your stomach, light and erratic in their movement, their excitement unable to be contained.

“I love you too,” you admit, breathy and soft, inching a bit closer, and he does the same, until your bodies are only centimeters apart. “Is it okay to– ..I want to kiss you again,” he asks, desperately awaiting your approval. You grant him it easily, and his lips are on you again within seconds.

One of his hands remains on your face, cupping it gently, while the other moves to your waist, arm wrapping around carefully, keeping you close. The foreign feelings you’d never experienced that were in all the literature you read– you feel them now, intense and overwhelming, your senses knowing nothing other than Felix.

What is it that novels usually compare it to? Sparks flying? This was beyond simple sparks– it was like fireworks, bright, beautiful, bursting in your blood and filling you with warmth.

The kisses you share are slow, measured and careful, and you never separate for long, your lips always finding each other again within seconds. Felix is breathless when he finally pulls away for longer than a few seconds, his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes looking straight into yours, countless emotions swimming in them.

“I want.. can I be honest?” he asks and you swallow, whispering a soft ‘yes’ that you hope doesn't sound too nervous. “I.. want you, really, really badly but.. truth be told, I'm nervous,” he expresses sincerely, his cheeks growing a deep shade of pink, traveling all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Your face, already flushed from kissing, grows impossibly hotter from his admission. He wants you.. Like wants you, wants you? You want him too, having spent multiple sleepless nights wondering what it would be like to have each other, body and soul.

“It's alright, I am too,” you tell him honestly. “Are you?” he can't help but ask; not because he doubts you, but rather wanting the affirmation that he isn't the only one with a heart racing out of control. You nod, seeking out his hand and intertwining your fingers. “I am. But I want you too.”

God, he almost feels light headed; he can't believe the moment he's secretly dreamed of countless times is actually happening. His face is hot, his blood burns, his heart thumps loudly in his chest, and you want him, you want him, you want him.

He takes a breath, does his best to steel his nerves before he speaks again, “We'll go slow, so please tell me if it becomes too much.” You nod, giving his hand a squeeze, meant to convey that you understand and will do as he requested if you begin to feel overwhelmed.

“I love you,” Felix whispers against your lips before he captures them in another kiss, needier this time, more urgent and impassioned. You can't help but let out a noise of surprise at first, but you easily melt into the kiss, eyes closing as you meet his passion with fervor of your own.

His kisses are slow, just as before, but they feel more purposeful, sensual, and when you feel his tongue against your lips, begging to be let in, you easily oblige the request, opening your mouth for him and allowing his tongue to run across yours. Your stomach flips, the feeling of his tongue curiously exploring and rubbing around yours making you dizzy; you never knew kissing could feel this good.

It's so intimate to share your breath with someone, and you feel your body react in ways entirely new, but pleasant. You spend several minutes just like this; kissing over and over, letting his tongue draw circles around yours, only pulling away when one of you desperately needs a breath.

“Can I touch you?” Felix asks once he's pulled away again, and the question, along with the deep, breathy baritone of his voice, makes a shiver run down your spine as butterflies once again flutter in your stomach. “Yes,” you breathe, perhaps sounding a bit more eager than you would've wished, but really, you shouldn't feel embarrassed when he wants you just as bad as you want him.

Again, his lips are on you, but this time he allows his hands to carefully roam your body, gentle and slow in their exploration. Even though he's simply touching you over your clothes, you react to his touch as if bare, whimpering into his mouth when he palms your breasts with both hands and gently squeezes.

It's easy for his thumbs to find your hardened nipples through the fabric of your nightgown, and again you let a soft sound of pleasure pass your lips. Felix pulls away to look at you, flushed, breathless, and so, so pretty; he's never felt more blessed in his entire life than he does right now.

He watches you bite your lip when his thumbs pass over your nipples again, doing your best to suppress what you perceive to be an embarrassing noise. “Is it alright if I take this off you?” he asks, stilling the movement of his hands as he waits for your answer.

“O-Only if you take your clothes off too,” you answer shyly, and he smiles timidly, finding your request more than fair. “Of course, my love. Whatever you want.” Felix stands from the bed, slowly pulling his sleep shirt up and over his head, likely feeling that you'll be more comfortable if he's the one who's exposed first.

And God, you can't believe the physique he'd been hiding underneath all this time; his lean body much more toned than you could've even imagined. He feels shy under your attentive gaze, but he continues nonetheless, taking the waistband of his pants into his fingers and pulling them down his legs.

His erection, of course, doesn't go unnoticed by you, and you can't help but stare at the obvious tent it creates in his underwear. You've never seen one before, and you're infinitely curious what his looks like, but there's no need to rush to find out; you have all night together.

Swallowing down the shyness your stare makes him feel, he returns to the bed, sitting directly in front of you. You start to lift up your gown, but he stops you, replacing your hands with his own– after all, he asked if he could be the one to take it off you. You allow him to lift it up to your shoulders before you help him take it all the way off, paying no mind to where on the floor it lands once it has been tossed aside.

The shy part of you makes you want to cover your breasts and avoid his gaze, but the other part can't help but indulge in the mesmerized twinkle held in Felix’s eyes. “So beautiful,” you hear him say under his breath, his hands now making contact with your skin without a barrier. You look down, taking in the sight of his hands holding and squeezing your breasts.

Your body shudders when his thumbs once again rub over you nipples, and he loves watching the way your face changes, how your brows furrow and you bite your lip. He loves the way you gasp when he takes your nipples between his fingers, how your eyes close and head falls back when he carefully rubs and pinches them.

He kisses you when you lift your head again, but he doesn't linger there for nearly as long as before; instead, he begins to trail kisses down your jaw, to your neck. The kisses make you shiver, and you tilt your head to the side, allowing him easier access to your heated skin. He carefully guides you back as he kisses all over your skin, so that you fall back against the bed, head not quite making it to the pillows, but you don’t particularly care.

He takes his time, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses over the expanse of your neck, his slow descent to your collarbone and the top of your chest nearly driving you crazy with want. Your breath hitches when he kisses one of your nipples before letting his tongue come out to lick it, lips closing gently around it.

He gives your other nipple equal attention once he's satisfied with his stimulation of the first one he devoted his attention to, and then slowly trails kisses down your body, below your ribs and over your stomach. You feel almost delirious with anticipation, and you half wonder if he's only going slow to drive you crazy (he isn't, of course, but you're becoming much too needy to recognize that.)

Felix caresses your legs, placing kisses over your thighs, as well as just over your panties. There's an obvious wet spot, which you can't help but feel embarrassed by once you've seen that he's noticed. You can't help it– this is easily the most aroused you've been in your entire life.

“Want me to take them off?” he asks, and you nod eagerly, covering your face in embarrassment when he chuckles at you. “You're so cute when you're shy,” he says, and you let out a whine; why does he have to say it with such a sinfully attractive voice?

Your reactions boost his confidence, helping to alleviate some of the nerves he'd felt when you first began. And you really are so, so cute right now; it simultaneously further endears him to you and makes his cock throb.

“I'm going to take them off now,” he warns since you aren't looking at him, and he wants you to be completely aware of what actions he takes. You peek through your fingers, nervously anticipating what his reaction to your exposed sex will be. He slowly pulls your underwear down your legs, and you take a deep breath before you part your legs for him to see you fully.

Fuck, you're perfect. There is nothing in the world that could've prepared him for the sight of your glistening heat. He swallows and licks his lips, looking back at you before taking any further action. “Do you need to stop?” he asks, not wanting to push you too far if you aren't ready for this. Truthfully, you are overwhelmed– but in the best way possible, and you definitely don't want to stop here.

“No, want more,” you admit, trying your best not to stutter or mumble so he hears you clearly. “Tell me if you change your mind?” he says, more like a question than a statement, and you nod, assuring him you will if you feel the need to. He lowers himself so his head is between your legs, and the sight of him there alone is positively dizzying.

You hear him comment under his breath about how wet you are as his fingers rub through your folds, which does no favors for your racing heart. He then carefully spreads you apart with two fingers, and again, you see him swallow and lick his lips. Fuck, he has to taste you, needs to find out if you're just as sweet as he imagines you to be.

Everything is so new to both of you, and Felix doesn’t entirely know what he’s doing, but instinct drives him forward. You gasp and shudder when his tongue makes contact with your dripping heat, slowly but greedily licking up all you offer him. When his tongue finds your clit (a pleasant accident on Felix’s part given his unfamiliarity with the female body), the pleasured noise that involuntarily escapes you tells him he should focus his attention there.

“Feels good?” he asks before he licks again; he’s sure he knows the answer, but he still wants to hear you say it anyways. You nod quickly, another embarrassingly loud moan leaving your lips when his tongue swirls around your most sensitive spot. You’ve pleasured yourself before, in private moments with your own fingers, but nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to how Felix’s tongue feels.

His lips wrap around your clit, as if kissing it, his tongue alternating between long, flat licks, quick flicks, and swirling around it, and you’re positively seeing stars, eyes rolling back as your head falls back against the mattress. You cover your mouth with your hand, your other hand desperately clutching at the sheets beneath you, legs trembling and thighs unconsciously closing around Felix’s head.

You feel it, the familiar heat pooling deep in your stomach, your muffled moans quickly turning to desperate whines and whimpers as he drives you closer and closer to sweet release. You can tell however, that your orgasm will be much more intense than any you had ever given yourself, and it scares and excites you in equal measure. But fuck, even muffled, your noises sound so unbelievably sweet in his hears, and he wants to hear them louder, clearer.

“Take your hand away, my love, I want to hear you,” he separates from your heat long enough to tell you, and you whine, this time in embarrassment, as you lift your head up to look at him. A mistake, in hindsight– the sight you’re met with being more erotic than your heart can handle. His mouth and chin glisten with your arousal, the sweat lingering on his brow making his hair stick to his forehead in a way that makes your heart want to give out– he’s just so.. alluring.

“But the guards,” you try, and he shakes his head, not at all deterred by the fact that they stand outside your bedroom doors. “Don’t care,” he says simply, and you can tell he’s completely serious. There aren’t many things Felix is selfish about in his life, but this, you– he’ll be as selfish as he pleases. “They’re just for me, right? So I don’t care if they hear them, because you’re mine, and they know that too. So please, let me hear you.”

Oh, wow. How can you deny him after hearing that? With a shy nod, you agree to not cover your mouth anymore, and he smiles, pleased with your response, and quickly gets back to work between your legs. It’s insane how quickly your release builds back up, as if there was never a pause to begin with, and a curse leaves you between your loud, whiny moans and whimpers.

Felix has never heard you curse before, but he has to admit he likes how it sounds coming from you, and knowing he has caused you to become debauched enough to do so without being conscious of it. Before you know it, you’re seeing white, releasing all over his face as your body jolts and trembles, back arching from the bed as he continues to stimulate you through it.

You eventually whine and push his head away from you, becoming overstimulated from all the attention his tongue continued to give you after your orgasm. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before he moves up your body, connecting his lips with yours again, and the taste of yourself lingering on him and his tongue makes your head spin.

Your hands reach for his underwear, trying to pull down the fabric and spring his cock free; it’s a much more forward and desperate act than you ever imagined yourself doing, but you’re so hungry for him that you can no longer think about being demure. You just want him, more than you’ve ever wanted anything in all your years on this earth. Felix takes the hint, not that it’s even subtle enough to be a ‘hint,’ and makes quick work of taking off his underwear.

The sight of his cock leaves you speechless, breathless; do they all look so simultaneously hot and pretty, or is it just because it belongs to Felix? “Can I..?” you ask, not entirely sure what you’re asking to do– you just know you want to make him feel as good as he made you feel. God, yes, please, Felix thinks, but he just nods with a slightly shy smile, shifting his weight off you and laying on his side next to you.

You lay on your side as well, pressing a kiss to his lips as your hand reaches for his cock, fingers curiously running along his length, feeling every vein and ridge. Felix releases a shuddery breath against your mouth, your fingers feeling so different from his own, small and soft, but so, so good. Your touch is intoxicating, and his body jolts when you rub your thumb over the tip, spreading his pre-cum all over it.

A soft groan escapes him when you enclose your fingers around his length, fingers not quite able to wrap completely around and meet your thumb, but it’s more than enough to have Felix feeling good when you start slowly moving your fist up to the tip and then back down. Eventually, as your fingers spread more and more of his pre-cum, his length becomes slick, and it becomes easier for you to pick up your pace, swallowing all the low groans he emits with your mouth.

But you can’t help but think– it felt so good when Felix used his tongue on you, so wouldn’t the same be true for him? Isn’t it worth trying? He opens his eyes when you take your hand away, watching curiously and with bated breath as you gently push him back by the shoulder, having him lay flat on his back as you move to lie comfortably against his legs, his cock a mere inches away from your face.

He lifts himself up to watch you, supporting his weight with his forearms, breath quickening as you take him in your hand again, sticking your tongue out to curiously lick the tip. The taste of his pre-cum is unlike anything you’ve ever had, and while you don’t think there is anything you could compare it to, it’s not unpleasant. You look up at Felix through your lashes, and God, the sight of you, so pretty and perfect, with his cock in your hand and tongue licking away at him, is enough to drive him crazy.

Would he fit inside your mouth? How good would it make him feel? Driven by curiosity and desire, you open your mouth, your tongue caressing the underside of his cock as you start to sink your head down on him, and the shaky, breathy groan he lets out in response makes your heart skip a beat and core throb. You keep your eyes on him, watching as his head falls back, his adam’s apple bob up and down, the way his stomach contracts the more you pleasure him.

The sounds that escape him encourage you to keep trying your best to take more of him in your mouth, retreating just a bit when you’ve taken enough of him to cause yourself to gag. Felix has to make a conscious effort to not buck his hips up and drive himself further down your throat, lest he hurt you or make you gag again, but fuck, it feels unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He knows for a fact he’s going to cum if he lets you keep going much longer, and so, with a shaky breath, he asks you to stop.

You pull off of him the moment he asks, looking at him curiously; you knew he was feeling good, so why did he want you to stop? He sits up completely, capturing your lips in a kiss lest you worry about how well you did for him; you were perfect, you’ll always be perfect, and even if he’s at times too shy to convey that with words, he’ll make sure you know with his actions.

“I want to be inside you,” he tells you, lips still close enough to yours to easily kiss you again, to feel your breath against your skin, “do you want that too? Do you want me?”

God, yes, you want him so fucking bad. Are you nervous? Of course you are, you’ve never been so intimate with someone before, but there’s no one in this world you would rather give yourself to than Felix. You want to be connected to him, physically, mentally, in all ways conceivable. He’s the one for you, the love of your life, the most perfect man you’d ever known, so there’s not a single doubt in your mind, or your heart, that he’s the one you want to do this with, and that you want to do it now.

“Yes,” you kiss him, “I want you,” another kiss, “so bad,” and another. He’s elated to hear you say it, his relief and joy going beyond words. He would’ve waited for you, of course he would’ve, but he can’t deny how much he craves being inside you, making love to you, pouring all his love and affection into you.

He loves you so, so much, and it’s reflected even in his most carnal of desires. It’s more than sex, it’s more than simply wanting to feel good; to be with you intimately is the greatest display of love you could ever share.

He lies you down carefully, making sure your head actually makes it to the pillows this time, and he situates himself between your legs, hands rubbing over your hips and thighs as he leaves another lingering kiss to your reddened lips. His hand comes between your legs, and he finds your hole with his fingers, wanting to make sure he knew where to aim his cock. You’re still so wet and warm, and the fact that he’s this close to being inside you feels like a blissful dream.

Taking his cock in his hand and lining it up, he looks at you, wanting to make sure one last time that you want him to keep going. “Are you ready?” he asks and you nod, completely, 100% positive you want him inside you.

“Yes, I'm ready, please put it in,” you practically beg, and that’s all Felix needs to hear to continue. He starts to push in slowly, watching your face carefully for any discomfort or pain, stopping when he hears you let out a small hiss.

“Are you okay? Do you need to stop?” Felix asks, using all of his self control to make sure he takes good care of you, and makes your first times as comfortable as possible. “I-I’m okay, just keep going slow,” you tell him and he nods, seeking out one of your hands and intertwining your fingers.

“Squeeze if you need to, okay? I won’t do anything to hurt you, my love, tell me to stop and I will.” You smile, already knowing he’d do his utmost best to make you feel safe, loved, and comfortable. It stings a bit, but it doesn’t necessarily hurt– and Felix’s soothing words, touch, and kisses do wonders in lessening the discomfort you initially felt.

Felix clenches his teeth once he’s fully sheathed inside your heat, your warm, wet walls tightly enveloping him making him almost overwhelmed from how good it feels. He thought your mouth was amazing, but this– God, it’s better than anything he could’ve ever imagined.

You can see how much effort he’s pouring into staying still until you're ready for him to move– clenched jaw, furrowed brows, sweat dripping from his brow from concentration. Contrary to what he expected, he’s the one squeezing your hand, trying desperately to ground himself and not lose control of his body, to succumb to his senses. He’s breathing heavily, forehead once again pressing against yours, but you don’t mind in the slightest.

You love how close he is, how full of him you feel, how the sting and discomfort slowly dissolves away, leaving nothing but the desire to feel him move inside you. “You can move, I’m ready,” you whisper, and carefully, slowly, he pulls out to the tip before pressing back in one gentle, fluid motion.

“It’s okay? Doesn’t hurt?” he asks and you shake your head, timidly smiling at him. “Feels good, keep going,” you tell him, and he easily obliges, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in the feeling of you.

He can’t help but groan, even with the slow pace he’s setting he just feels so good, and the way you look up at him doesn’t do him any favors. Your pretty eyes, your flushed face, the way your hair has messily fallen around you, the way you clench with every sound that tumbles from his lips, letting him know how much you like hearing him– everything, literally everything about you, about this moment, is a blessing to him.

You wrap your legs around his waist, causing him to push in deeper, and his eyes roll back, head falling forward into your shoulder as another groan leaves him. He gradually starts to pick up his pace, always making sure you’re comfortable and enjoying it before he goes faster, experimenting with angles to find what feels best for you, because everything is already good for him.

He knows he’s found the right angle when you let out a loud gasp, followed by a moan when he thrusts again, and again, your hand tightly squeezing his, though he knows it’s purely because of the pleasure, and not at all because he’s hurting you or you need him to stop. You curse under your breath again, your nails starting to dig into the flesh under his knuckles, your other hand clutching once again at the sheets beneath you.

“Feels good? Tell me, tell me it feels good,” Felix practically begs in your ear, his deep voice growing higher in pitch as he drives himself closer to release, his groans turning into desperate sounding whines. “So good, fuck, love you so much, feels so good,” you babble, and Felix whines louder, hips stuttering as he continues fucking into you.

He intended for this moment to be sweet and sensual until the end, but he really didn’t anticipate how your walls around his cock would drain him of his composure. You don’t seem to mind in the slightest however– in fact, you seem to be enjoying the moment just as much as him, your legs starting to tremble as your second orgasm looms closer and your moans and whines grow in volume.

He crashes his lips into yours, your kisses turning much less romantic than before, having devolved into a messy, desperate display of tongue and teeth. It’s a different sort of display of passion, but it is passion all the same, and you couldn’t ask for anything better than this; Felix is perfect in everything he does, and this is no exception.

You can feel his cock twitching and throbbing, and you know he must be close; so you keep your legs tightly wrapped around him, making sure that when his cum shoots inside you, it’ll be as deep as it can get. Feeling close yourself, and wanting to cum with him, you bring your free hand to your clit, rubbing it in the quick circles you know feels best for you. Within seconds, you’re cumming around his cock, and the way you squeeze and clench around him is enough to send him straight into his, his cum shooting out in long spurts, filling you to the brim.

You’re both breathless, hearts racing and bodies hot, and after collecting his breath, Felix kisses you again, not messy or desperate as just moment priors, but full of love, truly the happiest he has ever been. He doesn’t pull out of you until he feels himself start to soften, and he mutters for you to wait there for a moment and stay still as he rushes to the attached bathroom for a tissue to clean you up.

You wince a little, a bit tender and sensitive from all the attention you received, but Felix is gentle and careful, as he is with everything when it comes to you. When he’s done, you make your way under the blankets, shifting over to your side of the bed, waiting for him to blow out the candles and settle in next to you.

Should you both get dressed? Maybe, but neither of you particularly want to– there’s something special and intimate in staying just as you are now, bare in each other's arms. He holds you close, as he always does, kissing the top of your head, and smiling when you look up at him from where your head lies against his chest.

“I love you so much,” he tells you and you smile too, pecking him on the lips and hugging him tight. “I love you too,” you whisper as you close your eyes, exhaustion quickly settling over you. You never imagined how happy you would one day become the day you became Felix’s wife, and now you know that it was actually a blessing in disguise, something you didn’t know you needed.

From the moment he first saw you, Felix knew you were the one, instantly enamored with you. He hoped with all his heart his marriage was one he could be happy in, that his wife would be someone he could truly love, and you answered his prayers from the very moment you entered his life. He doesn’t want to say it was love at first sight, but somehow, he just knew– you were perfect, the one he was destined to be with and love with all his heart, his soulmate.

It sounds like a cliche he’d find in one of your romance novels, but it’s genuinely how he feels. No one in this world would ever compare to you, and he’d forever be grateful to his parents, your parents, and even God himself, for putting you on this earth at the same time as him, and allowing you to be his wife.

He wishes he had words stronger than “I love you,” or that he knew how to articulate himself in a way that would explain the depths of how he feels, but he supposes those simple words will have to do. He loves you, and there has never been anything he's been more certain of than that.

#skz x reader #lee felix x reader #skz smut #lee felix smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fluff #i literally stayed up all night to finish this and now its 7am I AM GOING TF TO BED #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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dreamfyrie · 2 years

Text

Aemond’s Crown Jewel

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Imagine: Both POV's

Reader's POV

You and Aemond had been married for four months. Four agonizingly long and painful months of him refusing to show you his eye. It was an arranged marriage, there was no love between the two of you in the beginning, but it still hurt that he didn’t trust you enough to take his patch off in front of you. The two of you slept in separate chambers at his request. You weren’t sure if it was because he had trust issues and wasn’t used to being close to someone or if he hated you.

Probably the latter. You were patient and hadn’t pressured him at all, but you knew he was highly aware of his patch’s positions at all times when he was around you. He would constantly fidget with it. You felt eternally teased, every time he went to readjust it, you convinced yourself that this was it—he was finally going to take it off, and then he wouldn’t.

You felt a little dramatic. Obviously, he didn’t hate you, he treated you well. That could also be because he didn’t spend enough time with you to even have the opportunity to be unkind. Aemond wasn’t particularly talkative to begin with, but around his family, you’d hear him add in his thoughts every once in a while. He never talked to you though, all you could get out of him was a silent "hmm" in agreement or silence. His personality during sex, on the other hand, was quite different. He always had his head near your ear, and you would hear him whisper in High Valyrian to himself. When you first wed, you asked him what he was saying, but all you were met with was silence. He had an almost sheepish look on his face, and you decided not to bring it up again even though he said them every night. You could perfectly recite all of the words, yet you had no idea what any of them meant. Ñuhon, gevie, ābrazȳrys, dārilaros, zaldrītsos, to name a few. You could ask one of his siblings what it meant, but you wouldn’t want to risk embarrassing Aemond or losing the very little trust you’ve managed to gain.

From the very beginning, you trusted Aemond. His constant state of brooding might have worried you a little, but you always felt safe around him. It helped that he did nice little things for you, but you were convinced that it was his mother who forced him to make an effort. As a princess, you didn’t really have any responsibilities. At least when you were at home, you had things to keep you busy, like playing with your small siblings or riding your horse. Here, you were confined to the Red Keep. There are no family members to keep you company, and there are no open fields to ride your horse and escape into. Most of all, you missed your independence and getting to come and go as you please. Aemond was aware of how much you hated the guards following you around and was able to convince his mother to tone it down to just one personal guard.

After that, you felt relieved and thankful, until Aemond began relieving your guard of his duties and accompanying you on your walks instead. You couldn’t prove it, but you could almost swear Aemond had a jealous look in his eye when you would talk and laugh with your guard. You and he were from the same region, and he was one of the only people here who understood your sense of humor. You didn't understand what the point of Aemond taking his place was, it wasn't because he wanted to get to know you better and make conversation with you. Aemond had no reason to be jealous, you were only fond of your guard because he reminded you of home.

You were always writing to your family, you wanted to complain about how much you hated King’s Landing, but you didn’t want them to think you were ungrateful. Marrying into the royal family was an honor, and you knew there were many people who would kill to be in your shoes. Not to mention, you married the man who rides the largest dragon in the world. Aemond knew you were always sending ravens and gifted you a beautiful set of quills and a new wax seal stamp with a sapphire on the handle. That had been the first little present he had given you. You thanked him graciously, and he just casually commented on how you were a Targaryen now and needed a new seal.

There was a pattern to his gifts, they always contained sapphires. You didn't think too much about it, you doubted he was doing it intentionally. His mother was most likely giving it to him and telling him to give it to you. He never actually presented them to you, for all you knew, it could have been a maid delivering them directly from his mother to your chambers. It made you feel better to imagine that he was doing it himself, so you let yourself believe that. His main gift of choice was sapphire jewelry. Rings, necklaces, bracelets, everything. You thought it was just because he knew you were a little extravagant and liked wearing shiny things.

It wasn’t until one night, when the two of you were performing your marital duty of trying for heirs, that everything finally clicked. He had his face in the crook of your neck, as he always did, when his patch slipped up. Of course, he couldn’t see, so he wasn’t aware that it wasn’t still covering his eye. You didn’t notice until you were both finished and lying there catching your breath. He had no idea why you were staring at him. After sex, you both just silently said your goodbyes, you never looked at each other, especially not with the kind of awe you were showing right now. When he realized where exactly you were looking, he immediately tensed and sat up. Aemond felt defeated, you had already seen it, so what was the point of trying to hide it now? His sapphire eye looked identical to all of your gifts. This whole time, your entire marriage, he wasn’t giving you gifts because he was being forced to make an effort. He wanted to see you using your stamp. He wanted to watch you walk around covered in sapphires. It was his own little way of silently claiming you and marking his territory. You unconsciously touched the necklace you were wearing that he had given you, and his gaze went to your chest. He reached out and ran his fingers over the jewels. You put your hand over his and held it to you, not wanting to feel his touch leave you.

Without looking up at you, Aemond quietly whispered, "May I stay with you tonight?"

Aemond's POV

Aemond had never been happier or more anxious in his life. He thought he would've hated marriage, but there was something so relieving about it being arranged. It took away all the blame from him if it was an unhappy union. He didn't have to worry about never being able to find someone to marry him or them leaving him because you didn't really have a choice to divorce him. Of course he wanted you to be happy, but it was nice knowing that he had someone who would be by his side for the rest of his life, and he didn't have to wonder if you actually loved him or were just marrying him for his status. Because in the beginning, he knew you didn't love him, and he didn't love you either, but that was okay. He was aware that many arranged marriages have to start out in a place of mutual respect before they can grow into something more.

The thought of that not happening, though, plagued his mind. He wanted to talk to you, to plant the seeds for your relationship to blossom into something more, but he didn't know what to say. Aemond didn't want his marriage to turn into something that resembled his parents'. He supposed his mother and father loved each other in their own strange way, but it wasn't the kind of love he wanted for himself and you.

He didn't have a problem talking when you were intimate together. Using High Valyrian during sex was the only way he could get himself to open up to you. It wasn't the best way to communicate his feelings, but he knew he had to start somewhere, even if it was small. You had no idea he was telling you how beautiful you were, calling you his wife, his princess, and declaring that you were his. You smelled wonderful, you had no idea how much your scent soothed him. He loved tucking his face into your neck so he could breath you in. The combination of the safety you gave him, being inside of you, and feeling how well you took him turned him on so much. He wouldn't be able to keep in his words even if he wanted to.

Aemond knew you thought he hated you and that you weren't exactly in love with King's Landing. The city was a lot different from the countryside where you were raised, and he understood it would take time to get used to. Aegon was the heir, and Aemond was the spare. Even though he wasn't the king, Aemond's protection was a top priority. If something were to ever happen to Aegon, Aemond would be king. That importance now extended to you as well, you were expected to produce heirs in case the event ever occurred where they would be next in line. His mother had three guards assigned to follow you and keep an eye on you at all times to ensure your safety. You were strong-willed and had never complained to Aemond, but he could tell you were doing everything in your power not to lash out at your protectors for never providing you with any privacy. He spoke to his mother, asking her to reduce the number of guards watching over you. She agreed after Aemond recited the defensive argument he had been building in his head for you for the past few days to convince her.

Little did he know his mother would choose to keep the one guard that had the most in common with you and was well versed in the art of carrying a good conversation. He hated overhearing the two of you laughing and wished he could be the one responsible for your sweet sounds. Aemond didn't know how to make anyone laugh, let alone a beautiful woman who thought that he hated her and whom he had never had a real conversation with. He couldn't show his love through words, so he decided to give you gifts. You were always so excited whenever your parents sent you little presents, and he thought maybe that could be a way for him to start some sort of connection. He had yet to show you his eye, and he was aware that you were curious about what he truly looked like. It seemed unfair to him, and he felt guilty. That you had given everything up for him—your family, your home, your independence, your maidenhood—and he didn't have it in him to do something as simple as showing you his eye. The closest thing he could do was give you a piece of him, a piece of his sapphire.

There had been a large chunk of sapphire collected when they decided to make Aemond's new eye. They wanted to make sure they had a big piece so there was enough to work with in case they needed to make new eyes for him as he got older. He had little things along with jewelry made for you and asked them to use pieces from the sapphire they made his eye with. The royal jeweler protested at first, but one stern look from Aemond was enough to make anyone rethink all of their life choices. He would leave the jewelry in random places around your chamber as a surprise for you to find. Accepting compliments wasn't something Aemond knew how to do, and he didn't want to hear them from you. You did so much for him without even knowing it, you owed him no thanks or gratitude. No amount of gifts would be enough to repay you for how much happiness your small, fleeting smiles bring him. He loved watching you walk around the castle with his sapphires on, especially when you were with your guard. It made him feel a sense of security, that you were his and no one could take him from you. You wore the most sacred piece of him every day and didn't even know it.

