#oh the i am no mother i am no bride i am king of it all

[irishyuri]

bouncing around the walls of my enclosure. sir gwen.

[rosykims]

having a normal one listening to florence sing i am king over and over again thinking so many reprehensible thoughts about lilithira <3

[disillusionedjudge]

auv; i don't want what you have i wanna be you

After Gylfie almost died trying to protect her father, Takrin decided her act of near-sacrifice made her "worthy" of being his successor. He praised her, told her he was proud, and told her how she would make a fine Judge Magister one day - all of which she believed. She became Judge under him as soon as she returned to the military after months of recovery, and her loyalty to both the Empire and House Solidor was stronger than ever. She was his very shadow, a dog brought to heel, but...

Despite his promises, Takrin made her brother Judge as well, and not long after, Judge Magister alongside him, to help ease the burden of his duties. Gylfie was enraged, but kept her head low, and began to scheme. She felt her brother and father unfit for their positions - that they acted in the interest of themselves and not the Empire - all while her disdain for Vayne began to fester into hatred. She felt they would lead Archadia to her ruin, and felt she knew best how to fix it. In a battle against Nabradia, her brother fell - killed by her own sword, unbeknownst to the Empire - and in Nalbina's invasion, her father fell as well - leaving her his only successor, and his surviving murderer.

In his stead, Gylfie became Judge Magister of the Third Bureau, and her loyalty remained ever-unwavering to the Empire. Her loyalty to House Solidor, however, was beginning to wane.

auv; and i will not be part of your designs

Almost dying for her father, and, in turn, the Empire, left Gylfie bitter and disillusioned with the Empire she once loved dearly. Archadia became a bloodthirsty beast in her eyes, and she wanted nothing to aid its hunger for Ivalice. Although unable to leave, she became a historian and scribe in the palace for House Solidor - given access to closely guarded secrets in the name of preserving history. But as Archadia's power grew and Nabradia and Dalmasca fell beneath her expansion, Gylfie began to use her position to further aid to the Resistance - careful to keep herself and her dealings hidden, and patiently learning and relying secrets that should have remained behind closed doors of the Empire.

auv; i am no mother i am no bride i am king

At a young age, Gylfie was betrothed to Vayne as a way for House Solidor to honor and thank House Ynarra for their years of service and friendship. She grew up knowing this, grew up groomed to one day become Empress, and never showed any sign of discontent or frustration. However, as she grew older, her hatred for Vayne and House Solidor only continued to fester the longer she spent with him and his family, and felt as though her very freedom had been stolen from her - forced into a position she never wanted. But she adapted quickly to their games and kept her mouth shut, and when the day came for her to marry Vayne, she joined House Solidor with ease.

She appeared ever obedient and faithful - often found at Vayne's side with a coldness that matched his own. An ambition that matched and fueled his, and a loyalty to him and him alone. But she learned that Gramis had requested Gabranth to keep an eye on Vayne, and... instead of alerting him, she began to help. She was careful - refusing to make it clear it was her doing - but left clues behind to reveal what Vayne was planning. Vayne believed her to be wrapped around his finger, and Gylfie wanted to keep up the illusion - to keep him from destroying Ivalice and the Empire with it.

But Vayne acted out sooner than she anticipated, and with Gramis dead, Gylfie left the Empire with the promise to him to bring Larsa back home - only for her to lend aid to Ashelia and her ragtag group in defeating Vayne. His death would leave her the Empress of Archadia, with Larsa too young to claim the throne, and it was a responsibility she would not refuse.

[thebadboyfanclub]

Don’t Say It (Tywin x Reader)

I know I disappeared for a little but I hit a writers block with this one, I think it’s due to exhaustion over me working full time so I hope @thanyatargaryen forgives me if this wasn’t what you intended. Enjoy

Olenna Tyrell was a legend, she had learned the rules by heart and was now on a mission to pass them down to her wonderful granddaughters, the beautiful rose that listened to the name of Margaery and the bewitching siren that could stop a man with a simple song, the young (y/n).

Olenna was no fool, she recognized that the two girls were her strongest soldiers, with these two alone she could rule all of Westeros, well at least all the men which was the same thing.

“Today is an important day, even for you dearest, the wedding of your sister to the king means every eligible lord from all of the seven kingdoms will be attending”

“I am well aware, you do not have to worry about me, grandmother”

(Y/n) reassured olenna whilst her handmaidens assisted her with the finest dress anyone had ever seen, it was her first time at court she needed to look her best, (y/n) squeezed into a dress that was custom made, her hair had taken hours and was brushed to perfection and she smelled of the finest of fragrance oils that were brought from Dorne, it is safe to say that (y/n) couldn’t have looked nor smelled better.

Everyone’s breath hitched at their throats when (y/n) walked with the confidence only a Tyrell could possess, she strutted up to her big sister to wrap her arms around Margaery with clear endearment.

“Congratulations, my queen”

“Oh come on now stop with that”

“I know this is a blessed day for the king but could he be so kind and hear a plea I have for him?”

“Anything for my good sister”

“Look after my dear Marge, as she has done for me”

(Y/n)s voice was as sweet as strawberry cakes and her smile could stop a man dead in his tracks, the young Tyrell leaned on her big sister pressing her chin on Margaerys shoulder whilst the bride leaned her head close to (y/n) as well, the girls shared a strong bond, it was the first time that they would be separated ever since (y/n) was born.

What they did not know was that a certain someone had already his blue set of eyes on the lovely Tyrell who seemed so blatantly unaware of it all, Tywin had sworn to never remarry, no one would ever be as good as his dearest Joanna, she was the one that knew him like the back of her hand, the lady that could wrap her arms around the vicious lion and make him swoon, if she saw him now she would laugh at him, she always told him “never say never my love, you won’t know what the future holds for you”.

“You have your queen and your alliance now, I hope you are happy”

“Naturally, Margaery will serve the realm greatly”

“Soon enough she will start popping out lions, hopefully, my little (y/n) will have better luck”

“What could be better than becoming the queen mother?”

“Becoming the lady wife of a lord that cares for your well-being and happiness”

Tywin grew silent, there was nothing he could say against the allegations of Jeffrey’s cruel nature, he could only hope that Margaery was cunning enough to outsmart him which honestly was not going to be much of a huddle, all the times that Joffrey has been able to be sadistic was owed to other peoples stupidity to either allow him or cover for him.

“Well then let me take a good look at this girl you have such expectations for, lady (y/n)”

Tywin called for the girl whilst he stood a few feet away from the newlyweds, (y/n)s eyes finally found his, and Tywin felt his chest grow tight, the girl was a dream, a dream he often had but could never speak of due to him always believing it will be just that… a silly dream of a widower.

