#at least there's a female king and mentions of a female prince

[humanpurposes]

Nightblooms

It was a single night, such a trivial moment, two children sharing lemon cakes in a brothel, but she has not forgotten it. He will not recognise her, surely? // Main Masterlist

Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, angst, sex work, unresolved childhood trauma, implied underage and non-con (not explicitly depicted), mentions of war, violence and death

Words: 9.7k (she's a bit of a monster)

A/n: my humble offering of another Aemond brothel fic. I hope you like :) You can also read this on AO3 if you feel so inclined.

He remembers the bed, the thin curtain draped around it, the slight breeze that drifted in on the night air and made it flutter. The throw was richly decorated, red, black and brown, and he picked at the thin threads of embroidery with his fingertips until his skin was red and white. 

The heat in the room was unbearable, the stench of wine, incense, his own sweat clinging to his bare skin. He was weary to breathe the air in, to tarnish himself any further than had already been done. 

He flinched as the door opened. The madam was back, now wearing a gown and all her gold jewellery. A silhouette stood behind her, he couldn’t see them properly, concealed in shadows. 

“You are shivering, my Prince,” she said. 

He could feel it, his knees brought up to his chest and his arms clinging around his legs. His clothes were neatly folded in a corner, his eyepatch atop the pile, he just hadn’t managed to reach for them yet.

“Have some wine if you like,” the madam said. 

The silhouette stepped into the flickering candlelight. In years to come her face would fade from his memory, but she was young, perhaps as young as him. She was dressed like the other whores, in a loose gown of blue silk that exposed glimpses of her skin, her shoulder, her thigh through a slit in the skirt. She held a pitcher of wine and a cup in her hands.

“She is undertaking her own education,” the madam said, noting how long Aemond’s eye had lingered on the girl. “She’ll help you bathe and dress.”

He made no sound of protest. The madam took the pitcher. He could smell the sour scent of the wine as she poured it. Already a few cups deep, the numbness of alcohol was starting to wear off and a pulsing pain was blooming in the back of his head. The madam placed the cup on a table and then she left.

The girl took a single step towards the bed. She lifted her arm, holding out her hand to him, as if he were some street dog to be tamed.

He scowled. His left eyelids were sewn shut back then, his wound mostly healed after three years, but still hideous enough that people would stare in shock at the sight of him, the ailing King’s maimed son. The Lords and Ladies of the Red Keep averted their eyes when they saw him. His mother looked at him with tears in her eyes. His father… the last time his father must have looked him in the eye was on Driftmark.

But this girl looked at him unabashedly.

If he had his wits about him he might have scorned her. Smallfolk like her should know their place, they should revere their Princes. He shouldn’t inspire pity, he should inspire fear and awe.

His stomach was turning. Anger coursed through his blood. His eyes were hot and stinging but he would not allow any tears to fall. And he was restless. It was all familiar to him, the frustration, the humiliation. He couldn’t bear to sit on the bed anymore, cowering like a child.

“I have a bath drawn,” the girl said. 

He had heard her, but he could not find the will to move, not for a few moments at least, moments which felt like hours.

“I have some cake as well. I find it helps me regain my strength… afterwards.”

He felt his head nod.

“It’s lemon, do you like lemon cake?”

“Yes,” he muttered into his knees.

He watched her fetch a robe from the back of a settee by the fireplace, draping it over her arm. “We only have to go to the next room, not far at all.”

He blinked as he looked at her. He felt the dampness on his cheeks, the stinging cold left in the trail of his tears as another breeze swept into the room. 

All the faces around him this night were unnerving. Aegon had been far too delighted with his so-called “gift”. He’d entered Aemond’s chambers with a snarling smile before he’d gripped him by his shoulders and dragged him through the stairways used by servants to stay out of sight. “You are a man now, Aemond. Time to get it wet.”

The madam had a calm gaze, soft lips and small eyes which considered him intently once she had taken the purse of coins from Aegon. The scent of her perfume was sharp and he could still smell it in his nostrils. His stomach lurched again. 

“Come,” the girl said.

Hers was the only face he found any ease in, and he could not explain why that was.

She held out the robe for him and asked before she secured the tie at his waist. She went to a small door in the corner of the room which he had not even noticed until then. It led into another chamber where the air was hot and humid but not as suffocating.

A basin stood in the middle of the room. She took out two small brown bottles and let a few drops of oil fall into the water, filling the room with a gentle, fresh scent. “Lavender,” she explained, “and rosemary. They are meant to be calming.”

He stepped into the water, glad to find it just below scolding. 

The girl kneeled by the basin, gently pouring cups of water over his hair, running it through with a sweeter smelling oil. She took his hand and allowed him to settle, scrubbing his skin with sugar, cleansing it with an amber soap.

When it was done she rested her chin in her hands at the edge. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

He’d stopped crying now, his limbs felt steadier, more his own. He nodded.

“I don’t feel myself until I’ve washed it all off. It makes me feel as though my skin is truly mine again,” she said.

He felt his hands over his arms, the sweat and the fluids rinsed away, the dead skin scrubbed smooth.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice was thick, unnatural in his own throat.

“Do not thank me yet,” she said with a small smile, and suddenly jumped up to her feet. She walked out of his sight, past his blind spot, but she soon returned with a small wooden box. She kneeled beside the basin and opened the lid to reveal three small cakes, dusted with sugar and topped with thin slices of candied lemons. “Take one then,” she said.

He bit down on the inside of his lip to hide his amusement at her impertinence. He did as she told him and ate half of one cake in a single bite. A pleasant sourness burst on his tongue, not like the wine, sweeter, zestier. She was right, his mind was starting to feel a little less numb, the life flooding back into him with every breath he took, lavender, rosemary and lemon.

“You have one too,” he said.

“I’m not meant to,” she said, “they’re for the patrons.”

Aemond lowered his chin to look at her. “Take one.” Now it was his turn to deliver the orders.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darting between him and the cakes.

“If anyone reprimands you I’ll feed them to my dragon.”

Her expression ignited. “Alright,” she said with a sly smile.

They devoured the rest of their cakes and shared the remaining one. She insisted that he should have the other candied lemon.

“Do you really feed people to your dragon?” she asked, wiping the crumbs from her mouth.

Aemond licked the sugar from his fingers. “I’ve not done it yet.”

She seemed stunned at his answer, then she giggled. “Yours is the big one, isn’t it?”

“Vhagar. She was Queen Visenya’s mount during the Conquest.”

“I see her sometimes, flying over the city.”

“She is too large for the Dragon Pit,” Aemond explained, “she nests along the shore of the bay.”

“And roams where she pleases?”

“Never too far from me.”

“No,” she said, her voice wilting, “of course.”

He suddenly wondered what this sad, sweet girl kneeling beside him would do if she had a dragon. He could picture her on Dreamfyre, the mount of his sister. Helaena adored flying and would often guide her dragon to glide above the waters of Blackwater Bay and the hills surrounding King’s Landing. This girl would take her dragon further, he thought, she would soar up above the clouds. Perhaps she would take her dragon over the seas, to Essos, to the Summer Isles, to the far corners of the world.

He did not flinch from her when she offered him a towel and patted his skin dry. She fetched his clothes from the other room, the awful room where he could not breathe, buttoning his shirt with swift fingers, doing up the buckles on his jerkin.

She was not much shorter than he was. She stood close enough that he could smell the lemon cake on her fingers, and there was something sweeter and richer underneath. It made him think of fresh fruit and vanilla, rose petals and nightblooms.

Her eyes drew slowly up from his collar to his face, to the wound slicing through the space where his eye once was.

“Does that hurt?” she asked.

He was no stranger to pain. It had persisted since the incident itself, stinging and shooting through his skull. It once made him cower like a child, but of late it had lulled into more of a passing irritation. Had the extent of the pain subsided, or was he simply used to it now? “Sometimes,” he said. 

“How did it happen?”

The years had passed quickly since then. He remembered the joy he felt flying before the moon and the stars over Driftmark on Vhagar, the faces of his nephews and cousins in the dark. He spat cruelties at them. They shoved him, punched him, kicked him. He remembers the taste of his own blood, the crack of Lucerys’ nose under his knuckles, the dust in his eye and then a pain like fire piercing through to his brain.

Three years and he still felt clumsy in his movements. He would often lose his balance or misjudge his steps. He would miss objects as he went to reach for them, and he was still not quite used to turning his head so that he could see past his blind side.

He’d never had to say it out loud before, not all of it. It had been enough for Lord Commander Westerling to find his face covered in blood and the remains of his eye. He had told his father he had been attacked, but it went unheard to the pleas of innocence by the bastards and their mother. The maesters studied his wound. Cole told him he could regain his strength if he worked for it. Everyone else tended to avert their eyes altogether.

She was looking at it, trailing her fingertips over the edges of his scar and the twisted flesh of his eyelids. 

“It was the night I claimed Vhagar. I was returning to Hightide and they came at me, Jace, Luke, Laena’s daughters–” he suddenly realised these names meant nothing to her, but she did not seem discouraged.

“Go on,”

“Rhaena, well, Vhagar was her mother’s dragon. She wanted her, but I claimed her first. I was not afraid of them. Baela struck me first. Then Jace and Luke came at me, and Jace had a knife.”

She breathed a small gasp.

“Luke took up the knife. It all happened very quickly.”

“They did that to you, over a dragon?” She said, trailing her touch lower, over his cheek. 

He remembered the cool surface of the rock in his hand, hovered over Jace’s head. One of the girls shook her head, begging him to stop. And he did—  or he was going to stop…

That’s when Luke had slashed the blade at him.

“I was weak,” he said, brushing her hand away from his face. “It’ll never happen again.”

She tilted her head at him. Her eyes were glassy, like she might cry. Guilt tugged in his chest. He had not wished to upset her.

Then she took a quick breath and went to take up his cloak and his eyepatch. He placed them both on, covering his silver hair with his hood.

She beckoned him to follow with her fingers. They weaved through the close corridors and the few women and men they passed, some fully dressed, some wearing nothing at all. It felt ridiculous and somewhat unbelievable to see how unashamed they all were, women with their breasts out, men with their cocks hanging between their legs. 

His stomach turned again.

He reached for the girl’s hand. Her head whipped around and she held onto him, firmly. He didn’t want to lose sight of her, he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone in this place.

Neither of them let go when they reached the doors. People were passing though so they kept close to the wall, face-to-face. 

“Can you find your way back to the Keep from here?” she said, only having to whisper.

Aegon had long since disappeared. Aemond had rarely been out into the city, save to accompany his mother to the Sept, or his siblings to the Dragon Pit. He was alone now, no guards, no wheelhouse, but the Red Keep with its turrets, battlements and flickering lights in the windows would not be difficult to locate. He nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?” 

“For what happened to you.”

His stomach turned again, less nauseating, more unsettling, uncertain. He supposed this would be the last time he saw her.

“Will you be alright, here?” he said.

She took in a sharp breath and she frowned as though she were in pain. “Yes. The madam is good to me. She keeps me fed and clean.”

But the things they must make her do…

“Go, return to your royal castle and your servants,” she said with a grin. “Far better that I am here and not starving in some gutter.”

So he did. He slipped through the door, his last memory of her being obscured by shadows, perhaps that’s why he could not recall the details of her face. 

Walking through the streets of King’s Landing, he had never felt so aware of his body, his skin under his clothes, shifting over his bones. His limbs felt slightly numb, his feet moving of their own will while his mind… was clouded. His head felt heavy and the noises around him were distant. No one paid any mind to the boy trudging over the dirt and cobbles, but he felt the eyes of the gods on him and it made him shiver. They had seen his sins. What if his mother knew where he had been, the things he had done? He imagined her brown eyes, filled with disgust rather than grief.

He could not look at Aegon for weeks afterwards. He shied away from his mother’s touch, especially on his legs, his knees. In the Sept he begged the gods to forgive him. He begged to forget it.

Years went by. Some nights when he felt a certain tension in his stomach and a stirring in his breeches, he’d think of it, the heat and sweat and incense. And after there was no relief, just an emptiness in his chest.

He could wash it all away, with drops of lavender and rosemary oil in his bath, with sugar scrubbed into his skin.

If there was one thing he wished to remember of that night, it was her. He still thought of that girl, a face obscured in shadow, when the servants brought out lemon cakes after supper, when Helaena insisted on walking through the gardens at sunset and the air was sweet with nightblooms. She pointed them out to him, the silvery white flowers growing in the leafy green bushes lining the path, their petals like little moons in the foliage. 

“How curious are these,” Helaena had said one evening, “they retract in sunlight, but in darkness they flourish.”

Daylight dies with a golden sunset and night blooms with a sky of red and indigo clouds. 

The King’s body is now ash. Sunfyre had the honour of being the dragon to do it. It was a hasty affair, in the hours after Aegon’s coronation, when the chaos at the Dragon Pit still had their family and the Small Council stunned to silence. Aegon wore the steel crown as they stood on a cliff over the bay, waiting for him to give the order. The heads of his mother and his sister hung heavy, but Aemond did not avert his gaze from the flames. He felt the heat on his face, seeping through his skin. 

At long last, his father is gone. Aemond has not wept for him, nor does he feel a desire to. His father was once a young man, well loved, so he is told, but to Aemond he was always a frail old man. Save for the few times he ever proved his strength, and even then his strength was only ever resolved for his dearest child. 

Rhaenys will have made it to Dragonstone within a matter of hours, and Aegon’s ascension will not come without consequence. 

On the morrow he will fly for Storm’s End and secure the allegiance of Lord Borros Baratheon. His mother has assured him this will be a simple enough feat, swords for a marriage pact with one of the Baratheon girls, but a crucial one. His brother will not hold the throne long without Lords to uphold his claim and men to fight for it. 

He wonders if the Stormlands will live up to their name; how dull the entire affair will be if it only amounts to flying Vhagar through a downpour of rain. This is the war his mother and grandsire wish to fight, with letters and diplomacy. He is sure the dragons will become restless soon enough. Rhaenyra has been steadfastly sure of her own importance her entire life, and with Daemon at her side, she will not bend the knee without a challenge.

And what of Aegon, is he ready to fight for his crown?

When Viserys breathed his last and the pieces were all finally in play, Aegon had not been where he needed to be. Not in his rooms, not within the walls of the castle. He was squandering his duties, evading the position he was born to, as he always has done. Aemond himself was the one to drag him from the streets of King’s Landing to the Red Keep. Cole had spent hours with him, convincing him to take up the crown rather than fleeing on a ship across the Narrow Sea, to Pentos, to Yi Ti, some far corner of the world where the burden of being their father’s son would not weigh so heavily on his shoulders. 

The first place Aemond had thought to look for his brother proved to be a fruitless endeavour. The establishment was a familiar one, and with every step he took along the Street of Silk his memories phased into reality. The knocker on the door was the same. The madam was the same, the same long, auburn hair, the same gold jewellery, the same knowing smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes. 

“The Prince is not here,” she had said. “His tastes are known to be less discriminating.” Of course. Aegon could pay for the most expensive, sweetly perfumed whores in all of King’s Landing, but instead he sullies himself with the scum of Fleabottom, rolling around in the dirt like a pig.

The madam’s gaze then turned to Aemond. She remarked how he had grown. It felt an obvious thing to say. He was no longer the child he was when Aegon first brought him there.

While he and Cole wandered the city in search of his wastrel of a brother, a thought passed through his mind. He thought of a face in the shadows of the brothel, steam rising, gentle hands, the scent of lavender, rosemary, rose, nightblooms…

She could have been there, on the other side of the door, within the walls of the establishment. She would be a woman just as he was now a man. Or she might have left years ago, to a better life, or perhaps a worser fate. Are the lives of the smallfolk not meant to be brutish and short? 

A hollowness settles in his chest, restless and hungry, like it’s writhing under his skin. He paces his chambers, reads until the hearth has died and the sky beyond the windows is black, but sleep will not come to him.

In the hour of the wolf, he dons a cloak and retraces his steps.

Men are all the same. They strut into the establishment like peacocks, with an ego that outweighs their purse. They flash a few coins and ask for wine rather than ale, a symptom of refined taste. They run their hands over her body, her waist, her hips and her rear as though she should be grateful for their attention. They tell her uninteresting stories while they drink themselves into a stupor. They convince themselves that it is their charm and decent looks that have her leading them to a bed in a quiet corner of the pleasure house, or falling to her knees and undoing the laces on their breeches. The truth is that she will do what is asked of her, so long as they have gold. It is only motions of the body, and afterwards she can wash it all away. 

Until the next night… and then the next… and then the next…

Madam Sylvi has promised her to a Lannister tonight, a man of Lord Tyland’s household, no doubt paid well by the family he serves. He is supposed to be waiting for her but first she must pretty herself for him. She wears a gown of blood red that bares her back and her arms, that will easily fall away with the undoing of a clasp at her neck. She lets her hair fall freely and tints her lips and cheeks with rosewater. Finally she dabs her perfume into her wrists, her neck, on the insides of her ankles, a scent she has worn for years, sweet, rich and floral.

She descends the stairs by the door. At the darkest time of night the pleasure house is alive. Music hums over the laughter, the moans, the cries. The air is thick with the sourness of alcohol and the smell of sweat and sex.

A man with silver hair stands in the entrance hall, Sylvi beside him. They speak with their heads close together, as familiars? As lovers? Sylvi strokes his arm affectionately, with a look glinting in her eye that means she intends to bleed this Targaryen of all the gold he has.

It does not sink in until he looks up, his single eye meetings hers. He wears an eyepatch over his left eye, dark leather obstructing his hair and pale skin.

The eyepatch… it cannot be…

Sylvi had always said men come here to take their pleasure on their own terms. This had not seemed to be the case when last she laid eyes upon Prince Aemond. She had seen them enter, the young Princes, one taller, merrier, with purple wine stains in the corners of his mouth. The other was solemn faced and unsure, ushered into the arms of the madam before she led him upstairs. Sylvi had other patrons to attend to once the deed was done, leaving the burden of caring for the young Prince on her equally young shoulders.

She still remembers him hunched over himself and shivering, the distant look in his eye, frozen in a single moment of time. The most she had been offered after her first time was a cup of moon tea and an order to change the sheets for the next patron.

It was a single night, such a trivial moment, two children sharing lemon cakes in a brothel, but she has not forgotten it. He will not recognise her, surely?

“Her,” the Prince says, “I will have her.”

Her heart drops. She has reached the end of the steps and freezes, looking to Sylvi for instruction. Anticipation stirs in her gut, somewhere between terror and curiosity.

“I’m afraid she has been spoken for tonight, but I would be glad to–”

“I will pay double what any other man has promised,” Aemond says with an air of finality. This is an offer that cannot be refused. Perhaps the minor Lord will be disgruntled, but he will be compensated generously. Defying a Prince is treason. 

While Sylvi has gone to deal with the outbidded Lord, her legs carry her down the last few steps until she is face to face with Prince Aemond.

He is taller for a start, at least a head above her. His hair is longer, his face is slimmer and sharper, his lips are settled into a slight pout. He carries himself differently, proudly. Her eyes move over his leathers under his cloak. She is not meant to admire the men who seek her services. She is meant to take their coin and fulfil their desires.

“Some wine, my Prince?” she asks, nodding towards the inner chamber, the heart of the pleasure house where the musicians play and bodies mingle out in the open or behind drawn curtains. 

He offers her a cryptic “hmm,” and follows her inside.

One of the other girls stands in a corner, carrying a tray of full cups. She passes one to Aemond, his fingertips brushing over her skin as he takes it. 

The Prince studies his surroundings like a hunter looking for quarry, lips quirked, jaw tight, somewhat amused but silent. Something tells her he has not returned to the pleasure house in the years since his first visit. This is all unfamiliar to him. He sips his wine and takes a slow breath. No doubt he will prefer somewhere a little more secluded.

She takes his hand and weaves through the room, to one of the adjacent chambers lit by candlelight, large enough to fit a bed and little else.

With the curtains drawn the other sounds fade into nothing. She takes Aemond’s wine and sets it aside, coming to stand before him.

She keeps waiting for him to lean into her, to grab greedily at some part of her flesh, to claim her lips with his. Instead he stands stoically, his chest rising and falling from underneath the thick leather of his tunic.

“Are you not awfully warm, my Prince?” she says in a honeyed voice, one she has practised for years that usually feeds the lie she actually wants what’s about to happen. She trails her fingertips over the shiny silver buckles that conceal him from her, his body stiffening under her touch.

She takes a breath to steady the erratic beat of her heart and the wanting stirring in her belly. It is not often that her own forwardness seems out of place. 

She remembers the boy with silver hair. She remembers the scowl on his face, how it melted into confusion and fear. He had needed patience then and she was happy to give it. Because she was ordered to. Because she pitied him. Perhaps because she recognised something in his expression and the way he seemed unsure in his own skin.

She places a hand on his shoulder, testing the waters of how close she can get to him. He does not protest. His nose twitches as he inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “Perhaps we should make ourselves more comfortable?” she says.

He places his hand over hers, guiding it to the top buckle at his collar. His expression is stern, his face bathed in golden candlelight and the shadows caught in the angles of his face. His eye is somehow soft but intent.

Undressing him is not to be rushed. She takes her time with every buckle on his jerkin and pushes it slowly from his shoulders. She untucks his undershirt from his breeches and he pulls it over his head. His skin is smooth, mostly unmarred, save for a small scar in the crook of his elbow that had not been there the last time they met. He is all muscle, lean and lithe. She places her palms at his chest and lets them drag down his abdomen, to the waist of his breeches.

He holds her wrists to stop her.

She looks to his eye, terrified that she might have overstepped.

Instead he kisses her. It’s gentle and chaste, his hand against the bare skin of her back, pulling her against his body. When she teases his tongue with hers he chases it, only for the kiss to become messy and clumsy. She cannot bring herself to dislike his inexperience.

“Wait,” she says, pulling away, putting her hands on either side of his jaw. “Follow my lead,” she whispers, leaning in to capture his lower lip between hers. They find a rhythm then. She shows him to move slowly, to be firmer. As their kiss deepens she allows herself to melt into his arms. Her hips are rocking against his, his hand trailing over her skin until he finds the clasp of her dress. The material falls away as simply as it should, leaving her bare before him.

He studies her the same way he studied the room. How many men have laid eyes on her since she came to this place? Too many to count, insignificant men, who have no names or faces in her memory. She has no shame in her nakedness, but there has never been any doubt in her mind that those men found her desirable. Being under Aemond’s scrutiny makes her tremble. She wonders if the sight of her pleases him. He has enough gold and enough pride to be selective. 

He had asked for her though. Why?

He’s staring at her. “They crowned my brother today,” he says.

It is not what she was expecting to hear. “I saw.”

“You were there?”

“No.” The gold cloaks did not empty the whorehouses when they were ordered to fill the Dragonpit with witnesses for the King’s coronation.

Aemond’s attention is on her body now. He reaches for her arm, tracing circles over her skin with his thumb.

She had not seen the King himself but she had seen the crowds flocking. She had heard the tremendous noise of crumbling stone, people screaming, a dragon’s screech. “I saw the dragon. People say it is an omen.”

Aemond’s face darkens but his attention is still on his own hand, now at her waist. With the other he pulls the eyepatch from his head and tosses it towards his discarded shirt. She does not get much of a chance to refresh her memory of his maimed eye before he leans into her again. His lips are at her shoulder, then her neck and it leaves her utterly weightless. 

“Your perfume is the same,” he mutters into her skin.

He remembers.

Aemond seems content enough following her lead. He lets her slip his breeches past his hips and take him into her mouth. He lets her sit atop him and grind her core against his hardened cock until her peak washes over her, blissful and warm.

When he starts to buck his hips and dig his fingertips into her hips she decides to give him respite. She sinks herself onto him with a soft sigh. It is a rare opportunity to chase a feeling rather than letting herself go through a rehearsed set of motions. 

His eye moves between her face and the space where their bodies meet, as if he cannot decide which is more fascinating. She is pleasantly surprised when he places his thumb at her pearl and circles over her sensitive flesh.

She loses herself in it, how deep he reaches, pleasure rising and tightening until it releases suddenly, violently. She falls forwards on her hands to steady herself. 

Before long Aemond lifts her off his cock, finishing himself with a stuttering groan and his seed dripping through the folds of her cunt.

He holds her close, caging her in his arms and bringing her into his chest. There’s a numbness that follows pleasure and she cannot bring herself to care that he is crushing her ribs. It doesn’t matter. She basks in the heat of his skin and the smell of him. 

He makes good on his promise of payment. The purse of coins he leaves on the bed before he leaves is worth ten nights with any other patron. 

There is less pretence the next time he visits her.

It is only a day later. He comes in the middle of the night, his hair, coat and leather gloves soaked, but there is no rain in King’s Landing. They tear at each other’s clothes and kiss like starved dogs devouring scraps. Aemond holds her by her jaw and her neck. When she draws his teeth over his lip he grins.

Once he is bare she realises his skin is cold and he is shivering.

“You should sit before a fire and warm up properly–”

“No,” he insists, “I just want you.”

She chases her pleasure once more, Aemond’s hands bruising into her hips as he thrusts up to meet her, the coldness of his palms seeping through her skin. This newfound urgency is thrilling and she finds herself curling over her body as her peaks tears through her.

Aemond is not finished with her yet. He positions her beneath him, spreading her legs apart with two wide palms before fucks her with a brutal precision, and he does not stop until he has reached his own end, painting her belly and the tops of her thighs.

After, he takes her into his arms, positioning them both so that he lies under her arm with his head nestled on her chest, between her breasts. She strokes her fingertips through his damp hair, over his skin, all the places where lovers touch each other, his cheek, his neck, underneath his ear, his shoulder. With his arm draped over her stomach he clings to her like he may never know such intimacy again. His skin is still cold and yet she holds him close, determined that she will draw some warmth from him.

Hours pass. Days could pass and she’d be content to lie with him.

“The dragon was an omen, you said,” he mutters.

It takes her a moment to rouse herself. Her eyes had closed, her mind half asleep. “That’s what people are saying. A coronation marred by death must surely only lead to more death.”

She feels his arm tighten over her stomach.

“You’re cold,” she says.

“I was instructed to fly to the Stormlands.”

“Why?”

“To secure the support of Lord Baratheon. He has pledged his banners to my brother’s cause and in return I am to wed his daughter.”

His state suggests to her that he has not yet returned to the Red Keep.

“Is there to be a war?” she says. 

He remains frozen for a few moments.

“I believe war may now be inevitable,” he says. She feels his lips brushing over her skin.

“How so?” she says on a quiet breath.

“A boy is dead because of me.”

The coldness of Aemond’s body has decidedly taken root within her, like a fist closing over her heart and throat.

“Lucerys was there, at Storm’s End. Lord Borros shunned him from the hall but I… it wasn’t enough. I pursued him on Vhagar. His dragon is nothing to her, they didn’t stand a chance.”

She is not sure she wishes to hear of this, but a new kind of stillness has settled over her. She is too afraid to move, to disturb him. 

“He is the one who took your eye,” she says.

Aemond hums. “He never paid for what he did to me. My father was more concerned with the slanders against my sister than he was with me, with my blood spilled by my own kin.”

She closes her eyes, imagining the little boy from all those years ago is curled up in her arms. She runs her fingers through his hair, undoing the knots and tangles. She cradles his head in her arms so he knows he is not alone.

“His debt is paid now, I suppose,” Aemond says.

It is in the early hours of the morning when he finally leaves, the first glimpses of sunrise chasing night from the sky. She helps him dress and fastens his eyepatch over his head. He leaves another purse in her palm, a more than generous amount. 

He comes to her nightly. He is an unhurried lover and fucks her slowly, hovering his lips above hers so that they share the same air, keeping their bodies pressed tightly together as if he wishes to smother her, or else crawl under her skin. She’d let him do it.

It is not simply her body he wants. When they are done he wants to be held, and then his thoughts slip from between his lips. 

He had not expected to return to the Red Keep a hero for slaying his nephew, but now he says his mother can hardly look at him. His grandsire, the Hand of the King scorns him for his recklessness, for his impulse for violence that now means the false Queen may strike at any moment. Vhagar circles the city during the day, she sees the dragon when she goes to the market. Aemond insists that his dragon could make short work of destroying any other who would seek to oppose her, but Rhaenyra has dragons to spare. He sits in meetings of the Small Council and watches in despair as the Hand and the Dowager Queen advocate for patience and diplomacy. 

“We should be marching,” he says one night, tracing his fingertips over her stomach. “We should secure the support of the Crownlands, adding their numbers to our host. Rhaenyra is isolated enough on Dragonstone, but we could cut her off from her allies completely.”

“And none would stand against you and Vhagar,” she says. Assuring him has become a learned skill these last few weeks.

“Alicent wishes for me to remain here, to deter an attack on the city.”

“That is sound logic,” she says. “The people of King’s Landing will be grateful for your protection.”

Aemond hums irritatedly.

“I for one would despair at the loss of our Prince,” she adds, ghosting her lips over his cheek, where his scar cuts through his skin.

For a little while he entertains her, turning his head to kiss her properly. She slips her hand between their bodies, taking hold of his hardening cock. He melts into her, chasing his pleasure as she strokes him.

“I am ready for more,” he says breathlessly. “I’m ready to fight.”

“As you have proved,” she says, coming to kiss his throat. 

In a single breath he is above her, pinning her hands by her head. He positions himself against her, rocking his hips so his leaking tip pushes against her pearl. He knows this about her now, how to draw her pleasure from her body. “Storm’s End was no battle,” he hisses into her ear. “Luke was a child. I want fire and blood.”

“Your time will come,” she says, her voice catching in her throat as he quickens his pace.

“The war must be inevitable,” he pants, “the realm will realise it soon enough. Aegon is the King and yet he is hostage to those with weaker wills.”

“You are his brother,” she sighs as Aemond slips lower to her entrance. “You can convince him to act–”

“Not now,” Aemond says, pushing into her with one sudden thrust. “Just take it, that’s it…”

He fucks her slowly, deeply, with his face buried into her neck. His desperation fuels her own desire, his hot breath against her ear, his pants and his groans. When he is finished he does not leave her wanting, trailing his lips and tongue down her body, her chest, her stomach, driving her towards her own peak with his lips and tongue.

“My grandfather takes my aspirations as insolence,” Aemond mutters to himself as he dresses. “He thinks me weak. He thinks I am still a child.”

“Then he is a fool,” she says, still buried beneath the throw on the bed.

“My mother and grandfather seized the throne, now they will not do what needs to be done to hold it.”

“Perhaps they fear what a war might bring.”

Aemond tuts. “The first blood has been drawn.”

“Do you not…” she pauses when he looks at her, his eye wide, anticipating something he will not wish to hear. “What if Rhaenyra comes for you? What if she seeks vengeance for her son?”

Aemond smiles like he has a secret and stalks slowly towards the bed, her stomach tightening in anticipation. 

In some ways, Aemond terrifies her. He has a presence of danger and bloodlust which fades away when she peels away the layers of his leathers. Without his eyepatch, in the warmth of the candlelight, he is the picture of Valyrian beauty, a man who belongs in histories and legends, not the living, breathing realm she exists in. 

He leans into her, taking her chin between his fingers to kiss her. She relishes it for as long as she can, knowing it won’t be enough to charm him back into the bed.

He pulls away, reaching into his pocket for a purse of coins. “Let her try,” he says as he places it beside her, “but I will not be easily ended.”

The girls all share chambers, bedrooms and a washroom with basins and baths. She rises early in the morning to bathe, to drop her lavender and rosemary oils into the tub and scrub away the remnants of last night. Before, she would not allow herself to fall asleep until she was clean. Lately she finds an odd sense of comfort in the reminders of her royal patron. Her skin is littered with love bites and bruises, her neck, her collar, her breasts. It shouldn’t be like this. Usually she does what she can to forget the men she has been with.

They share their duties. This morning she is to help wash the bed linens, and find cheap grain and cuts of meat from the markets.   

The clothes she wears are modest, covering her arms and her neck, unflattering to her figure. Some people still eye her with disgust, with hatred. You can always spot a whore. What can strangers know of her? Can they see through her skin and see her sins as the gods judge them all from the seven heavens? It was not as if she had chosen this path for herself out of an endless number of possibilities. 

Sometimes she remembers the life she had before, a woman’s laugh, a particular taste on her tongue, a tune humming in the back of her mind she can’t quite piece together. She used to think the gods had forsaken her, but now she thinks they do not concern themselves with the lives of people like her. So she finds little point in looking to the past, of imagining a future for herself. She survives and that is enough.

Summer is nearing its end. There is no warmth to be found in sunlight obscured by clouds. People walk quickly, keeping their belongings in deathly grips. A woman with a babe in her arms begs the baker to accept one copper instead of five for a loaf of bread. A man despairs that the apothecaries cannot offer him a medicinal herb from Lys for his sickly daughter. The shipping lanes are blocked by the Velaryon Fleet holding the Gullet, and no ship can get in or out of King’s Landing. A woman cries for her son, a rat catcher, his body hanging from the walls of the Red Keep. 

She gets what she needs to, grain she will bring back to the kitchens for the cook to turn into plain tasting flatbread. A butcher sells her tough cuts of beef for a reasonable price to go into a stew. He worries that there have been no imports of salt or sugar. How is the city meant to preserve food for the fast approaching winter? 

“It’s the fucking war,” he grumbles, “why can’t the King just burn the ships so the rest of us can eat?”

In the distance she hears drums, the clatter of horse hooves against the cobbles. She keeps her basket tightly on her arm, not stopping to make eye contact with the people she passes, past the stalls, mules, the buckets of sewage and dirty water falling from windows above her head.

As she emerges from one of the side streets her way is suddenly blocked by masses of people. She had guessed some sort of procession was afoot. This is no celebration, it is lamentation. People weep and wail around her, a mass mourning that she does not understand, and yet she feels it in her chest and behind her eyes, an urge to cry.

Over the sea of bodies before her she sees two women in an open carriage, richly dressed with black veils over their faces. Petals fall from windows and footbridges. People cry the name of Queen Helaena and Dowager Queen Alicent. 

She finds a small ledge to lift herself onto at the base of a statue. What she sees could stop her heart. This is a funeral procession. Queen Helaena’s carriage follows the body of her son, wrapped in a green and gold shroud, with flowers woven into his white hair. For a moment she tells herself the boy is an effigy, that he could be made from wax or porcelain. 

“Behold the work of Rhaenyra Targaryen!”

The whispers follow her as she scurries back to the pleasure house. The Prince was slain in his sleep. Two assassins cut his head from his body. They made his mother and twin sister watch. 

Bile rises in her throat as she hands cook the cuts of meat, blood seeping through the wrappings. She swallows it down.

When Aemond comes to her that night he is more subdued than usual. He pulls her into his arms and she strokes her hand over his hair.

“My nephew is dead,” he utters. He sheds no tears, he seems confused more than anything.

Rhaenyra’s retribution had come then, swift and brutal, a son for a son. 

She undresses him but he leans away when she tries to kiss him. They lie back on the bed and Aemond settles his head on her shoulder.

“My brother is in a rage and wants Rhaenyra dead. My sister has not left her rooms; I tried to go to her but she would not speak to me,” he says.

“How did it happen?”

“There were two. One was a gold cloak. They found him at the gate of the gods with Jaehaerys’ head in a sack. He confessed the other was a rat catcher.” 

Now the bodies of a hundred men hang by their necks, though only one of them is guilty.

“Daemon sent them to kill me,” Aemond says, “but I was out.”

She rests her fingers at the pulsepoint on his wrist to remind herself his heart is still beating. “You were with me,” she says. She feels the guilt weighing in her chest. While she and Aemond had kissed and fucked and held each other, a boy had a lost his life, the very body she had seen paraded through the streets.

“In truth I am proud that he considers me such a foe, that he would seek to murder me in my bed.”

She cannot tell if she admires him for it or not, to gamble with life as though it means nothing.

Aemond is watching her, his hair loose and framing his face. “Do you think he fears me?”

She has never seen Aemond wield a blade. She’s never seen him ride his dragon, not up close. She’s never seen him fight with his fists. She’s never seen him slur his words and throw away threats in a drunken argument. He is always composed. He is always softly spoken, and in a way that terrifies her more than it should. They say the blood of the dragon runs hot. Aemond’s blood does not seem to burn, rather it simmers under the surface of his skin. 

“Perhaps he fears what else you might be capable of.”

Aemond is the closest she has ever seen him to tears. His eyelashes are damp and heavy, his seeing eye vibrantly blue and glassy. “You think me a monster,” he utters.

She could never say it, could she? But this is a man who took the life of his own kin as a reparation for his eye. Violence is carved into his face, beautiful, set with a gemstone, but it is there nonetheless. 

She brushes her fingertips over his cheek and plants a delicate kiss to his lips. After only a few moments he shrugs her off and repositions himself, curling into her lap like a child, clinging to her limbs and the fabric of her gown. 

“I lost my temper that day,” he says. “I should have known Vhagar would not relent. I am sorry for it.”

Her blood runs cold. Should she be glad to hear he is remorseful? He may not be a cold hearted killer, but destruction lives at his fingertips. 

She reaches for his hand and he takes it. His touch is gentle and hesitant. “There was no justice in what happened to you,” she says, “blood has paid for blood…” but where does it end? With Lucerys? With Jaehaerys? With the next?

Aemond says nothing. She feels his tears slip onto her legs, his fingernails forming crescents in her skin.

Remorse will not return Rhaenyra’s son to her, it will not bring back the little Prince paraded through the streets of King’s Landing.

She clings to him, hoping she can ease whatever torment plagues him, and banish what darkness consumes him.

She never tires of the sight of him. His body bare, his hair tied away from his face, the uneven edges of his sapphire glinting in the lowlight, laid out beneath her. She runs her hands over his chest, tracing the lines that are familiar to her now. “I want to taste you,” she says sweetly, knowing he’ll already be desperate for her. 

He hums quietly to himself. By the slight smile threatening to break in the corners of his mouth, she knows he is content.

“On your knees then,” he says, and positions himself to sit at the end of the bed.

She runs her tongue over his length first, finishing with a teasing lick at the tip where he’s already weeping. She takes him into her mouth gradually, pushing a little deeper with every bob of her head. He is her Prince, he takes his pleasure from her and holds her hair from her face but it is she who sets the pace, who revels in his moans as his mind lulls. 

But he pulls her head away by her hair before he finishes. Suddenly she’s on her back and he’s kneeling over her with his fist moving furiously over his cock. He reaches for her breast and squeezes. In the morning when she bathes, she’ll look at the bruises and remember how he touches her. Her own had slips between her legs, tracing circles over her pearl at the thought.

This pleases Aemond. His brow hardens and his jaw falls. “Fuck, are you going to finish with me?” he whispers.

She nods in reply, her breath catching as a whimper in her throat. 

His grip on her breast tightens. She winces at the pain and it only fuels her own pleasure. She succumbs to her senses, chasing the feeling in her gut that only wants for release. Her fingers work frantically over her wet and wanting cunt.

“Make yourself come for me, that’s it,”

She obeys him with a cry, her body reduced to a shaking, dazed mess as Aemond reaches his own end. She watches his seed spurt from his cock, warm as it paints her skin.

He has habits, she’s noticed. He does not spill inside her. Of course, with the nature of the establishment there is no shortage of moontea, but she never questions him when he removes himself. He prefers to see it on her skin. 

Targaryen bastards are not uncommon in King’s Landing, commoners with silver hair. It is said Prince Aegon himself has sired many on the women of Fleabottom. Perhaps the idea is distasteful to Prince Aemond. He is discreet. He does not bring drinking companions with him to the pleasure house and he keeps his hood up as he enters and exits. 

He takes a cloth and wipes his seed from her skin. She bites back another jolt of anticipation in her spine. She would take more from him, but instead he lies beside her, curling into her embrace, tucking his head into her chest. 

He could fuck her quickly and be done with it, it would be more efficient. He could take a different girl each time. He could have one brought up to the castle. Yet since the day of the King’s Coronation he has found his way into her arms to her each night. In these quiet moments she lets herself think there is a reason for it.

They trace their fingertips over each other’s skin and he tells her things she shouldn’t know, that the King has named a new Hand in Ser Criston Cole, that while Queen Alicent seeks to avoid open war, Aegon wants to fly headfirst into it.

