#inherited-vanity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

raven-dor · 1 month

Text

me and my husband

In which gwayne hightower is overprotective of his pregnant wife, and she begins to worry about the outcome of the birth

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x reader

WARNINGS: angst, anxiety, rough pregnancy, mentions of blood, arguing, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

AN: I read "chose me" by @entitled-fangirl and had to write something similar for gwayne!! this could also be read as part of the come back to me universe, but you do not have to read any other fic to understand the context!!

She watched from the dark hall, her heart fluttering as he leaned back, exposing his neck and upper chest. Pregnancy awoke a dangerous animal inside her, one that needed her husband near her at all times.

Instead, he sat in his office.

She could not blame him; it was hard work, taking care of Old Town in place of his uncle’s absence. Seeing as his cousin had died recently, Gwayne would stand to inherit the Hightower title, and he all but jumped at the chance to begin his training.

But as of late, it seemed as if she needed him more than he needed her. Mere thoughts seemed to drown out her happiness, every attempt to block them futile. The larger she grew, the closer she got to the inevitable. She cleared her throat, making herself known to her husband.

“Gwayne?” He looked up, smiling brightly.

“My love! You should be in bed.” He stood up, ushering her over to a cushion. She glared, letting him coddle her for now.

“I am not inept.”

“I know, darling.” He knelt in front of her, kissing her hand gently. “But you also know that I cannot help but worry for you.” He caressed her stomach, whispering. “And how is our little one?”

“You have no need to worry, I assure you. The Maesters say the babe is perfectly healthy; there is no cause for concern.”

“And you?” He kissed her hand once more. “How do you fare?”

She was taken aback by that question, avoiding the question. “Do not worry about me.”

“That is my job as your husband.” He walked back to his desk, putting out the flickering candle. “And Maesters are not always correct.”

“That is a rather skeptical view.” She grabbed the handles of the chair, pushing herself up. Gwayne glared.

“Please ask for my aid next time you plan on standing.”

“Shall I ask you to help me relieve myself as well?” She glared back. “I love you; you know that I do. But I am not a frail piece of straw. I will not break from a gust of wind.”

“You are carrying the future heir to the Hightower name, my dear.”

Terms like that make her uneasy. That is all she heard all day. ‘Future heir,’ ‘Hightower name,’ ‘a boy.’ All phrases she had heard over a hundred times. She just wanted a moment of peace where she was not reminded how little she mattered in this situation. A tight smile graced her lips, and she lost all humor in her tone. “As I am constantly reminded.”

He grabbed her hand, walking slowly out of the office. “All I ask is that you take care. If not for me, then for the sake of our child.”

“I am careful.” She glared. “You know this. It’s not as if I go looking for things to hurt the babe. Do not treat me like a child to be watched over.”

He rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand. “I do not mean to upset you-”

“Well, you have.” She scoffed. “You have somehow managed to insult my care for your future line and my child in one blow. It is astonishing, truly. I applaud you.”

“You know that was not my intention.” He shut their bedroom door, removing his shirt. Y/N tried to keep herself from blushing at the sight, but when he looked like that, it was hard to do. He knelt in front of her, holding both of her hands in his. “I am sorry.”

She hummed, walking away and sitting in front of her vanity. “Yes, well, I suppose I forgive you.”

He grinned. “I am glad of it.”

The woods were peaceful, a nice retreat from the bustling of Old Town. Her velvet green dress dragging behind her. She hummed, closing her eyes and listening to the sound of the trees swaying. There was a lake nearby that she desperately wanted to swim in, and stare up into the sky of blue. Pushing the tall grass out of her way, the clearing stretched out before her, the lake at the center. She grinned, running down the hill with a newfound joy.

“Y/N? Where are you?”

Her smile fell, remembering the whole reason she had even been ‘allowed’ to go on this excursion. He’d only let her go if he came along. She sighed, turning around and walking back up the hill. “Coming, my love.”

The auburn-haired man smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Where did you run off to?”

“The clearing.” She traced shapes on his chest. “I was thinking, perhaps you could join me for a swim. It is a perfect day for it.”

“I-”

“My lord.” Their guard’s voice echoed through the forest. Y/N groaned, falling against her husband’s chest. Gwayne kissed the top of her head, smiling sympathetically. “Another time, I swear to you.” She sighed, nodding. A finger hooked under her chin, his eyes serious. “You look far too melancholy, my love.”

“Well, perhaps if-”

“My lord, I’m sorry, but it is most urgent.”

Gwayne sighed, intertwining his hand with hers. “What is it?”

The Maester’s Wing was dim, with just a few candles keeping light. Gwayne had been summoned to settle a squabble between the townfolk, leaving Y/N to visit the old man herself. She tapped her foot, waiting for the Maester to ask her the questions she dreaded. But those questions never came.

“My lady.”

Y/N smiled, nodding. “Maester Jon, it is wonderful to see you.” She held her stomach. “Tell me, any developments my husband or I should be aware of?”

“Unfortunately, yes, my lady.” He sat down. “It seems, from what we can tell so far, that the birth may result in a breach pregnancy.” Y/N’s blood ran cold, and she felt her breath catch. “A breach pregnancy may result in a choice needing to be made.” He leaned forward, a sympathetic look on his face. “Do you understand what this means, my lady?”

She nodded, standing up quickly. “I do. Thank you, Maester Jon. I shall relay the news to my lord husband.”

She gave one last look at the dark corner before practically running out of the wing. She burst through the hall doors, dinner in full swing. There sat Gwayne, eyes drooping, visibly exhausted from his duties.

Who was she to worry him anymore?

Y/N sat beside her husband, kissing his cheek. “How was your day, my love?”

“Infinitely better, now that you are here.” He smiled. “How was the visit?”

She took a large sip of her wine. “Well. All is well.” She grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I love you.”

He grinned, squeezing back. “I love you much more, my dear.”

If he chose the babe, she knew she would surely die from heartbreak before she bled. She laughed, her eyes watering. “I do not think that is possible.”

Since learning of the news, she’d been restless, barely sleeping and often waking before the sun. Its bright rays peeked through the curtains, hitting her skin. The warmth soothed her for a moment, but it was just that, a moment.

The babe kicked harshly, a quiet groan leaving her. She stared at the ceiling, thinking that in just a few short weeks, she’d be giving birth in this very bed, staring at the same ceiling.

It had always been described to her as horrible and painful beyond recognition. And now that she was carrying an heir, which could possibly be breach, she almost wished she could go back to when they first met and stop herself. When she didn’t have to worry about what she did or where she went, she could just be free.

He would be pressured into choosing the child over her; she knew this. Sometimes, when the need for an heir was strong, women had been carelessly cut open, being left for dead. It had been done many times, most notably in her lifetime, by King Viserys. Rhaenyra had told her of his actions: how he’d carelessly cut Aemma open, and her mother bled out on the bed without ever getting to hold her babe.

She looked over at her husband, fast asleep and dead to the world. His hair covered his eyes; his face was shoved into the pillow haphazardly. She giggled; he’d always slept like there was no tomorrow; it was heartwarming, to say the least. She leaned over, pushing the hair out of his face, kissing his forehead gently.

Rolling to her side, she quietly stood, careful not to wake him. Grabbing her robe from the wardrobe, she made her way to the dining hall, eager to eat something of actual sustenance.

After learning of the news, she had picked at her dinner, telling Gwayne it was because the babe made her nauseous.

In a way, it had.

The smell of bacon and eggs flooded her senses, and she rounded the corner, the doors of the hall wide open. Greeting the occasional servant that passed by, she sat down, piling food onto her plate.

“My lord.” Y/N looked up to see her husband stalking toward her, not even acknowledging the man who had greeted him. Odd, he normally slept as long as he could before starting his day. She smiled brightly. “Good morning, my love.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is it a good morning?”

“Quite.” She tilted her head. “Why? Is something amiss?”

He nodded, crossing his arms. “I awoke, and my wife was gone. Imagine my surprise.”

She had felt horrible leaving him, and fighting would only give him more cause to choose the babe. “I am sorry if I scared you.”

“You should be. And another-” He stopped, shock adorning his features. “You are sorry?”

“I should have woken you. It was my mistake.” She pat the chair next to her. “Please, join me.”

“I’m afraid I cannot. I have to meet with the steward this morning.”

Her heart clenched. “I can join you if you’d like-”

“It is not necessary. I will only bore you.”

She murmured, reaching out to grab his hand. “You have never bored me.”

“You are kind, but I’m sorry, I cannot be distracted.” He grabbed a plate, placing a biscuit and two pieces of bacon haphazardly.

She scoffed, glaring at her lord husband. “I did not realize I was such a distraction."

"Y/N...."

"Perhaps I should stay in my chambers for the remainder of my pregnancy. To keep you from further distraction.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

She stood, her eyes cold. “I know nothing of the sort.” She looked over his shoulder, beckoning over a servant. “Please move my things into the adjoining room. I will be sleeping there-”

Gwayne sat his plate down, looking at the servant. “Do not move her things.”

“My lady?” The young girl looked frightened, scared that she was caught in the middle of their argument.

Y/N sighed, dismissing the girl. “It is alright.” She walked away, yelling back at her husband. “I shall do it myself.”

“Y/N!” Gwayne yelled, dropping his plate and running after her. “Come back here at once.”

She ignored him, walking faster. The stairs proved to be a challenge, holding the railing tight. Gwayne placed a hand on her back. “Let me-”

She flinched, pushing him back. “Don’t.”

He mumbled. “You may hate me all you want after this.”

“After what-” He hooked his arm under her legs, carrying her up the stairs. “Gwayne Hightower! You let me down right now!”

The top of the stairs was a relief; she practically jumped out of his arms. She walked into their joint chambers, filling her trunk with things she would need. Gwayne sighed, watching from the doorway. “Will you please just-”

“I will leave you to your devices, my lord. I hope your meetings prove well spent.” Dragging the trunk through the door, she slammed it in his face.

That had been three days ago. They’d seen each other in the halls and at meals, but other than that, Y/N steered clear of her husband. For the better part of the day, he’d been in a meeting with the patrons of Old Town, or so she’d heard. Y/N took that as an opportunity, rushing out of the castle’s gates. Squealing, she cut through the tall grass once more, racing down the hill towards the lake. She threw her dress off, her petticoat barely revealing her modesty. Not that anyone would see, this part of the wood was only known by the family.

The water did wonders for her nerves, cooling her skin. Her hair stretched out past her waist, flowing like the tall grass that surrounded this oasis. She floated for what seemed like hours; the babe had not stirred once. She hummed, rubbing her bump gently. “It is quite peaceful here, is it not?”

A kick.

Y/N grinned, her eyes tearing up. “Please, try your best to make this an easy birth. It would break my heart not to meet you. If that is the case, don’t worry. Your father’s a good man; he’ll raise you well.”

No kick.

She laughed. “Do not ignore your mother. It’s quite disrespectful.”

A kick.

“I miss him too, my love.”

A voice broke through the silence. “Miss who exactly?”

Y/N jumped, standing in the water. “My lord, I did not expect you-”

“I was in a meeting when a guard informed me you were running out of the castle gates.” His face looked conflicted, but she didn’t want to address the fact that he most likely heard that whole ‘conversation,’ so she remained silent. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

So he had heard. She smiled, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. “I do not know what you are referring to, my lord.”

“Stop.” Gwayne sighed. “You haven’t called me that since before we were engaged, and I do not wish for you to start again.” He stepped forward, extending his hand. “Please come out of the lake.”

She walked past his hand to her dress, every attempt to retrieve it proving futile. “Here.” Gwayne knelt down, picking it up off the stump. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been here?”

“I would have figured it out, thank you very much.” She glared, pulling the frock over her head. “Do you not have another meeting to attend, my lord?”

“I canceled them.” He laughed, stepping forward. “After I heard my wife was running away from our home, I thought it best to tend to the matter myself.”

“How wise of you.” Y/N crossed her arms.

“Shall we go to bed?”

“I am not tired.” She walked up the hill, leaving him behind. “Have a restful night, my lord.”

She slammed her bedroom door shut, leaning against it. She was tired; she hated to admit it. But she wouldn’t have told him that. She walked over to the window, placing the bouquet she picked on the mantle. A reminder of the freedom she once had. A reminder of life before she faced death itself.

A knock rang out. “May I come in?”

She tensed. “If you must.” She faced the window, too scared to face him. If she looked at him, truly looked at him, she thought she would start crying. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I have to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly.”

She nodded, walking away from the window and placing her robe in her wardrobe. “Ask it then.”

“Do you still love me?”

Her heart stopped. “I-”

Gwayne stepped forward, wrapping a singular arm around her waist. He drew her in, his scent engulfing her senses. She fought herself not to fall for his spell, but as he leaned his head down, and his breath hitting her neck, she knew she would not last. “If you do not, speak it plainly because I- I cannot go on like this any longer.”

She turned around in his arms, placing her arms on his chest. “I do not believe I could ever stop loving you. Trust me when I say this.” She smiled. “I’m afraid it’s terminal.”

“Ah.” He let out a sigh of relief. “Then what is it that troubles you so?”

“I do not know what you-”

“I beg you, do not finish that sentence.” He tilted her chin up, worry in his eyes. “What ales you, my love?”

“I am simply nervous.” She to be out of his arms. The longer she stayed in his embrace, the more compelled she felt to tell him. “It is nothing, I swear to you.”

He raised his eyebrows, pulling her hands from his chest and kissing them gently. “Please do not lie to me.”

“That night I visited the Maester, he told me something.” He nodded. “He said with the way the pregnancy is progressing, it is possible that the babe will be born breach.” Her voice grew quieter the longer she spoke.

“That’s not all, is it?”

She pushed out of his hold, walking to the other side of the room. “I’m so sorry, Gwayne. Truly, I am. Please forgive me-” a sob wrecked her body. “But I want to live. Please.”

Gwayne shook his head. Where was this coming from? “Whatever are you talking about?”

“I know I have been acting radical as of late, and I apologize, I just thought-” She hiccuped. “I thought it would make your choice easier.”

“What choice, darling?”

She whispered. “Between me and the babe.”

“Why would I-” It dawned on him. Had she really been dealing with this all by herself? “Oh, my sweet girl. Why did you not tell me?”

“I didn’t want to stress you any further.” She hugged herself. “Please, Gwayne. I swear I will give you another heir if this pregnancy-” She shivered. “Just don’t cut me. I beg you.”

He dropped down in front of her, grabbing her hands in his. “Listen to me well. I could sire a hundred children, but you. You are one of a kind, and I will always choose you.” He kissed the back of her hands once more. “Irreplaceable. You must know this.”

“Gwayne, no one is truly irreplaceable.”

He stood, his eyes dark. “Do not say such things again. Swear it to me.”

“I-”

“Swear it, Y/N.”

“I swear.” She whispered, cheeks red. “I swear to you.”

He nodded, smiling lightly. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For coddling you.” He stepped closer, caressing her bump. “I am scared as well. My own mother had many a difficult pregnancy, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“I am sorry as well.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “I should have come to you with my worries. I did not want to burden to burden you. And I will make sure you have your heir. I promise you that.”

“I do not care if the Hightower name crumbles away into nothingness. As long as you are content, I will be as well.” He leaned down, their foreheads touching. “There would be no point to this without you. I fear I could not do this if you were not by my side.”

“You have been doing perfectly fine as of late.” She winced. "I truly am sorry.”

“No more of that.” He whispered, staring at her lips. “May we please go to bed?”

She nodded, knowing if she tried to speak that words would fail her. She lay on the bed beside him, tracing his freckles. “Sleep, my love.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. “I will be here when you wake, I promise.”

#game of thrones #house of the dragon #team black #team green #alicent hightower #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #x reader #fanfiction #got #got fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #hotd fluff #literature #hotd angst #angst

2K notes · View notes

fayes-fics · 17 days

Text

The Secrets We Keep: Pt I

Part II >>

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Knowing someone your whole life doesn’t mean they can’t surprise you…

Warnings: none yet… fluff and angst. Childhood friends, yearning, arranged marriage, kissing. Pt II will contain a warning/rating change.

Word Count: 5.1k (this part)

Authors Note: Part 1 of 2. My longest gestating WIP! It’s been more than 18 months since I received a request for this secret diary fic. Tulip Anon, I have no idea if you still follow me, but I hope you think I did your detailed request justice. I won't post your ask yet, as it contains spoilers for the second half. Betaed by the awesome @colettebronte, who I can’t thank enough. I’m in the process of writing Pt II, so there will be a gap between instalments. Enjoy! 🫶

-i-

For as long as you can remember, you have loved one man secretly. To the point that you cannot imagine your life without a deep, burning affection simmering in your very core, as fundamental to your existence as drawing air into your lungs.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Your families have been neighbours in Mayfair and Kent for many generations—two aristocratic dynasties that, despite enduring friendships, have never seen intermarriage. There have been attempted matches down the years, according to family lore, but nothing came to fruition.

So when you were brought to Aubrey Hall as a mere babe in arms, the eldest daughter, there were many good-natured jokes that Anthony’s future wife had been born. But the Viscount, wonderful as he is, was not the man who stole your heart just a few short years later. A bright sunny day in June that you suspect Benedict may not even be able to recall, but you can with perfect clarity, even now, some fifteen years later.

He picked you as the first person to join his team for a round of garden games. Paying you heed and ensuring you were included, patiently showing you the ropes and applauding your achievements, ignoring the ridicule from the other twelve-year-old boys for letting a girl - and a little five-year-old at that - join in their games.

Ever since that day, all you have ever seen is his enormous heart and steadfast empathy: always the one to reach out to those excluded, to be supportive, and to love harder and more expansively than his siblings. Thus, unsurprisingly, he became the focus of your singular devotion—a childish adoration transmuting into something more profound and complicated as you matured.

On your fourteenth birthday, your mother gifted you a thick notebook. And it became your refuge, the private canvas on which you outlet your innermost secrets and thoughts. The beautiful but now slightly battered, silk-covered tome is still your most treasured possession even now, more than six years later, so close to filled now, with only a couple of blank pages left. Never long from your hands, but when it must be, carefully stashed under the floorboards of your bedroom. Its pages the reflection of a naive, growing heart. There is one person who features frequently on its crammed, jumbled pages. Sketches of his handsome face, mostly from memory, interspersed with ardent notes and poems that, while they may not mention his name, are written for him. Adoration writ large in every pen and pencil stroke.

Little were you to know that the secrets you keep within its hallowed pages would one day alter the course of your life…

-ii-

It's the evening of the Bridgerton Ball, and usually, you would be brimming with anticipation for such an occasion, a chance to see the man who holds your most ardent admiration. Instead, you find yourself glum, mechanically stepping into the dress your ladies' maid Rachel assists you with, staring blankly into the vanity mirror as she adorns your hair with jewels. Still reeling from your father's shocking announcement the previous day.

The inheritance of a European title had seen him spend eighteen months abroad. In his absence last spring, you were able to persuade your more indulgent mother to delay your societal debut—a yearning to be free in the ways you know no woman really can be for long. A compounding factor was spending the summer in the Highlands with her sister, your Aunt Eliza, a spirited, independent woman who taught you many things and encouraged your artistic whims. And when you were back in London, your mother’s somewhat inattentive running of the house meant you were often able to slip away in the evenings, spending your time deepening your passion for art. Frequenting galleries and conversing with artists led to you being drawn into the bohemian, artsy underbelly of Bloomsbury, a beguiling, exotic contrast to Mayfair. Another secret you keep.

Upon his return to England, your father was not best pleased to learn that not only had you been allowed to skip the previous Season, but Eliza had also taught you to fish, fence and hunt—most unladylike pursuits in his opinion. He, therefore, made it his mission to ensure not only would you debut this year but also a swift match should be made, lest you “get other fanciful, dangerous ideas”.

Perhaps that is why, yesterday, nary two weeks into your first season, he abruptly announced over afternoon tea that he had secured a match for you and the man in question would be dining with you all that evening. A deal no doubt brokered in a private gentleman’s club as if you were merely chattel to be traded.

Revulsion filled your every fibre as you were introduced to Lord Farringdon a few hours later. A wiry man twenty years your senior with a hawk-like countenance and a disdainful disposition. Apparently, a brilliant intellectual mind but accompanied by a mercurial, malevolent reputation. You had read in Whistledown rumours about his mistreatment of his household staff and his previous wife. A forlorn figure who became a recluse long before she died of consumption tragically young. The idea of being betrothed to this cold, abusive man turned your stomach—a seemingly outsized punishment for your rebellion. Once the man left, you had begged and pleaded with your father to reconsider the arrangement, but sadly, your appeal fell on deaf ears.

And so here you are. Going to a ball at which your father plans to announce your engagement. The stately beauty of Bridgerton House is not as heartening of a sight as it typically is. Tonight, it feels more akin to a gallows.