“Lord Tywin, I can imagine this day is probably one of the happiest for your house, correct me if I am wrong but house Tyrell has never wed a Lannister prior to this moment”

“Indeed, let this be a fruitful union for both of our houses, your grandmother has spoken quite highly of you”

“Oh do not listen to her, it is a grandmother's nature to always speak for her grandchildren in the best light”

“Nonsense, Garlan is utterly nice which makes him boring and Loras likes to imagine being a young day twirling in a dress on the garden field, I had lost all hope up until you and your sister were born, the true soldiers of the Tyrell’s”

(Y/n) smiled sweetly before she leaned to place a kiss on her grandmother's cheek, (y/n) and Margaery was well trained, they had sat on the table and played against the best of players only to come out victorious, now Margaery was queen and (y/n) was ready to score her alliance that would bring nothing but glory to her and her family.

“Lady olenna is a lot of things but she is not soft nor does she hide behind her finger, if she says you are her best card then I truly believe it”

Olenna noticed the graciousness in the old lions' words, she picked up on the scanning look that started from her toes and ended on the top of her head, (y/n) did not even have a hair out of place, she placed her hand over her heart as a sign of vulnerability and her smile became brighter in gratitude.

“You are utmost kind, my lord, it is not every day a lady gets to be complimented by the warden of Casterly Rock and the hand of the king, I consider myself lucky for that”

“Luck has nothing to do with it, above it all I am a man that favors honesty and that is what you are receiving”

“I shall go before your words get all in my head, it was an honor to meet you, my lord”

(Y/n) went to curtsy before she was interrupted by Tywin that instead of letting her, reached for her hand and then placed his other one on top of hers, a smirk still evident on his lips as his eyes pierced through her, yet he was left with nothing, (y/n) had always prevailed under the hawking looks of men, she was well aware that she could not budge whatsoever.

“I will see you later Grandmother”

“Of course little flower, go on now, have some fun for me”

Olenna kissed the top of the lady’s head lovingly, it was not a secret that olenna doted on her especially now that it was her turn to marry, she had to bite her lip when it came to Margaery since her son had already bargained her for a sweet deal of a crown, she must do right by (y/n).

Once the lady was far away enough Olenna turned her head towards Tywin who was still following the enchanting Tyrell with his gaze, the way she walked, talked, even her breathing was perfect, his thumb traced over his fingertips, recalling how soft and warm he skin felt against his touch.

“I know that look”

“Pardon?”

“You are planning something”

“I always am”

“If you are scheming to betroth my precious flower to another lion, I must admit I would rather it be you than that little son of yours, in truth I would rather for her to stay away from lions but an old lion is better than Tyrion”

-

The news of Tywins betrothal hit everyone in kings landing like a ton of bricks. Joffrey was dead, Margaery was technically the dowager queen, and the crown was getting weak by the moment.

(Y/n) had become her sister's shadow, some applauded her compassion and how she was present at all hours to console her sister, what they did not know was that Olenna was already moving the strings for Margaery to marry Tommen, the young, kind boy who could never hurt a fly, however, Olenna had ensured both of the girls now once and for all, what better way to do that than to mess with Tywins head?

“Lady olenna, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am here to propose another marriage between my house and yours”

“That is no surprise, I am to expect you wish to betroth Margaery to Tommen?”

“No, no my dear Margaery has been through way too much”

“Loras is still to marry Cersei, is there a change in that betrothal?”

“Unfortunately that mess of a wedlock is still going steady, I am concerned over my (y/n)”

Tywin had been too occupied with writing to look up at olenna up until now, his ears perked up at the sound of her name, the girl with the bright smile and the scary resemblance to a shadow of the past.

“What do you wish to suggest?”

“My (y/n) is sweet, kind, and full of life, I believe Tommen would treat her as delicate as she deserves to be treated”

“Tommen? You want to put (y/n) by the new king's side?”

“Tommen is a good boy, nothing like Joffrey, I have taken notice of how Tommen smiles at her, no man could ever deny my beloved granddaughter, I am convinced their reign will be prosperous”

“Mayhaps, although I do not believe Tommen should be the one to marry (y/n)”

“Who else could stand the weight of the crown? Tommen is in much need of someone like (y/n), to keep him humble and gentle, show him what it is like to be loved”

That was what made tywins blood boil the most, the concept of (y/n) hugging Tommen, his grandson brushing (y/n)s hair, the lady creating a child out of Tommens semen, the image of her with a swollen belly whilst Tommen rubbed his hand over it made his skin crawl.

No, no he would never allow another man to be by her side on those milestones, he was graced by the gods with a second chance at love, how could he be a bystander to a marriage that would probably be terrific, although Tywin could never survive with the “what if” lingering on his mind.

“Because she is to marry me”

“Pardon?”

“I am to be betrothed to the lady (y/n), our marriage will take place the same day as Margaerys and Tommens, your Margaery will be queen, and lady (y/n) will become the lady of the rock”

“I would rather die than let my dearest become a second wife, your daughter will eat her alive once the news hit her ears”

“Are you afraid of Cersei?”

“I am petrified of the brass neck your daughter possesses, that woman thinks she can do whatever she pleases with no consequence”

“Cersei is my daughter, you have nothing to worry about she will not be allowed to harm your little girl, once (y/n) falls pregnant that child will become heir of Casterly Rock”

“What if she births a girl?”

“You and (y/n) along with Margaery will decide on her future, I will not partake or force my daughter to do anything”

“Your offer is dripping with syrup, but I will not accept, I gave you Loras and Margaery and now you dare to ask for more”

“If you do not consent to this then I shall announce a match of (y/n) and Ser Sandor Clegane, how does that sound?”

“Careful now, what you are suggesting is… grasping”

“Indeed, but I am feeling rather charitable so I grant you the day to decide, if I do not have an answer by the morrow then the sweet girl will be cloaked with a wonderful yellow flag”

Tywin was a man that proudly stood behind his every word, so as he walked out with a triumphed smirk on his lips he was too occupied with feeling his triumph to notice that olenna was also doing the same (y/n) was now the future lady of the rock and Margaery was to have a second chance to wear the crown.

“My lord”

(Y/n) interrupted his thoughts once she saw him, Tywin stopped swiftly before he could fall right onto her, she was waiting behind the door anxiously, her eyes gawked at the man as her cheeks grew rosy from the embarrassment of her clumsy nature.