“It’s not his place. He’ll not stand a chance against Meleys or Caraxes.”

The names are strange to her. Sometimes it feels like a cruel joke, a reminder that some Silk Street whore is not meant to understand the realm he exists in. Other times it feels like an honour, like he’s gifted her a part of himself, a glimpse into his mind.

“He is no warrior, but he wishes to live up to his namesake. He wants for glory alone; it is a reckless pursuit but he would risk his life for it.”

“He is the King, is it not his war to fight?” she says. 

“He is not capable of it,” Aemond says, “but I…”

It is not a thought he dares to finish.

King Aegon wears the crown of the Conqueror, or so people say. She’s never seen a real crown. She’s seen paper ones worn by the mummers in the square, and she’s seen girls wearing wreaths of flowers on their heads for the festival of spring. They are only delicate things. Real crowns are made of gold, silver and steel. As Aemond’s eye flutters shut he looks divinely peaceful, but unsettled where his sapphire continues to stare at her. She pictures a crown of spring flowers fashioned from steel and imagines it upon her Prince’s brow.

Footsteps thud upon the stone floor, too close to the curtain, closer than anyone should dare to come near. She lifts her head as it’s drawn back.

It takes a moment for them all to realise what’s happening. Several faces stare at her– at Aemond. One of the men has silver hair, shorter and choppier than Aemond’s. He bares his teeth as he grins.

She sees a flash of fury in Aemond’s face as he turns to face them.

The silver haired man starts to laugh, the sound shrill and unpleasant. His friends do not join him. “Aemond the fierce!” he cries, pointing, staring.

Ameond parts himself from her instantly. He retreats as far as the edge of the bed, hunched over himself, his knees in the crooks of his elbows. He keeps his head hung, not looking at the men and the leader of their pack. He does not look at her, he does not look at anything. 

She sees the child he once was, frightened and confused. 

The man staggers towards the bed, clearly half out of his mind by the smell of wine drifting from him when he perches on the bed. On instinct she covers her breasts, devastated to realise her robe is out of reach.

“And here I thought you were as chaste as a fucking septon! You know,” he says to his companions, “I brought him here for his first too. And how far you’ve come, curled in the arms of a whore like a greenboy!”

There’s a bite to his– the King’s words, a cruelty that only makes Aemond shrink further into himself. Her heart aches for him, that she cannot help him. 

“Are you tired, brother? Did you fuck her like a hound?” An idea he emphasises with an impersonation of a hunting dog.

Aemond doesn’t move or speak.

Still in hysterics, Aegon turns his gaze to her, unashamedly lingering on her chest and her legs. “Hard luck for your squire, Ser Martyn,” he says, drawing his tongue over his lips, “as pretty as this one is, she is very much occupied.”

His laughter is the only sound in the chamber and it pierces her skull. 

Aemond starts to shift. Helplessly she reaches out her hand, unsure of what it is she intends to do. He doesn’t take it. He doesn’t even look at her.

He stands before the King and his companions. His humiliation has melted away. In the place of the boy is a man who speaks calmly and clearly. “Your squire is welcome to her. One whore is as good as another.”

He strides from the chamber and she is entirely forgotten.

Or so she wishes that were true. There are still four men in her midst. And she is still, for all the hours she has spent in Aemond’s company, a whore in a pleasure house. 

I've kinda given up on taglists, sorry <3

A/n: I'm quite happy with this! I've been playing with the idea in my head for a few weeks, then I saw episodes 2 and 3 and it just had to happen. Would be very cool if you wanted to let me know what you think :)

[suiana]

(yandere! prince x female! reader) (for @violetvase) (again im sososo sorry for the late commission catch up😭😭😭) (tw: implied dubcon mentioned?)

"you know i'm mad at you, right?"

he mumbles, staring outside of the window. you gulp nervously, not daring to break the cold tension as you nervously sit at the foot of his bed.

alas, you had been captured by him, freedom forever gone as you had to face the consequences of leaving your dear ex crown prince turned king alone.

you yelp as he suddenly turns to face you, looking at you with cold eyes.

"but you've birthed our two lovely children and... i cannot imagine how they'd feel if they saw their mother miserable."

the king mutters, a hint of a smile gracing his lips as he approaches you slowly. he stops right in front of you, a gloved hand caressing your cheek fondly as he smiles softly. though his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"how shall i ever punish you for such a grave crime, hm?"

he mocks, hand gripping your chin tightly as he forces you to maintain eye contact with him. you could only muster put whimpers, shaking under his gaze as you remain silent. you didn't want to anger him even more than you already had.

"say something darling. i want to know how i should punish a queen who ran away from her kingdom and husband."

he hums, relishing in your behavior and silence. finally, you learnt your place, haven't you?

"mn... maybe I'll put another baby in you?"

he suddenly mutters, looking at you with glee in his eyes as you immediately sputter, shaking your head. no! you didn't want more kids! especially if you didn't really want them in the first place!

"just kidding. having too many kids will be bad for you."

he chuckles, patting your head as he lets go of your chin. it's as if he could sense your every emotion and feeling, manipulating you by keeping you guessing about how he's going to punish you.

"i think I'll just punish you by placing a pretty little collar on your neck. one embedded with jewels and the prettiest of laces."

he hums, hand drifting towards your exposed neck before his eyes darken. you avert your eyes from him, staring down at your lap as you chew on your bottom lip. damn... it was going to be super embarrassing... oh well, at least it was better than another baby.

"I'm being very lenient because I don't want my children to be mentally deprived of a mother. don't disobey me again, understood?"

he speaks up, tilting your head up to meet your gaze yet again.

"I don't want to hurt you, please understand. i just need to... remind you that your place is beside me."

you nod, obeying silently as your husband chuckles softly. you really don't want your punishment to be worse so you'll just suck it up and pamper him for now.

"that's a good girl. i love you."

he mumbles, kissing your forehead before sitting down and cuddling into you. you stare at his innocent behavior, eyes softening slightly as you hesitantly lean into his touch.

man, it's always moments like this that cause you to forget that he's crazily devoted to you. you wish. he were more sane, maybe then you'd be able to fully love him.

[restlessmaknae]

water prince // leehan

When you receive a wedding proposal from the Water Kingdom, you are set on making Prince Donghyun change his mind about marrying you. At least, until you actually see him for who he is.

➳ Characters: prince!Leehan (called Donghyun in the story) x princess!female reader/you

➳ Genre: royalty au, arranged marriage au, magical kingdom au, elemental powers au, fluff, comedy, a bit of angst too

➳ Words: 13.7k

➳ Warning: mentions of food, reader almost drowning and being seasick, Leehan's father in the story is quite hostile, Leehan feels insecure about not being loved by his father

➳ A/N: Happiest birthday to the loveliest person on Earth @dat-town❤️ So happy for everything you've achieved and so excited to see what you will continue to achieve! May you have the best year ever, and stay healthy and happy all throughout! ❤️

➳ Taglist: @s00buwu, @dat-town, @emmylksblog

“You are to marry Prince Donghyun.”

You literally choked on your water when your father announced the big news he had assembled the family for. Your little sister patted your back, trying to be helpful, while your mother shot you a surprised look as if she couldn’t decide whether you were appalled or delighted by the news, and that’s why you were so taken aback. Your brother, Sungho, sat in his chair in a calm manner as usual, quietly analysing the situation while cutting his meat into tiny pieces in the quietest way possible.

You couldn’t blame him. You were in the middle of your regularly scheduled dinner in the dining hall of the palace when the King finally told you what he had been hiding from you for sometime. Before that, you couldn’t even know whom it entailed - your little sister, Sunghee, your brother, Sungho, or you -, the only thing you knew was that your father had been in talks with other kingdoms. Which was nothing new, really, it was one of his duties as the King of the Fire Kingdom.

“Why him,” was your first question after you managed to stop coughing, and you couldn’t tell who was more shocked by your question: your mother, your father or your little sister. Sungho seemed rather amused, his lips slightly curling upwards. No wonder he knew you the best.

“Because they offered a wedding proposal?” Your father half-asked, half-answered, and as you put down the glass of water onto the table, you were trying to rationalise his words, but there was nothing you could rationalise about this. From a young age, you knew that this would be your fate, you just didn’t know how to face it now.

“I would rather know why I am supposed to be marrying a prince from the Water Kingdom, if it has to be Prince Donghyun out of all people.”

“They say that he’s really handsome,” Sunghee chirped in, her eyes already forming hearts at the mention of the prince. Then again, she was 15, and she had heart eyes for every prince that she saw at formal events.

���You should feel grateful that he chose you. Princesses from other kingdoms are all lining up for him,” your mother weighed in, nudging you in the side, and you felt like a kid being reprimanded for something that she had done, not a princess who didn’t want to marry a prince who had once tried to sweet talk her into dancing with him at a royal wedding, only to trample on her feet multiple times. That guy was full of mischievous ideas, and you wanted nothing to do with him and his troublemaker ass. Besides, he was said to be full of himself, and you hated nothing more than smug princes who thought that a few compliments would make a princess fall for them.

“Prince Donghyun’s birthday is coming up, and he is supposed to find a bride for himself after his 20th birthday. They sent out the offer on his behalf, but before they expect an answer from you, you are invited to his birthday celebration to get to know him better,” the King explained in detail, and you wanted to evaporate right then and there. Really? You were even invited to his birthday celebration? Was he really that enchanted by that clumsy dance you had had at the wedding, or did the Water Kingdom had ulterior motives behind this decision?

You let out a sigh in return, clearly against the whole thing, but it’s not like you had a say in it. However, you had a say in how you behaved around Prince Donghyun, and actually, this birthday celebration would be the perfect chance to make him change his mind about you - or his family or whoever came up with this stupid idea of being his bride. You could be on your worst behaviour, and make him hate you, or worse, make him disgusted by you, and that’s exactly what you needed.

“When is this celebration?” You inquired from your father who gave you a satisfied smile in return, and told you that he would tell you all of the details and show you the wedding proposal after dinner. Sungho narrowed his eyes at your sudden change of behaviour, but when you turned towards him, you merely mouthed “I know what I’m doing”, and he seemed to believe you, going back to his fig jam-coated meat.

Whenever you attended a formal event in another kingdom, at least two members of your family had to be present. Before you and Sungho had turned 20, you had always needed to be accompanied by an adult - mostly your mother because the King had other duties to attend to. Since you were both deemed responsible adults when it came to age and appropriate behaviour, the two of you could go together to Prince Donghyun’s birthday celebration since your mother was to attend one of her sisters’ wedding with Sunghee the day later you set out to the Water Kingdom.

Since travelling on a ship would have required more people to accompany you (and since you were often seasick when out on the sea), you travelled by carriage, and you were supposed to arrive the day before the actual birthday celebration as per the Water Kingdom’s request. That left you with plenty of time to tell Sungho all about your plan of changing the prince’s mind starting from your choice of dress for the day of your arrival - a beautiful, knee-length black dress with puffy sleeves and a V-neck that highlighted the pretty necklace brightening your pale skin with little diamonds in the shape of a flame. It was an appropriate dress in style and length, maybe the V-line was a bit steep according to some, but it was its colour that mattered. In the Fire Kingdom, black represented the end of something - just like how flames turn to black ashes when they can no longer feed on oxygen -, and usually, you wore black clothes at the seasons’ farewell ceremony. You had a farewell ceremony for all four seasons when you bid goodbye to the previous one and welcomed the new one, gathering around a huge fire and giving your blessings to the kingdom and the royal family.

You highly doubted that Prince Donghyun would be aware of such traditions in your kingdom, but that was the best part of it: that he didn’t know about it, but you knew why you dressed like that. You had other tricks under your sleeve, and whilst Sungho didn’t disapprove of your plan, he was partly worried about your feelings.

“Will you be able to handle that? You hate nothing more than embarrassing yourself,” he pointed out gently, in his own big brother way, when you mentioned that if you had to embarrass yourself for your plan, you were ready to give it your all. The goal was to make Prince Donghyun go back on his words - or beg the one who came up with the idea of you having to marry him to change their mind  -, and the journey getting there might not be all rosy, but it would be worth it.

“I’ll make sure I do it subtly enough to not bring embarrassment on myself in front of others. Plus, I think he will want to speak with me in private, so that’s when I need to strike for real,” you announced with a triumphant smile as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The ladies all dolled you up at the palace, but if you were going to a battle, you needed to go in style.

Sungho didn’t show it if he was against your plan, and instead, he directed a topic elsewhere but your looming marriage proposal. This way, at least you didn’t feel like crawling out of your skin until you arrived, and guess what, Prince Donghyun just had to wait for you at the entrance of the palace when the carriage halted and the servants helped you down.

You tried hard not to stare at him because he did look… different. Of course, he looked different, he had been around 16 when you had last seen him; it had been a year after that ominous wedding, and you had seen him in passing in the circle of princesses who cooed all about his beauty and his deep voice and whatnot. Years had passed by, and he grew taller, his shoulders were broader, and his hair was longer, it reached his shoulders already. His features were less boyish, but there was still that mischievous spark in his eyes when you walked up to him after waiting for your brother to get out of the carriage.

You even forgot to look behind him to take in the grandiose palace walls and huge rose windows because he was the main view for you. The way the fading sunlight - late afternoon flowing into early night - shone onto him made him seem like someone from another world, or rather, someone from those fairytales your sister still believed in. If someone embodied royalty, it was him, and you had no idea how he had such an effect on you when you had come here to destroy his plans to marry you.

Alas, you could not let yourself sway just because he was pretty. Beauty could be deceiving, beauty could hurt, and if anyone, you knew that. Being praised for being beautiful, but never being praised for being smart or reliable or kind made you see this whole thing in a new light. So you kept your compliments to yourself, and focused on the boy’s cheeky smile instead.

There was a round of formalities with bowing and courtesy, the servants already hustling-bustling around you, carrying your luggage and gifts, and you heard two ladies from your own kingdom whispering about Prince Donghyun’s angelic smile as they passed by.

You rolled your eyes at their antics, but the Water Kingdom prince either didn’t seem to notice, or he didn’t mind. Instead, he posed a question that made you furrow your eyebrows.

“Did you come in black because you’re putting an end to your life without me?”

“Pardon me?”

“I read that black symbolises the end of something in your kingdom,” he pointed out in a casual manner, and you needed to hold yourself back from commenting that you didn’t expect him to do some reading on the Fire Kingdom and its traditions. You could clearly see Sungho’s facial expression though, he was visibly impressed.

The prince gave you a crooked half-smile as he took one step closer to you, closer than before, but not close enough to call it inappropriate. You had a feeling that he was playing at just that;  dancing on the fine line of being playfully flirtatious and a bit too much in general. 

“But did you know that it symbolises deep love in our kingdom? It’s a metaphor because if you love someone deeply, you would be willing to swim to the bottom of the ocean for them and the bottom is always so dark, almost black,” he continued equally joyfully, but you needed to gulp down the profanities that were threatening to leave your mouth.

Just how could you mess this up so badly? Not only had you chosen a black dress that symbolised deep love in their kingdom, but you had also failed to consider Prince Donghyun actually looking up the meaning of the colour in the Fire Kingdom. Well, you had to give it to him that he won this round, but you wouldn’t have said it out loud for all the money in the world.

So you let Sungho ask about the palace instead while you were ushered inside, and if Prince Donghyun had any itinerary planned for the rest of the day since you were supposedly the only ones who were invited to come a day earlier. Prince Donghyun explained that you would have dinner together and he could show you around the palace afterwards if you were up for it.

“Excellent idea! I would love nothing more than to spend more time with you,” you announced in an overzealous manner, hoping that it could make the prince falter in his good boy role. On the other hand, he seemed rather amused, not weirded out, and suggested that you could check out the lighthouse and the docks if you were that interested. You had no idea that they had such places on palace grounds, but sure, you were in the Water Kingdom after all.

Hoping to direct the topic to something else, when you spotted a bouquet of flowers in a huge vase, you acted oh so innocently as you asked:

“Ah, are these fake?”

“My mother picked them from her garden in the morning. She likes tending to her flowers,” the prince pointed out casually, and you bit down on your tongue in response. Damn it, why couldn’t you get a hold on him? 

Sure, you might have been the only kingdom that had fake flowers placed in the palace corridors because they just didn’t grow as exuberant as the ones in the Earth Kingdom, for instance, but you had different climates as well. You would think that the colder, rainy climate of the Water Kingdom didn’t necessarily help flowers flourish, but well… maybe you were wrong about more than just one thing.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, forcing yourself to shut your mouth, while you were following the prince and the servants down the corridors that were full of paintings of the royal family. The amount of paintings about Prince Donghyun from a very young age to present days was overwhelming: him with a book in his hands in what seemed like a library when he was a child, him in the garden surrounded by flowers, him standing by the sea, him standing by a fish tank, him holding a rose and the list goes on…

You weren’t sure whether looking at the actual real-life prince or his painted features was more unsettling, so you did neither and just stared ahead of yourself. Which was a mistake on your part because you managed to walk into the prince’s chest when he halted in front of a room.

“Are you alright, princess?” He inquired with wide eyes as he held you by the shoulders to steady you. You immediately stepped backwards, making him yank his hands away from you.

“I’m alright. It was just a bit dizzying with all the floors and corridors.”

“You will get used to it,” he said naturally, but there was a slight hint of nervousness in the way his eyes darted from your face to Sungho’s when he said the words out loud. Your brother, on the other hand, merely stayed still, calmly listening to your conversation. You were sure that you would hear his opinion on it later on, but for now, he didn’t seem fazed by the boy’s behaviour and flirty remarks.

“So will these be our suites?” Your brother asked to break the silence, and indeed, Prince Donghyun took this opportunity to show you to your rooms. Yours was fully equipped with a bathroom and a restroom, a huge wardrobe, candles by the double bed and a wide wooden desk by the equally wide full-length windows that led to a balcony. What took you by surprise was that the fluffy blankets, the luxurious curtains, the welcoming pillows and the walls of the room were all in different shades of blue, but it was done in an elegant way, so no colour overshadowed the other. However, the sight made you feel as if you were close to the sea, and you didn’t necessarily like it since the sea always reminded you of those boat travels when you got seasick.

Prince Donghyun said that a servant would come by when dinner was ready, but until then, he would let you unpack and settle down. When he got out of sight, you let out an aghast sigh, and fell into the bed, silently screaming into the pillows.

This was so not going as planned.

Dinner was passing by excruciatingly slowly. You literally checked the huge clock on the wall - which had a different type of fish painted by each number of the 12-part circle - every 5 minutes, hoping that time would go by faster, to no avail. You might have been able to spark a fire or put out one as a Fire Kingdom princess, but your magic didn’t involve meddling with time.

Alas, you had to sit through the forced conversation with Prince Donghyun’s parents (his older brother was away for a trade talk or something like that), and while his mother was a lovely woman, and her smile, at least, seemed genuine, his father was the definition of a politician. Which wouldn’t have unsettled you so much if you had not known his type, and how all of his sentences were well-calculated, carefully practised and being a part of a bigger plan. Even when he complimented his son, you could see that the prince was taken aback for he was smiling so coyly, you had a feeling that he scarcely complimented his children without an audience around.

You were thankful that Sungho was good at reading the room and changing topics in a polite enough manner, so that the King wouldn’t deem his action rude. It was difficult to displease them because while playing a foolish girl who always finds something to complain about and acts all so erratic was all fun and games with Prince Donghyun, when you tried to do the same in front of the royal couple, the King’s comments made you retreat. He was borderline misogynistic, saying that your honesty would be “cured” by having a husband, and that you should be lucky someone was willing to marry you with your reputation of being a fiery princess who always rejected princes.

It got to a point that you needed to excuse yourself to head outside because he started putting down your own parents for raising a princess like you, and you could not stand that. Even though you told them that you would go to the restroom, you had no place in mind, so when a servant left you by the closest restroom, you just stood there for a minute, completely frozen.

“Do you need anything, princess?” A familiar voice spoke up beside you, and you actually jumped back when you heard his voice. You were totally lost in thought, trying to process what you had been told, you didn’t pay attention to anything else.

Prince Donghyun noticed your shaken state, and his lips quivered slightly when you didn’t speak up. This was the first time that you saw something apart from mischief flash across his orbs when he looked at you, he looked genuinely concerned this time, and suddenly, you had no idea what to do with it.

“I’m so sorry about my father. He isn’t the best with…”

“You don’t need to apologise on his behalf. He needs to do it himself if he wants my forgiveness.”

The moment the words rolled off your tongue, you knew how naive it might have sounded, but you didn’t care. You kept your chin up high, kept the eye-contact, and the boy did the same. You had a feeling that he was afraid that if he looked away, you would run away. Which was incredibly close to what you actually wanted to do right then and there.

Even though you were usually good at keeping your composure in check, or at least acting like you didn’t care what people said about you, you didn’t have it in you to continue acting that night. So you were about to say that you would head back to your room to avoid having a conversation with the prince in your state, but he beat you to it.

“How about that walk to the lighthouse? That's the furthest place from the dining room,” he suggested out of the blue, his words carrying a certain gentleness. You couldn’t decide whether this was the perfect, kind prince role that he wanted to play, or whether it came naturally to him.

Nevertheless, you didn’t have the luxury to ponder over it, you just wanted a change of scenery - as much as the situation allowed, at least. So you gave in to the prince’s suggestion, and followed him outside the palace through a few unfamiliar corridors, walking through his mother’s garden to get to the docks. It didn’t resemble the docks for trading that you had been to before, it was a much more sophisticated one. It was more like a pier with only two ships waiting by the riverside, probably the ones the royal family used for travel.

For starters, the path was lit up by lanterns that glowed joyfully with the last few patches of the sunset still present on the horizon, like little fireflies in the night. The wharf itself wasn’t very well-lit, but the brightness coming from the lighthouse made up for that, illuminating the wooden structure leading up to it periodically. Even though there was mud where the water licked into the ground, the palace’s garden was connected to the shore with a little bridge, so you could walk on it as soon as you stepped past the fence separating the two sides.

Prince Donghyun held his hand out to help you step onto the wharf, and you would have objected fervently if it had not been for your dress - which seemed quite impractical for this kind of movement -, but alas, you accepted it. His grip was strong enough to hold you yet gentle enough to not crush your hands, but you didn’t hold onto him longer than needed.

“Oh no,” you said as soon as you stepped onto the wooden structure, realising that there was no railing on the sides. Even though the pathway was wide enough for two people, maybe even for three, in the momentary light the lighthouse provided when it was its turn to shine onto the wharf, you weren’t sure that you could cross it without getting panicky about it.

“What is wrong?”

“I don’t like the fact that there’s no railing here,” you announced as you pointed at the obvious lack of added safety, to which he merely gave you an amused smile.

“You can hold onto me if you want to,” he offered with a playful wink, and you were anything but impressed by his idea.

“I get seasick easily, and even though we are not on a boat, just the idea of being this close to water without an extra barrier makes me feel odd because I can’t swim, so…”

You were not one to talk about your weaknesses so easily, but the sight frightened you more than you would have admitted, and the words just rolled off your tongue without thinking ahead. It was too late to go back on your words though, you could already see how the prince was trying to make sense of the situation.

“I have an idea,” Prince Donghyun announced, mischief no longer evident in his voice as he turned his back to you and stood still.

You blinked, confused, and the thought crossed your mind that this would be the moment he would scare you or push you into the water, and you would have every reason to hate him then because you couldn’t swim. Not to mention that you were seasick often, so you absolutely detested anything that was related to water.

“You know, if you are trying to make a joke out of this whole situation, I wonder why-” You started as you took a step back in case he really did want to trick you. Instead, he raised his hands around him in a circular motion, and a few seconds later, a literal bubble formed in front of him. Then, he directed that bubble to hover between you two as he turned around.

“How did you do that?” You breathed, bewildered, as you looked at the water bubble in front of you, moving at his will. The boy couldn’t hide the smile that was creeping onto his lips at your awestruck expression that turned even more surprised when he started expanding the bubble. You were about to open your mouth to say that you didn’t want to get wet when it started getting so big that it almost touched you, but the collision never happened. What happened was that the bubble grew around you without touching you at all, so ultimately, you found yourself insead it, the world around you suddenly quiet and dim.

“It doesn’t burst with human contact or with objects. At least, I can now control it,” Prince Donghyun explained with a bit of a giggle as he stood inside the bubble with you.

You shook your head, trying to recover from this daze, but gosh, it was such a mesmerising sight. The prince looked to be in his element as he was talking about how he had learned to create bubbles and then to control them, all wide-eyed affection and enthusiasm pouring off his gorgeous features. Even if you had moments before when you questioned just how genuine he was, you couldn’t question it now, it was enough to look at him. He was dazzling, maple-brown shoulder-length hair tucked behind his ear, big doe eyes filled with stars, while he was showing you how you could touch the bubble from the inside, but it wouldn’t budge.

“I am good, aren’t I?” He quirked an eyebrow after his monologue, a proud smile tinting his lips. You looked back at him, rolling your eyes at his antics, but you had to try hard to sniffle your smile.

It felt like being inside a separate little island as you were walking inside the bubble, walking towards the lighthouse. You had to be close to him though, or else, he would need to expand the bubble even more, so you followed him diligently, and only halted when you reached the end and stood beside the beacon. This part of the wharf had railings, but you almost didn’t notice because the bubble kept out not just the outside world, but also your worries for a while.

“I didn’t know you could do something like this.”

“I’m glad to hear that I could surprise you,” he flashed you an even wider grin, if that was possible, but there was something coy about it now, as if he couldn’t believe that you could see him in a different light. Well, what could you say? You definitely didn’t expect this either.

The prince seemed curious at this point about what you could do with your powers, so you told him that you could make anything related to fire - you could create a spark, you could light up a fireplace, you could burn objects if you got your hands on them, and you could also put out fire if needed. There weren’t a lot of uses to your power, to be honest, but you didn’t mind. You always had a feeling that the reason war didn’t break out between the kingdoms was because you could only practise your magic in your own kingdom, meaning that you couldn’t do anything with fire here, even if you wanted to.

Prince Donghyun was attentive and curious, his eyes still having that bright spark to them, and for a short while, you even forgot why you ended up there, inside a bubble he created. Yet, when the next strike of light shone onto you two, and you felt your throat closing up at the sight of him - so boyish, so gentle, so affectionate -, you told him that you wished to go back.

He did seem a bit disappointed, but an understanding smile replaced his momentary pout in a bit, and he walked you back without a word. When you stepped off the docks, the bubble didn’t actually burst around you with splashes of water, it merely disappeared. You attempted to seem disinterested, but you were impressed, even if you tried to divert the topic elsewhere.

When you reached your suite, Prince Donghyun offered that you could let him know if you needed anything anytime, he would assist you. You could even knock on his door at the break of dawn - he had shown you where his suite was located on your walk back from the lighthouse -, he would be ready to help.

“Shouldn’t I notify a servant instead?” You raised an eyebrow, challengingly, but the boy either didn’t seem to take note of it, or didn’t deem it as an act of challenge.

“Well, I’m a man of many charms, and I can do a lot more than you think I’m capable of.”

“A man, pff. You’re not even 20 years old,” you pointed out cheekily, and he let out a deep, long laugh before his features went back to their previous state.

“But I will turn 20 tomorrow. I will be a man,” he retorted as he took a step closer to you, his eyes not leaving yours. Your heart betrayed you because when your eyes locked, that traitor decided to skip a beat. You had never been this close to him before, not even inside the bubble, and instead of feeling like you had to keep your guards up, you wanted to destroy the walls you built around yourself, and in that moment, he looked like he wanted to do the same.

“Good night, Princess!” He wished with a widening smile, shattering the serene moment into tiny little pieces, before he turned around and walked away.

The birthday celebration officially started the next day at noon, but guests started arriving from early morning. You didn’t even finish breakfast, you were notified that the first carriage pulled into the court, and Prince Donghyun dutifully followed his mother outside to greet the guests. The King was supposedly in his study, but you actually preferred it that way, especially after the previous night’s conversation at dinner.

So that left you and Sungho enough time to finish the rest of the breakfast while discussing the day ahead. Your brother even brought up the events of last night, and where you had been with Prince Donghyun.

“Nowhere scandalous, trust me!” You justified more fervently than needed, and Sungho held up his hands as a peace offer. He looked like he was conflicted whether he should be amused or concerned by your dramatic reaction.

“I would have been surprised if you had been anywhere scandalous, especially with your plan to make him change his mind,” he pointed out reasonably before reaching for his mug of tea. One of the reasons why you liked your brother was because he could keep his cool, and he knew you well enough to not jump to stupid conclusions. His question was probably more out of curiosity than teasing either way.

Hence, you decided to be honest with him, though you didn’t want to talk about Prince Donghyun creating a water bubble around you, so you would dare to walk the wharf with him. You didn’t know why, but it felt like a rather affectionate reaction to your seasickness, and you didn’t want to bring it up.

“He showed me the lighthouse, and we talked about our magic, and what we can do with it.”

“Seems pretty ordinary to me. Where did you leave your over the top acting?” He inquired with a playful smile, and you gently pushed his shoulder with your own.

“I didn’t feel like doing it last night. The King’s words got to me more than I would have thought so,” you admitted feebly, suddenly finding your empty plate more interesting than anything else in the dining room. You were usually not one to be swayed by others’ opinion, you weren’t a naive and scared teenage girl anymore. On the other hand, you had never even met anyone as hostile as the King of the Water Kingdom, and you had met a lot of royalty, so that said a lot.

“I’ve heard that he’s like that with everyone; he’s never truly satisfied, and doesn’t agree with anyone even if he’s wrong. So it wasn’t directed at you,” Sungho reassured you softly, and when you looked up at him, you directed a grateful smile at him. He always seemed to know what to say, and you appreciated it more than ever.

You didn’t have a lot of time to yourself afterwards because the servants notified you that you should get ready for a bath before they would do your hair and make-up. So you followed them and let them take care of you from head to toe. Sometimes it felt cumbersome to be all dolled up for an event, but you enjoyed being pampered after the previous day, and you didn’t want to let it show that you had been affected by the King’s viciousness.

Red was the trademark colour of your kingdom, so you picked a cherry-red dress for the event, one that you always felt so powerful in. The bottom part was a widening skirt in wine-red with a thin, more translucent layer covering the silky one underneath that had such a nice fall to it. From your waist up, the material switched to lacy with pretty embroidery making it more intricate on your chest and on your arms alike. Golden beads dotted the middle line that ended in a V-cut that revealed an appropriate amount of skin before it closed up underneath your neck which was covered in beads again. You had matching burgundy high heels to top the look, though they would be covered by the wide skirt either way.

The ladies curled your hair and made the locks resemble the waves in your dress, letting them fall over your shoulders elegantly, with the exception of your front locks which were held back and secured to your temple with a ribbon. Your eyes were covered in a mixture of sparkly silver and burgundy, your lips the colour of ruby-red apples.

You were of the opinion that if you were forced to attend such events, you would do so in style, and you were thankful that your parents let you choose your outfits and consult the tailors yourself, they didn’t really meddle with your preference in dresses. Same went for Sungho who showed up in a burgundy-black outfit with delicate embroidery on the chest of his long-sleeved shirt, and an exquisite pair of cotton pants.

As always, you didn’t fail to compliment the other’s look, and when the beginning of the celebration was announced, you made your way to the ballroom, your arms resting on your brother’s. Since he was by your side, you were more reassured that you barely knew anyone here, though you saw a few familiar faces from other kingdoms. It was easy to tell who came from where because apart from a few different colours, everyone chose to dress in the trademark colour of their own kingdom - blue for the Water, green for the Earth, white for the Air and red for the Fire Kingdom. Since most of them wore some kind of blue, you assumed that quite a lot of relatives of Prince Donghyun showed up, and judging by the older boy by his side, you guessed that his brother also came back from the trade talks in time for the celebration.

The King started his toast with a historical lesson on the Water Kingdom which bored you to no end, so you rather chose that time to examine Prince Donghyun’s flawless outfit. What you expected from such a flawless visual, though? Sure, he would have not looked as dashing in a stable boy’s clothes as he looked right now in his light blue shirt dotted by silver pearls that resembled tiny little water drops, tucked into midnight-blue cotton pants, his shoulder-length hair partly tucked behind his ear, but he had a certain aura to him that was hard to beat.

You might have been staring at him for quite some time because he caught your eyes, and suddenly, you felt exposed. Not only because you had been quite obviously checking him out, but also because he didn’t seem smug or teasing, he seemed rather in awe, his lips slightly parting. Could it be because of your dress? He was clearly looking at you, so it couldn’t be because of someone else, and yet… oh that traitor heart of yours betrayed you again.

“Am I interrupting something?” Sungho mumbled quietly, so only you could hear him, but even his hushed voice was enough to turn your cheeks ruby-red.

“What are you talking about?” You turned to him, trying your best to put on an act, but your brother knew you well enough, he knew that you were lying.

“You seemed to have a moment there with Prince Donghyun, and I suddenly felt like an intruder. Come to think of, yesterday evening, you also left with him, leaving me behind, which implies that despite the fact that you claim that you want to change his mind, you have also fallen-” He started up on a whole monologue, and you had never been more thankful in your whole life that the crowd cheered and clapped, so their loud voices covered up what he was saying.

“Oh yey, it’s finally over!” You clapped enthusiastically with the crowd when the King finally ended his speech, and people started dissolving from the middle of the ball room. Sungho would have probably continued teasing you if it had not been for Prince Donghyun walking right up to the two of you because then, he shut his mouth, but his eyes were telling a different tale.

“May I have this dance?” The prince inquired as he motioned towards the people who started dancing in pairs not far from you which made you realise that you and Sungho just happened to stay at the exact middle of the ball room. Which was awkward in itself, but the way your brother bit down on his lower lip to prevent himself from saying anything made it even more awkward.

You felt the need to clear your throat before you answered.

“Only if you’re better than you were at 15.”

Prince Donghyun let out a joyous laughter hearing your proclamation, probably remembering that memorable dance from years ago all too well.

“I can assure you that I’m way better than I was at 15. I’ve taken dance lessons since,” he claimed proudly, puffing his chest out, and Sungho chose this moment to leave you two behind, stating that he was not in the mood for dancing, so you two go ahead. You tried to sear holes into his back while he was leaving you two behind, but to no avail. He didn’t even look back.

“Sure. Let’s see how much you improved. But if you step on my foot, I will step on yours too, and trust me, you don’t want to encounter these high heels closely,” you threatened half-jokingly as you turned back to Prince Donghyun, but he merely laughed off your warning. He seemed pretty confident in himself, so you wanted to give this a chance, and indeed, he did the right thing by immediately extending his hand to you, so you could reach for it. Then, he escorted you further into the dance floor, expertly manoeuvring around already dancing couples.

If the beginning wasn’t enough to convince you, the rest of the dance sure was. The boy knew what he was doing, and he did it confidently. You could tell that he had taken those dance lessons seriously because there was only slight hesitation in his movements when he first touched you - your hand, your back and your waist -, afterwards, he overcame his coyness, and continued on like nothing happened.

He held himself like a prince, a delicate prince, and you were bewitched by the twinkles in his chestnut-brown eyes, as if stars were truly dancing in them, he was glowing, his endeared smile crowning his look. He held you so steady that you knew, you could tell that if you were to fall down, he would be able to catch you, and you had never felt so taken care of during a dance. It wasn’t about him showing off - despite how he introduced his dance skills -, it was about elevating your dance experience to something you had never had before.

“I’ve told you I got better,” he stated matter-of-factly after swirling you around, and when he closed the distance next, you found yourself mumbling something along the lines of:

“Yes, I can tell.”

“Excuse me, I couldn’t catch that. Could you say that again?” Prince Donghyun teased you, flashing an all too boyish grin, and you rolled your eyes, not believing his antics. Fine, two can play this game, you thought, before you leaned closer and tiptoed on your heels, so that you could be at eye-level with him.

“You can really dance like a man now, Prince Donghyun,” you whispered into his ears, and when you leaned back, you could see a pinkish hue colouring not only his cheeks but also his ears. You got him flustered, and you called that a win.

The song the musicians were playing came to an end, so you let go of his shoulders, and sank back to your heels. The boy was so dazed that he didn’t let go of you for a few more seconds, only when you thanked him for the dance and wished him a happy birthday. You knew that other girls would be lining up to dance with him or other royalty to have a word with him since it was his birthday celebration, so you let him enjoy his day, and got lost in the crowd of royalty.

You ended up having a talk with a princess from the Earth Kingdom, then two of Prince Donghyun’s cousins - Prince Jaehyun and Prince Woonhak - who chirped your ears off about how excited they were to meet you, and shared embarrassing stories about their cousin without flinching an eye. You were sure that it was a way to show you that Prince Donghyun was more than meets the eye, but you got the most surprised when they claimed that the prince had been harbouring feelings for you ever since that dance all those years ago, and he had not stopped talking about wanting to meet you again.

“Why would he do that? I reprimanded him for dancing so poorly,” you pointed out matter-of-factly, but that just fuelled the boys’ chattering even more.

“Oh yes, he did say something about loving the fact that you dared to put him in his place.”

“And that you weren’t afraid to speak your mind since most royalty wouldn’t do so,” Woonhak added to Jaehyun’s answer, and their words just made you wonder even more how much say Prince Donghyun had in this wedding proposal. It should have definitely gone through his father, which made you question why he had even agreed to it if you could not appease him at all, but was the choice ultimately the prince’s? Or did he have as much say in it as you did?

You were about to ask the cousins about this matter when the King announced that it was time to slice the five-tier cake, but he wanted to say a few words before. The princes beside you got all too pumped up at the mention of dessert, and excused themselves to get closer to the cake, so they could be one of the first ones to have their share.

“I would like to start by saying that we are very grateful to have all of you here to celebrate the birthday of our younger son,” the King started with his best neutral smile as he gave Prince Donghyun a side-eye who tried hard to appear more gentle than his father. You could feel from the moment you were here that their relationship was quite strained, but what his father said next just went beyond anything you could expect.

“But we have more to celebrate today, and I would like to hereby announce that our first-born, Prince Donghee, is going to marry Princess Dayoung from the Air Kingdom. Our son has just returned from finishing up on the marriage talks, and the wedding will take place in two months’ time.”

The claps came on quietly at first, then they appeared thunderous in the vast dining room, echoing back from the walls in a mocking tone while Prince Donghyun tried his best not to seem affected. You could tell that his small smile that didn’t reach his ears was anything but joyful, and he clapped like he was a mere shadow of himself. His father didn’t seem to take note of it as he asked Prince Donghee - the older brother you had seen by his side when they had started the celebration - to step forward and say a few words as well. It was all too perfect, all too practised, you felt sick to your stomach as you watched the scene unfold in front of your eyes.

“Marriage talks are underway with princesses for our second-born as well, but it looks like we have to put them on hold to prepare for the wedding day,” the King concluded after Prince Donghee was finished with his own speech, the room filled with roaring cheers once more.

You should have felt relieved that your possible marriage with Prince Donghyun was put on hold, and you should have felt a bit enraged that there were other princesses in question since they had not told you that you had competition. It shouldn’t have mattered, really, but you didn’t like the way the King was playing this game, and you felt anything but triumphant over the news. The prince seemed gutted, to say the least, and the way his eyes were searching for yours told you that he hoped that you wouldn’t take his father’s words the wrong way.

No wonder you didn’t feel like having a slice from the cake when they finished their speeches, and when you saw Prince Donghyun quietly walking away from the crowd, you decided to go after him. You met your brother in the meantime, and told him that you would be back. You didn’t know where you were going, and for a moment, you thought that you lost sight of Prince Donghyun, only to find him leaving through the garden, heading towards the lighthouse.

You tried to catch up to him, but he was a few metres ahead, and didn’t seem to notice you following him. However, when you stepped onto the dock, and realised yet again that there were no railings in sight, you came to a halt.

“Prince Donghyun!” You shouted after him, trying to gain his attention. He immediately turned around, his eyes widening in surprise when he caught sight of you standing still at the very end of the wharf.