As soon as you arrive, you are scanning the crowds for the only friend you know will understand just how ghastly your predicament is—Eloise Bridgerton. A kindred spirit whose interest in marriage is as scant as your own. Bonding over your similar yearnings for freedom, you have been good friends since you were little, many a day spent together as children running through the Kentish fields, escaping expectation and flouting convention.

Acutely aware of time running out until your father speaks up, you fiddle distractedly with your fan, impatiently awaiting her entrance.

“For heaven's sake, y/n, please cease your fidgeting!” your mother chastises under her breath, snatching away the item. “I do not see why you are so agitated. Tonight is to be a wonderful occasion for you!”

A myriad of caustic comments are on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down. The last thing you want is to draw attention, and you certainly don't want to be gossip fodder; these ballrooms are a veritable hotbed of eavesdropping if Whistledown is anything to go by.

When the collective Bridgerton family finally enter their ballroom as hosts, however, your eyes can't help but drift to Benedict instead. A reflex from years of longing, even though it is his sister, arm looped into his, whose counsel you seek tonight. You excuse yourself to fetch a lemonade as soon as you spy a window of opportunity—Eloise standing alone, looking excessively bored. Abandoning your glass, you hurry over to her.

“I have news…” You try to keep your voice neutral but grab her arm and practically drag her away from anyone within earshot.

“Well, it cannot be good if you are willing to rip my arm off to impart it,” she remarks dryly as you lead her down a hallway.

“It is not,” you pull a face that you know will convey to her the gravity of what you need to divulge.

With a nod of understanding and a look to a nearby footman, she leads you beyond him into an area of the house off-limits for guests.

“Tell me…” her tone is sincere as she ushers you into the library and closes the door.

“My father has seen fit to arrange a marriage for me. He is planning to announce it tonight, right here at your family ball!”

She says nothing, only a sympathetic noise as she pulls you into a consoling hug. The emotions you have been tamping down for hours escape as a couple of bitter tears, her arms banding tight around you. You are not sure how long, but you stand in a hug, just grateful for her steadfast support.

“What am I to do?” you whisper.

“I do not know,” she confesses. “Have you tried to reason with your father?”

“A hopeless cause…”

Her mouth twists in understanding, knowing you will have put up a spirited defence as much as she would have. She detangles from you and goes to a nearby brandy decanter.

“It's the very least you deserve, frankly,” she points out, handing you a glass and pulling you into a loveseat with her, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, clinking her glass against yours in a silent but bittersweet toast about your seemingly futile situation.

-iii-

Half an hour later, your parents are distracted across the far side of the room with friends when a large hand grabs yours out of the blue. You startle when you realise it is Benedict, your heart suddenly in your mouth. Before you know it, you are wordlessly being pulled out of the French doors behind you and into the night air.

“Where are we going!?” you demand when you recover from the initial surprise, his gloved hand tugging yours along through the darkened gardens.

“Shh, make haste, we must not be seen,” he hushes you but keeps moving, furtive and fast, your feet having to take extra steps to keep up with his long stride over the lush, dewy grass.

“Benedict…” you try again once you round a thick hedge into the rose garden. “What is going on?”

He slows a little but does not relinquish his tight hold. Gravel path now crunching under his boots as the honeyed scent of damask hangs heavy in the air.

“Eloise told me,” is all he offers. “So we are escaping.”

“W-we are?” you stutter, frowning, a claggy tumult behind your ribs at his use of ‘we’.

“Yes! Or at least we would be if you would keep quiet… please…” he amends, sounding a touch contrite about his initial brusqueness, but speeding up again, headed straight for a small wooden door in a high stone wall, almost hidden behind long, draping ropes of ivy, glowing silver in the moonlight.

When you reach it, he releases his grip on your hand and shoulders the door open with considerable force. The weathered wood creaks loudly, almost splintering under the duress. He signals to the inky blackness of the deserted mews behind Bridgerton House.

“It is now or never, y/n,” he warns as you look back at the house, lit up with the life of the ball inside. “So what is your choice?”

He may be presenting it as an option, but really, you know there would only ever be one answer. You would accompany him to the ends of the earth if he so much as asked. And so wordlessly, you step through the doorway and into the narrow street beyond.

“Good choice,” he compliments as he follows suit and closes the door behind him. “You may stay at my friend Granville’s tonight,” he offers sagely, “I have not seen him in a while, but I will explain when we arrive; I am certain he can provide shelter.”

“Benedict, I already know Henry… Quite well, in fact.”

He looks taken aback as if it had not occurred to him that you may move in the same clandestine circles as he does. To be fair, you have always been discreet in your outings, and it’s not something you have divulged to anyone, including Eloise. Still, what confounds you more is why he is suddenly so seemingly invested in seeing you escape from your predicament. It doesn't entirely make sense.

“Well, then,” he cuts into your brief reverie, “you know Henry is a generous host and discreet about the affairs of others. Your father will not come looking for you there. It will buy some time to figure out what to do next. To ensure your freedom.”

“Freedom?” You scoff. “Benedict, as much as I may wish it, there is no other path open to me. Tonight is merely a delay tactic at best. The only way to stop my father’s pursuit of this union is if I marry another….”

The admittance of this truth out loud makes you restless, belatedly realising that it truly is your only way out. You stalk towards the main road, the faint glow of the street lamp guiding your way over the cobbles. You soon hear Benedict’s footsteps behind.

“That is ridiculous!” he exclaims as he attempts to catch up with you. “There are other options available to you…”

“Such as?” you whip around, raising your hands, countering his assertion. When he falters, you return to walking, throwing a tart addition over your shoulder: “Unlike you, a man, I do not have the freedom of choice.”

“You should always have a choice…” he counters earnestly, still catching up to your furious pace.

“Should and do are different things, Benedict. You do not even know how lucky you are!” You add bitterly, rounding onto the main street.

A gust of wind causes you to pause and a shiver to run down your arms, your gauzy dress not enough to ward off the unseasonable chill in the air tonight. Ever the observant gentleman, Benedict shucks his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. Uncharitably, your ire makes you attempt to shake it off, even while knowing it is intended purely as a chivalrous gesture. You are surprised when he seems to grasp your shoulders tighter, holding the heavy velvet in place. It is cloaked in his woodsy, citrus scent, your vexed state turning into an entirely different type of flush as he crowds closer to you.

“My birth has allowed me certain privileges, I concede,” he replies, his stare seemingly far away as you are unable to look anywhere but the dampness of his bottom lip, shimmering slightly in the lamplight. Then he tilts his head down to meet your eyes. “But that does not mean I am able to have everything I wish for in life, y/n…”

Your tongue burns to ask what it is that he wants but cannot have, yet you do not allow yourself to pry. But seeing the wistfulness in his gaze deflates your irritation, your long-held adoration for this man taking over, making you sigh.

‘You deserve the world, Benedict….’

His face morphs into one of breathtaking intensity, and you realise, horrified, you spoke those thoughts aloud.

“As do you, y/n,” he murmurs, eyes sincere, your heart beating wildly as his chest vibrates against your own.

The upheaval of the last day, the man you secretly adore abetting a somewhat daring escape, your heated exchange of words, the lateness of the hour, and the feel of his tall, lithe body pressed against yours…. It's all a dangerous cocktail that culminates in you being utterly impetuous, pushing up onto your tiptoes and mashing your mouth against his with no thought.

His lips are plush and warm, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. It's like a cannon firing in your chest as his warm mouth opens yours. Suddenly, you are urgently taking from each other. A sweeping tidal wave through you obliterates any kissing experiences you have ever had before. It’s a desperate slide of tongues, a passionate continuation of your sparring. His hands are like a hot brand through your thin dress as they sweep around to your back, tugging you into him, his heat, scent and taste overwhelming.

But all too soon you are pulling apart, a need for air in your lungs overriding the spontaneous, reckless moment. For a few seconds, you stare at each other, breathing each other's panted air, hands still grasping onto each other, almost confused by what just occurred… until the whinny of a passing horse carriage has you springing apart as if burned.

Realisation engulfs his entire being. “Oh god! Please, please forgive me!” he stutters, backing away, holding his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, almost tripping in his haste to put space between you, even though it was you who kissed him. “Please, just go to Granville,” he counsels rapidly before turning heel and disappearing into the night, leaving you standing alone, unmoored and breathless, utterly turned upside down.

-iv-

You drift home in a daze, your family’s London residence only a few hundred yards away. Your escape plans are forgotten in the haze of tumbling thoughts about that blistering kiss. How fervently and immediately Benedict had kissed you back, how wonderful it felt to be caged in his arms…. Climbing into bed and passing out, still bewildered. In fact, it’s only the rude awakening of your bedroom door slamming open the following morning that brings you crashing back to your senses.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” Your father roars, holding aloft what looks like the latest copy of Whistledown. “You have brought shame upon our family and likely ruination to your prospects!!”

Utterly alarmed, you sit bolt upright, blinking, taking a few moments before you can find your voice. “What are you referring to, father?”.

He glares at you, then throws the paper onto your bed and stalks out of the room without another word, puce with outrage. You know there will be crossed words at the breakfast table. The sight of your name on the crisp ivory page immediately draws your eye, and your stomach plunges as you read the paragraph:

The annual Bridgerton Ball last night was, once again, resplendent. A triumph that the dowager Countess can be rightfully proud of. Although less contentment could likely be gleaned from the behaviour of her offspring. The second eldest of whom was allegedly seen escaping into the unlit gardens hand in hand with none other than the most reluctant of this season's debutantes, the spirited Miss Y/n Y/l/n. Perhaps the rebellious Miss will not have to endure many more of society’s events that she so patently abhors, should a proposal from the most wayward of Bridgerton sons be forthcoming? I, for one, however, Dear Reader, am not holding my breath…

Hiding in your room as long as you can, hunger drives you to join the frosty lunch table, apologising for inadvertently ruining your father’s plans to announce your betrothal and meekly explaining the incident with Benedict as a complete misunderstanding. It was merely an old friend helping you to gather some air before the big news was to be proclaimed. His taking your hand was out of benevolent concern, nothing more, and when you suddenly felt unwell, he chivalrously saw you the few hundred yards home. The lies feel odd on your tongue, your thoughts only of Benedict’s mouth and body moulded hotly to yours as your father lectures about appropriate behaviour for a young lady and your family’s long-standing friendship with the Bridgertons not being an excuse for a lackadaisical attitude to impropriety.

“There is nothing else to be done now—I must secure you a special licence to be wed tomorrow before Lord Farringdon hears about this,” he decrees with finality, his tone brokering no argument.

You slump silently into your chair, dread creeping through every cell, silently chastising yourself for not following Benedict’s advice and running away. If only you hadn't been impetuous and kissed him, you might have been in your right mind to do so. It feels cruel that the one moment you chose to throw caution to the wind is the one moment that sealed a worse fate.

-v-

That afternoon, your mother ushers you to the Modiste, paying handsomely for a very rushed wedding dress. Something simple that can be finished at such a late hour. It will only be your family in attendance anyway; so much else seems unnecessary. As you stand forlornly upon the raised dias, ivory silk tacked up around you with pins; your mother announces she needs to depart to secure other last-minute arrangements, leaving your trusty ladies' maid to accompany you home once alterations are complete.

“You do not look a happy bride…” Madam Delacroix mutters after the tinkle of the bell above the door signals her departure.

“Your observation skills are certainly not lacking,” you respond quietly, craning to double-check that Rachel, your maid, is out of earshot, sitting listlessly in the front of the store, staring out of the window.

“I do read Whistledown, my dear,” she remarks delicately, “and this does not appear to be a dress someone marrying a Bridgerton would wear.”

Your stomach vaults at the implication; the thought of marrying Benedict has your heart going haywire, even as you know it would never happen. The crestfallen look as your mind flits to the awful man you will be marrying instead is one you cannot hide as she meets your eyes in the reflection.

“It is not indeed,” you sigh, “but Whistledown has rather accelerated my unfortunate fate. Hence the rushed dress…” you gesture to your outfit.

“Mr Bridgerton is a friend?” she digs delicately.

“Lifelong,” you admit, “but Lady Whistledown could not have been more erroneous in her assertions…”

“That you and Mr Bridgerton are together? Or that he would marry you?”

You look away from the mirror and down to where she is crouched by your hem on your left side, taken back not only at her astuteness but her drive for information. Almost as if she were Whistledown herself.

“I do not mean to pry,” she modifies, “merely to understand your predicament. Maybe I can be of assistance? I have privately counselled many a young lady on the eve of their wedding. Be it a happy occasion or not. And have kept many a secret of the Ton. ‘Tis the reason my business is so successful, Miss y/l/n. A good modiste can be a trusted confidante.”

“W-we are not together,” you stumble out without meaning to.

“But you wish to be? Or perhaps something has happened between you?”

Your eyes dart furtively, and your cheeks heat at the memory, but you say nothing.

“You need say no more,” she chuckles and offers a knowing smile that appears as much reminiscent as sympathetic.

You rapidly attempt to deflect. “I do not wish to be married to anyone, really. I do find it so unfair a man is free to pursue his passions in life, but merely due to my sex, I am not.”

There is a nod of understanding, and she stands up with her hands on her hips. “I keep a certain array of refreshments for special clients such as yourself.” She nods to what looks like a liquor cabinet partially obscured behind a curtain at the back of her shop. “If you can dismiss your maid, I can assist you on your last night as an unmarried lady.”

The suggestion is too intriguing to refuse. And Rachel will greatly appreciate your pin money.

A few hours later, you are sat upon a circular conversation chair, Gen, as she insists you call her, pouring you another snifter of brandy.

“Tell me, what is your passion?” she inquires, her polished French accent slipping a little, sounding far more East End than Parisian. Something about that makes you like her more.

“Art,” you answer wistfully, “not that I have many opportunities to practice beyond a private notebook. But it is my most prized possession.” You gesture to your pelisse, hanging on a nearby hook. “I have it with me always. I have sewn a secret pocket into all of my coats myself.”

“Ingenious! ” She declares. “You shall have my job one day!”

You laugh, feeling light for the first time in what feels like days, as Gen leans in, raising an eyebrow. “I can also see well why you may have bonded with Mr Bridgerton…”

You giggle and lower your eyes, taking a fortifying sip.

“But it is not just that, is it?” Her tone is thoughtful, delicate even, as she continues: “A life outside the boundaries of so-called polite society can be so very beguiling, can it not? I have seen you, Miss y/l/n, at parties in Bloomsbury…”

A panicked bile rises as your head snaps up.

“As I said before, I am always discreet,” she reassures, “your secret is more than safe with me,” she winks before taking a generous sip from her glass.

Possibly, it's the alcohol, but her understanding of your predicament and the fact she has, unbeknownst to you, moved in similar circles brings an odd sense of relief. Having a confidante, someone to finally share your secrets with, albeit a somewhat stranger, lifts a burden from your shoulders. Wonderful as Eloise is, being the sister of the man who secretly holds your heart is not without complications in many ways.

“Another?” she chimes animatedly, holding aloft the bottle.

You cannot resist that offer.

-vi-

It’s close to midnight when Gen loops her arm in yours as she guides you, quite inebriated herself, away from the hackney cab to the familiar abode of one Henry Granville. Her declaration that a party is what you need on your last night of freedom is definitely not one you would dispute. A myriad of heightened emotions roil inside as you await the door being answered: contentment at your newly cemented friendship with Gen, bewildered every time you think of your kiss with Benedict and abhorrence for tomorrow.

As you wander into the debauched tableau of a party in full swing: the air thick with smoke and merriment, the sounds of pleasure, people consorting together, a hedonistic swirl of self-expression unfurling all around you—it all consolidates into a yen to be reckless. Take part this time rather than just observe as you have before. Alcohol mutating the simmering rage about the injustice of your circumstance into a yearning to experience pleasure, especially physical. To get lost in sensation on your one last night of liberty.

So when you encounter Sir Simms - Matthew - friend to your older brother, renowned rake, but quite handsome, you throw caution to the wind. He seems delighted to see you, instantly flirtatious and familiar in a way you would rebuff any other night but this one. Whispering in your ear how very bold you are to be at such a bohemian event and pondering what other adventurous experiences you might be willing to indulge in. At one point Gen pulls you aside, her breath sweetened with fermented fruits, as she leans in and counsels you to be cautious. But you rebuff her concerns, swatting away her hold and returning to Matthew, allowing him to pull you into a kiss.

It’s not the same as with Benedict; your mind screams at the altogether more jarring experience. A wet invasion of tongue that is less pleasant and certainly doesn’t fire anything inside you the way that he had. Merely kindling a defiant resolve to rage against the dying light of your freedom. And so when he slurs into your ear, you consent to his invitation upstairs, knowing fully the implications of what will transpire—feeling vaguely detached from yourself as he pulls you along by the hand towards the staircase.

Suddenly, your field of vision is filled with dark blue velvet, a strong arm wrapping around you, caging you into a warm body mass, disconnecting your hand from Matthew’s—crossed words in two male voices. A momentarily confusing blur that only begins to make sense when you tilt your chin up… and the breath is quite stolen from your lungs.

Benedict.

At first, it feels like a cruel mirage, the man you most desire here to stymie your last gamble at impulsivity. His hold is strong as you sense Matthew shrink away, defeated by Benedict’s threat to expose some dalliance or other. But as he whisks you to an empty room within the house, all you feel bubbling up is anger.

“Stop trying to rescue me!” you rail, reeling out of his grip and stamping your foot to emphasise your point, uncaring that you may be behaving more akin to a petulant toddler.

“Stop making foolish decisions!” he lobbies back after a fleeting wounded look.

You glare at him momentarily before turning your back and staring out of the window into the inky blackness of Granville’s garden, frustration prickling a tear in the corner of your eye.

Behind you, there is a sigh; then his voice turns softer. “Why did you not follow my advice? I came here this morning only to be informed you never arrived…”

That he came to check on you weakens your bluster, although you still have no earthy idea why, once again, he is so invested in your actions. But you are not done saying your piece.

“What does it matter now?” you bite bitterly before spinning around to face him. “Benedict, we are in Whistledown. My father would have arranged a special licence for tomorrow regardless of whether I had come here or not…”

“He did what?” he splutters, shock almost choking the words.

You square your shoulders and cross your arms defensively. “I am to be married in the morning. 11am at St George’s.” When all he offers is floored silence, you uncharitably dig the knife in. “No thanks to you...”

Your words are like a body blow, a world of hurt in his quiet tone as he stares at the ground. “I was only trying to help.”

Regret floods your every cell; why you would choose to lash out at him, even you don't know—so many conflicting feelings and strong liquor coursing through you.

“Please… let me return to the party,” you sigh wearily, after a beat, gesturing to his blocking your exit from the room.

“You would regret what you were about to do until your dying day,” he attests, lifting his head, a vein on his forehead pulsing as his jaw tenses.

“Perhaps,” you shrug. “But that is my burden to endure, not yours.”

“I am your friend,” he frowns, “I will always want to alleviate your burdens…”

“I do not want a friend, Benedict, not tonight. I want a beau.” If you aimed to shock him, you are successful; a cavalcade of expressions warring on his face as you plough on. “So please move so that I may continue with my most inadvisable plan….”

“No.” It's soft but unequivocal, resolute.

When you realise he is not going to budge, you throw your hands up in exasperation. “What do you want from me, Benedict?”

There is a gruff noise in the back of his throat, and then, with two determined strides, he is pressed up against you, his breath hot on your face. Then he is kissing you, ferociously, wantonly, opening your mouth with his, his hands encircling your waist and pulling you roughly into him.

And you are lost.

masterlist • wips • taglist (follow this blog to be tagged)

Benedict taglist pt1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton angst #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

432 notes · View notes

space-mango-company · 6 months

Text

Stranger | Chapter 2

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (still not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon what canon

Word Count: 2k

A/N: So... this was posted prematurely a couple hours ago. This is the actual finished longer version. If you don't know what I'm talking about, thank god. Sorry this took so long, lmao

Just letting you guys know that my knowledge of the lore is purely based off of the movies and the Dune wiki rabbit hole I fell into right after watching part two. I also took a few liberties with the canon here.

I'm super open to constructive criticism, or any criticism at all (feel free to absolutely roast me). Like I mentioned, I've never written fanfic before so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The evening of your first day in Giedi Prime was celebrated with a banquet where you were introduced to the most important people on the planet. You've heard many stories of the ruthlessness and brutality of the Harkonnens, hence surprised by the courtly welcome during the dinner. Although you did your best to politely ignore the Baron who floated at the head of the table being fed by servants.

You were sat beside his nephew who, despite your mother's education, has evaded your insight. You couldn't quite get a read on him.

Feyd-Rautha whispers to you amid the buzzing conversations of the banquet hall, "are you enjoying the food, little hawk?"