Whenever he was buried inside of you, nothing else existed to him. The only things he was capable of processing were your moans and soft touches—the feeling of your hands caressing him from his biceps to his back. He knew you wanted to touch and hold his face but didn't want to scare him away, and he was thankful for the space you gave him. You both met your release and he laid there trying to gain his composure before he left. He never stayed with you after sex, he knew you would want to talk and didn't know what to say. The two of you had gone so long without properly talking about all that has happened in the past four months, and he knew there was too much to discuss. It was part of his nightly routine to spend a few minutes imagining what it would be like if he didn't leave before he eventually got up. Aemond looked at you to give his silent goodbye when he noticed you staring intently at him, not at him, at the left side of his face. He was suddenly aware that his patch didn't feel like it was positioned in its usual place. His hand faltered when he lifted it up to correct his patch, and he let it fall back on the bed when he saw you reach for your necklace. He knew you were finally realizing why all of his gifts were covered in sapphires, that it was a symbol of his love for you. Your hands looked so lovely playing with your necklace that he didn't realize he was touching it until you wrapped your hand around his and pressed it against your chest. Aemond could feel your heart beating rapidly and knew this was a defining moment in your marriage, and he couldn't leave now. This was the seed he had been wanting to plant all these months, and the time had finally come.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x you #hotd imagine #hotd fluff #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut

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iiseult · 3 months

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𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑜: 𝒜𝓈 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒥𝑒𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓂

CWs → fluff, ANGST, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy, time-period accurate sexism, arranged marriage, descriptions of birth (not the reader), blood and mild gore (they don’t call it the dark ages for nothin!), one-sided pining

Wordcount: 5.1k

Note: Remember like three weeks ago when I lied to you all and said I’d have this out in a few days? I had to plan out a bit of the actual plot so that’s what took me so long. But I finally did it, so eat up! Also, I really do NOT know how medieval royal weddings worked but the shallow google searches I made weren’t good enough so let’s all hope this isn’t horribly inaccurate, though I’m sure it is. Do we care, chat?

Every day leading up to the wedding was a day that you saw red. Greeting your traitorous mother in the mornings made you see red, sharing a meal with your power-hungry father made you see red, and listening to the two of them prattle on about how you ought to behave once you were queen? That turned the world absolutely crimson. Each night, you crumpled up and clutched your skirts under the dinner table with shaking fists, creasing them with deep wrinkles that would take days to iron out, but all the while you continued to hold your head high, speaking only when spoken to just as you were taught as a girl. Your strained, thin-lipped smile was only let go of in the privacy of your own bedchambers, when it was replaced with a cold expression and even chillier disposition. Somehow, drifting apart from your family day by day wasn’t as painful as you had imagined it would be. It was easy, really, because there was nothing left for anyone to talk about. After all, your mother had always taught you that if you had nothing nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all. However, your sudden “demureness and obedience”, as they put it, did not go unnoticed.

Your parents were positively delighted with your recent change, or “improvement,” in attitude. Your lady mother congratulated you for finally agreeing to fulfill your societal role as a subservient wife and mother– an aspect of life of which you had previously been a bit resentful– and your father perpetually reminded you how beneficial this marriage would be to the rest of your bloodline. Even your younger brothers seemed excited for you, constantly coming up with new questions to pester you with regarding life as royalty. The only thing keeping you sane was the knowledge that soon you’d be living far, far away from your conniving parents, free to do whatever you wished. Whichever benefits a royal connection brought them would be nothing compared to your own guaranteed lavish lifestyle. You’d soon have your own castle, your own servants, and even your own soldiers! Oh, and the husband, too. You kept forgetting about that part.

In some ways, the fact that he was a leper was a great relief to you. That meant you’d most likely be spared many of the wifely duties you had so been dreading; mainly, consummating the marriage. At your age, only 14 years old yet, there was nothing that interested you about the male body, giving birth, or raising children. It was not so long ago that you had helped raise your own little brothers, and the idea of going through all of that again made you feel so trapped. Not to mention the fact that giving birth was extremely dangerous. And painful. And frightening. That thought caused a memory you had been repressing for years to resurface from the depths of your mind, like a buoy in the ocean. It was the tortured screams of your mother the night your youngest brother was born. Had you not known better, you might have thought she was being ripped in two, and the labor lasted for so many endless, terrible hours, which felt more like days. You remembered the midwives rushing around, and the maids leaving your mother’s room with armful after armful of blood-soaked sheets and sloshing buckets of burgundy water. As they passed the place where you were hugging your knees in the corridor, a drop fell at your feet and sunk slowly into the stone floor, leaving nothing but a small round stain.

Once it was time to leave your family home for the castle, you said goodbye to the view from your window, which you had become well-accustomed to. It was probably the thing you’d miss most, besides your brothers. You closed your bedroom door for the last time and meandered down the familiar, dimly-lit corridor, taking note of the particular stone which was still adorned by that tiny dot of brownish red. A shiver ran down your spine. You opted out of doing a final sweep to make sure you’d packed all of your belongings, because soon enough, you’d have better things to replace them with, anyway. The knights they’d sent for you had loaded your bags onto their horses about an hour ago and set off for your new home. Now, the only thing left to transport was you.

Another knight was waiting for you outside with a large white horse. He watched as you hugged your mother and father stiffly, pretending not to notice your mother’s tears as she kissed you on the forehead like she used to when you were younger. Before you were a lady. Before you were the queen of Jerusalem. Your father said nothing, but his somber expression and the distant look in his eyes and the loose grip he had on your hand as he kissed the top of it told you everything you needed to know. The knight helped you mount the horse and get comfortable sitting behind him, and you waved goodbye to your family as you were carried away, truly intending it to be for everything you had ever known. But whatever sadness you might have been feeling was overpowered by sheer determination. Now, at 14 years old, your life was finally beginning.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The knight who sat in front of you on the horse did not turn out to be a very good conversationalist. The only responses you could draw out of him were along the lines of “Yes, Your Majesty,” or “No, Your Majesty.” You were hoping for someone a bit more…engaging, perhaps, as you were feeling an odd mixture of excitement and anxiety that grew with each and every gallop towards Jerusalem. And anxiety always made you talkative.

“Is it fun at all, being a knight?” You shouted over the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, breaking the long silence that you had been enduring since the beginning of the journey.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

“You know, protecting the kingdom and such. Isn’t it exciting? I find the idea to be absolutely thrilling! Don’t you think so?”

He paused for a moment, and then replied flatly, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

You pursed your lips, waiting in silence for a few moments, expecting him to elaborate, but no such luck. Was it really so hard to share a gory battle tale or two to pass the time? You knew knights were known for having excellent integrity and virtuousness, meaning they would never say something that could potentially scare a lady, but couldn’t he humor you just this once, while you were alone? But maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it, you thought, imagining how burdensome it must be to know the feeling of cutting someone’s head off. So, you graciously changed the subject and mentally patted yourself on the back for being so kind and just. It simply wouldn’t do, as future queen of Jerusalem, to force sensitive information out of this poor, traumatized knight for your own fleeting amusement. Maybe a few months earlier and it would have been acceptable, but alas. You sighed.

“This noble steed of yours is breathtaking. Does he have a name?” you questioned, admiring the animal’s snow-white pelt, entranced by the way its powerful muscles rippled beneath it.

“I do not know, Majesty. This horse belongs to the king. It is the only one His Majesty trusts, so he instructed me to collect you using it.” Another memory flashed through your mind, this time of your first meeting with your future husband. He had been riding this very horse that day, its stunning color matching that of his robes. Your heart fluttered at the idea that he’d cared so deeply for your safety, although it shouldn’t have surprised you. It was not as if he had parents forcing him into this marriage. He was accepting you in holy matrimony for some other reason, a reason entirely of his own. His own choice. A blush crept up the back of your neck, and you were suddenly thankful for the fact that the knight was facing away from you. You cleared your throat nervously.

“Well, what’s it like, working for the king? Is he nice?”

You felt the knight’s huge sigh before you heard it, your arms that were wrapped around his midsection rising and falling in tandem with the breath.

“Yes, Your Majesty, the king is very…nice.”

“Is that all?” you muttered, rolling your eyes at his reservedness. You got the hint. You understood he didn’t want to talk, that much he had made very apparent, but that was just too damn bad. As queen of Jerusalem, you wanted to get to know your subjects, and who better to start with than the one sharing a horse with you?

“Will I have my own chambers, or shall I share with the king?” You asked, holding back a giggle at the expression you were imagining the knight had on his face.

“I am sure you will be provided with your own chambers, Your Majesty, but the choice of whether to use them or not will be entirely yours and your husband’s,” he replied, a hint of dry humor in his voice. You let out a loud laugh, which actually startled him a little, and then followed it up with another.

“I wonder if he snores!” you said, between giggles. The knight smiled, shaking his head. After that, the journey to Jerusalem was easy.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The next time you laid eyes on the king was when you were getting married, standing opposite each other in an architectural marvel of a cathedral, both dressed in extravagant clothing and expensive jewelry. His silver mask had recently been polished, and it shone beautifully in the sun, but still not as beautifully as his blue eyes. They were as you remembered them, only a bit brighter. His gold-trimmed robes were as white as ever, freshly washed and perfumed for the occasion. Even the gloves on his hands looked new and clean. You admired them as the priest rambled on in front of you. If God was listening right now, you thought, he’d surely be bored to tears. There was one part of the day you had enjoyed, though, which was the preparation for the wedding. You had been doted on by countless maids all morning, lining your eyes with black powder and weaving your hair into an intricate, interlocking braid pattern. The gown was altered to fit you perfectly, and the large, bell-like sleeves fell around your arms like wings. You were finally beginning to feel like a real queen.

The ceremony seemed to drag on forever, but you passed the time by maintaining eye contact with King Baldwin. You drowned out the rest of the world and focused only on him. When you smiled, he smiled back. You could only see the corners of his eyes crinkling, but you knew what that meant. You cocked your head to the side, trying to imagine what his smile really looked like. During that evening you spent with him, you hadn’t gotten the chance to see it. Just as soon as he had taken off the mask, he had to put it back on. The consequences of your parents seeing Baldwin’s face would have been disastrous, but thankfully, their loud footsteps and jovial voices had carried quite well down the corridor, warning you of their arrival. Regardless of how short they were, those few seconds you’d spent admiring his bare face were enough to conjure up a half-formed image of what his smile might look like. However, that image disappeared when you saw him cock his head to the side, too, just as you had. You blinked twice.

He blinked twice, too.

Was he copying you on purpose?

You shifted your feet, and he mirrored you, his robes shimmering like the ocean as they fluttered around him. You bit back a giggle. He was. Flames of mischief danced in his eyes, and something else, too, ignited there when you grinned at him.

“…that these rings shall forever remained blessed, O Merciful Lord. Amen,” said the priest, approaching the king with a book, two rings laid on top of it. Suddenly, Baldwin became very serious, plucking one of the rings between his slender, gloved fingers and holding it gently. You stared as it glistened in the sunlight, which was penetrating the stained glass windows and casting colorful shadows around the altar. He slowly stepped towards you, making your heart begin to beat faster. His head stayed bowed as he presented you with his open palm. You held your breath and lifted your left hand, gingerly brushing your fingertips against his palm, now understanding what was about to happen. He effortlessly glided the ring onto your fourth finger, where it rested beautifully. The diamond glittered like water, mesmerizingly. Baldwin wrapped his fingers around your hand, now holding it as gently as he could, and the priest was now presenting you with a ring. You followed Baldwin’s lead, pushing it onto his fourth finger, which was waiting outstretched for you patiently. You stood mere inches apart, fingers of your left hands interwoven as the priest finished the prayers. The ring, as breathtaking as it was, was somehow still only secondary to the cerulean eyes of your now-husband, which were like two rich sapphires lined with delicate blonde hairs.

“…And may God bless, preserve, and keep you, that you may have life and love everlasting. I pronounce that you now be man and wife together, in the Name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

The cathedral filled with polite claps and murmurs of “amen” as Baldwin released your hand and you turned to face the pews. Next to you, much to your surprise, he quickly dropped to his knees, his body angled towards you, clasping your fair hand between his. You gazed down at him through your lashes, suddenly feeling your cheeks burn. Boldly, Baldwin drew one hand up to his masked face, grasping it by the nose and swiftly pulling it to the side so that it was hiding his face from the crowd, but revealing it to you. He lifted your hand to his pink lips and pressed a searing kiss to it, liberally letting the physical contact linger, all the while maintaining eye contact with you from under his furrowed brow. You covered your mouth with your other hand to try and hide the toothy grin spreading across your face. He saw it anyway. The next thing you knew, he was grinning, too. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and laughed. He laughed. You realized that you no longer had to imagine what his smile looked like.

After the wedding ceremony, you were promptly bombarded by happy civilians wishing to congratulate you, or simply to catch a glimpse of their new queen, and Baldwin was whisked away by his mother, who seemed to be perpetually by his side. It seemed that she was not quite ready yet to surrender the role of Baldwin’s caretaker to you– but you had no gripes with that. You figured you’d grow into the role of loving, doting wife, as opposed to starting it right away, and unfortunately, the idea of changing his bandages each night before bed still made you shudder. In reality, his mother was not exactly thrilled about the marriage, either. She hadn’t found you or your family quite noble enough for her precious son. However, she was smart enough to see that it was unlikely that anyone else would ever volunteer their daughter to marry a leper, so she begrudgingly allowed the union.

From the crowd, two plainly dressed women had introduced themselves to you as Matilda and Amelia, claiming that they were to be your servants. They would apparently be with you at all times, tending to your every whim and aiding you during your ascent to the throne, as well as bathing you and dressing you. Matilda was an older, more severe woman who had immediately intimidated you; her lips were drawn together thinly and permanently pursed, creating deep wrinkles around her mouth, and the rest of her face was an intricate web of creases and lines. Her graying hair was pulled back tightly, exposing her thinning hairline and sun-spotted forehead. Even her hands looked harsh, the skin rough and dry, cracking in some places, like mud that had been baking under the summer sun for too long. Amelia was quite the opposite; a timid, pretty young thing with wide brown eyes, fair hair, and a delicate frame. She’d barely had the courage to tell you her name, and rushed into the curtsey to avoid having to make eye contact with you for too long. She seemed to be around the same age as you, if not even younger.

After the attendees from the wedding had mostly dispersed, Matilda brought you back inside the castle to finally see your bedchamber, which you were to have all to yourself. She and Amelia led you through winding corridors and beautiful flowering courtyards, pointing out all the most significant landmarks along the way, such as the great hall, the kitchen, the maid’s chambers, the library, the chapel, the towers, the gardens, and the hundreds of guest bedrooms with conjoined washrooms. The last thing she showed you before your own room was the king’s quarters, which were directly across from yours.

“Now, Amelia, go draw us a bath. There’s no need for two of us to be standing around here idly while the Queen inspect her chambers,” she ordered, and Amelia nodded, scurrying away to the washroom silently.

As Matilda threw open the giant oak doors of your room, you couldn’t help but gasp, suddenly rooted to the spot. It was glorious. Taking up the majority of the room was a massive bed with four handsome posts, all carved with intricate floral patterns and stained a deep brown. The mattress was topped with overly-stuffed burgundy throw pillows and a comforter to match. Connecting to the four posts was a frame, from which wine-colored velvet curtains hung to give you some privacy. The same fabric was used to shroud the windows, which were floor-length and leaded. At the foot of the bed lay a pile of bags and wrapped items– all of your belongings from home! On the wall across from them was a large dressing table, covered in jewels and precious metals and bottles of fine-smelling oils. A small, round stool with a cushion on it sat underneath. Your eyes sparkled with excitement, and you couldn’t help but abandon Matilda in the doorway, running and throwing yourself face-first onto the bed, just like you used to at home. You giggled and kicked your feet up into the air, unsurprisingly beginning to sink into the plush mattress. Immediately, you felt your body melt against the malleable, pillowy surface, deciding that you definitely approved of its fine quality. Your bed from back home simply couldn’t compare. However, your glee was short-lived, because it was abruptly interrupted by a stern voice.

“Your Majesty! You must cease this behavior at once and right yourself! That wedding gown is priceless, and you mustn’t risk causing it any damage!” Matilda scolded, pulling you up by the arm and frantically kneeling to check the delicate garment for any possible tears or imperfections. You winced and apologized quietly, suddenly feeling embarrassed at your juvenile behavior. She was right. As a matter of fact, most things in the palace were probably priceless, and it wouldn’t do to act so impulsively, to be so unladylike. Even you, in your youth, knew better than that. You crossed your arms over your chest, beginning to feel rather insecure upon realizing just how much you had to learn about life as royalty.

“Come, child, it is time to undress. You must be bathed and prepared for your wedding night,” Matilda called, holding out a hand, her voice much more soft and gentle this time.

You gulped, not wanting to think about that, preferring to cross that bridge when you got to it. She bustled over to the magnificent dressing table, pulling out the stool for you to sit on. You obliged, seating yourself in front of her and watching in the mirror as her spindly fingers deftly unwound your intricate braids. It was relaxing, the feeling of her experienced hands nimbly dancing around your scalp, so you let the buildup of tension from the day slowly seep out of your muscles, loosening up more and more every second that passed. Soon, she was finished, and helped you to your feet, ordering you to keep your arms out straight as she undressed you. She pulled out pins from here and there, untied laces all around, and in a matter of minutes you were ready for your bath.

The water was warm and steaming as you stepped in, your skin breaking out into goosebumps at the feeling. Rose petals floated across the surface of the water, giving the entire washroom a fresh scent. As you expected, Amelia was waiting for you silently, brush in hand, ready to scrub you vigorously from head to toe. You braced yourself, expecting the rough bristles to be painful, but once she began working attentively, it wasn’t so bad at all. Yes, they were scratchy, but that’s exactly what you needed to get rid of all the dirt and dead skin. She lathered you in delicate smelling soap and added some more fragrant oils to the water, letting you soak until your skin had absorbed all the moisture it possibly could. Not a single inch of you was neglected by the time the water had grown cold, at which point you got out and were dried with a fluffy white towel.

Next, you were ushered back into your chambers and changed into a pretty blue gown made of satin, which apparently “complimented the color of the kings’ eyes perfectly,” according to Matilda. You felt your gut twist at the mention of him, at the prospect of being alone in a room with him and that piercing gaze again. Now that you were man and wife, everything was different. You had a duty to fulfill, and it seemed to be unavoidable, despite how young and vulnerable you were. Despite how averse to it you might be. Your mother had told you all about it, about how it would only last a few minutes if you were lucky, and that you just had to breathe deeply and count the seconds until it was over. How it happened to every woman at some point in her life, and that what follows would be completely and utterly worth every second of endurance. How rewarding it was to raise a child, or two children, or as many as your womb could bear. But no matter how much you tried to reassure yourself, you were still scared. You didn’t want that yet. You were only 14.

But before attending to your marital duties, first, there was dinner. You were seated at the complete opposite end of the table as Baldwin, as far as physically possible away from him, despite the fact that he was the only person there you had ever spoken to. You were too far away to be able to tell if he was even looking at you from under his mask. Next to him was his mother, who proceeded to shoot you sideways glances the entire night. The rest of the table was filled with noble men and women whom you did not recognize, their titles unfamiliar to you and the lands they hailed from even more obscure. You picked at your food and tried to stay as silent as possible to avoid making a mockery of yourself on your first night as Queen of Jerusalem. Sooner than you had hoped, dinner had concluded, and you were taken aside by Matilda, who pulled you into an empty corridor as the guests began filtering out of the castle.

“Child, do you know what is expected of you on your wedding night?” She asked, her voice low so that nobody except the two of you could hear the subject matter at hand. You took a deep breath and straightened you back in an attempt to appear more mature, before replying,

“Yes, I will lie down and be still and hope that I am blessed with a child.”

The woman smiled at you and clasped your shoulder, seemingly approving of your answer.

“Exactly right, my dear. The king will call on you when he is ready, so you may go back to your room and occupy your time with an activity of your choosing until you are collected.”

You nodded solemnly and thanked her before slowly making your way back to your room, trying to take as long as possible in an attempt to actually slow down time. Upon deeper reflection during this walk, you came to the conclusion that it was not being alone with the king that you were afraid of, but rather the act of consummating the marriage, which was, of course, something he had every right to do with you that night. It was the correct course of action. It was what all newlyweds did, no matter how young and afraid they were. Did he know what he was doing, you wondered, or was he just as oblivious as you? You couldn’t imagine the young king being oblivious about much of anything, in all honesty. He was far too intelligent– something you had seen for yourself over that game of chess.

Once you arrived at your room, Amelia was waiting at the door for you, an even more wide-eyed look on her face than usual. Uh oh, you thought to yourself.

“His Majesty the King has requested your presence in his chambers, Your Highness,” she said quietly, bowing her head as she spoke. How did he get here so fast? You thought to yourself, terror rising in your chest. Amelia watched in half fear and half amusement as you frantically wiped your clammy hands on the bodice of your dress and ran your fingers through your hair, which was cascading down your shoulders freely. She was young, too, and unwed, and the idea of a wedding night was something that made her stomach churn as well, so she offered you a sympathetic look and watched as you dragged your feet across the hall, knocking on the imposing oak doors of the king’s bedchambers.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Baldwin had never been so jittery in his life. As he sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for you to arrive, he fidgeted with his gloves, pulling them off by the fingers and then pulling them on again, over and over. All throughout dinner he had been gazing across the table at you, ignoring his mother’s neverending ranting as you stared down at your plate. Though you were only a blue blur with a vaguely maidenlike shape from where he was sitting, he was still completely enchanted, his heart beating in his throat every time you looked up in his general direction. He wondered if you could tell he was looking at you. Since the hour you were wed, he was able to think of nothing but you; your dazzling smile, your gorgeous hair, your playful sense of humor, the way the light in the cathedral illuminated your eyes. As the servants bathed him in strong-smelling medicinal herbs and wrapped the raw areas of skin with fresh bandages, he daydreamed about your voice, your laugh. And now, as he sat on the edge of his bed, awaiting your imminent arrival, he thought of practically everything except you.

He panicked about the state of his body, the pressure of consummating a marriage, the burden of fathering a child at such a young age. He panicked about the weight of ruling an entire kingdom all by himself, no longer able to entrust the brunt of the work to Raymond, and of being a suitable husband. He panicked about how many years he might even have left, if his illness continued to progress. But every worry, every fear, every doubt left his mind as soon as he heard you knock on his door.

He leapt to his feet, hastily pulling his left glove all the way back on and bounding over to the door, throwing it open wide with a grin on his face, to reveal… you, standing there, gaunt and sweating, looking like you had just suffered a bout of cholera. The smile on his face fell a bit, but it couldn’t be wiped completely clean. At least he could finally be with his bride, his love, his queen.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” you murmured, your head bowed, pointing down at your shoes, as well as the freshly polished ones directly across from you.

“Good evening, my Queen,” he breathed, heart beating quickly as you shuffled into his room. He closed the door behind you, letting it shut with a ‘click’ before following you over to the middle of the room, where you hovered like a ghost, still staring at the ground and clasping your hands tightly in front of you. A tense, silent moment passed, and still, you didn't move. Whatever was left of his smile faded from his unmasked face, and the panic from earlier began to return, crashing over him in icy waves. Why wouldn’t you look at him? He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from leg to leg.

“Are you feeling very well tonight, my lady?” He asked tentatively, shuffling a bit closer.

You sucked in a sharp breath and suddenly turned, stiltedly making your way over to the bed.

“Let’s just get this started then, shall we?” You said tersely, laying down on your back on the plush covers and screwing your eyes shut tightly.

“I am ready.”

King Baldwin stared at you blankly, frozen in the middle of the room, and completely panicking. No, no, no, this was all wrong, this was not how he wanted it to go…he absolutely did not want to force you into it, to do anything you didn’t also want…and you clearly didn't want it. You were lying there, as stiff as a board. This was the final straw for him.

He wasn’t ready for it yet either, he decided. He would just have to lie to his mother. When she discovered that the queen was, in fact, not pregnant, he would blame it on his own body, claiming to be infertile. It was probably true, at any rate. He took a deep breath, feeling shame and embarrassment at not being able to consummate his own marriage rise to his cheeks, and spoke three words,

“You may go,”

And those were the last three words he spoke to you for the next three years.

Note: I'll give you a kiss if you can count how many times I reference you being the "Queen of Jerusalem" in this chapter.

#baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven #baldwin iv x reader #king baldwin iv #king baldwin iv x reader #baldwin iv one shot #baldwin of jerusalem #highnoonsunlight #baldwin iv fic #slow burn #one sided pining #wedding night

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tragedyofdevotion · 9 months

Text

Imagine a royal au with Blue lock...

You are the princess of a country. The only daughter of the royal family and the treasure of your parents and your older brother.

Your older brother is Kunigami who is really overprotective of you. Royal balls? he is the only one you are allowed to dance with. Tea parties? you are not allowed to attend if he is not present. You sometime gets overwhelmed with his overprotectiveness but when you woke up in the middle of the night, hungry, and your servants do not allow you to eat anything because it is unladylike to have midnight snack, he is the one to go to. He will sneak into the kitchen of the royal palace skillfully and make you the sweetest hot chocolate.

Your fiance, Mikage Reo, is the Crown Prince of the Kingdom to the east of your country. Even though you will have to marry him in a year or two, you don't even know what he looks like. You have been opposing this arranged marriage as long as you can remember. Reo isn't satisfied at all with you, too. Up until this point in his life, he has gotten everything in life. So, he did not understand why he can't chose his partner in life for himself. But that's until he saw your painting given to him by his parents. It would be funny to say it but he fell in love at the first sight seeing your smiling face in the picture. Ever since that day, he slept hugging your portrait. He has heard that you are against this marriage but as he said he has gotten everything he want in life and yeah he will get you too.

Your knight is Yoichi Isagi who has been by your side since you were 10 and he was 15. It has been 10 years since then and your first impression of thinking he won't hurt a fly hasn't change. Sweet & kind, sociable & amenable. You are worried he will be able to function well as a knight with that personality. Well, actually you don't have to worry though. He can perform well, really well. Anyone who dare to even think of harming you is disposed of cleanly before you had ever a chance of harming you, of course without your knowledge. It will not do well to make his princess afraid for some pests after all. During your teens, you once heard the noble girls gossiping about you and laughing at you behind your back. You cried to sleep that day. And a week later, the girls were expelled from the social circle one way or the other because some rumors mixed with truth that spread among every single nobles and even the commoner residents in the capital.

Bachira Meguru is the fickle and eccentric royal painter. He is the one who drew the painting Reo has of you. He is also the one who helps Isagi in the act of protecting you when Isagi wants to destroy, socially, physically or sometimes both, for those who brings you sorrow. Only he knows of Isagi's worship for you and observe it from a safe place. But don't mistake he is normal either. He has a whole storage full of your paintings. Some of them, he did get permission from you to draw, but others are your candid posts which he recorded in his mind. However, a few of the paintings are made entirely from his imagination, and they featured you in less than proper postures and expressions. But don't worry these collections are for his eyes only. He won't show them to anyone, not even to Isagi.

Chigiri is a spy from the noble fraction that want dirt from the royal family. He crossdressed as a maid and infiltrated into the castle. Now he is your maid and you absolutely love him thinking of him as your one and only girl friend. Unlike other maids he treat you frankly, and unlike other noble ladies, he isn't watching your every move to get something to gossip about, or so you think, not knowing he is the spy. When he first got the mission, there were many things he was unsatisfied about but now he doesn't mind it very much because he get to help you get dressed. Isagi thinks he is sus and searching for evidence to prove that he is the filthy rat that he is.

Itoshi brothers are your childhood friends. And as childhood friends go, there is a love triangle among you three, which obviously goes like this, Rin → you → Sae.

Sae is the reason you are against the arranged marriage. You have someone you gave your heart to. How can you have eyes for anyone else, let alone marry them. Sadly, though, Sae took the heart you gave and stabbed into a million times and cut it into a thousand pieces using his cruel words and attitude. Isagi and Kunigami wants to torture him until he beg to be killed but since Sae is the genius mage who is responsible for projecting the magic circle that protects the whole country from outside attacks, he can't easily be killed. Moreover, you will likely die from heartbreak if you heard so much as Sae breaking a bone. Really, they can't figure out just why you love this bastard. And of course, Sae knows of your little crush. And he can't help but abuse you with words until tears flow from your beautiful eyes. But you, without learning, run up to him the next time you see him. Sae thinks that if he is as sadistic as people say you must be quite the masochist for liking someone like him.

As a fellow victim of Sae's cruel words, Rin always stay by your side and pat your back without word whenever you cries from his brother 's cold attitude. Don't worry. He is here. He will always be here, by your side. So, please..... Please he beg of you... Spare a glance at him. Notice that he is here. These are only his thoughts. He will not say them even if he were at death's door. You love him, you really do but only as a friend, as a brother. Not as a man, never as a man. And he tries so, so hard at combat training, magic training, scholar, and politics. So, he will one day surpass your fiance, your friend, your brother, your knight, and his brother...

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vsnyarbll · 8 months

Text

the nights when we're alone

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader, Aegon Targaryen x reader

words: 2.605

summary: Aemond invites Aegon to give his wife a different experience in the bedroom.

warnings: smut (exhibition, voyeurism), +18, targcest

a/n: Smut is not very detailed, but there is smut. Enjoy!

"At least let me cum on her!" said Aegon. Aemond grunted and started pounding you faster.

Aegon stood at the side of the bed, watching his brother's every move and how you reacted to them. His right hand was around his cock, and he was speeding up and slowing down his hand with your reactions. You were lying face down and at Aemond's mercy.

Aegon squeezed his cock gently, letting out loud moans as Aemond's hands wrapped around your hips and caused your breathing to quicken.

You never stopped watching Aegon's facial expression. Aemond was always silent, so you were impressed that Aegon made so much noise at your slightest movements.

How did Aemond find himself in this situation? Aemond would ask himself a similar question every night the three of you got together. 'How did I let this happen?'

The answer to both questions was simple.

You two had an arranged marriage. You were the apple of the court's eye. All the lords were ready to accept your father's highest marriage proposal. But with a speed that neither you nor Aemond could understand, your father decided to marry you to Aemond.