“Princess, what are you doing here?” He inquired, his tone neutral, as he stood there, standing still a few metres ahead of you. You felt like there was a distance between you two both physically and metaphorically, and to hell to all of your plans of changing his mind, you would feel awful if you didn’t check on him after how he had checked on you last time following the King’s derogatory remarks.

“I wanted to see if you’re okay,” you blurted out, surprising yourself with how confident you sounded, but how couldn’t you? The prince in front of you never looked more vulnerable, more humane and more in need of a heart-to-heart talk - a mere 20-year-old boy who was hurt, and everyone decided to turn a blind eye to him and his feelings. The way his eyes were full of sorrowful stars instead of the joyful ones you usually saw swimming in them, and the way his lips quivered, full of emotion, but they looked as if they had never learned how to curl into a smile clenched your heart, not just a little.

“I’m not sure this is the right time to talk,” he dismissed your confession, the look on his face betraying his own words, because he looked like he wanted to talk, he just didn’t want to admit it out loud. He was ready to walk away from you when you finally broke from your frozen state, and took a step closer to him.

Your heart was in your throat as you took one step after another, focusing on the prince’s frame instead of the obvious lack of railings by the sides. You pursed your lips in concentration, remembering all those etiquette classes when you had learned how to walk in a straight line. Yet now, your steps were wobbly, your high heels clicking on the wood underneath your feet, and your long skirt didn’t help either.

However, when Prince Donghyun heard that you were indeed walking after him, he turned around, and started walking towards you. It crossed your mind for a moment that maybe he would walk by you, so that you wouldn’t come after him, and when he halted beside you, you held in your breath nervously, more nervous than you had ever been around him before.

“Why did you start walking after me? It’s dangerous,” he pointed at your dress, but there was no malice in his voice. Instead, he sounded as gentle as if he had been talking to a child. For a moment, you couldn’t find your voice, and when you did, you were all just a jumble of words. Gosh, this boy…

“I am… I just… I thought…” You started, inwardly cursing yourself for ever putting yourself in this situation. You hated nothing more than embarrassing yourself, and he knew that, he knew that all too well.

“I’ve never thought I would make you speechless,” he mused out loud, the side of his lips curling upwards, and you felt the need to punch him in his chest for teasing you like that. You were ready to do just that, raising your left hand, but he reached out for it instead, and laced his arm with yours, as casually as if it had been the hundredth time he did that.

Now you were actually speechless, blinking up at the boy whose side profile was enough to tell you that he was feeling rather shy himself, both his cheeks and ears were turning red after his gesture. He guided you towards the other end though, holding your arm safe and steady, as you were walking side by side towards the lighthouse.

May it be because you were more awestruck by Prince Donghyun’s gesture than your own fear of the open water around you, but you were at the other end before you knew it, and you didn’t even think about falling into the water, not even once. Or may it be because he was holding you like he wanted to protect you from all the bad in the world, but there was gentleness in his grip, something that didn’t go unnoticed by you (and that traitor heart of yours).

“I’m sorry about what my father said. It’s true that he has been in talks with other kingdoms regarding marriage proposals, but I haven’t been in talks with anyone other than you. I’ve wanted to tell you sooner, I just-”

“I know, I could tell,” you cut the prince off before he could feel even more guilty about something that wasn’t in his control.

“Really?”

“Yes,” you nodded seeing his bewildered expression. Well, you couldn’t blame him since you definitely looked like you wanted to find anything you could criticise about him or his kingdom the day before, but this - standing beside the lighthouse with his arm around yours, watching the setting sun on the horizon - was different. “And I know we don’t always have a say in what we want when it comes to the matters of our own kingdom. Plus, marriage is a serious topic, and it’s understandable that your father looked at other options, too,” you added matter-of-factly, but you could feel a little bit of a lump in your throat.

Prince Donghyun didn’t say anything for some time, so you hoped that you didn’t cross any boundaries. You could feel him tense a bit beside you, and since you didn’t know why, you let go of his arm, so he could have his own space if he wanted. He looked at your retrieving arm for a few seconds before he spoke up again.

“I’m not sure how to word this, but I feel like my father… he doesn’t love me the way he loves my brother,” he confessed, raw and vulnerable. He was staring far ahead, but you could tell from the way he was clenching his jaw that even this was hard for him without looking at you. “I don’t know why because I’ve tried everything my brother can do, and still… I always get that I’m only good for my looks, and I should marry someone who could bring more to our kingdom.”

You felt your heart drop at his confession because it resonated with you so much, especially the last sentence. Even though you weren’t pitted against each other with Sungho, you were also told by distant relatives and royalty from other kingdoms that you were so beautiful, but nothing else, and that you should marry someone who could make you someone. As if you weren’t already someone just by being born into your family. You weren’t perfect, but you tried to learn how not to let it get to you since as a princess, you had to deal with such comments all the time.

On the other hand, you would have never thought that Prince Donghyun might be going through the same thing because everyone had been gushing about him, and not just about his looks. Yet, you could never know what goes on in a palace unless you live there yourself, so you would never have the heart to question his words. You could tell that he was telling the truth.

“I know it might sound naive given that we are royalty, but the only person you should be good enough for is yourself. Trust me, you will feel a lot lighter if you know that you live your life for yourself, not somebody else,” you shared honestly, looking at him, and that’s the moment he turned his head to look at you, too.

When your eyes met, you thought that he would ask you about your experience, and you would have told him. Something in you shifted since last night, and you weren’t trying to undermine his efforts and see him in a bad light anymore. In fact, what all that bravado showed you was that he still accepted you, and he was willing to put up with your behaviour no matter what.

However, instead of asking about your side - though you had a feeling he understood you even without saying it out loud -, he said the next few words that truly put everything in a whole new light:

“But I want to be good enough for you, too.”

Sunset reflecting in his eyes, painting his locks in shades of chestnut-brown and statice-purple, his tall frame towering over you as if he wanted to shelter you from the outside world, your heart skipped a few beats before it picked up its pace, and started thumping against your ribcage, electrifying your whole body from head to toe. Your throat was dry, your words non-existent, and you unknowingly took a few steps backwards, as if to detach yourself from this perfect moment… only to step on the insides of your two-layered skirt, and fall - very far from elegant - into the cold water.

Your body was in survival mode immediately, your arms flailing around wildly as you tried to keep yourself up in the water. Your lungs were on fire, and despite the fact that you tried to pacify your breathing, telling yourself that you would be okay, your brain didn’t listen to you, and made up worse and worse scenarios of you drowning there. Even when firm arms took hold of you, all you could think about was that there was no air, no air, no air… drowning, drowning, drowning…

It could have been mere seconds, you couldn’t tell, before you got to the shore, and Prince Donghyun helped you push yourself upwards, so you could cough up the water. It felt so violent, your lungs and your throat seemed to battle each other while your eyes were on fire due to the salty water, and your whole body was shivering in your cold, damp clothes. In the meantime, you could subtly feel his gentle pats on your back that turned to circles when your coughs easened up, and your breathing wasn’t stridulous anymore.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now. It’s okay. I’m here,” Prince Donghyun said as a mantra while you were trying to pull yourself together. Yet, the moment you felt your shock fading away, you found yourself tearing up, your body starting to shake with the sobs.

Prince Donghyun looked alarmed for a moment, not knowing what to do with you, but you didn’t let him decide. You threw your arms around his equally wet body, and sobbed into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you… for saving me,” you mumbled between ragged breaths, and an intense wave of sobbing came over you when you said the words out loud. You could have died, you could have died just a few minutes ago, and he had jumped in to save you. He could have teased you that the water wasn’t that deep or he could have forgotten that you had told him that you couldn’t swim, and let you drown there, but he had jumped in without hesitation, and pulled you to shore so swiftly, you wondered if he had used some kind of magic just now. For you.

Prince Donghyun didn’t say a word, he let you cry as much as you wanted, while he was holding you safe and sound, while you were holding onto him.

A whirlwind of events followed your unfortunate fall. As soon as you entered the palace, the prince called for servants to help you undress, bathe and help you get warm, and he also notified someone to send a royal medic over to your suite after everything else was taken care of. You were trying to say that he himself should do the same, but he looked more worried about you than his own wet clothes and dripping locks, and you didn’t find the right words to say, still a bit under the influence of the past events.

You followed what the servants asked you to, and you liked that you were being told what to do for a change because it helped you to focus on something else other than the near-death experience. Whenever your mind was trying to replay the scene from when you had been in the water, you pulled yourself back to reality, holding onto the bathtub or the side of your fresh gown a bit more tightly, so as to keep you grounded. It was difficult at first, but the more you practised it, the easier it became, and when the servants tucked you into bed, you felt like you were close to being okay again. The medic also stated that you didn’t have a fever, there was no sign of a creeping illness, your heart probably beat faster than usual due to the shock, and prescribed some calming herbal tea.

Sungho visited you as soon as he was allowed to, and of course, he came with all those “I should have been there for you” monologues, the ones you quickly dismissed because you could take care of yourself, you didn’t need his supervision all the time, but mostly because it was your fault that you fell (and your dress’), no one else could be blamed for it. You also asked him not to blame Prince Donghyun, but he seemed more offended by the fact that you dared to assume that he would hold the prince accountable than by the way you were so quick to take the prince’s side.

“How could I blame him? He saved you, after all,” he declared simply, and let out a long sigh after his words. It was rare that you saw him so concerned, you usually didn’t give him any reason to worry about you, so it warmed your heart yet again just how much he cared under that otherwise teasing brother surface.

“I’m sorry for making you worried.”

“If you’re really sorry, you should get better soon, and listen to the medic,” he reprimanded you as if you had been a child, and maybe he thought the same because he let out a deep laughter afterwards. “Huh, I sound like a real big brother, don’t I?”

“You do, and it kind of scares me a bit. When did you grow up?” You mused out loud playfully, and the effect was immediate. The boy’s furrowed eyebrows smoothed out, and his features easened, softened, his shoulders sagging at ease. He crouched down to toss an unruly lock to the side that was falling into your eyes, and patted your head.

“I remember I did the same when you fell into that pond on our trip to the meadows,” he reminiscenced with a soft smile, and you didn’t need to be told twice what he meant by it. You remembered that day as if it had been yesterday. You had been 12 at the time, and your family had already known that you didn’t know how to swim, so it had been Sungho who had jumped after you. He was already an excellent swimmer, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been shaken by that experience. You remembered how he had stayed by your bedside for the whole night afterwards, afraid that nightmares would haunt you.

“Will you stay by my side for the night this time, too?” You elevated an eyebrow challengingly, and he let out a bewildered huff in relief.

“Do you think I don’t know that you wouldn’t let me?”

“Fair point,” you agreed wholeheartedly, but let him pat your head a few more times before there was a knock on the door. You both turned towards the visitor when he opened the door, and when it turned out to be Prince Donghyun, Sungho gave you a knowing look before telling the boy that he should come in, he was about to leave anyway. It didn’t slip your attention that on his way out, he squeezed the younger prince’s shoulder in an affectionate manner, and even though you didn’t see it from that angle, you had a feeling that he said thank you to the prince, and that’s why he seemed so coy all of a sudden.

His hair was extremely fluffy (now that it was freshly washed like yours), the locks curling elegantly around his ears and neck like soft little tendrils, his doe eyes shining in the dim lights of the room, all bright and fond. He was wearing more casual attire than at the party, so you deemed that him jumping into the water after you meant that he had no desire to go back to his birthday celebration that was soon coming to its end either way.

You felt awfully exposed with your hair still wet at the ends, lack of concealing touches and make-up on your face, and being tucked into bed in a nightgown was not at all how you wanted Prince Donghyun to see you, but he didn’t seem fazed by your appearance. Nor did he make a comment on it when you beckoned him closer, and he could see for himself that you were fine.

You wouldn’t admit it for the world, but it warmed your heart how worried he was, and when it was the fifth time you had to reassure him that you were fine, you had a feeling that it was more out of guilt than anything else, hence, you felt the need to emphasise:

“It wasn’t your fault that I fell into the water, so don’t be sorry. What’s more, you saved my life, so I couldn’t be more thankful for you,” you admitted genuinely, and the blush that crept onto his cheeks was adorable. You had to bite down on your tongue to hold yourself back from smiling at his shy state.

“Still, I’m sorry that you had to experience it.”

“It wasn’t the first time, actually,” you justified, and continued telling him about that time at the pond Sungho had just talked about, and one time when one of the royal teachers had tried to teach you how to swim, but you had nearly drowned. It hadn’t been a super important requirement for a princess to learn how to swim, but since you travelled by ships to both the Air Kingdom and the Earth Kingdom, it was a weakness that possible enemies could take advantage of if things went south. So they had tried to teach you, but to no avail. Your panic always kicked in as soon as water surrounded you.

The prince stayed quiet, and you couldn’t tell whether it was because he didn’t know if he was allowed to ask questions, or he didn’t have any. On the other hand, you had questions, so you inquired if he knew how to create bubbles underwater, and his eyes immediately lit up when he started talking about his power. He did know how to create bubbles both outside of water and underwater, so he could breathe in there without oxygen, and he shared that sometimes he used these bubbles to watch the fish and crabs underwater because he had always been fascinated by them.

His whole demeanour changed when he was talking about the sea and the creatures living there, sharing both stories of his childhood days when he had been collecting shells alongside the shore, and interesting facts about sea life that he read books on. At one point, he was so into talking about his favourite type of fish that he didn’t even notice a servant coming into your room and placing some food and another mug of tea on your bedside table. He only realised that the lady was in the room when she pushed a chair beside your bed, so he could sit down on it while talking. Then, he giggled, a heartwarming mixture of excited and embarrassed, and thanked her for the gesture.

“May I?” He asked before he would have sat down on the chair, and you nodded immediately. It’s not like you weren’t the visitor here, but you appreciated the gesture.

The prince was definitely interrupted because now he didn’t know where to continue or where to start, and he just looked around, his eyes darting between different parts of the room until they settled on the steaming bowl of food and the mug of tea on your bedside table.

“Oh, you should have it while it’s still hot,” he suggested as he pointed at the steaming bowl. “Since there was mostly heavy food for the celebration, I’ve asked a chef to prepare something more nutritious to prevent you from coming down with something,” he explained as he averted his eyes from the food to you.

You blinked rapidly at him, your suspicion kicking in, but then you remembered what he had said just a few hours before:

“But I want to be good enough for you, too.”

And it all made sense now. Not just his kind actions, going above and beyond to make sure that your stay at the palace was comfortable from offering to help with anything to checking up on you the first night you had that awful dinner with his parents, but also the way he was different to you than with other girls. Even if you wanted to deny it, you could see that the prince didn’t dance with anyone else at his birthday party other than you, and Prince Woonhak and Prince Jaehyun also said that he had been harbouring feelings for you, and now it made sense. He had even learned how to dance properly because of you, and he had created a water bubble, so you could cross the wharf with you.

“What’s wrong?” Prince Donghyun’s concerned voice brought you back to the here and now, and you just shook your head with a smile. You weren’t sure that you could ever look at him the same way after knowing that he liked you.

“Nothing. I’m just thankful,” you admitted, and reached for the bowl of steaming soup. You could feel the boy’s eyes on you when you took the first spoonful of the soup, but it was delightful, and when the prince asked about it, you said so. He seemed very happy to know that you enjoyed it, and went over what was in the soup, or at least, what he remembered the chef telling him.

“So…” You cleared your throat after the first few bites, feeling silly for wanting to bring up the topic, but also feeling silly for not wanting to bring it up. In the end, you thought better of it, and just blurted it out. “Did you have a say in the wedding proposal you sent me?”

“Yours was the only one I had a say in. My father sent out two inquiry letters to other kingdoms, and he was the one who chose the possible brides in those cases,” he answered immediately, and you saw heat returning to his cheeks when it dawned on him that he basically confessed that he was the one who had chosen you.

“Oh,” you found yourself saying, but the boy’s expression was quizzical upon your reaction.

“Oh? Oh as in ‘oh, I’m so disappointed’, or oh as in ‘oh, I didn’t expect that’ or… ‘oh, I’m so happy to hear that’?” He listed out the options, and furrowed his eyebrows, totally clueless. It was a cute look on him, you had to admit, especially in comparison to his usual confidence demeanour.

“Oh as in ‘oh, I didn’t expect that’, but it makes me feel kind of… good?”

The moment the last word rolled off your tongue, you knew that you were done for. Yet, the boy’s smug smile just confirmed that he wouldn’t let you live down afterwards, so you braced yourself for his teasing. Instead, his proud smile softened, his big doe eyes turning to little crescents as he watched you eat, and didn’t say a word. You found yourself smiling back at him, letting the silence embrace you, and it was so crazy that a day before, you would have done everything to change his mind about you, and now, you just admitted that you were glad that he was the one who had chosen you. Now, you had a better idea why he would have done so, and it made you feel fizzy and warm and a bit enchanted.

You were the only guests who stayed for two nights, but it was the Water Kingdom’s request, so nobody could blame you for it. However, staying for the night after having a heart-to-heart conversation with Prince Donghyun in your room felt odd, as if it was an invitation for something more even though you were perfectly aware of the fact that the King of the Water Kingdom would most probably do anything in his power to choose someone over you when it came to his second-born son’s marriage. The fact that the prince had been the one to choose you as a potential bride - and you had been the only one he had a say in - made you feel somewhat special, but it also made you feel slightly competitive.

It was laughable, really. You had come here to destroy Prince Donghyun’s plans to marry you, and now, you wanted to destroy his father’s plans to outrule you. You weren’t a petty loser, you knew how to lose, but still… with the way the prince cared for you and went above and beyond to assist you and keep you company during these days made you feel almost compelled to make a better impression on his parents. Not to mention the fact that he had also saved you from drowning.

However, nothing was certain for now, especially not with Prince Donghee’s upcoming marriage that would take the spotlight either way, so you didn’t want to pry about the matter on the day of your departure. On the other hand, you managed to bump into Prince Woonhak and Prince Jaehyun - also having stayed for the night after they had eaten through the whole menu for the celebration - when you left your suite, and they insisted that they wanted you to come back again.

“That isn’t my choice to make, I’m afraid,” you broke it down to them with a friendly smile, and Prince Woonhak pouted as if he would never ever see you again. You had seemed to make a good impression on them, and it warmed your heart since you had only had one conversation. Though that was a very important conversation given that they had spilled the beans on Prince Donghyun having a crush on you for years.

“You should invite us to your birthday celebration then. When is it?” Prince Jaehyun suggested with a wide grin, and when you let them know about the date and that you would keep his words in mind before organising it, he looked like an overzealous kid, all smiles and bright eyes. Gosh, they were so cute, it made you miss your ever-so-bright little sister even more.

“We’re rooting for you two, you know,” Woonhak beamed, not letting silence fall over the three of you, his unruly locks falling into his eyes.

“For who?”

“You and Donghyun. It’s obvious that you like him, too,” he continued with a smug grin, and you were about to open your mouth to decline him, but you were unable to form words. That just seemed to confirm everything in their eyes because their smirks grew even wider, their eyes even brighter.

Thankfully, you were interrupted by a servant who notified you that your carriage was ready, so after a few bubbly words and wishes from the two boys, you were guided outside. Sungho was already there, talking to the Queen of the Water Kingdom by the carriage while you caught sight of both Prince Donghee and Prince Donghyun bidding farewell to other guests. When you halted beside your brother, the Queen inquired if you had a good night’s sleep, and apologised for the inconvenience the day before. You reassured her that you weren’t inconvenienced, you were rather grateful for Prince Donghyun’s assistance, and she smiled a genuine smile, one that made your erratic thoughts calm down a little bit. The King might have been hostile towards you, but the Queen had never been openly critical of you, so you hoped that it could stay that way.

“Excuse me, I have to bid farewell to the other guests,” the woman announced after having a few words with you and Sungho, then, she reached out to squeeze your hands. The gesture took you by surprise, but only in a positive way. “Please, make sure to visit us again. Donghyun might not say it out loud, but I could see how happy your presence made him,” she shared with a secretive smile, and despite your bewilderment, you reciprocated it, squeezing her hands once before she let go.

“With pleasure, Your Majesty,” you bowed respectfully as both an answer and both a farewell. You watched her leave before turning back to your brother who had that amused half-smile playing on his lips that told you that he really wanted to call you out on something, but he tried to hold it in. Sighing, you raised an eyebrow in question.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing, really. I’m just amused by the fact that you came here, set on not wanting to come here ever again in your whole entire life, and now, you just got invited again,” he blabbered as if his words weren’t teasing at all, but you didn’t want to admit anything, so you merely pointed out, trying to keep your voice as confident as possible:

“She meant ‘us’, not just me.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Your Water Prince is likely walking towards us because he also wants to meet me again,” Sungho gestured towards Prince Donghyun who was indeed coming up to you, elegance radiating off him while he was taking one step after another. It was unfair how vividly he stood out, and how perfectly the morning sunlight bathed him in its glory, drawing a halo around his chestnut-brown hair. It was also unfair how much your heartbeat picked up its speed when he halted beside your brother, and how much you had to try to sniffle a smile when your eyes landed on his ethereal features.

“I truly hope you enjoyed your stay with us,” he started politely, probably as a matter of courtesy, and he was about to continue when Sungho spoke up.

“Oh, I certainly enjoyed my stay,” he said as he gave you a not at all subtle side glance, and you felt the need to roll your eyes at his antics. Gosh, did he have to call you out like that?

“Thank you again for the invitation, Prince Donghyun,” you spoke up as if nothing happened, and the boy beamed, a smile blooming on his lips at your words. Unbeknownst to you, your lips also curled upwards. Staring at him felt both so wrong and so right at the same time, and seconds passed by with the cacophony of the surrounding noises fading into the background.

At least, until your brother decided to clear his throat and announce that he would let you two proceed while he would check on the insides of the carriage. A lame excuse, you could tell, but you appreciated his gesture because while you wouldn’t do anything inappropriate with the prince that he should not be a witness of, you felt like you could say a proper goodbye to the prince if it was just the two of you.

“I hope you also enjoyed your stay despite my father’s words on the first day,” Prince Donghyun mused out loud, his eyes searching for yours, something akin to concern flashing across them. You bobbed your head, reassuring him that you were doing better than on that first day.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he noted, letting a small smile invade his lips as he looked down at his intertwined fingers for a few seconds. You had never really mastered the art of saying goodbye to someone, let alone someone like him… someone who made you feel so many things in such a short span of time.

Maybe he was the same for the silence stretched a bit too long, but before you could get discouraged again, you spoke up.

“Thank you for everything. My stay was more enjoyable… thanks to you,” you blurted out, your voice cracking a bit by the end. The prince looked up right in that moment, and his cheeks flushed, tinting his pale skin in the shade of cherry blossom-pink. You could also feel your cheeks heating up, and it was so unlike you that you felt like running away and throwing yourself into the carriage right away.

“Thank you so much for coming, and if it’s up to me, it won’t be the last time we see each other. If you let me, of course…”

The prince let his words trail off by the end, curious and contemplative, while his eyes never left yours. You felt another rush of heat going through your body at the implication behind his words, but even if you wanted to deny it, even if you didn’t, there was only one right answer.

“I’d love to see you again,” you confessed feebly, but in the next moment, you pointed a finger at him warningly to mask up your anxiety. “But only if you keep practising your dancing.”

Laughter bubbled up the prince’s throat - airy and carefree - before he promised you that he would keep practising, so that he could continue dancing like a man. Then, he flashed one of those boyish grins of his that made princesses’ knees go weak, and now you kind of understood why that was the case.

“See you again, Prince Donghyun!”

“See you soon, Princess!” He bid his farewell when the coachman came up to the two of you, letting you know that you could leave whenever you wanted to. You smiled back at the waving prince as you made your way to the carriage, and the coachman helped you inside.

Once you took a seat and looked up at your brother who was sitting in front of you, you warned him:

“Not a word, Sungho.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“That’s your luck,” you stated playfully before looking out of the window and watching Prince Donghyun’s waving figure getting smaller and smaller until he was out of sight.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this story of mine! Let me know what you think!

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for BOYNEXTDOOR or for other artists, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Hope you have a lovely day/night! Take care! ❤️

[yuujispinkhair]

Wildest Dreams

You're supposed to write an article about a charity event at The Shrine, the casino of the Itadori family, but soon get swept away by the Yakuza Prince himself. It's probably a bad idea to get close to a dangerous man like him, but he's so tall and handsome as hell. Why not allow yourself to live your wildest dream, at least for one night? -> This is part of my Blog Anniversary Event (closed). @cometcoffee103 requested the song Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift for Yakuza!Yuuji.

Pairing: Yakuza Prince!Yuuji x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut, Yakuza AU Word Count: 2k Warnings: 18+, a bit of smut (not very explicit), taking pictures during sex, mentions of alcohol, mentions of organized crime. This story is set in the same universe as my Yakuza AU, but you don't have to read that to understand this story. All you need to know is that Yuuji is the younger brother of the Yakuza King Sukuna, and this version of Yuuji is a bit of a playboy, but in a very sweet and charming way ;) All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

The casino is bustling with people, all of them dressed to the nines, including you. But you feel out of place here, despite the nice dress you are wearing and the red lipstick you put on. Everyone around you is someone important, someone insanely rich or influential, politicians, actors, businessmen. And Yakuza.

You gulp hard. Your hand trembles a little as you bring your wine glass to your lips to take a small sip. You shouldn't even be here. You usually only write short lifestyle articles for your magazine. It was your boss' job to attend the charity event in The Shrine, the biggest casino in the whole city, the casino of the Itadori family, one of the most powerful Yakuza clans in the country.

But two hours ago, you received that fateful message: "Put on your nicest dress and hurry to The Shrine. I'm at the hospital and can't make it. I need you to write the article about the charity event. And try to add something personal about the Itadori brothers! That will get our readers hooked."

And so you are standing here, clutching your wine glass while trying to blend in with the millionaires around you, feeling the hairs on your arms stand up as you wonder how many of them are criminals.

You don't even see him coming until he is right in front of you, moving gracefully like a tiger. A broad smile lifts his lips, and golden eyes meet yours.

"Hey, don't you like the wine? Should I get you another drink?"

You take in a sharp breath. You know the man in front of you. Of course you do. 

Itadori Yuuji, with his pink hair and golden eyes. Tall and muscular in his tailored black suit with a pink dress shirt and black tie. Looking just as rich as he truly is with the diamonds sparkling in his ears and the gold rings on every finger. But the scars on his handsome face also tell a story about the other life he is living. His life in Tokyo's underworld.

He is one of the people you got sent here for. The Young Tiger. The Yakuza Prince.

Your heart flutters nervously. But you force yourself to get a grip and be professional. And so you clear your throat before smiling politely at him and shaking your head,

"No, thank you. The wine is perfect, Mr Itadori."

He blinks and then throws his head back and laughs heartily.

"Ahh, please don't call me that! I am Yuuji for someone as cute as you."

Oh?

For a moment, you are caught off guard by his directness and the shameless flirting. But the Itadori charm is well-known. Both Itadori brothers are infamous for being big flirts and playboys who collect women just like they collect fast cars and expensive jewelry.

He points at the press card dangling on a chain around your neck,

"You're here to write about the charity event? How lucky that you ran into me! I can tell you everything you want to know. Come with me!"

You hastily follow him, not daring to waste this chance to get the article your boss demanded from you. And also not daring to turn down the Yakuza Prince's offer.

You spend the next fifteen minutes in a fancy VIP booth while Yuuji answers your questions for your article. Though half of the time, he is blatantly flirting with you. He isn't shy about it. Clearly, a man used to always getting what he wants. The spoiled Prince of Tokyo's underworld.

But you have to admit that his boyish charm works on you. Somehow, his loud laugh and broad sunshine smile make him seem less intimidating than his name suggests. If you didn't know who he was, you wouldn't even be nervous around him. He is so sweet somehow, making you laugh and feel more at ease at this event where you feel so out of place.

And his good looks certainly work their charm on you, too. He looks dashing in his suit, which accentuates all his firm muscles. The undercut and the pink hair on top look sexy on him. You realize that you have unconsciously scooted closer to him.

His golden eyes look thoughtfully at you, making your heart jump. 

"You don't look like you enjoy this event very much. I hate these things, too. All those boring people who try to talk business with me, and no one dares say something funny. I don't know how Sukuna is able to endure this all the time."

He sighs and rolls his pretty eyes. The eyes that then land on the low neckline of your dress. His smile grows bigger, and your breath quickens. Yuuji's large, warm hand lands on yours, giving it a squeeze.

"Hey, cutie, let's leave this boring party, ok? Let's drive out of the city, away from the crowds. We can have some fun, and you can get an exclusive interview with the Yakuza Prince! Not just boring facts about this event, but more personal things. How does that sound?"

Everything in you screams to say no. It's insane to leave with the Yakuza Prince. He might not be as dangerous as his big brother Sukuna, but he is still a powerful Yakuza who can easily kill someone, as the scars on his pretty face prove. It's crazy to imagine getting in his car and driving to an unknown place with him. It's wild to imagine being alone with him.

But somehow, you find yourself biting your lip and nodding as you lift your head to look up at his handsome face. Somehow, your heart is beating so fast that you feel dizzy. Somehow, your skin tingles with excitement. You know you want to go with him. Even though you know there is a high chance this is going to take you down, you can't bring yourself to say no.

And so the words leave your mouth,

"Ok, let's go. Let's sneak away."

Yuuji smiles his bright sunshine smile at you, just as dazzling as the diamonds sparkling in his ears and the various gold rings on his fingers. There's a cheeky glint in his golden eyes,

"I'm very good at sneaking away."

He grabs your hand and pulls you with him, striding with fast steps through his casino, and starts running when you're halfway out the door, laughing loudly, as if he is relieved too to finally leave this fancy event behind. As if he is finally free.

He leads you to his car, a red Porsche, his favorite one, as he lets you know while he holds open the door for you, so charming that you can't help but feel light-headed from all the butterflies in your stomach.

Yuuji drives like someone who knows this city belongs to him. A bit too fast, the music a bit too loud, but it's perfect the way it is. It makes your pulse flutter and your body fill with a giddiness you can't remember ever feeling before.

You leave the city behind you, making an excited tingle start under your skin and spreading through your whole body. It feels like an adventure. Exciting, bubbly. As if your wildest dreams are coming true.

Yuuji parks his car on top of a cliff, turns off the engine, and turns to you with his big sunshine smile.

"So, what are your questions for me, princess?"

You laugh softly,

"Well, my boss said I should try to add something personal about you or your brother. Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself? Not about the Yakuza Prince. Tell me about Yuuji."

He smiles and leans closer to you, his large hand cupping your cheek while his golden eyes travel slowly over your face. His thumb caresses your cheek, the gold ring on it gliding smoothly over your skin. Yuuji's voice is low, and you can hear the smile in it,

"Then let me tell you a secret. I hate all those stiff, formal events. I rather want to go clubbing or play video games with my friends. I enjoy spending time at my pachinkos and making my best friend Megumi play the arcade games against me, even though I know I suck at those games. And I like to hang out at my pizza delivery service. I don't care that it's only for ... tax-saving purposes. I love pizza! I want to adjust the recipes and make the best pizza in the whole city! That is my new passion!"

His eyes glitter excitedly while his voice drops to a softer tone, low and almost seductive,

"And I like this here. What we are doing right now. Drive out of the city and look at the sunset. I know I can see it from my penthouse, too, but it's not the same."

His words could sound arrogant, the words of someone who grew up rich and has no idea how normal life works. But he doesn't sound like that. There's an almost melancholic tone to his low voice. As if this evening with you, where he ran from his obligations and the glittering fancy party, is his wildest dream, too.

A soft smile lifts your lips, and you catch yourself leaning into his large, warm hand as you look deeply into those gorgeous golden eyes,

"Then let's stop this stupid interview and just enjoy your free evening."

His answer is a broad, boyish grin that makes your stomach flutter. You chuckle when Yuuji leaves the car and comes over to your side, opening the door for you like a gentleman and offering his hand to lead you to the fence at the end of the cliff, where you have a majestic view over the ocean and the beginning of a beautiful sunset.

But your gaze strays to the man next to you. The Yakuza Prince. Or out here, just Yuuji.

You look at him, at his side profile, hit once again by how good he looks. So tall and handsome as hell in his tailored black suit with the light pink dress shirt and black tie. More stunning than any sunset could ever be.

Yuuji turns his head, catching you staring at him, and laughs happily as he reaches out to wrap a strong arm around you and pull you in front of him, making your pulse flutter with how easily he can manhandle you.

He stands behind you, so tall and strong, his muscular arms wrapped around you, holding you safely, his body pressed against your back, warm and buff. You can feel his firm muscles and smell his sexy and expensive perfume.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his kisses on your neck.

You tilt your head back to rest against Yuuji's shoulder as you look up at him and are met with a smile even more beautiful than the sunset.

A warm, large hand cups your chin, and then soft lips capture yours in a slow, sexy kiss that makes your knees weak. Who would have thought that the Yakuza Prince would be so gentle when he kisses you for the first time?

You have no idea how long you kiss him. You get lost in the feeling of his warm lips on yours and his tongue caressing yours with those deep, sexy flicks. Your hand is tangled in his pink hair as if you don't ever want to let him go again.

The two of you only pull apart to watch the rest of the sunset, with Yuuji's arm around you as you lean against his strong body, unable to stop smiling while your pulse races and your heart hammers in your chest, your skin tingling all over from the sheer craziness and excitement of it all.

+++

"Do you want to spend the rest of the night with me?"

Your heart misses a beat at Yuuji's question. You feel dizzy when you turn around in his arms to look up at his handsome face.

The deep scars across his nose and on the side of his lips tell you about the dangerous life he leads. His title tells you about how dangerous he himself is. You know he is bad, so so bad. But you cannot bring yourself to turn him down when he smiles that big smile at you. You cannot say no to him when every fiber of you craves him, if only for one night.

And so you nod and place a hand on his broad chest, playing with his black tie as you breathe softly,

"Yes, I can't think of anything else I would rather do."

And he smiles that attractive boyish smile at you and leans down to kiss the corner of your lips,

"I will always remember this evening. The pretty sunset, with an even prettier girl. You in that dress, with your red lipstick and the sweet kisses. Please tell me you'll always remember it, too."

You nod happily before cupping his cheeks with your hands and getting on your tiptoes to kiss him again, breathless and passionate, before whispering against his lips,

"Say you'll see me again after tonight, Yuuji."

And his arms tighten around you, strong and muscular, and he nods,

"Of course I will."

You don't hesitate when he leads you back to his car and holds the door open for you. You smile when his large hand lands on your thigh on the drive back to the city, slipping under your dress to caress your inner thigh, dangerously close to your already-soaked panties, making your heart beat wildly as you grab the leather seat. 

You giggle breathlessly when he leans over and kisses you at a red light, making your head spin with the sexy flicks of his tongue before he pulls away again.

You eagerly say yes when he asks if he can accompany you to your apartment. Your dress is already halfway off by the time you manage to unlock your door in between passionate kisses.

You moan when Yuuji's large hands knead your ass and his warm lips suck on your neck. You palm the hard bulge in the Yakuza Prince's fine suit pants all too happily, gasping at how big and hot he feels. You leave a trail of clothes on your floor, leading to your bed, where you spend the best night of your life.

Ruffled sheets, the rhythmic beating of your heart in synch with the headboard banging against the wall. Yuuji's heavy body on top of you, pressing you down so deliciously into your sheets. Loud laughter, even louder moans, and dirty whispers in your ear. Kisses and lipstick marks all over his tan skin. His clothes on your bedroom floor, your hands in his pink hair. Every inch of you brimming with pleasure while you're tangled up with Yuuji's strong body all night, finding utter bliss on his sweet mouth and his gorgeous cock. Smiling when he asks you to please let him take a picture of you while you ride him.

Tomorrow morning, he will leave, get in his sportscar, drive back to his fancy penthouse, and continue to live his fast life as the Prince of Tokyo's underworld. You don't know if this will only be one night and you'll never stand before him in person again after this. But you know you both will always remember this night.

And you will see him again, even if it's just in your wildest dreams.

AAAHHHHH thank you so much for this prompt, babe!!! I was so happy to write for Yakuza Prince Yuuji again aaaahhh!! I am crushing so much on him all over again omgggg 💗💗💗 I NEED HIM BAD!!!

I hope you liked staring at the sunset and staring at sexy Yuuji ;) Please let me know what you think!

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Ask, and You Shall Receive

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of female masturbation, slight coercion and degradation, smut. Word count: ~2k

Summary: Daemon's maidservant has been quietly lusting after him for three months, waiting for him to make the first move. Based on this request.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications for updates of when I post fics. Community labels are for cops. Thank you to my boobear @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for giving this her stamp of approving, and beta'ing what my antibiotic addled mind was unable to.

When she’d first been assigned the duty of serving as Prince Daemon Targaryen’s maidservant, a rush of excitement had run hotly through her veins.

There were many names that the King’s younger brother went by, but the one that intrigued her most was Lord Flea Bottom, a moniker earned for how often he was seen in that particular part of the capital. It was no secret that the Rogue Prince enjoyed the company of whores; he frequented all of the pleasure houses within the Street of Silk, despite his marriage to Lady Rhea Royce, and no matter how much nobles and smallfolk alike enjoyed gossiping about his exploits, he was undeterred from this salacious behaviour. Daemon was not a man who concerned himself with the opinions or approval of others.

She had lusted after the Prince from afar for as long as she’d worked at the Keep, and ordinarily she’d never dream that someone of such high standing would give her the slightest bit of attention - she was a lowborn servant, a nobody - yet learning he frequented brothels gave her a glimmer of hope that he might deign to give her the attention she so desperately craved from him. A maidservant was certainly a step up from a common whore, and at the very least he would not have to part with coin in exchange for her company.

Much to her disappointment, it has been three months since she began attending to Daemon and he has not so much as spared a glance her way. He returns each evening from his duties as Commander of the City Watch, and she draws him a bath before helping him from his gold cloak and armour.

She allows herself the briefest gaze of admiration before averting her eyes, feeling her skin grow heated whenever he stands bare before her, tall, broad and godlike. He is the very image of power itself, surely hand-carved by the Seven.

When he reclines in the tub full of steamy water, her eyes roam appreciatively over the breadth of his chest and shoulders as she drags the dampened wash cloth across them, down the length of his arms and the span of his large hands.

The silken strands of his silver hair are impossibly soft against her fingers as she runs them through it, washing away the dirt of the city. The rumble of contentment that vibrates in his throat as her fingertips work against his scalp has desire pooling between her legs. She wonders what else she could do to elicit those sounds from him. Alas, no matter how deftly she washes his body and attends to his needs, he has never touched her. Though he is utterly relaxed in her presence, it seems to be in spite of it rather than because of it. 

This frustrates her. She goes to bed each night pent up, her hand slipping between her legs and bringing herself to release, imagining what it would feel like to have his dampened body move against her own.

There is fire in his eyes when he returns to his quarters that evening, his brow furrowed in long spent anger, his jaw set in a way that indicates he is in no mood to talk. The darkened maroon splatters on his breastplate are doubtless dried blood, and not his own.

She longs to ask what has happened, but knows better. It is not her place to question a Prince. She has heard talk of Daemon putting tougher measures in place to deal with the rapists of King’s Landing, a recent development. She suspects that this is likely the cause of his bloodied ire tonight. Her heart swells at the thought of his chivalrous bravery. Longing to reward him for his service to the people of the city, and perhaps a last ditch attempt at gaining his attention, she decides to put extra care into his evening bath.

She ensures the water is slightly hotter than usual, scented with rose and lavender, and sets oils beside the tub, almond to use on his hair, and lemon for his body. Her final action is to strip down to just her shift, stepping out of the dress she wears that identifies her as serving staff of the Red Keep and shedding her smallclothes. She wants him to see her. If he takes offence or queries it, she reasons that she will simply apologise and say that the warmth of his bath was making her too hot. However, somehow she doubts he will be offended.

As she steps towards him to begin helping with the removal of his armour, she notices his eyes drift over her body. Covered only by a thin layer of cotton, her silhouette is illuminated through the material by the soft light of the candles that burn throughout the chamber. He says nothing, standing in silence and allowing her to disrobe him. She places each heavy piece carefully to one side, as always, though this time her hands shake with the effort.