“Lady (y/n), what seems to be so important that you could not wait in your chamber for your grandmother”

“She informed me about my betrothal, I apologize I was just so fidgety I wanted to know the second that it was settled”

“Are you in such a rush to marry that boy? I am concerned over your taste”

“Tommen is a wonderful person and the future king, any lady would be lucky to be his lady wife”

“So is it the promise of a crown that excites you? I can tell you wearing a piece of metal decorated with gems will not bring you any happiness”

“Pardon my intrusion but why are you so opposed to the fact of me marrying your grandson? I am highborn and have received the proper education, your house along with the Baratheon owe my family everything”

“It is not you that is not enough young lady”

Silence fell over them, Tywin had stumbled right on her trap and now he was as still as a grain of salt, only blinking at the girl that acted surprised over his suggestion that Tommen was the one that was short when he stood next to her, (y/n) bit her lip before she gazed down for a split second and then back up, she wanted to appear at a loss of words.

“I do not want to believe what my thoughts are suggesting”

“You are a fool if you don’t”

“Lord Tywin, you and I it- how could”

“I am too old for this game my dear, I have given your grandmother the rest of the day to decide and if I’m being frank I believe that luck is on my side, so I suggest you ran along and instruct the finest tailor to start on your gown, you must look as stunning as ever”

“I am fluttered, but I do not understand-“

“Listen to me dear, from that moment you smiled at me you have haunted every waking moment and I cannot seem to escape you even in the shackles of deep slumber, I am aware that I do not look like the young and beautiful knight in shining armor a maiden might expect to marry but I can you this promise right now, every other lady from east to west will be jealous of the luck you held when you marry me”

Lord Tywin once again made his exit thinking that he had the upper hand, if someone were to consider everything that has been done in this world wasn’t it always like this?

A man trotted away victorious while the woman stood and smiled proudly at herself, moving the strings without even the man realizing that she had very carefully placed the strings around his arms like a little puppet.

“My dearest girl, I was there at your birth and I took one good look at you and saw the moon and the stars in those eyes, I always knew you would be the brightest of them all”

Olenna informed (y/n) once she had walked into the office Tywin was in moments ago, Olenna wrapped her arms around her in the most loving manner and (y/n) responded with the same warmth.

“We have so much to plan, the future doesn’t wait for anyone”

-

“How could he ever do this to our family?”

“Who did what?”

“Do not play the fool with me Jaime I am sure you have heard of the vilest news, our father is to marry that little rat from Highgarden”

“One of them is a smirking whore and the other one is a rat? Well you certainly won’t have a good time in the palace once all of them marry into our family”

“How could be so calm at this time? Our son is dead, the other one is to marry Margaery and now our father betrayed us”

“Our father has been without a wife for over a decade Cersei, he is a highborn lord, anyone would have a good chunk of heirs from another wife by now”

In jaimes defense he has always attempted to take the logical side when Cersei went on her little paranoid rants over loyalty or whatever the case was at that time, however, this time he could not sit for hours and let her blabber.

Jaime did not even blink when his father told him about his betrothal, he is a kingsguard, and Tyrion is… well, Tyrion and Cersei have played her part in becoming queen though she could not inherit lannisport, every year he waited for his father to announce a marriage of alliance for himself and now it was finally time.

“This is despicable, they will tarnish our name”

“How will they do that exactly? (Y/n) will probably do her best at becoming pregnant which will install our name to live on which as you know is truly what our father cares about”

“Margaery is a manipulative little scum she will shred our Tommen to pieces”

“Tommen was tormented by Joffrey for years and you know it, if anything having some female tending to him will probably do wonders for his confidence”

“Of course as a man that is all you think about, I do not even know why I came to you over this matter, once again I am called to act by myself”

That is when Jaime had heard enough, very softly he rose from his seat and went over to his clearly disheveled sister, a kiss was laid on the center of her forehead all while his hands rubbed up and down to her forearms making her puff out a breath of relief from the comfort his touch brought to her.

“You will do nothing, Father has already announced his betrothal, if anyone even touched a hair from (y/n)s head he will not hesitate to demand its head to be served on a silver platter”

“Father is just being short sighed it is us that must act to save him”

“From what? Having his bed warm by a woman? Especially her, surely you are not that blind that you haven’t understood what he saw in her”

“Don’t say it”

“I know it feels like salt over the wound-“

“No, no”

“You must admit the resemblance is uncanny”

“Never!”

Cersei pushed him away harshly, tears welled up in her eyes and all of a sudden she was rudely pulled back to that day, the gods forsaken day that Cersei had to witness her mother laying in bed with blood staining her nightgown.

“That bitch is not our mother”

“She is not, though she looks like her”

Requests are open!

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (10) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: coryo haunts your every moment.

word count: 1,737

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: another shorter chapter rip, reader is conflicted, pet names (petal), not proofread

“Get out of bed!” your mother said, grabbing at your blankets and trying to pull them off of you. 

“I shall not!” you protested, holding onto the blankets with all your might. She tugged harder on them, but you wrapped yourself around the edge she wasn’t holding so that you could become further cocooned. Your mother let out a frustrated shout before finally releasing her hold. 

“And why not?”

“I…am ill.”

“The King is expecting you at the ball.”

“The King can kiss my ass,” you mutter. 

Your mother shouted your name so loud that you were sure the Cardews, who lived on the other side of the square, could hear her. She made another grab for the blankets, yanking so hard that you were pulled out of bed with them. 

“I refuse to go,” you snapped, throwing the blankets off of yourself and attempting to crawl back into bed. Your mother grabbed at your ankle, stopping you from getting much further from the foot of the bed. “Tell the King I am sick or that my courses have came and I’m in terrible pain.”

“I will not tell your betrothed about your womanly issues,” your mother hissed. “Why must you be so difficult? Weren’t you getting along so well with the King before?”

Oh, you were getting along with him, if only because you were playing the role of a dutiful bride. You called him Coryo, you accept his kisses and kissed him in return, you let him hold you. When you found yourself bored out of your mind at home, you would traipse over to the palace. You would pretend it was an effort to stay close to Coryo, but truly you only sought out the comfort of the vast library. (Though, it was not as if you despised his companionship like you did before. Was he poisoning your mind by keeping you in such close proximity?) 

“I can get along with him after we are married.”

You barely saw your mother rolling her eyes. “You would best get used to getting along with him now. After you are wed, you will have to do whatever he pleases regardless of your own feelings on the matter.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She let out a long sigh before sitting next to you on the edge of your bed. She stared at her lap for a moment, then reached over for your hand. You were sure it was more for her comfort than anything for you. “When you are wed, there are things that you must do to appease your husband. To produce an heir, you will…have to lay with him.”