Your father was delighted that you had married a prince and that your children would be princes and princesses.

King Viserys was also happy to see his son's wedding. He did not know if his son wanted to marry. Aemond had always been a quiet boy, and he was never one to sit and chat with his father. But all Viserys had to do to convince Aemond to marry a marriage he didn't even know he wanted was to tell him it was his duty.

In less than no time, you were married in a grand wedding. The cake was delicious. All the lords and ladies gathered at the red keep, dressed in their finest, excited to see a royal wedding. You were intimidated by the crowds, but even then, you were calmed by Aemond reaching for your hands and smiling as you exchanged your vows.

Aemond was excited to be married, even if he was afraid to admit it to himself. After many years of feeling like he belonged nowhere, he was relieved to have someone to call home. And eventually, he would have children who would love and accept him for who he was.

Aemond had always been so kind to you. You didn't have intercourse on your wedding night, but Aemond didn't mind. He could see you were worried.

He already had his self-confidence problems. But it wouldn't bother him if he knew it was him you didn't want and not the wedding night. He didn't want to ask you directly. He didn't want to appear weak when he was the one who was supposed to protect and defend you.

He had already accepted some things in his life. His brother's bullying since he was a little boy had changed his outlook on life in a partially positive way. At least, that's what he thought. No one had to love him, after all. He could live with that.

Aemond didn't know what he was doing for the kingdom by marrying you, but duty was duty. And fulfilling it was a prince's highest purpose. As long as it was polite and respectful between you, he didn't care about the rest. It was comforting to know that someone would be there when he returned to his room in the evening.

Then gradually you got used to each other. You all had your meals together. Aemond told you about some of his favorite books. You told him how interested you were in his family history.

You got on well.

Then, you fulfilled your marital duties. It took longer than expected, but neither you nor Aemond cared.

It wasn't bad. Especially when you heard how the other ladies in the castle spent their nights, you thanked each of the seven gods for giving you Aemond.

Aemond was a good man. He was careful not to hurt you. You knew he was trying to be gentle as he ran his hands over your body as if he was afraid you might break.

But there was one fact that Aemond was aware of. Your nights weren't enough for you. You wanted more. More passion.

You didn't want him to be kind to you at night after everyone was asleep behind the doors of your chambers.

You never told him that, but Aemond could tell by you averted your eyes every night when he reached up to kiss you.

You loved kissing him, watching him.

Aemond wasn't hard to love.

Even if he didn't realize it, every lady in court would grovel at the king's feet to marry him.

He was a prince. A good one.

But you knew something was missing. And it made you feel guilty.

What more could a woman want in her married life than a husband like Aemond?

And you were ashamed that your body wanted more.

It made you feel ashamed that you wanted more, more passion in an act that you were only doing to have children and to make sure your husband was enjoying his time in the marriage bed.

That was what your Septa taught you. She couldn't have known anything wrong, could she?

Then Aemond caught the way you looked at someone at a family dinner. No one else could have noticed, but Aemond was aware of everything. When you looked at Aegon and locked eyes with him, you turned your head and smiled slightly in a way that others would have interpreted as politeness. Anyone else would have thought you were behaving as you should exactly, but they didn't see what Aemond saw.

The way you turned your head and blushed slightly, the way your chest rose and fell faster, the way you pressed your thighs together… Even then, you looked more excited than any night in bed with Aemond.

It was no surprise you wanted Aegon. He has always had a reputation for exciting women. His callous and uncaring demeanor appealed to most women, even if Aemond couldn't understand it.

Then Aemond thought.

He knew that if he made such an offer to Aegon, he would accept it unconditionally. He also knew his mother or anyone else at the castle would never know this.

He had to convince himself. He did not know if he could bear to see his wife with his brother like that. He put off thinking about it for a while.

Then, one night, you moaned Aegon's name as you came.

Neither of you looked at each other after Aemond pulled out of you.

You held tightly to the sheet that covered your body and turned your back to him. You buried your face in your pillow, almost letting it suffocate you, and waited for sleep to overtake you.

You were sure he would be furious.

And Aemond reconsidered the decision he was about to make a few weeks ago.

He stared at the ceiling for a while and twisted his rings, which made you watch his fingers for longer than necessary when he wore them. Perhaps inviting Aegon to his bed wasn't such a bad thing. The Targaryens had never cared about social norms. Why would Aemond care?

Aegon wasn't hard to set up. Aemond went to his room to ask his opinion on the matter.

Aegon opened the door with a suspiciously sweaty and red face. "Aegon…" he said, and his lips formed a thin line. "I can come back later. I think… you're busy." Aegon shook his head and straightened his trousers, which made Aemond sigh. He considered giving up before it was too late. But when Aegon said, "Nonsense. Come in." he realized how long it had taken him to work up the courage, and he didn't want to waste it.

He briefly told Aegon what he wanted to do. He received it with great excitement, just as Aemond expected. "Your wife… I mean… I don't want to sound disrespectful, but I sometimes wish it was me who married her."

Aemond did not react, but he sank further into his chair.

It took him less time than he expected to convince Aegon. The hard part was convincing you. Because you denied it for days, even crying when Aemond pushed too hard.

You asked what kind of a wife he saw you as with an angry face. "What kind of a wife betrays her husband!" you said several times. Because you never thought he would actually do something like this. You thought he was testing your loyalty.

One evening, you were having dinner together, and you were both sitting calmly. You thought that Aemond had given up the question he had been asking, and you were relieved. You reached for the glass on the table close to Aemond, afraid to look at his face. He took your hand and made you look at him.

Then he said the last thing you wanted him to say. He let out the anger you've been holding in for days. You stood up in anger and caused the chair to fall backward. "Yes! Yes, I want Aegon to fuck me! Are you happy now?!"

Aemond had never seen you so pissed off.

You looked at him, worried about how he would react to your sudden outburst, but you held your head high.

Aemond took a sip of wine and said, "Yes, that's what I wanted to hear." calmly. You nervously gripped the table and looked at his face, not understanding.

A few nights later, you were combing your hair to get ready for bed. You had forgotten or erased from your mind what Aemond had insisted on because you could not imagine Aemond doing such a thing.

Then the door opened, and someone came in. Your back was to the door, but you didn't look at the person because you were sure it was Aemond. No one else would come to your room at that hour. Then you almost jumped as the voice of someone you didn't expect filled your ears. "I'll never understand why women brush their hair before sleep."

You turned around quickly, your eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. You clenched the comb in your hand, trying to draw strength, and your gaze shifted between your husband and Aegon.

You were still trying to wrap your head around what had happened as Aemond took off the cloak he was wearing over his thin shirt.

At first, the two of you were together, and Aegon watched you. Your face never turned in his direction. But even with such a simple situation, Aemond had realized how you squeezed him more than usual when you came.

After spending a few nights together, you found the courage. You turned your head towards Aegon and began to watch him.

You imagined them both next to your body. You imagined their hands sliding over your body and grasping you together.

Aegon began to run his hand over his trousers as if this was the signal he had been waiting for to do more. When your gaze shifted to between his legs, he pulled his trousers down to his hips and pulled out his cock. It was as if he was always waiting for the slightest sign from you to do more.

This went on for a few months.

During the day, you were ashamed to look at the armchair where Aegon sat. The armchair reminded you of Aegon's eyes that wouldn't leave your face when he came. You even tried to cover it with one of your dresses, but then you gave up. Even without any tangible evidence to remind you, it had happened, and you liked it.

In the evening, both of them came to your room again. Aemond had not allowed him to touch you even with the tip of his finger, and he was determined to continue to do so. Aegon was only a part of the pleasure he wanted to give you. No more was necessary than Aemond had already allowed.

But now that Aegon had seen you in every possible position with every possible ejaculation expression, it was starting to make him angry that he couldn't touch you.

If the choice had been yours, you would have stepped between them the first night they entered the room together.

Aegon had reached his breaking point after begging and being denied all night long to touch you or at least to cup your breast once. "At least let me cum on her!"

Aemond grunted and started pounding you faster. "Fine! But only on her ass." He was tired of hearing Aegon's begging.

You got even more excited when you heard what Aemond said.

Aegon moved closer to the bed. All three of you were about to cum.

Aegon couldn't stop his body from moving as he moved his hand, and the tip of his cock touched your leg with every movement.

Aegon threw his head back but quickly raised it again for fear of missing the sight before him. Your eyes locked as he quickened his hand. Aegon raised his free hand as if to reach for you, but fearing Aemond, he placed it on his leg.

You came first.

Your breathing quickened, but you held back most of your moans. Even though it had been a few months, it was still embarrassing to be exposed in front of more than one person.

Then Aemond pulled out and came on the cloth next to you.

And finally, Aegon got what he had dreamed of for months and came on your ass.

You almost shivered when you felt the warm liquid on you. You let out a loud breath.

He rested his hand on the side of the bed, and you were excited that your hands were almost touching.

Aemond turned around to get dressed, needing privacy as if the three of you hadn't just cum together.

Aegon quickly looked at Aemond, and when he was sure he couldn't see you, he ran his fingers over yours. Your eyes moved from his softened cock to his body.

When he saw that you didn't react negatively to his touch, he moved his hand to your back and stroked you gently. "You did well." he said in a low voice.

You smiled and began to study his face with dreamy eyes.

Aemond turned around and took the cloth he had just used and cleaned you.

Aegon sighed. "You couldn't leave it like that, could you?"

You didn't move. You kept lying face down. You were feeling a little tired, but the main reason for not changing your position was to avoid waking up if you were in a dream. Because if it wasn't a dream, you couldn't understand how these two men could be so interested in you. And if it was a dream, it was a long and satisfying one.

Aemond took the cloth to the bathroom and came back to you. He laid down and pulled you to him. You wore nothing, and both of them would have preferred you to be naked in front of them, even if they didn't say it out loud.

Aegon quickly put on his pants and sat down next to you.

"You do not sleep with us, Aegon," Aemond said without opening his eye. He hugged you tightly- afraid you'd disappear in his arms.

Aegon grinned. "I know, I know," he said as he ran his hands through his hair.

But in the morning, the three of you woke up with your arms around each other.

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kakujis · 10 months

Text

✧ 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍. ✧

synopsis: the sano royal family is almighty, all-powerful, unrelenting. royalty must be, it comes with the territory. you must consume to survive. and what are you but a lowly maid within their palace walls?

i. serenato - prince kakucho’s been gone for months without a single letter back home, you wonder if he’s even coming back.

ii. oblivious - prince mikey can’t help but feel that something’s wrong with his closest friends, especially baji, head of the royal guard.

iii. fairytale - an arranged marriage won’t stop prince izana from reaching his dream.

iv. aria - when shinichiro becomes king, the two of you come to terms with the death of your forever.

✩ 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐍. ✩

synopsis: these stories focus on non-prince members, such as the royal guard. (more info soon!)

i. sandpiper - baji used to be the head of the royal guard, and your mind always wonders why he defected to valhalla, leaving you behind.

ii. snow falling - if there is solace in one thing, it's your moonlit meetings with chifuyu.

iii. story loading...

iv. story loading...

NOTES: hi! this is an au i've had in the back of my brain for a while, and i sort of delved into it last year when i wrote a couple of those prince!headcanons and that one izana scenario. each story will come with a link to the kalafina song that inspired them! ♡ the y/n in each story is a separate character, but there will be no names and will stay x reader. each story will come with their individual warnings, make sure to read them. some will be sfw and some will be nsfw. please keep in mind, everything here is subject to change and stories will be uploaded sporadically. also, i'll try my best to write them in order, but we'll see! also, if there's enough interest i'll open a taglist. ♡

ETA: i will ask if you are a minor/ageless blog to please refrain from interacting with the nsfw stories, there will be a few.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #tokrev smut #tokrev fluff #royal au #tokrev #kakucho x reader #shinichiro sano x reader #manjiro sano x reader #izana kurokawa x reader #baji keisuke x reader #chifuyu matsuno x reader #tr prince miniseries #dividers by cafekitsune and firefly-graphics #pibby writing

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thelov3lybookworm · 1 year

Text

Not what I expected.

Eris week day 6, arranged marriage.

Summary: Y/n has never met any of the royals of Autumn Court, but she will soon, because her father has sold her off to the eldest son of the High Lord. And she can do nothing but go through the marriage.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: Again, first time participating in a character week, and thank you @erisweek2023 for hosting this event! It's soo much fun. Hope you all have fun too!

Also, can you tell I have never had a close encounter with dogs? Like, I know little to nothing about them, so I hope this is realistic enough.

Anyways, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n stared at the door. She had been staring for quite some time now, long enough that her eyes were starting to cross.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. She just wanted to go to sleep, but she couldn't. Not until her husband arrived.

That was one of the most important roles she had been taught. Never do anything before your husband's permission and approval.

She had known nothing about her wedding until a week ago, when her mother had walked into her room and told her that they had finally found a suitor for her.

The whole week had been filled with dress fitting sessions, mannerism classes and classes on what to do to please your husband.

She had learned these things before, knowing she would probably get wed into an elite family, but now that she was wed to a Royal, those classes had been extra hard.

A knock on the door sounded, and she got up to check. It definitely was not going to be her new husband, considering these were his quarters and he didn't need to knock.

A pretty female stood on the other side of the door, wearing a dress that barely left anything to the imagination. It was similar to what Y/n wore under her silk robe.

The female twisted a stand of her blond hair between her long fingers, trying her best to look coy. But Y/n saw right through her. Her eyes were sharp and cunning, shining with mirth as if she knew something no one else did.

"Is the high Lord here yet?"

Y/n eyed the female. "No."

"That's unfortunate."

"May I ask who you are?"

"Emily. You can call me Em." And then, she added, a smug smile on her face. "His favourite attendant."

"Attendant..." Y/n raised her brows.

"He prefers me over the others." Emily gestured towards a corner nearby where a couple of girls in a similar attire to hers chatted among themselves.

What?

Y/n didn't get it at first, but then she realised. These were concubines.

She couldn't even understand why she was surprised. Of course the high lord would have them. He didn't marry Y/n because he wanted a relationship or anything like that. He was just doing what was expected of him. Marry and pop out as many children as he could.

And of course, he wouldn't stop taking concubines to bed just because he was promised to someone else. He would probably want someone experienced to see to his needs and wants. Not someone who was forbidden from dallying in such activities so she could be pure when she was finally married to the highest bidder.

Someone like her.

"Oh. I see."

Emily smirked. "I guess if he hasn't arrived yet, I'll just have to wait. I apologise for disturbing you. I am sorry."

No you're not.

Y/n's eyes narrowed. This female didn't look apologetic in the slightest.

From the smirk on her face, she had done this just so she could irk Y/n. That was the most understandable excuse.

"I'll leave you to enjoy your time then. Have a good night, my lady."

Y/n nodded slowly. "You too."

She closed the door before returning to her spot on the couch.

The couch was near the fireplace, making it warm and comfortable. There were three doors in the chamber. Two of them led to huge bedrooms, one leading to an office.

She had looked around an hour after she arrived in the chamber she was to share with her new husband, bored. It had almost been three hours now, and still he wasn't here.

She sighed and continued staring the door.

•○🌑○•

Eris's pov.

Fatigue weighed down Eris as he walked towards his chamber.

The day had been exhausting to say the least. First, he had multiple meetings before he had to be wed to a female his advisors council chose. And then, again, he had been swept up in countless meetings.

He had been High Lord for almost three months when the advisors finally decided to try and persuade him to get married, as no High Lord is supposed to be without an heir for long.

He didn't even know the female who had taken the vows with him. He knew nothing of the one who had bound herself to him for the rest of their lives except that her name was Y/n. Beautiful name, if he dared say so.

He had almost forgotten that he now had a wife after the long day of countless meetings until one of the advisors, a younger one, had wiggled his eyebrows and said 'have a good night my lord. Or dare I say, pleasurable?'

He had only realised what that was supposed to mean when he was all alone and walking to his room. If he hadn't been so tired or if he'd realised the bastard's meaning sooner, he would have hunted the rat down and flayed him for that.

He sighed as he turned into the hallway to his chambers, hoping to get some rest before he was expected to be up in a few hours.

But of course, the attendants were waiting to pounce on him.

He glared as they formed a ring around him, batting their eyelashes and trying to get his attention, caressing any part of his body they could reach.

It's a blessing they haven't already fallen to their knees and–

"Don't bother the High Lord. You already know he doesn't fancy you all." A voice calls, and the females fawning over him part to reveal a barely clothed Emily. Eris stopped himself from scowling. Barely.

"Emily." He said, emotionless. But on the inside, he was itching to incinerate her. Sure, she's been a good distraction, great even, what with her knowledge and experience in the bedroom. But when he found her acting as if he loved her, as if she was the next Lady of Autumn, he was pissed. He had never done anything to make her that delusional, and he'd been trying to avoid her since then.

It didn't help that she always showed up outside of his door.

"How would you like to–" She began, but Eris eyed her before turning and walking into his chamber.

He rubbed his brows as he stepped into the room, then froze when he found someone resting on his couch. For a moment, he was dumbfounded. Then he realised who it was. His new wife.

Emily continued talking, and when he turned to look at her, he found her trying to walk in behind him. When she saw him looking at her, she quieted, her mouth still hanging open as if she was stopped mid sentence. Eris gave her a look that would've sent powerful men running before slamming the door in her gaping face.

A startled gasp pierced the momentary silence, and he turned to look at the now awake Y/n.

She stared at him with wide eyes, her hands gripping the fabric of the couch.

"My–my Lord." She scrambled to stand, the silk robe she wore slipping from one shoulder.

She didn't seem to notice, but that was all Eris could look at.

She seemed to have a nightgown underneath, which, from what he could see, hardly seemed to cover anything. The parted robe had revealed her shoulder and a little bit of her chest. The thing was only held up by barely there thin straps on her shoulder. He realised he was staring and forced himself to look up.

"Why are you here?" He barked, quite harshly.

But that was how he was supposed to be.

He felt bad for a moment when hurt seemed to cross her features, but he didn't care. Couldn't care. Not for anyone. Not for her.

She blinked. "My lord?"

"I said why are you here? Why are you not sleeping in your room?"

"I– I wasn't supposed to sleep without– asking you first."

"Asking me what?"

"If you had any need of me..."

Eris cocked his head. "Need of you?"

Y/n swallowed, then glanced towards his bedroom.

"Ah." He realised what she meant. He gave her a cruel smirk, despite his brain wondering what she would feel like on–

"Do you even know anything about it?"

She swallowed again. "I..."

He huffed a laugh. "If I had any need, I have plenty of people who would love to help me out. I can very well take care of those needs myself."

She looked like she was about to cry, but she nodded nonetheless and spoke in a shaky but strong voice, which piqued his interest. This female was definitely something. Something more than the timid act she put up. "So if you have no need of me, may I go–"

"Go." He snapped. "And don't bother me."

She nodded, but Eris had already begun walking towards his office and locked himself in.

There, he put up a sound shield. He tested it before he let go of the tension in his shoulders and sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

What have I gotten myself into.

•○🌑○•

He woke up to the feeling of the chair digging in his back. But he also felt the warmth of a blanket and his toes freed from the confinement of his boots.

He immediately jerked up, his eyes scanning the room. Someone had been in here while he slept.

Last night, after he had entered his office, he had decided to wait there for sometime and sort some papers out before going to sleep. But he was too tired to do any of that, and had slept in his chair.

He had gone to sleep with his boots on and no blanket.

He'll have to look into the security of the place.

He laced his boots quickly before walking to his room and getting changed after a quick bath.

Once he was done, he decided that checking on his hounds was more important than anyone's security, and so he walked towards where they were kept in his private lawn.

As he walked towards the kennels, he slowed his pace and strained his ears. Someone was here.

He walked quicker, making sure not to make noise as he turned the corner and found a female frozen, staring at his hounds. They were also still, staring at the female.

Y/n.

His blood boiled at the thought of anyone coming near his hounds, but he forced himself to calm down and walk to where she stood.

As soon as the hounds saw him, they began barking and racing towards him. Y/n hadn't noticed him yet.

As soon as she saw the dogs running towards him, and, in turn, her, she turned and began running too. When she spied him watching all of this, she quickly grabbed his hands and hid behind him.

"Do something!"

He raised a brow, even though she could not see. "Like what?"

"Anything! Get them away!"

"You're afraid of them?"

He felt her nodding against his back.

"Please, do something–"

He sighed, irritated.

"They are mine. They will not do anything."

"How do you know that? They could be in the mood to bite someone!"

"The–the mood to bite someone?" He asked, incredulous, as his hounds came to settle down near his feet, eyeing the female hiding behing him. "That's stupid. They don't bite unless you give them a reason to. They're very nice."

"They don't look nice." She mumbled, peeking around his biceps.

"I'm trying not to get offended by that."

He mentally smacked himself for that. He was being too gentle. He couldn't do that and have her thinking there was any potential for a relationship between them.

But no matter what he told himself, he couldn't pull away from her tiny hands clutching his forearms.

He sighed again after a few moments before grabbing her hand and dragging her forward.

"What are you doing?!" She screeched.

"Trying to get your fear out."

Eris tugged her hand towards one of his female hounds, Amber, trying to get Y/n to pet her. But Y/n dug her heels into the ground, trying to pull her hand away. "No. No no no." She chanted again and again.

He was now getting frustrated. "Come on, they're not that scary."

When he glanced back at her, he realised there were tears in her eyes. He blinked, then stopped trying to get her to touch them.

"Why are you crying... they're just creatures who won't bother you until you bother them..." He hadn't realised that it was such a sensitive topic for her.

"It's not them... not really. I've just always been scared of creatures with sharp teeth." She said between panting breaths.

"You could try to get rid of the fear."

"Why do you want me to touch them?" Her eyes simmered with anger as she turned to him. He was taken aback by the intensity in those beautiful eyes.

Beautiful? They can't be beautiful. Not for you. He told himself. If you let yourself think that way, those beautiful eyes would soon be filled with even more tears. Or they'll be lifeless.

Shaking his head, he wondered that himself. Why the hell was he so interested in getting her fear out?

He sighed. Turning away from her and letting go of her completely, he said. "Go. Leave."

She didn't. Instead she stood and watched as Eris took care of his hounds, doing all the necessary work.

After almost an hour or two, as Eris was trying to leave, he spied her watching him intently. He faltered, but before he could look away, she approached him.

"Are you sure they will not bite?"

A foreign feeling erupted in Eris's belly, and he cleared his throat. "Yes, I am sure."

She eyed the hounds who lingered nearby, then nodded, as if trying to convince herself.

"I'll make you a deal."

"A deal?" He probably sounded stupid, but he couldn't come up with a better response. No one, absolutely no one in his entire lifetime had spoken Eris is in such a way.

She lifted her chin. "Yes, a deal. I will try to face my fear, like you wanted me to, and in return, you will not be an asshole."

He blinked. She really was something. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I say so."

He raised his brows. He studied her for a moment.

A flush had climbed up Y/n's neck, and she looked breathless.

"So? Do you accept?"

He sighed. "Fine."

She held out her hand, and he eyed it before taking it and pulling her towards the hounds nearby.

He crouched, then tugged her hand to make her crouch as well. She did.

When he looked over at her, he found her eyes filled with fear. Her other hand came up to clutch his arm tightly when he lifted her hand towards the gentlest hound he owned, a female who had recently given birth.

"Her name is Amber. She recently gave birth, and is the most caring and, as you say, nicest, of the pack."

Eris felt her hand shaking, and despite himself, he ran his thumb over her hand, trying to calm her.

He held her much smaller hand in his as her fingers connected with the fur on Amber's head, and Amber seemed to smile. It felt like a smile to Eris, at the very least.

Y/n was stiff, to the point where Eris felt her discomfort just by looking at her.

The two of them stayed there for sometime, caressing Amber's head, until Eris had to leave for a meeting.

As he stood to leave, she jumped up as well, her fingers tight on his sleeve.

He nearly rolled his eyes before turning and leaving, her following behind. She kept looking behind her, as if she would find the hounds running to bite her.

Y/n sprinted through the doors of the fortress as soon as it was within sight.

He shook his head, trying to hide his amusement.

He found her panting just inside the door, her chest heaving. He looked away.

"They're scary."

"Then you should have left. I told you to leave. Why didn't you?"

"If I had left, I wouldn't have seen you playing with them, I wouldn't have known what kind of person you were."

He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Y/n shrugged. "I just am really good at reading people. You don't seem like the person you pretend to be."

His heart stopped for a moment before starting back up. "Then you must not be good at all when it comes to reading people."

She simply smiled. "Your hounds scared me really bad. Bet they come in handy for scaring people."

"You shouldn't judge them by heir looks. You shouldn't judge anyone if you don't know enough about them."

"Yet you let people judge you when they know nothing about you."

"That is because what they think is true." His heart was doing happy little backflips in his chest.

Be still, you little bastard. He chided in his mind.

"Keep telling yourself that." She took a step closer, and his breath hitched, staring deep into her eyes. "But I'll never belive that."

She smiled and patted his cheek before turning away. "Oh, also. We'll meet at this time tomorrow as well?"

He narrowed his eyes when she turned halfway. "What for?"

"Are we not trying to get my fear of hounds out?"

He didn't know what to say. Which was a first. Never in his life had he ever been dumbfounded.

She looked like she was holding back a laugh. "We'll meet here tomorrow at the same time then. Husband."

His heart made a loud thump at that. "S–sure."

Sure? He wanted to kick himself between his legs. He didn't want to spend more time with her than was strictly necessary. He would only be fuelling whatever idea she had in her mind.

He took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of his thoughts.

"You aren't what I thought you would be like. You are even acting differently than yesterday."

She smiled. "Yesterday I didn't know if you were just like your father or you were a good man. Now I do. Thanks to your hounds."

That was when he remembered something. He had heard that her family also had a pack of dogs, not ones like his hounds, but similar nonetheless.

"You– you shouldn't be scared of hounds. You had dogs before–" He accused.

She just turned away, a smirk on her face. "Have a good day."

"You too..."

Eris watched as she sauntered away, her hips swaying.

He didn't know what to make of the conversation, but he did know one thing.

The way forward would be... interesting.

•○🌑○•

He held her much smaller hand in his as her fingers connected with the fur on Raven's –Amber's daughter's– head, and Raven seemed to smile. It felt like a smile to Eris, at the very least.

The girl in his arms squealed happily, and the two boys nearby looked over with smiles on their faces.

"You like her?" He questioned.

"Yes daddy! She is so cute and soft."

Olive, the second youngest of Eris and Y/n's children, was a daddy's girl through and through.

In the years since their marriage, the couple had become parents to two sets of twins. The first set, both boys, Maple and Sawyer, were nearby, and they adored their younger siblings.

The younger set of twins, Cormac and Olive, had been born only a couple of years ago.

Leaves crunched nearby, and Eris glanced up to find Y/n walking towards them, Cormac in her arms, giggling.

Cormac loved his mother so much that if she was away for longer than an hour, he would scream loud enough so that the whole of Autumn Court would be able to hear it.

Y/n set Cormac down, who gave his father a toothy smile as he stumbled towards Maple, who was the closest to him.

Sawyer plucked Olive from Eris's lap and walked towards where Maple and Cormac were talking.

Eris smiled at Y/n as they watched the children, the older ones nodding to what the younger ones were saying.

Eris stood, slipping an arm around his wife and mate, leaning close. Y/n's eyes widened as she glanced at the kids then back to Eris.

"Not in front of them Eris–"

"They can close their eyes." With that, Eris captured his wife's lips with his.

Soon enough, gagging sounds interrupted them, and he heard tiny feet sprinting closer. He pulled away, grinning, to find Olive almost upon them.

"No kissing mommy, daddy. Its disgusting." She put one of her fists onto her little hip and the other pointed at the two of them threateningly.

"I told daddy not to kiss me, he didn't listen." Y/n piped up, and Eris glared at her accusingly.

Olive turned to her father and pointed the chubby little finger towards him. It wasn't as intimidating, considering she barely was half his height.

Before Olive could speak, Sawyer picked her up and ran out. Maple and Cormac followed the two out, but not before Maple winked at his mother cheekily.

She was blushing by the time Eris turned back to her.

He smirked at her and she shook her head. Not giving him time to act on any of his wishes, she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest.

"I love you."

He smiled, kissing the top of her head. "I love you more. And I will be eternally grateful for the family you have provided me with."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he shut her up with a kiss.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @imma-too-many-fandoms

#high lord eris #erisweek2023 #autumn court heir #pro eris vanserra #eris x reader #autumn court #eris acotar #eris vanserra #acotar writing #acotar series #acotar fluff #acotar fanfic #acotar fandom #a court of thorns and roses #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #eris vanserra x reader #acotar fic

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geekgirles · 7 months

Text

"I would've preferred it if Amalia were our Queen instead."

"Like many others, sweetie, but you can't say that right now."

"Where did Amalia go, Mum?"

"She's gone explore the world, like she usually does."

Okay, but this little piece of dialogue is crucial to understand so many things about the Sadida and their opinion on their royal family.

And we stan that little girl. Yes, baby, I, too, wish Amalia was queen instead. I don't trust Armand and Aurora as far as I can throw them.

It's already been established Armand resents his sister not only because of her wanderlust or the fact that their father seemed to favour her, but because so does their people.

The fact that there are apparently many who support Amalia, the younger princess, over her brother, the Crown Prince, comes to show that for the Sadida actions speak louder than words.

There is no denying that both royal siblings care immensely about their kingdom. Armand was in the front lines when Nox attacked alongside King Oakheart and many of Amalia's best, most mature moments were in relation to her wanting to protect and serve her people. Like when she decided to stand up against Armand and inform their father of Nox's attacks back in season one, or how she was more than willing to forego her chance to marry for love and marry Harebourg instead if that meant her kingdom would survive Ogrest's Chaos in the OVA.

The difference between the two of them, however, especially in the eyes of their people, is their actions or, more accurately, the consequences of said actions.

Armand is the Crown Prince, and he remains in their kingdom carrying out his duties while Amalia went off to explore the world and have fun, away from her duties. At first glance, that should make Armand the better choice in the eyes of the Sadida, except that also means they've probably been far more subjected to his less pleasant moments.

Having to watch your tongue out of fear of severe punishment or even death just because the prince is sensitive over his bad breath is overkill, plain and simple.