Sweat prickles the back of her neck as he is revealed to her, her mouth running dry at the sight of him, thick thighs slightly parted as he stands with his feet planted. She catches his eye as she glances upwards and her breath sticks in her throat. He is watching her ogle him. The faintest twitch of his brow is his only reaction. She cannot tell if it is amusement or annoyance.

He lets out a low hum of appreciation as he steps into the tub, clearly noticing the difference in both scent and temperature. A small smile of pride tugs at her lips as she steps behind him, preparing to begin their nightly routine.

Carefully she wets his hair, cupping water into her hands and spreading it from root to tip, before coating her palms and fingertips in almond oil and working it through his pale tresses. She takes her time, rubbing tight, slightly pressured circles against his scalp, noticing the way his eyelids drift closed, leaning into her touch. She forgoes the use of the washcloth this evening, pouring lemon essence directly into her hands and massaging it into his chest and shoulders. The tightness in his muscles melts like butter beneath her touch as she works her way down the length of his arms, watching the way the tension he has been clinging onto dissipates with every sweep of her hands across his body.

As she moves lower, about to dip her hand beneath the surface of the bathwater, she lets out a small gasp, caught off guard by the suddenness with which Daemon grasps her wrist - not applying enough pressure to hurt her, but enough for her to know she can no longer move her arm of her own volition. Her wide eyes stare at him imploringly, though his expression is impassive as he regards her carefully.

“Do you wish to fuck me, little maid?” he asks, voice low, the slightest of smirks upon his face.

She feels as though all the air has been sucked from the room. Her heart hammers wildly in her chest as her lips part in shock. She knows that Daemon speaks plainly, but she had never expected him to be so lewd, so direct. It has warmth blooming in her lower belly. A dull, throbbing ache settles between her legs.

She lets out a squeal when, clearly dissatisfied with her silence, he hauls her into the tub with him. She sits astride him, shift soaking wet and clinging to the contours of her body as she attempts to control her breathing. His hands grip her waist, holding her in place to ensure she doesn’t try to climb back out. The hardness of his body against hers, the warmth of the water lapping against her skin, the heady aroma of rose and lavender, it is all too much. Her head swims with the effort to keep her composure. 

This is all she has ever wanted. Yet, she knows one wrong move could spoil it all.

Daemon reaches up, tweaking the hardened peak of her nipple that pebbles through the wet fabric, making her whine and clench around nothing. “You didn’t answer me - but I think I already know the answer. I see the way you look at me, the way you prance about my chamber like a bitch in heat.”

She squirms, mewling desperately when he hands push her soaked cotton of her shift above her hips, his thumb dipping between her legs to lightly circle her pearl. She clings tightly to his shoulders for support, wanting to say something, anything, but the words will not come. Mercifully, he is eager to speak for both of them.

“The thing is, little maid, wanton sluts don’t get what they want unless they ask nicely. Did you really think the power of your feminine charm alone would be enough to entice me? I am a Prince. People beg for my attention, not the other way around.”

Her chest rises and falls rapidly with effort it takes her to remember to breathe. Her thighs shake either side of Daemon’s hips as he continues to rub against her sensitive bud. Her brows are knitted together, an expression of both unbridled pleasure and humiliation.

He chuckles quietly. “So, are you ready to ask for what it is you want?”

Resolve crumbling, she nods fervently, hoping he will take mercy on her, but it is not enough.

“Say it,” he commands forcefully, removing his hand from between her legs.

When she eventually finds her voice, it sounds foreign to her, broken and pitiful, not her own. “P-please…Your Grace…I-I want you to fuck me.”

“Good girl,” he whispers.

She barely has time to register the weightiness of his thick cock as it rests against his palm before he is pressing it inside of her, its girth pushing apart her fleshy inner walls with its brutal intrusion. Though she is adequately aroused, it is a stretch to accommodate him. She muffles a squeak into the crook of his neck as he sheathes himself fully within her.

His fingers curl themselves into the hair at the back of her head, gently tugging her back, an air of smugness etched across his handsome features as he looks up at her. “You will not hide from me,” he says huskily. “You wanted me to fuck you, so you will let me watch you as I do it.”

The slight threat that simmers beneath his words sends a shiver of excitement through her. The bath water begins to sway with the undulation of his hips as they thrust languidly up into hers. His pace is lazy, unhurried, yet every stroke is achingly deep as the head of him brushes against the rough patch inside of her that causes her toes to curl involuntarily. He is like a cat playing with a mouse, his eyes never leaving her face, studying every slackening of her jaw and slight scrunch of her nose as he fucks himself into her.

As he coaxes her towards her peak, she feels a familiar pressure building inside of her. It crashes over her in white hot waves, causing her to slump against Daemon’s chest with a cry of ecstasy. She feels boneless, weightless, but he is far from done with her.

Seizing her incapacitation as an opportunity, he grasps her hips, quickening his pace and pulling her downwards to meet each snap of his pelvis, the force of his movements causing the water to cascade over the sides of the wooden tub and onto the flagstone floor as he chases his own end. He grunts in satisfaction as he spends inside of her, and in the back of her pleasure-addled mind comes the hazy thought that she will need to drink moon tea in the morning.

They lay as they are for a few moments longer, as Daemon catches his breath, what remains of the bathwater rapidly cooling around them. When she finally has the strength to lift herself from his chest, she sees fire in his eyes once more, though it is not derived from fury. There is warmth behind his gaze, a fondness that she has not seen before.

He strokes her back absentmindedly, his fingers plucking at the wet shift that sticks to it. “Take this off,” he whispers, “and go to my bedchambers. We shall see if you are as good at warming my bed as you are at making my bath go cold.”

[vbecker10]

Loki's Silent Sentry (Part 2)

Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

Pairing: Loki x female reader (y/n)

Summary: You are not just a soldier in Asgard's Royal Army, you are Lieutenant Y/L/N, Prince Loki's personal guard, his sentry and you are not supposed to fall in love with him. If you followed your training properly, you should never have even spoken to him. As a sentry, you are expected to remain silent and invisible as you shadow your appointed member of the royal family or member of the court protectively throughout their daily tasks.

Rumors (that happen to be true) begin to circulate through the palace that you serve the younger prince of Asgard both outside and inside his chambers. There is little you can do once word of your off duty activities spread through every maid, cook, gardener and seamstress in the palace. You soon find even the soldiers in your own company are now questioning how exactly you had come to earn your seemingly quick rise to lieutenant.

As the annual Winter Solstice Ball approaches, you come to the heartbreaking realization that your relationship with Loki must come to an end if you are both to fulfill your duties.

Warnings: Angst, arguing, Thor being an absolute ass, Odin being a terrible father (slut shaming?)

A/N: I'm dedicating the second part of this to my absolutely amazing friend @siconetribal! I wanted to get this out for your birthday but I just missed it, sorry! Also, I hope you like the part that you inspired (I have no doubt you'll be able to figure out what it is). Love you! 💚💚💚

And... I know this was only two parts but I couldn't help myself and now it is three lol, not sorry

"Have you completely lost your mind!?" the king hollers from the throne. You keep your eyes down, too fearful to look up even if your training didn't require you to kneel when in Odin's presence. You know he isn't speaking to you, not yet at least. For now, his attention seems fixed on his youngest son.

"The whole of the Royal Council, the entirety of the Advisory Council and all of our foreign diplomats were in attendance tonight! Not to mention all of their families. Do you have the slightest idea of the damage you have caused?" he questions Loki.

"What could be the harm in me sharing a dance with-" Loki begins but is quickly cut off.

"A dance? You think this is about you and this..." he gestures to you as if he is searching for the least offensive word he can find, "soldier dancing?" he says with a joyless laugh.

Loki doesn't respond and in that instant you both know what it is that truly has angered the king. It wasn't that the prince used his illusions to create a gown for you or that he danced with you at the center of the ball. Loki had kissed you where all of Asgard's most important citizens could see. He had all but announced to the kingdom that you were his and that would not be allowed.

"It is of no concern to me who you bring to your chambers at night but you must learn that there is no place for this at court," he lectures. He turns towards his oldest son who is standing at the base of the stairs leading to the throne. "That goes for you as well. Every servant in this palace knows you are working your way through the kitchen staff," he says to Thor. "I do not need or want to know what either of you do in your chambers and the people of Asgard should be just as unaware."

You don't disagree with that last part, you don't think it is anyone else's business that you are with Loki but you know now isn't the time to speak up.

He continues, turning his focus back to Loki who is still standing just a few inches from you. "You can not parade your..." again he pauses as if too angry to find the right words to describe you. "Her," he changes his mind and motions to you as if Loki could possibly be unsure who he was referring to. "You can not parade her in front of the whole of Asgard. If you want to keep her as a toy for when you are bored, so be it but this type of behavior in public will not be tolerated especially when you are to be looking for a suitable wife," he says, his anger palpable.

You grind your teeth, focusing on the tiles below you to keep from saying something that could lead to your execution.

"I have found a suitable wife," Loki fires back at his father and you lift your head quickly in shock. "Father, Y/N is-"

Odin cuts his words off with a furious wave of his hand as he rises from the throne. "This soldier is not fit to marry a prince," he declares. "And you will refer to her by her rank while you are in my presence," he reminds Loki of proper protocol.

You take a step backwards as the king begins to walk down the steps of the throne. You lower your eyes again and try to keep from trembling as you feel him come closer.

"This will end now," Odin orders and just as Loki opens his mouth in protest he adds, "Or I will transfer your little toy to the an outpost at the furthest edge of the nine realms."

"You will do no such thing," a calm but stern voice says from behind you.

"And what is your solution?" Odin asks Frigga as she walks into the throne room. "Let them continue this.... this..." he stutters in anger.

"Relationship, is the word I think you are looking for my dear husband," she says as she stands between her youngest son and the king.

"Mother, please-" Loki again tries to make his voice heard but Odin's glare stops his words from forming.

"I think I have a solution to our problem," the queen says and you lift your head slightly. She looks at you and flashes the faintest smile, it eases you just for a moment but then her smile fades and so does your hope. You hold your breath as you wait to hear your punishment for loving Loki too publicly as you know they can not punish him.

"I am in need of a new sentry," she says and your heart begins to beat faster. "Lieutenant Y/L/N will be appointed to me starting tomorrow morning. The lieutenant comes from a long line of sentries. Her mother was my sentry many years ago and her grandfather guarded my father when I was a young girl at court. The Y/L/N family has protected and served Asgard for centuries," she informs Odin of your families long and decorated history. If you weren't so terrified, you would be filled with pride that the queen recognizes the years upon years of service your family has given to the kingdom.

"We will not banish one of Asgard's most loyal soldiers because you do not like how your son behaved at the ball. I will speak to him privately about his behavior and make it clear that this is not to happen again," she gives Loki a look that sends a chill down your spine. You know how much the prince loves and respects his mother and there are few feelings worse than knowing you've disappointed someone who believes in you.

Odin remains silent and you know that means the queen has successfully overruled the king. "You are dismissed for the night Lieutenant Y/L/N," she tells you and you stand up at attention. "You will meet me at my chambers at dawn," she orders.

You nod in acknowledgment and bow to each of the royals. The king first as is customary, then the queen who offers you another small smile, the older prince who seems to have already forgotten who you are and finally Loki who looks as if his heart is breaking. You force your features to remain emotionless as you turn to leave the throne room on unsteady legs.

Neither of the two guards standing at the tall double doors make eye contact with you as they move to swing them open. You take a deep breath once you are in the hall and the doors slam shut. You know you should feel relief that you were not sentenced to an eternity in the dungeon or banished to a horrid place like Migard but you find it is still hard to walk. Only days ago you had put in a transfer request in the hopes of being sent away from Loki and now it was being granted by the queen herself. You would no longer be Loki's sentry, or his lover and there was nothing either of you could do.

You arrive at dawn and greet the two sentries guarding the king and queen's chambers. They nod in return, the shorter one even smiles a little in welcome. It has been a month since the night of the ball and it seems the rumors of Loki's favoritism for you vanished as soon as you were no longer in his service. A few of your fellow soldiers have slowly begun to speak to you again but you don't find any of them nearly as interesting to talk to as Loki.

You groan internally, it is somehow Monday again already. A day filled with the queen's seemingly endless string of long, drawn out meetings. Much like the younger prince, the queen takes the majority of her meetings in her private office, requiring all council members or other officials to come to her if the wished to have a moment of her time. This unfortunately meant you were unlikely to run into Loki unless they had meetings scheduled together which was seldom the case.

A few minutes after your arrival, the heavy wooden door swings open and the queen steps out of her chambers. "Good morning Lieutenant Y/L/N," she greets you kindly as always.

"Good morning your highness," you respond with a slight bow. You take a deep breath as you follow her down the hall knowing those will be the last words you speak until she dismisses you at the end of the day.

Monday may be your least favorite day of the week but Sunday is by far your favorite and thankfully it is here again. Meetings are a rare occurrence on a Sunday and the queen spends much of her day in the library or her chambers. You don't mind, the halls of the palace are mostly empty so you are able to relax ever so slightly but it is after dinner that you look forward to the most.

You follow her out of the palace, your boots crunching over the newly fallen snow on the path leading to the garden. Queen Frigga wraps her fur shawl tighter around herself but you keep your head up even as an icy breeze sweeps through. You don't want to miss seeing Loki even for a moment. He exits the palace from a set of doors several yards south from the ones you have come from and your body fills with warmth.

He smiles first at his mother then his eyes move past her, to you. Your lips curve into a smile ever so slightly, not enough for his sentry to notice.

"Hello mother," he greets the queen with a hug.

"Loki," she smiles back. "Shall we?" He holds his arm out for her to take and leads her through the wrought iron gates at the entrance to the garden. You and Loki's sentry, a man named Sergeant Tones, stand on either side of the gates at attention.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the chilly air and wonder how Loki never seems to mind this type of weather. You preferred winter or fall over the heat of the summer, mostly because you were always required to wear full armor but Loki wasn't even wearing gloves today. The thought makes you shiver. You close your eyes for a brief moment and try to picture a warm, roaring fire but your mind will only conjure images of the large stone fireplace in Loki's office.

You sigh quietly as your mind begins to wander, thinking of all the times you've spent with him in his office talking about everything and nothing. A smile crosses your lips as you vividly remember the first time the prince spoke to you.

You scan the hallway leading away from the prince's office, not a person in sight. The only sound you can hear is the pounding of rain and wind against the stone walls of the palace. Occasionally a streak of lightning would light up the window followed by the deafening sound of thunder. You try the trick your mother taught you when you were little to judge the storms distance. If your counting was correct, the storm was going to be directly overhead any second now.

The door next to you opens suddenly and you stand at attention, ready to follow the prince but he doesn't leave his office. You look over your shoulder, confused to see him just standing next to you. He isn't looking at you though, his eyes wander to the window and you wonder what he is thinking.

"I would like to speak with you for a moment," the prince finally says to your utter shock. You can do little more than nod as you follow him into his office. "Close the door," he orders as he walks over to his desk.

You do as your told but you are not sure what else to do. You had never been in his office or spoken to him before. The last three people you guarded never seemed interested in getting to know you and that was perfectly fine with you. Your training required you to be silent and you had grown used to it.

He waves for you to come closer as he takes a seat behind his desk. You stand at attention across from him and he sighs. "Sit," he says and you do. He looks at you curiously as you sit uncomfortably in the leather chair. Your armor was not made be to relaxed in.

After a moment of awkwardly staring at each other he asks, "Can you speak?"

You nod in response and he groans loudly as he sits back heavily in his chair. You stifle a giggle but can't hide the smile that spreads across your lips as you realize how cute the prince looks when he is frustrated. Your smile quickly vanishes, replaced by a furious blush when he catches you.

He leans forward, his arms crossed on his desk, "What's your name?"

"Sergeant Y/L/N," you answer after clearing your throat. It's well past noon but it is the first time you've spoken today.

"What is your first name?" he asks, from his tone you gather that is what he meant the first time.

You reply unsure why he would want to know, "Y/N your highness."

"Y/N," he repeats with a smile that makes you nervous. "No need to look so scared," he says with a laugh. "I simply want to talk. You can speak freely while you are in here with me."

You shift in your seat and tell him, "I'm afraid I don't know what it is you would like me to say."

He leans back again and places his hands behind his head, "Anything... I find I'm quite bored. I have an hour until my next meeting but just for once today, I would like to listen to someone who isn't a councilor or an accountant or Gods help me, my father." He is silent while you ponder his request then he sits up and says, "Why don't you tell me a joke if you can't think of any good topics for conversation?"

"A joke your highness?" you ask, your mind immediately goes blank. Do you even know any jokes, you try to think. The only jokes you've heard recently have been told by other soldiers and none of those should be repeated to a prince. They were either far too dirty or overly political and you were not about to be thrown in the dungeon for mocking the royal family.

He shakes his head at your silence and turns to face the window behind his desk, watching the rain fall steadily.

"Why can't you trust stairs?" you finally ask.

"What?" he asks, turning back to face you.

"Why can't you trust stairs?" you repeat with as much of a straight face as you can. This was one of your favorite jokes when you were a child. You would tell it to anyone who would listen, sometimes more than once.

He shakes his head without spending any time thinking about an answer, "I don't know. Why not?"

"Because they are always up to something," you say with a wide grin.

He stares at you blankly and your pride in your joke falters, your grin fading. A moment later a smile spreads across his lips followed by a short bought of laughter. He shakes his head as he slowly stops laughing and says, "Gods, that truly may be the worst joke I have ever heard."

You nod in agreement then look down at your heavy leather boots wondering if he will let you leave now that you fulfilled his request.

After a moment of silence, he asks, "Do you know any others?"

"A few," you admit with a shrug, "But I assure you, most of them are far worse than that."

He smiles and sits back in his chair comfortably. "I will admit, I have always been fond of terrible puns," he tells you. "Would you like to hear one of my favorites?"

You are snapped back to the present as Loki and the queen step out of the garden. She is still holding his arm as they walk together. They reach the gate and come to a stop, he hugs his mother and whispers something to her. She nods in response and smiles at him before telling him to have a goodnight.

You fight every urge growing in you to abandon your post and follow him as you once did but you know you never will again. He nods ever so slightly towards you as he walks past and you bow as you've been trained. His guard follows at his heels.

You stand at the edge of the garden and wait for the queen. Instead of walking back inside the palace as she typically would, she stands next to you. She turns so she is facing the sunset and you can't help but turn as well. For a few moments you both stand silently, taking in the changing colors of the sky as the sun sinks from view.

"He misses you," the queen says softly.

You look at her and instantly feel your heart beat faster. This is the closest you've come to having any communication with Loki since the night of the ball. You had gone straight to your quarters after you left the throne room that night, you never even had a chance to say goodbye. You take a deep breath to keep your composure but when your eyes met hers you know she can read you as well as Loki can.

"I will tell him you feel the same," she says with a warm smile.

"Thank you, your highness," you respond. You stand together until the sun has set completely then you follow her back to her chambers where she dismisses you for the night.

The next week drags by, the days guarding Loki never seemed this long but finally it is Sunday night again. Loki and his mother conclude their walk, hugging briefly just outside of the gates. As he steps away to leave, she stops him by reaching for his arm. She asks him something quietly and he nods in response as he looks towards you. You make eye contact with the prince and he smiles but you can see how sad he truly is, you desperately want to run to him but you stay where you are and try your best to smile back. They say their goodbyes and he heads back towards his chambers with his sentry. You bow as he passes then stand at attention again, waiting for the queen.

She stands beside you and you both turn towards the sunset, taking in its beauty. Just as you begin to wonder if Loki left a message for you again his mother looks over at you.

"He thinks about you all the time," she tells you.

You smile at her words but your heart aches as wish you could hear them from him.

"Is there anything you would like me to tell Loki?" she asks. You nod, there are so many things you want to tell him. "I promise I will tell him whatever you need him to hear," she encourages you to speak, much like her son used to.

"Can you tell him I love him and I miss him deeply?" you ask. You had never admitted to anyone before that you loved Loki but you needed him to know your feelings were as strong as they had always been.

"I will," she says, she rests a comforting hand on your shoulder and you thank her.

It's warmer today than it has been all week, perfect weather for standing guard at the edge of the garden, you think to yourself. You look up as a small flock of birds fly over head, the sky barely has any clouds.

When the prince and the queen have finished their walk, they hug as usual and you feel your heart beat speed up when he whispers something to her. You have been waiting anxiously all week to hear what message the queen would relay to you from Loki. After he leaves with his sentry, the queen turns back to the garden.

"Walk with me," she says to you and you follow her.

You had walked down every hallway and taken every staircase in the palace but you had never been in the garden. As you pass the wrought iron gates you can't help but look around in wonder. It may still be winter but the garden is in full bloom.

"When Loki was little, I used to bring him here to teach him how to use his magic," she says with a smile as she walks down the stone path. She reaches her hand towards a rose bush full of buds and the flowers open in response as she passes. "He helped me enchant this garden to bloom year round when he was still a child, did you know that?" she asks as she moves further into the garden. You can tell by her tone that she is proud of her son and it makes you smile.

"I did your highness," you tell her. Loki had told you much about his childhood during your time together.

The two of you walk further into the garden until the pond comes into view. You had never seen it of course but Loki had described it perfectly. Two stone benches sit a few feet from the water on the west side while the other is shaded by a large willow tree.

"He told me..." you start but stop yourself when the queen turns to look at you.

"Please, continue," she encourages you.

"He told me the two of you would spend hours by the pond during the summer. He loved watching you turn flowers into frogs or cast fireworks over the water," you tell her, you loved listening to stories of him exploring his magic.

Queen Frigga slows her pace so she is walking next to you and you are immediately reminded of how Loki used to walk with you, not in front of you when you were alone.

"Those are some of my favorite memories with him," she tells you. A few steps later she laughs to herself and you look at her curiously but don't ask what she is thinking about. "I was sitting just over there reading," she points to a wooden bench near a tall oak tree. "Loki was about ten or eleven. He came running into the garden holding a small snake, he looked utterly panicked," she says. "I asked him what was wrong and he tried to hand me the snake but I refused to touch it until he told me it was his brother," she fails to hold back her laughter any longer and you can't help but join in.

"He told me about that!" you tell her excitedly, forgetting you are talking to the queen of Asgard. In this moment, you are simply talking to the mother of the man you love. "Loki said Thor was bothering him, he was just trying to study and he accidentally turn him into a snake but couldn't undo it," you repeat what he had told you.

She smiles and shakes her head as her laughter dies down. "Sometimes I miss those days," she says, her smile fading quickly now as her mood shifts. "When his biggest concern was why his older brother and he couldn't get along," she sighs. "He has not been himself these last few weeks. I worry about him," she admits as she stops walking.

You stop with her and before you say anything in response she says, "I can see how much you worry about him as well."

You nod but remain silent, you feel an ache grow in your chest. All the joy you felt only moments ago is gone.

"I know it must seem unbearable but don't lose hope," she says and you look up at her. "Loki wanted me to tell you that he hasn't stopped looking for a way to be with you again."

You lose your composure momentarily at her words, all you want is to be back in Loki's arms. Hearing he hasn't given up on your relationship is everything you needed, you can't stop the first tear from slipping free. Wiping it away with the back of your hand quickly, you apologize, "I'm sorry your highness. I just..." You pause, afraid to say more. You are not used to losing control of your emotions in general but doing so in front of the queen is unthinkable.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she says in a motherly tone. She waits patiently for you to continue but you can't seem to find the right words to express how you feel. She touches your shoulder gently and you stand together in silence for a few moments before turning back towards the palace.

You bow to Loki as he walks past you on his way back towards the palace. He is followed closely by a new sentry, a woman this time. You had only met Corporal Glasgow once before, she was fairly new to your company. You wonder why Loki changed guards and for someone with such little experience. Typically members of the royal family were only guarded by soldiers ranked sergeant or higher.

The queen stays at the entrance to the garden and you wait for her as always. She faces away from you, watching the sunset. A part of you wants to ask her if Loki has a message for you but you stay at your post silently.

"You are dismissed for the night, Lieutenant Y/L/N," she says without taking her eyes off the colorful sky.

You bow even though she is not looking and turn to walk back towards the palace. It's odd that she is letting you leave so early, part of your duty is to ensure the queen's safe return to her chambers but you are not permitted to question her orders so you obey.

As you take your first few steps up the path, your heart sinks at the realization that Loki had no words for you this week. Your pace slows slightly, you are in no rush to return to your quarters for another lonely, miserable night.

"Lieutenant Y/L/N," the queen calls and you turn back to face her. "You might want to take a left at the top of the stairs." She turns back towards the sunset without any explanation as to why.

You pause before continuing on, unsure why she would say that. The soldiers quarters could only be reached if you made a right down the hallway once you reached the top of the stairs. Taking a left would lead you further into the palace, a path you no longer needed to take.

You reach the wooden doors and pull them open, taking a step inside, you look up at the staircase in front of you. You climb the stairs, the only sound is your heavy boots against the marble and the clinking of your armor. You pause only for a moment at the top of the stairs, looking down the hall to your right. You already know what's that way, another night laying in your bed wishing with all your might that you could just have a few more minutes with Loki. You decide that can wait while you figure out what the queen was hinting at.

You turn left and move down the hall, it's lined with windows on the garden side and four tall doors mirroring the windows placement on the opposite side. You had been this way more times than you could count when you were Loki's sentry. It is the longest way back towards the royal chambers. He would always take this route back from his walks with his mother since you were unlikely to pass anyone and he could hold your hand or speak to you without worry.

You never wondered what was in these rooms but now you can't help but be curious. Most of them were unoccupied offices you imagine, they were too far from the main part of the palace for anyone of importance to work here. As you pass the third wooden door you hear it open and turn quickly.

Your heart jumps as you stand face to face with Loki. Without thinking, you wrap your arms tightly around him and he does the same.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚

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[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Sixteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: A new threat comes to town, and a new applicant comes to the pub.

Warning: language, mentions of assault-ish

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 16: Fear & Delight

I don’t show it but I quiver whenever you come near. And I cannot decipher between the thrill and the fear. I wanna stop it but like it too much to let it stop here. It’s wrong but I want you tonight.  It’s not my own volition but I fell in deep, by running the distance I’ve been advised to keep. I trot to the wolf like a doting sheep, it’s wrong but I want you tonight. — Fear & Delight, The Correspondents

There was news from Belfast. 

There was no way for you to anticipate the severity of what this actually meant when you heard a Shelby family counsel had been called. Apparently Arthur wanted you there specifically, which of course caused you some unease. 

While the oldest Shelby brother hadn’t called you a whore recently (at least not to your face), he still hadn’t exactly welcomed you with open arms into their business. Over the last month, you’d noticed an uncomfortable power dynamic shift between Arthur and Tommy. One that you were sure Arthur wasn’t too happy about. 

For a moment, you wondered if it had anything to do with your incident with Benji — something you still dreamed about. There was a looming ache in your heart that you imagined wouldn’t go way any time soon. 

“Eight o’clock,” Tommy said again, his voice low against the hum of the busy patrons of the Garrison. You nodded, continuing to wipe down the glassware. “I already told Harry, he’ll cover.” 

You gave him a disapproving look, still unhappy with the way he seemed to go about handling your pub-related business with Harry. But Tommy brushed you off. 

The man you recognized as Freddie stood up from his table in the back. Discreetly, you looked between him and Tommy, trying to busy yourself. 

You weren’t sure if Ada had told Freddie yet that you knew of their dalliance. He hadn’t made any indication that he did, heck he hardly ever even looked at you, so you assumed no. 

“I’ll take a mild,” he said to you, leaning against the bar as he looked toward Tommy, who continued to smoke his cigarette and avoid his old friend. 

You took another look between the two before pouring his glass, then watched as Freddie leaned over and took one of the two coins Tommy had laid down on the counter, and pushed it toward you. 

Looking between the two, you were surprised to see Tommy chuckle, flicking the ash off his cigarette. 

“Cheers, Thomas. Good health to you,” Freddie said, lifting his mug before taking a sip. When Tommy didn’t respond, Freddie reached over and grabbed his cap off the counter, examining the razor blade stitching. “Crown of a prince. Soon to be king, I’d bet–” 

“You don’t bet,” Tommy finally replied, still looking forward. 

“No, but these past few days I’ve been speculating.” 

You tried to appear busy, like you weren’t eavesdropping. It was the job of the bartender to blend into the background. So you continued to polish the glassware as you pretended not to listen to the scene before you. 

Tommy waited for Freddie to continue, but when he didn’t, Tommy took the bait. “About what?” 

“One of my union comrades has a sister who works in the telegraph office at the BSA factory.” 

You remained cool as you listened, but paused at hearing Freddie’s confession. Luckily, Freddie was leaning with his back against the bar counter, head leaned toward Tommy and away from you. You chanced a look at Tommy, who gave nothing away as he continued to look down at his cigarette and listen. You followed suit, going back to your task at hand as Freddie continued. 

“She says, over the past week, they’ve had messages coming up from London to the brass. From Winston Churchill himself.” Freddie paused, pushing up from the bar and moving closer to Tommy. He offered the next part in a softer voice, just loud enough for you to overhear. “Something about a robbery. ‘A robbery of national significance’ it said.” 

Tommy rose his brow unimpressed, still not bothering him with a glance. 

Freddie went on. “She found a list of names left on the telegraph machine. And on that list was your name and my name together. What kind of list would have the name of a communist and the name of a bookmaker side by side?” 

You chanced a peak toward Tommy, watching him set his tumbler down before finally addressing Freddie. “Perhaps it’s a list of men who give false hope to the poor. The only difference between you and me, Freddie, is that sometimes,” he leaned in closer, “sometimes my horses stand a chance of winning.” 

He sat back up, taking another hit off his cigarette as Freddie considered him before pushing off the counter. He moved in closer, and the tension rose, causing you to grow more cautious. If a fight were to go down, you weren’t sure what you would do – what you’d be allowed to do. You knew Harry was in the back room, but still. 

“You know,” Freddie said, leaning in toward Tommy, “there are days when I hear about the cuttings and beatings that I really wish I’d let you take that bullet in France.” 

Tommy huffed out a laugh, shaking his head slightly as he continued to look down. “Believe me, there are nights I wish you had.” 

The front door swung open, a man crashing through like a bull trapped in a pin. You gasped, jumping toward the back of the counter as you watched Tommy and Freddie spring into action at the sight of their friend Danny. 

“They’re gonna get me!” he shouted as Tommy and Freddie grabbed both sides of him, throwing him down to the ground together. 

“Breathe, Danny, breathe!” Freddie shouted when they finally got him face down. 

“Danny! Danny! You’re home!” Tommy said loudly as Danny continued to cry out on the floor. “We’re all home in England. You’re not in France. You’re not an artillery shell, Danny, you’re a man. Hey? You’re not a whizz-bang. You’re a human being, Danny. You’re all right, you’re all right.” 

You watched astounded as they managed to calm down Danny. According to Harry, this wasn’t the first time that Danny had barreled into the pub like this, lost in his mind and attacking everyone in sight. But this had been the first time you’d witnessed an incident. 

It reminded you of what your life could had been like, had your father not gotten help himself with his own PTSD. You knew that nowadays, the concept of PTSD wasn’t even an idea – no one could have anticipated the trauma influenced by the harrowing nature of the First World War on the veterans as they returned home to normal lives. 

You were beginning to wonder if Tommy had any sort of symptoms or triggers when they lifted Danny from the floor as Tommy comforted him back to the present. At some point, Harry had emerged from the back room during the commotion and began righting the tables and chairs. 

“Ah hell, did I do it again?” Danny asked Tommy, crying when he confirmed. 

Tommy pressed his forhead against his friend’s, “You’ve gotta stop doing this, man.” 

Danny offered his apologies as Tommy led him toward the door. 

“It’s all right. You go home to your wife now, Danny. Try and get all that smoke and mud out of your head, eh?” 

Danny apologized again until he left the pub. Tommy and Freddie shared a look before Tommy wiped his face with his hand and moved back to the counter. 

“Mr. Shelby,” Harry said as he gestured toward a broken table top. “You have to do something about him.” 

“Damn right, Harry,” Freddie said antagonizingly, patting the man on the shoulder. “You pay the Peaky Blinders a lot of money for protection.” He followed Tommy back toward the bar, where you’d already filled up his glass. “You’re the law around here now, Tommy, aren’t you? Maybe you should put a bullet in Danny Wizz-Bang’s head, like they do with mad horses.” Tommy paused in his walk toward the door. “Maybe you’ll have to put a bullet in my head someday, too.” 

Tommy shook his head, lifting his cap and straightening it back on his head before turning to look at you. For a moment, you could see the real hurt behind his eyes. A vision flashed before you, of Tommy putting a gun against his own head, and you shuttered. 

“Bring the bill to the Peaky Blinders,” Tommy said to Harry on his way out the door. “We’ll take care of it.” 

That night you approached the Shelby house with trepidation. Aside from that first family meeting, you hadn’t exactly been invited to any of the other meetings. Which was to be expected, you weren’t really family after all. Plus, at the time, there were members at these counsels that still didn’t know of your involvement in the company. 

After the Benji incident, Scudboat and Lovelock had become privy to your real status amongst the business. Polly assured you that they could be trusted, and that they would be useful security-wise. You had been receptive to this update, since neither man had ever had any kind of trouble with the books (aside from some bad math) and they’d always been kind toward you. 

“Finally, we can get started,” Arthur shouted when you walked through the den door. 

Apparently you were the last to arrive. Polly pushed a chair out for you to sit between her and Arthur, who stood and began to pass out small pamphlets. 

“Right, I’ve called this family meeting because I’ve got some very important news. Scudboat and Lovelock got back from Belfast last night. They were buying a stallion to cover their mares. They were in a pub on the Shankhill Road yesterday and in that pub there was a copper, handing out these.” 

He handed a paper to Ada, which John snatched away to read himself. He gave the remaining papers to Scudboat to pass to you, Polly, and Tommy, who was standing against a beam on the other side of Polly. 

“‘If you’re over five feet and can fight, come to Birmingham.’” John read from the pamphlet. 

“They’re recruiting Protestant Irishmen to come over here as Specials,” Arthur went on. 

Ada’s brow creased, “To do what?” 

“To clean up the city, Ada,” Tommy answered. “He’s a chief inspector. The last four years he’s been clearing the IRA out of Belfast.” 

“How do you know so bloody much?” Arthur asked acusatoringly. 

“‘Cause I asked the coppers on our payroll.” 

“And why didn’t you tell me?” 

Tommy continued to stare at his older brother, shrugging slightly, “I’m telling you.” 

Arthur fumed, taking a swig of his flask as Polly asked, “So why are they sending him to Birmingham?” 

“Well, there’s been all these bloody strikes at the BSA and the Austen works lately,” Tommy explained. Ada shared a quick look with you, knowing that it was Freddie who had a hand in most of those strikes. “Now the papers are talking about sedition, and revolution. I reckon it’s communist they’re after.” 

“So this copper’s gonna leave us alone, right?” Polly followed up. 

Tommy chanced a look with you before easily answering her question. 

“There are Irishmen in Green Lanes who left Belfast to get away from him. They say Catholic men who crossed him used to disappear in the night.” 

“Yeah, but we ain’t IRA,” John chimed in. “We bloody fought for the king. Anyway, we’re Peaky Blinders. We’re not scared of coppers.”

“He’s right,” Arthur added. 

“If they come for us, we’ll cut them a smile each.” 

“So, Arthur, is that it?” Tommy asked, ignoring his younger brother. 

Arthur pointed toward you. “Her.” Your brow rose as everyone turned to look at you. “Was the powder trick her idea?” 

Tommy’s brow furrowed, “Like I told you this morning–” 

“You brought her in to help us with the company. Ever since she got here you’ve been reckless. We don’t fuck with the Chinese!” 

You rose your finger, “I’d like to point out that I have no idea what a powder trick even is–”

“Y/N is only doing what we agreed to,” Tommy answered honestly. “I’ll have no more talk of it.” 

Arthur huffed, still staring daggers at his brother. 

“You have nothing more to say to this meeting, Thomas?” Polly asked, breaking the tension between them. 

Tommy shook his head. “No. Nothing that’s women’s business.” 

You rose a brow to that, curious what business was unfit for either you or his aunt to be privy to. 

Polly narrowed on him. “This whole bloody enterprise was women’s business while you men were away at war. What’s changed?” 

“We came back.”

“How could you let him do it?” 

Polly stormed into your flat that night, pulling off her black veil that she typically wore to the church. 

“Uh, sure, come on in Pol,” you joked, motioning for her to come in despite her already standing in the middle of your room with her hands on her hips. 

“Tommy told me about the guns.” 

You sobered up real fast at that, closing the door. 

“You have to convince him to get rid of them – throw them in the Cut.” 

Taking a deep breath, you moved to prepare you both a cup of tea. “How am I supposed to do that?” 

“Talk to him, he’ll listen to you. Do you know how much trouble he’ll be in if he’s caught with those guns, or selling them for that matter? He’ll hang!” 

You swallowed, the severity sinking in. You knew that Tommy was going through every possibility that these guns could serve him. 

“You know I don’t want anything bad to happen to him, but I can’t make Tommy do anything, Polly. You know that better than anyone.” 

She huffed, the sound of surrender as she knew you were right. She ran her hand across her forehead. “This copper is going to be trouble. I can feel it.” 

You had to meet Harry early the next morning. He’d closed early due to the mess Danny had caused and you offered to help him clean up. You were sweeping the floors when the door opened. 

A woman came in and you stopped her, “Oh, I’m sorry, we’re closed–”

“I’m here about the job as a barmaid,” she said with a polite smile.

You appraised the woman before you. She was beautiful, her features soft and polished. Her blonde hair stood out against the others in the town. 

A pang of jealousy filled you immediately, but you pushed it aside. You’d already convinced yourself that this place needed more help, and that no one was going to encroach on your territory. But dammit, why’d she have to be so pretty. 

“Y/N,” you offered her a smile and your hand. 

She reciprocated, “Grace.” 

“Harry!” you shouted, listening for Harry to come back from downstairs. “This is Grace. She’s here about the barmaid position.” 

“Are you mad?” he asked, looking her up and down. 

“Am I what?” 

“Job’s been filled.”

He turned back and you shared a confused look with Grace, knowing that the role hadn’t been filled, unless he’d hired someone without letting you know. 

She took a step forward, “It was in an advertisement in yesterday’s paper.” 

“Believe me, love,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m doing you a favor.” 

“I’m not asking for favors, I’m asking for employment.” 

You couldn’t help the small smirk on your cheek at her response. “Do you have any experience?”

“And references,” she replied, opening her bag and handing you her papers. “I worked in a pub in Dublin.” 

Harry walked over toward you, looking over your shoulder at her papers. “What part of Ireland are you from?” he asked.

“Galway.” 

He hummed, “my mother was from Galway.” 

“She does have experience,” you commented. “That’s better than any of the others who’ve come in to apply.” 

“I can’t have two pretty women in my pub. The coppers will think I’m runnin’ a brothel.” 

You shared a look with Grace, sighing at the real reason Harry didn’t want to hire her. 

She straightened as she took off her hat. “Watch. And listen.” 

Your brow knitted curiously as she picked up the spit bucket, then she began to sing. 

“I wish I was in Carrickfergus, only for nights in Ballygrand. 

I would swim over, the deepest ocean. The deepest ocean, for my love to find. 

My boyhood friends and my own relations, have all passed on now, like the melting snow.” 

She sat down the spit bucket, now filled with the spatoons she’d dumped inside as she sang. You and Harry shared a surprised look. Her singing really was magical, and the jealousy you’d been fighting off rose back up like vile in your throat. 

“In Ireland, my singing made them cry and stopped them fighting.” 

Harry chuckled, “I hope you know a lot of songs.” 

Grace nodded, smiling as she looked back toward you hopeful. 

You smiled back at her encouragingly, but something in your gut pulled at you to take caution. Something about her felt very disingenuous – she felt too polite, too posh, nothing at all like the other people you’d met in town since you’d arrived. 

You tried to convince yourself it was your jealousy, that you were being territorial, all the things you’d been afraid of – but something deeper felt off. 

Like you weren’t the only one here with secrets. 