Your mother continued with an awkward description of what “laying with him” meant. To your chagrin, she did not spare any details about the discomfort you would experience with the act. How men are seldom kind with it. How, even after you gave him children, he would still force you into bed for his own pleasure. How you might never experience pleasure from it. Would Coryo be like that?, you wondered. He was like other men in a lot of ways. He could be cold and callous and demanding. But he was different, too. He let you be mouthy and do as you please. You often thought he enjoyed the way you would never just let things be. Coryo could be kind, in his own strange way. Would he be like other men, or would he surprise you? Would he treat you differently?

“…I think I might actually be sick now,” you murmur. You squeeze your mother’s hand, grateful for once for her presence.

“I don’t say all of this to scare you, dove,” she continued, “but I would be a failure as a mother if I let you go into this union completely blind. I would be like my mother. I would not forgive myself if kept the realities of marriage from you.”

And, suddenly, it dawned on you why your mother seldom cared for your father’s presence. He, too, was like other men.

“I …thank you.”

Your mother squeezed your hand back, then let go. She stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. “I will give you a few moments to collect yourself, then I shall send your lady’s maid in so you may get ready for the ball.”

You cannot change my entire perspective on how a marriage operates and leave like nothing happened, you wanted to say. But you still felt queasy. You worried if you said anything, you might be sick all over yourself and the floor. It would take so long to make you presentable again, you would surely be late for the ball. Coryo may be a kind man at times, but you knew him well enough to know that he would feel disrespected if you missed this event. Especially when he through all the trouble of planning it.

So, you nodded and took deep breaths, trying to control yourself. 

“Well, if you aren’t the perfect picture of a bride-to-be, I don’t know who is,” Livia said, joining you at your side as you entered the palace’s ballroom. “It almost makes me wish I was getting married.”

“I’ll be sure to let your mother know you think so. There are still plenty eligible young men, and plenty of time left in the season,” your mother said, holding back a laugh, before slipping off to join the other mothers of the ton. 

Livia nearly grimaced. “Perhaps I should have waited until you were alone to say that.”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about that. She doesn’t mean it. She can’t tease me anymore since I hit back harder, so she’ll aim for anyone she perceives as weaker.”

Livia looked unconvinced as she watched your mother laugh with hers. “We’ll see. If I end up engaged by the end of the week, I will write you to a letter to say I told you so.”

“Or you could tell me in person.”

Livia blinked. “In a week’s time, you’ll be in your honeymoon period with the King. By the time I see you again, I could be married and off for my own honeymoon.”

“Oh. I…I forget that it’s so soon. So much has happened in such a short while.” And, oh, how you wanted to tell her. Or perhaps not Livia specifically, but someone. Tell someone about the secret deals between your father and Coryo, how Sejanus tried to convince you to run away with him, how you’ve pretended to like Coryo for so long that it didn’t quite feel like pretending anymore. 

“Perhaps then I should remind you?” a teasing voice came from your side, followed by a kiss to your cheek. You painted a smile on your face as you looked up at Coryo. “I can’t have my bride forgetting such an important day.”

“You shouldn’t have swept me up in such a whirlwind then, Coryo,” you said. It still felt strange to call him by his nickname, especially in such a public setting. It was a bit more natural in private, when there wasn’t prying eyes and listening ears abound. This felt too…vulnerable. Like you were exposing yourself to the ton. 

Coryo beamed, his pretty white teeth sparkling. Even if calling him by his nickname left you feeling vulnerable, you knew it put you in his good graces. You had hated seeing him so enraged at Sejanus, worried about the lengths he would go to prove you could not be stolen away from him. Calling him Coryo was the only way you could get him to see reason. 

“Ah, but then I couldn’t do this, could I?”

In front of everyone, Coryo pulled your face close to his, planted his lips right on yours. It wasn’t his usual sort of kiss, all tongue and teeth. No, this was softer, gentler. A kiss that made you believe that maybe he did love you all of these years, that he did truly propose three times before finally getting to call you his. When he pulled away, a soft smile on his face, you had to force yourself to tear your eyes, to ignore the quick thump-thump-thump-ing of your heart. 

Oh, but looking away was worse.  

For it seemed like the entire ton was enraptured by your kiss with Coryo. So you looked back at him, hoping that the ton would fade away from your peripheral vision. 

Coryo’s hand found yours. He intertwined his fingers with your own, his thumb rubbing the top of your hand. “I want to show you something,” he said to you. To Livia, he said, “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Cardew.”

Without waiting for her to say anything, Coryo pulled you away. He led you through the crowd, ignoring anyone who attempted to start a conversation with him. He was the perfect picture of focused.

“Do I get to know where you’re stealing me away to?”

Coryo huffed out a laugh. “I’m hardly stealing you away, petal. You looked overwhelmed out there. I thought you might like some fresh air.”

He took you out to the balcony that overlooked the gardens. You chose to focus on the beautiful rose bushes you could see, the white petals shining under the moonlight. “That tends to happen when everyone is watching an unmarried woman be kissed.”

A brow raised. “I can’t kiss my wife?”

“Of course you can,” you said. You offered a teasing smile. “When I am your wife. Until then, it’s private kisses only.”

“We’re in private now.”

“How convenient for you.” You placed your hands on his chest as he grabbed your waist. “Did you bring out here on false pretenses? Playing the role of my knight in shining armor so that you might continue to defile me before we wed? My, my, you are such a snake.”

“Would you blame me if I did?”

Yes. No. Maybe. You were never less sure of anything than you were about Coryo. He burrowed  himself under your skin, tore you from the inside out. But when he was sweet, oh, he could be sweet. When he was like that, you were half convinced that your teeth might just all rot away. Snow was everything that you hated, but Coryo could be everything that you loved. Damn him for containing multitudes. 

“Just kiss me. Please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

[sparklingchan]

Serendipity || Seo Changbin (Stray Kids)

Pairing: Reader(fem.) X Changbin

Word Count: 5.4k+

Warnings: Suggestive, mentions of pregnancy (the reader is not pregnant) , mentions of poison, Changbin is sweeter than sugar. Set in the Joseon Era.

Genre: Royal AU, Arranged marriage AU, fluff with very slight angst.

Description: The King of Joseon had chosen you as his queen. But there are those that wish for this union to fail. Will your love be enough to overcome the competitiveness of the Palace?

A/N: Hello everyone! Back with another installation of the SKZ Royal AU. I am genuinely in love with this one ngl. King Changbin is a rizzler y'all. Hope you guys have fun reading this <3

Do check out the other fics in the skz royal series. (The stories are not interrelated)

Here's the link to the masterlist.

Being a woman in this country is not an easy task. Especially when one is a candidate for the position of the country's Queen.