You shoot him a questioning look.

"I like your hairpin," he sneers.

You resist from reaching to touch the Atreides symbol affixed in your hair.

"We don't see such ornaments often here." He quietly laughs in his devilish way, only too amused with himself.

Ah, you realize. He means to torment you.

"Seems early for pet names," you say, picking at your plate, "we've only just met."

"Oh, and yet we are to be wed in less than a week's time," his raspy voice rings in your ear, "I should like to be familiar with my future wife, Lady Atreides."

The marriage pact had been signed when you were only a little girl. Inheriting your father's inclinations, you swore you would uphold your duty, undeterred by the gruesome and abhorrent stories about the Harkonnens—because you knew that centuries of conflict could end within a generation with this union. You were a willing bride.

And yet.

You give him a smile that, to those not privy to your conversation, would seem genuine, "You know nothing of me, na-Baron."

"I should like to learn," you doubt his sincerity but care not enough to discern it. He takes a smug bite of a forkful of meat, "perhaps tomorrow, you shall learn something of me."

The following morning Iassa helps you into another black gown, this time with a veil in anticipation of the black sun.

"Is it not dangerous for Feyd-Rautha to wager his life for a show?" you question.

"The na-Baron is a skilled fighter, my lady. He will emerge victorious," Iassa is straight-faced as she drapes the veil over you.

"Yes, I do not doubt it, but given he is the Baron's heir. Does it not seem a touch irresponsible to even risk it at all."

Not that you actually cared for his life, you just expected that the Harkonnens would be concerned with the preservation of their house regardless of their brutality. You recall your grandfather who got himself killed fighting bulls for sport.

"The na-Baron will be fighting war prisoners. They will be drugged beforehand. It is perfectly safe, my lady."

"Oh." You couldn't decide if you were disappointed or not, "I see."

Iassa seemed intent on dropping the subject, so you do.

You stand before a mirror and take a look at yourself. It is impossible not to be reminded of your mother. She was never one for vanity, but you like to think there was a part of her that always enjoyed the elegant dresses she and you 'had' to wear. You allow yourself a somber smile behind your veil.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Iassa curtsies.

"Thank you," you look at her bowed figure, gray robes made more dull by the stark black choker on her neck. You were sure she was at least 2 standard years younger than you are and it had only been a few months since you came of age. You wondered if she liked pretty dresses too.

Before you can ask her, there is a knock at your door.

The house steward, Jaromir, clears his throat when Iassa opens it for you, "The na-Baron requests your presence before he enters the arena."

Heavy doors open for you in one of the chambers beneath the arena. You are greeted by the sight of a half-dressed Feyd-Rautha being helped into his armor by a servant.

"Lady Atreides," he looks you up and down, "I hope you slept well."

You bow your head in acknowledgment.

"Your knives, master," a large man whom you assume to be the bladesmith presents Feyd-Rautha with two daggers.

The young Harkonnen takes one and caresses the blade with his fingers.

"I've come to wish the brave na-Baron well before his fight in the arena," you say in false earnestness.

He smiles at your inflation of his ego.

"Though I must say, I am relieved it is all for show. I would not like to see my groom wounded before we are wed."

"For show?" Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and you see his arrogant facade show the slightest crack.

"Yes, I've heard your opponents will be drugged will they not?" your voice dripping with innocence, "to ensure your safety, of course."

His grip on the dagger tightens, "and where did you hear this exactly?"

You sense the awkwardness and tension in the servants. The one who had helped don Feyd-Rautha's armor has quietly retreated to the far side of the chamber. There is a subtle tremble in the hands of one holding a plate of towels. You finally notice the three women piled upon a raised platform glaring at you.

"Just voices around the fortress," you shrug.

A deep breath recovers Feyd-Rautha's smug expression. "Call for the warden," he orders one of the guards by the door, "tell him to prepare new prisoners. Sober ones."

"My lord, you need not endanger yourself," you feign worry.

"Nonsense." The na-Baron walks closer to tower over you, "My lady bride deserves to see my true prowess."

He sees through your challenge, but you don't care. Seeing his self-satisfied smirk wiped from his face for even just a second was worth it.

"Besides," he turns away from you to inspect the second knife, "my darlings enjoy meat that's fought for its life."

The three women sneer at this and you see their sharp teeth as they hiss amongst themselves.

You've heard of Feyd-Rautha's concubines long before you arrived on Giedi Prime. Tales of their taste for human flesh were one of the things that tested your resolve in fulfilling the marriage pact. You didn't mind that the na-Baron would keep other women. It would result in less of his attentions on yourself, you figured. It was their perverse appetite that nauseated you.

A look of revulsion hides behind your veil which you sense they would be all too happy to rip to shreds.

"I will see you in the stands, little hawk," Feyd-Rautha whispers to you as he waves for a guard to escort you out.

You do your best to drown out the noise of what seemed to be a countless audience that came to see the na-Baron fight. You could understand now why they uphold such brutal traditions. The people are so excited for it.

On the other side of the arena, you sense Vladimir Harkonnen watching you from the Baron's Box that towered over the whole arena. The blazing sun only helps you avoid looking in his direction. You were sat at a viewing box, still for nobility and separated from the masses, but much lower and closer to the sands of the arena. Jaromir had told you that you were to 'give the na-Baron your favor'.

Before long, the master of ceremonies announces Feyd-Rautha's entrance in Giedi Prime Speech. They are celebrating his betrothal to you and the union of Harkonnen and Atreides, you translate in your head. You wonder if the people care for the politics of the Great Houses. They seemed no less excited to cheer at your name despite the centuries-old blood feud.

Massive doors open as the na-Baron walks into the arena. His arms outstretched holding his knives like an extension of his limbs. He riles up the crowd as he walks towards the Baron's Box and kneels to his uncle. He then rises and walks toward you, smirking under the stark light of the black sun.

You may not fear earning the Harkonnens' contempt, but you were the Duke of Caladan's daughter and you knew that the favor of the people was invaluable.

You stand and walk to the edge of the viewing box. The glowing smile you reveal as you lift your veil draws cheers from the crowd that rival what Feyd-Rautha received. You produce a pure white handkerchief from your dress pocket and make a show of kissing it and waving the cloth at the buzzing crowd. You throw it off the edge and it floats toward the na-Baron who had moved both daggers to one hand to catch it. He looks up at you with what you think could be the seeds of respect and tucks the cloth into the tight armband around his right bicep.

He turns back to the audience and raises his knives in a war cry. The crowd explodes in guttural cheers and applause. Feyd-Rautha takes his position in the middle of the arena as his first opponent is released into the white sands.

You've heard of the Harkonnen heir's aptitude in single combat. It's time to see if the stories were true or if it was just another part of their menacing facade.

You were handed a pair of spyglasses to observe with. The two fighters approach each other, the prisoner wielding a knife of his own. Feyd-Rautha holds a taunting stance. The prisoner was sober, you were sure, but even without the spyglasses, you could see he was weak. You surmised the Harkonnen cells weren't very hospitable. He attempts a swipe but the na-Baron parries with ease. Another and the na-Baron dodges. Zooming in, you could see Feyd-Rautha's twisted amusement. He was toying with the poor man—and the people loved it.

The crowds cheered at the clashing of metal, thundering when the na-Baron drew first blood by slashig his opponent's arm. It wasn't long before Feyd-Rautha's dagger had impaled the prisoner's heart. There was no pause before a second prisoner was brought out to meet a similar fate.

Feyd-Rautha stood unwounded, seething with exhilaration. He enjoyed this; the thrill of killing. He basked in the roar of the crowd. You had never ended a life before, but some deep part of you could almost understand how he felt in that moment.

A third prisoner enters the arena. He looked older than the first two, bearded and taller. He reminded you of Gurney Halleck, the Atreides Warmaster. This man certainly wasn't at his prime but you could tell he would not go down as easily as the first two.

The warrior holds his blade out in a firm fighting stance, refusing to make the first move. You notice picadors in black suits have entered the arena, circling the na-Baron and his opponent. Feyd-Rautha lunges at the prisoner and a quick series of parries from both sides occur. You see the finesse in the na-Baron's movement. He recognizes his opponent's skill and he is taking this one seriously. You were not sure what you expected of the Harkonnen's fighting style but Feyd-Rautha was vicious but precise. The crowd gasps when the prisoner disarms one of the na-Baron's knives. The warrior manages to get a grip on Feyd-Rautha's armed hand and aims to pierce the na-Baron's neck with his blade. The na-Baron struggled against his hold and the arid air was thick with anticipation.

You were unsure what outcome you desired as you stared through your spyglass. Perhaps this warrior kills your betrothed. What then? Would you really be able to go back to Caladan's windy cliffs again? Return to the arms of your mother as if it were all a bad dream? You wonder if when Feyd-Rautha becomes baron, and you his baroness, could you convince him to let you see your family.

The warrior's blade was dangerously close to your future husband's throat when one of the picadors lashes at the warrior. The na-Baron growls at the offending picador as the warrior is weakened. Feyd-Rautha pushes him off and allows him a moment to recover, taunting him to try again. Blades clash once more and after a sequence of quick ferocious movements, Feyd-Rautha's blade slashes the warrior's throat. Blood made black by the infrared of the sun splatters onto the na-Baron. He licks the darkness that landed on his lips. Heaving, he takes your bloodied handkerchief off his armband and raises it to you and the roaring crowd.

You did not even realize you were already standing, breathless at the sight.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore

#feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune #dune part two #baron harkonnen #baron vladimir harkonnen #house harkonnen #house atreides #giedi prime #austin butler #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

402 notes · View notes

hedwig221b · 4 months

Note

omg qween goddess supreme hedwig221b can you please, pretty please rec me some regency and/or historical sterek 🥹

hoping you have a good day/night (idk your timezone lol)

Hi, love! You know me so well... historical aus, my beloved 💜

When All the Pieces Fit by NARKOTIKA

"Does he even realize? With the cooking and cleaning andandand—now this fucking baby?" Isaac fumes. Said baby waves its fist in the air, and Stiles bends to haul him onto a hip. The baby babbles something and Stiles nods his head with complete seriousness, as if everything out of its mouth is perfectly sensible and coherent. Then the kid starts mouthing at Stiles' nipple through his dress and everyone goes dead silent. "I'm going to wife him so hard," Ethan announces, and they all break out into argument over who has the best chance at mating the boy in the river.

Elskende by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Stiles is an omega concubine, kept sequestered away in the city of Beacon Hills, waiting for his lord Gerard Argent when the Wulver take the city and the alpha takes the omega.

Pride and Place by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Derek Hale, Earl of Osterbrook, has inherited, following the death of Lord Montfort, a run down house in Yorkshire he neither needs nor wants, convinced his staff are robbing him, and with the mystery of a missing ward, he manages to get himself talked into a ridiculous bet, that he cannot pass as a steward until Midwinter, nearly two months away. So can he maintain the charade? Find the missing child? and manage to turn the shambles of a house around, or will he give up and let Peter take the thousand pounds he bet.

A Princely Knight by Dexterous_Sinistrous

He would stand by Stiles’ side, a constant shadow of protection until his death. A life for a life, one worth much more than an orphan turned thief turned royal guard could comprehend. In truth, Derek saw the one person he would gladly give his life for, because Stiles made this world better. ~*~ Or, Stiles is a prince and Derek is his knight.

Meant to be One by sunhazeheart

His nerves felt like a live wire was running hot beneath his skin, hands fidgeting with the silken material of his robe. If he had the concentration to spare, he might had worried about tearing it. It was all he could do to sit there at the vanity, eyes squeezed shut, and try to give in the constricting pressure around his chest that said that he was about to fall into a panic attack. Breath in. Breath out. His own heartbeat rushed in his ears. Being mated to the reclusive king with a frightening reputation to his name, bundled away from his home and father, and then surrounded by underwhelmingly distant faces hiding secrets was not how Stiles Stilinski imagine spending his life soon after turning eighteen. He can only remind himself that it is for the good of his people, both old and newly acquired. But, perhaps first assumptions are made too hastily and a fated match can be made, even surrounded by threats of war, revenge and death’s waiting embrace.

The Wolf Lord by mikkimouse

"You never know," Lydia said. "Perhaps the Wolf Lord will ask you to dance tonight." Stiles scoffed. "Oh, yes, of course he will. And then he'll transform into a giant black wolf and whisk me away to his estate to live happily ever after." He rolled his eyes at the thought. "Actually, I rather hope he does ask me to dance. I can tell him how ridiculous these masquerades are."

To Whom The Wolf King Bows by MadcapRomantic

Stiles Stilinski meets The Wolf King, the very boogeyman he'd spent his younger years terrified of; yet the man is little, if anything, like the tales he's heard. But, Stiles has spent the last ten years of his life as a slave, under the harsh whip of the cruel King Gerard Argent, and trusting Derek - trusting anyone - is beyond difficult.

Where the Shadow Ends by Green

Derek goes undercover to Delphi to figure out what's wrong with the oracle. He doesn't mean to fall in love.

The Hills Call

Five years ago, Prince Derek of the Hale Empire had fallen for the son of a Baron, Genim of Stilinski. His mother had not approved, and after some time imprisoned Genim escaped to the Dukedom of the Shore, where he was taken in by Duke Christopher and Lady Allison. Now, Prince Derek is on his deathbed from a poisoning and it is up to Genim, now called Stiles, to nurse him back to health. Wary of the Hale Empire, Stiles returns with their young son to see if he can heal Derek of his illness and escape the threats he still feels from the Empress herself.

The Light in the Woods by DiscontentedWinter

To honour a treaty with the people of a strange land, Derek Hale, prince of the kingdom of Triskelion, has to marry Stiles.

I encourage you heavily to go through the works of Dexterous_Sinistrous and DarkAthena (seraphim_grace), these two are my crushes and I am in awe of their work, it's so good. I could genuinely sit here and list dozens of their fics - I already did list some of my most beloved fics of theirs...

#sterek #sterek fic #stiles x derek #sterek fanfic #eternal sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #derek x stiles #sterek fanfiction #sterek fic rec #i also didn't check how many of these are abo #probably a lot lol #idc i love it #genuinely like i went through my saved historical fics #and the majority was dexterous and DarkAthena

186 notes · View notes

horeformilfs · 5 months

Note

I have an ask for you. So this can either be with Alcina, Donna, or any of the Dimitrescu daughters.

All I really want is like reader going absolutely ape-shit on some kind of foe. For whatever reason you want. Whether it be Eathan or just some random person trying to hurt her lover. The circumstance is completely up to you.

Oh, and if reader could have some kind of power, plant manipulation, shape-shifting, whatever, that would be loved.

Aaaanyway, thank you very much for even reading this. If you don't like it, just ignore me. No harm done. Have a fabulous day/night, and stay safe!

💐💐

I love this idea and made it kinda angsty

I'll Protect You...Because I Love You

Dimitrescu Family x Fem!Reader

TW: Arguing, Drinking, Fighting, Stabbing Blood, Fainting, Ethan Winters being a dick, Death

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

In the dimly lit corridors of Castle Dimitrescu, Y/N moved with practiced ease, her footsteps echoing against the ancient stone walls. She had become accustomed to the labyrinthine layout of the castle during her time as Lady Alcina Dimitrescu's maid, navigating its sprawling halls with a sense of familiarity that bordered on intimacy.

But Y/N's relationship with Alcina transcended the boundaries of employer and servant. Over the course of eight months, their connection had blossomed into something far deeper—a love that defied the constraints of their disparate stations. Alcina's formidable presence had initially intimidated Y/N, but beneath her regal facade lay a woman of unparalleled complexity, whose icy exterior belied a warmth that Y/N found impossible to resist.

Despite the differences in their status, Y/N and Alcina had forged a bond built on mutual respect and unwavering devotion. In the quiet moments between their duties, they stole fleeting glances and exchanged whispered confessions, their love growing with each passing day.

And it wasn't just Alcina who had captured Y/N's heart; her affection extended to Alcina's three daughters—Daniela, Cassandra, and Bela. Initially wary of their mother's new paramour, the sisters had gradually warmed to Y/N's presence, finding in her a kindred spirit who shared their love for the sprawling grounds of Castle Dimitrescu.

Y/N's connection to the Dimitrescu family ran deeper still, for she harbored a secret that she had kept hidden from Alcina and her daughters—a power as ancient as the castle itself. Y/N possessed the ability of chlorokinesis, the power to manipulate and control plant life with but a thought. It was a gift she had inherited from her ancestors, one that she had honed in secret, fearful of the repercussions should her abilities be discovered.

But despite the challenges they faced, Y/N's love for Alcina remained steadfast, a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to engulf them. And as the sun dipped below the horizon and the castle came to life with the flickering of candlelight, Y/N knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, she would face them with unwavering courage, guided by the love that bound her to Alcina and her daughters.

As Y/N approached the door to their shared bedroom, she could sense the tension radiating from within. The air crackled with an uneasy energy, sending a shiver down her spine. With a deep breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit chamber.

Alcina sat at her vanity, her usually regal posture slumped with frustration. Y/N's heart ached at the sight of her beloved in such turmoil, her concern outweighing any fear that lingered in the air.

"What's wrong, Alcina?" Y/N ventured softly, her voice a gentle caress in the stillness of the room.

Alcina's response was immediate, her words tumbling forth in a torrent of anger and resentment. "That blasted Miranda! She thinks she can dictate every aspect of our lives, as if we're mere pawns in her game!"

Y/N listened in silence as Alcina ranted, her heart breaking with each word that fell from her lips. But before she could offer solace, Alcina's frustration reached a boiling point, her hands clenching into fists as she unleashed her fury upon the unsuspecting vanity.

The sound of splintering wood echoed through the room, mingling with Alcina's ragged breaths. Y/N moved closer, her instincts urging her to comfort her lover in her time of need.

"Alcina, please," Y/N pleaded, reaching out a trembling hand in a futile attempt to soothe her. "Let me help you."

But Alcina's response was sharp, her eyes blazing with an intensity that sent a chill down Y/N's spine. "Stay back, Y/N! This is none of your concern!"

Y/N recoiled at the venom in Alcina's voice, her heart pounding in her chest as she took a cautious step backwards. The sight of Alcina unsheathing her claws sent a wave of fear coursing through her, the primal instinct to flee warring with her desire to stand by her lover's side.

With a heavy heart, Y/N made her decision, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke. "I'll leave you alone, Alcina. I... I need some air."

And with that, Y/N turned on her heel and fled the room, her footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as she made her way downstairs, the weight of Alcina's anger heavy upon her shoulders.

As Y/N entered the dining room, her steps heavy with the weight of her emotions, she failed to notice the three figures huddled together at the far end of the room. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela exchanged concerned glances as they watched Y/N's distant demeanor, their hearts aching at the sight of her pain.

With a shared understanding born of years spent in each other's company, the sisters moved as one, their footsteps silent against the polished floors as they approached their beloved Mămica. Y/N's shoulders sagged with the weight of her burdens, her trembling hands reaching for the crystal decanter of whiskey that stood sentinel upon the table.

The clink of glass echoed through the room as Y/N poured herself a generous measure, her movements mechanical as she downed it in one swift motion. The sisters exchanged worried glances, their concern deepening as they watched a solitary tear slip down Y/N's cheek.

Bela, the eldest of the sisters, stepped forward first, her voice gentle as she addressed Y/N. "Mămica, are you okay?"

Y/N startled at the sound of Bela's voice, her eyes widening in surprise as she met the concerned gazes of the Dimitrescu sisters. She attempted to muster a reassuring smile, but it faltered at the edges, her facade crumbling under the weight of her emotions.

"I... I'm fine," Y/N replied, her voice betraying the turmoil raging within her.

But Daniela wasn't convinced, her keen intuition sensing the truth behind Y/N's facade. "Did you and Mamă have a fight?"

Y/N hesitated, her gaze flickering between the three sisters as she struggled to find the words. "Yes, but it's nothing for you to worry about."

Cassandra reached out a hand, her touch gentle as she brushed a stray tear from Y/N's cheek. "You don't have to pretend. We're here for you."

Y/N felt a sense of comfort envelop her as she sank into the plush cushions of the living room couch, Daniela nestled in her lap like a protective shield against the storm raging within her. The warmth of the fire cast flickering shadows across the room, a soothing counterpoint to the turmoil churning in Y/N's mind.

Daniela, ever the embodiment of affection, wrapped her arms around Y/N, seeking solace in the embrace of the woman she regarded as her other mother. Y/N returned the gesture, her touch gentle as she ran her fingers through Daniela's hair, the rhythmic motion a balm to her frayed nerves.

With a deep breath, Daniela ventured to broach the subject that hung heavy in the air. "Mămica, what happened? Why are you so upset?"