“This investigator isn’t messing around,” Tommy commented as you brushed Monaghan Boy’s coat. 

It was just the two of you at the Yard, Charlie and Curly were on guard. Tommy used your interest in visiting the horse as his cover to check in on the crates, which hadn’t been touched since you left it the other night. 

“Our coppers say he made a big speech about taking down the Peaky Blinders and Fenians and Communists,” he continued. “Said he doesn’t trust any of them, and brought in his own brigade of men.” 

“This is getting serious, Tommy. Aren’t you worried?” 

“Nah,” he shrugged. “I’m told he didn’t serve. Reserved occupation—“

“Tommy!” Curly ran toward you, “It’s Arthur. He’s been beat bad!” 

You handed Curly the brush and hurried alongside Tommy, who led the way back toward the Lane. He stopped first at the Garrison to grab some rum – said it was the best for disinfection. You disagreed, but didn’t dare argue with his determination in the moment. The pub was packed, but the minute Tommy walked in, the crowded moved aside. 

He snaked through the snug and opened the window as you pushed your way behind the bar. 

“Doesn’t matter what kind, just any bottle,” he shouted, causing Harry and Grace to look toward him. 

“What are you doing, I thought you were off this morning?” Grace asked you, looking between you and Tommy. 

“I am,” you added, searching the shelf for an unopened bottle. 

You heard Harry whisper to Grace that whatever it is, it’s on the house. Tommy sat some money down on the window seal anyway, which Grace moved to collect. 

“Ready?” you said after finally finding the bottle. Tommy nodded, giving one last look to Grace before turning to leave. 

“If I say something’s on the house,” you heard Harry say to Grace as you moved to leave, “then say nothing to whoever you’re serving. If they decide that they want you, there’s nothing anybody could do about it. Lucky for you, Tommy there hasn’t looked at anyone other than Y/N since he got back.” 

You couldn’t help the swell in your chest and smirk on your lips as you gripped the bottle and made your exit from the pub. 

Your smirk immediately fell when you arrived at the Shelby house to the sight of Arthur beat up and bloody. 

“I’m not bloody chocking, am I?”

“You will when I wrap this cloth around your neck,” Ada said back to the older brother as she poured boiling water into a bowl. 

“Let me see him,” Tommy announced, opening the bottle of rum and ringing out a rag. Arthur took a swig of the bottle before Tommy took it back, pouring some onto the rag and pushing it against a nasty gash above his eye. 

Arthur hissed as Tommy reassured him he was alright, then grabbed his arm. “He said Mr. Churchill sent him to Birmingham. National interest, he said. Something about a robbery.” 

Tommy pushed away from him, taking a few steps backwards to breathe. 

“Who?” You asked innocently, moving to help Polly and Ada tend to some of his other cuts. 

“The inspector,” Ada answered. 

Your mouth fell again, surprised that an officer did this, and realizing just exactly how out of your depth you may be. 

“He said he wants us to help him,” Arthur continued, still watching Tommy as he leaned against the counter. 

“We don’t help coppers,” John commented. 

Arthur pointed to his younger brother. “He knew all about our war records. He said we’re patriots, like him. He wants us to be his eyes and ears.”

“Was this before or after he beat you to a pulp?” You scoffed, mostly to yourself. John breathed out a laugh, but Arthur remained serious. 

“I said—“ he hissed again as Polly bandaged up his hand. “I said we’d have a family meeting and take a vote.”

He waited a beat, watching Tommy until his head dropped down to his hand. 

“Why not? Hmm?” Arthur asked when Tommy still didn’t say anything. “We have no truck with Fenians or communists.”

Tommy continued to remain silent. 

“What’s wrong with ya?” Arthur asked, then looked to you. “What’s wrong with him? What the fuck is wrong with him lately?” He finally asked, directing the last question to Polly. 

“If I knew, I’d buy the cure from Compton’s chemists,” she replied looking back at Tommy with that cut throat disapproving glare. 

Arthur set his sights on you, and you knew exactly what he was thinking. That it was you — you were what was wrong with him lately. 

After you all got him relatively cleaned up, he left and grumbled something about getting back his money’s worth. You didn’t ask what he meant by that. Ada and John soon followed, leaving just you, Polly, and Tommy left in the kitchen. 

Polly gave you a pointed look before leaving. 

“Tommy—“ you began the minute you two were alone. 

“I know what you’re gonna say.”

“Did you see Arthur’s face? And this guy wants your help,” you scoffed, dropping into the seat. “This man has to be insane.”

“And desperate,” Tommy added. “This changes our plans. They’ve shown their hand. We can use this. If they want them back this bad, they’ll have to pay.”

You blinked. “You think you can extort from this guy? God, you really would make a great politician, you know that?”

He shook his head. “This is our ticket for legitimacy.”

“In what world?” You all but laughed, thinking of the irony that something legitimate could come from theiving and blackmailing. 

“In this one! This is the way of the world!” He softly exclaimed. Despite the two of you being alone in the house, he still felt the need to be discreet.

You took a deep breath. “I understand that you believe the only way to get ahead is to play dirty, but this — you saw your brother’s face. This guy isn’t messing around. And Winston Churchill. I mean, that’s serious business. He’s the fucking prime minister—“ Tommy’s brow creased, and you shook your head. “I mean, he— he could be one day. He’s just, he’s— he’s powerful, I mean.”

“Fortune drops something valuable into your lap, you don’t just dump it on the bank of the Cut,” Tommy said strongly.

You swallowed, knowing there was no talking him out of it. “Okay. What’s your plan.”

“In France, I learned that it was frivolous to have a concrete plan. You had to adapt at a moment’s notice to survive. My Kimber plan remains, this just may be an opportunity to further my original goal.”

“Alright,” you conceded. 

You held his gaze for a moment before he sat down and took your hand. “This is good, Y/N. This is our chance.”

Outside of Birmingham, the new Inspector walked into an art museum, approaching a blonde woman wearing a large hat. 

“Are you in position?”

Grace rose her head, “I am, sir.”

“First impression?”

“I’m quite shocked at how these people live. Have you found anything out that might help me?”

“I interrogated the head of the Peaky Blinders. He didn’t know anything. A brute.”

Grace hummed. “It strikes me that it isn’t Arthur who heads the Shelby family. It’s the younger one, Thomas. They say he won two medals for gallantry in the war.”

“You sound fascinated,” Inpector Campbell commented, raising a brow. 

“There’s a woman at the bar. She seems very close with the family. I believe she may be my gate to learn more. However, my opinion has not changed. The bookmaker gangs have other business, and the communists are too weak to have planned this. I believe the guns were taken by the IRA.”

He hummed. “You must not let your personal history cloud your judgement.”

“What history?” Grace countered. “That the IRA murdered my father will not affect my judgement.”

“If you see any guns, check the serial numbers against that list,” he slipped a folded paper in her hands. “Your father was the finest officer I ever worked with. I know he’d be very proud of you.”

Back in Birmingham, you were helping Polly with the books when Tommy walked in, blood splattered across his white collar. You knew what this meant — Danny was gone. 

He’d accidentally killed someone during another fit. An Italian whose family wanted revenge. Tommy had promised to dispatch of him himself, with the Italians as witness. 

“Where are ya!” Arthur shouted from the other end of the empty shop. He slammed a paper in front of Tommy. “It bloody won! Monaghan Boy bloody won!”

“Yeah. It won. And word will spread. So the next time we do the powder trick, it won’t just be the Garrison that’ll bet on the horse. It’ll be the whole of Small Heath. And you know what? The horse will win again. And the third time we do it, we’ll have the whole of Birmingham betting on it. A thousand quid bet on the magic horse. And that time, when we’re ready, the horse will lose.” Arthur only stared at him as Tommy shut the book he’d opened. “Think about it.”

He walked the book over toward you and Polly, dropping it to the table along with a bag of coins. 

Polly picked it up, judging the weight. “Bad week?” Tommy didn’t reply. “There was no moon last night, I checked. Did you do the right thing?”

“Yes,” he replied, meeting your eyes. “I did the right thing.”

God, you hoped he did. 

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

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[ninchen1909]

The wrong groom

Pairing: Ivar the boneless x female reader

Word count: ~ 2.500

Hey,

this is the first time I write for a Vikings character. Also English isn‘t my first language, so I apologize in advance for possible mistakes.

I hope you have a great day!

Warnings: mention of killing disabled children, mention of alcohol, kind of arranged marriage but also not

"How can you ask this of me father?" you turn to him angrily, your dress swinging elegantly around your body. All of your father's advisors look at the floor, not daring to say a word. Even the priest, who always follows your father like a faithful, obedient dog, stands before you with his head bowed.

"How can you ask me to marry one of these barbarians, they stand for all that we despise. How in God's holy name can you ask me to marry one of these sinners?"

Your face is flushed red with rage, your hands clenched into tight fists. You have always been different from all the other princesses you have known. You never let anyone tell you to shut up and you always stood up for your convictions. At some point your parents realized that they could never chastise you and made a deal with you to control your temper at least in front of visitors and other nobles.

"You must do it my beloved daughter, for our kingdom, for our freedom and for our people."

Tears well up in your eyes, whether from anger or sadness you can't quite tell yourself. A few days ago, you were simply the princess of one of the smaller kingdoms in England, never attracting the interest of the Northmen until they suddenly and without warning attacked your city. Half of your army have already been killed and it is almost certain that your city could not withstand another attack.

"But why me father, why not Sophie, you've wanted to marry her off for a long time, she's older and wiser than me." Your tone has by now lost its sharpness, desperation winning out over fear.

"Sophie does not have your strength, my child, she would perish in their world, but you can become stronger in it." The look in your father's eyes becomes softer, you even think you can recognize pity in it.

"Do I even have a chance of getting out of this unmarried?" your father shakes his head, a defeated sigh escaping your throat.

"They are already on their way to us, King Ragnar with his sons and some retainers, we will discuss the details at a feast today."

"May I at least know the name of my intended?" you cross your arms stubbornly in front of your chest, a behavior for which other princesses would have experienced great suffering, but your father has to suppress a smirk.

"Prince Sigurd"

A few hours later, the feast is in full swing, together with your sister, your father, and his closest confidants, you sit on a raised table in the back of the Great Hall.

Your appetite has left after a closer observation of the Nordic table manners. Disgusted, your mouth tightens as you see them talking with their mouths full and not seeming to understand the meaning of cutlery at all. The wine flows in streams and soon you realize that they seem to be able to hold more alcohol than the men in your town.

All evening you feel the eyes of one of Ragnar's sons on you, you know from the description your father gave you of your future husband that it is not Sigurd. Crutches are leaning against the wooden bench next to him and his attentive, alert eyes follow your every move. His dark brown hair, like the hair of the other Northmen is worked into beautiful braided hairstyles. Your father seems to be able to interpret your gaze clearly, as unobtrusively as possible, he leans in your direction and whispers to you:

"This is Ivar, he is the youngest son of Ragnar and according to stories also by far the most bloodthirsty and brutal among the brothers. So stay away from him."

A silent nod is your answer, but to your own dismay, your father's words don't repulse you, but rather make the interest in  Ivar grow in you. During the whole time, his ice-blue eyes are constantly directed at you, even when you look directly at him, he does not avert his gaze from you, but gives you an arrogant smile, much to your astonishment.

Throughout the evening, your eyes meet again and again, and each time anew goose bumps cover your body, the dangerous aura that surrounds him captivates you, and as if automatically, your hand finds its way to the cross that hangs around your neck, you clasp it tightly with your fist.

The festivity goes on like all the previous ones. Everyone gets drunk and all the noble, God-fearing men, as time passes and alcohol consumption increases, look for a young woman for the night, who in no way resembles their spouse.

With your father's consent, you get up from the table as inconspicuously as you can and leave the hall almost in a hurry. You hold up the skirt of your dress to get ahead faster and so you walk quickly straight towards the stables.

Your entrance is accompanied by the excited neighing and nervous scraping of hooves as you make your way as quietly as possible to the last stall. In it stands your most faithful friend in the kingdom, the only one you don't have to worry about betraying you. Carefully you push the latch aside and enter the box with slow steps. Dark, loyal eyes beam at you as you lovingly bury the flat of your hand on the snow-white fur.

"Greetings, my old friend," you carefully lean your forehead against his and close your eyes, the smell of fresh hay rising to your nostrils, and for the first time this evening, you seem to be able to breathe properly. You tenderly stroke your horse's nostrils as you hear a steady clacking sound in the front of the stable. With a jerk, you turn around, prepared to spot the potential danger and fight back if necessary.

However, you would never have expected to meet the person who is now standing in front of you. You watch as he moves slowly but smoothly toward one of the hay bales and drops onto it, his crutches leaning next to him within reach.  Now he looks at you through his thick lashes. The sky-blue of his eyes makes you shiver pleasantly and for a brief moment you think your legs would give out their service and make you fall uncomfortably to the ground. Quickly you try to hide this.

"What are you doing here my prince, shouldn't you be out in the hall getting drunk with the other men and lusting after the women?"

You yourself are taken aback by your direct words, but you don't let this show. Unlike expected, your words do not make him angry, but rather seem to amuse him. For a short time later, a raucous, throaty laugh fills the stables.

"You're different little raven, aren't you? Most of the other princesses I know are obedient and well-behaved, but you carry the fire of Freya in you." An arrogant but also admiring smile spreads on Ivar's face.

"You are also different from most people I know, because most people I know have two functioning legs and can actually walk of their own free will."

no sooner have you said these words than you regret them. You never wanted to be someone who limited others only to physical attributes. His smile begins to stiffen and the playful spark has also disappeared from his eyes.

"I guess you're right about that little raven" you notice him reach for his crutch and tense his upper body to hoist himself up. You hurry to place a hand on his forearm, an apologetic expression coming to your face.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It's just you they don't get many people like you, most of you are..." you dare not finish the sentence, which Ivar takes from you though.

".... Killed or left for dead. I know."

Under your hand you notice how his muscles relax again and Ivar seems to loosen up again. An uncomfortable silence spreads over you, only the scraping of hooves and the flaring of nostrils can be heard around you.

"You said before that I had the fire of Freya in me."

With a nod, Ivar indicates for you to continue talking.

"Who is Freya?"

a slight smile spreads across his face after your question and he leans a little further towards you.

"One of our goddesses, especially in times of war we think of her and make sacrifices to be in her favor."

"So you're comparing me to a goddess who brings death and disaster to people?"

you raise an eyebrow.

"Believe me that is an honor, she is one of our Most Favored Gods, but if it soothes your Christian heart, she is also the Goddess of Marriage and Love."

Slightly you nod to yourself as you soak up this knowledge.

"You said Freya is one of your gods, who else do you make sacrifices for?"

Ivar looks into your face trying to find some form of dishonesty there, however the only thing Ivar can discern there is genuine curiosity.

Eagerly, you listen to his soothing voice as he tells you about the father of the gods, Odin, Thor, Loki, and all the others gods.

After the feast, King Ragnar has decided to stay with his whole troupe until your and Sigurd's wedding, so that you can then sail back with them to their homeland and a new life.

Against all expectations, you spend most of your time with Ivar instead of your future husband. You realize that none of the stories do justice to Ivar's character, at least not when he is with you. Of course, you recognize his gruff, sometimes even sadistic manner when he is with other people. With you, however, he is tender and attentive, always giving you his complete attention and patiently explaining everything you want to know. He tells you stories of his adventures and of what awaits you in your new home.

With each passing day you notice how your feelings for Ivar increase and your interest in Sigurd decreases until it finally ceases to exist, each day your heart yearns more for the man with the crippled legs. Never does he treat you as if you were beneath him. Every day he tells you stories about his travels, his homeland and his gods and to your own amazement he listens attentively to your stories about your god. After only a few days you realize that his mere presence makes you happy, every day you wake up in anticipation of spending your day with him. And he seems to feel the same way. In all this time Sigurd never once seeks your company, nor does he make any effort to get to know you better. Ivar even more so.

Three days before the wedding you can't take it anymore, you have to stand by your feelings or you will be unhappy for the rest of your life.

With quick steps you make your way to the throne room with one hand grasping the skirt of your dress so as not to trip without knocking you push open the heavy wooden door and look into the astonished faces of your father and King Ragnar.

"Daughter, how dare you..."

"Father, please forgive the intrusion, however, I need to talk to you about something that has been depriving me of sleep for several nights now."

At your words, your father's features soften and his voice loses some of its original sharpness.

"Speak then, my daughter."

"I don't want to marry Sigurd, I don't think we're right for each other either..."

Your father interrupts you, before you can finish your sentence.

“You are going to marry one of King Ragnars sons, that’s not something I’m going to debate with you, daughter.”

“Yes father I know and I’m going to marry one of his sons, just not Sigurd..”

Your father sinks back into his chair, your eyes briefly fall on the King of the Northmen, his bright blue eyes patterning you with interest.

"Why don't you want to marry my son Sigurd, he's a good man".

The Northman squints his eyes slightly, eagerly waiting for your answer.

"I do not question that he is a good man, however I have the impression that we would not be good for each other."

"And why do you think that?"

Ragnar rises from his chair and walks toward you with slow steps, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. Nervousness rises in you, but you try to suppress it with all your might.

"And I want to hear the real reason."

"With all due respect King Ragnar, I am not under the impression that Prince Sigurd is interested in finding a wife and starting a family. Besides, I don't think I have the physical attributes your son desires in a partner."

A smile creeps onto his lips, while your father is shocked and enraged by your bluntness.

“Daughter, how dare you to speak to King Rag..”

“Fair enough…”

The Northman interrupts your father without sparing him so much as a glance.

…..which one of my sons do you want to marry princess (y/n)?“

“Prince Ivar, my king”

The shocked gasp of you father fills the thronroom and even king Ragnar seems surprised by your demand.

“I noticed on our first day here, that you weren’t really found of him, so what changed?”

“That’s true, at first I was scared of him, I heard many stories about how brutal and violent he can be and to be honest I don’t doubt that for a second. But as I spend time with him, he showed me, what I believe is the real him. He is soft and caring with me, he lifts up my spirit every time I see him. And he never gave me the feeling like I was inferior to him because of my gender. He is smart and a excellent strategiest, I wasn’t lucky enough to see him fight so far. But from what I heard, he is a outstanding warrior too.  And I would be honored to become his wife.”

After your speech you lower your head slightly, not daring to look at your father, a short but intense silence falls over the three of you. It feels like an eternity, until you hear King Ragnars loud an clear voice.

“Then so be it.”

[wilbursprincess]

Arranged marriage with princebur headcanons?

-✨

Arranged Marriage With Princebur

Princebur x Female Reader

Warnings: Mentions of sex

OMGGGGG ✨ anon yes! Where have arranged marriage headcannons been my entire life? Apologies if you didn’t want this one NSFW… but I couldn’t help myself :’) nothing like an arranged marriage where they both realize they’ve fallen for each other <3

Headcannons below cut!

~When your parents informed you that they were marrying you off to a prince, you were… less than pleased.

~You had coffee with him and his parents shortly after finding out, and he seemed nice enough. A little arrogant, but God was he handsome. His parents were hospitable but not very friendly, commenting on how lovely it would be to finally have grandchildren.

~Not only was it bad enough that you were expected to sleep with this guy, but his parents talked about you like a vessel for babies. Not like a daughter in law. However, glancing again at his refined features, sharp jawline, and chestnut curls… maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

~The wedding was, to be expected, over the top.

~Obviously, Wilbur’s parents were filthy rich, throwing money at a lavish party for their only son and heir to the throne.

~The wedding night was slightly awkward, though.

~The castle was lovely, expensive gifts all over the room from Wilbur’s parents and other relatives. Diamond necklaces and silk floor-length gowns, were fine, but worst of all… so many baby clothes.

~Wilbur was sitting silently on the bed in your new bedroom (thank God it was a king sized bed), tie loosened around his neck.

~”I’m sorry,” were the first two words out of his mouth.

~Not quite how you’d expect to be greeted by your new husband.

~”What are you sorry about?” You’d softly ask, sitting on the bed next to him.

~”How you’ve been forced into this life, with a man you barely know, expected to pop out some new heirs,” he’d sigh, giving you a sympathetic look with his deep brown eyes. “I don’t even like this life. I don’t want to lead the country, be a father, or any of this shit. And now I’ve dragged another person into this hell.”

~You’d silently mull over these words for a moment.

~”At least, we’re on the same page,” you’d offer, hesitating before putting your hand on his.

~Wilbur visibly relaxed.

~“My mom gave you that nightgown, didn’t she?” He says, running his eyes over the lace fabric, stopping just before it scoops down to an enticing cleavage. “She’s really not kidding about the babies.”

~You’d awkwardly nod, looking down at your clasped hands.

~Wilbur would crack a smile. “It looks really pretty on you.”

~”T-thank you,” you’d reply, blushing a little. “Well, it’s been a long day, you ready for bed?”

~He’d nod, slowly. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

~The wedding night. Fuck.

~You figured it would be something to get over and done with, hoping you’d just have to do it once and live with your husband like roommates for the rest of your life.

~But oh, lord, did you underestimate things.

~Feeling him between your thighs, your two bodies becoming one was such a new feeling, but so welcomed, warm pleasure spreading out from your core.

~You couldn’t tell if he was enjoying it or not, but the noises he was making… soft sighs and gasps, enough to make you groan.

~The pleasure turned into more after awhile, turning into an ever-tightening spiral…

~And the spiral snapped, sending you to heaven on the waves of pleasure radiating from the apex of your thighs, letting out a tiny moan as it faded out.

~Suddenly, you felt your inner thighs wet as he whined, pressing his face into the pillows.

~You would silently clean up next to each other, slipping back into pajamas before awkwardly turning out the light and falling asleep, a whisper away from each other.

…part 2?

[itsgameofthronesimagines]

Could I request a Cersei x f reader where the reader is Cersei’s secret lover but Jaime (Love him but needed a villain) found out and made up lies about reader so Cersei herself throws the reader to jail. When she’s finally freed after the allegations were proved wrong, reader is now cold hearted, avoiding Cersei who tries to talk to her. Go heavy on the angst. You can decide if it’s happy ending (at least as happy of an ending as you can get with Cersei) or not. Thank you! You don’t have to write it if you don’t want to

(Gif not mine but can I just say that I hate myself for loving how beautiful she is?)

Title: Lioness Roar

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Pairing: Cersei Lannister x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,719

Summary: Cersei’s brothers could do whatever they wanted with little to no consequences all because of their gender. Now as the Queen, Cersei believes she can do more.

Warnings: vulgar language, daddy issues (guess who), homophobia, angst, mentioned wlw smut, and I will admit it does kind of read like yandere.

Author’s Note: God I love writing about Lannisters. They’re so complex (and I know I’ve said that before so sorry if you’re sick of hearing it but I’m not sorry for saying it) and I think this might be the first time I’m writing a Cersei x reader so this was exciting!

(I do not consent my works to be reposted/copied)

~~~~~~~~~

Cersei always believed that if she were born with a cock, her world would be a lot different, but for the best.

As a child, she drew pictures of herself on the back of the dragon, and as she got older, her father kept promising to marry her to the prince, so then she began drawing Rhaegar Targaryen in those same pictures.

Before she grew into her female qualities, she was able to dress as her twin brother and attend sword fighting lessons without anyone able to tell the difference. 

While Jaime had no interest in listening to his father about the importance of their history, their finances, and the running of the keep, Cersei listened intently. She knew that if she were Tywin’s firstborn son and heir, he’d be proud of all of her accomplishments, and this was just one of many ways she tried to gain his approval. 

She did all these things to prove that she can do anything her brothers did possibly even do more than Tyrion but Lord Tywin always stamped down her ambitions other than the one that involved her getting married to the prince. No matter how hard she tried, Cersei could never get her father to actually see her aside from what she already was.

One look and Lord Tywin would’ve seen his daughter holding a sword better than Jaime ever could and reciting old text better than Tyrion could ever pronounce. If Tywin could only see past her gender, Cersei would truly be his golden child.

Alas, she was nothing but a bargaining chip; a pawn he liked to move around the board. When her marriage proposal to Rhaegar fell through and all the Targaryens were killed off, Cersei was married to Robert Baratheon and she became his Queen Consort. She gave him three children, despite the two of them being unhappy from the start. Even if her children didn’t look like the King, she didn’t care. She did her duty to the realm, to her husband, and to her father, securing the legacy Tywin always wanted for his family. Cersei did her part and now she felt inclined to her own right of freedom to do whatever she wanted.

That freedom came in the form of Lady Y/n.

As a wedding gift, Lord Tywin sent Cersei the daughter of one of his bannermen to act as her handmaid and confidant. Y/n was possibly the only truly kind gesture Cersei’s father ever made toward her, but the new Queen was bitter from the beginning. She did not confide in other women. Cersei felt as though she was above gossiping and hand-sewing, even when she was a little girl. With her father’s praise and boasting of her being the most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms, Cersei even believed she was above all the ladies of the country, including Y/n. 

Y/n was a quiet young woman. Dutiful towards her Queen and tending to her every need without question, the handmaid was smart to never speak openly to Cersei. She kept her thoughts tight-knit in her mind and only replied to the Queen if Cersei spoke directly at her. Even where Y/n was from, she heard certain rumors about Cersei and how the Lady Lannister’s best friend, Melara Hetherspoon, mysteriously fell into a well and only Cersei lived to tell the tale. Y/n’s mother was secretly concerned when Tywin Lannister sent her daughter away to tend to Cersei, knowing that the Lioness of Casterly Rock was always troubled and strangely devoid of any emotion other than anger.

Even Y/n believed this, and in fear, she never spoke a word to Cersei unless spoken to so as not to draw attention to herself. Tending to Cersei was like awaiting with anticipation for a barrel of wildfire to ignite. All it took was one tiny flame.

However, once Cersei’s children were born, it appeared as though that flame was tameable. Y/n often tended to her Queen’s children more so than the wet nurses. Many wondered if the wet nurses were just lazy, but one maid, in particular, had the bravery to whisper about the Queen being behind this, how Cersei ordered the wet nurses to do their duty to feed her children except Myrcella but to leave all other care to Lady Y/n and herself.

If this rumor was to be taken seriously, no one knew why Cersei would do such a thing unless she full-heartedly trusted her handmaid. But this was Cersei Lannister of all people, and no one, not even King Robert, was allowed to be near the princess and princes without Cersei’s presence.

And yet, Y/n could be found with all three children, alone, holding them to her chest when they cried or laughing as she chased them around in the gardens. If they weren’t with Cersei or their teachers, the royal children were likely to be found with Lady Y/n, who they lovingly nicknamed their aunt once they began to speak. Perhaps the children truly thought Y/n was part of their family and if so, Cersei had allowed it to appear that way.

The truth is Cersei grew to care for one other person besides her children and Jaime, but kept that close to her heart and locked it away, not even Y/n could reach it. At first, Cersei was disgusted with her thoughts and her feelings. There was a time in her inner turmoil when she would lash out at her handmaid even though Y/n did nothing wrong. Despite all this, Cersei blamed her for everything and was even tempted to send her away. But young Myrcella, barely able to write her own name, cried one night when Y/n was not there to tuck her into bed and told her mother how much she loved Y/n. Feeling defeated, Cersei never exiled Y/n and refused to look at the other woman for many months.

Cersei’s demons came to a head when she heard Jaime tell yet another story about Tyrion finding another whore to bed with... but instead of her usual disgust, another thought struck her. There was a time when Cersei could act like a boy all she wanted without anyone batting an eye. She could do whatever she wanted and even though she was now Queen, Cersei had yet to take full advantage of that. As long she remained married to the King and gave him children, her father could not tell her what to do and her husband cared very little about what she did as long as Cersei kept him out of it. Hearing Jaime’s story of Tyrion’s new woman, Cersei thought if her dear little brother could take any common whore to bed without scandal, why couldn’t she?

Lady Y/n was already her handmaid. It was already the perfect disguise. If Tyrion could do it and hide his lover as a servant girl, so could Cersei. If Robert could openly bring whatever woman he wanted into his bed, so could his wife.

Of course, Cersei could order Y/n to kiss her and bed her if she liked, but she was a clever woman and felt the excitement of playing the long game of convincing Y/n to love her. So as not to scare her, Cersei started off slowly, starting by subtly nodding her thanks to Y/n when she helped her dress and undress because yes, Cersei has never once thanked anyone before. When Y/n didn’t appear put off by this, Cersei slowly began to openly thank her, then slowly progressed to subtly touching her arm or moving Y/n’s hair off her shoulder. 

This slow progression is successful in many ways. Y/n doesn’t notice how much Cersei changed because Cersei had slowly done so without any red flags rising. Before Y/n could remember the story of Melara Hetherspoon, Cersei had her wrapped around her finger, practically brainwashing her handmaid into believing that she had always been a kind and loving queen towards her loyal subjects. Cersei’s patience paid off when Y/n began to openly talk to her about her hopes and dreams, even her opinions, without ever flinching of fear or repeal.

And, in a way, her patience also brought Cersei to love Y/n even more than just for lust. Listening to Y/n talk made Cersei wonder why she had suppressed the young woman from doing so in all the years she’s known her. Everything sounded exciting when Y/n spoke, her voice forcing Cersei to listen to every syllable. 

That is... until eligible suitors came searching for Y/n’s hand in marriage. When Y/n talked about her suitors, Cersei would immediately order her to speak of something else. She couldn’t bear to hear about the men trying to take her new interest away from her. She wouldn’t allow her brothers to steal a toy from her as children, why would this be any different?

It was the talk of the decade. Throughout King’s Landing, people whispered about how Lady Y/n must be cursed. Ever since her father announced opening a proposal for her, many of Y/n’s suitors have mysteriously disappeared or been found dead in their beds, sometimes even before they could meet her. Over time, several men have gone to King’s Landing in hopes of winning Y/n’s hand. None have returned to their homes and some houses were on the brink of extinction because of this curse.

It didn’t take long before men stopped asking for Y/n’s hand in marriage, and Cersei had never been happier to have her handmaid remain at her side.

By the time Jon Arryn mysteriously died, Y/n was more than just a confidant or friend. She became Cersei’s secret lover, and Cersei didn’t feel any shame or disgust the first time she kissed her. While making plans for the royal family to travel to Winterfell, Y/n shyly and breathlessly confessed her love for Cersei. Before she could escape the Queen’s chambers in her shame, Cersei roughly held Y/n’s face in her hands as she fervently kissed her. The victory going on in Cersei’s mind was all too sweet, hastily taking Y/n to her bed then and there, finally claiming her as no one but the Queen’s.

Cersei had begun to feel like a god with what she had taken as her own. With Y/n secretly under one arm and Jaime under the other, she began to believe and reminisce about the young girl she once was, a Lady Lannister who took no prisoners and always got whatever she wanted. As Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Cersei felt as though she held the world in her hands and was believed to be untouchable.

This god complex would continue to fester and grow as several events play out. While in Winterfell, Young Bran Stark mysteriously fell out of a window. When the royal family left the North, they brought Ned Stark and his two daughters with him as the new Hand of the King. When Cersei arrived back in King’s Landing, Y/n was waiting for her in her chambers with open arms and a hot bath. Cersei had never felt such power secured tightly in her fist before.

That is until it slipped ever so slightly out of her grasp and Cersei lashed out and nearly lost her mind. Under Lord Stark’s orders, his wife Catelyn took Tyrion as her prisoner and this prompted Jaime to attack the Hand of the King before escaping King’s Landing. Cersei could feel her power and influence slipping when, even as Ned Stark admitted to her accusations, Robert still refused to punish his old friend. 

Madness slipped through, for a split second, as Cersei snapped, “I took you for a king!”

“Hold your tongue.”

“He’s attacked one of my brothers and abducted the other. I should wear the armor, and you the gown.”

King Robert spun around and hit her before Cersei could say more. She proudly claimed she would wear this mark on her face like a badge of honor before swiftly leaving the room. She retreated to her chambers to lick her wounds and fester in her rage. When Y/n was summoned, she was horrified by the angry bruise on Cersei’s face and tended to it immediately. Unaware of what had happened, Y/n barely even blinked when Cersei ordered her to stay with her the whole night.

War began to brew after that and Cersei received word of Tywin and Jaime raising an army to bring back Tyrion. Sensing it was time to make her move, she had her cousin Lancel bring an armload of wine for Robert when he fled to the Kingswood to hunt. Of course, everyone knows that wine and hunting don’t mix, and when Robert returned to Cersei, his guts were spilling out of him. It wasn’t long before Joffrey was sitting on the Iron Throne after that, his mother sitting beside him.

Cersei had Ned Stark arrested and his daughters confined to the Red Keep. With her son as king, she now had all the power with no one to tell her otherwise. She still felt her self-control slip, however, when she heard of Jaime’s capture and then Tyrion returned to King’s Landing as Tywin’s Acting Hand of the King. When she heard the news of her twin brother, Cersei retreated back to her chambers and once again, kept Y/n in her bed all night long. Y/n was none the wiser, believing Cersei was only grieving her brother’s capture by taking her anger out on her lover. This anger got even worse when Myrcella was sent away to Dorne.

When Jaime returned, Cersei was still an angry woman and nothing was ever the same again. Cersei retreated from Jaime’s embrace whenever he reached out to her. At first, he thought it was because of his missing hand, but then Cersei gifted him a golden prosthetic as a replacement. When she didn’t appear disgusted by him, Jaime kept a watchful eye on his sister.

He suspected Cersei had another lover but failed to find any man entering his sister’s chambers, no matter the time of day. He did, however, always noticed Y/n freely walking around wherever she wanted. Even when Cersei was not around, Lady Y/n would enter her room and the guards standing outside wouldn’t even question her. Sometimes, Jaime even witnessed Y/n ordering the guards around as if she were speaking on the Queen’s behalf, and they listened to her. Jaime’s affronted thoughts came to a halt when one day, he noticed Y/n out in the gardens with Tommen, the young prince indulging the lady with a book he read out loud. Cersei was nowhere in sight.

Jaime was not the smartest Lannister, but he knew Cersei better than anyone, and he knew that his sister would not trust their her children with anyone unless she had complete faith in them.

He confronted his sister that night when he knew that Y/n was sent away after helping Cersei undress. With the Queen now alone, Jaime snuck in and didn’t hesitate to speak his mind, “You love her.”

Cersei froze, her back turned to him, refusing to say a word or even look back to face him. Jaime scoffs because that was enough of a confirmation for him. Cersei was never one to hold back her tongue; this would have been no exception if it wasn’t true. The emotions that began to build within Jaime were rage and disgust. He pushed a boy out of a window for Cersei. He kept their affair a secret for Cersei. He killed his cousin for Cersei. He even lost his hand when trying to get back to Cersei. How is it that he went through all that trouble the gods have cursed him with for Cersei, and she had already moved on and fallen in love with another? How could he live with this knowing that Cersei had pushed him aside for none other than a woman?

“As hateful as you are... you love her,” he seethed between his teeth, “All those years you made me believe you kept her around to keep all eyes away from us... when really you just wanted us both. You have always been a selfish woman.”

A wry smile curls over his lips, the brewing anger slowly turning malicious, “But I wonder how selfish? Or are you just too blind by love to see it?”

Cersei turned to face him, her expression sour and voice dripping with venom, “See what?”

“That she has fooled you,” Jaime lets the words spill out of his mouth like water, fluid and graceful, even he believed the deceit he spoke, “Lady Y/n’s father may be our father’s bannermen, but she is no ally to us. I intercepted a raven before my escape, one that was addressed to Robb Stark. It was sealed with your sigil but not your handwriting, so I knew it wasn’t yours. However, seldom few have access to your seal and your desk, so one could only wonder who had the means of contacting the King of the North bearing your mark?” 

Cersei stood still, eyes locked onto Jaime’s as her expression slowly twists and turns corrupt with barely restrained rage and madness in between the flicker of the candle flame. For a moment, a brief moment... Jaime thought that rage was directed at him.

~~~~~~~~~

Y/n was roughly woken by a few of the Queen’s personal guards, binding her and muffling her screams with a rag. Tediously, they bring her all the way down into the dungeon before throwing her into the deepest, darkest cell. With her bonds and gag loose, Y/n finally has a moment to yell and plead, her hands gripping onto the iron bars for dear life as she begged for someone to help her.

Her pleas stop, however, when from the shadow emerges Cersei, regal as always, dressed in her usual red and gold fabrics without the help of her usual handmaid, now trapped behind bars. The moment Y/n caught the light on Cersei’s face, she knew who to place blame for her arrest.

“Why are you doing this?! I deserve an explanation!”

“You’re a traitor,” Cersei hissed even with a sly smile on her beautiful face, “You betrayed my son, your king. And worse of all, you betrayed me. Did you truly think I wouldn’t find out about your secret little messages to the King in the North? Were you praying that Jaime would never return so that he wouldn’t be able to inform me of your treachery?”

Y/n was initially shocked by these accusations before turning to defend her honor, “Surely he’s mistaken! Your brother has been away from home for far too long. His mind might be sick from being Robb Stark’s prisoner all this time. Why would you believe Ser Jaime over me?”

The question dies in her throat, her face crumbling into fearful realization as Cersei continued to stand still, as quiet as a cat while smiling down at her mouse. Y/n’s voices drop down into a whisper as she tries to hold back her own emotions, “... Unless it’s true. The rumors have all been true. You and your brother...”

Y/n’s fear slowly reverts to anger as her thoughts spill openly from her lips, “I refused to believe the whispers. I was loyal to you from the very beginning. I stuck by your side through everything and yet-- How could you?” She finally snapped, voice rising once again as her grip tightens around her bars, “I sacrificed everything for you! I gave you all I had and it still wasn’t enough, wasn’t it? I loved you... with all my heart, but not even love can cure you from this madness.”

Cersei’s eyes bore into Y/n’s own, the two women standing in the silence of the dark, cold dungeon. The Queen doesn’t acknowledge her actions for not even she knew why she quickly decided to imprison her former lover. She herself felt disgusted. Cersei had been able to round up each of King Robert’s bastard children and slaughter them for the sake of Joffrey’s legitimacy, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to have Y/n executed even though the woman was accused of betraying Joffrey. Cersei once believed she would do anything for the sake of her children, and now she felt disgusted knowing that she couldn’t even kill a woman to uphold that silent promise.