You'd dreamt of this for years, the idea sewn into every thought by your father even since you were child. With time, you'd welcomed the thought without a complaint.

"My lady, the Royal messenger is here." Somi informs you, and your nervousness just goes up by a thousand.

Did you manage to become the Queen and make your father proud? Or did you get disqualified and were now just a daughter of some minister and free to marry any other commoner like yourself?

You run down the hallway and enter the pavillion in front of your house, the colorful banners of the Royal entourage shine under the bright sun.

You straighten your robes and kneel down, head almost touching the ground, as a mark of respect for the King's verdict.

The chief Eunuch opens up the scroll in his hands.

"Please find enclosed the Royal Edict from the King's Court:

I, Seo Changbin, the King of Joseon, have chosen Miss y/n of House Kim as my wife and, by extension, the Queen of our beloved country. I have consulted the three High State Councilors and my mother- the Queen Dowager about the same and we have all unanimously agreed that she would be the best choice for the country as well as the Royal family, owing it all to her wits, beauty and manners.

Congratulations to Miss y/n and her family.

The Royal family would also like to extend an invitation to the bride-to-be to shift into the Detached Palace at the earliest as part of the customary pre wedding ritual. "

It feels as if someone had punched out the air from your lungs, you couldn't speak nor stand, while your parents and brother continuously thanked the Royal Eunuch, accepting all the gifts sent by the Palace for you.

But you couldn't move. You just stayed there, frozen. For life as you had known it has come to an end.

And thereafter begins a new, Royal chapter of your life.

*

"I'm going to miss you, my child."

The days since the Edict pass by in a heartbeat. All the members of your family were busy with packing your belongings while you were busy with mentally preparing yourself to leave your family and house behind forever.

Yes, you'd always wanted to be a Queen. Yes, you'd spent years getting ready for this role. Yet when the time finally comes, it hurts you to think about leaving behind twenty three years of your life.

"I'm going to miss you too, mother." On hearing your words, your mother cries harder.

But as usual, your father shows no emotion. His face is calm.

"Remember, y/n, there are no friends in the Palace other than your husband. You cannot confide in anyone but him. The other concubines will do anything to gain his favor, but you shall always be a step ahead. Be vigilant and loyal. You will make a great Queen." He says. Like the strategist he'd always been.

"Yes, father." You reply, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Your mother clinges to your arm.

"We will try and visit you whenever we can. I'm sure his Majesty will allow."

"Yes, of course. You can visit me anytime. The Palace is only a few hours from here."

"Oh, my child! How will I ever live without you!" Another sob tears out from your mother's throat. You hug her with all the love and care you could muster up in that moment.

Your father walks out of the room, hands behind his back and face twisted into a frown.

*

The Detached Palace is to be a temporary residence for the bride-to-be. For over the next thirty days, you would be receiving lessons on various subjects like history, Royal Etiquette, sewing, cooking and most importantly- lessons on intimacy. The last lesson is considered most important, according to Somi, since it allows you to birth as many healthy heirs as possible.

After helping you dress up for the night and setting up your bed, your maids take your leave for the night, only Somi remaining by your side.

"Do you think I'll see the King tomorrow? It's queer but I'd like to know what my future husband looks like, at least."

Somi sighs, "I don't think it's allowed, my lady. I believe you can only see his Majesty on your wedding day. A month from now."

You're oddly disappointed. You had dreamt so many nights of seeing the King, holding his hand, being by his side, yet the King in those dreams often never had a face.

Was it wrong to yearn to look at your future husband's face? Just once?

A subtle knock on your door startles the both of you.

"Yes?"

"My lady, the King is here to see you." Your handmaid almost whispers the words through the door.

With unparalleled urgency, Somi helps you straighten your clothes and rushes off towards the door.

"Your majesty." The maids and Somi greet him with the customary bow, while you purse your lips in a line, head hanging in a subtle bow.

Your heart hammers against your chest. It's so loud, you're sure even the King could hear it.

"Please give us some privacy." The King commands.

And you heart beats faster on hearing his voice for the first time. Gentle, yet authoritative, just like you'd dreamt.

When Somi closes the door behind her, you almost regret wishing to see your future husband. The proximity makes you nervous and you could only hope you'd not faint in front of him.

"My lady, you may rise."

You'd almost forgotten you were still bowing to him. You mentally slap yourself.

"Y-yes, your majesty. " your voice comes out as an embarrassing squeak, your eyes still on the ground.

You'd prayed for this moment for years, y/n. Why couldn't you just meet his eyes?

As if sensing your inner conflict, the King takes two long strides towards you and hooks his index finger under your chin, sending a chill down your body.

"My lady, please look at me."

And you do.

And he's like everything you'd ever wished for.

Perfect, like a beautifully crafted sculpture.

His soft brown locks, his rosy lips, the subtle mischief in his eyes. Everything is perfect.

"Y-yes, your majesty. Sorry." You mumble.

The king smiles, rubbing circles into your cheeks.

"You may call me Changbin when we're alone."

You nod.

"I just came to ask if you're finding your new residence comfortable. We both shall be busy with lessons tomorrow onwards so I figured tonight would be a good time to visit my bride."

His bride? His bride?

Your legs feel weak.

"I'm finding it extremely comfortable, your majesty. Thank you for your hospitality. "

Changbin let's out a low chuckle, leaning towards you. His lips hover inches above yours. And when he speaks, you feel hot air on your lips, "I told you, y/n. Call me Changbin."

You frantically nod.

"Good. Better be careful next time, my bride."

*

When you wake up the next morning, you're sure you'd dreamt everything that happened last night.

But apparently not.

"The King is a dashing young man." Somi teases as she lathers a concoction of herbs into your hair. "You're lucky, my lady. He seems to be a gentleman."

But you are too caught up in your thoughts to reply to her.

Did the king of Joseon really come all the way to the Detached Palace to see you? What if he's disappointed with how you had reacted? But he shouldn't blame you at all.

You had not been expecting anyone yesterday night, especially not him. But he did come to you. And he touched your chin. If you focus hard enough, you could feel his touch lingering in the area.

"My lady?" Somi clicks her fingers in front of your eyes, "Come back to earth. We have to get you ready for the classes today."

Blushing, you reply, "What classes do I have today?"

You had three classes today: Palace etiquette, literature and what Somi insists most important: lessons on reproduction.

While Palace etiquette mostly includes lesson on how to behave with Royal elders, ministers, maids, the King, literature includes important pieces of literature that are important for a woman.

And lastly, the most dreaded time arrived.

The reproduction lessons.

The tutor shows you all sorts of obnoxious hand movements and some drawings of couples in intimate positions. You feel uncomfortable from the beginning till the end.