Y/N hesitated, her heart heavy with the weight of her confession. "It's... it's nothing, darling. Just a disagreement with Mamă."

But Bela, ever perceptive, sensed the gravity of the situation, her gaze piercing as she pressed for answers. "But why did you leave? You always stay with Mamă when she's upset."

Y/N's resolve wavered at Bela's question, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke. "Because... because Mamă got so angry... her claws came out."

The revelation hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the depths of Alcina's fury. The sisters exchanged shocked glances, their concern for Y/N mingling with a sense of unease at the thought of their mother unleashing her wrath upon the woman they held dear.

"That's... that's never happened before," Cassandra murmured, her voice tinged with apprehension.

Y/N nodded, her own disbelief mirroring that of the Dimitrescu sisters. "I know. That's why... that's why I had to leave."

And as the flames danced in the hearth and the night stretched on before them, Y/N knew that no matter the challenges they faced, they would navigate them together, bound by the unbreakable bonds of love and family.

As the warmth of the fire bathed the living room in a soft glow, Y/N found solace in the embrace of the Dimitrescu sisters, their presence a comforting reminder of the love that bound them together. Cassandra and Bela nestled into Y/N's side, their forms molded against hers as they sought refuge from the storm brewing outside. Meanwhile, Daniela remained perched in Y/N's lap, her attention focused on the book in her hands as she read aloud in a soothing cadence.

But their tranquil moment was shattered by the arrival of Alcina, her footsteps heavy with the weight of her frustration. She swept into the room, her icy gaze fixing on the group gathered before her.

"Why aren't you all in the dining room? Dinner should have been ready by now," Alcina demanded, her tone sharp with irritation.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under Alcina's gaze, her protective instinct kicking in as she sought to shield the girls from their mother's anger. "We were just spending some time together, Alcina. We'll be there shortly."

Alcina's response was a dismissive roll of her eyes, her frustration palpable as she turned on her heel and made her way to the dining room.

As they sat down to dinner, the atmosphere was thick with tension, the strained silence punctuated only by the clinking of silverware against porcelain. Alcina's mood cast a pall over the table, her brooding silence a stark contrast to the usual lively chatter that filled the air.

The daughters exchanged uneasy glances, their resentment simmering beneath the surface as they grappled with their mother's recent outburst. Y/N's heart ached at the palpable discord, her own frustration mingling with a sense of helplessness in the face of Alcina's wrath.

But amidst the awkwardness and resentment, Y/N found solace in the unwavering support of the Dimitrescu sisters, their presence a reminder that no matter the challenges they faced, they would weather them together, bound by the unbreakable bonds of love and family.

As Y/N raced downstairs, her heart pounded in her chest with each step, adrenaline coursing through her veins at the revelation of Ethan Winters' presence in the castle. She found Alcina in the main hall, her imposing figure a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around them.

"Alcina, what's happening?" Y/N's voice trembled with urgency as she approached her lover.

Alcina's gaze flickered with a mix of fury and determination as she turned to face Y/N. "Ethan Winters has escaped Heisenberg and infiltrated the castle. But don't worry, I'll deal with him."

Y/N's mind raced with a myriad of emotions, fear and concern warring within her as she processed Alcina's words. "What about the girls, Alcina? Are they safe?"

For a moment, Alcina remained silent, her expression unreadable as she locked eyes with Y/N. In that brief exchange, Y/N sensed the truth—the girls were still in the library, unaware of the danger that lurked in the shadows.

Without waiting for a response, Y/N broke into a sprint, her feet pounding against the cold stone floors as she raced towards the library. Alcina followed close behind, her presence a reassuring presence in the face of uncertainty.

As Y/N rushed towards the library, her heart pounding with fear and urgency, she flung open the doors, relief flooding her as she laid eyes on the girls, safe and sound within the comforting embrace of books.

"Mămica, Mamă, what's going on?" Daniela's voice cut through the tension, her brow furrowed with confusion.

Before Y/N could respond, a deafening gunshot shattered the tranquility of the room, the sound reverberating off the walls as time seemed to slow to a crawl. Instinctively, Y/N moved to shield Bela, her body tensing in anticipation of impact.

But she was too late.

The bullet struck true, searing pain tearing through Y/N's abdomen as she staggered backward, the force of the impact sending her crashing to the ground. Shock and disbelief painted the faces of Alcina and the girls as they watched in horror, their cries of alarm echoing in the chaos that ensued.

Ethan Winters emerged from the shadows, his presence a menacing reminder of the danger that lurked within the castle walls. Y/N fought through the pain, her voice strained as she addressed him.

"Why are you here, Ethan?" she pleaded, desperation coloring her words.

But Ethan remained silent, his gaze cold and unyielding as he turned his attention to the Dimitrescu sisters and Alcina. Panic surged within Y/N as she watched him advance, her instincts screaming at her to protect her family at all costs.

With a fierce resolve, Y/N pushed herself to her feet, her body protesting with each movement as she positioned herself between Ethan and the ones she loved. "Stay back!" she warned, her voice trembling with a mixture of pain and determination.

But Ethan showed no signs of relenting, his gaze locked on his targets with a chilling intensity. With a resigned sigh, Y/N braced herself for the inevitable confrontation, her mind racing with thoughts of how to keep her family safe in the face of overwhelming odds.

As Y/N summoned the vines with her chlorokinesis, her focus shifted solely to protecting Alcina and the girls from the imminent threat of Ethan Winters. The tendrils of greenery twisted and coiled around Ethan, ensnaring him in a tight grip as she launched herself into the fray.

The girls and Alcina watched in stunned silence as Y/N unleashed her power, their eyes wide with astonishment at the revelation of her hidden abilities. The air crackled with energy as Y/N and Ethan clashed, each blow resonating with the weight of their opposing desires.

But despite Y/N's valiant efforts, Ethan proved to be a formidable opponent, his desperation driving him to strike out with renewed ferocity. As he delivered a final, devastating blow, piercing Y/N's abdomen with a merciless stab, a cry of anguish tore through the air.

With the last of her strength, Y/N summoned forth a vine, twisting it around Ethan's neck in a desperate bid for survival. With a sickening snap, his lifeless body crumpled to the ground, the threat he posed extinguished in an instant.

Exhausted and wounded, Y/N collapsed to the ground, her body trembling with the effort of her exertions. Alcina and the girls rushed to her side, their expressions a mix of concern and disbelief as they surveyed the scene before them.

"Daniela, keep her awake!" Alcina's voice rang out, laced with urgency as she knelt beside Y/N, her hands trembling as she sought to staunch the flow of blood from her wounds.

The youngest Dimitrescu sister nodded frantically, her hands gentle as she cradled Y/N's head in her lap, her voice trembling with emotion. "Stay with us, Mămica. Please, don't leave us."

Y/N's vision blurred as she struggled to remain conscious, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she met Alcina's gaze with unyielding determination. "I'll protect you because... because I love you," she whispered, her voice barely a whisper before darkness claimed her, her body succumbing to the darkness that threatened to consume her.

With tender care, Alcina lifted Y/N into her arms, cradling her gently as she carried her to their room, the girls trailing behind in solemn silence. The journey felt endless, each step a testament to the weight of their collective worries as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors of Castle Dimitrescu.

Upon reaching their sanctuary, Alcina laid Y/N upon the bed with infinite gentleness, her touch reverent as she began to tend to her injuries. With practiced precision, she cleaned and dressed Y/N's wounds, her movements deliberate as she worked to ease her lover's pain.

The girls watched with a mixture of awe and concern, their hearts heavy with the realization of Y/N's sacrifice. As Alcina finished her ministrations, they crawled into bed beside Y/N, seeking solace in the warmth of her embrace.

Bela nestled close to Y/N's side, her touch light as a feather as she draped an arm over her, while Cassandra snuggled against her other side, her breaths soft and steady against Y/N's skin. Daniela settled in the crook of Y/N's arm, her presence a soothing balm against the ache of her injuries.

Alcina took a seat in a large chair nearby, her eyes never leaving Y/N's form as she held vigil over her beloved. With a book in hand, she settled in for the long night ahead, the pages offering little distraction from the weight of her worries.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, Y/N stirred from her slumber, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of the Dimitrescu sisters gathered around her bedside, their faces radiant with relief and joy.

"Mămica, you're awake!" Daniela exclaimed, her voice filled with unrestrained delight as she threw her arms around Y/N, her embrace warm and comforting.

Bela and Cassandra echoed their sister's sentiments, their smiles bright as they showered Y/N with affectionate hugs and whispered words of gratitude.

Alcina watched from the foot of the bed, her heart swelling with love and relief at the sight of Y/N awake and alert once more. With a soft smile, she approached Y/N, her gaze tender as she spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Alcina began, her voice laced with sincerity. "For what happened last night, and for the hurtful words I spoke. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make amends and to work on controlling my temper."

Y/N's heart swelled with gratitude at Alcina's apology, her own forgiveness offered freely as she reached out to take her lover's hand in hers. "Thank you, Alcina. I know we'll get through this together."

With the tension of the previous night lifted, the day unfolded with a sense of newfound peace and harmony. The Dimitrescu family spent the hours together, basking in the warmth of each other's company, the laughter of the girls filling the air with joy.

As they shared meals and shared stories, the bond between them grew stronger, their love for one another shining brightly amidst the shadows of their shared past. And as the day drew to a close, Y/N found solace in the embrace of her family, grateful for the second chance they had been given to cherish the moments they shared together.

370 notes · View notes

teapartyprincess4two · 6 months

Text

I. Inheritance

classification: sad, angst

warnings: death of parent

PREV, NEXT

—

The ceremonial jewels of the king’s crown glisten under the soft candlelight of Nick’s room. A heavy robe rests on his shoulders, adding to the growing pressure he already feels.

Nick’s nervous, anyone in his position would be.

A soft knock echoes through the room, the sound being followed by clacking heels against the marble floor. “Sir Nicolas, are you ready?” Johannes asks.

Nick gulps, of course he isn’t ready, he’s about to sign his life away to rule a kingdom he isn’t sure he’s ready to inherit. Johannes is met with silence.

“Everyone is waiting for you, Sir.”

‘Everyone,’ the word sends shivers down Nick’s spine.

Nick finally musters up enough courage to respond, “Give me a moment alone. I’ll be right down.”

Despite the annoyance that bubbles up inside of him, Johannes hums in response, elegantly leaving the room. As soon as the door clicks closed, Nick stares at his reflection. The longer he examines himself, the more he realizes how unfit, how unready, he is to become king.

“I can’t do this,” he says, choking on the words as he gasps for air. Nick’s fingers hook around the robe that’s buttoned around his neck, removing it in one swift motion before throwing it on the floor. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but he knows that he can’t sit in this room any longer.

Johannes hears shuffling come from inside the room, becoming more suspicious and impatient with every passing second. “Sir Nicolas! We truly cannot wait any longer!” Johannes’ voice booms, a closed fist slamming against the aged wood of Nick’s bedroom door.

No response, in fact, the shuffling has stopped altogether.

Normally Johannes would never be this bold, but an entire church of citizens, ministers, priests, and even other royalty are waiting for Nick. So, he knocks one last time before opening the large wooden door abruptly. He’s fully expecting to find Nick in the same position from before, sitting in front of his large vanity with a pained expression on his face. But instead, he’s met with an empty room and the sound of sheer curtains flapping with the cold breeze that enters through the open window.

The room is desolate, but Johannes gives Nick the benefit of the doubt. Surely he’d never be negligent enough to abandon his royal responsibility, right?

“Sir Nicolas?” He throws the billowy comforter off the bed. It’s barren, only revealing a sunken mattress and wrinkly sheets. ‘That’s fine,’ he thinks, maybe Nick is elsewhere in the room.

“Nicolas?” Johannes crouches near the bed, pressing his face to the cold floor to inspect underneath. A dark void stares back at him. Now he’s beginning to get anxious, his quickening heartbeat a clear sign of the stress Nick was putting him through.

Still, he gives Nick the benefit of the doubt, muttering, “Surely he’s in here somewhere.”Johannes scavenges the large wardrobe, expecting to find Nick isolated in a corner, but instead finds elegant suits and shoes so shiny they reflect even in the darkness.

“Nicolas, this is no longer humorous,” Johannes’ voice is stern, almost like he’s scolding a small child. He continues searching the room relentlessly, eventually entering the adjourned restroom. A large, white tub sits in the middle and Johannes takes a quick moment to say a prayer. He prays that when he peers into the tub Nick will be laying in there, in need of nothing but a pep talk to up his spirits.

But as he creeps inside, all he sees is a dripping faucet and a bar of soap. “Sir Nicolas! The coronation is set to begin soon!” Johannes shouts, busting through the restroom door back into the main bedroom.

He does one last sweep of the room in hopes of somehow, someway, discovering an unexplored area. But as he nears the window, he finally sees it, a long make-shift rope made up of fitted sheets and expensive scarves. The rope hangs on the edge of the balcony, swinging back and forth with the cold, howling wind. Muddy footprints run across the courtyard, marking a clear trail into the foggy forest.

“Oh no,” Johannes gulps, all the color leaving his face. What were they without a king?

–

A church full of people awaits the future king's arrival, and although they should also be occupying a pew, Chris and Matt sit in the lounging room near the fireplace. The flames flicker, casting orange shadows on the pair as they recount stories.

“That armor looks good on you,” Matt jokes, delivering a playful punch to Chris’ broad shoulder. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other and Chris was only granted a temporary leave from the king’s guard for Nick’s coronation.

Chris is much burlier than he was when he left, long hair cascading past his chiseled jawline. He’d been through a grueling amount of training and it showed on his chiseled physique.

“Yeah, but not as good as that council cloak is going to look on you though,” Chris jokes in return, slapping his brother’s back with a strong hand. Matt offers him a sarcastic smile, the slap causing him to jolt forward slightly.

The slap twists the collar of Matt’s suit, nimble fingers quickly adjusting it. He felt so overdressed compared to his brother, but he knew Nick’s outfit would take the cake.

Moments like this were becoming scarce nowadays, especially after the passing of their father. The extenuating circumstance is the only reason Nick is even being crowned in the first place, he was nowhere near ready to become king.

“Nick’s going to look absolutely ridiculous in that crown,” Chris chuckles, glancing towards the stairs in hopes that the footsteps he hears are Nick’s. It’s been years since he’s seen anyone outside of the king’s guard and he wants nothing more than to engulf his two brothers in a strong group hug.

To his dismay, it isn’t Nick who descends the staircase, but Johannes. Nonetheless, he greets the old man with excitement. “Johannes! Long time no see, how’ve you been?” Chris shoots up from his seat, his metal armor clanging against each other as he goes in for a hug. His strong arms wrap around the man, only Johannes doesn’t hug back; his arms remain stiff and rigid at his sides, sweat visible on his forehead.

Matt notices the anxious body language immediately, “Johannes? Is everything okay? Where’s Nick?”

Johannes stares straight ahead, afraid to crack under the pressure that comes with making eye contact. He clears his throat, attempting to compose himself as he replies, “Sir Nicolas is–”

A nervous cough interrupts him mid-sentence, forcing him to start again, “Sir Nicolas is gone.”

Chris and Matt share a look, their faces painted with confusion and doubt. “Is he at the church already?” Matt inquires, peering up the stairs as if it would make Nick magically appear. But for some odd reason, he can already tell that this is more serious than Johannes is letting on.

Johannes shakes his head, too nervous and afraid to form coherent words. “Well, is he at least on the way there? The guests have waited long enough,” Matt continues, becoming visibly anxious. The guests have been waiting for over 3 hours, an hour longer and they were sure to revolt.

Once again, Johannes shakes his head, running his clammy hands down his sweaty face. This time Chris speaks, “So then where is he?!”

If being in the king’s guard taught Chris anything, it was how to scare someone and it seemed to be working because Johannes cowers away in fear, a small yelp escaping him as Chris’s commanding presence towers over him. Matt’s eyes blow open in shock, wiggling his way between the two to break the tension. Chris scoffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

Matt’s tone is much softer, slowly easing the information out of the scared man in front of him. “Johannes, where is Nick?”

The man clenches his eyes, shaking his head profusely. He lost the future king and is so unbelievably afraid to admit it out loud.

“Tell us where Nick is or so help me God!” Chris shouts, inching towards the terrified man in front of him.

When Johannes hears this, his words come out a mile a minute, “ I don’t know, Sir. One second he was in his bedroom and the next he was gone. I looked everywhere, I swear I did. You can check for yourselves, but Sir Nicolas is gone.”

“Wait, repeat the last part,” Matt instructs, finding it hard to believe that Nick would just up and leave. Johannes looks like he’s on the brink of tears.

“Sir Nicolas is gone,” Johannes repeats, his voice cracking slightly.

Chris is angry at Johannes, but mostly at Nick. His hands are running down his face as he scolds the older man for losing his brother, screaming something along the lines of “How do you lose the king?!” Each word he shouts emphasizes the importance of the day and the stupidity of Johannes’ mistake.

Matt slumps back into his seat in disbelief, he knew Nick wasn’t ready to become king, but he never realized it would lead him to make a decision as irrational, as dumb, as this. A stressed hand pushes his hair back only for it to flop back onto his forehead.

“So what are we meant to do now? Huh?!” Chris’ loud voice asks, the sound echoing through the walls of the room. It seems that the louder he gets, the brighter the roaring flames becomes. Chris holds Johannes by the collar, waiting for a response worthy enough to prevent him from becoming violent.

“Answer me!” Chris shouts, pulling the man up higher. Johannes whimpers, turning his face away from Chris’ piercing, fiery glare.

“If Sir Nicolas fails to return within three days, his coronation process will be nulled and the responsibility will fall on the next of kin,” Johannes’ voice is so high-pitched from fear and the information is so foreign to Chris that it might as well be another language.

“Stop using big words! What does that mean?!” Chris exclaims in frustration, his grip loosening on Johannes’ collar enough for him to fall to the floor. The many scurries away, opening his mouth to respond, but he’s quickly interrupted by Matt’s figure slowly standing from his seat.

Matt’s not dumb, he made the realization as soon as Johannes went on his nervous ramble. He knows that if Nick doesn’t return as soon as the third day comes to an end, the responsibility of this kingdom will be handed to him whether he likes it or not. So, for the past couple of minutes his mind has been racing. How could one small moment determine something as significant as his future?

“What does that mean, Johannes?!” Chris exclaims again, the question painfully bouncing around in Matt’s mind. What did it mean?

“It means that I would become king,” Matt says, jaw clenched. He’s upset beyond belief — Who wouldn’t be?— but somehow he can’t find it in himself to hate Nick for this. Matt knows that, if presented with the same situation, he’d do the same; he’d grab all his things and run, never daring to look back.

Yet, he finds himself in the same position and instead of being granted the freedom to run, he’s backed into a corner with no escape.

“Oh fuck,” Chris whispers, the gravity of the situation finally settling.

This was the inheritance Matt never asked for, but what were they without a king?

—

The air outside is hot and stuffy; it always is in Solara. It’s ironic how a feeling as comforting as warmth can feel so suffocating. The tears that stream down your face are the only thing cooling you down, but they also blur your vision as you watch knights lower your mother’s casket six feet under.

You knew this day was coming, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. The worst part, though? You couldn’t even allow yourself to fully grieve because there were so many wandering, judgmental eyes. Everyone here who didn’t know your mother personally viewed her death as a transaction; as a the loss of one queen, but the gain of another.

A singular sob, or even a strained whimper, would send these vultures into a hungry frenzy. They’d eat you alive if they could, but they’re waiting to catch you in a moment of vulnerability before they feast. So as the tears flow, your face holds a stoic expression.

Your younger sister Selma, the only other person you can still call family, sits to your left. Loud cries rack her small figure as her delicate hand lays on yours. Maybe if you were her you’d do the same, but you’re not and you never will be.

You wish you didn’t have to, but you pull your hand away urgently because the longer it stays there, the quicker your resolve is bound to break.

Martina, your handmaid, sits to your right with a handkerchief pressed against her face. She switches between sniffles and sobs, murmuring something along the lines of, “Oh what a tragedy.”

“Princess— Your highness, any last words to share about your mother?” the priest asks. He doesn’t even know what to call you, and the slight slip up makes your teeth grit. You keep your composure though, elegantly standing from your seat and preparing to summarize your mother’s life in a few words that everyone was sure to forget.

A part of you knows that no one here cared enough about your mother to listen to a heartfelt speech, and her passing was so devastating that you couldn’t bring yourself to prepare a eulogy, so you keep it short and simple.

“The Queen, my mother…” your voice falters. There’s a small pause as you gather yourself before the emotion can consume you.

“My mother was a fearless, relentless leader. She lead the people of Solara to greatness for decades and as her eldest daughter, as the heir to the throne, I hope to uphold her legacy.” A distasteful applause follows, the people watching grossly unaware of the sad twinge behind every word.