Cersei held her chin high, her voice was as cold as the day she first met Lady Y/n, “I love my brother. I will only ever love my brother. How could I ever love someone as lowly as a servant girl?”

~~~~~~~~~

It didn’t take long before Tywin noticed his daughter had a new handmaid and not one who was trusted enough to tend to Tommen when Cersei wasn’t around. Without questioning the Queen, Lord Tywin conducted an investigation and quickly discovered Y/n in the dungeons. After briefly talking to her and investigating Jaime’s accusations, Tywin was able to concur that Y/n was innocent of such treasonous actions and set her free. When Cersei heard of this, she was enraged and immediately went to her father with demands of executing her former confidant. When Tywin brought his evidence to her attention, Cersei refused to believe it, turning a blind eye and cursing her father’s name. Even in disbelief, Cersei couldn’t help but internally feel the ache and anger in her heart. Deep down, she knew Y/n had done nothing wrong, yet she listened to Jaime anyway. The last nail was wedged into her coffin when Tommen asked Cersei where his Aunt Y/n had gone. Only then could she truly admit she made a mistake.

But it was too late. With Y/n no longer being Cersei’s handmaid, the lady avoided the Queen like the plague. Y/n was no longer the woman everyone once knew to be kind and compassionate. She was cold and calculating to everyone, including Cersei, if the two women ever had a brief encounter in Joffrey’s court.

Y/n couldn’t even find it within herself to feel sympathy towards Cersei when Joffrey was murdered at his own wedding. Long after Tommen was crowned King, Y/n continued to avoid Cersei and never once shed a tear for the boy she once loved as her own. As long as one bore the face of Cersei or sported any sort of Lannister trait, Y/n avoided them at all costs and even felt disgusted if she had to share a room with them. A moment of opportunity arrived for her to be rid of this Hell when the High Sparrow became a big influence on King Tommen and his people. Cersei had the High Sparrow annointed as High Septon with the belief that he would work under her rule, and Y/n watched this unfold from a distance until finally, she made her own calculated move.

In time, Loras Tyrell, Queen Margaery, and even Cersei had been thrown into various cells of the Great Sept when none of them confessed to the sins they were accused of. Cersei had felt the cold breath of karma ghost down her neck the moment her cousin Lancel entered the room to stand beside the High Sparrow. Weeks dragged on and Cersei was miserable in her cell, hair matted and body covered in filth, tongue dry from her thirst. The cell door opened one miserable morning and Cersei curled in on herself instinctively, ready to refuse the water when offered in exchange for a confession... but the septa never said a word. Slowly, Cersei looked up from her arms and found Lady Y/n standing there instead of a septa, dressed in travelling clothes and holding a small pouch of water in hand, devoid of emotion as she looked down on the former Queen she served.

Cersei didn’t look pleased or impressed, turning her away to lean against the cold wall of her cell, “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? The one thing you have always strived for; craved for... You have always wanted to see me suffer.”

“I don’t know if there is anything I can say or do to convince you otherwise,” Y/n scoffed while setting down the pouch of water, “I gave my life to you, yet you still believe I betrayed you somehow in some shape or form. Even when I was proven innocent, you despised me. Why?”

Cersei blinked slowly while staring off into space, trying to swallow her spit to relieve her thirst, “You were just some lowly reminder of a time when I was unfaithful.”

“To who? King Robert? Everyone knows you despised him. That is no secret. Everyone knows that you would have done anything to hurt him. But to hurt Jaime... I think most can suspect that at this point, you would have done anything to keep him at your side. You can’t fool anyone, Your Grace. Not anymore.”

“I have fooled no one.”

“No one but me. You had me fooled the moment you kissed me,” Y/n’s voice broke, ever so slightly, cracking her mask, “You had me believe what we had was love. And yet you threw it all away the moment you decided to believe whatever you wanted to hear.”

“I didn’t want you to betray me.”

“And I never did. But you didn’t exactly care, did you? Instead of just asking me, you threw me in a cell and left me to rot. Because it was Ser Jaime’s word against mine.”

“Why are you really here?” Cersei rasped, watching her finger as she absently traced shapes into her cell wall.

Y/n composed herself, hardening her heart again and quickly blinking away the tears before they could be shed. She straightens up her vest as she confidentally spoke, “I came to say goodbye and to pray we never see each other again. What happens to you is no longer my concern. King Tommen has granted me leave from your service and is sending me home today. My only wish... my only wish is that we part with our truths laid out to one another... the way it always should have been.”

Cersei finally turns to look up at the woman standing over her, feigned smile spreading over her filthy face, “What truths, pray tell?”

“The truth is you were right, Queen Regent. I did betray you,” Y/n carefully watched as Cersei’s face twisted with several emotions before continuing, “I betrayed you to the High Sparrow. I confessed my sins to him and thus revealed yours. I told him everything, from our affair to yours and Ser Jaime’s. It wasn’t your cousin who turned you in. It was me.”

For years, Y/n has watched Cersei play the game with eager eyes and thin smiles and it wasn’t until recently did Y/n want to see the smug smile wiped from her former Queen’s pretty face. In her dreams, Y/n could imagine this and feel satisfaction bloom in her stomach, fulfilling her without food or water and lasting her till she is old in age. Now, finally succeeding in making Cersei lose at her own game, Y/n doesn’t feel that satisfaction she desired. All she could feel was guilt and shame.

Cersei’s face crumbled until it was laid bare for Y/n to read her as a childrens’ book, the Lady Lannister’s voice becoming accusatory, “So I was right. All you’ve ever wanted was to see my downfall.”

Y/n felt as though she had been slapped in the face, hating herself even as the words fell out, “No... never. Not when I loved you.”

Cersei looked back up when she heard Y/n kneeling down to her height, meeting her shining eyes as her former handmaid whispered as though she spoke a secret, “You might not see it as I do, but if I were to recall... you were the one who betrayed me first. I only returned the favor. Farewell... my lioness. I will pray for the next whore you decide to take to bed.”

The way Cersei’s face fell only made Y/n feel worse as she stood, turning to leave. The former handmaid wanted this woman to beg for her life as she once did in her own cold cell. She wanted Cersei to squeal and cry and feel her heart break as she once did, betrayed by the woman she loved. In a last ditched effort, Y/n kicked her pouch of water close to the cell door, far from Cersei if she even tried to reach it.

“No-- wait, Y/n, please-!”

Y/n hastily made her exit, slamming the cell door behind her to shut out Cersei’s pleas. As she walked down the hall, Y/n could feel a tear slip past her detection... as well as a smile of freedom.

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hi I’m back on my bs again. It’s been a busy couple of weeks and now that I’m caught up on House of the Dragon and no longer working nights, I feel fueled to write again. Please support and leave a request in the ask box!

[thedoctorsthings]

Power to the king | Min Yoongi pt. 2

Fantasy/historical AU, viking Au (attempted lmao), Yoongi x female reader

More angst (you know me by now), Yoongi is still an asshole, things taking a dramatic turn

cw: sexism, mentions of war, Jungkook's humour (I've decided I'm blaming my painful unfunnyness on the character now)

word count: about 3k

Yoongi and you had been married for a month now and you’d kept your promise. You were ice cold, you only talked when spoken to and you hadn’t as much as smiled in Yoongi’s general direction. The servants and everyone else in the castle treated you with respect and subservience. One might even say they seemed scared of you. Only you knew this all to be a farse. At night, when you were alone you cried yourself to sleep. It had been a month and you’d made little progress. Every day felt as empty as the last. Days before the wedding your mother had told you that an arranged marriage without love wasn’t as bad as people made it out to be. She said you would find things to love, running the household or eventually your children. But as a princess there was no household to run and how were you supposed to have children if your husband wouldn’t even look at you. You admit that you did want children. If you couldn’t have your husband close to you at least you would have them. They would be something that you could devote yourself to in this empty life. Since your wedding night you and Yoongi hadn’t spoken about the subject again. You assumed he would come knocking on your door every night, asking over and over. This was the way most of the men you’d met and heard of acted when it came to sex, but he left you alone. It seemed that maybe it was up to you to come to his door, but over your dead body were you going to give in to him first.

You got out of bed and got dressed. It was customary for maids to help women of your status with this, but you had quickly made an end to this habit by sending the maids out every morning. Now they didn’t even bother coming in anymore. The typical attire of a princess consisted of a white underdress and a heavy garment over it. Today you chose a blue dress. You leave your room and head to the dining room for breakfast. Yoongi is already sitting at the table. You were infinitely thankful for the rest of his family and the ever-present servants. If they weren’t here every moment you spent in the same room as Yoongi would be spent in agonising silence. You always sat next to your husband, as was customary. His brother sat next to you on your other side. Jungkook was a small dash of light in the dark tunnel that your life had become. He was nice, funny and actually tried to engage in conversation with you. He was the reason your days here weren’t spent in complete loneliness. You had no romantic feelings for him, but still found yourself wishing you’d have been married off to him instead. Marriage with him might have been easier, might have worked better than with Yoongi. “Good morning, your majesty. How did you sleep?”, Jungkook asks in that overly polite tone he often liked to use with you. “Nothing to complain about, my lord”, you replied, equally nasal. “Not really suitable for a prince to be playing games with his future queen, is it?”, sounded a grumpy voice from your right. You had already noticed that Yoongi didn’t appreciate it when you had too much fun with Jungkook. It made you want to do it all the more. At this comment you settle your gaze on the empty chair in front of you, the one where the queen is supposed to sit, and rigidly stare at it. “We are expected to attend next week’s festivities together”, Yoongi poses and somehow his voice sounds softer. He’s bent slightly towards you, but you stay unmoving. “okay”. Yoongi finishes the rest of his meal in silence as you occasionally say something to Jungkook. As Yoongi gets up, he says: “your chambermaid will tell you when it is time to prepare. She’ll give you the clothes you’re expected to wear as well”. You merely nod. 

Yoongi walks through the huge, stone hallways while lost in thought. He got what he wanted, a wife that never let her emotions get the best of her, one that was rational and let him do as he wanted. You were perfect, there was nothing you did wrong, and somehow, he still despised you. Whenever he tried to make contact with you, you rejected him. There was nothing but one-word answers from your side. He felt that you hated him and that made him dislike you. He knew he would never be as charming as Jungkook, but you could at least try to form some sort of friendship with him. The most important reason however, was that he hated the way he felt when he looked at your emotionless face. You looked like all life had been sucked out of you, while at the same time there was a deep silence lying in the still waters of your eyes. It made him feel horrible, it was his fault, he’d never admit it. He knocked on the door of his mother’s bedchambers. “Come in”, he heard her weak voice call. He pushed open the heavy, wooden door and stepped into the room. She was sitting half upright on the bed, leaning against a mountain of pillows. The sunlight coming from the high windows hit her face nicely. He sat down in the chair next to her. “How is married life, son?” “To be honest, I barely talk to her”. The queen looked at him with a questioning look. “I just don’t really like talking to her”. “Why?” Yoongi sighed and stayed quiet for a while. He made a vague gesture with his arm and shrugged: “It’s like she’s not really there. When she always responds as short as possible and only speaks when spoken to. I think I don’t like talking to her because I know she doesn’t like me either”. His mother looks out the window a second, before speaking: “You think she’s cold?” “Yes exactly”. “Yoongi, you’re my son and I love you, but you’re not the warmest person either. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like talking to you either”. “But I try so hard to seek contact with her”. “I think a husband and wife should have more than just contact”, the queen said, smiling. Yoongi was quiet again. “Could it be that you feel guilty?” At this Yoongi got up: “No that’s not it!”, he said raising his voice. “No need to get angry”, she said calmly. “I’m not, I just have things to do”, was the last thing he said before leaving the room.

You’re walking through the gardens of the castle. It was spring now and getting warmer. In this kingdom, warmer still meant well below what others find agreeable, but your people were used to it. People had started dressing lighter and the sun shone more often. You also felt lighter. After months of basically ignoring your husband, you had decided to be more welcoming. Your sister had been right. As a woman all you could do was make the best of it. About a week ago you had started being nicer to Yoongi. You smiled at him during meals and asked him how his day was going. Yesterday you spent the evening together playing a traditional board game. You suggested it. It was nice, you’d laughed together for the first time ever, even if it was still awkward. Things started looking up, maybe you could find happiness here after all. You let your hand brush over the newly growing flowers and enter the halls. Tonight was the night of the festivities and you planned to go to your husband and ask him what was expected of you tonight. You could ask any of your maids, but this was the perfect opportunity to spend more time with Yoongi. As you near the corner you hear giggling. Your ears perk, even with Jungkook’s presence everything happening at the castle was a grim affair. Giggling was not something often heard around these parts. “Your majesty, behave”, you hear a female voice tease. Dread fills your stomach. You round the corner and there he is, his hand on her lower back, his nose in her hair as she opens a door. He looks up for a split second. You don’t know if he saw you, you’re still quite far away from them. Even if he did see you, it clearly doesn’t matter to him, because he and the maid enter the room. You hear shushing and more giggling and then the door shuts. You welcome her back with open arms. That all familiar emptiness, or at least that’s what you wish this feeling is. It’s not, it’s pain. It hurts you more to admit it. It’s horrible to realise that you let this man get to you. You promised yourself you would never feel again when it came to him and here you were, seeing blurry from the tears trying to find your way back to your rooms.

Tonight’s festival marked the beginning of spring. Everyone in the city gathered on the main square every year to sing, dance and eat together. It was your favourite thing as a child. Today was the first year you couldn’t enjoy it. You were expected to walk through the crowd at the height of the festival. The king and queen first, although the queen wouldn’t attend due to her illness, then the crown prince and his wife and lastly the second born son. You’re waiting in the carriage. You and Yoongi are seated next to each other, Jungkook sitting opposite of you. The air is tense. You still have no idea if Yoongi noticed you earlier today. You have a feeling that he might have because he’s tenser than usual. So are you. “Alright someone say something before the awkwardness drives me to jump out of the vehicle”, Jungkook says while uncomfortably squirming on his bench. You and Yoongi both remain silent. “By Odin, I bet the mute choachman is better company than you people”. At this you let out a giggle, that in its turn makes Yoongi scoff. Wanting to relieve Jungkook of his suffering you offer: “What do you think the head druid will predict tonight? I hope not another failed harvest like last year”. “Me personally, I’ve been hoping for golden rain ever since I was a kid”, Jungkook jokes with that signature, boyish grin of his. “The druid’s prophecy is no laughing matter Jungkook, Y/N is right. We better hope for a fruitful harvest this year”. “Alright Mr. Cranky, maybe you should jump out of the carriage”, is the last thing Jungkook mumbles before getting kicked in the shin by his older brother. This time you laugh out loud and even if it was just unconsciously, Yoongi is proud that he was finally part of the reason why.

Your carriage arrives after the king’s and when you get out the mass of people outside cheer so loud you almost cover your ears. Almost, because you’re sure that if you did Yoongi would have something to say about it later. You and Yoongi link arms, which is probably the most intimate you’ve been since the wedding. You walk through the path of people to the thrones that have been set up at the head of the square. There are six thrones. The king and Yoongi sit on the two most extravagant ones in the middle. You sit next to Yoongi and Jungkook next to you. Two men are already sitting on the thrones next to the king. These are the head druid and his apprentice. At the end of the evening, they will perform a ritual to predict the fate of the kingdom. During the meal you and Yoongi barely exchange a word. After however, when you’re watching the city’s people dance, Yoongi chuckles at seeing a young man almost trip and light his hair on fire with one of the torches. The man manages to do a sort of twirl and prevent this horrible fate from happening. “That’s Jimin”, Yoongi states: “He’s a bit of an idiot but a good man. He’s the son of the farmer that delivers food to the castle. You might have seen him help his father with the deliveries, the old man is getting sicker and sicker”. You haven’t digested the events of this morning yet and honestly the fact that he’s acting as if nothing happened is pissing you off. “So, you’re just going to act like I didn’t see you grope a maid this morning?”, you ask without looking at him. “Y/N”, Yoongi start, but he’s interrupted by the booming voice of the king. You hate that man for the way he talks to you and for the way he speaks of his wife as if she’s a burden, but you have to admit you’ll always have respect for the way he can make a crowd of hundreds of people shut their mouths. “People of Sargon, turn your eyes to the fire. The Druid will perform the prophecy!”. His voice could reach the deafest of men. The druid got up. You had never seen him from this close. He was quite a young man; most druids were older than stone. He had pitch black hair filled with silver jewelry. It ran over his broad shoulders like a black waterfall. When he turned to bow to the king you saw his face. In your nineteen years of life, you had never seen a man so handsome. After that, his apprentice got up and turned to do the same. This man had dark eyes and an almost equally handsome face. “I think these druids have a potion to make themselves look better, it’s not fair”, Jungkook whispers. “You look fine Jungkook don’t worry about it”, you smile back. “Don’t ya think I oughtta get to the bottom of this then ey?”, he asks in that accent you’ve gotten so used to. “Yes Jungkook, as prince of the kingdom I think you should make it your first priority to find interrogate two druids on why they look so good”, you retort. “Exactly my thoughts”, he grins, but he can barely finish the sentence because Yoongi reaches over you to softly hit his brother upside the head. The druids walk over to the huge fire. The head druid reaches into his pocket and takes out some dried leaves. His apprentice is holding a wooden bowl with a purple looking oil in it. He dips the leaves in the oil and then throws them on the fire. For a moment, nothing happens. The square trembles with suspension. All of a sudden, the flames turn black. In all the years you’ve attended the festival you’ve never seen a fire this dark. It roars and seems to double in size. The head druid is caught off guard and stumbles to the ground. The flames shoot higher than ever, before turning back to their normal size and colour. Everyone is quiet. The man named Jimin, who was laughing seconds before is now looking at the druid with fear in his eyes. That same fear is visible in the eyes of each person in attendance. You feel the heat on your face fade away as the druid whispers: “war”.

After the druid had uttered the word war a shock wave had rolled over the square. The king had ordered the druid and his apprentice to accompany you back to the palace. Once arrived there, he immediately called all his advisors to gather in the main hall. You and Yoongi had followed them in. “What is she doing here?” the king’s voice sounded throughout the entire hall. “She’s my wife and the future queen of this kingdom. She needs to know what’s going on”, Yoongi defended. “Your mother never sat in on things like this”. “I plan on doing things differently”, Yoongi said sternly. The king grumbled but didn’t complain further. “Seokjin, what is the meaning of this”, the king yelled angrily, as if it was the druid’s fault that the fire had behaved this way. “I don’t know your majesty; all I know is that this means war. I don’t know with whom. I don’t know how long, and I don’t know how high our chances of winning are. The rest of the of the evening was spent with old men arguing with even older men about what to do. Eventually they concluded that we would have to wait. After hours the druids had managed to convince the king and his advisors that it was too early to decide anything, but the king decided to start training his men more fervently.

After this evening regular life continued, albeit with a dark cloud hanging above all your heads. Everyone seemed stressed and anxious at all times. You and Yoongi also went back to normal. Normal meant back to how it was before you decided to be nicer. You never brought up the affair with the maid again, and neither did he. That evening at dinner the king showed, once again, why everyone tried to stay as far away from him as possible. “Why is she not pregnant yet?”, the king asked, although a better term would be, demanded. Of course he didn’t ask you. He asked Yoongi and acted as if you weren’t in the room, like always when he said something about you. “I don’t know father. We haven’t had any luck yet”, Yoongi answers stoically, without looking up from his plate”. “I bet it’s her fault. She’s barren and tricked us into marrying her into this family”. “That is not it!” You raise your voice. You’ve barely ever said a word at this table and the king is made of the same thing your nightmares are made of, but you refuse to let him talk about you. The room becomes impossibly tense as the king looks at you. It almost felt as if you could feel his stare sting in your eyes. “Father, you will not talk about my wife like this”. Yoongi says calmly. “Oh, really son? So it’s not her fault? Is it yours then?” Yoongi and the king share 5 full seconds of murderous eye contact before the king delivers the final blow. “I should have known. The God’s refuse to bless you with an heir after what you’ve done”. Yoongi slams his fists on the table and gets up so roughly his chair falls to the ground. He storms out of the room and the sound of the door slamming can be felt in your ears long after he leaves.

Later that evening you are sitting in your chambers. You’re reading a novel when there’s a knock on your door. “Come in”, You say curtly. Yoongi steps into the room. He doesn’t peek his head in first like the servants do. He always enters rooms with the confidence of someone who belongs, something you could only dream of. At least now, when you were a child, you could do the same thing. Somewhere along the way you lost the confidence. It happened to every woman in this godforsaken kingdom. “We should talk about producing an heir”, Yoongi offers carefully. “Oh really, now you want to come to me. For months on end, you leave me alone in the cold of the night but when daddy dearest brings it up you listen”, you bite. “I just think he raises a good point. We’ve been married for months and people will start expecting good news soon”. “What is it really? Are you starting to get lonely, does our stone-cold crown prince need someone to warm his bed?” halfway through that sentence you had gotten up and started getting closer to him. He grabs you by the wrist of the hand you had been pointing in his face with: “You will not speak to your future king in that way!”, he spits through his teeth. You refuse to stand down, so you say: “Maybe my future king should go find another servant to produce a successor with, I bet she speaks to you in whatever way you want, doesn’t she?” Yoongi lets go of your hand. For a moment it looks like he’s about to say something, maybe even apologise. But then he disappears from the room without saying a word. You flop down on your bed. Maybe you were too harsh. You have to admit that you did desire a child to raise. It would give you something to do, someone to love in this cold castle. You would also be lying if you said you didn’t desire Yoongi in that way. When you saw him and that council hall a couple of weeks back. When he had argued with his father about protecting the country, when he had argued to stay calm and not make any rash decisions, he seemed in his element. He was good at this, he was good at strategy, he was a born leader. Seeing him like that had shot a feeling through your body like you’d never felt before.

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[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (29)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: mention of rape, angst, violence, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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Aegon knew that it was impossible to love him, so he craved it even more − proof, that he could be given such deep, valuable affection. That he was worth it after all, just as much as the favourable gaze of his father and mother.

Although he was the first-born son, he was not the heir to the throne. He felt like a Prince of Nothing who would watch a woman, the mother of bastards, sit on the Iron Throne − he wanted to laugh and cry at the very thought.

He didn't know if he had any talent − his sister was the heir to the throne, she had an ease of speech, shrewdness and a cutting tongue. Aemond was quiet but constantly reading and perpetually smarting, telling boring stories about their ancestors. Helaena was withdrawn and said things that were strange and incomprehensible to him − she was, in his opinion, completely detached from reality.

When he found out that he was to marry her, he thought his mother was mocking him − he preferred Helaena to marry Jace as Rhaenyra had proposed and to have the opportunity to choose a wife as Aemond had.

No such thing happened.

Their wedding supper was lavish, but he felt empty inside − Helaena was his sister and he loved her, but he did not desire her in that way. They didn't fit together, there was nothing in their characters that connected them or at least made them have something to converse about.

The thought of begetting an heir with her made him feel like vomiting.

He knew that whatever he did, however hard he tried, their rapprochement would not be according to her will − she feared and abhorred him in a way, he could see it in her gaze, in the way she flinched when he touched her naked body.

He tried to be as gentle as possible, imagining other women beneath him.

He tried not to think about her crying under him, about the fact, that he had just hurt his own sister.

He often wept thinking about it, but then it became indifferent to him.

The servant girl, Helaena, the lady of the court.

It was all the same to him − all that mattered was the momentary relaxation.

Until he saw her.

She and Helaena were strolling through the gardens of the Red Keep, dicussing something, walking hand in hand. At first he thought with joy that surely this was her new lady in waiting, that this girl could have been his.

She seemed so innocent; her face gentle and sympathetic, her eyes large and bright, her lips curved in a sincere, wide smile. She wore gowns of a different cut from the ladies in King's Landing − bold, brightly coloured, her hair combed in such a way that it accentuated her wonderfully slender neck.

He thought that she was beautiful.

Then he learned that was his brother's betrothed.

He looked at her as they sat at the common table during the suppers − he exchanged a few words with her, but in front of his brother she did not smile so much and answered with reserve.

He thought that his foolish younger brother with his perpetually stony face must have instantly frightened her and been violent towards her, trying to dominate her.

He noticed with frustration that Aemond didn't even look at her, didn't appreciate the shape of her body, the beauty of her attire, didn't pay her compliments, didn't even touch her.

He thought that if she were his, he would treat her differently.

That if he had a woman like her, cheerful, bright, joyful, he would make an effort.

He would change.

If she asked him, he would stop drinking so much.

He would stop going to brothels if he could experience pleasure in bed with her.

He would prove to her that he was worthy of her love.

She, however, paid no attention to him − although his brother hardly spoke to her it seemed to him that she always remained in his sphere.

On the day of their wedding he thought with amusement, looking at his brother during the feast, that he did not look happy with his choice, all tense, even though his wife sitting next to him looked beautiful. He didn't even ask her to dance, forcing her to have her first dance with her brother.

He thought he was pathetic.

That he didn't deserve her.

That she should spend her wedding night with him, not his brother.

Immediately after they left he waited a moment and stood up, walking out the other side of the corridor − he wanted to be sure that his brother wouldn't hurt her.

That he wouldn't hear her crying from behind the door.

He heard something else, however.

They were both panting and moaning, but they were not sounds filled with pain − he pressed his lips together at the thought that perhaps his brother was only pretending on the outside.

That perhaps he really desired her but was ashamed to admit it, because it would show his weakness.

The louder the sounds came from his brother's chamber the hotter and angrier he felt, his hands clenched into fists. He heard her sweet, loud, helpless whine, then a low, drawn-out groan of his brother and there was silence.

He thought that his brother would throw her out, tell her to go back back to her chamber.

But she didn't leave.

She stayed with him.

The next day during supper his brother seemed absent − he was drinking wine, looking dully towards the entrance, apparently wondering in what state his wife would appear. He approached him, holding his cup in his hand.

"How was your wedding night, brother? Did it meet your expectations?" He asked teasingly.

His brother answered nothing, he only saw him tighten his lips.

"I heard some moans from your chamber. It sounded pleasant." He said offhandedly, taking a sip of wine, and only then did his brother cast him a warning, dark look.

He wanted to say more, but his wife walked in, beaming and smiling, her brother stepping out to greet her. They were discussing something with tenderness on their faces − Aegon glanced at his brother and saw his jaw tighten, his posture change to one of uprightness and pride.

He was furious that he had touched her.

His wife was not indifferent to him.

They were only able to sit down at the table when their father the king stepped inside. He sat to her left, immediately smelling the pleasant scent of her floral oils − he thought that he would tease his brother a little and see what his reaction would be. He leaned towards her ear.

"I could hear you all the way in my chamber. I want you to know that the door to mine will always be open for you." He said tauntingly and saw with amusement how his brother threw him a murderous, warning look.

He wanted to laugh at this sudden interest he was showing in his wife and worry about whether someone else would touch her.

He thought that his brother was a fool.

He wondered how their married life would work out − he thought that she would eventually tire of her brother's insufferable, sullen, aggressive nature.

That she would give up, dejected and deprived of any tenderness, warm words and compliments.

This is what he was waiting for.

However, even when her brother did not speak to her, distancing himself from her for some reason, she preferred to speak to Helaena and not to him. He felt pain seeing this and did not understand what he did for her to treat him so coldly.

He never nagged her or tried to touch her.

Whenever he spoke to her he tried to do so with a smile and respect.

Her gaze and attention always turned towards his brother.

He felt a squeeze in his stomach when one day, returning late at night drunk to the keep, after having fucked a couple of whores from behind, imagining his brother's wife, he heard her moaning in his chamber.

He heard them both panting, his brother's voice saying something to her muffled by the layer of wooden doors and her quiet sobs as he fucked her.

Sobs full of pleasure and fulfilment.

He took Helaena that night for the first time in many months. He woke her up in the night and told her to just lie on her back and not move.

He imagined that it was he, not his brother, who made those sounds came out of her, that it was him she wanted, that it was him she craved.

When he heard his sister's sobs underneath him he burst into tears himself. He slid out of her when it was all over, trembling as she did. He embraced her and hugged his face to her neck.

"− forgive me −" He mumbled.

She was his sister, and he had hurt her again.

He was disgusted with himself, with what he had become, but he couldn't stop.

He stroked her hair, and she wept softly.

"− forgive me −"

He thought that he would try to forget her, that he would try to be a good brother and husband as much as he could.

He no longer approached Helaena, satisfying his needs elsewhere, seeing her only in the company of their children.

Neither of them spoke of what had happened between them, but he could see that his sister-wife could not look at him.

He was not surprised by it.

He avoided his brother's wife too, trying not to think of her, sinking into the goblets of wine and the soft breasts of whores in the brothels. His mother urged him on again and again, giving him sermons, but he had no strength to listen to her.

Why should he make the effort if he was going to be a nobody in the end anyway?

What were his children to inherit?

Everything around him seemed meaningless to him − he sometimes wondered why he had been born if he was his father's dream child, but he didn't love him anyway.

He was the son of the wrong mother.

He was not worthy of anyone's love.

He managed to find relief from his drunkenness and promiscuity until they had dined together with the bastard children of their half-sister. When he saw out of the corner of his eye his brother slip his hand between her thighs, her body trembling from his shameless touch in front of everyone, her eyes showing a haze of desire, he felt arousal.

He imagined that it was his hand touching her, that it was him she was looking at like this.

He pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly as Daemon approached them, his younger brother taking his hand away quickly, embarrassed and surprised. He felt like laughing at this pathetic sight.

His brother watched helplessly as his wife danced with another man, and he felt a wild satisfaction at the thought. He thought that as soon as she sat down, he would be next in line to ask her for this pleasure.

His brother, however, decided otherwise.

He commanded in a furious voice that his wife return to her chamber, and he led her away.

He felt a tightening in his throat when Aemond returned after several minutes, his forehead glowing from sweat, his pupil dilated, his breathing accelerated. He sat down at the table, thoughtful, and took a few deep sips from his goblet, as if suddenly thirsty.

He fucked her, he thought with pain and frustration.

He was jealous and went to fuck her to prove to himself that she was his.

Even so, when his brother made the last toast and Jace slapped him in the face, he didn't let Luke move an inch, banging his head against the plate.

The issues between them had no bearing on the fact that against the Blacks they were a united front.

He had once promised his mother that in front of others he would always support him and he intended to keep his word.

Afterwards, he fled to the brothel. He couldn't stand being in the keep, thinking about what his brother was doing to her when they left. As much as he tried, he couldn't stop the intrusive thoughts and desire he felt for her.

He desired her.

He loved her.

He wanted her for himself.

He was disgusted with himself by the thought, but he also found a kind of relief in it − a feeling that maybe if he made an effort, if he was patient enough, she would look at him the way he looked at his brother.

He wondered, what had Aemond done to deserve such a treasure? What had he done to deserve her devotion and love if he was still harsh and cold towards her? If he did not appreciate her?

He fell asleep completely drunk and the next day strangers told him, that he had to go into hiding. He could feel his dulled mind barely registering what they were saying to him.

"The King is dead."

He laughed at these words, turning on his side, unable to move. He felt like he was about to either pass out or vomit.

He thought that he was just dreaming.

Several dewy-eyed men took him under his arms and led him out of the brothel into the glaring sun. He hissed loudly, clenching his eyes, a headache racking his skull.

"−leave me alone −" He mumbled lowly, still heavily dulled by alcohol, the world around him blurry and bright.

He felt his way up the stairs to a cool, dark place and then finally let him lie down on the stone floor, where he fell asleep. He did not wake up until an hour later and when he looked around he realised that he was in the Great Sept. He hid quickly under one of the great candlesticks, terrified.

The King is dead.

Was it true, or had he just dreamt it? Would his older sister now try to kill him as a potential threat? What was he supposed to do?

He decided it was best if he stayed hidden. However, he didn't succeed for long − not a few hours had passed and he was tugging at his younger brother in the big square, panting heavily, trying to get away from him.

"Is it true that father is dead?" He howled heavily, Aemond squeezing his neck with his shoulder, choking him. His younger brother chuckled lowly at his question.

"− Yes. And they plan to make you King. −" He said with disapproval and a sneer, at which he spit in his face. He tried to break away from him again, but his brother knocked him down, they tugged at each other, panting hard.

"You know I'm not fit for it. Brother! Look at me!" He growled, gripping his cheeks in his hands, their faces inches apart. Aemond hesitated.

"− look at me − I am not fit to be King − let me run away − I will sail away and you will never see me again. −" He said pleadingly, on the verge of crying. He felt Ser Criston pull him by the arm, dragging him towards the fortress.

"− brother! −" He called out to him over his shoulder, panting helplessly, but Aemond only looked at him with an absent expression on his face, his lips clenched into a thin line.

They crowned him, and he felt that something inside him just died.

As he turned to face the crowd he felt himself trembling all over − he knew what was going to happen.

He knew, that the people of the Kingdom he was to rule would begin to demand Rhaenyra's presence.

That they would curse him as a traitor.

The crowd, however, began to clap and cheer. Timidly at first, but then the storm of applause spread throughout the building with a powerful echo, hitting his body like a great wave.

He didn't believe it.

They didn't curse him.

What if the people of the kingdom actually wanted a King? Not a queen?

He raised his sword high, and the people began to cheer and shout for joy. He felt strength, he felt joy, he felt that perhaps the gods had set his path.

Perhaps he was truly destined to become King.

Perhaps his father had changed his mind at the last moment.

And then the ground beneath him parted and the gods showed him what they thought of him as King.

He thought they were laughing at him from the heavens along with his father.

However, he did not burn.

They returned to King's Landing as if nothing had happened.

He was the King.

His mother held a feast in his honour and he felt that something had changed in him − the power he now had was terrifyingly unlimited. He could decide someone's death and life, someone's freedom or torment.

He thought he was now essentially a demigod and laughed under his breath.

After a few toasts, he noted with frustration that not everyone seemed overjoyed at the coronation of the new ruler − he tried to meet the gaze of the woman who had been keeping him awake for so many months, but she was staring at her empty plate, thoughtful and pale. He pressed his lips together at the sight, taking a sip of wine.

"Dear sister-in-law, why such sadness in your eyes? Are you not happy to have a new King?" He asked feigning indifference, leaning his head against the back of the chair, glancing at her expectantly. He saw Aemond give him a warning look, his wife twisting in her seat, looking at him frustrated.

He thought she looked adorable when she was angry.

"I almost burned alive today. The experience has worn me out, my King." She said slowly, his brother smirking mischievously at her words. He burst out laughing, delighted by her directness − it was one of the things he appreciated about her.

She didn't lie.

She had the courage to call a spade a spade, unlike his mother.

"So my sister-in-law can speak. Until now, all I’ve heard from afar in my chamber are the other equally curious sounds that you are capable of making." He sneered, wanting to show her who had the real power at this table and that the conversation would go on as he wished.

He saw with amusement how she turned scarlet, his brother's gaze murderous, his hand clenched into a fist on the table. Suddenly his mother spoke up in a weak, broken voice.

"How can you say such things in front of all these people? To humiliate your brother’s wife in front of everyone?" She said loudly. He snorted and rolled his eyes − she was always being dramatic, making scenes of her own or others' suffering out of everything.

His mother was an eternal martyr in his eyes and she expected them to be martyrs with her.

He took another deep sip of wine, setting his cup down loudly on the table, sighing heavily.

"After all, it’s no insult. I envy my brother such a wonderful possession." He muttered lowly, glancing at his brother's wife, and she looked at him with a fury that he had not yet seen in her.

He liked that.

"That is enough. Your words are insulting to me and your own wife. Your Queen." She hissed, and he barely restrained himself from bursting out laughing. He reached for a grape, plucking it and sighed loudly, leaning towards his wife.

"My queen is indifferent to everything. Isn't she?" He asked softly, and Helaena looked at him, sadness and pain in their eyes.

He pressed his lips together at this sight and swallowed quietly, feeling remorseful.

With the eyes of his imagination he saw her again, how she cried beneath him as he took her and moved away from her.

He lifted his gaze to his brother as he stood up abruptly.

"We're leaving." He hissed, turning away.

Cheeky brat.

He thought he'd done a lot of reading and swung his sword, flying around on an old, ailing dragon so he could do whatever he wanted.

"I order you to stay. You will leave when I allow you to." He said matter-of-factly and coolly, washing his hands in a bowl of water, reaching for another dish, looking at his younger brother expectantly.

He saw the way he looked at him and felt satisfaction at the sight.

Oppose me, he thought.

Give me a reason to punish you.

However, Aemond looked at his wife and his expression changed.

He felt a squeeze in his throat at this sight, as if they were communicating with each other without words.

His brother returned to the table, all tense, and sat down again, pressing his lips together. He saw his wife put her hand on his thigh under the table, and he did not reject her.

"See? The younger brother should always listen to the older brother. I want the best for you and your wife." He said, looking at her intensely, their gazes meeting.

She was so beautiful, but she had never looked at him the way she looked at his brother.

She never smiled in his direction, there was no warmth in her gaze.

He returned with this thought to his chamber, exhausted. When he finally removed the crown from his head he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from him.

It seemed to him that all this was not really happening, that he was only playing King, but in a moment someone would take the toy away from him.

He sat on his bed, thoughtful, when he heard the door to his chamber open and close.

He turned, startled, thinking it was some insolent servant, but saw his sister in front of him. Helaena stood before him, her face pale.

This was the first time she had come to him of her own free will.

He stood up slowly, seeing the tears running down her cheeks, her lips tightened, her eyebrows arched in helpless suffering.

"Have I ever deliberately hurt you, borther?" She asked quietly, and he felt a tightening in his throat. He blinked, swallowing loudly, his gaze fleeing around the room.

He couldn't look her in the eye.

"− no − of course not −" He muttered, massaging his forehead, somehow horrified and bewildered that she suddenly wanted to speak with him.

"So how could you say that? How could you say I am indifferent to everything when you're the one hurting and betraying me?" She asked in a trembling, cracking, soft voice, so incongruous with the words she spoke. He saw her shaking all over, looking at him boldly, her nostrils twitching restlessly with each breath.

He felt shame flowing through his whole body.

He didn't love her the way a man loved a woman, but she was his sister.

The weight of what he had done to her, the horrors he had heaped on her shoulders crushed him suddenly.

He felt tears under his eyelids.

"I don't know. I don't know why I said that." He whispered, shaking his head, burying his face in his hands.

He cried like a child, as he usually did when he didn't know what to do.

At that moment he felt like a nobody, a trash, a little child who cried to his mother.

His grandfather always said he cried like a little girl.

He wiped his red face with his hand, swollen from alcohol and tears, and grunted loudly, looking somewhere beside him.

"Forgive me. I promise you I will never touch you again. We have successors." He said, raising and lowering his hand helplessly, slapping it against his thigh, looking at her at last, her lips slightly parted, her eyes large and filled with pain.

"Stay in your chamber away from me and my affairs. Take care of our children. I will try to be a good father. You don't have to eat with me or look at me. You have done more than I deserve." He added finally. He shuddered as Helaena approached him slowly, step by step.

She surprised him by grasping his hand in hers, stroking it with her thumb, her eyes were filled with both warmth and immense suffering, from which his heart squeezed.

He knew that he had been the cause of every sorrow she had suffered, every humiliation that had befallen her in her life.

He told himself that she was mad, that she was unaware of what he was doing behind her back, because it was easier for him that way.

"− sister −" He whispered quietly and drew her to him suddenly, surprising her and himself by pressing her face to his chest.

She didn't embrace him or move an inch, but she didn't push him away either. He stroked her hair, there was a sincere tenderness in his gesture that surprised him and her − he felt every breath she took break from the uncontrollable sob that left her lips.

"− I tried to love you −" She whispered in a breaking voice, and he sobbed loudly at her words.

He knew it was true.

She was one to make those efforts.

She pressed her lips together every time he hurt her, enduring everything with dignity and humility.

He never appreciated that, thinking only of the fact that her legs were not as long and slender as he would have liked, that her breasts and thighs were not as full as he would have desired.

They stood like that, both of them crying − he thought that something had ended between them.

That he would never hurt her again.

That he wouldn't hold it against her if she found a lover.

Someone who would make her happy.

Then many things happened at once. His brother's wife left for Storm's End, Aemond for Winterfell, and an uprising broke out in Harrenhal threatening his already weak position.