Not to mention, every time Amalia left her kingdom, her adventuring evolved into a life-or-death mission to save the world.

With Nox, the fact that she ran away allowed her to gain the intel needed to go back home and warn them of the upcoming attack. Something Armand refused to do anything about until King Oakheart entered the picture and took matters into his own hands, all because he couldn't believe his sister would ever be more than a spoiled brat trying to run away from her responsibilities.

With Quilby, what at first was a simple, humanitarian mission to retrieve his dofus and welcome the Eliatrope children eventually turned into a desperate battle for the survival of their world.

Again, in the OVAs, the entirety of the Sadida kingdom was aware and celebrated Amalia's sense of responsibility and selfless decision to enter an arranged marriage for their sake. I haven't watched beyond the Throne of Ice, so I don't know if the Sadida ever found out Harebourg's true plans for their forest, but if they did, all the more reason to respect Amalia for refusing to put her people in jeopardy.

Finally, people talk. In season 3, it's made apparent that since Aurora entered the picture (at the very least), the royal siblings' relationship has strained practically to the point of no return. And while Amalia isolated herself and mourned her father's deteriorating health, it's very likely the castle guards and servants bore witness to how the prince's treatment of his sister worsened each day. So I wouldn't be surprised if word got out and the rest of the kingdom sympathised with Amalia either.

Now, it is true that while Amalia does have a sense of responsibility and duty to her kingdom and a deep love for her people, despite her royal upbringing, she is not really made for the stifling life of royalty. Hence, her constant wanderlust. In that regard, Armand is indeed the most reliable of the two.

It just so happens that when it comes to personal flaws and his treatment of others he is wholly unreliable. It's his way or the highway. And that is a very terrifying quality for a king to have, to be unable to compromise.

But most importantly, what really sets these two apart in the way their people perceive them is that while Armand is a prince, Amalia is a hero. And she has proven time and time again that she will do everything in her power to assure everyone's safety and well-being.

And that alone speaks volumes of a ruler's true character.

#wakfu #wakfu spoilers #wakfu season 4 #wakfu season 4 spoilers #wakfu analysis #loin du monde #far from the world #amalia sheran sharm #armand sheran sharm #king oakheart sheran sharm #aurora #sadida #sadida kingdom #count harebourg #ankama #wakfu ova #nox #quilby

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fangsforiris · 6 months

Text

Kanato Sakamaki HC’S

Word Count: 10,004 Included Topics: General, Looks, Hair, Body, Skincare, Makeup, Voice, Mentality, Family, Brides/Yui, Academics, Fashion, Magic & Bag.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [General]

🕯️ He has an uncanny interest in death and dead bodies. (Canon fact.)

🕯️ He likes watching Reiji bake. The way he so skillfully moves his fingers, and how he never questions his movements is fascinating.

🕯️ He listens to Melanie Martinez and Malice Mizer.

🕯️ He worked as Karlheinz’s secretary for a few years, starting when he was 13. He stopped when he was 16.

🕯️ People in the Royal Court really liked him, and Karlheinz liked having a, in his words, ‘pretty thing’ next to him in every meeting.

🕯️ Cordelia also worked as Karlheinz’s secretary when she first met him, before having an arranged marriage. She was a minor, while he was well into his 20’s. (Canon fact that he groomed her.)

🕯️ Karlheinz definitely forcibly feminizes Kanato.

🕯️ As in, he definitely enjoys when he cross-dresses. Much to Kanato’s displeasure.

🕯️→ It’s already established how horrible Karlheinz is, so I wouldn’t put it past him to do something like that.

🕯️ Kanato sometimes uses his looks to his advantage, such as getting things for free since people assume he’s a girl. Some of the things people bought him for free: drinks, clothing, makeup, jewelry, food, whatever it may be.

🕯️ Him acting like a deer in the headlights also helps get him out of trouble.

🕯️ Call it pretty privilege.

🕯️ Once he and Ayato were trespassing and when an officer came up to them, he used his charms to get them both out of trouble.

🕯️→ “Oi! You two, hands where I can see them.” The officer blared his flashlight at the two siblings, their eyes squinting from the sudden blindness. Ayato groaned, putting up his hands, “Ugh, what is it?”

🕯️→ Kanato slowly put his hands down, looking at the officer with big doe eyes, batting his eyelids slowly, “Oh! I’m so sorry officer… you see me and my brother got lost! I happened to drop my ring while we were here… and… I couldn’t find it.”

🕯️→ The officer stared at Kanato, his severe demeanour softening as he was temporarily struck by the innocent charm that radiated from him. “Lost, huh?” he mumbled, his voice no longer harsh. “Well, you two ought to have taken greater caution. Trespassing is a serious offense.”

🕯️→ Kanato nodded earnestly, his act of innocence unwavering. “Yes, officer, we understand,” he replied softly, his voice laced with feigned sincerity. “We'll be more careful next time, I promise.”

🕯️→ Ayato rolled his eyes, but remained silent as the officer sighed, shaking his head. “Alright, just make sure you don’t come back here again,” he warned, before turning to leave. “And find that ring quickly. We don’t want anyone else getting into trouble over it.”

🕯️→ As the officer left, Kanato let out a sigh of relief. “That was close.” Ayato turned to face Kanato, a smirk playing on his lips. “Too close, also–”

🕯️→ “Not another word,” Kanato interrupted sharply, shooting Ayato a warning glance. Ayato chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright then,” he knew better than to push his luck with Kanato when he was in one of his moods.

🕯️ Kanato often wonders about the possibility of going missing. It’s a fantasization of his to see if anyone truly cared about him. He’d also want to know if he’d make it out alive. It’s one of those dark thoughts that come up every once in a while, more so when he’s doing the dishes.

🕯️ He definitely has one of those girl blogger accounts.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Looks]

🕯️ Kanato is obsessive about his appearance.

🕯️ From afar you wouldn’t guess it, but Kanato cares a lot about his image, he wants every single thing about his appearance to be perfect.

🕯️ He has a set image that he was to adhere to 24/7 and if just one thing is off he’ll spiral. (Think of Reiji with absolutely anything, but multiply it by 100x. It’s that bad.)

🕯️ Kanato has very soft feminine features.

🕯️ His obsession started because of his mother, who valued her looks along with his. Also partially influenced by those around him in the Royal Court, who at first glance, would identify the similarities between the two.

🕯️ In fact, Karlheinz would be skeptical for a bit of Kanato’s true gender, finding it uncanny with the parallels surrounding his first wife and 4th son. He’d treat Kanato as a girl despite knowing later on that he isn’t.

🕯️ This would partially add to Kanato’s slight (not really slight) insecurity of not being seen as ‘man enough’ or atleast a boy.

🕯️ Since he looks the most like Cordelia, she would keep him on a strict regime so as to not ‘ruin her name.’

🕯️ Kanato’s desired image depicts a doll. He wants so badly to look and feel like a doll. In the sense that it’s hauntingly ethereal, and those who cast their gaze upon him are forced to stop and stare.

🕯️ Almost like his mother, but part of him knows he doesn’t want anyone to see him in that sort of light. Just in the way that they can’t take their eyes off him, and are filled with envy of how surreal he is.

🕯️ He wants his very entity to invoke a sense of surrealism. As if he came out of a 1900’s portrait, and just looking at him gives off an ‘out of body’ experience.

🕯️ He prides himself dearly on his looks, but that also has its limitations. (Semi-canon fact.)

🕯️ Sometimes, he wonders how his life would be if he were to look more like his first cousins-once removed (Shin and Carla) and brothers. Would his mother still take pride in him the same way?

🕯️ Because of him gaining Cordelia’s features, many upon first meeting assume he’s a girl. He gets upset at this, but other times he’d leave it be and proceed to accept it as a compliment.

🕯️ He’s also pretty short, especially compared to his brothers, so the shock factor from others when discovering he’s a boy also adds to the whole ‘Kanato Experience.’

🕯️ TW!! He is used to being catcalled and harassed because of his looks. These are the moments where he wonders if it’s a curse or a blessing to look so much like his mother.

🕯️ TW!! Due to this, he understands both perspectives, both men and women, and has slight empathy towards their struggles. (Slight. As this is still Kanato we’re talking about.)

🕯️ TW!! But he has only felt true fear when he was placed in a situation where he happened to be barricaded and incapable of fighting them off. He wondered how he was so powerless, as his hands shook and his body trembled. How he was so quick to become prey instead of the predator.

🕯️ TW!! He’s had some close calls of being assaulted, especially with the majority of men who are physically larger and stronger than him, but has been saved by older women and couples.

🕯️ TW!! After this happens, he is usually filled with feelings of resentment and self-loathing. Such as → ‘Why was I so weak? I am no mortal.’ and ‘If the others saw me, they’d call me pathetic– I was pathetic.’

🕯️ TW!! Kanato would rather die or skin himself alive than admit he’d been placed in such a situation far too many times for his liking. With countless close calls at that. He wouldn’t want to be seen as a victim like Laito, and definitely not be doted on with the focus of his weakness being called into question.

🕯️ Because of this, on his days out into the town/out of the house, he carries pepper spray and a small retractable pink combat knife. Just in case his vampiric strength isn’t enough.

🕯️ Slight TW!! Kanato has been catcalled by Ayato and Laito, before the former two would realize and profusely apologize for mistaking him for a girl. It was embarrassing when he happened to be at the dessert cafe he particularly enjoys in Vandead Carnival, picking up macaroons for Laito and him, when his two brothers started hitting on him out of nowhere.

🕯️ Ayato would initially not talk to him for a week, making a point to avoid him in every single room they both happened to enter, before Kanato would throw his Teddy at him.

🕯️ Laito on the other hand, would laugh it off. But inside he’d somewhat hate himself and think back to the similarities towards Kanato and their mother. It’d make him feel more uncomfortable if anything.

🕯️ Upon first meeting, the Mukami’s would assume Kanato was a girl as well. They’d find out the hard way when Kanato rejects both Yūma and Kou’s advances and Ayato pipes in to get them away from his brother.

🕯️→ “Oi! Kanato ain’t a girl, that’s my brother, you half-blooded creeps!”

🕯️→ “Didn’t you and Laito also mistake him for some chick…?” Shuu would retort, causing the former to go silent and red, while Laito waves his hands dismissively, giving small uncomfortable chuckles.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Hair]

🕯️ He prides himself on his purple hair (Canon fact.)

🕯️ His hair is kept at a medium length, sometimes reaching his collarbone.

🕯️ Kanato trims his hair every month.

🕯️ He has a step by step hair care routine.

🕯️ He washes his hair 1-2 times a week.

🕯️His hair is naturally silky smooth, however it’s more flat in comparison to having volume (smooth > volume, flat > fluffy.)

🕯️ Shockingly, out of the triplets he has the best hygiene, even going as far to rival Reiji in that department.

🕯️ He likes to smell like strawberries and vanilla. The light, cute scents that many associate with those girls from shoujo mangas. He absolutely adores it.

🕯️ He owns high grade shampoo, conditioner, hair masks, hair oils, and even purple shampoo just in case his natural colour lightens even more to his dismay.

🕯️ He makes sure to wash, shampoo and condition his hair correctly, ensuring that he doesn’t get back acne or neck acne from leaving the product to suck into the skin.

🕯️ It’s one of his pet peeves to have acne there, and also upsets him greatly when feeling an unnecessary bump on his ‘need to be’ smooth porcelain skin.

🕯️ Kanato takes an ‘everything shower’ every end of the month, which includes him staying in the shower for 2-3 hours on end, deeply perfecting everything.

🕯️ This heavily annoys the others, as he tends to take long, hot, excruciating showers which drains the hot water and ups the water bill each month. (To Shuu and Reiji’s dismay.)

🕯️ But make no mistake, Kanato benefits from the hot steam of the shower in comparison to just submerging his entire body in it. If he did, his entire body would be pruned up. Not a good look for his tastes.

🕯️ His hair used to be darker, a more accurate colour match to Cordelia’s, but overtime due to stress, it lightened.

🕯️ He prides his hair— and so does his mother. On most nights when she wasn’t dealing with Laito, she’d stay in his room, make Kanato sit in front of his vanity on his chair, and brush his hair.

🕯️ It was an intimate moment for the two of them where their relationship grew. Oftentimes she’d take solace in these moments and reveal information about herself that no one else would hear. And Kanato would listen.

🕯️ It was like their own little secret. Their thing that nobody else could take away from them.

🕯️ This is where Kanato would find his likability to being seen as and called ‘a doll.’

🕯️ Cordelia would oftentimes refer to him as her doll or just the nickname ‘doll.’

🕯️→ “My little doll, you’re like Mommy when you’re quiet like this.”

🕯️→ “Am I, Mother?”

🕯️→ Cordelia would smile fondly, “Most definitely. You’re lucky to look like me, you know? Who else would dare to pay attention to you or your talents otherwise.”

🕯️→ Kanato would turn his head when he noticed his mother stop, the brush still clutched in her hands. He met her eyes, “I am?”

🕯️→ She’d put the brush down on the vanity, motioning towards the mirror where the two saw their reflection. Emerald green and pure lilac glew, its prominent glow reflecting off the mirror in the dark room, causing the latter to blink for good measure. Kanato would focus diligently, watching for what his mother had to say next. “Yes. Would you like to know a secret, doll?”

🕯️→ He’d nod, “You’ve always been my favourite. Your brothers just don’t have what I and everyone else sees in you.” His eyes would sparkle at that comment, leaving Cordelia to play with his hair.

🕯️→ “I’m… Mommy’s favourite?” The woman smiled, moving her hand to caress her son’s face, the looking glass delaying, “You will always be Mommy’s favourite.”

🕯️ He would never tell anyone of those nights, especially her admittance to him being her favourite. It was one of the secrets he’d take to the grave.

🕯️→ (This reminded me of the audio on TikTok: My father is the worst person in the world; and I’m his favourite daughter.)

🕯️ After Cordelia died, he’d sometimes hold his hair and play with it the same way she did to remember the fond memories and secrets they’ve shared.

🕯️ After his makeup routine, he would style his hair accordingly.

🕯️ He normally lets his hair air dry, mainly to prevent heat damage.

🕯️ But in the slight occurrence he absolutely has to use a hairdryer, he will.

🕯️ He always brushes his hair every time before bed, and in the morning. Exactly 12 strokes each time. Don’t ask. He simply thought the number was perfect for his hair and always does the trick every time.

🕯️ His hair doesn’t usually tangle.

🕯️ Kanato uses mousse on his hair when he wants the definition of volume. After this, he’d style his side bangs accordingly.

🕯️ Sometimes he’d clip his side bangs to the side with his cute clips. The girls at school love this. They eat it up every time. Some even ask for hair tips as his hair is always shiny and well kept.

🕯️ He always has a comb in his bag, just in case if his hair gets messy. He also keeps portable, travel sized, hair care products.

🕯️ You know those hair gel glue sticks mainly used for fly aways? He 100% uses them and brings them in his small bag everywhere he goes. He can’t stand the fact that if one thing is wrong, it’ll tear him apart.

🕯️ Kanato absolutely hates frizzy hair. He does everything to prevent it. Another reason why he isn’t as fond of the rain, it messes up his hair.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Body]

🕯️ Kanato has a slim body.

🕯️ Almost like the ballerina type, but more towards the feminine side of things.

🕯️ He has long legs, with his torso being a bit more shorter than he’d like. All of this adds to the doll vibe he wants, though.

🕯️ His neck isn’t that long, and his head is an appropriate size (in his opinion.)

🕯️ He’s more bony if anything, due to his unhealthy tendencies.

🕯️ His ribcage can almost be seen, but that doesn’t stop the fact that his waist is still defined.

🕯️ Put simply, he has a bony version of an hourglass figure. There’s fat, but it’s heavily set on the ‘almost anorexic’ side of the scale, especially defined by doctors and the countless physicians that have attended him.

🕯️ When comparing his mother and him, she really shines when comparing their bodies. It’s like that’s the one thing the genes had to dominate. If he were a woman, their bodies would be exactly the same. Only major difference is Kanato lacks the fat on his body.

🕯️ It freaks him out sometimes with how skin tight his body happens to appear. But that also gratifies him. Knowing that whatever it is he’s doing is working, makes for a great remedy in a psychotic episode.

🕯️ Kanato really is almost like skin and bones. It does add to the living doll thing, though.

🕯️ His collarbone is quite defined, along with his broad-set shoulders.

🕯️ His complexion is quite fair.

🕯️ He doesn’t have any known birthmarks to him, his skin is like a blank canvas.

🕯️ His favourite part of his body are his hands and lips. There’s just something about the fragility of the two that intrigue him.

🕯️ He loves the natural curve of his lips, the way that it can easily be rosier by biting it or putting more product on it.

🕯️ It’s obsessive the way he tends to his lips. Always subjecting it to lip scrubs, and moistures. He really likes the way they perfect his face.

🕯️ Kanato’s hands. Where to begin? He likes the way they’re thin and long. Not too long, that would freak him out. But just enough to allow him to examine them in a deeper context.

🕯️ He does his best to not bruise them as bad, and if he were to, he’d want to have a contrast of red and pink splotches on his knuckles. He absolutely loves the contrast of the fair skin to the bruised bits. That goes for anyone.

🕯️ His nails are always maintained. Always done. Either professionally or himself, he can’t catch himself falling short of his list of long expectations for himself.

🕯️ They’re always filed nicely, and he always keeps his cuticles pushed back.

🕯️ It’s always a medium length, perfect if he needed to open anything, pick a lock, or defend himself. He especially likes when he sees the damage his nails can cause his victims.

🕯️ What he doesn’t like is cleaning the dried up blood from his nails. He hates the dirt and grime, but alas such pleasures do have consequences.

🕯️ Speaking of, he normally paints his nails. Like you’ll never see him without painted nails. If they aren’t painted, someone call the ambulance immediately.

🕯️ Kanato usually paints them sheer colours. Queue the jelly nail polish. He loves the pink ones, and how it delivers contrasts to his sickly pale hands.

🕯️ He’ll do other colours, and even full ones but you’ll definitely see this boy with his signature pink.

🕯️ He’ll even go as far as adding glitter. He loves the sparkly look, it reminds him of what he majorly missed out as a child.

🕯️ Kanato has 2 ear piercings. One on both ears for his central lobe, the other on both ears as a helix.

🕯️ This was because he was pressured by Ayato and Laito to get another piercing and ‘live a little.’ They used it as a bonding exercise.

🕯️ Kanato likes to act like he hates it, but secretly he enjoys the variety of earring combinations he can experiment with.

🕯️ He mainly goes for diamond glittery earrings that don’t dangle as much. Mainly studs. However if it was a special event, then he’d have more of a statement earring in.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Skincare]

🕯️ He has a set skincare routine.

🕯️ He does his skin care every night. He never misses a day.

🕯️ Kanato has dry skin, but not as sensitive.

🕯️ He usually uses moisturizers to hydrate his skin, followed by a hydrating serum which is notably his favourite part of his routine. He likes the way he can squeeze the tube connected to the cap of the bottle, how squishy and malleable it is.

🕯️ Also the way the serum falls on his face, he has no idea why that particularly catches his attention, but he’s fine with it nonetheless.

🕯️ Kanato despises his eye bags, loathes it even, so you know he’s dead-set on doing everything possible to get rid of them, or atleast make them not as noticeable. They really hinder with the whole ‘doll-look’ he’s trying to viciously obtain. Queue the eye cream and patches.

🕯️ Shockingly, they do wonders. And anything that isn’t as covered is covered by his makeup routine (mainly his colour correcting concealer and skin-tint light coverage foundation.)

🕯️ He has very clear skin, and rarely gets acne/pimples. He is only second to having the best skin out of his brothers, the first being Shuu.

🕯️ The skin care he uses is bought in small quantities, the only thing he regularly buys in bulk are his eye cream and patches.

🕯️ He always starts his skincare routine by drenching his face in an ice-cold ice bath for 10 minutes, to reduce any puffiness he might have.

🕯️ Kanato wears contacts most days, only resorting to his glasses if he absolutely has to. His glasses are black cat eye framed. He used to have a rose gold frame but he didn’t like how washed out it made his skin.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Makeup]

🕯️ He uses makeup 100% (How else will he keep up his doll-like image?)

🕯️ He never needs to use any high coverage foundation considering that his skin is quite clear. He uses a light coverage skin-tint.

🕯️ Considering that his complexion is more on the gray-side, he makes it a point to go outside in the sun more often without his umbrella.

🕯️ Because of this, he uses products with shade ranges that keep his very fair skin satiated.

🕯️ Kanato’s concealer usage mainly goes to colour correcting and removing his eye bags. Everything else is fine in his eyes, it’s just his over dramatic, very dragged out and accentuated eye bags that make his face feel dragged out.

🕯️ His contouring is quite limited, as he only applies his contour stick to accentuate his jaw, nose, and forehead. He’s satisfied with a softer approach as he prefers softer features in comparison to sharper.

🕯️ This goes for both himself, and any sacrificial bride/potential love interest he’d set his eyes on.

🕯️ He uses press powder. Kanato loves dipping his cushion into the powder, pushing and dabbing it onto his face and watching as some of the dust would collect around him in the air.

🕯️ It’s like those old movies he’d watch with his brothers when they were younger, where the woman would enjoy having their makeup montage. It’s that satisfaction that allows him to revel in his routine.

🕯️ Once he’s finished with that, his blush takes the center stage. He uses a moderately tinted blush, but uses only a small limited amount so as to not overpower his facial symmetry. It also tends to bring colour to his face and make him feel ‘alive’ so it’s extra important he gets it right.

🕯️ Kanato also uses the powder blush found in the palettes.

🕯️ He once tried liquid blush but instantly hated it as he could never get the timing right for how much he needed. Palette is much easier, safer, and plus, he enjoys seeing the product collect on the makeup brush, and tapping it ever so slightly for pan fallout.

🕯️ His eyes. His absolute favourite part of doing his makeup every single time is the eye makeup. From eyeshadow, to mascara, to the eyeliner. It’s perfection.

🕯️ He starts with his eyeshadow. He usually uses K-Beauty, considering that the K-Pop idols there have great taste for the glittery glam he’s looking for. It ranges from what he’s feeling, but most of the time you’ll see him with small copious amounts of glitter adorning his eyelids.

🕯️ And it’s always perfection, seriously, he never misses. It’s often a fan favourite with the girls at school.

🕯️ Kanato would start with a base colour, blending it with another before adding the small glitter adornments. He usually drifts towards soft pinks, but will use the pastels for blue and purple.

🕯️ He never uses any of the brighter/riskier colours/shades. He prefers the softer, more pastel colours that add to his appeal. The browns/neutrals are okay too.

🕯️ Next, his eyeliner. He tends to go for the middle ground. He has great precision, and always hits the mark on the first try. A signature cat-eyeliner is something he’d never dare to leave the house without.

🕯️ For his lids, he uses liquid liner. For his water line, both top and bottom, a crayon/kajol based mixture. He does this to lessen the load of his already big eyes.

🕯️ On the top, he strictly uses black. On the bottom? A combination of black and white to obtain his doll look. Near his inner corner close to his nose, he adds more white, then it blends as he reaches a half-way point before he transitions to black.

🕯️ Admittedly, it was a lot of trial and error but once he got the hang of it, he looked more like a doll than he did bare-faced.

🕯️ Finally, his mascara. He tends to use a waterproof mascara because of his tantrums. In the past he tried other colours than black, but found that he didn’t like them as much as the effect black had on him.

🕯️ Also good to note that his eyelashes are long. Like you’d assume he got them done, but then be shocked that it’s all natural. Definitely one of the points many girls are jealous of.

🕯️ Since his lips aren’t as rosy as he’d like them, he uses lip tints and red-pink lip glosses. Sometimes he’d go the matte look with his lips, others he enjoys the pop of lip gloss.

🕯️ It’s a pet peeve to have chapped lips. He hates it. Doesn’t matter who has them, it’s hatred all around. Because of this, he keeps extra chapstick (strawberry flavoured, obviously) for his brothers when he sees them.

🕯️→ “Eh? What’s this, Kanato?” Laito would ponder, seeing the chapstick being thrust into his hands and a bratty Kanato turning his head away to face the walls of the limo. His arms crossed across his chest as if to prove his point further.

🕯️→ “Your lips. Fix it.” Laito would raise an eyebrow, moving his gaze to examine the chapstick. A smirk would grow as he read the label. ‘Strawberry-flavoured.’

🕯️→ “Whatever is the matter with my–” Kanato would turn his body, glaring at him before moving closer to Laito. “This is the problem. Please, fix it immediately,” Kanato would retort, pressing a gloved finger to Laito’s chipping lips, hoping to accentuate his dire point.

🕯️→ “Oh? My, I had no idea you were so bold, Kanato!” Laito would chuckle, as he watched his younger brother bat his eyes in confusion before a slight blush creeped up on his face. His frustration building too, no doubt.

🕯️→ “Laito. Now.” He was now back to his seating, and after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Laito would give in.

🕯️→ He’d take off the cap, take in the potent strawberry scent and apply the chapstick to his lips, instantly hydrating and moistening them. Kanato would look back, huffing contently before a sly remark would slip by Laito’s lips, “Mmm, strawberry! How delightful.” A pause, “Is this your subtle way of admitting you’ve been dreaming about kissing me, dear brother?”

🕯️→ Kanato’s eyes would widen, “Huh? Don’t be absurd.”

🕯️→ “Hm, your loss~” Laito flicked his tongue, tasting some of the strawberry flavour.

🕯️ Kanato would then apply his highlighter. Always blended in, mainly on the tip of his nose, cheeks, and inner corners of his eyes. It’s a white iridescent highlighter, but sometimes he’d use a light pink tinted one if he runs out.

🕯️ His setting spray is light, making it easy for him to not feel as overstimulated.

🕯️ He always carries the travel sized perfume bottles in his bag so he’ll be well prepared, especially after gym class. He isn’t fond of smelling bad.

🕯️ Strawberry or vanilla is his go to. But many would report him smelling a fond strawberry, making that his signature scent.

🕯️ He always cleans his makeup brushes every 2-3 weeks. He hates the idea of any bacteria or dirt ruining his face.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Voice]

🕯️ He has a lighter/higher voice compared to the others, which he definitely hates (but sometimes is at peace with.)

🕯️ It’s the type that can be light and airy, almost like a girl, but have that small bit of depth when frustrated.

🕯️ Make no mistake, it’s higher than most, which causes him to be mistaken for a girl a lot. (That is, without the looks.)

🕯️ Due to his childhood, his vocal chords are most definitely strained.

🕯️ As in, he’s a few steps away from becoming mute. But this doesn’t stop him from letting one of his soul-crushing screams out. (Which undoubtedly, adds pressure to his throat, which makes it unbearable hot and sometimes itchy.)

🕯️ In fact, he was forced to sing until his vocal chords started to bleed, filling his mouth and throat with his own blood which definitely tore tissues apart. (Canon fact.)

🕯️ Sometimes his voice gives out, making him choose silence and only stepping in when he thinks he absolutely has to.

🕯️ Despite what most think, Ayato and Laito do listen to him in hopes of keeping the peace.

🕯️ They even take his opinion into account because if Kanato is the voice of reason, then there’s definitely something off and they need to reevaluate themselves.

🕯️ Kanato drinks a lot of herbal teas, it’s normal for Laito or Reiji (mostly Laito) to make him some because of his strained vocal chords.

🕯️ Kanato prefers lavender and honey teas, always with 2 and a half sugar cubes. Must be hot but never piping hot to the point where he’ll burn his tongue.

🕯️ He hates burning his tongue while drinking teas. It makes him have somewhat of a lisp and Ayato teases him about not being careful enough.

🕯️ He will notice if the tea is not exactly to his liking. If not immediately.

🕯️ Ayato once tried to make him his tea, and before tasting it, he could smell that something was off. He didn’t add the specific ‘half’ of the sugar cube. Kanato was upset and refused to talk to Ayato for a week, while Ayato profusely apologized since he knew it was a very sore subject.

🕯️→ (Empathetic as always, Ayato.)

🕯️ Kanato and Reiji regularly drink tea together in the living room, or in Reiji’s office. It’s the one time where Reiji notably enjoy’s Kanato’s company as he isn't as psychotic as he normally comes across. He’s tame, relaxed, and soothed.

🕯️ Reiji unconsciously finds himself comforted and reveals some of his internal turmoil whilst in Kanato’s presence. There’s just something about the gentle, relaxing presence of Kanato that seems to soothe everyone in the room. As if he can control the entire energy and mood of a room whilst he’s in this state.

🕯️ Since they’re always together, Laito will become his voice (talk for Kanato) when he cannot, especially when he’s nervous to talk to someone new/foreign to him.

🕯️ Kanato’s vocal range is very versatile.

🕯️ He can sing in very high tones, accomplishing high notes with a smooth, steady, and clear confidence.

🕯️ Ever since the accident with his strained vocal chords, he doesn’t sing as much as he used to.

🕯️ However, if you saw him in his prime, you’d be filled with envy and shock in an instant.

🕯️ His singing voice was powerful, it could be light, shrill, and gentle, but also accomplish heightened feats.

🕯️ He and Shuu did a joint performance at a ball, Shuu played the piano, and Kanato sang whilst sitting atop of the piano. Shuu secretly still has a recording of this performance, unbeknownst to Kanato, and listens to it when he wants to be calmed.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Mentality]

IMMENSE TW HERE!!

🕯️ He has severe attachment issues.

🕯️ Kanato keeps a large assortment of stuffed toys, each with their own distinct name and personality. He’s afraid that if a person were to leave him, he wouldn’t be able to cope, thus turning to inanimate objects to fill the void.

🕯️ → After all, living people can let you down, but how can inanimate objects do the same?

🕯️ Hence the wax dolls of all the brides he’s ever claimed. He’d like to make them look beautiful, even in their restless display of a tomb.

🕯️→ It’s the least he could do after claiming their soul, isn’t it?

🕯️ He also has abandonment issues which stemmed from his childhood.

🕯️ He stopped placing faith in his brothers when he slowly watched them drift farther away from him, and closer to each other.

🕯️ Seemingly, almost everyone in his life who he treasured left him high and dry, so he stays away and chooses not to form any deeper connections due to his fear of being left again.