“All hail the Queen!” one shouts. The rest follow, breaking into a unified chant. The new title feels like a slap to the face but you don’t say anything, you can’t say anything.

After all, what were they without a Queen?

—

Three grueling days have passed since your mother’s funeral and the first summer rain is showering the ground. Your black dress soaks the rainwater completely, weighing the material enough to force you to collapse onto the muddy ground. Your mother’s tombstone stares back at you, urging you to be strong, to get up and be the Queen you’re meant to become. But you can’t do it, not yet at least.

Her name is chiseled in the marble, each letter reminding you of the great woman she was and the legacy she left behind; a legacy that you’re not sure you’ll be able to live up to.

Now that you’re finally alone, it’s easy to finally let loose and cry. A mixture of emotions is swirling inside of you, and in this moment you wish your mother would resurrect and engulf you in a hug.

“I can’t do this without you,” you whisper, fat tears flowing freely. Of course you couldn’t do this without her, you had no clue what it was like to rule an entire nation. And to top it off, you were now made responsible for your sister as well.

“Isn’t it ironic how I can’t do this without you, yet I wouldn’t have to if I still had you?”

It’s the cruel reality of your life, a reality you’d never be able to escape no matter how you flipped it.

A loud clap of thunder resonates through the kingdom, the bass of the sound vibrating in your chest. “Please… come back,” you whisper, resting your head on her tombstone like it would change the fact that she’s gone.

For a while all you hear is the pouring rain and your own cries. You’re wallowing in grief, the mourning color of your dress become darker the more water it absorbs. The faint sound of sloshing mud brings your attention towards the far end of the cemetery.

“Sister?” Selma calls out, her voice is drowned out by the thunder, but you still manage to hear her. She uses her hands to pick up the front of her dress, but the long train drags on the cakey ground. Martina walks beside her, quick steps attempting to keep up with Selma’s long strides. Martina holds a black umbrella, an extended arm casting it more over your sister than herself.

“Princess?” Martina speaks this time. Her voice sounds heartbroken, almost like she can feel everything you do.

They stop in front of you, feet sinking into the plush ground. Your disheveled appearance paints sad smiles on their faces. Selma kneels next to you, completely abandoning the security of the umbrella and bringing you in for a strong embrace.

As soon as her arms wrap around you, you’re burying your head in the crook of her neck. Loud sobs, strained breathing, and a string of hiccups is what you’re reduced to as you hold onto your sister like your life depends on it.

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay,” Selma murmurs, putting on a strong front as she delicately caresses the back of your head. You need her and she knows it, but all she wants to do is join you in crying.

“It isn’t fair,” you hiccup, finally pulling away. The rain gets stronger, camouflaging your tears. “I know, sister. I know, and it’s never going to be fair. But you need to be strong, okay? For Solara… for mother.”

Selma holds a firm grip on your face, forcing your glossy eyes to lock with hers. You take a deep breath, nodding your head as you try pulling yourself together. “Now come on, everyone is waiting,” Selma whisper, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead before standing up.

She extends her arms for you, serving as your support as you stand up as well. Your dress is soaked and muddy, your face is red and swollen, and your hair is so drenched that it’s stuck to your face. Martina watches with a sad smile, taking in the bittersweet sight in front of her.

“I look pathetic.”

The three of you have begun the walk back to the castle and for the first time in your life you’re grateful for the mud, it makes the already long walk that much longer.

“You look beautiful, Sister. You’re the most beautiful Queen I’ve ever seen,” Selma says, whispering the last part. You appreciate her motivating words because without her you’d surely be lost.

“Selma, look at me,” you gesture towards your dress. She glances down, a tiny giggle escaping at the sight, “Okay maybe you do look a little crazy.”

“Yes, I’m the craziest Queen you’ve ever seen,” you reply with a dry chuckle, grateful for the mood shift.

“Oh that’s nothing a good bath won’t fix, Ma’am. Then you’ll be the cleanest Queen we’ve ever seen,” Martina chimes in, earning another giggle from Selma. You smile too, realizing that you’re at least not alone in all this; that your sister’s dress is as dirty as yours and Martina’s as drenched as ever.

But one thing remained true; you could be the prettiest, craziest, or even the cleanest, but you’re still the Queen regardless of the rest, and that was the inheritance you never asked for.

—

MASTERLIST, SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: whoopeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee 💃🏻 we just getting started & I would love feedback babies 🌹

- L.A.MB👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03 @k-l-a-w-s @maryx2xx @biggesthat3r @herxyzblog @getosuckers @mega-katya44 @tillies33ssss @fratbrochrisgf @aurixoxo @riasturns @sturnikitty @sturnrc @sturtriple16 @sillyfreakfanparty

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐 if your user is striked through, I wasn’t able to tag you :(

185 notes · View notes

ashblooddragons · 1 month

Text

The Red Queen (Chapter 2/?)

109 ac Kingslanding

Daemons pov

I stood in your room as you got your new dragon riding leathers made. I look over to the little Velaryon girl, Laena, a girl of four, she’s been a good friend to you since you were a babe. Laena is picking out the colors of her riding leathers with you.

“I like the blue and black! So I can be like my Mama and my Daddy!” Laena says excitedly as she runs back over to her mother, Rhaenys, my cold cousin who only seems too warm for her children, husband, and Aemma.

You seem to be stuck on what color you want for your leathers. “What have you lowered it down to, Sweetling?” I ask as I move over to you. You turn and look up at me with your vibrant eyes that always take my breath away. Your eyes kept changing until your first nameday when they finally decided on the colors, one ice blue the same ice blue every Arryn has, that your mother has, and one vibrant purple that matches Viserys. Many say my brother got our mother's eyes, it’s this that makes me believe you inherited that as you have inherited her two-toned eyes. I kneel next to you to look at the ones you're looking at. “Ah, I see it’s a tough choice between those two.” I say as you keep looking between a black, and a red.

“I like both, Kepus, what do I do?” you ask, biting your lip in frustration. I reach up and swipe my thumb over your lip to make you stop and murmur the same thing I always do ‘Enough of that.’

“But I can’t pick!” You say frustrated as you rub your face, a sign you're upset and frustrated. I sigh and look at you as you turn to me and bury your face in my neck. I can’t deny that it fills me with an overwhelming type of joy that you run to me for comfort, that I’m the one you desire to hold you when in need.

“We could do both, Sweetling. Black and red, how do you like that?” I ask as I rub your back. I feel you nod so I snap my fingers to get the seamstress's attention. “Hers will be black with our house sigil on the back in red, and her shoulders will be red.” I say and the seamstress nods as she gets back to making Lady Laenas. “See no need to get upset, my girl.” I say as I stroke her hair.

“You’re gonna be flying too right? Laenas Mama is flying with us, and Mama said Nyra is coming, but I want you.” She said as she looked up at me pleadingly. I never could say so to her, especially when she looked at me like this, so thankfully I was already planning on joining.

“Of course I am, did you really think I was going to miss your first fly on your own dragon?” I tease as I tickle her sides, I would pick her laugh over the moans of any whore. I only stop once your face has turned red and you beg me to stop.

You look over and see that Laena is getting her hair braided and look up at me, all I can do is chuckle for I already know what you're going to ask me. “Sit in the chair.” I say as I point to your vanity that you still aren’t big enough for without a few books on the chair. You run over and wait for me.

I brush your hair and braid it as we wait for the seamstress to finish. Thankfully this one is quick as almost all the money she makes is from making our dragon riding leathers. “Stromchaser and Caraxes like each other, the dragon keepers said so. They told Papa that they are never apart.” you say excitedly, the only problem is you keep moving your head as you talk about our dragons. “That’s wonderful Darling, but you need to stop moving if you wish for me to braid your hair.” I say and chuckle as you pout but stop moving so I can do your hair.

After another thirty minutes, your dragon riding leathers are done. “I’m gonna go ask Laenas Mama to help me!” you say excitedly as you and Laena go behind the changing screen with Rhaenys. Once you and Laena are ready no man could stop you two as you run out of that room and down the hall running as fast as your little legs will take you so you can get to your dragons as fast as possible.

When you make it down to the front of the castle you both get caught by your fathers. “Now where do you two think you're going?” Viserys asks with an amused smirk as you wiggle in his arms trying to break free. “Not even going to let us get a look at your new riding leathers?” Corlys teases which makes you two gasp and wiggle more, but this time it’s not to see your dragons but to show your new outfits. Once they set you on the ground you both do twirls and show your favorite parts, as you do so you get many ‘oohs and ahhs.’ I watch as Rhaenyra rolls her eyes at this as she walks to us with the Hightower girl who seems to have somehow wormed her way into both of my niece's hearts.

Once we finally get down to the dragon pit you and Laena can hardly stand still in your excitement. When your dragons are brought out you run over to them, unsurprisingly Caraxes is right behind Stormchaser, the dragon keepers are right I never can find him without finding Stormchaser.

I watch as Caraxes impatiently waits for his turn for your affection, I walk over to you and glare at Caraxes as he snaps at me his rider. Ever since you could walk on your own he has hated anyone near you, so much so it has become a running joke that you are his ‘true’ rider. I hear Laena talking to her dragon Moonfyre, after she heard what her dragon was called she threw a fit and spent a week deciding on a name the reason being ‘I’m not gonna name my dragon a boy name when she is obviously a girl!’ and to be fair she was right, not even a week later her dragon laid clutch of eggs, three to be exact, Viserys agreed to have one of the eggs for his next babe who should be here in four moons. Laena picked a teal one stating since it came from her dragon she gets to pick the name, and she picked…shrimp. Why that name out of any I couldn't tell you, but Viserys agreed, if I’m being honest I think he’s hoping it turns to stone.

When you first brought your dragon back to Kingslanding you thought it was weird she purred instead of clinking when you petted her, I had to explain every dragon makes a different noise, you seemed to understand. I watch as you get on your tiptoes to reach Caraxes and pet him, I can’t help but smile at your close bond to my dragon, as many can’t even get near him let alone touch him.

Once we get you and Laena on your saddles and clip you in via a leather strap and a metal hooks so you don’t fall off your dragons, We tell you both the word to use to start to fly. You wait for us to get on our dragons before screaming it and taking off to the skies. Me, Rhaenys, and Rhaenyra quickly follow after you two.

When I catch up to you I smile as I hear your screams of joy. “Enjoying yourself, Sweetling?” I ask and laugh as you nod your head vigorously. I can already tell you will live for the sky, and we all will have to force you to come down. “I love it! This is way better than Caraxes!” you scream happily not noticing Caraxes has taken offense to your words. I chuckle and nod. “Yes well, flying your own dragon will do that. I remember loving to fly with my father on Vhagar, but when I claimed Caraxes I wanted nothing to do with Vhagar.” I say honestly

You are a vision as you fly, there is no denying that you will be a beauty when your older, as there is no one as beautiful as you. Your braid is flying behind you as Stormchaser dives, I can’t help but laugh at you scream of fright and excitement. Your eyes are huge as she finally straightened out. “That was AMAZING!” you scream.

Finally, me and Rhaenys have talked you two into coming back down, of course not without some pouting and tears but we rectified that by promising extra dessert tonight at supper. When you land I can’t help but notice how Rhaenyra glares at you, she is always scowling your way and making rude comments, so I make it a habit to put the so called ‘realms delight’ in her place.

I can’t help but be surprised when I see the Hightower girl run over to you, she has always been afraid of dragons, like most Andals, but she seems to have pushed that aside for you. “Was it a good flight? Were you safe? Do we need to make a bigger or smaller saddle? Oh, I’m just so happy you're safe.” she rambles off so quickly I don’t even think she was speaking real words. I watch as she unclips you from the saddle and holds you close, I must admit for as much as I hate Otto his daughter is very good to you.

“Did you see me Ali? I did good, right? You’re gonna fly with me someday!” you say excitedly as I walk over to take you from ‘Ali’. “Yes, you did wonderfully, Sweetling. But I believe it’s time for you to get some food in that belly.” I say after I hear your stomach growl. You giggle and nod as you wave to the dragons. “Night!” you yell as you wave.

As we eat you talk about your fly excitedly, you’re talking so animatedly that you accidentally knock your glass of water over and it spills everywhere. I watch you flinch and look at Rhaenyra terrified. “Well, would you look at that! Maybe if you shut up for once in your life things like this wouldn’t happen! You’re so annoying, clumsy, and stupid!” Rhaenyra yells at you as you hang your head crying. I wish I could say this was the first time this has happened, but sadly I can’t. I hear you mumbling the same thing you always do when she does this. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

I glare at Rhaenyra as she glares at you. “And maybe you should stop being a little brat who thinks the world revoles around you. Maybe you should shut your mouth before I do it for you.” I snap back making Rhaenyra flinch as if my words have harmed her physically. ‘Good’ I think ‘Good the girl deserves it.’ I see everyone at the table has frozen, not knowing what to do. You break that silence by climbing in my lap and clinging to me so tightly I wonder if the fabric of my doublet will rip. I can’t help the sick satisfaction I feel as you do this, that you’ve relize I’m your protector.

That night, like every night before, I carry you to your room and sit on your bed as you get ready for bed with the help of your maid. Once you are ready and have crawled under your covers I pull you close as I open a book to read you to sleep. You listen to the story for some time before looking up at me and ask. “does Nyra love me?” This one question breaks my heart, a heart many say is black as soot, but what they don’t know is that it only beats for you. “I do not know, Darling, but I hope she does.” I say, I never could lie to you not with those beautiful eyes looking up at me so trusting. You look down tears in your eyes but still you nod in understanding. I know somewhere you hoped she did, and maybe she does, but I feel it is not in this lifetime.

“Let us go back to this story, I know I’m wondering if the tortoise or the hare will win.” I say trying to divert your mind from your sister. You nod and lean in closer to me as I continue to read the story.

Sadly that was the day you realized that no matter how hard you try, Rhaenyra will never love or care for you the way a sister should.

Your Pov

I sit the Ali’s lap in the gods' woods as I trace letters, Ali, Kepus, and Mama say I’m getting very good with letters. “What people do we know with a name that starts with O?” Ali asks and I think for amoment before answering. “Um, Orchid my maid?” I ask and smile big when Ali nods. “Anyone else?” She asks. And I think hard on that. “Your Papa’s name starts with O right?” I ask to which Ali nods. “Otto, his name is Otto.” she responds happily.

I love my Mama, but she isn’t around much cause her belly gets too big, sometimes I think Ali is my Mama. I don’t tell anyone this, cause I know it’ll upset my Mama, the one with white hair instead of auburn, the one with blue eyes like one of mine, instead of brown like the one who is always there. I know Ali isn’t my Mama, but sometimes I almost call her Mama, but I stop myself for I know she isn’t even if deep inside I wish she was.

We do this with the next letters till Rhaenyra walks over to us. “Alicent, we need to go to our leasons with the Septa.” she says as she ignores me. “Oh, I hadn’t relized the time.” Ali responds as she picks me up and looks around for a nurse maid but seems to freeze when she sees something, when I look where she is looking I see my Kepus watching us, well more glaring. “Why don’t you go to the prince, princess?” Ali suggests as she sets me on the ground. I nod and run over to him as Ali and Rhaenyra walk off.

Once he picked me up he smiles and I smile back. “I got all my letters right! I even got most of them without help!” I say excitedly as he walks towards the gardens where he usually takes me so I can pick flowers. “Good job, my girl.” he says as he sets me down, little do I know this is his way of tiring me out so I’ll take a nap without fuss.

Once I’ve tired out he carries me to my chambers. “You’ll never leave me, right, Kepus?” I ask through a yawn. “No I’d never leave you, Sweetling.”

Little did I know that was the day he swore to never leave me unless he had to visit his Bronze Bitch. My father will regret letting my uncle so close to me in the future, but the damage was already done by that point. But that’s the future and this is now, and he has nothing to fear…or so he thinks.

taglist

@baybaybear1 @ilikefelines

Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header!

#aemma arryn #anti rhaenyra targaryen #daemon x reader #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #team green #daemon x you #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #team black #viserys targaryen #otto hightower #alicent hightower #fanfic #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen smut

72 notes · View notes

apomaro-mellow · 1 month

Text

King and Prince 28

Part 27

The two of them went on that lunch picnic, chaperoned of course. While they sat on a blanket, enjoying treats both sweet and savory, a maid sat on a stool nearby, one eye on them and another on the book in her hand. After a while, they tried to see what they could get away with. Moving from opposite sides of the blanket to sitting right next to each other was allowed.

But when they started feeding each other, they heard her clear her throat in warning. Steve found he couldn’t help himself. Every time he put a piece of food into Eddie’s mouth, the king kissed the pad of his thumb. When Eddie fed him in return, Steve could only think how much he wanted to take more than the tip of his finger in his mouth.

After hearing their chaperone go ‘ahem’ for the fifth time, Eddie surrendered and rolled away to the other side of the blanket.

“You are simply too charming of a temptation”, Eddie sighed.

“Perhaps we need two sets of eyes watching us”, Steve laughed.

Eddie was wonderful. It was a mantra that filled Steve’s head over and over again. It was hard not to repeat it when he sat in front of his new vanity in his new room, just a few doors down from Eddie’s. All of his gifts had been thoughtful and considerate. Normally, the one pursued did not return the favor to their suitor. A courtship was supposed to be one side showing the other that they were able to care and provide to them; a way to showcase their good points.

But Steve couldn’t just let it all be showered upon him. As amazing as it felt to be spoiled. Thoughts rolled around in his head as he brushed his hair in front of the mirror. What could he give the king that no one else could?

‘Well, there is one thing’, in the privacy of his own room, he felt no need to hide his blush. But, well, if they were doing things properly then that wouldn’t be happening for some time. He was still technically a prince, and normally would have access to a treasury with which to buy gifts himself. But he had no such access here.

“Something only I can do…”

He pondered it for about a day when the idea came to him. It was a longshot, for certain. But there was always the chance that it just might yield something. Steve was, after all, still royalty. He spent an afternoon writing up a letter to his parents. As he wrote, he realized there was someone else he should give a message to as well.

Steve brought the letter to Eddie, who was in the middle of his own paperwork in his study. He looked up, relieved to see Steve and get a break from the words dancing across the page.

“I want to send something to my kingdom”, Steve said right away.

“To your parents? Whatever for?”, Eddie asked, worry marring his face.

“I know they didn’t respond to anything you sent them. But maybe they’ll react to something from me. I want to tell them about my stay here and that I, that I am being courted by a king.”

Eddie stood up from his desk and moved around it to be closer to Steve. “I know I didn’t ask your father his permission but-”

“You don’t owe him anything”, Steve said, shaking his head. “But this is something I might be able to give to you. I know you didn’t start romancing me because of my status. But if our union is able to bring about peace for both our countries, then I want to try and negotiate a treaty.”

“Now where did you inherit such grace and generosity? It couldn’t have been from your folks”, Eddie teased, leaning in close to Steve.

“There’s one more thing”, Steve said, holding another letter in front of his face.

Eddie peered at it, cross-eyed from being so close. “Oh? Have you started writing me love letters?”

“Actually, it’s for someone else. Someone I owe an answer to.” He opened the letter, just enough for Eddie to see who it was addressed to.

“Oh. I see.”

“And I need to deliver it personally.”

“You know I must accompany you.”

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

Steve rode into town and made his way to the Carver’s. Jason was at the counter, could be seen through a window. As Steve dismounted, he left the counter and walked out, eyes blazing with fury.

“Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry. I know-”

“I said this would happen. I let you out of my sight and you disappeared on me. I haven’t seen you in-”

“I know”, Steve held up a hand. “Jason, listen. I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

Jason crossed his arms. “That feels like an understatement. For all I know you could have skipped town on me. You must have come to agree to my proposal. Come inside, we’ll talk there.”

“No. I apologize, but I didn’t come to begin a life with you. It’s all here in this letter”, Steve held it out, sealed with wax.

Jason snatched it from his hand. “You came all this way, tell me to my face why you’re rejecting me.”

“I am being courted by someone else. And when the moment comes, I intend to accept his proposal.”

His horse whinnied from behind and Jason took a moment to look at it. It wasn't the usual one he saw Steve with. It was black as night, with an untamed mane. He took in Steve too, from his perfectly styled hair, to the new boots on his feet. His frown only deepened. He didn’t look like a traveling man, who went from town to town.

“You found some aristocrat to take pity on you?”

The horse struck a hoof against the ground, like it took offense on behalf of Steve. Steve stroked the horse’s muzzle, calming them and then sighing himself.

“Everything I want to say is in that letter.” Steve mounted his steed. “You may not believe all that I’ve written, but the truth will come to light soon.”