A woman at least five decades older than you is teaching you about intimacy? Very awkward, to say the least.

But you heave a sigh of relief when the classes end for the day and you make your way to your room in the Detached palace.

"It's just the first day, Somi and I'm already tired to the bone." You say, kicking your shoes off.

"Well, it's going to be a lifetime of time this now, my lady. And you best be prepared for it."

You reply Somi with silence. But her words make you wonder. If this palace life would ever be less tiring someday? Would it even be worth it?

Perhaps not.

But King Changbin 's face flashes in front of your eyes; his sparkling eyes, mischievous grin, his feather like touch- maybe he is what will make everything worth it.

That night, after your maids get your bed ready while Somi is combing your hair, a familiar announcement echoes through the corridors of the Detached Palace.

"My lady, the King is here to see you."

His smiling face peeps through the doors as your maids hurry out of the room. He wears blue silk robes, and you feel weaker in his presence than you did yesterday.

"Did you miss me, y/n?"

And thus begins a month of secret nightly visits by the King of Joseon to the Detached Palace.

Everyday, you wake up looking forward to the time when King Changbin would come knocking at your doors, always up to some jesting.

Sometimes, he brings you fruits you'd mentioned you liked or he tells you stories from his childhood. At other times, he tells you about that one teacher he will hate till the end of time.

But most times, he spends his time listening to you talk- about everything and everyone, about the skies and gods, about ghosts and afterlife, about favourite foods and literature. After you'd overcome the initial shyness, opening upto Changbin was as easy as breathing, almost natural. Of course, you were still nervous around him, but it's a feeling you'd come to like.

Is this what the writers and poets describe as 'butterflies'?

"Do you think I'll make a good Queen?" You ask him one night. He sits in front you on a cushion, across the room, a position you told him is appropriate for two unwed people (although he did not agree to it initially).

If your nightly shenanigans were to be ever discovered by anyone, you would not want to be found in close proximity to each other even though you were betrothed to each other. He's breaking Palace rules everyday as it is.

He hums, "Of course! I think you'll make a great Queen. You're so good at your lessons already."

"That does not guarantee anything. I might not be good at taking the responsibilities."

"Do you trust my judgment, y/n? I think you'll make a great Queen. And even if you are overwhelmed, I shall always be here."

That night he leaves earlier than he usually does, owing to the fact that tomorrow is the day where his concubines are to be welcomed into the palace. Five of them.

The thought leaves you feeling bitter and dejected, but you make sure to not make those feelings obvious. This is a rule for Kings, to take as many concubines as possible to ensure the continuation of the blood line.

"Don't worry, my lady. Your rank in the palace is above these petty concubines. They will not mess with you." Somi comforts your thoughts the next day.

"But what if Changbin favors them more?"

Somi does not reply to that question.

*

On your 18th birthday, your father had promised to you that he would make you the Queen of this country. He kept his promise because here you are, after five years, getting dressed to be married to the most powerful man in the country.

Your father always insisted that powerful men do not love but Changbin's sparkling eyes always contradicted everything your father had taught. Nevertheless, you know the competitiveness among the concubines for the King's affection is mad. More often than not, even the Queen gets involved in petty fights.

But you try to remove all thoughts of your father and the concubines today. Because today, you are to be married to King Changbin. From today, your name will be written in the historical logs of the Royal family. From today, a new life begins.

"Are you okay, my lady?" Somi asks, "You look worried."

"I'm fine. Just hope the ceremony goes well."

The ceremony does go well and in all honesty, you were not worried about the ceremony itself. You were worried about the aftermath.

The maids guide you to your new palace, and get you dressed in white robes for the wedding night. The night when you will finally meet Changbin as his wife. The butterflies swim around in your belly.

The bed is decorated with flower petals and a few candles are lit. Everything is perfect.

"The King is here." One of your ladies in waiting announce and you get up to greet your husband.

The maids leave the room as the doors slide open and Changbin steps in, also dressed in white robes. He looks dashing, but his signature grin is nowhere to be found.

When the doors close behind him, he walks past you to the bed, the scent of liquor evident in his breath.

"Have you been drinking, your majesty?" You ask him, worried by his odd behavior.

What was wrong with him? Why wouldn't he even bother to meet your eyes?

"Changbin." He slurs, wrapping the blankets around him, "Call me Changbin."

He turns away from you and is snoring away in no time.

The butterflies in your stomach flutter around before dropping dead.

*

You did not sleep that night. Even though you were sleeping next to the man you love, you felt lonelier than ever.

Many times during the night, you consider walking out of the bed chamber to the servants quarter so you could talk to Somi. But you couldn't do that. Because you were now the Queen of this country and every single step you take will have its repercussions.

When morning comes, Changbin wakes up in a haste and greets you with a subtle nod and walks out of the chamber in long strides.

You well the tears back. It's your first day as Queen and hadn't he always promised to be there when you were overwhelmed? Had he lied? Or was it Changbin's doppelganger who visited you every night in the Detached palace?

Somi comes in a few minutes later with an excited smile on her face.

When she does your hair for the day, she asks, "So, how was the wedding night?"

You want to answer her truthfully - how cold Changbin had been, how he had not even looked at you let alone touch you, how you think he had changed almost overnight. But you see the prying eyes of the other palace maids and swallow your sadness.

"It was perfect. Like everything I'd ever hoped for."

"He was gentle, I hope." She says through a grin, but it feels like someone pouring alcohol on an open wound.

"Yes. He was."

As part of royal customs, the new bride is supposed to visit the senior most female member of the family and greet her. In your case, the member happens to King Changbin's mother.

Somi dresses you in the most exquisite silks and adorns your hair with the most precious flower but you feel nothing at all when everyone compliments you on the way out of your new Queen's palace.

Your mother in law's palace is a little far from the Queen's palace yet it is as beautiful as any other palace. From inside as well as outside.

"Greetings, your majesty. It is nice to meet you." You bow in front of the Queen Dowager.

The woman-not more than sixty years of age- looks at you with a gentle smile.

"Come in, y/n. Please be at ease."

You're seated in front of her on a cushion while the Queen Dowager's maids serve you breakfast.

"I hope your first day here goes well, my child. Our family is thrilled to have you." She says.

"The pleasure is all mine, your majesty. I am honored to be a part of this family." You say.

In the back of your mind, you wonder if Changbin is thrilled to have you or not. Probably not.

The mere thought of yesterday's rejection stings.

"Y/n, truth be told, my son is a quite a troubled man. His father was murdered in front of his eyes. He was made the king when he was only 16 years old. It's been 7 years since then, but the burden only gets worse. I hope you, as a Queen and as his wife, can help him lessen these burdens. Can you do that?" The Queen Dowager asks again, sipping tea from a small cup.