He thought at the time that he would send his brother there along with his army under the command of Criston Cole and then it dawned on him.

This was his opportunity.

An opportunity to get close to her.

Tospeak with her in solitude, to get to know her better.

He felt excitement and remorse at the same time, but there was nothing he could do about it − he promised himself that he would not force her to do anything, that he would show her the respect that he truly had for her.

As soon as the servants informed him that Aemond had returned from his mission, he immediately recalled him to himself. He saw that his brother was pale and furious − he thought that his mission had not gone well, and he was not mistaken.

"− grandfather will not be pleased −" He said lightly, raising his eyebrows as he reached for the grape that laid on the table in front of him. He saw his brother smile mischievously, a threat in his eye.

"Of course. He's the one who actually wears the crown, not you." He hissed, and he looked at him warningly. They measured each other's eyes for a moment, the tension between them growing more intense − he couldn't hold back a grin at the thought of what he was about to tell him.

"I am sending you and Criston to Harrenhal." He said calmly and almost burst out laughing when he saw his horrified, bewildered face.

"What?" He asked shocked, his lips slightly parted in disbelief.

"An uprising has broken out in support of our sister whore, they've hanged our Lord Strong in his castle. You have to deal with it, because I don't think we want the other Lords to consider revolting as well?" He asked lightly, plucking another grape and popping it into his mouth with a loud crunch of juices. Aemond looked at him, his gaze darkening slowly.

"For how long?" He asked uncertainly, Aegon raised an eyebrow at his question.

"As long as you deal with it." He said softly, taking another grape in his hand.

He saw his brother look away, thinking hard about something, his jaw clenched in rage. He straightened suddenly, folding his arms behind him, looking at him with a pride that always frustrated him.

"In that case, I'm taking my wife with me as soon as she returns from Storm's End." He said with emphasis, and his lips tightened at his words.

Fool.

"You are to set off immediately. Your wife will be safe here and will wait patiently for you." He said with emphasis, looking at him impatiently.

He thought with satisfaction that he was King, his order was above that of anyone else.

She was staying with him. Why should he put her at risk?

War was no place for women.

Even less so for one as delicate and fragile as her.

"No. I will fly with my wife, or not at all." He growled furiously, clearly suspecting what he wanted to do in his absence. He smiled under his breath, standing up slowly, avoiding the table, looking at him with amusement.

"Be careful, or I'll think you've fallen in love with her. Don't be silly. It wasn't a request. Do you want your wife to become a widow?" He asked lightly, raising an eyebrow, looking at him expectantly.

He could do what he wanted with him, but he was his brother.

He didn't want to make him leave by force, but he would if left with no choice.

Aemond saw perfectly in his eyes what he wanted.

He desired his wife.

Aegon watched with satisfaction from his chamber window at the receding silhouette of Vhagar. He had heard of a woman they called the beautiful Witch of Harrenhal, with wonderfully green eyes and coal-black hair, with full breasts and hips.

He thought she might be able to keep his brother occupied for longer, which would give him more time alone with his wife.

He thought that as soon as she arrived in King's Landing he would invite her for a meal, and that is exactly what he did.

He was surprised that she did not refuse − when she walked into his chamber he marvelled at how she looked.

Her breasts concealed only by an white shirt cinched underneath by a corset, her sleeves buff.

The colours of her lineage, not her husband's, he thought with amusement.

She stood before him and bowed, her gaze gentle and indifferent at the same time.

He was not deterred by this.

He spread out his arms, wanting to embrace her, but she did not reciprocate the gesture.

He held out his hand to her, and she gave him hers − he leaned in and kissed her wonderfully soft skin.

She smelled of some kind of floral oils that he always sensed when she sat near him.

"My King. You wanted to see me." She said calmly, the tone of her voice pleasant and low. He felt his heart beat harder in his chest.

"Yes. Sit down, let's eat, I just asked for refreshments to be brought to us." He said lightly, returning to his seat and indicating with his hand for her to sit on the other side of the table. She did so obediently and straightened up, waiting for his words. He took his cup and took a sip from it, looking at her curiously.

"Why do you not wear the colours of our House?" He asked lowly, cocking his head. He wanted to speak with her about something normal, not just refer to formalities.

To get to know her.

He saw that she threw him a surprised look. There was a kind of amusement on her face that made him curious, her hand reaching for the lemon cake his maid had brought a moment before.

"Isn't red the colour of your lineage?" She answered the question with a question, taking the biscuit into her mouth and biting off a piece of it, looking at him expectantly.

He watched the soft movement of her lips and felt a pulsation in his breeches at the thought of how wonderful it must have been to feel them.

"Not that shade. For the rest, my brother and I prefer the colours of our mother's house." He muttered, looking away, trying to control his thoughts.

"You invited me to discuss the colours of my gowns, my King?" She asked provocatively, raising an eyebrow, something in her gaze from which he grew hot.

She was so direct.

Was she like that in bed too?

Did she speak that way to his brother?

He grunted quietly, trying to collect his thoughts, smiling under his breath.

"No, dear sister-in-law. I wanted to know what decision your father made." He said a little cooler, looking at her expectantly. He saw that her expression had changed − she put down the biscuit, straightened up and became more serious.

"He will support you." She said shortly.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Will he pay tribute to me?" He asked lowly, and she sighed quietly.

"If you won’t tease him with anything by then, then yes, Your Grace." She said amused, and he snorted under his breath at her words. He almost choked on his wine when he heard her next words.

"I wish to join my husband in Harrenhal."

He set his cup down on the table with a loud clink of steel, frustrated.

"No. War is no place for women." He said coolly and indifferently, fiddling with the vessel in his hand. Why did she want to go there? To watch her husband fuck another woman?

He saw her lips tighten at his words, her cheeks ignite, in her eyes an anger that he had not yet seen in a woman.

"I am the daughter of Borros Baratheon. War is in my blood as fire is in yours." She said with impatience.

He looked at her cautiously, wrinkling his brow. He wondered if his brother allowed her to speak to him like that or if he punished her every time.

Was he showing her in bed how she should address a man.

"Have you heard of the Witch of Harrenhal? She is said to be a beautiful woman with full breasts, eyes as green as precious stones and hair as black as night. My brother has always had a weakness for such women, so I was surprised when it turned out that you were the one he chose. I thought then that he had made a mockery of you and your sisters." He said calmly, as if he was telling her a story.

He saw how, out of rage, her face curved in pain and helplessness, her eyes red, her lips swollen, trembling, her skin pale.

She was beautiful and sweet again, vulnerable.

Just the way he wanted her.

"But I, when I saw you, I thought I had never seen a more beautiful, more sweet girl in my life. Gods, you are so delicate and subtle." He said dreamily, tilting his head back, resting his head against the back of the chair, looking at her with misty eyes.

He was humming pleasantly from the wine, feeling his manhood pulsing hard at his words. He licked his lips, feeling his heart pounding.

"I fell in love with you from the first sight."

He saw something inside her break, she shook her head in disbelief, her lips parted helplessly.

She was so beautiful.

"I should go back to my chamber." She whispered, lifting herself up on trembling hands, and he rose quickly, terrified, his heart thudding like mad.

He had said too much.

He had frightened her.

He cursed himself and his lack of patience in spirit.

He swallowed loudly, walking around the table, her figure tense and terrified. He touched her shoulder, looking at her pleadingly.

"I’m telling the truth. I’ve never felt anything like this for another woman." He said quickly, looking at her helplessly.

He was telling the truth.

He didn't want her to run away.

He didn't want to be left alone.

"You have a wife who needs you. And I have a husband who needs me. Please −" She whispered softly, trying to pull away from him, but he caught her other arm, standing over her.

Never before had he been able to look so closely at her face, beautiful, warm, red from tears and emotion, her full puffy parted in despair.

"He is noble only in appearance, to the public, like my mother. Do you think that when you’re not near he doesn’t fuck other women? That he is faithful to you?" He asked quietly and saw her eyebrows arch in pain, his every word cutting through her like a blade.

His brother didn't deserve her.

He didn't appreciate her.

He didn't love her the way he did.

"You're in love with a mere fantasy." She said, trying to pull out of his embrace, but he dug his fingers deeper into the sleeves of her gown, angered by her words.

You're in love with a mere fantasy.

This fantasy just stood before him.

"My brother has not been able to appreciate what he had since the day he chose you. But I would appreciate you." He said devastated by her words and what he felt, his voice breaking mid-sentence.

If only she would let him, he would show her how sincere his feeling was.

He would make an effort for her.

He would stop drinking.

He would visiting to brothels.

He would be the most just King he could be, if only she would support him.

He felt tears under his eyelids at the thought.

"Your every smile, joke, tender gesture. I would shower you with gifts and kiss your hands every day." He whispered, and after a moment he felt warm moisture on his cheeks and sobbed quietly.

They were both crying, clenching their eyes, their breaths hitched − he thought there was something beautiful in that moment, in that helplessness and intimacy at the same time, in the fact that he had opened up to her. She looked at him with her big eyes and he felt the heat spread through his body.

"− if you love me, please, please, let me return to my chamber −" She whispered pleadingly, and he felt a pain in his heart from which his throat tightened.

If you love me.

He pressed his lips together, feeling torn as never before in his life.

He craved her.

He craved to touch her, to take her here and now, to feel her wonderful, warm, fleshy insides, to sink his face into her neck, to experience fulfilment with her.

If you love me.

He promised himself.

He promised not to hurt her.

He saw before his eyes the image of Helaena crying beneath his body and imagined to himself that she was the one in her place.

That it was her he had raped.

His grip eased, his hands falling helplessly, releasing her.

They stared at each other for a moment, his gaze blank.

He wasn't worth anyone's love, but he still loved her anyway.

He watched without a word as she turned and headed for the door, opening and closing it behind her without even giving him a glance.

He decided not to reprimand her.

He had only ever seen her at the suppers, but she avoided his gaze.

He knew that was her response.

That she did not reciprocate his feelings, that he frightened her.

He felt frustrated and lost, hurt and rejected.

One part of him was telling him that he was the King and could take what he wanted, and the other part kept remembering his sister's weeping face.

One morning one of his servants entered his chamber at dawn − he ordered her to leave, wanting to continue sleeping, but she still stood in the same place.

"My King, The Prince's wife is not in her chamber. We have already informed the Queen."

He pulled himself up, looking at her in shock. He pressed his lips together, feeling a tightening in his chest as if someone had placed a bag of stones on his back − he knew perfectly well what she had done.

She had fled to him.

She had fled to Harrenhal.

For some reason, even though she was his brother's wife and not his, he felt betrayed.

He opened up to her, he needed her.

He wanted to spend just a little time with her, and she ran away, abandoned him.

He dismissed his servant, laying his face on his pillow again − he felt tears involuntarily run down his cheek onto the material beneath him.

She had abandoned him.

Although his mother wanted to order a search, he did not agree.

He knew exactly where she was and decided there was no point in making a big deal out of it.

He thought with amusement that perhaps she would find her husband in bed with the Witch of Harrenhal and return to cry on his shoulder.

After a few days, however, he received a message from his brother. He looked at it for a while, afraid to open it.

Had she told him about his confession?

He finally gathered his courage and unfolded the letter, looking inside.

Brother, my wife, in accordance with my request, joined me in Harrenhal. She has told me of the affection you appear to have for her. I look forward to your explanation upon my return. Send no one for her. Her place is with me. Aemond −

In accordance with my request.

I look forward to your explanation upon my return.

Her place is with me.

He felt a squeeze in his throat and tore the letter to shreds, throwing it impatiently into the fire. He ran his hand through his hair, breathing loudly through his nose, clenching his eyes.

He knew his brother would kill him when he returned to King's Landing, but he felt like laughing at the thought.

He wanted to die.

He thought that was the worst thing that could happen to him.

He was wrong.

The next day he received a letter from Ser Criston informing him that they needed reinforcements from King's Landing because Corlys Velaryon's fleet was moving towards them.

After a discussion with his mother and grandfather, he ordered several troops of Targaryen's army to move towards Harrenhal, but he knew that they would not have time before the attack − he prayed that his brother would hold out.

He might hate him, he might have the woman he desired, but he was still his younger brother.

And then he received a letter that crushed him, making him sit down by the fireplace and sob, covering his face with his hand.

A message detailing the injuries of the one he loved, that half her body had been burned in dragon fire.

That her body would forever bear the scars of her encounter with their uncle's wrath, for they had taken away his wife's rightful throne.

A throne he had taken unlawfully for himself.

He did not believe his mother's word that his father had changed his mind.

And now she had paid the price.

The only woman he had ever loved.

_____

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[eddiemadmunson]

Chase

And here is a second birthday gift for my bestie @hamatoanne​​​ 😏😏😈��� Happy birthday babe, I hope you will enjoy this dark filthy fic 😏😏😈💕 I love you 😘😘

Paring: Aemond x fem!reader Word count: 5, 200 Warnings: dirty talk, kidnapping, chasing, dagger play, blood play, choking, oral sex (female receiving), non-con, dub-con

You woke up shivering and with a pouncing headache. You slowly opened your eyes and noticed that you were definitely not inside your chambers. You quickly opened your eyes and groaned when you felt the sharp pain in your head. What the hell is going on? You didn’t get drunk last night. The last think you remembered was a calm evening with your husband, dinner with his annoying family and then you peacefully fell asleep in his arms. You slowly sat up and waited until the world stopped spinning around you. You hesitantly opened your eyes again and looked around you. You were in the dungeon that was for sure. Did someone drugged you and kidnap you right under your husband’s nose? It sounded impossible. Of course he had many enemies, he was an important man, but he would have never let anyone take you away from him, at least not without a fight. Oh no, did anything happened to him? You shivered in fear.  “Look, Berryck, sleeping beauty is finally awake,” someone chuckled mockingly and you realized that you were not alone. You turned your head to the left and spotted two men sitting in the cells next to yours. “Where am I?” you asked them, your voice raspy and weak. “You are in the dungeons under the Red Keep,” one of them said and looked at you like if you were stupid. “I am still in King’s Landing?” you asked and felt relieved that you were not far away from your home.  “I wouldn’t sound so happy, little one,” the other man chuckled cruelly. “You were captured by Prince Aemond Targaryen. And if you are from here, you know what kind of sick, dangerous games he likes to play with his prisoners. Especially with female prisoners,” he added and you shivered, this time with pure terror. Of course you heard a lot of stories about the young Prince. Half of them weren’t truth you were more that sure about it, but some of them had to be truth and he was terrifying. Everything about King’s younger brother was making your blood running cold in your veins. He lost his eye when he was a small boy, one of his own nephews maimed him like that. Most people would fall into misery and self pity and depression, but it seemed that the lost of his eye made the young Prince more determined to become the best fighter in the seven kingdoms. He trained with the sword every day and bacame the fiercest swordsman in the Kingdom. Men were trembling at the mentioning of his name and women trembled with desire to catch Prince's eye. But they didn't know about his dark desires. He liked kidnapping women and playing dangerous games with them, he liked to make them his prey and chase them through the castle, fucking them in the various chambers and halls.  You closed your eyes to try to collect your own thoughts and try to find out a way out of this mess. You hoped that your husband would try to save you, but now when you knew that it’s Prince Aemond who imprisoned you, you lost hope. Your husband couldn’t win a fight against the Prince. You need to get out of here on your own. You looked around yourself desperately, but you were sitting in a very simple prison cell, there was only an uncomfortable bed and bucket in the corner, nothing more. Suddenly you heard someone coming to you. You feared that it will be Prince Aemond, but it was only some male servant. He tossed you a piece of bread and cheese and a water skin and left without a word. “Look at it, Berryck. They gave her something to eat and drink, I guess the Prince wants her well fed and hydrated for his wicked plans for her,” the man in the next cell said and you gulped uncomfortably. “You are right, Meylos. He needs her strong, so he can fuck her all night. I heard that he is into some really dark kinky shit... his servants get rid of the bodies in the morning,” the other one added and you really hoped that they are just trying to mess with your head. You spent rest of the day trying to figure out how to get out of this situation or how to inform your husband that you are down here, but you couldn’t think about anything that would help you. In the evening the same male servant came to you and this time he didn’t serve you food but he brought you a green dress. “Prince Aemond demands you wear this dress,” he said without any emotion in his voice. “I don’t care what he wants, I won’t wear it,” you said stubbornly and the man looked at you with tired expression. “If you won’t put on this dress yourself, I have permission to let those two out of their cells and help you to get dressed,” he threatened you with calm voice. “Listen, my husband has money and power, just send him a word that I am here and you will be rewarded, he will rescue you from this terrible duty,” you tried to bribe him, but he kept his face neutral. “You have to get dressed. So, will you do it alone, or do you need some help?” he insisted and you sighed desperately. “All right. I will do it myself,” you replied and you could hear Berryck and Meylos grunt in disappointment.  “Can you please turn around?” you asked him and he raised his eyebrow. “Please, at least let me have some privacy,” you begged him and he hesitated. “Please, I beg you,” you tried again and looked at him in desperation. “Ok, but be quick, my Prince Aemond hates when he is left to wait,” he turned around and you quickly grabbed the still empty bucket and hit him across the back of his head. He let out a soft “huh” and fell on the ground unconscious. You quickly stepped over him and raced to the door. “Hey, beautiful! What about us? Let us out, we can help you escape!” Berryck shouted. “How stupid do you think I am?” you laughed. “You two would kill me or try to sell me to my husband. You can rot here and keep telling each other horror stories about the One-eyed Prince,” you showed them your middle finger and continued running towards the entrance, completely ignoring them shouting obscenities at you. You quickly found your way out of the dungeons, carefully looking around yourself, if anyone is following you or not. For a second you thought that someone is hiding behind the statue of a dragon, but it was only a shadow casted by the flaming torches. You quietly walked through the crowded streets and slipped out of the gates into the dark woods. They won’t look for you here. They would think that noble lady like you would never ran into the scary, dangerous woods. You slowed down after few minutes. You made sure that no one is following you and if you keep running you will soon exhaust yourself and you will probably start going in circles. You tried to remember what your husband taught you about how to keep a direction in the woods but you couldn’t remember any of his advices. You didn’t listen to him carefully, thinking that you would never need such information. You decided to choose a direction and keep walking that way. You walked for few moments when you felt the small hair on your neck rose. You felt someone’s presence behind you. It’s only my imagination playing tricks on me, you tried to convince yourself. But the feeling was stronger with every step you took. You stopped walking and listened carefully to your surroundings. You heard the natural sounds of the forest, you could hear the leaves whispering in the tree crowns, you heard owl hooting on the branches, somewhere in the distance a wolf started howling, but other than that there was silence. You relaxed and started walking again, when you sensed it again that creeping feeling that you have been watched. You looked around you, trying to see better in the dark. Is there someone standing next to that giant oak tree over there? It looked a little like a male figure, but your eyes could play tricks on you. You started walking in the opposite direction and nothing happened, your hesitant steps slowly turned into light jog and after that you started running. You just knew that there was someone watching your every move, waiting for you to drop your defenses and attack you. You were running more quickly than you have ever ran in your life. You were tripping over roots and branches on the ground, by some miracle you didn’t fall down on the ground and got impaled by a branch. You could hear the long strides behind you, someone was definitely chasing you. You started running faster but you knew that you can’t run like this for a long time, you weren’t trained for this. The muscles of your legs were already burning and you were breathing heavily. You could hear your pursuer getting closer. You quickly hid behind a huge tree, trying to catch your breath and stay as quiet as possible. There was silence again, but you knew that somewhere close behind you is lurking a dangerous predator. “Who would have said that you can run this fast, little bunny,” a smooth voice said very close to you, much closer than you expected. His voice was cultivated and he was barely out of breath, he was obviously better trained than you were. “Are you already exhausted? I expected this chase to be little bit longer and more challenging,” he mocked you and you felt your heart beating fast. You peaked out from behind the tree trunk and you finally spotted your pursuer. He was dressed in black leathers, his long sword strapped to his hip, his long silver blonde hair shinning in the moon light and his signature eye patch covering his eye. You were hunted by the dark Prince Aemond Targaryen himself and you knew that you are doomed because this man was wicked and merciless. “Come on little bunny, I know that you have more energy in that pretty body of yours,” he continued mocking you. You had two chances, you could surrender and hope that your death will be quick and painless, which you doubted or you could try to escape him and keep running through the woods. Your whole life you have been a fighter so you decided to keep fighting for your life. You took few light steps, staying hidden behind the tree for few seconds. “I can see you, little bunny,” he smirked and your eyes met for few seconds. There was no mercy or kindness in them, just a darkness and thrill from a hunt. You started running again, trying to escape your killer. You heard him laughing behind you. It was terrifying, his laughter was almost genuine but there was a hint of darkness and madness in it. He gave you few moments to give you the illusion that you have a chance to escape him. But when he stopped laughing like a maniac you knew that he started chasing you again. You kept running without looking back and he was silent that you didn’t hear his approaching steps. You thought that maybe you were lucky and you outrun him but than a strong hand wrapped around your ankle, you fell on your stomach on the roots and dirt on the ground and a hard body flattened yours to the surface, crushing you with his weight. “Got you,” he growled and flipped you over. You started fighting against him. You were kicking and screaming, trying to push him off your body. You fists were hitting his chest violently but you might as well be hitting a wall. “Did you get lost, little bunny?” he teased you, smiling cruelly at you. “Get off me, my husband will kill you for treating me like this,” you shouted, still desperately trying to get out from his grasp, you tried to wiggle, to set yourself free but it was impossible. He was gripping you with utter ease while you were using all your strength against him. “I would like to see him try,” he chuckled darkly. You tried to attack him with your fists but he easily caught your hands and pinned them above your head with one of his strong arms. “Did you really think that you could escape me so easily? I thought that you are smarter than this,” he said, his voice smooth like a velvet. “Did you really think that my servant would be so stupid to turn his back to you and let you escape like this?” he tsked, his tone disappointing. “You did it on purpose?” you asked him, your voice slightly trembling. “Yes, bunny. I love chasing my prey,” he ran one of his long, delicate fingers over your heated cheek. “You look so much prettier when you are scared, the terror in your eyes is very arousing,” he continued and you felt disgusted by him, so you did the only thing you could in this position and spit on him. You wanted to hit his good eye, but he turned his head, so your saliva was now running down his pale cheek. You noticed the flash of anger in his eye before he wrapped his long fingers around your throat and pulled you closer to him, so now you were face to face. You looked deep into his violet eyes and wondered how someone so cruel and wicked can be so beautiful.  “You are a wild little thing, aren’t you? But don’t worry, I will tame you soon enough,” he promised and pressed his thumb over your pulse point, making it difficult for you to breath. “Lick it from my face,” he commanded and you frowned in confusion. “You spat on me, so now you will lick my face clean,” he repeated, his eye never leaving yours. “No,” you struggled against his grip, but the lack of oxygen made you weak. “You need to learn a lesson, little bunny. "No" is not a word I want to hear from your pretty lips. Lick it off,” he growled and his grip on your throat tightened, you had no other choice than to obey him if you didn’t want him to choke you to death. You hesitantly licked your spit from his cheek, tasting his skin on your tongue, you could swear you tasted fire and sulfur on it, but maybe it was just your imagination since you knew that he is riding a dragon every day. “Good girl, it wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it?” he purred and you couldn’t help yourself but his praise made you shiver, and this time it wasn’t with fear. He watched you closely, drinking your every reaction to him, so of course he noticed the sudden change in your behavior. “What is it, bunny? You like to be called a good girl?” he asked and you squirmed uncomfortably under him.  “But you don’t deserve to be called a good girl, bunny. You have been very, very bad girl... running away from me like this,” he finally let go of your throat and you took a deep breath. He reached towards his waist and pulled out his silver dagger with Targaryen crest on the hilt. He twirled it in his skilled fingers and you tried to ignore the rush of excitement you felt at the movement. But this man was very observing and of course he noticed your flushed cheeks. “Oh, little bunny, I think you will be my favorite fuck toy,” he groaned darkly and your eyes followed the dagger in his hand with caution. “Please, just kill me, don’t dishonor me like this,” you begged him with shameful tears in your eyes. “Kill you? That’s a possibility, yes. But you are my new toy, pet. And I take a good care about my pets,” he smirked darkly. You felt the tip of his dagger at the top of your dress. The thought that the sharp blade could nip at your skin kept you still as he slashed your dress in half and it fell off your body. Your exposed nipples were hard in the cold night. You gasped in shock and he took the opportunity of your distraction and kissed you. Hard. He didn’t give you any space or time for escaping his demanding kiss. You fought against him, you refused to open your lips for him, but he bit your bottom lip hard, you felt the coppery taste of your own blood on your tongue and you gasped in pain, he slipped his tongue into your mouth and at the same time you felt the tip of his dagger making circles around your areola. You felt a zap of pleasure at that action and you immediately felt a rush of shame. You body should not react like this to such an assault. You could taste your own blood on his lips and it shouldn’t be so erotic, but it made your heart beat faster. He smirked against your lips, reading your body like a book. He pressed the tip of his dagger against your nipple and cut it lightly. It didn’t really hurt, it was just a little sting, but your body totally betrayed you and you moaned into the kiss. He deepened the kiss and this time you didn’t fight him, but you kissed him back with a lot of anger and frustration. The kiss became hungry and possessive. You felt like if he will never let you breathe again. When he finally pulled away from your swollen lips you were both panting.  “Your are kinky little bunny, aren’t you, love?” he licked your blood from his lips and dragged the dagger down the valley between your breasts, lower to your belly button and with one powerful move tore through your panties. You let out a shriek that sounded dangerously like a whimper, you were soaked and you didn’t know how it happened. He slid the blunt side of the dagger against your wet pussy. He lifted it under the moonlight and you watched as it glistened with your arousal. “You are so wet for me, bunny. And we barely started. Tell me, little one, does your husband satisfy you at all?” he mocked you and wanted to smack him for such an insult. “How dare you, my husband is very skilled in bedroom, he make me scream his name every night, you sick bastard,” you shouted at him and you noticed something flinch in his eye at the word >>bastard<<. “It might be the true, but you still want this bastard, to fuck your wet pussy, little bunny,” he said darkly and you watched in fascination as he licked your arousal from the blade. “You taste so sweet for such a wild thing, little bunny,” he groaned and you felt your pussy throb at the sight. He twirled the dagger again and placed it against the soft skin of your belly. “I will let go of your hands now, bunny. But try to escape or hit me and will stab you with it, do you understand me?” he asked you firmly and you nodded. You didn’t give up yet, but right now you had no other chance than to obey him. He let go of your hands and lowered himself between your legs. “Spread them for me, show me how wet this pussy truly is,” he demanded but you refused to do it. He nudged your side with the dagger, cutting your skin slightly. “I won’t ask you twice, bunny!” he warned you and you reluctantly parted your legs, exposing your cunt to his hungry eyes. “Hmm, you can keep struggling against me all you want, but your cunt speaks differently,” he looked at you from between your legs, his eye almost dark with desire. He kept looking into your eyes, as he licked your wet slit, his long nose nudged your clit. You wanted to resist, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but it felt too good. He knew what he was doing with his skillful tongue. “S-s-s-stop!” you moaned when he slid two of his long fingers inside you and at the same time his mouth attacked your clit. “Don’t lie to yourself, bunny. You don’t want me to stop,” he said between flicking your clit with his tongue. “You don’t want me to stop, you want to cum on my tongue, filthy little bunny,” he chuckled and dragged his teeth over your abused clit. You moaned again, your body no longer listening to your foggy brain. He curled his fingers inside you, hitting the spot that made your knees go weak. “Come on, give it to me. Don’t be shy. You are so close, little one,” he taunted you and you fought against your own body but  the look in his eye and the constant pressure against your g-spot got you closer and closer to your orgasm. He didn’t break the eye contact as his sinful lips sucked your clit into his mouth again and this time you couldn’t hold it and you came on his tongue, trembling and breathing deeply. He lapped all of your juices and licked your pussy clean, you tried to escape his tongue, your sensitive pussy protesting against the continuous assault but he kept you still with his strong hand. “See, bunny, you can be a little girl when you want,” he smirked and you noticed that the dagger was no longer pressed to your side. You quickly kicked him off your body and started running again, naked and tired but you fought for your life. But he quickly caught you, he slammed you against the tree trunk, the remains of your dress protecting your back, but you could still feel the harsh bark digging into your skin. “Bad bunny, don’t run away from me,” he pressed you harder against the trunk, his fingers wrraped around your throat. “I am not done with you, little one,” he smiled cruelly. “Fuck you,” you shouted at him, wiggling, trying to get out of his grasp. He picked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist and slammed you back against the tree. He pinned your hands above your head. “Oh, you will, bunny. Soon enough,” he captured your lips in another aggressive kiss. His free hand roamed your body, pinching your nipples harshly. You whimpered into the kiss and he smiled in triumph. “I can see, your husband might love you, but he can’t satisfy your dark tendencies, you were not made for gentle love making. You just want someone to chase you in the woods and fuck you hard against the tree,” he murmured into your ear while he pinched your nipple harder, earning even louder whimpers from your lips. “That’s not a true, you monster!!” you shouted and his hand found your clit again and he slapped it harshly. You didn’t recognize the sound that left your lips after that.   “Good bunnies don’t lie, Y/N,” he said angrily and you were so ashamed of yourself. You were in very dangerous situation, he will probably fuck you and then kill you, but you felt more aroused than ever before. Since the moment he twirled that dagger in his fingers you pussy was throbbing with need. Aemond was pure darkness that was calling to your deepest and most hidden urges and needs.   “Your pussy is soaked for me, bunny. Don’t try to pretend that you don’t like this,” he whispered darkly into your ear, biting your earlobe. “No, I don’t want this,” you said but your protests were weak. He started suckling at your neck and collar bones, leaving dark purple bruises behind him, if you will survive this your body will be full of his marks. He bit down on your neck and you let out a choked whimper, he licking the spot with his tongue, soothing the pain a little. He pushed you higher on the tree, so your breasts were right in front of his face. His long arms were still able to hold your hands pinned above your head. “Admit it, bunny. You like this,” he demanded and pulled out his dagger again. You watched his hand with mixture of fear and arousal. “Aemond, please,” you begged him not knowing what are you begging him for exactly at this point. Did you want him to let you go and never chase you again or if you begged him to continue and give you what your dark soul wanted. “What do you want, bunny?” he placed the dagger on the soft skin of your breast right above your nipple. “Stop fighting me, I will make you feel things you have never felt before,” he promised and cut your skin lightly. It wasn’t a deep cut, but you felt few drops of blood running down from the wound. Aemond watched your expression closely and smirked in satisfaction, when he saw the desire in your eyes. He sucked your nipple into his mouth, tasting your blood and you moaned loudly at the sight. You would never admit to your husband that you have a knife kink, that you always wanted to try something like this, most ladies at the court would think that you are a freak for having a fantasy like this. And this blonde haired demon read you like an opened book and gave you what you wanted. He bit your hard nipple and you screamed, your voice echoing through the woods. “That’s it bunny, scream for me, don’t hold back,” he encouraged you and moved to your other breast. He teased your hard peak for few moments and you groaned with impatience. “Already needy for me, look at you, bunny. How easily you turned into my little slut,” he mocked you and your protests were silenced by another possessive kiss. You kissed him back fiercely, your brain too foggy to think straight. He let go of your hands and they went around his strong shoulders and into his silver hair. He unlaced his breeches and you heard the soft thud when it hit the ground. He kept kissing you, his tongue dancing with yours in furious tango, he was almost suffocating you, he lifted your lips and entered you in one swift thrust. He groaned into the kiss and you bit his lip again, feeling overwhelmed by the way how his thick cock stretched your pussy. “Fuck bunny, you are so fucking tight and wet for me,” he grunted and started thrusting into you, not giving you any time to adjust to his size. He was big, too big, it was painful but you liked the pain, it was soon mixed with the wave after wave of pleasure. You wrapped your legs more tightly around him, pulling him even closer to you, he pushed you little bit higher and the new angle allowed him to go even deeper into you. He rut into you grinding as if he needed to get deeper, as deep inside you as he could to stake his claim and never leave. His hand went around your throat, cutting out your air supplies. “You are fucking mine now, little bunny! You belong to me!” he announced and you wanted to protest, you wanted to tell him, that you belong to your husband, but you weren’t able to form a coherent words, he saw it on your face and smirked darkly, laughing like he laughed when he chased you through the woods, like an evil maniac who enjoys to ruin you like this. And you shouldn’t feel attracted to it, but Gods damn you, that laughter made you even more horny. “Fuck, your cunt is squeezing me so tightly, are you close, little one?” he growled and you cried out as the head of his cock brushed against your g-spot. The young dragon knew that he hit the right spot, he groaned breathily as he increased his speed, deliberately angling his strokes to abuse the spot. You loud screames filled the cold night air. “Will you be a good little bunny and cum on my cock, Y/N?” he asked you and kept hitting the spot inside you that made your brain mushy. “Yes, I, please!! Don’t stop,” you begged him, completely lost at this point. All you wanted was to cum with him deep inside you. Your vision blurred as Aemond's grip on your neck tightened, strained moans somehow escaping your throat even from the strong grip he had. You could hear the lewd squelching noises from Aemond's pounding as well as his breathy grunts and moans. Your moans started getting louder and more strained as you could feel your orgasm coming up. “So cum for me, bunny, squeeze my cock so I will cum hard inside your tight cunt, filling you up with my baby,” he grunted into your ear and you exploded around him, screaming his name loudly, crying tears of shame and overwhelming pleasure. Your velvet walls squeezed his cock tightly and his orgasm hit him hard, he bucked into you so hard that the bark bit painfully into your back and he bit down on your shoulder leaving a neat row of teeth marks. He cum deep inside you, filling you up with his warm seed. You were both panting heavily, looking at each other in the silence of the night. He gently placed you back on the ground and captured your lips in deep, loving kiss. “Are you happy, satisfied?” he asked you and you smiled at him stupidly. “That was amazing, Aemond, thank you,” you hugged him and he chuckled. “Anything for you, my dear wife,” he pulled out of you, his cum dripping out of you on the ground. “Tell me all of your dark fantasies and will make them come true,” he promised and you shivered at all the possibilities. “My mind is a dark place, Aemond,” you warned him. “You married a dragon Prince, my love. You can’t scare me,” he smirked at you. “Let’s go home, my love. I don’t want you to get sick because of running naked in the woods, even though I like the view,” he smiled warmly at you and gently pushed you back towards the castle. “I am sorry that I called you bastard, and spit into your eye, I got too much into the role,” you stopped him and looked at him sincerely. “That’s OK, my love. I am sorry for cutting you,” he stroked the small cut on your chest and you shivered with need. “Don’t worry about that, I loved it,” you winked at him and he groaned. “OK, bunny. Let’s go home before I will have my way with you again here,” he swept you off your feet and carried you back in his strong arms. “But it will be my fantasy that we will role play next time, my dear wife,” he promised you darkly and you shivered with anticipation. You loved Aemond Targaryen with all of your heart and you couldn’t wait to hear about all of his fantasies and wishes.  

[shitpostingkats]

Can I please have some dark world administrative lore. Read your "Jaden Yuki has to take care of a pack of middle schoolers" and now im obsessed. Very much looking forward to the fic you mentioned where Yuri becomes Jaden's intern/apprentice because I would love to see their relationship development/dynamic and also. I need more administrative lore. I would absolutely read your entire 15 slide powerpoint

I have such a regular amount of Dark World lore. It is a very sane amount of worldbuilding I did. The next fic in the series definitely isn't going to be more underworld office comedy schennanigans with absurd amounts of exposition and complex workplace drama.

(One of these is a lie.)

For the dark world administrative lore, I decided to use file no. 4 of the Master Guide 2 card storylines as a jumping off point, and then the lore just ballooned from there. The powerpoint exists for my own referencing purposes, because even if most of the dark world generals don't appear (yet >:), it is important it exists to me.

Let's start with our head of state and his primary advisors!

Third King of the Dark World, babey!!! You know him, you love him, it's the Yuki!

Not too much to say about our Supreme Boi that isn't gonna be covered in future fics. The most relevant information, going into the as-of-yet-untitled next gc au fic, is thinking about what the hot mess that is dark world politics from an outside perspective. Like, imagine you're one of the other interdimensional courts that exist in the wider yugioh canon and just

Yuri doesn't have a slide in my powerpoint :(

I can say that in the gc au after he settles into the dark world and starts being involved in running the kingdom, Jaden goes in and officially names him an official of the dark world. At first, Yuri demanded he also be called "Supreme King", because he's a little shit like that. They compromise on "Supreme Prince".

None of the other officials call him that. They just call him "The Princeling"

Beiige, my beloved long suffering paper pusher <3

Jaden does, in fact, end up giving him a scarf at some point.

Under our King, Prince, and Vanguard, we have the newly promoted heads of Millitary and Wellfare. There is technically a third branch of of the government, Security, but rather than have a single representative, the duties of security are actually divided into Internal and External. Or, more specifically, The Wild Hunt and Renge And His Weird Daughter.

More on them later.

For now, say hi to the rest of the Dark World's millitary division!

Fun fact! At first one might assume that the dark world monsters don't have genders! Well, I assumed that at first, at least. But Snoww is considered notable for being the "only" female Dark Lord, which implies they have at least some kind of gender system. And for some reason, I find it much stranger to have a host of duel spirits with like twelve guys and one woman, than everyone just using to same pronouns. So for my own comfort and amusement, I've switched up some of the Dark Lords genders. So if she ever comes up in fic, Lucent is a woman. Other than that, she's basically the textbook brooding samurai. Jaden actually offered her the position of millitary head first, but she turned it down, both thinking herself undeserving of the title, and because she argued her being not an on-the-ground operative is exactly how she did not know how bad Bronn's rule had become. He reluctantly agreed, and she pointed him towards Zure.

What happened to the previous heads of Military? Well, as I alluded to in my fic, they're a bit hard to track down at the moment.

And in special ops, we got Cobal!

Not actually ever printed, never even seen in show. Cobal wasn't even a Dark Lord under the previous monarchy. He's like the dark world equivalent of a construction worker who got promoted to the head of the CIA. Why the rapid career change? Well one, he was in the resistance with Axel, and Jaden trusts anyone who tried to actively overthrow him. Also, the previous head of the CIA defected and set about overthrowing the government.

And on the other side, under Gren's oversight, we have our Silly Old Men.

The true victors of diplomacy. Because they were not soldiers, and smart enough to understand how veeeeery precarious that made their standing once Bronn started to go all mad king-y, used their massive brains and promptly noped right out of the situation. Parl already stayed in his cave like 90% of the time, so he pulled the old Just Stop Showing Up To The Office strategy and wrote a letter to his friend suggesting he do that same. Someone who was NOT passive about the whole Supreme King situation, however, was Ceruli's apprentice, Snoww.

While they have since reconciled, Snoww was originally an ardent opponent to Jaden's (first) rule, as well as Bronn. There isn't a more skilled death diviner in the dark world, nor any other dimension, so Supreme King Jaden went to her first thing upon Bronn's defeat to seek help recovering Jesse's soul. She was unable to find it (him being still alive) and even worse, advised Jaden that obsessing over a ghost was often the last thing a spirit wanted. Once he started pursuing Super Poly, she turned her work to guiding as many of the lost souls as she could to a peaceful rest, and delaying the ritual as long as possible.

She continued like this even after she was found out, and formally defected to join the rebellion.

RIP Latinum. He's currently rotting in one of the many Dark World prison cells.

And lastly, we've got the security branch, both internal and external.

There are now two gatekeepers in the Dark World, which is a 200% increase to what it was previously!!!

Broww's wild hunt is roughly based on the real life folkloric trend; the ever-moving host of unquiet dead that roams across the land. I like to think it has that same spooky connotation, even among dark world residents. Broww's just scary. Add to it that he basically disappeared from the government to continue to act as an independent force, the wild hunt has a bit of a mysterious reputation. It's basically the most sovereign branch of the dark world government, if not for...

Are you going to be the one to tell the dragonlord what they can and can't do??? Grapha and Jaden work on a mutual respect type of relationship, as Jaden is one of the most powerful beings in all dimensions and still a little cautious about working with dragon spirits. Inversely, Grapha is willing to handle territorial and testy dragons all day, but can acknowledge when their boss is pretty chill for an eldritch horror.

If you want a easier to follow summary, here's a diagram of the Dark World's current chain of command:

AND! For an added bit of trivia: Completely by accident, I somwhow managed to namedrop every GX era original Dark World monster in Jaden Yuki Has To Take Care Of A Pack Of Wild Middleschoolers. I just love talking about my headcanon lore so much. Can you spot them all?