Steve rode away, leaving Jason with his final word. A fire burned through him and Jason had half a mind to rip the letter to shreds. Instead, he stomped right up to his room to be alone as he read it. The more he absorbed, the more he couldn’t believe. That Steve was a prince? That he was being courted by the king? Jason knew of the Harringtons and the troubles they had brought to their kingdom.

To know that their prince was here…had been here…had been right under Jason’s nose. He had been roaming the streets freely and now what? He had the king wrapped around his finger? The letter was under the mercy of Jason’s tightened grip. Steve being entranced by some aristocrat was one thing, Jason knew he couldn’t compete with that.

But an enemy of the kingdom seducing their ruler was another matter entirely. And the subjects of the land had a right to know about it.

Part 29

Taglist CLOSED

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie

@goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void @0body0disphoria0 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @samsoble

@jamieweasley13 @y4r3luv @xtkxkrzrizir @un-knownperson @greekgeek24

@justdrugsformethanks @potato-of-the-lord @notaqueenakhaleesi @swimmingbirdrunningrock @queenie-ofthe-void

@nebulainajar @lil-gremlin-things @nicememerino @robininblue @hornedqueenofhell

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @moomkin77 @here4thetrama @bookworm0690 @autumncrocusandladybug

@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-steve

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie

75 notes · View notes

ideavian · 4 months

Note

Good day! So, based off the "did any of EE’s citizens have ornamental purposed organisms" question that another lovely person asked, is any part of The Rarity ornamental? It seems to be that the markings on The Rarity's tail and ears seems to be the same material as Eternal Enigma's antenna wings, so did Enigma design The Rarity to look more like him perhaps? Or does the material have more of a functional purpose?

Rarity’s features are both ornamental and functional! A bit more functional than they are on EE anyway. EE’s antenna wings are solar panels, but they’re more symbolic of the idea that Ancients are blessed by the sun (as well as the void) than a practical power source when he’s connected to his superstructure. EE designed Rarity to look like him partly out of vanity but mostly as the next link in the aesthetic genealogy passed down from his creator. As the next in line for inheriting the legacy of the Ancients, Rarity is expected to look the part. The solar panels are a lot more important for Rarity though, given that there’s basically no other source of energy in EE’s surroundings.

Also, you might notice that they have the same eyes as well :3 another detail passed down from EE’s creator

#rain world #rain world oc #eternal enigma #rarity #thanks for the ask!#art

89 notes · View notes

flowerandblood · 1 year

Text

The Vanity and Variability

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • female ]

[ warnings: angst, mention of trauma, violence ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother's debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Vhagar Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

The Targaryen family name was one of the most famous and respected in London. His father's great-grandfather had been a duke, so royal blood flowed in them, and their family estate had been part of the kingdom for centuries.

He grew up with a sense of his own uniqueness, which his grandfather, his mother's father, Otto, constantly reminded him and his siblings of, remarking on their upbringing, their gait, the way they spoke. From an early age, everything they did was to testify to their origins and properly represent them to the world.

They were not allowed to run or shout, they were not allowed to eat with their hands, keep their elbows on the table, swear or laugh loudly. He was not allowed to play with other children, instead he was expected to keep reading and expanding his knowledge, and at the age of twelve he could already speak French and Italian as well.

And then, during one of the fencing training sessions with his nephew that his grandfather had forced him to do, he lost his left eye. Luke, enraged at his loss swung his sword as he managed to pull off his protection and the blade sliced his left cheek in half.

Having learned that he was not allowed to cry or scream, he howled and sobbed into his pillow all night, praying that his grandfather would not hear him.

Neither his position nor his wealth could change his appearance.

Although his father had a first-born son, his elder brother Aegon, everyone knew that he would have preferred the family estate to pass to his eldest daughter after his death, his only child, whom he had fathered with his first wife, who had died.

They had spent their entire lives in the shadow of his affections for her, simply existing in large palatial spaces, unsure if they were of any use to anyone at all. Knowing that he would inherit nothing, that he had only his name and his disfigured, ugly face, he hid in the world of literature, disappearing for hours in the library thus forgetting the woes of his life.

He knew that eventually he would be forced to marry a woman of similar status to himself.

When he first met the Countess Rivers, a wealthy widow much older than him, he thought she could become his wife, he even suggested it to his grandfather. He, however, laughed at his suggestion, saying that this woman had only married the Count for money and had tricked her way into his bed and then deprived him of his life for sure.

That didn't stop him, after a few grand balls in London, from locking himself away with her in seclusion and enjoying all that was female flesh and female fulfilment, feeling for the first time that he was not a repulsive child, but a man.

Life, however, made a mockery of him again when it turned out that Aegon had lost such large sums of money at cards over the years that, despite the fact that his brother was now a grown man who had a wife, Otto had beaten him before his eyes with a cane as if he were a small child again.

Aegon wailed and whimpered as he laid on the ground, writhing in pain, still drunk, and his grandfather hissed between hits that he was their ruin, their greatest misfortune.

Then his grandfather presented everyone at the evening meal with the solution to the problem they faced.

"Borros Baratheon is an extremely wealthy general with as many as five daughters ready to marry, he is known for his immense love for them, so I am confident that their dowries will be appropriate and also, if we play it right, he will give us a loan so that we can pay our immediate debts. Aemond, you will travel to Chelsfield to rest a little and choose your future spouse during this time." He said lightly, and everyone around him froze.

He heard Aegon's loud, amused laughter as he clapped his hands, the sound echoing throughout the room in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

"An excellent thought, grandfather. Right, brother? There's nothing better than to fuck a country wench." He said taking a glass of wine and raising it to his lips, their mother slammed her fist on the table, silencing him with a hiss, his wife lowered her gaze, embarrassed and ashamed.

Aemond did not listen to him or his mother. He stared at his grandfather wide-eyed, his jaw clenched, his fingers outstretched on the table rubbing against each other intensely in a nervous gesture.

"Is this supposed to be a joke?" He choked out finally, deadly serious, unable to believe what he was hearing.

His whole life, everything he'd denied himself, everything he'd learned was to serve who he was, his heritage, he hadn't been allowed to marry Alys despite her surpassing them all in stature, and now he was to choose from five simpering daughters of some village general?

His grandfather raised an eyebrow in displeasure.

"Ask your brother about that. Thanks to him we have no liquidity, we are finished. We need money, and Borros Baratheon has it. Marry one of his daughters and be happy you have plenty to choose from." He said impatiently, and Aemond got up from the table, leaving the room with a loud slam of the door against the walls.

He rushed into his room like a storm, ordering his servants not to let anyone in, and circled around his bed one way and the other, feeling like shouting, feeling like throwing something or destroying something, but he knew he couldn't do it, that it wasn't proper.

He finally knelt down in the middle of his room catching himself by his hair, burying his face in his arms and crying helplessly like a baby.

How many more humiliations did he have to endure in his life for God to decide that enough was enough?

How much more could he pray?

Why didn't God listen to him even though he went to church with his mother every Sunday, prayed in the morning and before bed with attention and focus?

Why was he not a good enough son either in the eyes of his father or God himself?

He knew there was no going back from his grandfather's decision. He knew that his mother would never defy him and his father would not take any interest in the matter even if he married a strange woman from the fair.

After a week he sat in the carriage that was to take him to Chelsfield and looked out of the window at the busy streets of London, inside sat with him Vhagar, his dog whom he had received as a gift from his mother for his tenth birthday.

She was beautiful, looking like a giant snow fox with white soft fur and a long snout. She was the only one he confided in, the only one he cried with, the only one with whom he could be weak, plaintive, whimsical, cheerful or happy.

Chelsfield was not far from London and they covered that distance in a few hours. Aemond pressed his lips together as he saw through the window a quite grand, country manor house of white brick, overgrown on all sides with ivy.

He saw a man in their army uniform step out, followed by a young boy and a whole bunch of girls in long high-waisted gowns.

He felt like throwing up at the sight of them.

When the door opened Vhagar was the first to fly out and despite him calling her she ran ahead, curious about the new smells and spaces. He felt rage when one of Lord Baratheon's daughters, who also looked to be the youngest, not yet pinning her hair into a bun, but having it partly loose, partly braided at the back of her head, ran towards her, reaching out to her.

He feared that Vhagar would bite her, unused to the sudden presence of strangers, her father thought the same, for he immediately moved towards her, rebuking her, but Vhagar only barked loudly and jumped at her, almost knocking her over.

The girl laughed out loud, catching her around the waist as if she was dancing and they both continued in such an embrace, Vhagar started sniffing her and licking her face.

He had never felt so embarrassed in his life.

Lord Baratheon greeted him with a few meaningless sentences, mentioning what an honour it was for him and that his room was ready, that he hoped he would find peace here and a bit of a break from the hustle and bustle of the city.

He figured the last thing he'd find in this place was rest.

He nodded at his words, pulling his cylinder off his head and following him through the main door to his house, escorted by the curious stares of his daughters.

When he finally locked himself into the room that was to belong to him for now, he sat down on the bed and grabbed his head, feeling like he was about to pass out. He couldn't imagine spending every evening with them, forced to talk to each of his daughters in turn.

He hated talking to strangers, he didn't have the gift to converse easily and he put his thoughts together with difficulty into full sentences, and the more he stressed about it, the worse it got.

He figured they'd tire him to death here, and he'd still have to choose which one of these silly girls to take with him and, horror of horrors, marry her, share his bed and his life with her. He shook his head at the thought, sighing heavily.

He didn't leave until the evening, terrified and discouraged, unpacking in his room, which was small by his standards. He looked out of the window and saw a rather pleasant view of the park, trees and hills.

He heard barking and noticed how the same girl who had let Vhagar lick her face in his presence ran across the grass with her, acting almost as if she were a second dog, laughing loudly, throwing her a long stick again and again.

He had never seen Vhagar in such euphoria before.

What kind of house was this?

When it was time for dinner he dressed himself in proper attire, adjusted the black ribbon in which his hair was tied, made sure his eye patch was fastened tightly enough, and went down the stairs feeling as if he was going to beheading.

As he entered the room, which he understood was the dining room, he noticed a beautifully decorated long table, a large fireplace at the end of the hall, lots of portraits and landscapes on the walls , tables and chairs all around.

Everyone stood up at the sight of him and nodded at him, and he reciprocated the gesture, walking unhurriedly to his seat, which was to the left of Mr Baratheon, and which should have been occupied by his eldest son. He saw with surprise that his son was seated opposite him, and only then realised that he had not seen Mrs Baratheon anywhere.

"Let's eat." Ordered Mr Baratheon in his booming, low, throaty voice and nodded to his servants, who one by one began to put food on their plates. As he expected, Mr Baratheon immediately addressed him.

"I hope you find your room comfortable and lacking in nothing, Mr Targaryen." He said lightly, without overbearing or teasing, it was more a statement than a question. Aemond nodded without looking at him.

"Yes, thank you very much. I'm not missing anything." He replied indifferently, grabbing his spoon, wanting to immediately start eating to prevent further conversation. The girl next to him couldn't resist, after a few minutes she tried to initiate light conversation with him.

"How do you find the landscapes of Chelsfield, Mr Targaryen?" She asked softly, and he turned his cool gaze on her, thinking in his head that it was the cheesiest question he had ever heard.

She was the only one with fair hair and seemed to him to be the oldest, her breasts were large and full as were her other shapes, and she had a pretty, common face, but not enough to tempt him.

"They are pleasant." He replied coolly, putting down his spoon so that the servant knew to take his plate from him. The girl beside him fell silent, discouraged.

"The day after tomorrow we will all go to church. Will you accompany us, Mr Targaryen?" Another of his daughters sitting across the table asked him, looking at him curiously, her lips slightly parted, as if defiantly, which he found displeasing.

She was trying to coquette him, to show him physically that she was attracted to him.

"Of course." He replied just as dispassionately, immediately getting down to his second dish as soon as it was served in front of him, wanting to finish the meal as quickly as possible.

As soon as he had succeeded in doing so he stood up and calmly announced that he wished to rest after his journey and retire to his room. Mr Baratheon agreed to this without much concern, watching him closely as he bowed and left without another word.

As he locked himself in his room he felt relieved. He pulled off his tailcoat, staying in just his chemise and trousers, and sat down at the cabinet, which he opened and was relieved to find stationery, quills, inkwell and ink there.

He started to write a letter to his mother, but crossed it out quickly and crumpled the piece of paper, throwing it down with rage.

Why should he lie, reassure her that he was content, that he liked it here, when it wasn't true?

He felt like he was locked in a cage with no way out, he knew he couldn't poke his nose out of his room if he wanted peace and quiet and the thought filled him with despair.

Resigned, he reached into his trunk and pulled out the books he had brought with him to somehow sweeten this awful time, these weeks he was to spend in this feral house full of simpletons.

Only after a while did he realise that Vhagar was not in his room.

He cursed loudly, running his hand over his face, devastated at the thought that surely she was still with that girl rolling around in the grass with her.

He fought with himself wondering if he should just let them stay together since they wanted to, but he felt anger because this was his dog, his closest friend, and she was taking her away from him.

As if his life had taken too little from him.

He stood up driven by rage and opened the door, looking around with a pounding heart. He heard Vhagar growling and barking in one of the rooms and knocked on it quietly, hoping to settle the matter quickly.

He heard someone run up to the door and open it quickly, Vhagar flew out and jumped on him, which had never happened before and he rebuked her immediately.

"Vhagar! Calm down! Sit." He commanded her, trying to be quiet and don't wake anyone. She sat down, breathing heavily, her tongue dangled on the left side of her mouth bobbing from her rapid breaths, her tail scrubbing the floor with joy, euphoria in her eyes.

What was happening to her?

"I was just teaching her a new trick." He heard the whisper of a girl who preferred to greet his dog first rather than him despite the fact that he could be her future husband.

He looked at her coldly, frustrated and bitter, a smile and gentle contentment on her face, she was standing in front of him in only a nightgown and a shawl thrown over her shoulders, her hair already completely loose.

He felt ashamed, it was the first time he had seen a woman in such a negligee. Even during his close-ups with Alys, he had never undressed her, simply not having the time to do so. He looked away, tightening his lips.

"Don't come near my dog again." He hissed, whistling at Vhagar, and she moved after him, stopping once in a while, turning towards her.

He felt furious and grabbed her suddenly by the fur on her neck, wanting to drag her forcibly to his room, like a small child who wants to snatch a toy from another child, and she began to squeal in pain and pull herself out of his grasp.

"− no! − please! − wait −" She begged and he let go of her, suddenly realising that he was causing her pain and watched, panting heavily, as Vhagar ran back to her room.

The girl looked at him apologetically and went back there, he heard her whisper to Vhagar to follow her, not to be afraid.

He stared ahead dully realising that he had just hurt the only being in the world who truly loved him.

That Vhagar would now be afraid of him too.

He felt like crying.

Miss Baratheon finally came out of her room holding something in her hand, evidently a piece of meat from the roast that she must have taken to her room after dinner and using it to train her.

Vhagar came up behind her, sniffing what she had in her hand, but when she saw him she lowered her ears and stepped back, afraid he would do to her again what he had done a moment before.

The girl approached him quickly, handing him the piece of meat she was holding.

"Hand it to her and call her out, just don't get angry." She said to him quietly as if they were acquaintances, but he decided he would not think of that, too distraught that Vhagar hated him so he knelt before her, extending his hand to her, and Miss Baratheon knelt beside him.

"− come, Vhagar − I'm sorry − it's all right −" He whispered and saw his dog begin to wag his tail again, she approached him slowly, uncertainly and sniffed his fingers, then licked them and ate what he held between them.

She pressed her white head against his chest, rubbing against him, and he felt a burning sensation under his eyelids, his lower lip trembling slightly.

"− I'm so sorry −" She said softly in a voice filled with guilt.

He heard her rise and looked at Vhagar, entering his room, and she ran after her at once. He moved behind them and watched in disbelief as she sat down on his floor and Vhagar lay down right next to her, placing her paw on her thigh, letting her know that she wanted to continue playing with her.

She had never behaved like this towards him and he had no idea what he should do with a girl sitting on the floor of his room in the middle of the night.

After a moment, however, Miss Baratheon stood up and looked at him, swallowing loudly, clearly realising herself that she shouldn't be there.

"− I'm sorry for the intrusion, I just wanted her to come in here − good night −" She mumbled almost running out and closing the door behind her, Vhagar wanted to run after her but didn't make it.

He lay down on his bed, distraught, and Vhagar ran up to him, having already forgotten the unpleasant event of a few minutes before, licking him devotedly and tenderly on the face.

"Traitor." He hissed angrily and regretfully, stroking her soft fur.

For the first time in his life, he let her jump on his bed and sleep with him.

Here, there were no his grandfather or servants to report this behaviour to him, which was completely unthinkable.

He fell asleep snuggled into her soft fur, ignoring the fact that she ended up taking up most of the bedding, pushing him to the side.

He thought it was an exceptionally pleasant feeling.

When he woke up in the morning he again felt the stress overpowering him at the thought of breakfast, the fact that this girl had probably blabbed everything to her sisters, saying that he was a violent, cold and aggressive man who hurt his own dog.

However, when he came downstairs with Vhagar his dog immediately ran to her to greet her, also coming up later to her father and brother, who called out to her, eventually making the rounds around the table, getting acquainted with each in turn.

"She's beautiful." Said the second of their sisters, slightly melancholy and hearty.

At breakfast, Mr Baratheon finally introduced his daughters properly to him taking advantage of the lighter atmosphere. He nodded pretending to try to remember their names, thinking with relief only that his youngest child had apparently not mentioned to him the commotion that had taken place during the night.

"I heard loud barking yesterday in your room. Why are you taking Mr Targaryen's dog for yourself?" Asked the girl who had tried to coquette him the day before, and from what he had just learned her name was Floris.

Her younger sister gave him a quick, apologetic glance full of guilt, her gown creamy and buff, pleasantly accentuating the shape of her breasts, some of her curls pinned back, some falling over her shoulders.

"I'm not taking her away, we've just become very friendly." She mumbled, and her sister snorted at her words.

"It's not appropriate." Said another sister, Cassandra, a blonde-haired girl who tried unsuccessfully to make light conversation with him.

He watched Mr Baratheon's youngest child collapse under more and more criticism, and thought with surprise that he felt no satisfaction from it.

"That's enough." Ordered Mr Baratheon, seeing that his daughter was on the verge of crying. "My dear, apologise to Mr Targaryen for your behaviour and for taking his dog for yourself."

He saw her lift her gaze to him, her eyebrows arched in pain, her chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

"I am deeply sorry for my behaviour and all the unpleasantness that came with it." She choked out finally and he swallowed loudly, clenching his hand into a fist knowing that only he and she understood the context of that sentence.

He thought with shame that he had reacted too impulsively and aggressively in front of her, even though her opinion didn't matter to him, he couldn't get the expression on her face out of his head, her cry full of pain when Vhagar started squealing.

"I also apologise, miss Baratheon." He said lowly, looking at his fingers moving in an uncertain gesture across the table top, wanting her to know that he regretted what had happened, what she had seen. Floris sitting next to him moved restlessly.

"Mr Targaryen, do not apologise to her. She is like an animal herself." She said with amusement, and her younger sister pressed her trembling lips together, fighting for a moment against whatever was rising in her throat, but finally gave up and got up from the table, leaving the room before the tears had time to leave the corners of her eyes.

Her older brother followed her out, saying he would check how she was feeling, and there was an uncomfortable silence broken by their father.

"That was unnecessary, Floris." He said impatiently, his daughter snorting at his words.

"She's embarrassing us all, I just gave her something to think about."

"What a pathetic thing to say." He growled, taking a sip of tea from his cup, setting it down on the saucer with a clatter of porcelain, and only after a moment did he realise that he had said aloud what he had thought.

He didn't dare raise his eyes, feeling the pounding of his heart, feeling that all gazes were directed towards him.

"With your permission." He muttered, rising from his seat, bowing and leaving the dining room, feeling like he was going to burn from embarrassment.

How could he say something like that?

He felt that he needed air and walked outside onto the dirt road, whistling at Vhagar who ran after him, deciding to take a walk to clear his head.

He walked for a long time, going through the forest paths and then strolling around the lake, amazed at the overpowering stillness that reigned all around, the birdsong, the rustling of the leaves, the freshness of the air.

In London, everything was fast, sudden, loud.

Tiring.

He sat down on the sand by the edge of the lake and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the water, to the sounds of nature, feeling Vhagar lay down beside him, sighing heavily. He continued like this for what seemed like an eternity, and decided that he could spend hours here, simply calming and soothing himself, hiding from the world.

He shuddered as he heard someone's footsteps in the distance, Vhagar instantly rising and literally darting towards the girl he would have recognised from a mile away.