"I will do everything I can to help him." If only he'd let you.

"Good, good. I'm glad. And one more thing, y/n, you know as Queen one of your primary duties is to produce an heir for Changbin's throne. I hope you're working on that, yes?"

Heat reaches your cheeks. If only the poor woman knew what her dear son had done last night. If his behavior continues, perhaps it will be long before the Queen Dowager sees the face of a royal grandchild.

"We are trying, your majesty. We will not disappoint you." You reply, sipping tea from your own cup.

"Great! I shall send all types of herbs and tonics to help you conceive as fast as possible. I shall also draw up a chart after consulting the astrologer..." the Queen Dowager's voice fades into the background as your mind drifts off to the nights in the Detached palace, when Changbin would come and spend all his free time with you, against the rules of the palace. At that time, you had been sure that producing an heir would be a beautiful process, not a chore.

But Changbin does not even treat the thought like a chore.

Did he not love you? Did his Royal duties burden him too much?

When you leave the Queen Dowager's palace, you walk past The King's palace. It is as beautiful and majestic as they say. But you wonder if you'll ever be able to set foot in the same.

As if on cue, you see Concubine Jung walking out of the King's palace, her maids behind her. The butterflies in your stomach burn with jealousy.

She has a smirk on her face when she sees you.

"Eun, did you know there's a rumor around the palace that the King refused to sleep with the Queen last night? Sad, isn't it?" Concubine Jung says.

One of her maids giggle and nod, "Of course! How could the Queen even live with this shame?"

You cry yourself to sleep that night, while Somi does everything in her abilities to soothe you.

Needless to say, nothing worked.

*

"My lady, wake up. The King has invited you to breakfast with him." Somi informs one morning, six months after your wedding.

"Tell him I have a bad stomach bug. I cannot go."

You'd be found dead before sharing a meal with him and that obnoxious Concubine Jung. You'd shared enough meals with them already.

The past months, the King had not visited you even once but often you'd see him walking the gardens with Concubine Jung at his side.

After the first few weeks, you had no tears left to shed anymore so when the rumor came in last month that Concubine Jung might be pregnant, your eyes do not water no matter how much you force yourself to cry.

"I do not wish to congratulate them." You say, true and plain.

"My lady, he's invited only you. Not anyone else."

So you agree. As a last attempt to make your marriage work, even if it's just for your own sake.

Somi dresses you in green robes- The King's favorite. You quickly make your way to his palace, as if someone else would take your place if you didn't hurry. It's sad your thoughts had turned so negative in just half a year in the palace.

Your father had told you the King would take in many lovers during his lifetime, and that being Queen is about having power, not being loved.

But you think he didn't warn you enough. He didn't warn you how lonely it would be to sleep on the cold bed every night, how painful it would be to see the King smile at someone else.

Even if you did wish for a child, how could you produce you a child without Changbin?

"Good morning, your majesty." You say to him when you enter his bed chamber. It smells like cinnamon, a smell he'd often carry with himself back when he used to visit you at the Detached palace. Back when you were sure the king had been in love with you.

"Hello, my Queen. Please have a seat."

The butterflies dance around for a split second.

"Did you sleep well last night?" He asks, taking a seat in front of you.

"Yes." Lies. "Thank you for inviting me over."

When the maids leave the both of you alone, his demeanor changes.

"Actually, y/n, I had something to talk to you about." He says, casually, as if he hadn't been hurting you everyday for the past few months.

"What is it?" You ask.

He sighs, "It's mother. Ever since that rumor of Concubine Jung being pregnant spread. She wants the first grandchild to be of the Queen."

His words do not faze you, "How can I help you, Changbin?"

He frowns. Since when had your tone become this melancholic?

"Um, so if I have your consent, I'd like to try for a child tomorrow night. We'll see how that goes, yeah?"

"Okay. I will be honored." You say.

You finish up the food quickly and almost slide the doors open when he grabs your arm from behind.

"Y/n, what is it? Did something happen? Are your parents well?"

"My parents are well enough, thank you for asking." You say, keeping your eyes on the ground.

"Then? What happened? Is it Concubine Jung? Really, you did not have to be jealous of her. She's not pregnant. I can assure you of that. I have not consummated my marriage with any one of the concubines."

His words seem to have an effect on you. Your heart blossoms with hope but you keep your face and voice neutral.

"I am not jealous, Changbin. If one of the concubines get pregnant, I shall wish you both well."

You force your arm out of his grip and walk out the palace, not looking back once.

Changbin's stares at your leaving figure, now worried beyond relief that he might have broken the one person he cared for the most by his pursuits of a greater good.

*

While the past few months for you had been filled with loneliness, for Changbin it was almost the same-if not worse.

The first night of your marriage was filled with as many butterflies for him, as it was for you.

He had fallen in love with you and he wasn't afraid to show the world how much you meant to him. He wanted to hold you, kiss you, make love to you. And he had all plans to do that on the first night.

But that was until he had overheard a secret conversation between Concubine Jung and her father- Minister Jung.

For all he knew, Minister Jung had always wanted his daughter to be the Queen but being the dim-wit that she was, Concubine Jung could not even get through the first stage.

"Father, it's been two days since I'd been in the palace and that man has not visited me once. He had not even asked for my name the day of the welcoming. What kind of man is he? And you say I am to be Queen!"

"Hush, child. In this palace, even the walls are listening. Be careful. And as far as the position of Queen is concerned, you need not worry. If the King does bed the Queen tonight and she get pregnant, we shall make sure her pregnancy terminates before maturity. I have connections with all sorts of medicine vendors in the country, be assured, she shall never see the face of a child. After we weaken the Queen, we can take her throne as easily!"

Changbin had wanted to laugh at the man's foolish plans but deep down, he was worried as well. For you.

Which is why he pushed you away for so long and kept Concubine Jung close. While she tried everything in her power to seduce him, he refused her under the pretense of keeping an oath of abstinence for a year.

Every time she tried to even hold his hand, Changbin thought of you; your innocent eyes, your talks, your wit, your hands, your beautiful hair. No woman could make him feel like you do.

Changbin's secret informants had confirmed that Minister Jung had not one but two houses full of gold and cash he'd collected as illegal taxes from the local people. He'd also sometimes force husbands to send their wives to him in exchange for money. Even the thought nauseated Changbin.

Every time Concubine Jung visited, he made sure to collect some sort of evidence through her. He even visited her every night and while she snored away, he stole some of her gold jewlery and clothes to get them checked as evidence of the illegal taxes her father had been collecting.