🕯️ Sometimes he mourns the person he could’ve been if he hadn’t been a vampire. If he could be considered a ‘morally good’ person, that is.

🕯️ Kanato also mourns the family he could’ve had, if he were dealt better cards.

🕯️ Admittedly, the facade that he keeps up is wearing on him. He finds it emotionally draining to always be on edge and be in competition with his brothers.

🕯️ The hostility that floods the air is always suffocating, but he knows that no one wants to change, so he plays the part of ‘the hysteric’ to the best degree before he entirely burns himself out.

🕯️ His entire ‘hysteric’ facade is just that. An act. He only does it so he’d have a defining feature for him like his other brothers, and because it made people weary and afraid of him.

🕯️ It took away all the unwanted attention off him, especially from those with gazes that lingered a bit too long on his body for his comfort.

🕯️ He’s very insecure of his eyebags, voice, wrists, and shockingly his weight.

🕯️ TW!! He has self-harmed before for attention, just to be seen by his mother and not be cast aside like Reiji. (Canon fact.)

🕯️ When his mother found out, she was furious. She complained ruthlessly, making Kanato feel even worse about himself than he did when he started.

🕯️ He hates his self-harm scars, despite being a vampire with self-healing, they never seemed to go away.

🕯️ TW!! There are light cuts on his wrists, nearing the veins.

🕯️ He never had the courage to cut anywhere else. It scared him, but he’d never admit that.

🕯️ TW!! Once he cut too deeply, which made the vein burst. He stopped cutting after that, and after his mother scolded him for ‘ruining his body.’

🕯️ Ayato and Laito have no idea of his past self-harming tendencies. His half-brothers also don’t.

🕯️ Laito has theorized that his early comments in their childhood got to Kanato, so he has a lingering feeling that Kanato did call his bluff. (That is, to encourage Kanato to self-harm for said attention.) [Canon fact.]

🕯️ Nonetheless, he always wears long sleeves and translucent gloves which are sheer and skin tight. They cover his scars slightly, however they aren’t the best method of choice.

🕯️ Kanato wouldn’t admit he’s suicidal, however when compairing himself to the others, he doesn’t find a reason as to why he could be deemed as important.

🕯️ He feels constantly pushed away, so if he were to die, he’d be okay and at ease with it.

🕯️ But he doesn’t go chasing death constantly. He wants to die, but will let it happen when it happens.

🕯️ Kind of like Shuu in this case.

🕯️ His voice may fit the doll-like criteria he places upon himself, however it doesn’t stop the fact that he wishes he could’ve been born a bit more masculine like his brothers so he wouldn’t have to resort to this aesthetic he’s plastered upon himself.

🕯️ That, and paired with the fact that his voice doesn’t make it easier when people would harass him, assuming he’s a girl.

🕯️ TW!! Kanato has an eating-disorder.

🕯️ TW!! This was entirely orchestrated by none other than Cordelia herself. Due to her strict standards, and the constant pressure he put on himself to obtain the ‘perfect doll look,’ he started purging.

🕯️ All of the desserts he eats would be thrown up, allowing him to ensure his body won’t be ‘ruined’ as his mother used to say.

🕯️ This habit has gotten so bad and risky that Yui has started to notice a pattern, especially when he’d leave their shared Psychology class at a set time every day. Or how he’d barely eat anything at their monthly dinners and during lunch. He even took lengthy pauses for his blood drinking for good measures.

🕯️ TW!! Kanato would push his fingers down his throat viciously, uncaring of how the medium length nails scratched at his throat, or how blood started to strain his fingertips and fill his windpipe. After all, he’d throw it all up anyways.

🕯️ → Yūma happened to be in the bathroom one night, washing his hands as he heard the sounds of strained coughs and retching over the toilet bowl. He couldn’t make out the shoes, and whom they belonged to, but he could tell it was bad.

🕯️→ When the stall door opened, he laid eyes on Kanato, with small tears staining his baked face, he stiffened. He kept washing his hands as Kanato used the faucet next to him, pressing his hand on the soap dispenser.

🕯️→ “Um.. are you.. ok?” Yūma would dare, watching as the smaller boy paid him little mind.

🕯️→ “Yes. I simply ate something bad, that’s all.” Kanato was quick, almost too quick with his reply. Yūma narrowed his eyes, before flicking his hands, opting to air dry instead.

🕯️→ He took in Kanato’s figure, and how shaky he happened to be. What’s more, his hazel gaze traced over Kanato’s wrists, and the small, strategic cuts. If it were anything to go by, that wasn’t normal. Living with Azusa taught you that much.

🕯️→ “Are you sure? Come to think of it, yer’ pretty pale–” “I am fine.” Kanato would swiftly cut the taller man off, not wanting to hear anymore of it, as he took out his makeup pouch and proceeded to fix up his appearance.

🕯️→ Yūma was stunned, not only at the quick defensive position the boy took, but also at a closer glance for how out of shape he was. He was skinny, too skinny. Even by vampiric standards. His wrists were sticks, and his uniform looked a size or two oversized.

🕯️→ “Look, I know it ain’t none of my business–” Kanato stopped what he was doing and turned to meet Yūma. Yūma and his pathetic worried gaze. He planned his next words out carefully, “It isn’t, you’re correct about that much. I am fine. I ate too many parfaits, alright? I don’t appreciate the interrogation.”

🕯️→ Yūma just stared at him blankly, “Yeah. I can’t force you to say anything, can I?” Kanato would nod, before finishing his makeup and making a bee-line for the door. “But, you can talk to me if somethins’ botherin’ you… you know that.. right?”

🕯️→ Yūma kept his eyes trained on the door, more importantly, the figure that stopped. A few tense moments of stillness would then pass before Kanato would murmur, “Yeah, of course.”

🕯️→ Yūma would watch the door open and close, leaving him alone to reflect about what to do with this newfound knowledge. And if Kanato’s response to his aid was honestly sincere.

🕯️ Kanato’s eye bags have to be one of the biggest things he hates. He wishes it could instantly go away. He gets enough sleep as is (he thinks?) So why won’t they leave?

🕯️ Kanato definitely has insomnia. Hence the immense annoyance of said eyebags.

🕯️ He’s had it ever since he was a kid and all he wishes is for it to leave so he could at least look half as decent as the rest of his family.

🕯️ When Yūma teases him by calling him ‘Eye-Bags’ he feels another bit of his self-esteem shatter. He hates it so much, and is one of the leading causes for his self-loathing.

🕯️ He smokes. He loves the feeling of nicotine and how he makes him feel more alive.

🕯️ He has BPD.

🕯️ He secretly takes meds for them, but once Yui came to the house, Ayato had accidentally thrown them out thinking they were expired muscle relaxer pills which led Kanato to stay unstable and manic.

🕯️ He knows he needs therapy. However he doesn’t know how he could ever bring that up to Reiji.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Family]

🕯️ Kanato knows that Laito and Ayato avoid him due to the consistent parallels between him and their mother.

🕯️ The two think they’ve done a good job at hiding their resentment and slight fear but Kanato can see right through them.

🕯️ Kanato oftentimes mourns the relationship he could’ve had with Ayato and Laito, especially if he wasn’t a carbon copy of their mother.

🕯️ He’d look at old photographs of the three when they were happier and at better terms, then is awakened by the harsh reality that they don’t like him.

🕯️ Oh yeah. They aren’t as fond as Kanato as they’d like to portray. This is mainly because of the similarities between their mother and him.

🕯️ So everytime Laito pours Kanato a cup of his lavender-honey tea, the latter thinks about how Laito may truly feel to be next to someone who reminds him so much of his trauma.

🕯️ Laito is often uncomfortable with Kanato’s existence. Just because they look alike. If Kanato had the green eyes? Well Laito and Ayato would go into shock.

🕯️ Ayato only tolerates Kanato because he feels that he has to. Not because he immensely cares as much. (Although, he stays empathetic towards their outcome.)

🕯️ Kanato wishes that he didn’t look like Cordelia on some nights. Especially on the nights where the triplets get into arguments and Ayato ends up saying what they’re all thinking.

🕯️→ “Yeah? Well it ain’t us who looks exactly like our mother! You even act like her too, Kanato.”

🕯️→ The three would all go quiet, with Kanato shaking as he’s registering what Ayato said. He wasn’t his mother. He wasn’t.

🕯️→ “Kanato… I didn’t—” Ayato choked, “No. You’ve made your point.” Kanato would leave the room. Leaving a shocked Ayato and silent Laito.

🕯️→ Kanato wouldn’t hear anyone out, and would actively ignore the two before Ayato and Laito trap him on the roof of the school one night during lunch.

🕯️→ “What do you two want?” Kanato would start, looking at his brothers in annoyance. “We.. we wanted to talk.” Ayato would chip in, “It’s been a week, Kanato. You cannot seriously expect to win by ignoring us like this, hm?” And Laito would finish.

🕯️→ “What is there left to say?” Kanato snapped, turning aside to look out at the schoolyard. Ayato let out a softened sigh. “We know we messed up, alright,” he said, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. “But we’re brothers, Kanato.”

🕯️→ Laito’s normally sardonic grin softened as he nodded. With a soft tone, he continued, “We apologize. We went too far.” Emotions seething inside Kanato, his shoulders stiffened. Silence enveloped them, heavy with unspoken tension.

🕯️→ Kanato gave in with a deep breath. He mumbled, “Fine,” his voice barely audible.

🕯️ Subaru once mindlessly let it slip that Kanato deeply resembled his mother while practicing magic. That sent Kanato into a spiral and he stayed up for a week staring at himself through his vanity mirror.

🕯️ Kanato smokes. Especially with Cordelia. The two would normally go outside in the rose gardens on especially hard days and smoke together.

🕯️ He started smoking when he was 13, when Cordelia offered him a pack. This is what also strengthened their relationship.

🕯️ When she died, he started to smoke more. Not because of the guilt or anything, but because he found it to be a remedy for stress.

🕯️ None of his brothers know that he smokes.

🕯️ He highly values Reiji’s opinion, especially because he’s been there more for him than his own blood brothers have.

🕯️ He’s slightly jealous of the closer relationship Ayato and Laito have.

🕯️ Cordelia mainly manipulated him a lot. When looking back he wonders how naive he was to believe everything she said.

🕯️ Karlheinz sometimes mistakes Kanato for Cordelia. Even he isn’t immune to their similarities.

🕯️ Like when Kanato worked as his secretary, he found himself calling Cordelia’s name instead of Kanato’s, and instantly shutting up after he realizes what he said. This leaves Kanato feeling dumbfounded with the one question resting on his mind, ‘Am I really that similar to her?’

🕯️ Kanato would later find out that his mother also worked as his secretary, making the two even more similar than they already appear, much to his dismay.

🕯️→ “Cordelia, my dear, could you fetch those reports for me?” Karlheinz's request was gentle, laced with familiarity.

🕯️→ With a stilled hand, Kanato’s breath caught in his throat. Despite a sense of unease, he forced a tight-lipped smile. His voice strained, “Right away, Father.”

🕯️→ Kanato felt the atmosphere change as he made his way to get the reports. He glanced back and saw Karlheinz’s expression go blank as an understanding dawned in his eyes. His brief expression of perplexity as he tried to comprehend his error spoke volumes.

🕯️ Karlheinz wonders if he wants Kanato as an option for the Adam and Eve plan because of Cordelia and Kanato parallels. There’s a small selfish feeling that lingers, making him want to keep Kanato all for himself.

🕯️ Kanato definitely had to deal with Karlheinz’s weird/creepy advances. 🕯️→ It’s canon that he’s a bit creepy, and definitely messed up, so take that as you’d like.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Brides/Yui]

🕯️His relationship with any sacrificial bride as of late has been at face value. He knows that the way he treats others, especially as a lesser being, is partially motivated by how others have viewed him his entire life.

🕯️ Kanato simply doesn’t know how to begin changing for the better, so the cycle continues. He’s in an environment that promotes the very bad behaviours that he’s identified. That is, in everyone (the brothers), and in himself.

🕯️ There was one sacrificial bride before Yui, perhaps ten years before she arrived, who made him hyper aware of what he and his brothers were doing.

🕯️ The monsters that they were.

🕯️ That was the first time he ever thought to reevaluate himself as an individual, especially with the bride who would do everything to make him understand that everyone has at least a little bit of humanity in them.

🕯️ He’d recall the way his father treated the wives, and the way his mother would treat him. It would send him into a spiral, before opting to lessen the way he reacts.

🕯️ This unknown bride amongst the thousands that have entered the Sakamaki Mansion would die, however at the hands of Laito.

🕯️ Now that was a turning point for Kanato. It was shocking how that so easily proved the bride’s point, yet he felt so empty about the whole ordeal.

🕯️ Kanato vowed to remember that bride, name and all. She is also the centerpiece of his wax doll collection, the one who’s perfect in every way. He owes her that much.

🕯️ He viewed her as a friend if anything. That is, if mortals and immortals could be friends.

🕯️ He also vowed to figure out how to turn his life around for the better once given the chance. He often thinks about her, and now with Yui here, he thinks that now is the chance to break the cycle.

🕯️ He often thinks about her a lot. Like she rests constantly on his mind, almost like a lingering repressed feeling.

🕯️ Kanato doesn’t think he could ever be loved. Like for everything, flaws and all.

🕯️ So when Yui comes around, talking him about everything he does well and how he has a good side, he has no idea if she’s being genuine or if she wants something from him, and only wants to use him just like everyone else has.

🕯️ He wants Yui to be happy, in his own way of course. But part of him knows that it’ll never be with him. His obsessive tendencies, especially when it comes to love, is the main driving point which pushes people away.

🕯️ It’ll take him a bit to understand that fully, but once he comes to that settlement, he’ll be okay with giving Yui to one of his brothers. After all, most of the sacrificial brides choose them anyways, so how would this be any different?

🕯️ When he finds out Yui has Cordelia’s heart, he almost is hurt. Considering how that’s the woman he shared most of his vulnerability with, and who exploited it.

🕯️ He wonders if Cordelia can talk to Yui in her mind, or subconscious. Considering that they’re two souls in one body.

🕯️ The more he thinks about it, the more he’s unsettled by the fact that she, the entire time, has taken a backseat and listened to every confidential conversation like some unauthorized third-party.

🕯️ When he meets Yui, and hears of her temporary permanence within the house, he instantly thinks back to his redemption that the old bride talked about.

🕯️ After all, there won’t be any more after Yui, right? This can be his chance to make the change he wants. All he has to do… is not get attached.

🕯️ This is easier said than done, considering how Yui’s blood is almost irresistible.

🕯️ During the awakening, when Yui would feel pains, Kanato would as well. Since he has her magic and all.

🕯️ He’d have migraines that would go on for days on end, and the pain in his chest? Unbearable.

🕯️ Yui and Kanato would have that one thing in common at least, being remnants of Cordelia.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Academics]

🕯️ Kanato is much smarter than he appears. He usually plays dumb to ensure that he isn’t found in any trouble.

🕯️ He’s really good at physics and math. Like a prodigy. The only reason why he hides it is because his mother often said if his true IQ was revealed, it’d put him at risk of being seen as competition and potential execution.

🕯️ He is quite good at the sciences, which is often a conversation point whenever he participates in class.

🕯️ He always makes it a point to participate at least once for every class he attends. Doesn’t matter how, just knowing that he did one thing is all the motivation he needs to continue.

🕯️ His schedule is as follows:

🕯️→ Semester 1: Advanced Functions (Math), Psychology, Physics, Chemistry.

🕯️→ Semester 2: Advanced English, Japanese, Accounting (Business), Calculus and Vectors (Math).

🕯️ Kanato has Psychology with Yui and often sits in the middle row, considering how he uses glasses.

🕯️ Yui finds him much more bearable and engaged when in Psychology.

🕯️ She even willing wanted to be his partner for a project. He accepted and they got the highest grade in the class.

🕯️ For all of his classes he tries to sit in the middle row.

🕯️ Karlheinz forces all the boys to take at least one business course so they’ll be prepared if any of them need to take over the family business. Kanato chose accounting since it’s closest to math and he enjoys it.

🕯️ Since he took Functions (year 2 math course) during summer school, he is in the 3rd year Advanced Functions course. Reiji, Ruki, Carla and Shuu are in his class.

🕯️ He once corrected Reiji on an answer while he was writing it on the board, to Reiji’s surprise Kanato was right and the teacher applauded Kanato for spotting his mistake.

🕯️ Reiji, Ruki, and Carla were shocked to know that Kanato’s test scores were pretty high. He even beat Reiji and Ruki, getting 100%.

🕯️ Shuu couldn’t care less since he barely shows up. He only shows up for tests, which he aces every time. This always pisses Reiji off.

🕯️ Reiji and Carla are in his Calculus and Vectors class.

🕯️ Laito is in his Advanced English class, often times he’ll tease him for working but becomes shocked when looking over at his essay for peer editing. (He barely has any mistakes.)

🕯️ Ayato and Kou are in his Japanese class. It’s especially tiring when he has to deal with the two bickering over Yui.

🕯️ During lunch, you’ll see him and Subaru eating desserts together. Kanato likes the quiet comfort Subaru offers, and Subaru likes the companionship.

🕯️ If those two aren’t together then it’s Laito and Kanato, however Laito usually ditches him at school.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Fashion]

🕯️ He’s really good at sewing. So good that he’s made his own clothes, and even could start a small business. (Canon fact.)

🕯️ He has a small business for clothing. He takes commissions and creates magic. This is mainly done online and his website is the cutest. Kanato really cares about the small, little, intricate details.

🕯️ He’s made clothing items for himself, Reiji, and sometimes anyone else who asks.

🕯️ Just by looking at someone, he can instantly tell what their measurements are.

🕯️ He loves the Victorian Gothic aesthetic/clothing.

🕯️ This boy loves VKEI. The clothing for him is total eye candy.

🕯️ Kanato also enjoys the ‘dark coquette’ style.

🕯️ He likes ruffles and embroidered cuffs of sleeves, along with pretty brooches that fit his outfits perfectly.

🕯️ His shoes have a ½ inch booster insole added in. He adores the clack and click in shoes when he walks, it makes him feel important.

🕯️ His shoes also have a hidden blade inside, making it accessible to him if he needs to protect himself or fight back.

🕯️ Kanato is obsessed with shiny jewelry. You’d assume he was a crow.

🕯️ After his mother died, she left most of her jewelry to Kanato. Most days you’ll see him wear her iconic jade brooch. The one that’s shaped like a flower, with 14k gold detailing. It’s one of his most prized possessions.

🕯️ He especially likes ancient jewels, the ones that carry magical properties.

🕯️ Sometimes Kanato will cross dress. He does like the fabrics and can tell what instantly suits him. However everytime he does, for whatever reason (if it’s to get something for someone else, or he’s forced,) he feels that small insecurity taunting him that he’s not and never will be ‘man enough.’

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Magic]

🕯️ After Cordelia died, all her remaining magic/mana/powers transferred to Kanato, making him like the ‘last living remnant’ of Cordelia (not including the obvious— Yui.)

🕯️ He is really good at using magic, he’s the best out of all his brothers.

🕯️ People usually go to him if they need help with it.

🕯️ He’s memorized countless spell books, even the ones his late mother left him.

🕯️ He has pyrokinesis (Canon fact.) [Fire magic/can control fire.]

🕯️ He can perform soul transfer. (Canon fact.)

🕯️ Kanato loves contacting the other realm (realm of the dead,) he finds it interesting to hear the stories they tell.

🕯️ He has an ‘all seeing eye.’ Basically allows him to see ghosts and the dead.

🕯️ He found this out when he was 5, playing with his dolls and he saw an unknown woman sitting on his bed. She was covered in blood and she had an ax in her skull.

🕯️ This terrified him, but he mustered up the courage to acknowledge her existence.

🕯️ She didn’t say anything, just nodded to his questions. Once he brought this up to his mother but she forced him to never speak of this ability again.

🕯️→ Perhaps she was afraid? Who knows. Definitely not Kanato.

🕯️ So whenever you see him leaving an extra seat available, another cup of tea, or bowing as a greeting to a seemingly empty space— he’s acknowledging the ghosts that linger in the home.

🕯️ To his surprise, many of the brides linger. He does his best to pay his respects. He at least has some decency to not upset the dead. (Especially since they can pay it back in full.)

🕯️ The main hot spots in the home are near Reiji’s study, the hallway that leads to the grand ballroom, and the torture chamber located far beneath the house.

🕯️ Once, Reiji realized most of his supplies were misplaced in his laboratory. Turns out it was one of the brides he’d killed years ago who’d done it. Kanato never told him that, and Ayato was blamed and punished.

🕯️ In his early years, many doctors assumed he had schizophrenia.

🕯️ He was heavily medicated for a while which messed with his cognitive functions.

🕯️ Kanato regularly uses magic, even for the small, simple things. Like turning on lights, closing doors, that stuff.

🕯️ He feels that his magic is apart of him, so he really values it.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Bag]

Ever wondered what’s in Kanato’s bag? School Bag? Here you have it.

🕯️ Kanato has two bags. His school bag, and his small purse. (Yes he has a purse. But never call it that, it’s a man-purse. He will get insecure and embarrassed immediately.)

🕯️ In his school bag all of his binders are colour coded, along with his notes.

🕯️ Everything is perfectly organized, from his notes for each class, to his homework and old tests.

🕯️ He colour codes his notes for each subject, along with the homework assigned.

🕯️ He takes pride in his note taking skills, since they’re very aesthetic.

🕯️ Kanato keeps a reusable water bottle with him. Most are shocked that he even drinks water to begin with, but what they don’t know is how it does wonders for his skin.

🕯️ He also brings his laptop with him every day to school. Sometimes he’ll forget his charger, but normally his classmates let him borrow theirs.

🕯️ His hand-writing is sometimes messy but their legible. He’s secretly doing practice to improve his cursive.

🕯️ His pencil case is filled with those over the top cute supplies. As in, he’ll have a teddy bear eraser, and cute highlights and pencil crayons.

🕯️ In his school bag he also carries his purse.

🕯️ His purse consists of his wallet (it’s this cute polar bear), his makeup pouch, his medication (pills), and travel sized combs.

🕯️ Kanato’s makeup pouch has all of his normal makeup products but condensed to travel size. He loves his perfumes, so it’s always going to be there since he runs out of them quite easily.

🕯️ As always, the strawberry chapstick is there for himself, his brothers, and anyone else he sees that desperately needs it. Like no joke, he’s a chapstick warrior. He’s like Santa, but for chapstick. No one knows how he has the space for it, but it’s like a never-ending supply.

🕯️ Kanato also keeps his nail polish in his bag, in a small side component.

🕯️ Once he started to paint his nails in psychology, and the teacher directed the topic onto the psychological effects of red nail polish. It was interesting and he found himself amused that he could cause such a commotion based on one small thing.

I hope you stars like some of my personal HC's for Kanato. This took me two days, since I really had to think deeper about how I perceive his character.

Credits to the artist of the Kanato fanart!!

Lmk if you guys would be interested in any other HC's!!

#diabolik lovers #kanato sakamaki #diabolik lovers headcanons #dl hcs #cross-posted on ao3

86 notes · View notes

kurosstuff · 1 year

Note

Hello, how are you doing? :)

Since requesrts are open and your writing is marvelous, I wanted to request an Azula x gn reader oneshot/fic where reader is a childhood friend who grew distant to Azula over time, but is now chosen to be her fiancé in an arranged marriage.

You don't have to write it, but I still hope you likr the idea!

Have a great day ^^

Hi! I'm doing better at least! Thank you so much♡ It means so much to me to hear you like my writing!

I'd like to apologize for not writing this sooner- was taking a break with long fics- and idk how accurate azula is still- haven't watched fhe show in so long-! Also hope I got Ozai ok? Never wrote anything with him in it before I don't think

I got carried away♡.. this came out as more of a reconnection type thing? Eh- maybe that's good?

Summary: read ask♡

Warnings(?): azula being azula, reader freaks out/panics alot, ozai, soft(?) Azula(she's like kinda nice sometimes); slight angst. Misunderstanding(but not really), friends to strangers to lovers(?), both reader AND azula are oblivious on how they really feel,

Azula x G/N reader: arranged

Being azulas friend had its ups and downs

Mostly downs

"Oh, come on, Y/N. Don't such a kid, " Azula grumbled, trying to get you to stay still. She read a trick where if someone still stays, a firebender can hit the target above the person's head without any injury. In a book for children for whatever reason. "I'd never hurt you," which is partly true - Azula wouldn't hurt you on purpose, or she would - you weren't actually sure

But like time- friendships come and go.

As you grew older, you saw how awful of a person Azula was turning out to be. How cruel of a person she truly was - how little care she had for another being - even her own brother. Seeing how she was amused and not concerned for her brother during the Agni Kai- you decided enough was enough.

This 'friendship' was becoming too dangerous too frightening. You were aware you can't just up and end the friendship you decided to distance yourself from her. Feeling confident, she wouldn't notice the change

You weren't sure if she ever noticed- if by chance she did. She never said or gave the indication she knew. After a couple of months, you stopped coming around to hang out.

You felt bad, but you believed this was for the best.

It's been almost a three full year when you received the letter. One you'd overlook if it weren't for the very specific golden charm closing the envelope showing it was from the royal family. Usually, being given this letter is either an honor or.. something much worse. Swallowing down your nerves, you sat down staring at the envelope for almost an eternity. Opening it carefully, you begain to read.

Everything seemed normal in the letter besides the fact you are to be summoned to the Fire Lord himself for something. Totally normal. Not like your gonna die or anything. Be shipped off to war maybe? You'd 100% are not worried.

Nope.

Rushing to get ready, you practically jumped in the air in Fright when you heard the knocking on the door. Your nerves were shot, and this whole thing was just making it worse.

You almost hoped to not see her there. But that'd be impossible since she lived there. Opening the door two guards stood infront of you looking at you sternly.

"Are you Y/N?" Nodding your head yes- you didn't trust your voice at the moment. They turned and gestured to follow "come. We will escort you to the Palace"

You don't remember anything on the way there - it was all a blur - you blame it on your nerves, but it did help distract from the imitating Palace. Until you got there. The two guards stepped out and opened the door for you - following them the huge door to the Palace opened slowly with a creek. You took a deep breath and stepped in- turning you watched as the doors closed, sealing your fate. Locking you in - A sound of someone clearing their throat caught your attention

"This way," following closely, you dared not speak, not trusting your voice - and for the fact your throat was so dry a word couldn't get out when if you wished it.

Being led by two fully armed guards was almost as unnerving as the lack of decorations in the halls leading to the Fire Lords office. It was devoid of anything to show the human side of him - if there was any. The only lights shown were from flames - obviously, one's from the Fire Lord himself probably made. The only sounds you could hear was the sound of your heart beating harshly in your ears and the metal taps of the swords on the guards.

Stopping in front of huge double doors, they turned to you unblinking. "He's inside." Was all they said before they opened the doors for you. Once you stepped in they shut loudly the candles blowing out closest to you leaving you alone in the dark- minus the glow of flamed down the hall. Clenching your hands you took a deep breath and tried to relax-

The closer you got to the flames- the more the urge to run as far as you could got worse- alarm bells ringing in your head at the thought of this all going wrong. Something practically 100% possible. Even on his good days, he would be cruel. Stopping in front of the flame wall blocking you from the full view of the man himself - Fire Lord Ozai. His face covered in the shadows from how he sat, but the flames didn't hide how terrifyingly huge he looked - bowing in respect you were about to great him- before he put his hand up to stop you

"Do you know why I asked you here?"

It took you a moment to gain the courage to respond - surprisingly, he allowed you the moment - as if he thought you actually knew the reason. "No, Fire Lord Ozai. I do not. " A deep hum was all you got in return - fabric moved, glancing up, you gulped.

He stood up.

Walking towards you, the flames moved, almost glinding out of his way like a door - he stood before you. Moving his hand in a gesture, you understood to stand straight up , your eyes cast away in respectfear. Walking around you in a circle.

Like a predator hunting his prey. He stood in front of you again after a moment. "Yes. You are perfect." The odd complaint from him did nothing to ease you - seeing your confusion, he hummed."There's an arrangement. Obviously, your Father never told you." The look you held did nothing to stop him,"the arrangement was. His firstborn was to marry my firstborn." The words he spoke caused a mixed sense of emotions in you- confusion, anxiousness. And fear from what was your next thought.

His firstborn was banished.

"But. Giving the events that unfolded with my firstborn. The agreement changed a bit. You will marry my second born."

Clicks of footsteps echoed behind you. You didn't dare look behind you.

"You are to marry my daughter- Azula. Whom I was made aware you were friends of sorts." Turning away, he walked back to his throne. "You will be Wed in two months."

Behind you, someone cleared their throat, turning around, and froze. Azula stood arms crossed, staring at you - almost glaring from how narrowed her eyes were. The same smug smirk from years ago is still present. She almost didn't seem to change much but all the more terrifying. Even if deep down you were happy to see her

"Well. Hello Y/N, " she spoke, voice coming out in a condescending purr. "It seems like we have some catching up to do." Turning, she gestured you to follow her

You followed Azula to her room. You've been in it once before, but that was years ago. Before you felt comfortable - now you felt uneasy - tense about the whole thing. Standing far away from the bed but close enough, you looked around the room - it looks the same as it did, but with some added things such as plants and a new dresser replacing the old silver one she used to own.

Azula sat on her bed, pulling some books out to go through every once in a while, looking up at you - face unreadable. Shows how much has changed before you could tell what she was thinking even if she wouldn't show it - now it's like she's a new person - and in a way, she is.

"What's the matter with you?" Azula asked(more like demanded), looking over at her- Azula seemingly growing frustrated at the books in her hands- what about you weren't sure. Turning towards you with eyebrow raised an annoyed look on her face. You haven't answered her yet

"Oh- uh, nothing. Why?" Humming she placed the book down on her lap- gesturing towards the bed. Getting the message you sat down on the edge. She sat silent for a moment before sighing.