He sighed heavily, turning his face towards the surface of the water, figuring he wouldn't pay any attention to her. Just as he thought, she sat down beside him on the sand, as he did, leaning her head against a long, old tree trunk.

She didn't say a word to him, however, letting Vhagar settle down between them, stroking her head, which she laid on her thighs. When he glanced at her he saw that her eyes were closed, that she was doing exactly the same thing he was doing.

She was running away.

He relaxed at the thought that she wasn't looking for a discussion or a intimacy with him and did the same as she did.

He shuddered, looking around, unsure of where he was or what was happening, running his hand over his face. He'd never fallen asleep outside before, much less in the middle of nowhere. He looked around and saw Vhagar lying on her back, sleeping soundly, embraced by Miss Baratheon, who was asleep snuggled against her fur.

He did not know what he thought of this sight, endlessly innocent and harmless. He was afraid someone had seen or would see them, but he didn't want to touch her, so he grunted loudly. She moved suddenly, blinking her eyelids rapidly, and rose to sit down, rubbing her eyes, as confused as he was.

Feeling that what had happened was uncomfortable to say the least, he stood up and whistled at Vhagar, heading back the same way he had come, leaving her alone.

She did not follow him and he felt relieved at the thought.

Halfway through, however, he stopped, feeling anxious, wondering if he should leave her alone in the forest. He fought the thought convincing himself that since she had gone there herself, she would return on her own, knowing the area better than he did, but on the other hand, he would never let Helaena venture this far, and she was still very young.

What if something happened to her?

He cursed in frustration and turned back, coming across her after a few minutes. She looked at him surprised, clearly not expecting him to come back for her.

"Did you forget something, sir?" She asked him uncertainly, and he rolled his eyes impatiently, turning his back on her.

"Come, for God's sake."

They walked side by side in silence, simply admiring the pleasant summer views of meadows and forests, not a living soul around them.

He had to admit that these views filled him with some strange sense of warmth, landscapes that he usually only saw in paintings now appeared before his eyes, even more beautiful, teeming with life and intense, strong colours.

They returned to the mansion together, which did not escape the attention of the household, he saw that Maris and Floris literally threw themselves at her as soon as he moved on, thinking he could not hear.

"What are you thinking? What have you done?"

"Nothing." She said impatient and resentful, fatigue and despair in her voice.

"Stop. I asked you a question. You forced yourself on Mr Targaryen again, didn't you?" He heard Floris's voice and stopped in mid-step, tightening his lips.

The youngest Miss Baratheon wanted to say something in her defence, devastated by the accusations, but it was he who spoke up first.

"How are you not ashamed?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at her, all three of them suddenly silent. "It's better to be silent sometimes than to confirm one's stupidity."

Floris probably didn't believe for a moment that he had said that, but when it finally dawned on her that he was deadly serious, she burst into sobs, running into the house, hitting him with her shoulder, Maris ran in after her.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she looked at him in disbelief, not knowing herself what she thought of his cruel words. He whistled at Vhagar and walked up the stairs to the inside of their mansion, leaving her alone with her thoughts about what kind of man he actually was.

_____

Taglist 1 @its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

280 notes · View notes

humanpurposes · 11 months

Text

It Will Come Back

Chapter 2, Superficial

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, violence, blood

Words: 8029

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Two months later…

Jaya sat against the headboard of her bed, flicking the old silver lighter open and close, watching the flame flicker and die, over and over again.

A synthy 80s song played through the speaker on the dresser as her cousins fussed in front of the mirror on her vanity. They were rummaging through their makeup bags, applying shimmering eyeshadows and rich red blush with their fingers.

The whole summer was ahead of them and Rhaenyra had insisted on starting the season with a garden party, primarily to celebrate the twins. Jace was a little anxious about his impending exam results, but Jaya was sure she had done well– a remarkable feat given how distracted she had been lately.

She closed the lighter and let her thumb rest on the engraving of the three-headed dragon.

If she thought hard enough, she could still taste Aemond on her tongue.

She had always thought her first kiss would be intense, like the way it was in movies, music swelling, two mouths crashing together out of love and desperation, unable to hold back after wanting something for so long.

It had been intense, but not as overwhelming as she thought it would be. It was softer, wetter, clumsier. It felt simple, like a firm hand on her waist, like an unashamed glance across a crowded room, like an embrace. It felt like a natural extension of something that had already been there, a different action with the same intent.

She found her mind replaying that moment an awful lot, in front of the mirror as she got ready for school, while her friends droned on about drama that seemed so trivial to her now, as her eyes moved over a textbook when she was alone in her room.

It was most vivid in the quiet space between waking and sleeping, when she was curled in on herself under her thin bed sheets, resting a hand on her stomach and pretending it was his. She could still feel it then, the hot air of his room, his body pressed into her back, the shape of his lips and the movements of his mouth against her neck, the way she shuddered at his fingertips trailed down, just below her navel but never further.

Sometimes her mind would imagine more than she remembered. She could picture it so easily in her head, his hand slipping underneath the hem of her underwear, his fingers teasing over the heat between her legs, all while he kissed her neck, dragging his teeth over her skin and letting out little pants and grunts…

But that was wrong. So fucking wrong.

Years ago, when they were children, Aegon used to joke that she and Aemond were in love.

She remembered playdates, family get togethers and formal events, spending the entire time by Aemond’s side. Everything they did, they did together, exploring the gardens of Dragonstone and climbing the apple trees at Queen’s Lodge, playing with dolls and flicking through books, hiding in quiet corners and exchanging secrets.

She remembered sleepovers, when all the kids would bunk together in the lounge, and she and Aemond would never fail to find their way into each other’s arms. She remembered having her head on his chest, clinging onto him like she wanted to be beneath his skin, letting his heartbeat lull her to sleep.

She remembered being small and looking up at Aegon, thinking she could never possibly catch up to his height. “You could get away with that a few hundred years ago. Our family used to be famous for it you know, marrying cousins, brothers and sisters, uncles and nieces.”

At the time she didn’t really know what he meant. She just knew she wanted to be close to Aemond.

It had taken Aemond two days to call her after the party. He was always the one to reach out first and she would only have to wait. She spent those forty or so hours with an unrelenting headache and a twisting feeling in her stomach. She was so anxious that she had done something wrong and the pessimist in her worried she might never hear from him again.

He finally called on the Sunday, in the evening, after she had eaten dinner with her family. He asked if Alysanne was alright and she told him what she knew, that Jace had taken her home and Sabby had spent the night with her. Alysanne maintained that she had enjoyed her evening.

“And what about you, Zaldrīzītsos?” Aemond had asked.

She could hear the sound of his breathing on the other end of the line, waiting for her to respond. She looked down at her hands where she sat on the bed, curling her fist around the duvet and digging her thumbnail into her skin.

She felt cold and a little nauseous. She felt restless and unsure. She wanted to feel him again and she knew it was wrong.

“I’m fine,” she muttered.

He would have known she was lying but he didn’t press her any further, and the kiss was not mentioned at all.

She hadn’t seen Aemond and Aegon as frequently over the last couple of months, but that was to be expected over exam season. Aemond had a habit of shutting himself away from the world when he wanted to focus on something. Jaya’s approach to exams was a little less intensive, but she knew she didn’t need any extra distractions.

The moment Aemond’s exams had finished they had gone back to being on friendly terms again. He texted her daily, called her several times a week, but she hadn’t seen him since the party, and suddenly “friendly” didn’t feel like it was enough.

The sound of Baela’s voice made her jump. “Are you getting ready or what?” she asked, eyeing her through the mirror.

Jaya firmly flicked the lighter shut again and placed it on her bedside table as she shuffled off the bed.

‘The Daemon Targaryens’ as they were affectionately known by the rest of the family, had a house between King’s Landing and Driftmark. Jaya saw plenty of uncle Daemon; he was often in town for work, spending his weekdays in his apartment at the Red Keep and occasionally coming for dinner at Queen’s Lodge. She had seen less of Baela and Rhaena since they left Peremore’s, being two years older than her and Jace. Baela had gone to Pentos to study International Relations and Rhaena was training at the Sunspear Ballet School in Dorne, but they always came back for summer.

People had often told Jaya that she and Jace were a more obvious pair of twins than the Targaryen girls. She had their mother’s soft, rounded face compared to his strong, sharp jaw, but they had the same brown curls, the same hazel eyes, the same nose, the same smile, the same pouty frown, the same stubbornness.

Despite looking incredibly alike when they were children, Baela and Rhaena’s features differed to the point where they hardly looked like siblings. Baela’s eyes were violet and sharp like Daemon’s while Rhaena’s eyes were wide and doe-like like Laena’s. Baela was short and strong, Rhaena was tall, graceful and lean, built like a dancer. Baela kept her silver hair cropped close to her head, and Rhaena’s was usually in braids or locks.

For the evening, Baela had opted for a blue silk shirt, offhandedly tucked into brown dress pants. She liked bold eyeliner, dark lipstick, heavy gold jewellery and black boots.

Rhaena looked like she had stepped out of the pages of a fairytale. She wore a dress she had found in a vintage shop in Dorne, pale pink, covered with floral patterns and rhinestones with a wide, flowing skirt. Her silver hair was brought into a perfect ballet bun and her accessories tended to feature pearls and flowers plated with silver.

They both looked incredible, and here Jaya was, still in the shorts and t-shirt she had changed into after her shower, with only half an hour to go before the guests would start arriving.

She had something specific in mind, a white summer dress with flared sleeves and fitted, flattering top. The sleeves and the skirt floated around her as she moved and glanced at her reflection in the mirror and the windows. She felt ethereal and fleeting, “like a ghost,” Rhaena said.

“White?” Baela said with a quirked eyebrow. “Aren’t you worried you’ll spill wine on it?”

Jaya tried not to grin as she finished her makeup with some sheer lipgloss. “I’ll just be very, very careful,” she said.

The house was ready for guests, empty of any clutter or indication that it was actually inhabited by their family. There was a lot of noise coming from the kitchen and by the front door, Steffon Darklyn, Rhaenyra’s head of security, was muttering to a few members of staff. They passed through the conservatory, a room of red sofas, vintage rugs and potted plants, with a tall glass ceiling and French doors that led out to the patio.

The garden looked like something from a wedding catalogue, a picturesque scene of fairy lights, candles, canopies, tables covered in white tablecloths, bouquets of red and white roses. A charming instrumental hummed somewhere in the background, waiters waltzed between tables with canapes on silver platters as the guests sipped on champagne and red wine.

There were plenty of interesting guests, the Celtigars, the Bar Eammons, even Jeyne Arryn had made an appearance, some distant cousin of her mother’s. She noticed some of the board members were present too, Jasper Wylde, Lymon Beesbury, Tyland Lannister. One by one, they went to greet Rhaenyra.

Her mother was a vision of silver and red, her long hair pinned away from her face and cascading down the back of a designer dress. She shook each guest by the hand, embraced them warmly, then smiled. It was a routine she had picked up from Viserys, he knew how to make people feel like they were his friends.

Daemon and Laena hovered beside her, taking sips from champagne coupes. Daemon was a little more transparent with his reluctance for formalities. He had more of a practical approach to business, head of the bank’s legal team, despite the lack of qualifications. He shook Lymon Beesbury’s hand and only spared a smug glare for Wylde and Lannister.

“Oh look!” Rhaena cooed, pointing towards the orchard. Sunset was still a few hours away but the light was dimming. Jaya and Balea turned and sighed at the sight of the fairy lights that had been strung around the branches and the tree trunks.

“It’s going to look so beautiful once night falls,” Rhaena said.

The first thing they did was find the boys. Luke and Joffrey had found themselves a table at the very edge of the party, and poor Jace had been cornered by Jeyne Arryn and a few of their mother’s friends. When Jaya went to save him she was roped into the same conversation she was about to have all night. “Hello darling, don’t you look pretty and grown up? How’s school– oh no, you’re finished now, aren’t you? When do you get your results? Still set on KLU? What was it you wanted to study?” Responding to them was making her brain feel numb.

She heard a bit of a fuss being made over the arrival of the next guests, Corlys and Rhaenys Velaryon. They stood just outside the doorway for a moment, Corlys in a teal suit and Rhaenys in a silver gown that tastefully matched the grey streaks in her otherwise black hair.

Jaya grabbed Jace’s hand. “Excuse us,” she said with a smile and brought him with her to join their mother as she welcomed their grandparents.

The Velaryons had a history that intertwined with the Targaryens, descending from a line that led across the Narrow Sea to Old Valyria. Corlys liked to say he built his business from the ground up, but the truth was it was built on family connections and the small fortune that came with marrying Rhaenys Baratheon. But what did it matter, the story he told? People revered him all the same, the CEO of the largest shipping company on the continent, an esteemed member of the board of directors of Dragon Bank, with links to some of the most prominent families in the country.

Suddenly she wondered where her father had got to.

Corlys and Rhaenyra were in good spirits, laughing over a joke Jaya and Jace had just missed. Rhaenys was holding Laena’s hands in hers, asking about the girls and everything else there was to catch up on.

Corlys’ face lit up when he saw the twins. Of course, it was ridiculous to think that a grandfather would play favourites, but sometimes she wondered if she was Corlys’ favourite. A giant of a man, he hugged them both tightly, while Rhaenys met them only with a polite peck on the cheek.

He asked the dreaded question of exam results.

“A few more days,” Rhaenyra said, “but it’s not as though we’re worried.”

“Good, that’s what I like to hear,” Corlys said. “Jace, your mother tells me you have plans of going to White Harbour?”

“Yeah,” Jace said, though he did not sound entirely convinced himself. “I’ve applied for communications, but they have a lot of optional modules. I was thinking about doing some classes in drama or business or something.”

“Well, the world needs communicators,” Rhaenys said rather dryly.

Daemon snickered. Laena tapped his arm to make him stop.

“What about you, Jaya?”

“I’m set on KLU,” she said. “PPH.” Politics, Philosophy and History, the same as Aemond. In her mind there had never been another possibility.

This Rhaenys seemed a little more impressed by.

“Set on changing the world, are we?” Corlys said.

Jaya smiled somewhat performatively. “We’ll see.”

“She’s always had big ambitions,” Rhaenyra said. She smoothed her hand over Jaya’s head, like she used to do when she was little, and pressed a light kiss to her temple. “My smart girl.”

Corlys, Rhaenys, Laena and Daemon all smiled. Jace hummed and glanced down at his sneakers.

She went to the bar before she joined the others at the table. She asked for a gin and lemonade with lots of ice. Sweet and cold, it went down easily and gave her something to do with her hands, a hard surface to tap her nail against should she start to feel nervous.

Laenor was still nowhere to be found. People would start to notice, maybe they would ask questions.

When she came back to the table, Baela and Rhaena were laughing with Luke and Joffrey. Jace was a little removed from the others, slouched back in his chair, fiddling with a piece of silver cutlery laid out on the table.

She sat beside him and offered him some of her drink. He shook his head with his brows furrowed and his lips pressed tightly together.

“What’s wrong with you?” she said, realising how accusatory she had sounded. The gin was probably to thank for that, so she placed her glass down on the table. Besides, it was nearly empty.

Jace tilted his head and looked at her, sad or angry, she couldn’t really tell.

“I don’t know if I did enough to get into White Harbour,” he muttered.

They’d had this conversation before. He could never say why he was so sure he wasn’t going to get in, but it was just nerves, surely. He was getting in his head, overthinking it.

Jaya placed her hand on his shoulder. In a way it felt strange to see him like this when he was usually so self-assured, or at least he acted like it. “There’s nothing that you can do now. If you stress about it or you don’t, the outcome isn’t going to change. So you might as well stop beating yourself up about it.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be perfect like you.”

That made her pause.

Jace could be serious and stubborn, and he liked to act like he knew better than her, but he was a sweet person really. He had a natural charm, people were drawn to him and found him easy to like. But there were these little moments, like the party at Maegor’s Square, like now, when he could be so spiteful.

Why? What had she done to prompt it now?

Jaya huffed in disbelief. “I’m not perfect,” she said.

Jace tutted. Anger flashed over his face, she could see it, and he moved his mouth as if to say something but stopped himself.

He leaned back in his chair. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

Hot tears stung her eyes, but she wasn’t going to cry, not in the middle of a fucking party.

She glanced up and saw Baela looking at them.

“Look, if you’re really worried, there’s things you can do. You can appeal, you can go through clearing, you can do a foundation year or, I don’t know, figure something else out altogether.”

Jace glared at her expectantly.

“You don’t have to go to uni straight away,” she said. “Maybe take some time to figure out what you want.”

Jace folded his arms. “It’s fine. I spoke to mum about it. She said there’s nothing we can do until we get the actual results. But once we know, well, arrangements can be made.”

Jaya frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Look at who we are, Jay. Look at who are family is. Between mum, Viserys and Corlys, I can figure something out.”

“Buy your way into White Harbour, you mean?” Jaya said. Of all the places to buy your way into?

“It’s not like that,” Jace huffed.

“No? What is it like then?”

Jace chuckled bitterly to himself and went back to fiddling with a polished dining knife. Jaya pressed her nails into her palm. She hated it when Jace was like this, when he tried to pretend he knew more than she ever would. But she knew more than he gave her credit for. She knew how to get under his skin.

“You’d be no better than Aegon, you know?” she said, softly and simply.

Jace stared at her, and she stared back, her mouth not quite in a smile, her eyebrows raised in false innocence.

“He didn’t get the grades for KLU. Otto had to buy him a place. Now look at him, he’s been there four years and what has he got to show for it?”

“Oh but I thought you worshipped uncle Aegon,” Jace sneered.

“I don’t worship him.” She felt like a child when she said it.

“But you follow him like a fucking dog. Aemond too, you were all over him at that party.”

Her stomach dropped. “I was not,” she said in a small voice. They both knew she was lying.

Jace leaned into her. “Don’t you fucking dare compare me to him, to either of them,” he hissed. “They’re not good people, Jay, and you know it. You saw what Aegon did to Alysanne that night and you let it happen. They’re fucking desperate, the whole lot of them.”

Something else caught his attention. He was looking behind her, towards the patio and the glass doors to the conservatory.

Viserys had arrived, and the air suddenly felt cold.

His wife, Alicent, as beautiful as ever with her big brown eyes and her full lips poised in a gentle smile, entered beside him, clinging onto his arm. She was an image of radiance tonight, light catching in her auburn curls, the silky fabric of her sage green dress and the gold necklace on her collar.

Sometimes Jaya wondered why Viserys had bothered to remarry all those years ago, and why he had chosen a wife so much younger than him. Alicent was eighteen when she got married, the same age Jaya was now, and nineteen when she had her first baby.

She was followed by her father, Otto Hightower, Viserys’ stoic right-hand man, tall, thin and dressed immaculately. Then by a man with dark hair and stubble in a grey suit. Jaya had seen him at the Red Keep and remembered him as Criston Cole, Alicent’s personal head of security.

Then came the four siblings with silver hair; Aegon, for once in a shirt and not a white tank top and tracksuit bottoms; Helaena, in a pretty pale blue dress and large butterfly earrings; Daeron, in a cobalt blue shirt and black jeans; and the last to walk through the glass doors was Aemond.

Excitement ignited under Jaya’s skin. Usually seeing Aemond made her happy, though seeing him now felt somewhat terrifying.

But there was no reason for it. He was dressed in all black, one hand in the pocket of his slacks, a suit jacket slung over his shoulder. His short hair was styled neatly and swept away from his face. He was scowling, casting a seething, sceptical gaze over the scenery and the guests. Nothing unusual.

Behind them came Lyonel Strong, and his son, Larys.

The twins simultaneously held their breath, waiting for another man to join them, but the face they were searching for did not appear.

Jaya quickly glanced towards her mother. Rhaenyra smiled softly, and went to greet Lyonel and Larys directly. It seemed like a warm welcome, but she could tell when her mother’s moves were calculated. There were eyes everywhere here, and she couldn’t be seen to be on such icy terms with the Strongs.

“Oh shit,” Jace whispered under his breath. “What are they doing here?”

In the first few minutes of their arrival, between making his own greetings of the guests, Viserys kept looking back to speak to Lyonel, and not Otto, which struck her as unusual.

“He’s back at Dragon Bank?” she wondered aloud. Rhaenyra hadn’t mentioned anything about it, and usually she kept her eldest children updated on the developments of the family business. Dragon Bank was more of an empire, one which spanned centuries. It mattered who was involved, and who wasn’t.

She hadn’t heard much about Lyonel Strong since his son Harwin left the company and moved back to Harrenhal, according to rumours and the gossip magazines.

They didn’t have much more time to speculate before the four Targaryen siblings were heading towards their table. Aegon led the pack, arms wide open, a glass of champagne in his hand already.

“Jacey boy!”

“I’m getting a fucking drink,” Jace grumbled and marched towards the bar, but not before Aegon managed to ruffle his hair.