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (1/?) ARCHIVED

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character.

Word Count: 2781

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was not born of love. Nor passion. Nor even a sense of duty. She was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

But even a child born of such darkness can find her way to the light.

With her mother dead, and father flown across the Narrow Sea with a new wife, the girl is taken in by her Aunt, the Queen Alicent Hightower, to be raised among the little family she has left. There, she finds her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen.

As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. The two spend long nights in the palace library together, studying the histories of both Old Valyria and the First Men, seeking to understand who they are and where they fit in the world.

But finding that place proves more difficult than in the fairy tales they read. The seeds of disaster were laid long before they were born, and as tensions in the family rise, it seems as though their places may begin to diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Prince Daemon Targaryen has grown tired of his Lady wife, the “Bronze Bitch” Rhea Royce. But he is not so easily rid of her. She survives not only his brutal attack, but his cruel violation of her. Though she remains broken and weak, she endures just long enough to deliver a child: a girl of silver hair and steely eyes. 

Warnings: Mentions of rape

Series Masterlist

Author’s Note: Oh my gosh. I haven't written anything in so long, but something about House of the Dragon - and Aemond in particular, just had me typing away. I'm going to be totally honest, I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this, but if you'll stick with me, I'll definitely get somewhere!

Prologue

Rhea Royce lay prone on the earth of her beloved Vale. But she could feel neither the cold nor the dampness of the grass and stone as it seeped through her hunting leathers and onto her skin. As the heat of her body met with the chill in the ground, the Runes of protection etched into her pauldrons became fogged over – rendered unreadable.

She knew she should hurt. The pain should be unbearable. Yorwyck was a mighty beast, like the Bronze King he was named for. His whole weight had come down upon Rhea, so there was no doubt he caused her great damage in his fall. She had heard the sharp cracking of her own bones. Yet she felt none of it. 

All she could feel was fear.

The cloaked man waited until her steed was out of her sight, and Rhea was well and truly alone, with only the distant ramparts of Runestone peering from between the hills as witness. He approached her slowly, casually, as if he couldn’t hear her desperate whimpers. He ran his violet eyes along her body as he approached her head. It was not a gaze of lust. He looked on her with the same disdainful curiosity as one examining a woodland rodent crushed by a cart. 

As he stood directly over her, he turned his eyes from her face – he had always avoided looking at the face he found so displeasing. Instead, he turned to her outstretched arm. He took another step, raising his foot above Rhea’s lower arm. The ghost of a wicked smile danced in the corner of his mouth, and he stepped down. 

Nothing.

He raised and pressed his foot down again several more times. Not to be sure, but to emphasize to his victim that she was truly helpless – exactly as he wanted her. Rhea knew the horrors his men had inflicted on the criminals of King’s Landing and the followers of the Crab Feeder. She knew the cruelty he was capable of and of his unparalleled creativity. He had hated her for years. In all that time, he must have imagined countless ways to torture her. 

Rhea braced herself for what would come next. At least she would not feel the pain.

But his steps retreated.

All the fear in Rhea’s heart evaporated, swiftly replaced by rage. After these long nine years, this was all he had for her? For nine years, he traveled the whole of the Seven Kingdoms, slandering her and her family in the courts, then further insulting her with his brazen whoring. She had lost count of how often he had called her “Bronze Bitch” and accused her of ruining his life. She had been anticipating a reckoning from him. 

But this? 

This was an insult she could not stand.

Rhea knew she would be signing her soul over to the Stranger, but she would not let Daemon Targaryen have the final insult.

“I knew you couldn’t finish,” she spat at her retreating husband. He turned back, looking at her face for the first time. Rage twisted his face, but his eyes were wide with shock. He had not expected that. But she was, after all, his Bronze Bitch.

What he said next had Rhea’s blood running cold as she thanked all the Seven that she would not feel what was to come. “My dear, lady wife,” he said, breath heaving and voice dripping with hateful venom, “perhaps it is time we consummate our union.”

-

The Lady of Runestone was dying, nine months on from her “accident.”

The people of the Vale were told that it was a miracle from the Seven themselves that she had survived such a devastating fall from her horse. Even more miraculous still, her husband had swooped in on dragonback to rescue her before she succumbed. He had even used Caraxes to find and dispatch the offending horse. A true Targaryen Prince, rescuing his Bronze Damsel. It was no wonder when her cousin and heir, Gerold, announced to the court that she was with child. They cared little that their Lady’s rescuer had swept out of the Vale as swiftly as he had arrived. 

Only her cousin, her Maester, and her ladies-in-waiting knew the truth. Maester Kerith had spent countless hours binding the broken bones that could be saved, and those he could not, he promptly removed. When Lady Rhea next sat the Bronze Throne, she made sure her ladies dressed her in her riding leathers so her court could see what she had survived, even if they could not know the truth.  

When it became clear that the consequences of what her husband had done extended beyond mere injuries, Maester Kerith offered her tea, but she refused. With her health still declining, her body struggling to overcome the trauma she had faced, she knew she would not survive long. But again, she would not let Daemon have the final word in their hellish marriage. He had insulted her, paralyzed her, and raped her, but she would not let him forget her. 

She would leave him with an Heir of Bronze.

The babe was born as the sun rose, though the day remained dark beneath the clouds that so often surrounded Runestone. 

Rhea wept for the first time, having felt no pain throughout the birth, when she saw that her daughter had the silver-white hair of her father. She had prayed for months that her child would look just like her, to be a constant reminder of his Bronze Bitch. But the babe was just another silver Targaryen. Her revenge had failed.

Gerold sat at her side, cradling the girl in his arms, as her mother could not. Then, as the babe began to cry, he held her out so Rhea could see her.

“Cousin, look at her eyes,” he whispered, all too aware of the grim looks on the Maester and Septas’ faces. 

Rhea turned her head, lifting her neck as much as her weakening body would allow to try and glimpse her child through her tears. She looked past the white hair at the small but wide eyes that beheld her. 

The slate grey eyes of Runestone, the Bronze Kings, and the First Men. Royce eyes.

Rhea smiled. Perhaps her revenge would not be as sharp as she would like, but so long as her daughter remained, Daemon would never forget her. He would always remember that he could not break her.

The Lady of Runestone’s breaths came slower, and though the Septas flurried around her, she paid them no mind. She had known all these months that she would not live to see the look on Daemon’s face when he first met his heir. She knew these were her last moments. But she did not want to spend them afraid. She wanted to spend them with her daughter.

Fitting, she thought, that Daemon’s heir should be a girl. His claim to the Iron Throne had been usurped by his young niece, and now his claim to Runestone was usurped by his own daughter. 

And what a beautiful daughter she was. Rhea’s vision began to blur around the edges, and the voices of the others in the room faded as she beheld the babe. Her eyes were bright, even as she cried softly, and the silver-white of her gently curling hair seemed to bring out a metallic shine in her grey eyes. They complimented each other, as her parents never had.

This girl was not bronze.

“Arianwyn,” Rhea whispered, naming her child as the life, at last, left her broken body. Lady of silver.

-

It was not Prince Daemon who came to Runestone to receive the child on behalf of the Royal family, but the young Queen, Alicent Hightower. She came with the unwelcome news that the child’s father had already remarried, less than a month after he became a widower. He had departed with his new wife, Laena Velaryon, to Pentos, without leaving instruction on the care of his daughter – indeed, he left without even acknowledging her birth. 

Alicent, despite her reputation as a fierce supporter of her husband’s family, was more than empathetic to the child’s plight. It seemed to Gerold that the young Queen held a similar opinion to his own regarding Daemon Targaryen. She commiserated with him on the pain the Prince had caused his family, especially Rhea and her daughter. As long as the Prince had vexed the Royce family, he had been equally maddening to his brother.

But what was most shocking to Gerold and the court at Runestone was the offer the Queen brought: to bring the child to King’s Landing and raise her there. Despite her father’s indifference, the child was a Targaryen. It was her right to live amongst her people, to learn the traditions of Old Valyria. 

And at the Red Keep, Arianwyn would not be alone. The Queen had three children, each young enough to be peers to their newest Targaryen cousin, and more were anticipated from both Alicent and the recently wed Princess Rhaenyra. 

The King had already given his approval, both to the fostering of his niece at the Red Keep and of Gerold taking charge of Runestone until the girl had come of age. Indeed, it seemed all the arrangements were already made. The Queen had even brought a small contingent of attendants for the child, from nursemaids to Dragonkeepers, who carried a great, steaming urn containing a silver dragon egg – chosen specifically by the Queen’s youngest son – to be placed in Arianwyn’s cradle.

Gerold had only one caveat before he agreed to the King’s plan: that Arianwyn would not venture to the capital alone. A handful of Runestone delegates would be sent with her, to educate her in the history and traditions of House Royce. So that even surrounded by Targaryens, she would not forget why her eyes were grey.

Queen Alicent, herself clothed in Hightower green, happily agreed. 

-

After a long journey from the Vale, Lady Arianwyn Targaryen arrived at Red Keep, cradled in the arms of her Aunt, Queen Alicent Hightower. As her attendants, including one of her late mother’s most trusted Lady’s Maids, continued on to prepare her rooms, the newest Targaryen was led into the Great Hall. 

A hush fell over the gathered courtiers when the doors to the throne room opened, and they beheld the silver-haired babe. But the chatter that so often filled the capital quickly resumed when they saw the blanket she was swaddled in. A burnished bronze velvet, carefully embroidered with the same ancient Runes that graced the ancestral armor of House Royce. 

It was a slight on the Royal house that, in another court, would have undoubtedly caused a scandal. But in this court, where the Queen herself so brazenly wore the colors of her own house rather than her husband’s, it was immediately relegated to petty gossip. So the Lords and Ladies resumed their conversations as the Queen approached the Iron Throne.

“My King, may I present your niece, Lady Arianwyn Targaryen,” Alicent said as she bowed before her husband as best she could with a squirming infant in her arms.

King Viserys’ eyes brightened, and he dismissed the Hand from his side. The King, having lost so many of his own children by his first wife, was always cheered when he had the chance to meet a healthy babe.

“Hello, my dear niece,” he cooed, reaching out to hold her, “what a delight you are!” His arms strained slightly at the weight of the plump child, so he pulled her into his chest. She relaxed into his chest, fussing softly as she reached for his long white hair.

Viserys laughed, running his fingers through her own hair. The exact shade of silver-white that graced nearly each member of his family. Though hers held significantly more curls than any Targaryen he had ever known.

“She is indeed a beauty, cousin.” A familiar voice drew the King’s attention. His cousin, Rhaenys, approached the throne. “It is a comfort to see our families flourishing.”

The King smiled and nodded, allowing his cousin permission to approach. She ascended the steps to the Iron Throne and ran her fingers along the round cheek of her new baby cousin. “It is a shame her father is not here to meet her.”

Viserys heart sank. In his joy at meeting Arianwyn, he had momentarily forgotten the circumstances under which she arrived. Once again, his brother had shamed not only himself, but his family. At least the child’s hair had put to rest any rumors that Rhea had been unfaithful. But knowing the relationship between Daemon and his late wife as he did, he shuddered to think how the child came to be. He had not seen the extent of Rhea’s injuries, but the description alone was enough to make him feel ill.

Suddenly, the sight of the babe made his heart ache. “Alicent,” he called to his wife, “take Arianwyn to her rooms. I am sure she is tired from the journey.” He handed his wife the child and slumped back into the throne, readjusting himself to try and remain comfortable. Then, when Alicent was out of earshot, he again turned to Rhaenys.

“What has my brother done now?” He said, running his gloved hand over his face.

Rhaenys grimaced. “I am loathe to speak against him now, as he has just taken my daughter to wife,” she sighed. “But I feel confident in saying that none of us can ever say exactly what your brother is doing, much less predict what he may yet do in the future.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Viserys said, “I just pray that poor girl won’t suffer any more than she already has.”

-

When she arrived, the Queen’s three children were waiting inside the solar of their cousin’s new rooms. Aegon, now four years old, ran from his nursemaid, cackling as he swerved precariously between the servants attempting to arrange the room. Helaena, approaching her second nameday, stayed in her nurse’s arms, hands clasped tightly around her ears as she took in the unfamiliar space. And Aemond, only a few months older than his new cousin, lay peacefully in his own maid’s arms as he watched servants haul numerous sparkling bronze trappings into the rooms.

“Come and meet your new cousin, darlings,” Alicent called to Aegon and the nursemaids bearing her other children, “She’s come a long way to be with us.” The Queen sat on a plush chair near the west windows of the room, gently lowering the babe into her lap.

Aegon reluctantly approached, sneering slightly at the child in his mother’s lap. “She doesn’t look like Daemon.”

Alicent sighed. “Nor did you look like your own father when you were so young. Indeed, even now, I wager you look more like me. You have the Hightower nose.” She tweaked the tip of his sharp nose – the same as hers - to drive her point home.

“I am a Targaryen!” Aegon insisted.

“Of course, my boy. How could any of us forget it with this on your head,” she said, and ruffled his unruly mop of white hair.

Aegon grunted, looking back down at the baby. He gently reached out to touch her silver hair, both neater and curlier than his own. “What is her name?”

“Arianwyn.” The Queen responded.

“Ari…” Helaena started, her hands finally coming down from her ears. Alicent nodded for the maid to set her down, and the young girl approached her mother and the babe.

The Queen spoke slowly and carefully as she repeated, “Arianwyn.”

Helaena listened intently, then repeated the name several times, struggling with the pronunciation.

“Very good, my sweet,” the Queen said, placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, though the young girl winced at the touch.

Aegon continued fiddling with his cousin’s curls, “It’s a weird name.”

“Sir Gerold Royce told me it is of the Old Tongue,” the Queen said, motioning for one of the nursemaids to bring her own babe closer, “it has some meaning, though I am afraid I forget what it is.”

Releasing Arianwyn’s hair, Aegon made a noise of quickly waning interest and stepped away, eager to resume his perpetual torment of his nurse. Had she not been holding her young niece, Alicent may have chased after him. But for now, she lifted the child to face her own.

“Aemond,” she said softly, “meet Arianwyn.”

As he beheld his bronze-wrapped cousin, he smiled, cooing and reaching a squirming fist toward her. A smile appearing across her own, Arianwyn reached back toward him.

[sailoryooons]

The Iron Ring | Epilogue | pjm (m)

❀ Pairing:  fae prince! Jimin x human! female reader

❀ Summary: After finding a mysterious ring while cleaning out your late grandmother’s attic, you receive the unlikeliest of visitors: a fae prince who claims you have something that belongs to him. Discovering the fairytales your grandmother told you are true is the least of your problems when you’re taken to a world dangerous and unfamiliar.

❀ Word Count: 5,831

❀ Genre: fantasy au, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Jumping around and no clear timeline, unexplained things because this is just a shortly little tie-up for scenes we didn't get in the final chapter, explicit language, sexually explicit content including hand jobs, grinding, unprotected vaginal sex, nipple play, a lot of spit and making out and overall passionate sex in a bathtub, Jimin and reader being simps TM, reader being a wicked little bitch in her scene with Jin honestly we stan because the Jiminfication of reader

❀ Published: December 9, 2022

❀ A/N: Here is the promise epilogue for just a handful of scenes to put the cherry on top of the massive overhaul that was the last chapter of this series. If reading the side character stories is something you're interested in (like Yoongi and Khione or Hoseok and Taehyung etc.) please let me know here. This sex scene is brought to you by SZA's new album thank you

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Previous Chapter

“Stop fidgeting,” you giggle, swatting at Jimin’s hands as he adjusts the collar of his button up again. He’s already pulled it away from his neck several times, complaining that the human shirt-style is far too restricting for his taste.

Jimin’s taste is open chest shirts that reveal far too much skin for lunch with your mother, but convincing him that had taken a lot of begging. And kissing. And moaning.

“Your fashion here is dreadful,” Jimin huffs, crossing his arms. You’ve put him in nice jeans, a button up shirt and let him keep his earrings and jewelry on for meeting your mother. Though he wears a glamour to seem less faerie, Jimin stands out. “My chest was made for ogling.”

People are ogling anyway. Jimin has turned heads all morning as you walked into the store to buy him an appropriate outfit for lunch, and as you walked into the French café tucked in the corner of a shopping district.

Even your waitress had given him a glass of water with trembling hands, red cheeks and a stutter. You couldn’t blame her. Even dressed as a pedestrian, the King of the High Court was a work of art to look at.

“Just admit you’re nervous,” you hiss at him. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know?”

Jimin glares at you, green eyes darkening. You can sense that he’s nervous through your mating bond, but you’ve also gotten better at reading Jimin in general.

When you returned to your world a few days after the Battle at High Tree, as they’ve come to call it, you’d discovered that two days had passed. While Jimin assures you that time is different and sometimes it might be a year that passes, your world is almost always moving slower than Faerie.

Entering your grandmother’s home that first time had sent such a wave of relief that you were alive and well that you had sat in your room with walls painted of her life story for an hour and cried. When you finally felt strong enough to call your mom, it was deep into the hours of the night.

You’d become a bit of a night owl, of course.

Meeting your mom sparks your own nerves. It’s only been two weeks since you last saw her and told her everything. She had barely survived the shock of your slowly changing ears and your tales. And you had barely survived the shock of learning that your father, though not half-fae, had someone far in his bloodline that was a part of the Summer Court once upon a time.

I always knew where my mother came from, you mother had whispered, watching you with haunted eyes. But after the loss of your father, it was easy to turn it all into dreams.

Years of frustration with her had melted in that moment. You could understand now, why she had thrown out your books of magic and fantasy. Why she had been steadfast in having Namjoon curate a normal experience for you in a normal world.

The thought of losing Jimin… well it inspires understanding. Sympathy.

You don’t expect your mother to accept your half-in-her-world-half-out approach right away. And she doesn’t. The tightening of her mouth and the strain in her voice during that conversation was evident. She doesn’t want this for you and yet, she knows it’s in your nature.

Like me, once she had said. Like your grandparents and your father.

Now that you’re intimately familiar with the fae, you can see those traits in your mother. When she enters the café, she commands the room the same way Jimin had. She is sharply beautiful, with angular features that would look strange on anyone else. But her chic style and eye for aesthetics lends itself to the powerhouse of her beauty.

The chair scrapes sharply against the brick patio as you shoot to your feet. Jimin looks up at you, frowning as you ring your hands nervous as your mother approaches. For Jimin, this is a new version of you. One that is timid and awkward.

You’d never really been timid with him, even when you were afraid.

“Hi,” you greet your mother, voice high-pitched and reedy. Her gaze is sharp as a blade as she regards Jimin, lips pursed. She ripples with tension as she hesitates at the chair across from you. “It’s nice to see you.”

Jimin stands and walks around your chair, surprising you both. He bows at the waist, not a full ninety-degree angle but deeper than the king of the High Court should to anyone – especially a mortal. He looks up at your mother, a gentle smile on his lips and eyes glittering.

“It’s an honor to meet you. Thank you for taking the time to meet me.”

She looks down her nose at him, eyes narrowing a second before she nods and pulls her chair out. “Of course.” Her tone is tight, but it softens a bit when she looks at you, lips twitching in an almost-smile. “It’s not every day your only child runs off to her grandmother’s native land and comes back with a boyfriend.”

Jimin settles next to you and sips his water. “Mate.”

Her eyes narrow at him, unperturbed. “I heard stories about you as a child. Boyfriend will do for now.”

You hold your breath as Jimin swallows his water and places the glass on the table. Though he has come a long way with his biting wit and razorblade attitude, there is a moment of tension before he bows his head. “I like you, I think.”

With a humph your mother picks up a menu. “We will see if you suffice.”

Letting out relieved laughter, you lean back as Jimin slides a hand on your thigh and gives you a squeeze. You realize everything is going to be okay.

-

The throne room of the High Court needs work. The dais of diamond is scuffed, the glass throne has long since been shattered and gathered dust, and the floor to ceiling windows of glass with gold inlaid art have long since been broken, covered in grime, or cracked. Though Jimin’s court – and by association your court – is slowly coming together and there are fae returning to restore their homelands, it’s slow work.

Which means the throne room simply won’t due for an audience, which dampens the dramatic flair you wanted for your upcoming meeting. Nonetheless, the study that you’ve discovered tucked in a corner overlooking a flowing stream and garden is just as well.

Today, the windows are cast open. It’s light and airy, with a fresh breeze spinning the spider silk curtains and airing out the smell of old books. There are hundreds of tomes in the shelving that line the walls, in languages and symbols you can’t begin to read.

Though small, the study is beautiful. An ornate desk of gold with curling, filigree designs stands in the middle over a blush rug. Like everything in the High City, the palace is made of floor to ceiling windows of spelled glass and diamond.

It’s like the world is spun in gold, Jimin whispered as he led you through the palace, all clear ceiling and gold chandeliers.

Behind you, the afternoon sun throws the room in a shade of rose and pomegranate. It’s warm at your back where you stand behind your desk with your arms linked behind your back, chin set. A fine set of china sits on the desk, the teapot steaming with the scent of rose and lemon.

A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. You tell them to come in, lifting your chin a bit as the double doors swing open to reveal a set of guards and your visitor for the next hour.

Seokjin looks beautiful as ever, sweeping into the room in his all black, the sigil of his court stitched in silvery finery over the heart of his tunic. His hair has gotten longer and you see twinkling stars throughout the inky strands.

Stopping just short of your desk, Seokjin links his hands behind his back. He looks healthy, golden skin glowing and dark eyes swimming with fathomless cosmos that did not exist when he was possessed not long ago. Now you see the endless night in them, the dark fire of being a Shade, the whispers of the sky.

Neither one of you speaks, regarding one another. Seokjin is a king – the stars in his hair, though blinking in and out of existence like sentient beings - is crown enough. Your guards close the door and though you cannot see beyond the broad frame of the Night Court king, you can sense his Dreadwolf in the hall.

“You look well,” you offer, voice even. Seokjin gives away nothing. “Would you like some tea?”

“No bow?”

Your smile is razor thin – a trait you’ve picked up from Jimin at court. “I could ask you the same. You’re in my home at my behest. However, if it pleases the Night Court’s pride to be addressed so formally…” You dip slightly, not quite at a forty-five-degree angle, but close enough. “Welcome to the High Court, King Seokjin.”

His lips twitch, so minute you almost don’t catch it, but you sense he almost smiles. “You’ve spent far too long with Jimin.”

“You’d have bowed to him first.”

“You are my court until you marry him.”

It’s hard not to wince. It is technically true. You’re the granddaughter of Yvaine, and a member of the Night Court. The only Shade the Night Court has, beyond the king who currently stares at you with a knowing glint in his eye.

“Would you like tea?” you sigh, gesturing to the steaming pot. “It’s your favorite.”

“Trying to win me over?”

“I don’t have to,” you fold your dress against your legs and sit. You flick your eyes to the seat in front of your desk and he tentatively does the same, not quite leaning against the back of the chair. “You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t agree with me.”

“I thought it would be a funny little adventure.”

You pour him a cup, rose and lemon filling the room. “You can needle me all you want, but you know just as well as I do that you have to name me heir.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“No, I suppose that might be true. But with the rumblings of how close your court was to losing you, you having no heirs, and the fact that Jungkook can serve me because my bloodline is enough…” You tsk at him. “Your options aren’t great. So needle me all you want, Seokjin. But like calls to like, and in both blood and bone, the Midnight Tree recognizes me as the heir to your throne.”

“Why are you so interested in being named heir, hmm? Looking to continue Malik’s work with Jimin and impose your authority on the other courts again, starting with you claim to my throne?” He takes the tea and blows over it. You watch the water ripple, sensing magic. You roll your eyes – you’d never poison him. “Whatever will the other courts think?”

“They think that Jimin and his mate fought to dispel an evil from this land, saved the Night Court from obliteration when their king was at risk, and that the High Court would never do something as stupid as a conquest while they are weak and rebuilding.”

“So that’s it. You’re weak and need allies.”

“We have allies.” You feel the thunder in your voice. “You need allies, Seokjin. And I offer this meeting as a courtesy. Naming me heir does nothing for my court. My status does not change – I am the mate to the king of the High Court, I am a Shade of the Night Court, and they call me Cythraul’s Bane these days. What does title to heir of a court I don’t desire offer me?”

Seokjin sips the tea as his jaw works. You watch him with a flat expression, giving away nothing. The truth is – there is something in it for you to be named heir. You can rightfully claim the things that once belonged to your grandmother – heirlooms, houses, lands that you can sell for things that the High Court now needs.

But Seokjin doesn’t need to know that you’re looking for this title for nostalgia and money purposes. You and Jimin have already worked this out – Seokjin needs you more you need him. He needs the protection of an heir that wants nothing to do with his throne, the commitment to the Shade bloodline, and the security of hushing rumors that his little half-niece is stronger than he is.

Seokjin sets the cup on the desk. “You pick up the game fast.”

“I had a trial by shadow fire.” You don’t miss the opportunity to throw the world play in there, to barb him. Even as loose allies, you’re not friends. There is too much estrangement there. “You live an eternity. You have time to think about it.”

He hums. “I’ll consider it.”

It’s as close as a concession as you’ll get from him. So you smile, full of teeth when you lean back in your seat, pleased. “Tell Jungkook to come in. I’ve grown fond of him since he nearly ripped your head off at the Battle at High Tree.”

-

Night lily blooms in the dark green house that Jimin has given you in an empty, and otherwise unneeded room in the palace. Though it took a lot of troubleshooting – and a lot of Jimin’s help – you were finally able to suspend the room in night.

Of course, it isn’t night like the Night Court. It is artificial night, powered by a crystal that feeds off as much magic as you put inside of it to mirror the magic of the Night Court that lives inside of you. It’s a bit of clever channeling that requires a tiny amount of energy, but it makes you happy.

Especially when you see flowers from the night court with their glow in the dark throats and speckled petals, and dripping neon sap. Your heart squeezes as you grin at the lilies, straightening up from your crouch just as someone comes in.

You turn to look over your shoulder as a figure slips into the room, a single orb of fae light leading them down the dark, twisted hallways that lead beneath the castle. Namjoon grins when he sees that you’re not so in the dark as it appeared, extinguishing his light.

“Hi!” you gush, running up to him. With Namjoon, you don’t have to be the king’s consort. You’re not an heir. Or a Shade, or a bane of anything. You’re just you and Namjoon is just Namjoon, who smells like vanilla and spice when you throw your arms around him, holding him tight. “I missed you.”

Namjoon, as it turns out, is hundreds of years old. He was one of your grandfather’s best friends, and watched over him when Oberon and your grandmother left Faerie long ago. Namjoon’s ever watchful eye turned into more as he discovered the wonder of the human world.

At first, you had been angry with Namjoon. Angry for deceiving you, angry for altering your memories, angry for… so many things that you realize now, he was asked to do by a friend he had known for a lifetime, only to watch that friend die suddenly. For your grandmother, who was the last familiar face.

For your mother, who begged him to give you once chance at normal.

Though it hadn’t worked out, you were enjoying not normal. And you were happy to discover that Namjoon was no different in Faerie than he was in the human world, loving the ancient tombs of the library, tending to plants in the Citadel and studying the High Tree.

A member of the Summer Court he might be, but Namjoon is a roving Faerie at heart, who has found far too many things like e-books and newspapers and museums in the human world. He is fascinated by the moral ability to ache and hurt and make music, write and paint in such small amounts of time compared to eternity.

But he still visits. Like today, when you promised that you would show him the night garden you had been working on.

Letting you go, Namjoon holds you at arm’s length, two dimple popping out proudly as he smiles down at you. “Come on,” he says eagerly, shaking you a bit. “Show me what you’ve grown.”

-

Night in the High Court isn’t eternal, but it’s beautiful. Millions of stars paint the sky, thousands of collars and so close, you feel as though you could reach your hand up to touch them. You can see them now, flittering through the glass ceiling of the recently-finished throne room.

You’re not much for sitting on the throne. It feels ridiculous and a bit tedious to sit in an opulent room made for appearances. Well – you are working. You’ve been sharing audiences with Jimin all day, listening to the rapidly growing members of his court and trying to settle land disputes, claims to long-abandoned homes, problems with infrastructure, nixies gone wild.

The usual.

Though you find it anxiety-inducing, hearing all of these problems that the people Jimin’s court are plagued with regularly. Jimin sits in these all day. While you move about the High Court’s lands on his behalf and work with the new citizens and repairing parts of the palace, Jimin almost never leaves the throne.

You admire the way he will sit there for hours. He never cuts anyone off, he never dismisses a single person who wishes to speak with him, and Jimin lets none of the lords wishing to reclaim lands that aren’t theirs push him around.

Now, you watch as a centaur bows deeply before turning to leave the room, having been granted a larger pasture for his heard, who had been defending it for a long time once the cythraul began to come through the High Tree.

When the double doors to the throne room boom closed, and the guards bow deeply at Jimin’s dismissal, your mate finally melts into the chair, eyes closed, head pressed to the high back. Exhaustion weights heavy on him, despite how beautifully he’s dressed today.

A midnight blue tunic hangs artfully on his frame, the chest cut low to reveal tawny, smooth skin. He has necklaces on, little stars and moons and hourglasses that you’ve found all over the High Court. It seems that time and rotating spheres of planes and universes are a popular motif, and you’ve since learned that with his full powers of the High Court, Jimin is able to perform magic far beyond that of the Night Court.

Freezing objects in time in space – though he can’t freeze time itself yet – aging things forward and backward. Sensing portals and dimensions and becoming energy sensitive are all things that he remembered when he was much younger, but is once again trying to grow into.

Leaning over the arm of the chair, you brush your fingers through his silver locks. He’s grown out his hair substantially. It’s pushed back by a silver circlet with the seven stars of the courts, and an earring catches the moonlight as he tilts his head to lean into your touch.

Jimin almost purrs under the gentle raking of your nails against his scalp. He quivers under your touch, head lolling to the side as he lets go completely. You grin, seeing how much your tired king reacts to your touch.

It’s hard to get over.

“Come on,” you whisper. He whines when your hand drops from his hair and you stand. “Don’t out, it’s beneath you.”

He’s pout increases, bottom lip stuck out as he looks up at you with glossy, green eyes. Jimin has a talent for switching between a doe-eyed sweetling and a siren-eyed vixen at a moment’s notice, something that he increasingly weaponizes against you. Not that you mind.

“It’s not,” he assures.

“Fine, remain seated on your throne. I’ll just run myself a hot lavender and orange blossom bath while you- “

Jimin brushes past you, his steps silent and gait smooth like a dancer. You love the way he spins around to face you, a grin on his face. He moves through the world like a velvet ribbon, graceful and elegant as is common among the fae.

“Thought so,” you grumble as he offers you a hand and a smile.

Coming up with a palace staff is difficult. It isn’t like the Night Court, where there have been generations of faerie loyal to Jimin and the royal family. The old staff members of Malik’s court were few and far between after the collapse of the High City, and those who remain haven’t known Jimin for a long time.

Earning trust among the fae is not common. So the palace staff is small, mostly made up of allies that he made when he was in the Night Court, and a few High Court faeries who were recommended by Hoseok and even Seokjin.

Then there is, of course, the occasional Nightingale who appear and disappear on a schedule you don’t yet understand, but has been put in place by Yoongi and Khione to assure that you aren’t murdered in your sleep.

You don’t hear from them much, but you did come to your room one day to find a mysterious tomb on the history of the Night Court, it’s laws and practices that you used in your battle of wits with Seokjin. It did not have a note, but there was an unmistakable symbol that you could not remember the shape of the moment you looked away from it.

Khione, though maybe not a friend, is an excellent ally.

The palace, like the rest of the city, sits on a network of moving bodies of water. There are pools and caverns underneath the building that have pools of water that move slowly into the large lakes beyond the city limit, and over the waterfall that empties from the basin where the Citadel lives.

Because of the easy access to water, the palace has its own unique plumbing and water filtration system that turned on when Jimin poured his magic back into the High Tree. It’s like the entire place was built by a maker to respond to the magic of those who live inside of it.

That is, at least, what you gathered from Yoongi’s explanation of the building.

Inside of the en suite bathroom is rough-cut crystal dub, hewn into the floor of the bathroom. You have to be careful getting in and out of the steps once wet, but the rose quartz glows warmly when you enter and tap one of the gold spouts. Water spits from it immediately, rushing hot and steaming to fill the deep tub.

Jimin stands staring in the doorway, too tired to do much beyond admire the way you pop open a jar of salts to pour it under the running water. Next, you dig out dried lavender, sprinkling it over the filling tub, following by dried orange rinds.

You glance over your shoulder at Jimin, his eyes cat-like in their study of you. You beckon him over with a finger. He doesn’t hesitate, drifting toward you wordlessly before stopping right in front of you, looking down through full lashes as you begin to untie the two strings that hold together the collar of his shirt.

“What’s the point of the strings if you keep such an open collar anyway?” you muse, letting your fingertips brush over his warm skin. His breath stutters slightly and you smile. “Are they really there for modesty?”

“You’ll have to ask Rika.” You drop the strings and push the shirt backward over his shoulder. It falls down his middle and waist, before dropping to the floor. “I’m not in the artistry of making clothes.”

“Hmm. You give them ideas. I see you down in their little studio sometimes, pouring over sketches.”

Jimin’s skin is perfect. He is golden and warm, flesh smooth under your fingertips as you brush your hands down his chest and over is stomach. You poke his soft flesh and he flexes, making you giggle and slap his abdomen lightly.

“Show off,” you huff, fingering the button on his trousers. “Don’t flex your muscles for me.”

“I thought you liked them.”

“As insufferable as your personality can be, I rather like that instead.”

With a sharp movement, you pull Jimin’s trousers down. He’s in linen undershorts, like briefs but not. And he’s semi-hard just from your teasing touches and words. Jimin notices you looking at his clothed cock and grins. You go read, realizing your mistake when he grabs you by the chin and pulls your face toward his.

“Huh,” he clucks, nose brushing yours. He’s so close that his lips touch yours when he speaks, your gasp swallowing his words. “I think you like something entirely inappropriate.”

“Entirely untrue. Faeries don’t lie.”

Jimin half laughs, half growls as he kisses you.

The kiss is scorching, his mouth hungry and all-consuming as Jimin licks into your mouth. You moan in surprise against him, tilting backward with the force of his onslaught but his hands are on your waist, already hiking up the fabric of your dress as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth.

Kissing Jimin makes you dizzy. He always kisses you like his survival depends on it, sometimes slow and sometimes fast, but always starving for you and wanting more. He makes little sounds of desperation between the kisses, catching his breath in pitchy tones that drive you absolutely wild.

Jimin’s hands feel like heaven when they grip the soft flesh of your inner thigh, massaging and pulling you close to him as he peppers your jaw and throat with kisses. Each one leaves a wet trail fresh on your skin, more tongue and teeth now that you’ve ignited the want in him.

It’s hard not to let him rip the dress you have on, made of dark blue silk with cape shoulders and silver broaches at the shoulders. When you convinced him to gently take it off, his movements grow softer, more reverent than greedy.

“In,” you laugh between the wet smack of your mouths. “You need to relax.”

“I’m wide fucking awake now.”

“Be wide awake in the bath. Let me take care of you.”

It wins him over. Jimin doesn’t take his eyes off you as he bends down and pulls his briefs off. From your peripheral, you can see his cock spring against his stomach, dark tip swollen and begging for attention with pearls of precum.

You’re torn between wanting to drop your eyes to his cock as he stands and watches you peel your slip off, nipples hardening in the cool air under his heated gaze, but you keep your eyes on his. You could lose yourself in those deep, green pools.

“What?” Jimin asks, hint of a laugh in his voice. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“You have moon eyes.”

You flush, feeling warm beyond the heat of lust. “I just love you.”

Jimin gets a look on his face for a moment, one you don’t understand. For a split second you feel insecure about the admission, standing naked in front of him and telling him that. But the next, the anxiety is gone as he scoops you from the floor, making you squeal as he steps into the warm water and sits down in it carefully.

Water laps over the side, the smell of lavender and orange filling your senses as you breath in. Jimin flicks his finger toward the faucet and the water stops – a trick you have yet to manage – and leans back against the rose wall of the tub, pulling you with him.

Your knees scrape lightly against the rough bottom but you don’t care, coming alive under Jimin’s touch as he settles you over his waist. You can feel his heavy cock brushing your stomach as you straddle him, shotting a thrill through you.

For now, he seems intent on swallowing you whole again, bringing wet hands to tangle in your hair and yank your mouth flush against his.

The mixture of warm water, Jimin’s touch and the gentle brush of his tongue makes your brain fuzzy. You float as you kiss him, your fingers knotting in the hair at the back of his neck, holding him close.

Slowly, you lower yourself a little more, grinding on his cock. You both whine in between spit-slicked kisses, a shudder going through you as you seek friction on his velvety shaft. You’re dripping for him, making the glide even easier as you roll your lips lazily, smiling against his mouth when he lets out a loud curse.

Jimin’s hands go to your waist, submerging under the water. He doesn’t take control, but his grip is hard, dimpling your skin as he grips onto you, letting you tease both of you. It feels like you’re tingling all over, heat rushing through your veins. His cock head nudges your clit and you let out a wanton sound, letting your forehead fall against his shoulder, slick with water and sweat from the heat of the water.

“Fuck,” Jimin rasps, lips pressed to your ear. His tongues snakes out, licking your lobe playfully. “Fuck please don’t tease me.”

“Oh, am I teasing you?”

“Enaid.”

The name shivers through you, a ripple of love and a million other feelings. You reach a hand down between you, firmly grabbing him in your hand, giving his cock a gentle squeeze as you lightly stroke him.

When Jimin is at your mercy, he sounds so beautiful. He leans is head back, face tilted toward the ceiling, mouth open to let sighs escape through pillowy lips. You watch him, the way his neck has light pink splotches as he grows flushed, thighs twitching underneath you as you pump him.

A grin spreads over your face. Seeing him like this is your favorite. Hair presses against his temples and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to lose himself entirely to your hand.

Thankfully, you don’t make him wait longer.

The crown of his cock catches your aching hole and you hiss between your teeth, ring of muscles clenching as you slowly sink down on him. It feels like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thickness stretching you to the max until you’re seated and he’s fully sheathed in your fluttering walls.

It takes quick breaths to adjust, your panting against his neck earning a hum from him as his fingers dig painfully into your hips. “Fuck,” he whispers. “So fucking tight.”

“Feels fucking full.”

“Yeah?” he mouths messily at the side of your jaw, voice a low whisper as he says, “Fuck yourself on my cock, baby. Make me feel good.”

Your eyes nearly roll back in your head at the request. Leaning away from him, you put your hands on his shoulders for balance, slowly rolling your hips into a languid rhythm. You can barely breathe at the feel of him inside of you, so fucking deep that you can think of nothing but Jimin.

There’s no rush. Jimin lets you find a pace you like, picking up speed when you feel comfortable enough. It feels divine, the way your walls hug his length, the way his tip hits deep inside of you. You laugh a bit, head dropping back as you sink down on him again.

“Hmmm?”

You moan his name as you take a moment to gather enough thoughts to answer his question, most coherency scattered to the wind. “Feels like you’re in my stomach,” it comes out whiny and pitchy. “It feels really fucking good.”

“Keep going, baby. You look so fucking beautiful like this.”

Jimin leans forward, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking generously. You give a high-pitched squeal, the stimulation adding as you grind yourself on him, clit rubbing against his pelvis. You’re dizzy and overheated, Jimin focused on flicking his tongue devilishly around your pert bud, your eyes rolling back in your head.

Fucking Jimin always feels different. Even at this lazy pace, you feel like you’re going to fucking lose your mind. An orgasm gathers deep in your stomach, a swollen raincloud looming in the distance. You move a little harder on him now, water splashing over the side of the tub as you increase the size of your movements.

“Fingers,” you beg him as he lavishes your tits. He pulls his mouth away with a lewd pop, looking up at you with swollen lips and glassy eyes. “Please.”

He understands. Jimin’s mouth meets yours, a messy exchange of moans and spit. It’s sloppy but it’s good, especially as his hand slides down your abdomen, fingers finding your clit. You gasp into his mouth as he applies gentle pressure, slowly circling your bundle of nerves until you’re shaking on top of him, barely able to keep it together.

Jimin senses your coming apart, increasing his attention on your clit as he begins nipping the column of your throat, sharp teeth pinching your skin, rough tongue laving over it to sooth the sting.

“Shit,” you gasp, shaking above him. “Gonna – fuck.”

“Come on,” Jimin urgers. He plants his feet on the bottom of the tub, helping you as he thrusts gently up into you. “Come all over me.”

Hiding your face in his neck, you feel your orgasm open up on you. You clench hard, muscles clenching and a scream working its way out of you. You shudder in Jimin’s arms as he fucks you gently, letting you ride your orgasm, shaking and crying in his lap.

It sends him over the edge, Jimin curses and crashing his mouth with yours, sucking your tongue into his mouth greedily. You meet him with the same hunger, so fucking overwhelmed with the heat of his desire for you, for the way he makes you feel, for the way he whimpers your name between teeth and tongue.

As you come down, you catch your breath in his arms. He leans his head back, letting you lay against his neck, just trying to level yourself again. It always takes a bit, trying to come back down from the post-orgasm bliss. Jimin responds in kind, eyes closed, hand drifting up and down your spine.

“I love you,” he murmurs, eyes still close. Your eyes flutter open, looking up at him. “And I like when you look at me like that. So keep doing it.”

You laugh and close your eyes, just happy where you are. “Okay.”

Another day closes with you in Jimin’s arm, and your forever grateful for that one ring in your grandmother’s attic.

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