"Look." She started after a while. She took a second to think her response through - it was an odd sight. Azula glanced at you- raising an eyebrow at the unnerved state you were in. Standing up, she walked to her counter. "I get it. The situation we're in is weird. " Pulling some object out, she turned to face you. Handing it to you. It looked like a squishy turtle duck

Seeing the confusion on your face when you took it, she sighed, facing away from you once the look of realization hit you. "You always needed something to hold to calm down when you got like this." She spoke, sitting down beside you. Turning it around the squish toy was the same one you were given- and forgot about years ago. When you and Azula were close. The same accidental burn mark on the shell of the toy. You still remember how she gave it too you

Sitting on the bench, you held your hurt, burning hand crying. Clutching them close - you knew you shouldn't have let Azula talk you into doing such a trick.

A dangerous trick - yet she did. And here you sat hurt.

And alone.

Hurried footsteps came from behind you - you knew those footsteps. Sitting upright, you used your uninjured hand to whip the tears away harshly. You didn't want to give Azula another reason to tease you.

"There you are" she spoke. Sitting next to you she held something behind her. Face slightly flushed from either embarrassment or what you didn't know- nor gave it much thought once a toy was shoved in your face "here- I. I heard from the towns people that a thing called a 'squishy' helps calm people down. Brings comfort or whatever. So take it. It's yours" Holding it in your hand you smiled tearfully. Azula looked like she practically softened before she turned to your hand- huffing she gestured for it

"we need to clean this."

The memory brought a happy smile to your face. Looking up, you saw the quick look of relief on Azulas face before it hardened. "..you kept it?" A shrug was all you got in response for a moment

"Of course I did." Azula mumbled before clearing her throat, brushing you off without a word. Turning away from you - Azula was silent as you messed with the squishy in your hand. Turning towards you, she opened her mouth before shutting it. This caused to pause - Azula never hesitates, nor does she stop until she gets what she wants. Somethings wrong

Before you could ask, a knock came at the door. After giving permission, a maid came in bowing, "My lady, your training room is ready for you." A wave of her hand and the maid ran off hurriedly down the hall.

"You're coming with me." Azula spoke standing. She walked to the door, glancing back at you - an eyebrow arched. Obviously she was waiting for you to follow. Trying to swallow your nerves you jumped up putting the squish on the bed before turning to follow Azula.

The walk was quiet

Entering the training room a couple test dummies stood around the room. Arms stretched out like you used to see from the target practice dummies you'd come acrossed before.

"Sit there- I'll be back" Azula pointed towards some benches a bit far off- you sighed- it's better to just let her do what she says half the time anyways.

After you sat on the bench, Azula moved to the changing room. Her mind jumbled. Scattered around, and she couldn't think of a good reason as to why. Pacing back and forth, she clenched her jaw angrily

Azula was panicking on the inside - ever since she found out it was you, she was to marry. Even worse when she saw you. Would she be a horrible wife? Be like her father and treat her spouse horribly to the point of another abandonment? No. She won't be like him. Azula refuses to treat the one she's bound to in such a way - even Azula isn't that cruel of a person. She's not soft - she's not kind either. She knows the reason why you left her even if you didn't say.

It was her fault

Learning the first choice of who you were originally gonna be married to didn't help her feel good at all. Did you know you were gonna marry her brother? That you left cause of that? The selfish, selfish side of Azula prayed that was the real reason you left. She knows it's not, but it's just easier to think

She wants to prove that she's the best choice - the only choice. Of course, the arranged part of the marriage didn't make her feel happy made her feel horrible. If you were to marry her, she'd want it to be of your free will - not be forced.

Azula stopped pacing. What? Why is that the thing she's focused on. Blinking she crossed her arms. Of course the thought of someone being forced to marry her set an uneasy feeling inside her, but. The thought of marrying you wasn't bad at all-

Why is that? It makes no sense why Azula was and still is hung up on a loss of a friend. The loss of you since the beginning was horrible. It made her sick- she'd admit it only to herself now that she missed you- but.. why does she feel relief from the thought of marrying you? Was it cause she knew you?

Shaking her head she quickly got dressed

Fiddling with your thumbs, you glanced around the room - thankfully, in a more relaxed mood. Your heart no longer felt like leaping out of your chest. The whole area was spotless- which wasn't a surpise given how certain people would react to a messy training hall. You shuddered at the memory.

Looking over when the door opened, your face flushed a bit. Azula was already looking your way when she came out. Without a word, she stepped up and moved the dummies a bit before she begins she started to stretch. Standing straight she smirked back at you.

"Keep those eyes on me," she begain her training. Hitting the dummies far back with a punch in the air- blue flames came out in a flicker illuminating her air and passing some of the training dummies closest- but surprisingly never touching them. Only hitting her target

It wasn't much of a surpise on how good of a fighter Azula was- but you can't help but you can't help but still be surprised at how well she can control her flames. You've seen fire benders fight and train before, this wasn't the first- but it was the first seeing just how different she was to the others. If anyone else tried this. Tried to hit the target from the farthest to the front. 100% the flames passing the others would be hit and burned, but for Azula- it was like it never touched.

The more she hit and kicked, the more in awe you were in watching. If anything, it looked like a dance you'd see from how fluent and confident Azula moved to attack.

As quick as she began, the training ended. Azula walked towards you, and she didn't even break a sweat- even her hair was kept in place even though she was hitting and kicking. Standing infront of you she crossed her arms almost smirking. "Well?" She spoke with an eyebrow raised

"You were perfect! How did you even do that?"

"I'm a natural. No trouble at all" Azula spoke smugly- she wasn't gonna tell you how long it took for her to get the attack right when she was younger. Everything needs to be perfect. Azula hummed, interrupting your praise for a moment. "..We added more flowers to the garden. I'll show you" she spoke almost oddly. The praise you gave her felt weird- but it filled her ego. Of course it was perfect.

This was Azula

Nothing less than perfect no matter what.

She turned to leave to redress ignoring your call.

"We'll go once I come back"

The garden wasn't totally different from how it was since the last time you saw it. The tree in the middle has grown much older but still hanging strong - a knew bench was placed near it, giving the tree and pond underneath. The sun hitting perfectly in-between the leafs and from the rocks below made it have almost a glow to it.

Looking around, the bushes nearby were cut in the specific square way the Fire Lord himself seemed to prefer rather than the rounded ones. Stopping once you heard quaking noises. A smile came over your face, walking to the center pond. You knelt down, looking at the turtle ducks

"Here. You can feed them if you'd like" Azula spoke, holding a small bag of bread out. Thanking her you took it and started to break them up. Azula watched her eyes softening at the sight.

Azula couldn't put her finger on what was wrong with her. Was it her nerves? Why does this scene in front of her make her feel off? The way you're kneeling in front of the turtle ducks the way you gently fed them. The way the lowering sub hits your face. Blinking, she scowled, looking away from you. Looking out to the pond on the other side

"Do you want to feed one, Azula?" Not getting a response, you looked over, frowning at what you saw.

Azula looked almost troubled by something. "Azula?" Calling out to her gave no help. It was like she was here but not here at the moment. Calling out to her again in a softer tone to not startle her- she blinked at you slowly before registering where she was. Standing up, you watched her closely

"Azula. Are you ok?"

Azula just nodded slowly. A moment passes before she bits her tongue. A question on the tip of her tongue. She doesn't want to ask. But she has to. She needs to if she really wants to not be like her father. Not in this way at least

"Are we still friends?" Azula asked before she could stop. "Like I know this is an arrangement but. Are we?"

You didn't responded right away. Just stood there thinking. The way she looked at you- you couldn't tell what she was thinking. It was like looking at a new person. Slowly nodding your head "yes we are." You bit your lip in thought "can we have a do over? From how things ended-" it was a selfish thing to ask. To pretend you didn't just disappear from her life.

Azula nodded her head

"Then.. we can start over?" You said, looking away from Azula for a moment - turning back to look at her - her gaze was on the pond in front of you both.

"Don't see why not. We're not getting married for a couple of months, so we have time"

#azula x reader #avatar x reader #azula #atla x reader #azula kept the squish toy totally not cause it reminded her of you and she missed you alot #and she totally didnt keep it in good condition cause she hopped youd comw back♡#idk i kinda added the panic/squish thinf cause i was panicky earlier and wished i had something like that♡#so um♡ hope you dont mind #this is more of a rebuilding of a relationship and more type thing #like- idk??

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kneesheee · 14 days

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I haven’t watched D4, and I’m probably not going to, but one line that I see floating around is when Cinderella says:

Some people act mean at fist cause they're too afraid to feel. It's survival, it's protection. That's why roses grow their thorns.

Who were the first two “good” people that we met that were “mean?”

Chad and Audrey.

We know Auradon isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

Audrey had a mental breakdown and fell victim to a lingering curse and she was still punished by planning the wedding for Ben and Mal; the reason for said breakdown. Yes, it’s funny, but who would want to tempt fate like that again? Also, yall wasn’t scared that she’d do something to mess it up?

I’m not having someone who does not like me and had literally just said that she wanted to hurt me plan my wedding no matter how sorry she is.

Then we have Chad who this quote fits the best honestly.

Chad has been described as dumb, a womanizer, a jerk etc.

1. He’s the heir to his kingdom.

At the time of D1-D3, he was presumably an only child, meaning that at the time, there were no thoughts about how the inheritance to his throne would go.

This means any girl that succeeded in marrying him and birthing an heir has secured her and her family’s future with no threats.

(This is now a challenge due to Chloe’s existence; if the girl decides that she even wants kids.)

Chad isn’t dumb; he’s proven to be quite smart considering that he made a copy of Jay and Carlos’ dorm room key so that he can use their 3D printer. He’s smart about things that he prefers.

In D1, Doug describes him as someone that inherited all the charm and not much else.

For opportunists, this basically means: He’s an idiot. If I marry him and give him a heir, I can basically be the real power behind the crown.

Not sure how well that’s going to work because in the book Return to the Isle of the Lost; he does seem to care about his kingdom when Ben takes him on a trip there due to Madam Mim’s escape.

Also, it does show that he is concerned about how the line of succession moves if something happens to Ben, and I have thoughts on him, so that’s for another post though.

Back to the point, if he’s “dumb” and they want to take advantage, who wouldn’t turn it around on them? In the movies and books, he canonically had three official girlfriends and a lot more unofficial girlfriends.

1. Ruby Firzherbert; Second in line to Corona and Dark Kingdom.

In some cases, she could be the heir to the Dark Kingdom since in Frozen; Hans mentioned that his brothers were set to one day inherit different kingdoms, and it happened a lot in Ancient Greece that sons would have to find their own kingdoms.

Why not make her the Queen of the Dark Kingdom? It’s been about twenty years. It has definitely been restored to glory.

2. One of Ariel’s nieces.

Ariel has six sisters, and unknown amount of nieces so it’s hard to say what number she is to inherit because the only niece we know of canonically is Arabella. However, if we go with the idea that the sisters were supposed to inherit the seven seas like in the live action version, as a nod to their names and numbers and tails, then this niece would have also been secured in her own lineage.

There is also the fact that said niece could have been the one to inherit the throne to all of Atlantis.

3. Audrey.

She has two kingdoms. Her Father’s and her Mother’s. If we go by the live actions, she has the Moors. She’d also a direct descendant to Queen Ingrinth’s old kingdom. That gives her four kingdoms, but we’re going to stick with two.

Chad was very excited when Audrey wanted to date him. He drove six hours to her with a tire. They broke up in Return to the Isle of Lost, but he still immediately went to help her even after he spent so long on having Evie design his outfit for the Royal Cotillion.

So, the past how many years and months that Ben and Audrey had been together, which really sounds like an arranged marriage from the first book and her line in Queen of Mean where she says “she always thought she’d be the Queen”… then this means he’s watched the only girl he loved be in love with someone else. His best friend basically.

Back to the quote, in D1, we see from Lonnie that the Auradon kids operate under the belief that the villains loved their kids.

Stay with me now.

In D4, we learn that Chad has a younger sister. The early assumption was with the first three movies that he was an only child. Now, we move on to a bit more canonical side. He has a younger sister.

A thing that some mothers fall victim to is living through their daughters.

This gives Cinderella the chance to give her daughter the life that she never had. That same headcanon where everyone says that she spoiled him rotten to make up for her own childhood… it fits better with Chloe because again, Chad is the oldest and the presumed heir so he’d be having a bit more lessons in regards to the kingdom meanwhile he sees his Mother and sister going on another shopping trip or wtv else.

He sees her doting on what he can assumed is the child that she always wanted. He’s obviously not that much older than Chloe, so he could see the difference in how they are treated.

Going with the thought that villains loved their kids and under the presumption, that yeah, his mom loves him, but he wasn’t the child that she wanted… he lashes out.

a. Mal love potions Ben, causing him to publicly embarrass and hurt Audrey.

b. Evie tries to use him just like everyone else.

c. Jay doesn’t have sportsmanship, but he’s quick to take up for the girls. Something that Chad is doing for Audrey, and the parallels are staggering and not something that he wants to see at that point of time.

Now, this my own personal interpretation. You may feel differently. You can disagree with me just as I can disagree with you. That’s your personal right.

#chad descendants #chad charming #disney descendants #descendants #chloe charming #cinderella

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x-bluefire-heart-x · 2 years

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Covered in Steam

I am back with a Thorin x female reader smut fic! I hope you guys enjoy it. This is my second Thorin fic but I think Tumblr hid my other one, so if you feel like reading an angsty but fluffy Thorin imagine head over to my master list which is tagged below. Also feel free to check out my prompt list and feel free to request a fic!

Warnings: Sexual content,

Also any and all mistakes are mine.

Master List

Prompt List

Dance at a Feast

Even when you had been in Erebor for nearly a year you couldn’t get over how large the baths were. You had been given your own suit in the Royal Wing, a room that connected onto Thorin’s. Your Husband. It was an arranged marriage purely for the benefit of your kingdom and Erebor. Thorin already had his heirs in his nephews, so there was no need to worry about the fact that you were not a dwarf. Though some of the older dwarves had an issue with the Queen of Erebor being an outsider but the prosperity that had arrived at Erebor during its reconstruction had quietened them for the most part.

You couldn’t deny that you were hateful of the marriage at first, being forced to marry a stranger and leave your home. But after seeing Erebor and meeting Thorin and his family you slowly started to enjoy your time here and knew that you could have a life here, eventually. You hadn’t really had much interaction with Thorin outside of the formal requirements during banquets and visits from dignitaries. He had been courteous during those times and never made you feel like a nuisance but you still wished he would spend some more time with you outside the banquets. You couldn’t deny that you found the dwarf king attractive, with his commanding presence and those brilliant blue eyes, that made you feel as if you were drowning in them every time he looked at you. His very presence could some times make you weak at the knees, the way in which he commanded any room he entered affected you in a way you couldn’t explain and was not something you were expecting to happen.

You leant back against the edge of the bath lifting your leg up and watching the water run down it, the droplets creating ripples in the water. You sighed bringing your leg back into the water and leant your head back looking up to the ceiling, the light from the numerous candles reflecting back at you. You wondered if maybe you should make a move on the king. You knew that some male dwarves rather liked women who were fierce and take charge. Perhaps you could ask Thorin’s sister Dis for her advice, the two of you had gotten close. She had taken you under her wing when you arrived, helping you to navigate dwarven culture and the city itself. The two of you had truly became sisters, a thing you were grateful for as you had only had an older brother back home, with a rather large gap between your ages. He was already off with the other warriors in your father’s army, when you had been born. You would forever be grateful for Dis, and hoped that asking her for help with her brother wouldn’t make her uncomfortable.

Lost in thought as you where you hadn’t noticed when the door on the other side of the bathroom opened. The door leading to Thorin’s chambers. Thorin walked through the door only to pause upon seeing you, he hadn’t expected you to still be awake at this hour. He had been kept awake in his study dealing diplomatic issues with Balin and Ori and all he had wanted to do upon retiring was take a nice long, hot bath before sleeping. He knew he should leave or announce his presence but he found he was frozen, the firelight around you was giving you an almost golden glow and he found his breath was caught in his throat. When he had agreed upon the marriage with you, he never thought you would be anything more then maybe a friend eventually, though he hadn’t been able to give you as much attention as he had hoped. But once he met you, he found himself slowly falling for you, with your shy smile that lit up the room. You were unbelievably kind to everyone and although you were the Queen of Erebor you would offer Bombur your assistance in the kitchens before a feast and you would help Ori in the library.

Thorin’s eyes took in their fill of your nakedness, and found himself stirring. A fire building in his veins as the water lapped at your breasts, you were sitting on one of the seats along the edge of the bath, the water only just coming up to the bottom of them, your nipples hard as the air in the room chilled your heated skin from the water. He was suddenly even more sorry that he hadn’t taken more time to get to know his wife, he planned on properly courting you but didn’t know how to go about it. If you had been a dwarf, it would have been easier but had tried to find something that discussed your peoples courting customs but not even Ori and Balin were able to locate such a book.

“Your Majesty!” you voice pulled him out of his thoughts, as well as the sound of splashing water as you ducked further under the water covering yourself. Your face was red, like a ruby and Thorin found himself blushing and looking away quickly.

“My apologises, My Lady,” Thorin said. “I was unaware that you were still awake. I shall leave you to your privacy.”

“No, wait!” you stood up. This was the moment you were waiting for. You had been surprised to see Thorin but you had noticed how he was staring at you. His blue eyes almost were hungry, as they traced the parts of your body that were visible above the water. Thorin paused, half turned back towards his chambers.

“Yes?” Thorin, tried very hard to not look anywhere but your face when he turned to face you again.

“Um, join me?” you asked, trying to be brave, but your voice was soft and shy. “The bath is big enough for the both of us and we are married, I don’t see why we cannot share a bath…husband.”

“Are you sure?” Thorin asked, wanting to make sure you truly wanted this. His heart jumped at the thought of joining you. Dwarven couples often shared baths together, it was an incredibly intimate thing.

“Yes, I am very sure,” you responded. Thorin smiled, as he walked forward dropping the towel that had been wrapped around his waist.

“Well, who am I to deny my wife, my Queen,” he grinned.

You allowed your eyes to travel down, his strong chest, that was coated in dark hair, his stomach was strong and soft. Your eyes continued their path following the trail of hair that led down to his cock. It was slowly hardening, as he allowed his eyes to finally take their fill of your body. You giggled shily as Thorin stepped down into the water and made his way towards you. He stopped within arm’s length.

“I should apologise to my Lady, we have been married for a year and I have not given you the attention you deserve,” Thorin’s grin had softened, and his blue eyes still hungry but they still held a little sorrow.

“Hmm, and I have not forced the issue my King,” you responded taking a step forward lifting your hand up lightly tracing his chest. “You are busy, your kingdom is recovering but perhaps we can start tonight.”

Thorin looked down at your touch, looking back up at you his smile turned devilish. He reached a hand out and lightly traced your cheek, down to your jaw before reaching trailing down your neck. He stepped forward bringing your bodies together. His hard cock pressing into you making you gasp at such a feeling. He hard chest pressed into your soft breasts, the sensation from his chest hair rubbing against your nipples caused your gasp to turn into a soft moan. You had touched yourself in experimentation before but had never been able to elicit such a response. He used the hold he had on the nape of your neck and pulled your head towards his as he lowered his head down to kiss you. The first touch was gentle, just a press of lips before he pulled away. Your eyes met, and you knew your eyes hard darkened as much as his. You smiled, a soft giggle leaving your lips.

“And what may I ask what is causing such a response?” Thorin asked, a joy he hadn’t felt in an age swelling up inside of him at your own happiness. It was in that moment that he decided he would do everything in his power to ensure you felt such happiness every day.

“That was my first kiss,” you breathed bringing a hand up and lightly tracing his lips and then your own.

“Your first?” Thorin asked, his hands found their place on your hips in a gently way, his thumbs rubbing against your skin. “I shall endeavour to be gentle, and ensure that your first time is one to remember. As is deserving of my Queen.”

You grinned and brought your lips to meet his again. This time it lasted for longer than just a press of lips. There was hunger in the kiss, though his lips were soft and gentle against yours, it was like he was trying to devour your very essences. Thorin’s hands stroked down your thighs, gripping as they went, they came back up and stopped at your arse, he squeezed at your ample cheeks. You moaned into the kiss as he rocked into you causing his cock to rub against you. Your hands threaded into his thick black hair, pulling at it lightly as he nipped your lips, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth before letting go. Your breath was coming out in quick succession and you noticed that his was as well, you looked down at his lips and decided they weren’t swollen enough. You lent up and tugged his bottom lip between your teeth, in a mimicry of what he had just down with you.

“Cheeky, my Queen,” Thorin groaned leaning his head down dragging his nose down your throat to where it met your shoulder. He paused there. His teeth scrapped along the joining, you moaned, your hands gripped his hair tighter and your body rocked into his. “Hm, no much to low there.”

“What is?” you asked breathlessly.

“The mark I intend to give you, I want it to be visible,” Thorin growled, his lips trailing up your throat and pausing about an inch above where it was before.

“Perfect.”

Thorin went to work on making his mark. His teeth grazed the area before latching his mouth onto it and alternating between sucking and nipping at the area. His hands continued to squeeze at your cheeks, and stroking down your thighs. He detached his mouth from your throat, happy with the results of his work.

“Happy my King?” you asked leaning back in his grip. “Will everyone who looks at it know what we have done tonight?”

“Hmm, yes, though I plan on making it even more obvious,” Thorin said, his voice gravelling and deep. “After tonight I think you’ll find you won’t be able to walk straight, my Lady.”

Thorin used the grip be had on your thighs to pick you up. You giggled and wrapped your legs around his waist, the position put your slit right over his hard cock, you rolled your hips down, grinding yourself against his cock, feeling the tip of it slip in and out. Thorin’s grip tensed at your motion, his grip hard enough to leave bruises in the morning, and the thought of that made you moan loudly. Thorin walked out of the bath and towards the open doorway to his chamber. He walked to the bed and instead of placing you on it or even throwing you onto it, he kept a hold of you and kneeled on the bed, he let go of one of your thighs and crawled towards the head of the bed before letting gently placing you on the bed.

Thorin held his body above yours, hands on either side of your head and stared at you sprawled on his bed. The image that has been plaguing his mind since the wedding. It was even better than anything his mind could conjure up. The fact that you were still wet from the bath made it even better, the light from the candles made your skin glisten. Thorin kissed the mark he had made on your throat before making his was down to the joint and further to the top of your left breast, leaving kisses in his wake. He kissed around your nipple, his hand coming up to massage and knead at your right breast. He took the hardened nipple into his mouth sucking and licking at it.

“Thorin!” you gasped, one hand grabbing and twisting the sheets in pleasure, the other hand clawed at Thorin’s shoulder your blunt nails leaving red marks.

As Thorin continued his assault on your breasts, his hips gentle rolled into yours, creating a lovely electric friction against your vagina. Your clit throbbed in pleasure as it started to swell. Thorin’s mouth left your nipple and he went to move to the next but you decided on a different direction instead. You used the grip your legs had on him and took hold of both his shoulders, using his distraction you threw your weight up and to the side rolling the two of you over. Thorin looked up at you in surprise, at the look of triumph on your face he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, that was unexpected my love,” Thorin chuckled. “Now that you have me what do you plan on doing?”

“Take charge,” you smirked leaning down and kissing the tip of his nose. “You had a late night, lay back and relax. Let your wife attend to you.”

“Only if I can attend to you after, for a king and a husband can not allow their other half without-” Thorin’s sentence was cut off with a deep moan as you decided to skip any teasing and took the head of his cock into your mouth. “Aule!”

You had no idea what you were doing, you listened to the noises Thorin made and repeated any motions that caused his breath to hitch, caused him to moan or groan. You focused around the head, licking and sucking making sure to pay attention to the vein on the under side of his cock. You didn’t think you could handle taking much of it into your mouth, not on your first time. You used your hands to stroke the rest of the length. Thorin’s hand gently twisted into your hair, tugging on it before massaging your head.

“I am close my love, if you don’t-” you ignored his warning sucking harder and stroking your hands faster. You tried licking the slit at the top of his dick, interested in his reaction. His thighs tensed as his hips thrusted upwards pushing his dick a little further into your mouth as his release filled it. You quickly swallowed what you could before pulling away, you felt some of his semen splash onto your face before you moved completely away. You wiped at the semen your face as it scrunched up at the feeling. Thorin was heaving as he came down from his high and saw you. His dick twitched, already feeling the stirrings again at the sight of your cheeks red and white from his semen.

“You are a sight,” Thorin breathed. “A beautiful, alluring sight. A treasure greater than any in the treasury of Erebor.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, puzzled at his reaction.

“Just that, my Queen, nothing more,” Thorin sat up, he wiped the remains of his release off your face with his fingers before wiping his hand on the bedding, he wrapped you up in his arms afterwards. He kissed you deeply, aroused even more from the taste of himself in your mouth. “Now, it is your turn to lay back and allow me to attend to you.”

Thorin’s voice was like gravel, deep within his chest. He laid you back on the bed, kissing his way down your chest and stomach, occasionally allowing his teeth to graze the skin. He paused briefly at your breasts to lap at the nipples with his tongue. You moaned and withered underneath him, your hands clutching at his back again, leaving red marks from your nails. He kissed his way down to your hip bones, biting and sucking at the skin, causing more marks to raise in his wake. He licked down the crease from your hip, down your thigh along the outside of your wet opening, before switching to the other side and licking up the crease to the hip bone and making a matching mark there.

“Thorin please!” you begged as he kissed and licked around the top of your thighs getting close to where you truly wanted him but not yet giving it attention. You felt as though your body was tingling with pleasure, as he seemed to be trying to mark your entire thighs. His hands were running up and down your sides, running under your breasts and occasionally tweaking your nipples causing a flash of pleasure to move down to the warmth growing in the pit of your stomach.

“What does my treasure desire?” Thorin asked looking up from his task. “Is it my tongue you wish for?”

“Yes!” you gasped as he blew air down onto your hot centre.

“But you have my tongue,” Thorin mused, his eyes alight with mischievous as his large hands moved to grip under your thighs holding them up and apart to allow him to settle fully in-between them. “Ah, perhaps you want my tongue elsewhere? Yes, I think that is what my lovely wife desires. My tongue inside her, and my mouth thoroughly devouring her as if you were my last meal?”

“My king, please,” you breathed. “You said you would attend to me.”

“I did, and I never go back on my word.”

You gasped loudly at the first swipe of Thorin’s tongue as he licked the full length of your slit collecting the wetness that had gathered there. He spied your swollen clit and looked up at you grinning wickedly before he lightly bit at it. You bucked in his grip at the electric jolt of pleasure that surged through you. His hands held your hips down, not allowing them even the smallest movement. He was in complete control here. Maybe after tonight, he could discuss some of his other desires and pleasures that he wished to make reality with you. Thorin took your clit into his mouth sucking gentle and bathing it with his tongue. You withered in his grip body tingling with pleasure, you could feel heat build-up behind your stomach. You had never felt anything like this. Your hands were gripping his hair tightly, pulling on it in your pleasure, you vaguely remembered something about hair being important to dwarves but in your pleasure, you could only think of more. More of him. More of his tongue, his touch. Just more.

Thorin released your clit, deciding he needed to taste more of your essence, and the only way he could do that was by going straight to the source. He moved down and licked around your opening before dipping in briefly, licking around the edge and withdrawing. He could feel your hands holding onto his hair like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. He loved the feeling of it, and in the morning, he would ask you to braid his hair. He wiggled his tongue in deeper, stroking his tongue along your walls, he could feel them twitching and tightening down around the muscle. He pulled out licking around his mouth to catch some of the essence that was in his beard.

“If I were to die tonight, I would be a very happy dwarf with this as my last meal,” Thorin grinned.

“You had better not die tonight,” you gasped. “I only just got you.”

“And you shall have me for all of eternity,” Thorin promised.

He moved back down, before he had been gentle, this time he acted as though he was a starving dwarf and he devoured you. You withered on his tongue, rolling your hips the smallest movement he allowed. He released one of your hips moving his fingers to play with your clit. Moving in a circle one way and then back the other, he flicked and stroked it. You felt the warmth in your core getting hotter and hotter. Your walls clenched more as your thighs started to tense and shake. Your breath was leaving your lungs in loud moans and gasps. With one press and flick of your clit, and strong stroke of his tongue along your walls, the dam burst and your vision went white, as your orgasm washed over you in waves. Thorin removed his mouth from your opening but continued to tease your clit through your orgasm. You arched off of the bed in your bliss. You had removed your hands from his hair and grabbed at the sheets when you felt it building stronger, you tugged at the sheets as the waves of orgasm slowed and your vision returned to you. Thorin smiled kissing your thigh and giving one last swipe of your clit before leaving it alone. He let go of your thighs, moving up the bed to hover over you again. He copied what you had done before and kissed your nose, moving to kiss both of your cheeks. You smiled up at him, still high from the pleasure he brought to you.

“My love, I wish for you to never leave my arms again,” he begged. You lazily wrapped your arms around his strong broad shoulders.

“I never will,” you smiled pushing down on his shoulders. Thorin grinned slowly lowering his body onto yours. “Now, please. Take me fully.”

#Thorin Oakenshield #The Hobbit #imagines #writing #smut #thorin x reader #thorin x you #Thorin smut #female reader #thorin x fem!reader #thorin imagine #I tried #I hope it is good #still new at writing smut

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imagineteamfreewill · 9 months

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Gentle and Kind

Title: Gentle and Kind

Pairing: Prince!Sam Winchester x Queen!Reader

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, Christmas, threats, angst, fluff, and mentions of death, wounds, war, violence, and sex (nothing happens)

Summary: Y/N’s kingdom has been at war for a long time, and when King John offers her respite in his castle for Christmas, she eagerly agrees.

A/N: This fulfills trope #21 on my 25 Days of Tropes list! It was honestly going to be a short one shot, but it got away from me and now I think it’s the longest thing I’ve written all year. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy and that you had a safe and happy holiday season!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Your muscles ache from weeks of fighting with the knights in your first garrison, and the dried blood in your hair is not likely to come out on its own, but for the first time in a long time, you’re relaxed. The carriage is driving through safe territory—the safest you’ve been in since Crowley invaded your kingdom and declared war on you and your people. There’s no fear of being ambushed here.

When King John sent a messenger to your war camp, you had been surprised. He isn’t known for reaching out, and to send a personal, royal messenger straight into war territory is a dangerous move. Nonetheless, the King of Ashela had invited you for a short respite in his castle, just in time for Christmas. You’d accepted after much consultation with your closest advisor, Sir Robert.