She caught Baela’s eye again and turned her head away, hoping she’d take the hint. Instead she came and sat beside her.

“What’s his problem?” Baela muttered as the others joined them. Daeron and Aegon sat with Luke and Joffrey, while Helaena sat beside Jaya. Aemond tentatively lowered himself into the chair beside his sister.

Jaya reached for her glass and downed the rest of her drink. It only tasted of sugar and lemons and she wanted another one. “Where do you want to start?” she said.

Jace eventually returned from the bar with a bottle of beer, just as Rhaenyra announced that dinner was about to be served. Seeing he had been displaced, Jace sat with Rhaena.

Waiters came and placed fish dishes, summer salads and bottles of fine white burgundy and chablis on the table before them. She only picked at the food and allowed herself one glass of wine. The last thing any of them needed tonight was for things to get out of hand.

It had been a while since she had seen Helaena. She had spent the last three years in Highgarden but she had graduated a few weeks ago. Alicent had sent photos.

She turned to Helaena, who often had her eyes on her plate or nowhere at all. She kept catching Aemond’s gaze and tried not to smile.

“How are you finding being back home?” she asked.

Helaena’s eyes went wide and she sighed heavily. “I miss having my own space.”

Between their apartment at the Red Keep and their weekends spent at Dragonstone, Jaya guessed space shouldn’t have been much of an issue, especially now that Aegon and Aemond weren’t living with them.

Jaya followed Helaena’s gaze as she looked at her parents, sat with Rhaenyra, and sighed again.

“I don’t often feel happy at home,” Helaena said.

A chill slipped slowly down her spine, a sudden wave of sadness. She caught Aemond’s eye again. He looked solemn now, but was half distracted by Aegon and Baela as they started to argue about politics over the table.

“I don’t suppose you were supposed to tell me that,” Jaya muttered.

“No, not really,” Helaena said, looking down at her fingers. She went to pick at her lavender nail polish but suddenly snatched her hands into her lap and hummed to herself.

Jaya placed a hand over Helaena's. “I’m glad you did.”

With a quick breath, Helaena seemed fine again, her eyes so much more alert than they were before. “I’m going back to Highgarden in September to start a PhD– did I tell you about that yet?”

Jaya smiled through the brief bewilderment and the rapid changes in topic. “Um, no, actually, I didn’t know you were doing PhD.”

“Oh, I thought Aemond might have told you,” Helaena said.

Aemond turned to them again at the sound of his name. “My mistake,” he said. “We’ve all been a bit distracted recently.”

The music and the chatter died down as Viserys Targaryen tapped the handle of a silver knife against his glass. He walked towards the patio, followed by every pair of eager eyes in the garden.

“He’s doing a speech,” Aemond said.

“Fucking fantastic,” Aegon mumbled, having just finished a glass of wine and already pouring himself another.

Jace shot Aegon an ugly glare.

“How good it is to see you all here tonight,” Viserys said, his voice clear and commanding, opening his arms like some benevolent King addressing his subjects. “It fills my heart with joy to be surrounded by friends and family alike...”

Jaya felt Helaena tense beside her. Aemond hadn’t even turned to face his father. He stared down at an empty space in front of him, keeping one hand on the table, tapping his index finger against the cloth.

“... and tonight, we are here to celebrate the achievements of two remarkable people, some of the most dear to me in all the world.”

The guests awed at his generosity. Jaya thought she was going to throw up.

Viserys was watching them and raised his glass. “To Jacaerys and Jaya, my wonderful grandchildren, who have now finished their exams and will begin their studies at university. I know you’ll both go on to do great things. I love you both, so dearly, and I wish you the very best.”

This was met by a chant of “hear, hear!” followed by the clinking of glasses.

But Viserys wasn’t finished just yet.

“I’m reminded especially, in these precious moments, the importance of family. The importance of trust, and a bond with those you love. When I see these faces before me, I am reminded of the foundation upon which our ancestors built our esteemed institution– the family business, we call it. Strength. Unity. Family. And I am firm in the knowledge, as we approach our fifth centenary, that the future of Dragon Bank is in very safe hands.”

The garden erupted into applause, enthusiastically from Rhaenyra, Daemon and Corlys. A little more politely from Alicent and Otto.

Her eyes met Aemond's again. There was something unsettling about the way he watched her, eyes wide, alert and somewhat sad. She followed him as he slowly got up from his seat, taking his jacket from the back of his chair. Heat bloomed in her cheeks when she realised he was coming over to her.

She felt his hand on the back of her chair as he leaned in and whispered into her ear. “Come with me,” he said, offering his hand.

She followed without question and without looking back.

Aemond’s hand was tight over hers as they moved through the party. Some of the guests had started to mingle now that dinner had moved on to dessert, platters of fruit and pastries. Viserys was talking to some of the board members, Lyonel by his side, far too distracted to notice his dear granddaughter being led towards the patio. They passed through the glass doors and into the house. She immediately noticed how quiet it was inside, but all the noise and excitement was happening in the garden.

There were all sorts of hiding spots in the house, archways and alcoves, places they would make use of as children. He slipped into one such spot, between the doors and a marble archway that separated the conservatory from the main hallway. It didn’t make them invisible, but it was quiet, barely lit by the light of the chandelier in the hallway.

It was a snug space too. Aemond leaned his back against the wall and pulled her in to join him. She was close to his chest, with perhaps less than a foot of space behind her before she’d be against the other wall.

“What are we–”

“Shh,” Aemond ordered, holding his finger against her lips.

Jaya couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she lowered her voice to a whisper. “What are we doing?”

Aemond withdrew his finger from her lips and came to take both of her hands in his. “I’ve missed you,” he said.

Her heart leapt but she kept calm. “You’ve spoken to me most days lately,” she said.

“No, I mean…” for a moment he seemed to lose his train of thought, his eyes, dark in the low light, drifting slowly over her face, her neckline and back to her eyes. He squeezed her hands as if to remember. “I have something for you.”

He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a small, square box. He offered it to her and she hated that she would have to let go of him to take it.

She lifted the lid and stared in wonder at a pendant lying on a bed of blue velvet. It was simple and exquisite, a single pearl and a small sapphire. She looked up to Aemond. He was watching her with a small smile.

“May I?” she said.

Aemond huffed a laugh that made a warmth bloom in her chest. She was close enough to feel his breath running over her neck and shivered at the memory of the party, his bedroom, just him.

He delicately took the pendant from the box and revealed the gold chain to her. She could feel herself being drawn in by everything about him, the care with which he moved his fingers, the concentration in his eyes when he looked at her, the secretive smile on his lips.

Maybe it was the gin and the wine but she felt lightheaded and her hands were trembling.

Aemond brought the necklace around her neck and leaned over her shoulder to close the clasp, his chest pressed against hers, his fingertips brushing over her skin. She tried to steady her breathing as she consumed the familiar scent of him, mint, smoke, leather and the perfume that smelled like a forest in a bottle.

Her hands moved of their own accord, settling on his shoulders to keep him close.

Aemond paused. With the necklace secure he dragged his hands over her shoulders, her arms, coming to clutch her by the elbows, but he didn’t let go.

Jaya took a deep breath and titled her head towards his neck.

Aemond shuddered. Then pulled away, slowly, but only until their faces were inches apart.

Seconds dragged by, maybe they were minutes, and she lost herself to him, his sharp blue eyes, the pleading look of his brow, the curve of his lips and the slight flare of his nose as he breathed.

He kept his hands on her arms, tracing circles on her skin with his thumbs.

She had never known her heart to beat this fast, to feel so terrified and yet so content.

“Do you like it?” Aemond muttered.

She brought one of her hands up to hold the pendant, feeling over the curve of the pearl, the cut edges of the sapphire. “I love it,” she said. “It’s like me and you.”

“How so?”

“Pearls are of the sea, like the Velaryons, like me.” She reached one hand up to the side of his face, moving her thumb over his temple. Of all his siblings, he was the only one with blue eyes instead of violet. “And a sapphire, like you.”

“That’s a beautiful way to put it,” Aemond said.

“Did you really not think of that before you bought it, or did you just think it was pretty? How superficial of you,” she added with a grin.

Aemond smirked. “Maybe you’re just smarter than me.”

“No, I doubt that,” Jaya said.

They smiled at each other then settled to silence, as the noise of the party raged on in the distance.

He placed his hand against her cheek. “I’m just so proud of you, Jay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper; it didn’t need to be any louder. “I’m so proud of everything you’ve achieved, everything you’re going to achieve.”

She leaned into his touch. She felt light and heavy, happy and sad.

“Results are still a week off,” she said.

“And they’re going to be perfect, I know they will,” he said. He shifted his hand when her eyes dropped to the floor, urging her to look at him as his thumb traced circles on her cheek. “And we’ll be at the same university together, won’t that be wonderful?”

It would only be for a year. Aemond would be graduating the following summer. That thought inexplicably filled her with dread.

“Yeah,” she said.

Suddenly she realised her back was against the wall and Aemond’s hand was on her waist. His thumb traced lower, to the corner of her lips. She became weightless with anticipation, with wanting. It was all very gentle, subtle, easy to back away from, if that was what she wanted. Only she didn’t want to.

Aemond didn’t need to lean in far before their lips met. Once again she found herself stunned at how easy it was to kiss him. She didn’t think about what she was doing, she just let herself feel him, move with him as his lips grazed hers, as his tongue slipped into her mouth.

She could barely breathe and she didn’t care. He tightened his grip on her waist, simultaneously pushing her further into the wall, pulling her into him and pressing his body almost completely against hers.

The hand on her cheek came to the side of her neck. He titled her head and she followed, letting him kiss her deeper, harsher, hungrier.

She held onto him as much as she could, his jaw, his neck, his hair, always pulling herself into him, rocking her hips against his when they started to move.

He trailed kisses down to her neck, until he found a soft spot that had her sighing and squirming. She gripped onto his shoulders for purchase and she felt him chuckle against her skin.

He took her by surprise when he slid a hand under her skirt, along her thigh, to hitch her leg around his hip. She let out a short whimper, soon muffled when Aemond pressed his lips back to hers in a bruising kiss.

It felt good to kiss him, run her fingers through his perfect hair, take a breath just to see the flush of blood in his cheeks, the dark, desperate look on his face. His hand trailed further along her thigh, teasing and gripping at her flesh. The wanting feeling in her gut was starting to become overwhelming.

“Do you like it?” Aemond breathed, digging his fingertips into the flesh of her ass. “Do you like it when I touch you like this, Zaldrīzītsos?”

It was wrong. So fucking wrong, but she never wanted this feeling to stop, balanced on a knife-edge, standing on the brink of something dangerous and thrilling. It could be their little secret, kept between the sheets of his bed, in the gloomy corner of this house, in the stolen glances and the parts of her mind that felt incomplete without him.

“Yeah I do,” she uttered, “I really fucking do–”

“Jaya!”

Aemond dropped her leg instantly. They stared into each other’s eyes, terrified that they might have been caught.

“Jaya? Aemond?” Rhaenyra’s voice called through the conservatory. She hadn’t passed through the doors but her heels were clicking against the floor, dangerously close to their hiding place.

Aemond took a step back from Jaya, running his fingers through his hair.

She fixed her dress and wiped the smeared lipgloss from her mouth.

Just as Rhaenyra appeared in the hallway. “Oh there you are,” she said, sparing the briefest of glances for her brother. “Come outside, Viserys is asking why you haven’t greeted him yet.”

“Right,” Jaya said, “of course.” She could feel the warmth leaving her skin as she stepped away from Aemond and followed her mother back into the garden.

Three of them were stood together, Daemon, Corlys and Viserys, three of the most powerful men in the Seven Kingdoms, all smiling when they saw her. Sometimes these ‘talks’ with her grandfather were hard to decipher. You could never be sure if it was in a familial or a business capacity. Something about their smiles felt forced. Business, she guessed.

Viserys hugged her and made a big show of it, but it was brief and his arms didn’t feel too tight around her.

“The woman of the hour!” he exclaimed, “my beautiful granddaughter.”

Alicent was sitting at a table with her father, Criston Cole hovering over her shoulder. The three of them seemed to be rather interested in this interaction.

“Your mother’s been telling me all about your plans for September?” Viserys said.

She spotted Aemond in the corner of her eye, walking back towards the table. “Yes,” she said brightly, “I can’t wait to start.”

“And still be close to home, of course,” Viserys said.

“She’s always been ambitious,” Rhaenyra said, putting her hand on Jaya’s shoulder.

“I’m sure all the hard work will pay off,” Corlys added, “you’ll go on to do great things, Jaya.”

She tried to hide the confusion in her face. All this praise was making her suspicious. She brought her hand to her chest, letting her fingers clutch at the pendant hanging from her neck. “Thank you,” she said, “I mean, I hope so.”

Viserys chuckled, but then his expression faded into something more serious. He glanced between Corlys and Daemon. “You know, it’s important to consider the future, to have faith in yourself and your abilities, wouldn’t you agree, Jaya?”

“Yes,” she said, without thinking.

“I have faith in our future,” he said, and she knew the only thing he could have meant was the bank. “I have faith in your mother, who’ll one day, hopefully not too soon, succeed me.”

“Oh dad,” Rhaenyra said.

Viserys’ piercing violet eyes moved to Jaya. “And I have faith that one day, someone just as intelligent and capable as Rhaneyra, will take over from her, and continue to protect this incredible legacy we have been gifted.”

Jaya felt her heart in her throat. She looked to her mother and Rhaenyra smiled, and nodded.

Viserys obviously had his favourites, Daemon, Rhaenyra, now Jaya dared to think she might be included in the illustrious list, if he meant what she thought he did.

“That would be incredible,” she said quietly.

“If you’re in King’s Landing, we could easily get you some work at the Keep, an internship, shadowing, something like that,” Viserys said, his voice instantly switching into something more formal. “We can get you on the payroll if you’d like as well, it’s a good look to have income.”

“Come on Viserys, don’t bore the girl with business,” Daemon said with a chuckle.

“Of course not!” Viserys said, “but you know how it is, Jaya, you always have to be switched on, to an extent. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

“Yes,” she said with a smile.

His eyes dropped to her neck. “What a pretty necklace,” he said. “End of exam gift?” he asked Rhaenyra.

She suddenly realised she was still holding it and dropped her hand. “It was from Aemond, actually.”

Viserys smiled and said nothing.

“That’s very sweet of him,” her mother said.

With that she was dismissed. Viserys and Corlys wandered off into a corner, muttering harshly to each other. Daemon and Rhaenyra shared a pointed look and rejoined Laena, Alicent and Otto at their table.

Aemond was chatting casually with Baela, while Helaena and Rhaena were enthralled in their own conversation. Baela mentioned that the others had all gone up to the orchard. She and Aemond were intending to join them but wanted to wait for her.

They walked on either side of her as they headed away from the main party, along the dark path to the brightly lit orchard. They could already see Daeron, Luke and Joffrey climbing the trees, Aegon and Jace sitting on the grass drinking from bottles of wine or champagne.

“Classy,” Baela muttered, to Jaya and Aemond’s amusement.

The light faded as soon as they left the main area of the party. All the lights and the candles couldn’t reach the path to the orchard and they stepped a little unsurely along the old cobbled path and overgrown grass.

At some point Jaya tripped over a loose stone. Aemond grabbed her arm with two hands in a tight grip. He kept hold of her, even when they continued walking.

She tried not to think about his hand on her bare skin, her hip brushing against him, his eyes burning into the spot on her chest where the pendant fell– she only hoped Baela didn’t notice.

“What did Viserys want?” Aemond asked.

Guilt twinged in her chest and her gut. “It was just a chat.”

“Hmm.”

Jaya scowled payfully at him. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing with Viserys is ever ‘just a chat’,” he said.

A sudden noise caught their attention. It was something loud and alarming, maybe a shout.

Her feet kept walking but she felt frozen.

Aegon and Jace were standing face to face, their faces obscured by light and shadow. It looked like they were arguing. Aegon was clutching a bottle in one hand, swaying and pushing his hair back,the way he usually did when he was drunk. Jace kept stepping closer and closer to him.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Jaya said.

“They’re just pissed,” Baela said. “They’ve been going through bottles way too quickly.”

Suddenly Aegon reached his arm out, maybe to hit him or grab his shirt, but Jace didn’t give him the chance and shoved him back by his chest.

Aemond moved immediately, rushing to separate them. Jaya instinctively gripped Baela’s hand and they did their best to keep up with him.

Her heartbeat pulsed in her head. She watched Aemond put himself between them, keeping Aegon behind him and outstretching his arm to Jace.

Jace started shouting again, something she couldn’t decipher, but his voice was getting clearer the closer she got. She had to get closer.

He shouted something that made Aemond freeze. She could see something was off, the way he tensed, and slowly lowered his arm.

Then he lunged forward, fists flying, knocking Jace to the ground.

Baela screamed. Luke ran for Aegon and neither of them held back. Daeron wrapped his arms around Joffrey and dragged him away from the fighting.

Jaya felt it in her throat when she screamed, Jace’s name, then Aemond’s, with more raw fury than she ever thought herself capable of.

Joffrey was safe.

She couldn’t think about what Baela was doing, she just knew she was behind her then she was running in another direction.

She knew had to get Aemond off Jace, but she didn’t want to go touch him, or go anywhere near him. He moved like a feral animal, blind with rage, pummelling his fists into Jace’s face.

She caught glimpses of Jace, the whites of his eye, red blood running from his nose and pooling in his mouth. He tried to spit some of it into Aemond’s face and claw at him with his fingernails but there was nothing he could do to deter him.

She couldn’t understand it, why everything had escalated, how quickly Aemond had changed, how he could be capable of such brutality, and she was furious.

Blood burning in her veins and coomon sense long since abandoned, she grabbed Aemond by the shoulders and yanked him back as hard as she could. Somehow she managed to avoid his flailing arms and Jace’s attempts at retaliation, shoving Aemond onto the ground.

She knelt beside her brother, trying to wipe some of the blood from his face, checking to see where the cuts were and if anything was broken. Her hands were trembling. She wasn’t used to seeing this much red and it was staining her hands, her pretty white dress.

Daeron and Baela had put themselves between Aegon and Luke, still trying to scrap at each other like dogs. Jaya looked for Joffrey and found him running back to the party, shouting for help.

Only then did she spare a glance for Aemond.

He was utterly stunned. He stared back at her, eyes dark and starry with the reflection of the lights on the trees, a panting mess, with bruised knuckles, blood and scratches on his face.

Hot tears ran down her cheeks effortlessly and tasted bitter when they met her lips.

He hauled himself to his feet, flexing his hands and checking his knuckles. Good. She hoped it fucking hurt. She hoped his hands would be covered in bruises for weeks.

Eventually Aegon and Luke stopped struggling. The pulsing in her head stopped and the orchard was quiet once more, the vacant space filled with heavy breaths and Jace’s groans of pain. Jaya cradled him in her arms, promising help would be there soon.

There was shouting coming from the party now, movement and figures heading for the orchard. Gods, their parents were going to be livid.

She heard Luke take a breath before he screamed it. “FUCKING MONSTER!”

Her head darted to look behind her. Luke was too far away from Baela for her to stop him. There was another empty bottle lying on the grass. He grabbed it by the neck and smashed it against a tree trunk.

Sharp side raised, Luke ran towards Aemond.

She didn’t hesitate and put herself in front of Luke, seizing both of his wrists. She suddenly realised how much taller he’d grown lately; he towered over her and she was struggling to match his strength.

“Luke!” she shouted, “drop it! Fucking drop it!”

Luke’s face was twisted in fury and anguish, he didn’t even seem to have heard her. He tried to twist out of her hold and she grabbed the bottle instead.

Her hand slipped. Her arm moved behind her. She felt the impact of the bottle against something hard before it sliced through a softer surface. Something warm and wet splattered over her hand, her arm, her neck, her hair, her dress, everywhere.

It took her a moment to register the scream. It was low and guttural, forcing itself through the throat of someone who usually took pride in his unbreakable resolve.

She was still clinging to the glass when she turned around to see Aemond on his knees. He had one hand on the ground and the other cradled his left eye. Dark blood oozed through his fingers.

She might as well have lodged the sharp end in her own chest.

A/n: Hi! a quick note from me. This chapter was a bit of a struggle to write but I'm really happy with how it turned out! Chapters 1 and 2 take place before the prologue, and then Chapter 3 is going to jump ahead six years. Then we're building up to the events of the prologue. So thanks for reading and stay tuned 😚

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @asumofwords @summerposie @thedamewithabook @ammo23 @valyrianflower @jiminie-08 @magnificentdelusionr @hiddencurator

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #modern!au #aemond targaryen smut #my fics #it will come back #hozier coded

175 notes · View notes