You begin traveling east to Ashela four days before Christmas Eve. Your armies travel west, back to Athos. Newer, freshly trained knights had arrived a few hours before your departure to relieve your weary soldiers and allow them rest of their own, though Sir Robert had carefully selected four of them to travel with you as your personal guard for the journey. They ride horseback outside the carriage, and Sir Robert is in the second carriage with the gifts you’ve brought for the royal family.

Charlie is resting across the carriage from you. She’s abandoned the formal dress that you know King John will expect of her as your lady-in-waiting, but you don’t blame her, nor do you correct her. Wearing trousers is easier nowadays, and you’ve done the same. You’ve gotten into the habit of wearing the traditional captain’s uniform, or even a soldier’s armor, rather than the gowns you used to wear before the war. Even as the horses carry you down the tidy forest road that leads to Ashela, you’ve donned your armor. It's a habit to put it on each morning, and you wanted to display your strength and empathy for your men even as you left them behind on the battlefield.

You let out a restless sigh and shift in your seat, and your armor clanks as you move. You wince when something bumps into a bruise on your back. A small part of you wishes you’d chosen to wear something else, but there’s no point in stopping to take the armor off when you’re already so far into the journey.

“Do you think I’ve made the right choice?” you ask when Charlie looks over at you, no doubt checking if there’s something she can do to ease your discomfort. She’s a good friend, and you’re often grateful that you chose her to be your closest lady-in-waiting. “Do you think that leaving my men during this time is the right thing to do?”

In response, Charlie offers you a tired smile. She’d journeyed overnight to your castle—Eryas Court—then back to the war camp, in order to collect the gifts for John Winchester and his two sons. Even if they were inviting you for respite during a war, you didn’t dare show up empty-handed.

“My lady, you can only do so much. You may be a queen, but you are also just a woman,” she replies.

You sigh again and look out the window at the stars as you mull over the most recent battle plans your captains had shown you before you’d left the camp. The Elciums have been encroaching slowly upon the village that surrounds Eryas Court, but you’ve been able to keep them at bay since winter began. You’ve even managed to take back some of the territory they’d taken over the hot summer months.

The carriage falls back into silence, except for the clatter of the wheels and the constant rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the packed dirt. After a while, you find yourself nodding off with your head against the sturdy carriage wall. You don’t fight it, and you let yourself be lulled to sleep for the remainder of the journey.

Charlie’s hand over yours wakes you. You startle, and she sits back in her seat as the carriage rocks with your movement. Your hand immediately flies to where your sword would be, but you’ve unstrapped it from your side for the journey. Sir Robert had said it wouldn’t be proper for you to show up dressed for battle, so you’d met him halfway. He would keep hold of your sword, at least for the trip to Ashela. Once you arrive, he’s to return it directly to you for safekeeping. It was your father’s sword before it became yours, and you don’t trust many with it.

“It’s okay,” Charlie soothes, and you stare wide-eyed at her, gasping slightly for air. “We’ve arrived in Ashela. You slept all night, and for most of the morning.”

Nodding, you close your eyes. It’s shocking that you weren’t plagued with nightmares. The last time you left the war camp, you struggled to sleep, even in the chambers where you’d spent every night since birth, at least until the Elciums invaded.

Your mouth is dry and you swallow a few times to try and get the sandy feeling to abate. You wish you had some water, or at least something to drink. There’s a knock on the carriage window and you flinch away, sliding toward the center of the bench.

You sense Charlie shifting in her seat. “It’s one of the guards,” she says a moment later. “Are you ready to meet King John?”

You’ve never been to Ashela before, nor have you met John and his sons. They’ve been fine neighbors, however, and you have no complaints. You hear what others say about them—the Winchester sons are strong soldiers and scholars, and King John is exacting in everything he does. They’d be formidable foes, and you’re here to make sure that your kingdoms are allied, if only informally.

You nod again, and you open your eyes as Charlie pushes open the carriage door. You lift your chin as the sun immediately floods in through the opening.

Charlie exits first, and she helps clear a path for your exit. A strong hand is offered and you use it to climb from the carriage. Your legs are stiff from sitting so long, especially after months of fighting, and you have to bite back a groan as your muscles stretch.

“Your Majesty,” a deep voice greets.

The winter sun is practically blinding and it takes you a second to get your wits about you. Tall, lush evergreens stand in clusters around the castle, reaching toward the bright blue sky. They’re interspersed by dark green bushes and several boulders. A forest continues behind the clearing you stand in, and the trees grow so closely that light can’t reach through their branches. The darkness this creates is both intriguing and a bit terrifying.

Snow covers the grounds and all the trees surrounding it, except for a gray stone path that has been cleared for you. King John and his entourage stand on a larger patch of gray stone a few feet away, and you bow politely in his direction. He returns the gesture.

“King John,” you say. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”

“You’re very welcome, Queen Y/N. I expect your journey was a pleasant one?”

“As pleasant as can be expected.”

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as Charlie adjusts the chainmail hood you’ve let fall from your head, revealing the blood caked in your hair and the healing cut that follows your hairline. There’s a sizable bruise on your temple as well, from when an Elcium knight hit you with his shield.

The man to John’s right clears his throat and steps forward with a small bow. “Your Majesty, I’m Prince Dean, head of Ashela’s royal guard. Please allow me to provide you with new armor while we repair yours, and your knights’,” he adds, gesturing to the four men standing near you.

Each man stands with one hand at his side and the other resting on the hilt of his sword, and though they hold their heads high, you recognize the weariness in their stance and in their taut expressions.

“That’s very generous, Prince Dean. Thank you.” You answer with a bow of your own, and he smiles kindly before you turn your eyes to the man on the other side of the king.

He’s tall, taller than any of the men in the King’s entourage and in your guard, and his hair just barely brushes over the collar of his jacket. It’s almost chestnut in the light. When he smiles at you, the urge to smile back is so strong that you can’t fight it. You meet his eyes, and you smile for the first time in a while.

“Prince Samuel, Your Majesty,” he says. He bows, short and sweet. “If you’re ready, I can show you and your lady to your chambers. I’m sure you’re eager to rest.”

You bow back, still smiling. “Thank you, Your Highness.” You nod politely to the King and to Prince Dean, then follow Prince Samuel toward the stone castle at the end of the cleared path. Two of your men travel with you, and Charlie is close behind you to the right, but the other two knights stay with Sir Robert. You realize only as you enter the castle that you’ve left your sword behind.

Samuel leads you through the halls of his home, explaining the history of various paintings and rooms, but you only catch bits and pieces. He walks quickly, and while your armor is protective, it’s made to help you fight on horseback, not take extensive walking tours through beautiful castles.

“Here are your chambers,” Samuel finally says, and you clatter to a stop.

Charlie bumps into you, and she grabs your arm for stability. You catch Samuel’s eyes flickering down to her hands on your arm before he collects himself. Your time on the battlefield has caused your decorum to slip just enough that you know you’re being much too informal for the occasion. Suddenly very conscious of your mistakes, you clear your throat and straighten your posture, fixing him with the most composed, diplomatic look you can muster.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” You allow one of the guards to enter after Samuel opens the door, leaving you feeling a little more exposed. You’ve grown used to being surrounded by people fighting for your kingdom—fighting for you. “Your father was very kind to invite me here. We’ve brought gifts for him, and for you and Prince Dean.” You gesture back the way you’d come. “I’m sure that Sir Robert, my advisor, has already passed them along.”

Samuel dips his head in thanks, smiling. “We’re happy to have you. We’ve been trying to show more diplomacy than in the past.”

You raise an eyebrow. Most kingdoms are not so open about their goals, at least in your experience.

The guard exits and nods his approval of the chambers you’ve been given, and Charlie takes that as a sign to enter and make sure the room is prepared to her standards as well. You don’t move.

“Ashela has always been diplomatic,” you carefully reply. You’re not sure what to make of his disclosure.

“But not always welcoming. I’m trying to change that.”

“You? Not your father?”

Samuel lifts his chin slightly at the question. There’s a hint of pride in his expression, but none in his voice as he answers, “My father has put me in charge of our relationships with neighboring kingdoms. This is one of many steps I’m— we’re taking,” he corrects, “to strengthen those bonds.”

“I see.”

You glance through the open doorway, where Charlie is instructing a chambermaid how warm you like your rooms and how often to tend to the fire. Mentally, you file away the information that Sam has just given you, then turn your focus on more concrete matters.

“I suppose there are festivities I should like to attend?”

He nods, and you can feel his gaze still on your face, even as you watch your friend peek out the windows to see the view from your chambers. “Indeed. There’s a feast tonight, shortly after sundown. I can instruct someone to fetch you.”

“I would like that very much, Prince Samuel,” you say.

You turn back to him, and he takes that as a cue to take your hand and kiss the back of your knuckles, where the skin is rough and scarred from so much fighting. The gesture is simple, but it surprises you nonetheless. Prince Samuel is gentle and chivalrous. It’s been a long time since you’ve been treated that way. Your hand seems to tremble as you pull away, and your breath catches over a lump in your throat.

“Very well. I will see you tonight, Ma’am,” Samuel says. He bows low. It’s a sign of respect he’s not obligated to, and it makes you want to cry. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep over the past few weeks or maybe it’s something else, but to be treated like a queen—not just a captain—is something you didn’t know you’d missed.

“No need for titles,” you find yourself saying, your voice thick with sudden emotion. “You may call me Y/N, if you wish.”

If Sir Robert were here, he’d be interrupting and excusing away your brash actions, but you’re practically alone and the only remaining guard won’t speak up, even if he wanted to. It’s up to Sam to respond, and he only stops and stares at you for a long moment. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you wait, desperately hoping he won’t be cruel.

“Sam,” he finally replies. He offers you a small smile. “You may call me Sam.”

You nod and smile wide, glossy-eyed as Sam turns and heads further down the hallway, opposite the direction he’d first brought you. Once he’s around the corner, you step into the warmly lit chambers, where Charlie has moved onto the wardrobe of clothes that has been prepared for you. Clearly, they hadn’t expected you to show up with all of your finery, and you’re thankful that they had the forethought to provide something for you.

The other guard exits and closes the door behind him, allowing you privacy as the two knights take their places in the hallway. You stay close to the door, where you can see the whole space.

“The Prince seems very polite,” Charlie says after a few moments. Her back is to you as she sorts through the dresses.

“Very.” You don’t say anything more.

“And handsome, too,” she prods.

“Charlie,” you warn. “I have other, more important matters than a polite and handsome prince.”

She sighs and you can picture her rolling her eyes at you. Finally, she pulls a plain dress in your favorite color from the wardrobe, then turns and holds it up for you.

“This will do for now,” she decides. “But I’ll have to find you something else for the feast.”

You glance at her, not bothering to ask how she already knows about the feast, before turning in a circle to take in the enormous room that has been given to you for your respite. It’s bigger than the counsel tent at the war camp. The bed itself could fit the entire map table, and the size of the fireplace reminds you of the enormous bonfire that the men use to cook their meals. The walls and floor are made of the same tan stone as the rest of the castle, but the stone is so smooth that it reflects the light from the flickering flames. There’s a dark wood door in the corner, which you guess leads to a room for Charlie, if Ashelan castles are built like your own.

Everywhere you look, there are lavish curtains, tapestries, and paintings framed in gold. There’s a mound of pillows to lounge on by the fire, and several dark wood chairs standing behind them in a semicircle. Their carvings are so elaborate that you hesitate to sit in them. The bed is draped with soft, plush fabrics in deep greens, reds, and a creamy white that reminds you of the milk your nursemaid brought for you as a young girl. Evergreen boughs are wound around the posts of the bed, though they’re partially hidden by the fabric curtains that have been fastened against the wood. The whole room has been decorated with more sweet-smelling pine branches, as well as clumps of red berries that glisten in the light from the fire and the candles in the window. It’s amazing to you that the candles are already lit, given that it’s only midday, but Ashela has many customs that you’ve always found strange. For instance, Prince Dean was married several years ago in an arranged marriage. Your father had explained the ancient custom to you, explaining the benefits to each kingdom. You still remember that conversation so clearly, and even though your father has long since passed, his words are forever imprinted in your memory.

“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”

“It’s too much,” you murmur, and you escape back out into the hallway, leaving the door to your chambers wide open as you flee. Your heart is racing again and it feels like the walls are starting to close in around you. The panic is irrational. You know it is, but you can’t stop it as it pushes you forward down the hallway.

The guards give you worried looks, but you ignore them as you hurry around the corner where Sam had disappeared. You walk quickly, following the sound of loud voices until you reach an open-air chamber where Sam and his brother are lounging at a table. Two gold goblets sit in front of them, and a candlelit tree has been placed in the corner of the room. An enormous dark fur blankets the floor. The fireplace here is as big as the one in your guest chambers, if not bigger.

Both men stand as soon as they see you.

“Your Majesty,” Dean greets, and he frowns slightly when he looks at you properly. “Is everything alright?”

You clear your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. “I desire a moment alone,” and then you add, “With Sam.”

Dean raises an eyebrow and glances at his brother, who nods slightly but doesn’t say a word.

“Very well,” Dean says. He picks up his goblet and drinks the last of its contents, tilting his head back to get the last drops. “I’ll be in my study.” He nods politely at you before leaving through a passageway just to the right of the tree.

Sam waits until the sound of his brother’s footsteps has disappeared completely before he speaks up.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“I apologize, but I must ask for new chambers.” Sam’s face twists in confusion and, predictably, he opens his mouth to ask why. You continue before he has the chance. “I have been fighting with my men for many moons, and the rooms you have given me are much too lavish. I’m afraid I simply won’t be comfortable in something so big, as foolish as it sounds.”

Though your words are composed and formal, you wring your hands in front of you, hoping Sam will ignore the way you can’t stop fidgeting. You feel so flighty that it makes you irritated even with yourself.

His expression turns sympathetic. “I see. There must be something I can do to convince you to stay, Y/N. Those chambers have been carefully prepared for you by some of our most trusted servants. If I were to request the change, I’m afraid they might take offense.”

“You care deeply for them,” you say, quieter now. Something about him and the sound of his voice calms you, and the anxiety you’d felt only moments before has started to diminish.

“I do,” he answers. “They work hard, and they deserve to be treated with respect.”

“I agree.” You nod and fall silent, looking down at your hands. Suddenly, you feel very foolish to have searched him out to ask for something so trivial. You’re a queen, after all. You should be used to nicer things than this. You shouldn’t be so overwhelmed by a room so similar to the ones from your childhood.

“It wouldn’t be offensive, however,” Sam begins, and you look up at him, holding your breath, “to only have one Ashelan maid to assist you.”

You exhale a small sigh of relief, as small as you can manage without being completely obvious. “I suppose one would be sufficient. She could help Charlie. Lady Charlie, I mean.”

He smiles. “I’m sure Lady Charlie will grow accustomed to our castle soon enough. She seems very intelligent.”

“Oh?” You can’t help but ask what he means. Charlie is smart, there’s no denying it, but many men have mistaken her for a frail, unassuming creature before. Sam would be one of the first to correctly identify her.

“She has the same look in her eyes as you. You are not one to be underestimated. I’ve heard about the way you fight on the battlefield.”

Before you can respond, there’s a noise in the hallway and you look over your shoulder to see what it is. One of your guards in the entrance. Your stomach sinks, knowing that he’s most likely been sent to retrieve you.

“I should allow you to get settled,” Sam says. He nods politely at the guard before looking back at you. “Though I hope you will tell us about your traditions in Athos at the feast. I am eager to learn more.”

You watch him for a moment, judging if he’s earnest in his request, and then you nod. Offering him a small smile, you follow the guard back to your guest chambers, where Charlie is waiting patiently for you, a warm bath already drawn.

The night is hard. After your bath and a meal brought up by the Ashelan maid, you try to rest before the feast, but the nightmares come quickly this time. You toss and turn, and you wake up screaming. The guards burst into your room as Charlie rushes to you from where she’s been inspecting your armor for what needs the most care and attention.

Once it’s determined that you aren’t in any danger, she convinces the guards to withdraw. She holds you then, letting you cry in her arms as you tremble, remembering the horrors of the dream and the reality that shapes them. You cry yourself to sleep, and you’re certain that you only stay asleep because Charlie decides to stay with you. She tucks you back under the heavy blankets and drags one of the carved chairs over to your bedside. There, she curls up with one hand holding yours and the other propping her head up so she can rest as well. You have minimal nightmares after that, though her presence beside you is reassuring enough that the few times you do wake, you aren’t too afraid to fall back asleep.

You sleep through the feast, much to your dismay. John, Sam, and Dean are waiting for you when you enter the Great Hall to break your fast with them the next morning, however.

“I trust you slept well,” Dean says to you once you’re settled in the seat across from him. Charlie sits beside you, and Sir Robert is on your right, across from Prince Sam. John is at the head of the table. There’s another man across the table, opposite Charlie, and another on her left. You don’t recognize them, but you suspect that they’re friends of Sam and Dean, or that they’re the lords-in-waiting. John doesn’t seem to have an advisor with him, but there’s an empty seat at the far end of the table.

“As well as can be expected,” you reply. Your smile is strained, but you offer it anyway, then move your hands out of the way of the servant who comes to bring you your meal. “I apologize for missing the feast. I so badly wanted to come, but it was best that I stayed in my chambers last night.”

“We understand completely,” John tells you. “We are not strangers to war.”

You nod, and everyone goes back to eating. The Great Hall is silent. It’s a complete change from your meals in your tent at the war camp. Though you always dined with just Charlie and Sir Robert, you’d always been able to hear what was happening outside the tent walls. There’d be shouting and laughter, songs and teasing. Sometimes there was crying and men groaning through their injuries, but you ate those meals quickly.

As you eat, you look around the room. The Great Hall is decorated similarly to your chambers, with evergreen boughs, red berries, and candles that burn even in daylight, but there’s also an enormous tree at the far end of the hall. It’s lit with candles, just like the one you’d seen when you’d searched out Sam the day before. The tree stretches dozens of feet up, and you wonder how old it must be to have grown so tall.

“We do not decorate like this in Athos,” you say, and all three Winchesters look at you in mild surprise. A bit embarrassed by their eyes on you, you falter slightly, but the interest on Sam’s face when you don’t continue spurs you on.

“You use plants here.” You gesture to the tree. “But we decorate with wooden carvings of our ancestors, and woven tapestries that we hang beside every door and window.”

“What are the tapestries?” Sam asks. His father and brother have gone back to eating, even though they still watch and listen, but he’s set down his fork and is now giving you his full attention.

“They’re different for each family. My family has tapestries that show the beginnings of our kingdom and the first king of Athos, and over the years, I have created many simple ones as gifts.”

“I’m sure they were wonderful,” Sam says. He holds your gaze for a moment before he smiles, and you smile back.

There’s a fluttering in your stomach. The clinking of John’s fork on the table makes you look away. There’s heat in your cheeks, much to your chagrin, and you exhale shakily. It’s strange to be so rattled. You’re not even sure why the conversation is affecting you so much. You’ve talked about Athoan traditions countless times before today with countless royals and monarchs. Something about Sam simply shakes you to your core.

John sips from his goblet, then gestures at Sam with the cup before he sets it back on the long table. “Samuel will show you the grounds today. I’m sure he can answer any questions you have about Ashela.”

Somewhat surprised that the King doesn’t plan to meet with you himself, you nod. It’s not atypical for kings to pass you off to one of their advisors, but you don’t mind it in this instance. You’re still weary from battle, and Sam is excellent company.

“Very well,” you reply, dipping your head just a little. You pick up your own goblet to take a sip. The drink is warm, thick, and rich, and you frown a little before peering inside the cup.

“Is everything alright?” Dean asks.

You nod and glance over at Lady Charlie. She picks up her own goblet and takes a sip as you set down yours. She pauses for a moment, her cup paused in midair, then smiles.

“Hot chocolate,” she murmurs. “It’s a traditional drink here.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, you whisper, “How do you know that?”

She gives you a sly smile and shakes her head. You know the look—she’ll tell you later.

You sit back in your seat and turn your attention to Dean, who’s still watching you. His father and Sam are both watching you now too, and Sam is frowning with obvious concern.

“Everything is fine,” you reassure them. “I’ve never had hot chocolate before. It’s delicious, John. You have fine cooks here in Ashela.”

He nods in response and stands. You stand as well, as does the rest of the table, and you watch as the King leaves through a door on one side of the Great Hall.

Dean clears his throat. “I have duties to attend to, brother.” He claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Remember that Father said—”

Sam cuts him off. “I remember. Thank you, Dean.”

A moment later, Dean excuses himself, and you watch him leave, too. Sir Robert mumbles some excuse and bows to Sam before leaving as well, no doubt to study policies and look over ledgers in his own guest chambers. He’s always been a bit of a recluse, and there’s little privacy at the war camp. You suspect he’ll spend most of his time hidden away while you’re on respite.

You turn to Charlie. “You should rest,” you quietly tell her. “I know that you did not sleep much last night—”

“I’m fine,” she replies.

Shaking your head, you grab her hands and squeeze. “Please. I’ll feel better, even if you just relax by the fire. I feel awful that I’ve kept you up.”

Charlie nods, though you can tell she’s reluctant to leave you by the way her eyes cut to Sam. He’s pointedly staring at the candlelit evergreen and sipping his hot chocolate, giving you the semblance of privacy even though he’s mere feet away.

You squeeze her hands again and offer her an earnest smile. “I’m okay. I don’t mind being with him,” you say, soft enough that you’re certain Sam can’t hear from across the table. “He’s… nice.”

This makes her smile wide, and you can practically see all the possibilities she’s conjuring up in her head.

“Nice?” Charlie teases.

You playfully scoff and drop her hands, smoothing your skirt. Turning to Sam, you say, “I’m finished eating, if you’re ready to begin.”

Sam hums and sets his goblet down. “Will Lady Charlie be joining us?”

She takes that as her cue to shake her head and curtsy. After years of practice, the action is smooth, despite the fact that she hasn’t worn a formal gown in almost a year. She’d complained in private to you that morning that she wished the two of you could continue wearing trousers, and you’d agreed. The dresses that have been provided for you in Ashela are all too big, and you’d spent part of your morning being poked and prodded by the castle seamstress as she frantically altered the bodice to fit you. They might’ve fit before the war, but the fighting has given you more lean muscle than anything. Your own dresses back at Eryas Court will likely need altering when you finally return home.

“I have other things that require my attention, my Queen,” Charlie says, and she gracefully exits the Great Hall, though not before throwing you a meaningful look before the doors close behind her.

“Shall we?” Sam asks.

You jump, surprised to find that he’s come around to your side of the table and stopped alongside you while you watched your friend depart. He offers his arm and after a very brief moment of hesitation, you take it.

You and Sam traverse the grounds on foot, and he shows you the snow-covered gardens, the stables, the knights’ training field, and the arboretum where his mother is buried. Finally, he leads you to a frozen lake set far back from the castle. It’s surrounded by the same pine trees that seem to be everywhere in Ashela, and there’s a small wooden hut sheltered by the two largest. From inside, Sam pulls out sharpened blades with leather straps. It takes you a moment to realize that they’re for skating on the ice.

“Would you like to skate?” he asks.

“I’ve never been skating before,” you admit, and you look at the lake. It’s smooth and glossy, with few imperfections on its icy surface. You can’t help but wonder if it’s actually safe. Though ice skating has grown popular in Athos since the start of your reign, you’ve never allowed your court to participate. You’ve heard too many tales of the ice breaking under the skater’s weight. A small girl in the village had drowned just last winter.

“I’ll keep you safe, Y/N. You have my word.”

Scanning Sam’s face, you try to determine whether or not you can trust him, not just to lead you around and show you the castle grounds, but with your life.

You place your hand in his after a long moment of deliberation. “You’ll have to show me how.”

He smiles, and it’s almost as bright as the sun on the snow. You let him lead you by the hand to the edge of the lake, where a downed tree has been positioned lengthwise. Sam helps you to sit, and then he very carefully kneels in the fresh, powdery snow to help attach the blades to your boots. The knees of his trousers are soaked with snow when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to care as he sits beside you and attaches the blades to his own boots. He helps you up with both hands, encouraging you as you wobble and sway in his grip.

“Move slowly,” he advises as he steps onto the lake, leading you onto the ice as he skates backwards.

It takes all your effort and concentration to stay upright at first, but with Sam’s encouragement and gentle guidance, you quickly get your bearings. You’re able to skate around the lake on your own after only an hour’s practice.

“You’re a natural!” Sam says as he skates beside you. His pace is surely slower than it would be on his own, and you smile over at him.

“Your assistance was a great help,” you tell him. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head a little. “I have the feeling that you would have been fine on your own.”

You fall into silence as you skate side by side, but a quarter hour later, you carefully stop a few feet away from the fallen tree. Sam stops as well and he holds his hands out to help you just in case something is wrong.

“Y/N?” he asks.

“You’ve been skating for a long time, haven’t you? For several years, at least?”

Though he seems confused by your sudden question, Sam nods. “Since I was a young boy.”

Smiling, you gesture with one hand toward the open expanse of the lake. “Show me what you can do, then. You must be very skilled.”

“I don’t know if “skilled” is the correct term…” He rubs the back of his neck with his dark green mittens, and you chuckle. His nose is pink, as are his ears from where they peek out from his furry hat.

“I’m not your queen, so I can’t command you, but I am your guest. Please show me?” you ask.

He’s smiling again. “Very well. Do you want to sit?” He gestures towards the tree, the other hand already reaching for your elbow.

You shake your head. “I will stand, thank you. Now go!” You shove at him, not enough to put him off-balance, but enough that he laughs and ducks his head before he skates away.

Sam is skilled. It only takes you a minute to figure out that he had been telling the truth—he’d been skating a long, long time. He moves with great ease over the ice, and you marvel at his speed. He flies by you three times before he slows, then stops sharply. A shower of ice flies up into the air before it rains down again. His breath comes out in heavy white puffs of fog and his chest heaves with exertion, but you’re smiling wide, giddy from the show.

You clap for him. “You underestimate yourself! You’re very fast!”

He laughs as he catches his breath. “Dean and I would race as children.” He points toward the far edge of the lake, where there’s a large gap between two trees. “There’s a river there, and we’d race from here to where it meets the forest road.” He pants for a second before looking back at you. “We should return. We’ve been out in the cold for a long time.”

Nodding in agreement, you let Sam lead you off the ice and back to the log, where you clumsily unstrap your skates. He takes them and puts them away while you fix your skirts, hat, and boots. When he returns, you stand and take his arm, and the two of you head back to the castle.

You eat a small meal when you return—mostly bread, cheese, and sausage—and it’s while you’re eating that you ask Sam for a second tour of the castle. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“All of these paintings,” you say as he escorts you down a long, decorated hallway, “They have similar styles, but the others you’ve shown me do not. Who painted these?”

“I did,” Sam replies.

You stop to stare at him. “You did?” You can’t hide your surprise, though you know it’s rude. “You painted them? All of them?” There must be at least two dozen in the hall.

He nods, and his cheeks are a little pink, though the castle is much too warm for it to be from the cold. “Yes, all of them.”

Turning back to the landscape he’d just named, you marvel at it. The colors are vibrant, matching the rest of the castle, and the gold details glimmer in the candlelight. Though the sun is going down outside and there’s little light coming in from the windows, you can still see everything clearly.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Would you like to see where I paint them?” he asks.

You look away from the painting to nod. “I would like that very much, yes.”

Sam smiles and offers you his arm again, and he begins to lead you down a narrow hallway that you hadn’t noticed before. You would have labeled it a servant’s passage had the lush carpet not continued down its length. There are wooden doors every few feet, but Sam ignores them and keeps walking.

After several minutes of walking, you come to the end of the hall and the last door, which is slightly higher than the rest. There are two steps leading up to it, but Sam needs neither to step into the room. You opt to take them, and he places a hand over your head so you don’t hit it against the wooden beams that border the opening.

Though the door is smaller than normal, the room is not. The ceiling stretches high up into one of the castle’s towers, and windows let light in even from high above. The wooden floor is swept clean, and an easel is set up near the largest of three windows at eye level. It’s big enough that you could sit in it and let your legs dangle outside of the tower. The window faces the arboretum, and if you squint, you can see the frozen lake in the distance.

A table with paints and brushes is set up beside the easel. Sam approaches it so naturally that you’re sure he must spend a lot of time in this room.

“It reminds me of my study back home,” you quietly say, and Sam looks over at you as he picks up a brush and dips it into one of the pots of pigment.

“Do you like to paint?”

You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s not one of my talents. But I like to look at art. My castle is full of paintings, tapestries, and carvings.” You pause and watch as he adds brushstrokes to the painting on the easel, easily picking up where he’d left off. “You must paint something for my castle before I leave.”

“What would you like?” he asks.

You pause and look around the room as you think. There are several paintings leaning up against the rounded walls, along with piles of supplies that look like they might topple over any second.

“Could you paint the lake? In winter?” you finally request.

The room is quiet for a moment as Sam paints. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him. He’s staring at the canvas in front of him with his brush in mid-air, but then he turns and meets your eyes, as if he can feel you watching him.

“Why not in summer, when the grass is green and the sunlight makes the water glow? Or in spring, when the wildflowers are blooming? Or in autumn, when the wind blows clouds through the sky?”

He describes the seasons so well that you can picture the paintings in your mind, but you shake your head, not looking away.

“No. I want the lake in winter, so I can remember skating for the first time,” you explain.

He stares at you, and you stare back. Your heart feels like it’s out of control and you have to force yourself to break eye contact. All the while, your thoughts are scattered and though you know in your head that you should be more composed and that you shouldn’t be alone with him in such a remote part of the castle where there are no guards, Sam makes you feel safe.

“We should prepare for dinner,” he finally murmurs, breaking the spell that had fallen over the room.

You glance up at the windows to find that the sun has disappeared from the horizon. Darkness is creeping in, and shadows are stretching across the floor of Sam’s tower. Have you truly been so distracted that the time flew by that quickly?

Nodding in agreement, you step back out into the hallway and make your way down the narrow passage. Once in the main hall, Sam escorts you to your room in silence. Charlie is waiting for you there, and she helps you change into a more formal gown for dinner. She doesn’t utter a single word about the strange expression on your face, nor does she mention the fact that you’ve been without a guard all day.

The dinner is less formal than you were anticipating, and you fall into comfortable conversation with the King. He knew your father before you were born, though the last time they’d met was when you were a young girl. He tells you story after story of their times together, and you’re learning about their last visit when one of the Ashelan guards posted outside the Great Hall bursts in.

“Your Majesty,” he greets, hurriedly bowing to the King. “A messenger has just arrived for Queen Y/N. It’s an urgent matter.”

“Send them in,” John replies. He gestures toward the door and you stand as a haggard soldier in your colors staggers through. He’s supported on one side by another Ashelan guard, and your blood runs cold at the frantic look in your soldier’s eyes.

“Your Majesty.” He starts to bow but loses his balance. He only remains upright thanks to the guard beside him. He’s gasping for air.

“Peace, soldier,” you tell him, though you feel anything but. Your heart is pounding in your chest again and your hand trembles as you place it on the back of your chair. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you. “What news do you bring me?”

“A m— message from King Crowley, Ma’am. He says that if you do not surrender by Christmas, he will take Eryas Court.”

You stare at him for a moment, then scoff. “He cannot so boldly assume I will surrender! Have our armies held the camp?” you ask.

“No, Ma’am,” the soldier replies, and it feels like the floor has fallen out from underneath you. Your stomach twists as the soldier continues, “His men slaughtered our armies, and they have infiltrated the village. They have surrounded Eryas. The men returning to their families are at the keep, and are holding it as best as they are able, but they are tired, Ma’am.”

Lady Charlie gasps beside you, and you lift your chin, silently sending up a prayer. Crowley has caught you off guard, but you can’t show it.

You turn to look at John. “Is there a room I can use to speak with Sir Robert and send word to my captains?”

John nods and stands, directing his attention to the first guard. “Prepare my study for Queen Y/N and Sir Robert. Escort them there once it is ready, and have one of the servants available to fulfill any requests she might have,” he orders.

The guard nods and bows before hurrying back out into the hallway.

“And you,” John continues, looking at the guard supporting your weary soldier. “Take him to see the doctor. Get him a meal and fresh clothes, and prepare him a place to sleep.”

The soldier still has his eyes on you, and you quickly cross to him before the Ashelan guard can take him away. His entire body is covered with blood, sweat, and grime, and he smells like the worst parts of the battlefield. His legs shake when he struggles to stand straighter as you approach.

“You can trust the people here,” you gently tell the man. “Thank you for what you have done. You have brought your people great honor. Now, rest.”

The man salutes you and you bow your head, then watch in silence as the guard leads him out of the Great Hall and towards the servant’s door you’d passed earlier that day on your tour. Once he’s out of sight, you turn and face Sir Robert, who has moved to stand at the end of the table closest to you.

“I apologize for cutting our dinner short, John,” you say. He nods once. “Can I ask that Lady Charlie be escorted back to my chambers once she is finished dining?”

Charlie stands from her seat. “I’m already finished, my Queen, and if it pleases you, I shall stay to assist you.”

You could cry at the loyalty and care from your friend, and you almost do. You catch yourself, however, and you swallow the lump that forms in your throat. John and Dean are talking in hushed tones, but Sam is watching you. His eyes are sad and you have to look away as soon as you notice. You’re barely holding it together as is, and you’re sure that he can tell.

The guard assigned by King John to escort you to his study appears in the doorway, and you quickly follow after him. He leads you down the main hallway and up a set of stairs to a dark wooden door that you’d glimpsed earlier. He opens it in silence, then closes it once you, Sir Robert, and Charlie are inside.

Almost immediately, you brace your hands on the large table in the center of the room and hang your head. A sob escapes you and Charlie places a comforting hand on your back as you let out a few more. The tears run across your cheeks to the bridge of your nose, then drip onto the table beneath you as you cry.

Sir Robert stands in silence until you’re able to compose yourself a few minutes later. He’s watching the flames flicker in the fireplace with his back to you.

“How many men have we lost today?” you ask, dabbing at your face with the handkerchief Charlie has somehow produced.

“ There were 6,000 in the garrison when we left,” he answers. There’s no emotion in his voice and a small part of you feels ashamed for crying, but you push that thought away before it can fester.

“And how many do you think are defending the keep right now?”

Sir Robert turns. His expression is grave and the light and shadows from the fire deepen the wrinkles on his face.

“Less than 5,000, if I had to guess.”

You sigh heavily and look back down at the table, then straighten until you’re standing tall again. You cross the room to stare out the window. From the King’s study, you can see the gardens, which means you’re on the opposite side of the castle from the tower where Sam paints. Silently, you start to pace the length of the large fur covering the floor between two shelves of ancient books. Lady Charlie sits at the table while Sir Robert remains by the fireplace, and both of them watch as you walk back and forth.

Nobody speaks until you stop, but there’s a knock at the door right before you can admit that you have no solution that won’t end in a sorrowful amount of bloodshed. You turn to look as the door opens, revealing King John.

“Y/N,” he greets. “I may have something that will assist you.”

You turn to face him fully. “What is it?”

He walks to an elaborately carved chest on the mantle and carefully removes a rolled parchment. It’s sealed with wax, but there are two seals. Curious, you meet John at the table. Charlie stands to make room for the two of you. It only takes a second for you to recognize the crests imprinted into the seals.

“What is this? Why does this hold my family’s crest?” you question.

“And mine,” he adds. “This decree was created and signed by your father and I during our last visit together. I promised to keep it safe until the right time had come.”

“The right time had come? For what, John? How come I’ve never heard of this?”

He glances at you, then breaks the seals and unrolls the parchment. It’s yellowed with time, but the words are written in black ink and they’re as clear as day.

“Let it be known that on this day, Y/N Y/L/N of Athos and Samuel Winchester of Ashela are betrothed in marriage. Upon agreement from both parties or in time of need, they shall be wed and the marriage shall be consummated within a fortnight,” John reads, and you feel yourself falter. Charlie places a hand on your back to help keep you upright.

“Athos shall be ruled by Y/N as the heir apparent, and any heirs produced by Y/N and Samuel shall become the next heirs. An alliance shall be formed between Athos and Ashela at the time of marriage. This betrothal can only be broken by death or upon act of God.”

At the bottom of the parchment, there are two signatures. Only one is familiar to you, and the world tilts around you for a moment when you see it.

“I beg your pardon,” you say, your mouth suddenly very dry. “But this cannot be true. I would know if I were already betrothed.”

John places the parchment on the table and it rolls up again. “Nonetheless, your father has signed it and stamped it with his royal seal. You are betrothed to my son, and in agreement with the decree, our kingdoms will be allied after your marriage is consummated.”

A dark shadow in the doorway makes you look up. Sam ducks into the room, his eyes immediately scanning the people in the study. When he sees the distress on your face, he frowns, but he answers to his father first.

“You called for me, Father?” he asks.

“I did.”

John picks up the parchment again and hands it to Sam, who unrolls it and reads it over. You watch his eyes scan the words once, twice, then three times before he looks up. He glances at you for a split-second.

“This must be false,” Sam finally says. “I would know if I was betrothed! You would have told me a long time ago!”

“Why do you think I never pressured you to marry, as I did your brother?” John asks.

Sam clearly doesn’t have an answer because he turns his attention to where you’re standing behind his father. “Did you know about this?” he asks.

You shake your head, hands clasped in front of you. “I did not. I’m just as shocked as you are.”

“I can’t believe that you are treating Y/N like this! She is in the middle of trying to save her people and you’re scheming!” Sam accuses. He’s glowering down at his father, even though he’s only a few inches taller.

John scoffs. “Samuel—”

“You say that this was created when we were children? And yet it has remained hidden from us until now? Why wouldn’t my father have told me about my own betrothal?” you ask, relieved that Sam is just as angry and surprised as you. It stings a little that he seems disinterested in marrying you, but you have more important problems than your feelings.

Sir Robert speaks up from where he still stands by the fireplace, and you whirl to face him when he says, “The betrothal is real. I witnessed the decree when it was written.” His expression softens when you meet his eyes, shocked at his revelation. “I had just been appointed as your father’s advisor. It was the first decree I helped him create.”

You can’t help but feel betrayed. “You helped him? All this time, you knew about this, and yet you never said a word?”

He nods, and there seems to be genuine regret in his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Why now?” Sam questions. “Of all the times, Father, why would you tell us now?”

John gestures to the parchment in Sam’s hands. “You’re to marry whenever you agree there’s an opportune time, or if there’s ever a time of great need. If you marry, an alliance will be formed between our kingdoms. I can send our armies to help defeat Elcium and save Y/N’s people. Your people, once the marriage is consummated. Your enemies will become my enemies.”

Torn between a mix of anger and humiliation, you turn your back on the men, taking a few steps away from the table to stare out the window. Has it really come to this? Will you really have to marry to save your people?

There’s a shuffling of papers behind you, and the crackle of the fire, but nobody dares to speak. You know that they’re all waiting for you to make the decision. Though you’ve only known him for a few days, you’re certain that Sam would never force you to marry him and follow through with the decree.

“Would you form an alliance without marriage?” you finally ask, without turning around.

A beat passes, and then John answers, “Think over what I’ve said, Y/N. I will be in the Great Hall, awaiting news.”

He leaves after that, and you hear Sir Robert and Charlie excuse themselves as well, which leaves you alone with Sam. He keeps his distance from you as you continue to stare out the window with your arms wrapped around yourself. Despite the fire, you’re cold all the way down to your bones, and you shiver.

“What are you thinking?” Sam finally asks. His voice is gentle, hesitant even, in the silence of the study.

“I don’t know.” You shake your head. “This isn’t…”

“Did you dream of marrying someday?”

Surprised at the question, you have to stay quiet and mull it over. Then, after a few moments, you nod. “Yes,” you tell him, quieter than before. “Someday. I knew it was probably expected of me too, but then Crowley invaded…”

“And you had to put the needs of your people before your own desires,” Sam guesses.

“It’s my duty as queen.”

Your father’s words return to your head, ringing loud and clear as a bell.

“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”

Turning around, you smooth your skirt and meet Sam’s gaze. “As is marrying you,” you say.

“You’re not going to oppose the decree?” he asks. Sam sounds genuinely surprised, and he steps closer. He’s still in his dinner clothes, though you know he had time to change.

“I don’t have a choice,” you admit. “If I don’t marry you, your father won’t aid my men, and my people will die. My kingdom will be taken and I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison or as a servant to Crowley, unless he decides to kill me, which is unlikely. Crowley is a ruthless king, and he tortures for sport.”

Something hardens in Sam’s eyes, and his jaw clenches. “You can stay here indefinitely as my guest. I wouldn’t let him do that to you.”

“And I wouldn’t live in hiding while my people suffer,” you counter. Closing the distance between you, you reach out and grasp Sam’s hands in yours. “I will understand if you choose not to marry me. It is your choice, and I will live with whatever decision is made.”

“Why wouldn’t I marry you?” he asks.

“I don’t wish to force you—”

“You wouldn’t be,” Sam says, cutting you off. “Though I haven’t known you long, Y/N, I find you wonderful company. You’re kind, intelligent, brave, and you care deeply for your people. I could not ask for more in a wife, though I hope we can become friends first.”

You duck your head, caught off guard by his praise. Sam crooks one finger underneath your chin and lifts it until your eyes meet his again.

“You’re beautiful, too,” he murmurs. “Far more so than any woman I’ve ever met.”

“I… Don’t know what to say,” you admit. After months of fighting and living in the war camp, the tenderness in Sam’s voice and his touch is foreign to you.

“Say that you’ll marry me. Say that we’ll save your people before any more harm can be done.”

Silently, you nod. You don’t look away as Sam smiles wide, his eyes full of a joy so complete that it makes your chest ache just from witnessing it. He pulls you close, crushing you against him as he hugs you tightly, and you gasp in surprise.

“I’ll tell my father to make the necessary arrangements,” Sam says as he pulls away. “The sooner we are married, the sooner we can rescue your men.”

You nod again, a bit numb as Sam kisses you on the forehead, narrowly missing the bruise, and hurries out into the hallway. His footsteps are quick and the sound fades before you can even recognize that he’s truly left you alone in the study.

“Y/N?”

Charlie appears in the doorway and you turn to her, trembling hands clasped in front of you.

“Are you well?” she asks. She steps into the room and you can immediately tell that she’d heard the whole conversation between you and Sam. The walls and doors are thick here, but Charlie is an expert at eavesdropping.

“I— I’m getting married,” is all you can reply.

She gives you a knowing look and then carefully guides you to sit in one of the high-backed chairs near the fire. The warmth helps to soothe the shock from finding out your kingdom was most certainly doomed, then from finding out it would be safe once you were married. Your world is changing so quickly that you can hardly keep up.

“He’s a good man,” she tells you.

“I know he is,” you reply, staring at the fire. It makes your eyes water but you can’t look away. If you do, you might cry for real for the second time today. Your emotions have been twisted by so many things and people today that you’re unsure of how to feel.

“It’s okay to be scared.”

You turn your head just enough to show that you’re listening, but you don’t look away from the fire.

“You’ve been through so much, Y/N, and I know you believe that queens should not show their weakness, but you forget that you are also just a woman,” Charlie continues.

This time, you turn to look at her. “But I am not just a woman, Charlie.”

She gives you a gentle smile, then reaches out with one hand to squeeze yours. “When you’re with Prince Samuel, you are.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice breaking. You clutch her hand with both of yours when she moves to pull away, turning in your seat so you can better face her. “What if he expects me to spend more time being a wife than being a queen? I cannot afford to give up who I am because of a man.”

Charlie considers your question for several long moments before she sighs and collects your hands completely in hers. She holds your gaze as she says, “You are brave for doing this. I cannot tell you what to expect, but I can tell you that I have heard many things from the ladies and the servants here in Ashela. All of them, every single one, has told me that Prince Samuel is as wonderful as he seems. I do not think that you have very much to fear, but I will be by your side no matter what you face.”

You inhale deeply, closing your eyes, and then breathe out. Charlie waits patiently as you try to collect yourself, and her presence is enough reassurance that it doesn’t take you very long.

Finally, you nod and stand.

She does the same, dropping your hands. “Now, I need to get you ready!”

“Ready?” you ask, and Charlie laughs. She guides you out of the study and into the hallway.

“For your wedding! I can’t give you the prettiest dress, but I’ve asked around and we’ve come up with something that I think will work.”

A spark of excitement grows inside of you as she chatters on about her plans for the impromptu wedding. It’s amazing to you that she’s managed to work so quickly, but you don’t question it. Charlie has many ways of doing many things, some of which are better left unsaid.

Soon, you find yourself back in your guest chambers. Charlie helps you into a plain ivory dress, then fixes your hair. You sit quietly as she works, and when a handful of Ashelan maids and ladies start to swarm around you, you simply close your eyes. It’s been a long day, and exhaustion is starting to creep in.

“The Queen needs to rest before the ceremony,” Charlie announces, and you open your eyes just enough to see the women leaving. She starts to blow out the extra candles, until there’s only one remaining beside your bed.

“You only have an hour,” she murmurs as you carefully climb under the covers. She helps you arrange your dress so that it won’t become wrinkled.

Nodding tiredly, you rest your head back against the pillow she props up for you. “Thank you, Charlie. For everything.”

She smooths a hand over your hair and sits in the chair beside you, closing her eyes as well. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that she’s staying close to help you sleep.

The ceremony is simple. You don’t expect much, but John rouses enough servants for there to be an arch of evergreen placed at the end of the Great Hall, and there’s a bouquet of branches and berries for you, as well. Sam dons his royal robes and a thin crown with vibrant gemstones that sparkle in the candlelight from the nearby tree. John and Dean change clothes too, and somehow Charlie finds a new dress just in the nick of time. Only you aren’t wearing something elaborate. It stings a little—you’d once imagined your wedding day as an occasion to remember, but now you could simply melt away into the background and it’s quite possible that nobody would even notice. It gives you a miserable feeling in the pit of your stomach, and when you pass by a mirror on the way to the Great Hall, you have to look away. Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them.

A priest marries you with little grandeur, and in only a few words, you find yourself bound to Sam in marriage. It’s not even dawn on Christmas Eve when he leads you by the arm back out of the Great Hall. Charlie stays behind with Sir Robert to help prepare the carriages for travel while he advises John on where to send his armies, and when you arrive at Sam's chambers, they’re empty. You’re alone with him for the first time as husband and wife.

“We should leave for Athos immediately,” Sam says, and you nod in silence. He lets go of your arm once the door shuts behind you, then hurries into a separate, adjoining room. You set your bouquet down on a nearby table.

Through the curtained archway, you can see a bed similar to the one in your guest chambers, as well as a writing desk and another easel. Sam’s sword is propped up against the wall near the fireplace, and a bow and arrow are laid haphazardly on a nearby dining table. The room is decorated for Christmas, just like the rest of the castle, though the greenery here is minimal. Where you would expect to see much of his personal belongings, there are empty spaces that leave you feeling strangely out of place. His chambers are practically bare except the furniture and the decorations.

Sam goes behind a dressing screen and you look away, heat in your cheeks at the thought of being alone with him while he undresses. It’s not the first time you’ve been alone with a man in a similar state of dress—you’ve lived in a camp full of soldiers, many of whom are careless—but it’s the first time where something could be expected of you.

“Sam?” you call out, staring at the candle on the window ledge nearest to you. Outside, the sun is just barely beginning to rise. Its rays are slowly stretching over the snowy landscape, revealing the hundreds of pine trees and the lake whose frozen surface glitters in the light.

“Yes?” You hear him pause and the room falls silent. When you don’t immediately answer, you hear some quick shuffling, and then he’s coming out from behind the screen and approaching you.

“Y/N?” he asks.

You turn, and Sam is standing before you in plain clothes. There’s no trace of the robes or the crown. The only thing that would give away his royal status is the signet ring on his left pinky. There’s a plain gold ring on the finger beside it, which matches the one he’d given you during the ceremony.

“Your father said our kingdoms would only be allied once our marriage was… consummated,” you say, deciding to use the same language as John, though you know there are easier ways to say what you mean.

“I do not expect anything of you,” Sam gently replies.

“But your father—”

Sam shakes his head. “He does not need to know what’s between you and I.”

You’re holding your breath; you can’t breathe a sigh of relief until you’re absolutely sure Sam will go along with the ruse. “You will lie to your own father? Your king?”

He’s quiet for only a moment before he answers, “He is not my king any longer. I am married to you. I am your husband, and you are my queen. I will tell him whatever I must to ensure that your people are safe.”

You gingerly take his hand and allow yourself to breathe again. “Our people, Sam.” You pause to look up at him, offering him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He nods and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “We should leave. I am ready, if you are.”

“Don’t you want your things?” you ask, glancing around his chambers.

Sam lets go of your hand, then walks around his room. He gathers his sword, a book from beside the bed, and a small wooden case from near the easel before he returns to your side. You take the book and the case from him so he can strap the sword around his waist, then hand them back to him.

“The servants have already brought many of my things to the carriage. The rest can be brought another time.”

Nodding, you take Sam’s arm and let him lead you out of his chambers, through the castle, and to the waiting carriages. There are three of them, two of which belong to you, and another that is clearly Ashelan. It rocks as the occupants move around.

John, Dean, and two of your guards are waiting at the open door of the middle carriage when you arrive. As you walk the gray stone path leading away from the castle, you catch a glimpse of Sir Robert as he climbs into the carriage at the front of the line.

“Y/N,” John greets. He nods politely to you, then to Sam. “My men are already on the way to Athos. Sir Robert has been helpful in ensuring they will be of sufficient help to you. I have also sent word to Crowley to inform him of our newly formed alliance. I suppose everything went well after you retired to Sam’s chambers?”

He raises an eyebrow at his son, who nods once. The implications of his words weigh heavily in the winter air, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to look nervous or uncomfortable. You cannot give away the lie.

“All is well,” Sam replies. He smiles a little and places a hand over where yours rests on his arm. “She is ready to travel now.”

Dean hugs his brother goodbye, then leads you toward the carriage. He stops a few feet away and holds his hand out to one of your guards, who produces a familiar sword.

“I believe this is yours?” Dean asks.

You smile, relieved that you’re once reunited with your father’s blade. “Yes, thank you.”

Taking the sword, you fasten it around your waist. The weight is comfortable, and it bumps against your thigh as Dean helps you into the carriage.

Meanwhile, Sam talks quietly with John. You’re too anxious to eavesdrop once you’re alone, so you sit back on the seat and try to keep your breathing even as Sam finally climbs into the carriage and the door shuts behind him. He sits opposite you, where Charlie would normally sit. It feels strange to not travel with her by your side, but you remind yourself that she’s in the next carriage, and that you’ll see her again when you arrive in Athos.

Moments later, the horses lurch forward. You sway with the movement, and Sam reaches out to place a steadying hand on your arm. You offer him a small smile before you sit back once more.

The sun rises as you journey to Athos, just like it does every day, and you cling to that normalcy. Even as you wring your hands, your mind whirling with every possible outcome of the coming battle, the sun continues on its path. You find yourself glancing out the window at it more often than usual. The snow outside is beginning to melt and drip from the tree branches as the temperature warms from the light, and as the horses carry you closer to home, the snow starts to disappear entirely, replaced with mud and trampled grass left in the wake of tired soldiers and weary knights.

Suddenly, Sam shifts to sit beside you, and he takes your hand without a word. You stare at him, baffled by his strange actions, but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he look at you. Finally, you look back out the window. His thumb rubs over the dry, scarred skin of your hand, and though it’s foreign to hold hands with a man you barely know, there’s something comforting about his presence. It’s soothing enough that you doze off for a while, grasping at what little rest you’re allowed during the journey. He holds your hand the entire time.

After the half-day ride, the carriages arrive in the village that surrounds Eryas Court. You release Sam’s hand and sit forward on the bench to give yourself a better view through the window.

The houses and shops that you’ve grown up around have been burnt and destroyed, and there’s rubble lining the cobblestone paths. Wooden stalls and stables have been smashed into splinters, and stone buildings have begun to cave in on themselves. Your breath hitches when you see blood staining a wall.

“Where are the people?” you ask, your voice cracking. “Where are my people?” The question is desperate, meant for nobody but the world, and you feel Sam pulling you away from the window a few seconds later.

“Let me go!” you bark at him.

He pulls you back a second time, and you twist in your seat, angry and aching with grief, but you stop when you see him.

Sam’s expression is grave. “We don’t know who’s out there. You are not dressed in your armor, and you are giving Crowley’s archers an easy shot. Until we know what’s happening, you need to stay hidden,” he advises.

You stare at him for a moment, then nod mutely. All the anger drains out of you, because he’s right, and you’re no use to your people if you’re dead.

While leaning back against the wall of the carriage, you can still see enough through the window to tell that the destruction starts to lessen as you near the keep. The pressure in your chest starts to ease when the noise of villagers and soldiers talking reaches you, and you exhale shakily when you hear someone call out,

“Make way! The Queen is here!”

There’s a commotion outside the carriage. Cheering erupts as soon as the first person spies you through the windows. Sam’s hand finds yours again. He squeezes, and you squeeze back even harder, clutching his hand as the carriage moves through the crowd and into the guarded castle.

When the carriage stops, you and Sam wait until the door is opened by guard. They help Sam out first, then you. You don’t know what to expect as you exit, but you’re relieved to find that most of your castle is still intact.

“Eryas Court lives on, Your Majesty,” someone says, and you turn to find Sir Robert walking from his own carriage. Charlie is close behind, and you start to smile.

“Indeed, Sir Robert,” you tell him. “It seems the battle was over before we even arrived.”

After a moment, you laugh and pull him into a hug. It’s improper, but you find tears brimming in your eyes when he murmurs in your ear, reminding you that your father would be proud of how you’d handled the invasion.

“Welcome to Athos, Your Majesty,” Charlie says.

You release Sir Robert and turn to where Sam and Charlie stand off to one side. He gives her a short bow as she dips into a curtsy. An Ashelan man is standing on the other side of Sam. You recognize him as one of the men from your breakfast the day before. There are several Ashelan servants helping yours unload the carriages, as well.

“It’s a beautiful kingdom,” Sam says to you. “How long has Eryas Court been standing?”

“Four generations,” you proudly reply. “Would you like a tour?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but the conversation is put to a halt when the captain of the guard approaches and bows in your direction.

“Your Majesty,” he greets. He does the same for Sam before turning back to you. “I bring word from the fields.”

“How are my men?” you ask. Your expression grows serious as you focus on the matter at hand. Sam stays silent, allowing you to do your job without interference.

“We have lost many, but we have made it through the darkest nights. Elcium has retreated, and they have dropped their banners. They stand with white flags now.”

You raise your eyebrows, unable to keep your expression neutral. “They have surrendered?”

He nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“That’s very good news, Captain,” you tell him, smiling. “Tell them that we will negotiate terms after Christmas. I will expect a full report then, but I have other matters to attend to tonight. I will also expect to see your wounded, and I would like a full list of the dead. Please ensure that any news about the Ashelan soldiers is sent to King John, and also reported to King Sam.” You gesture to Sam without looking his way.

Your captain bows to both of you, then heads back the way he had come. Satisfied with the news, you turn back to Sam with a wide smile.

“Let me show you my home.”

Sam smiles back at you, then offers you his arm. Before you leave with him, you instruct Charlie to make sure everything is in order after the maids unpack your and Sam’s belongings in your chambers. She agrees with a smile brighter than you’d seen on her in a long time.

You and Sam walk the castle grounds most of the afternoon, stopping only to have tea. You show him your favorite spots, tell him stories of your childhood, and you show him the study you’d abandoned after inheriting your father’s. The windows there overlook the wildflower fields, and the river beyond. Though there’s no flowers in bloom now, he assures you that the frozen river is subject enough for his paintings.

As the sun begins to set, you and Sam retire to your chambers. They’re smaller than you remember, and it feels cramped as the two of you prepare for sleep. You’d never opted to take on your father’s chambers when he passed, instead choosing to stay in the rooms you’d had your whole life.

Charlie helps you change into a sleeping gown, and behind an opposite dressing screen, you hear Sam and the Ashelan lord—Castiel—talking quietly. When the two of you emerge, you share nervous smiles as Castiel and Charlie leave to go to their own quarters.

“I’m not quite ready to sleep,” you say after the door finally closes behind them. You keep your distance, unsure of how to act now that you’re alone.

Sam nods. “I’ll try to keep to myself, so there’s room when you are ready to retire.”

You glance at the bed, then back at him. “Perhaps I will go to bed early then.”

He frowns a little and searches your face for something, clearly trying to figure out why you’ve changed your plans. Truthfully, you don’t want him to have to try and make himself small. You’re already feeling too many emotions; you don’t want to add guilt into the mix.

You smile as if you don’t know what he’s thinking, then head to the bed and climb under the covers on one side. Charlie has warmed the heavy blankets with irons, and the furs from last year’s hunts still provide you with plenty of warmth.

Sam watches, still standing in place, until finally you let out a sigh.

“I’m perfectly okay sharing a bed with you,” you tell him. “We are husband and wife. If we don’t lie together, it will raise suspicions.”

“And I am prepared to face them.”

“Do you really not want to share a bed with me?” you ask, a little hurt by his resistance.

His eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head. “I do not want you to be afraid of me, nor of expectation that I might—”

“I am not afraid of you.” You sit up in the bed, suddenly aware of the nighttime chill in your chambers as the blankets fall from your chest. “I have fought in many battles, and I have seen many horrible things. Sharing a bed with a kind, gentle man who is now my husband is not a fear that I possess, Sam Winchester. Even so, I am capable of much more than you may realize, and I am not afraid of anything you could possibly do to me.”

He stares at you for a moment, and then a small smile appears on his face. “Very well.”

You lay back as Sam crosses the room and climbs into bed beside you. Both of you lay on your backs, staring up at the fabric canopy. You want to talk—you feel like you should, anyway—but the events of the past few days start to catch up with you, and you find your thoughts beginning to wander as Sam’s breathing grows slower on the other side of the bed. He falls asleep before you, but not by much.

When you wake, there’s a heavy weight over your waist and hot breath against the back of your neck. Your legs are intertwined with Sam’s and your back is pressed up against his chest. It’s not uncomfortable, but you lie and stare at the wall, trying to figure out how you and Sam have become so entangled. Surely, you would have kicked him during your nightmares.

“Are you awake?”

His question is barely a whisper, but then Sam shifts and you feel him raise himself up on his elbow to look down at you. He’s checking to see if you’re asleep, you realize.

You turn your head to meet his eyes in the darkness. “Yes,” you answer. “I’m awake.”

He sighs softly and lays back down, resuming the close contact from before. You wonder if you should push away. Is it improper to sleep like this if you don’t know each other, even if you’re married? Does it matter?

“Can I ask…” You finally begin, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room again. “When we went to sleep, we were not touching.”

“No,” Sam answers. His breath tickles the hairs at the nape of your neck and you fidget under the covers, but you don’t pull away. “You were dreaming. It was a nightmare.”

“Oh.”

You can imagine why he’s pulled you close now. Without Charlie sitting by your bedside, there had been some anxiety over if you’d sleep through the night, but Sam’s comforting touch seems to have soothed you. For the first time in weeks, you feel well-rested.

“It’s Christmas,” you say after another minute has passed.

Sam yawns and his thumb strokes against your stomach. His voice is drowsy in your ear.

“So it is,” he replies.

“Merry Christmas, Sam.”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, and you carefully place one hand on his chest. It feels natural to be this close and to lean against him, and Sam watches you with half-mast eyes as you get comfortable. When you do, however, you don’t know what to say. You stare at each other, listening to the castle stir awake. Finally, you lay your head down on him. He helps you get comfortable, and then you close your eyes. You can hear Sam’s heartbeat.

“We’re married,” you murmur.

He hums. “So we are.”

“What do we do now?”

“Celebrate Christmas, I suppose.”

You move your hand, unconsciously fidgeting with the tie on Sam’s sleep shirt. “Can we stay here for a while first?”

Sam presses a kiss to the top of your head and you smile to yourself, even though you know he could probably see.

“Yes, Y/N. We certainly can,” he answers.

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