And sure enough, after a few months of spying on her and her father, Changbin had gathered enough evidence by now to expose both of them at the court.

But he realised quickly that Minister Jung had a few tricks up his sleeves as well. The rumor of his daughter's pregnancy would make it difficult for Changbin to expose him easily, and so Changbin waited every night that the rumors would die down so he could run to the Queen's Palace and hug you with all his might. You were not safe unless the father and daughter were deposed.

And for some selfish reasons, Changbin had hoped you'd understand the reason behind his distance. But no woman could find a logical reason behind her lover being absent and it was horribly wrong for him to expect you to do the same.

"Are you stupid?" His friend, the eccentric dancer Minho had asked him.

Changbin had told him how coldly you'd behaved this afternoon when he'd asked you if you wished to try for a child. Most women would giggle and blush. But you were like a statue.

"You push her away for months and make her feel lonely and not loved and what not and you have the audacity to ask her that?"

"Well, yes. Mother had been pressuring me for a child and obviously, even with the pressure, I would never do anything that y/n would not have wanted but I thought it would be a great way to reconnect with her. Even if it didn't end in child making or whatever."

Minho let's out a frustrated groan, "You have to learn so much, Bin. But let's start with this- be honest with her. She's your wife and you ought to tell her everything. Give answers to all her questions and hold her hand if she let's you. Small steps first, a child can wait."

Changbin nods, " Okay, should I go to her right now?"

"Yes, you idiot!" Minho says, earning a slap on the arm from The King of Joseon.

He should be glad he's not being beheaded for calling the King an idiot.

*

You're almost done getting ready for bed when the lady in waiting makes an unexpected announcement .

"My lady, the King is here to see you."

Your heart leaps and the butterflies come alive again only to die down once you realise why he might be there. For a child. Isn't that why he's here? Isn't that why people get married in the first place?

"Y/n." He sighs when he enters the room, almost out of relief. He purses his lips.

"Is there anything I could help you with?" You ask.

Oh, how badly he'd hurt you. He could see the hurt in your eyes, in your voice, in your mannerisms.

"Y/n, I'm sorry. I really am. I know I have caused you pain and I cannot imagine how lonely it must have been. But I hope you know that I really do love you and only you."

"Then why the distance? Why visit Concubine Jung every night?" You ask, hands on your hips.

The tears that had left you threatened to return again.

And he tells you everything. From the conversation he overheard to how insistently Concubine Jung asked him for a child to how much solid proof he'd collected over the months and how he'd sent those evidences to the Minister of Security, who in turn ensured that by tomorrow the Jungs will out of the palace and be imprisoned for life.

It all makes sense to you now, of course it does. Yet you feel guilty. He'd been trying to protect you, all this while.

"I'm sorry, Changbin. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I only-"

"Don't apologize, y/n. It's me that should apologize. I should have somehow tried to contact you and tell you about everything. I'm-"

"No, no, Please. Don't. You only tried to protect me and-"

"No, y/n, it's all my fault, please-"

Somi overhears the entire conversation through the door, her mind finally relaxing after the misunderstanding had been solved between you and the King. She could no longer stand you being this sad. And she somehow knew King Changbin had his own reasons for his behavior.

She hears soft sounds of kissing through the door and takes it as a sign to move away from the door, and join the other maids waiting outside the palace door. She smiles to herself.

The butterflies burn with passion.

"I do not wish for a child this early. I want to be here like this with you for a while, just y/n and Changbin and maybe two or three years later, we could try for a child. What do you think?"

When he kissed you initially, you half expected this to end up in the bed. But it did. And you're glad it did.

The butterflies bloom more than ever.

You're wrapped in his arms, tightly. The nakedness no longer bothering the either of you.

"I agree. I want to be this close to you every night, not as a Queen or the mother of your child. But as y/n. As your wife."

Changbin draws his face closer to you, pecking you on the lips, "And so you shall, my love."

And so you shall.

[fireismine]

DAENERYS TARGARYEN APPRECIATION WEEK 2023

Day 6: House Targaryen → Targaryen Women + Love of Flying

Rhaenys the Conqueror

Rhaenys, youngest of the three Targaryens, was all her sister was not, playful, curious, impulsive, given to flights of fancy. No true warrior, Rhaenys loved music, dancing, and poetry, and supported many a singer, mummer, and puppeteer. Yet it was said that Rhaenys spent more time on dragonback than her brother and sister combined, for above all things she loved to fly. She once was heard to say that before she died she meant to fly Meraxes across the Sunset Sea to see what lay upon its western shores. Whilst no one ever questioned Visenya’s fidelity to her brother husband, Rhaenys surrounded herself with comely young men, and (it was whispered) even entertained some in her bedchambers on the nights when Aegon was with her elder sister. Yet despite these rumors, observers at court could not fail to note that the king spent ten nights with Rhaenys for every night with Visenya. - Aegon’s Conquest, Fire and Blood

Rhaena the Black Bride

At the age of nine, however, Rhaena was presented with a hatchling from the pits of Dragonstone, and she and the young dragon she named Dreamfyre bonded instantly. With her dragon beside her, the princess slowly began to grow out of her shyness; at the age of twelve she took to the skies for the first time, and thereafter, though she remained a quiet girl, no one dared to call her timid. Not long after, Rhaena made her first true friend in the person of her cousin Larissa Velaryon. For a time the two girls were inseparable…until Larissa was suddenly recalled to Driftmark to be wed to the second son of the Evenstar of Tarth. The young are nothing if not resilient, however, and the princess soon found a new companion in the Hand’s daughter, Samantha Stokeworth. - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

~

Princess Rhaena had many a suitor as well, but unlike her brother she gave encouragement to none of them. She preferred to spend her days with her siblings, her dogs and cats, and her newest favorite, Alayne Royce, daughter to the Lord of Runestone…a plump and homely girl, but so cherished that Rhaena sometimes took her flying on the back of Dreamfyre, just as she did her brother Aegon. More often, though, Rhaena took to the skies by herself. After her sixteenth nameday, the princess declared herself a woman grown, “free to fly where I will.” - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

Aerea Targaryen

Little and less need be said of the return of Rhaena Targaryen from Estermont after her daughter’s death. By the time the raven reached Her Grace at Greenstone, the princess had already died and been burned. Only ashes and bones remained for her mother when Dreamfyre delivered her to the Red Keep. “It would seem that I am doomed to always come too late,” she said. When the king offered to have the ashes interred on Dragonstone, beside those of King Aegon and the other dead of House Targaryen, Rhaena refused. “She hated Dragonstone,” she reminded His Grace. “She wanted to fly.” And so saying, she took her child’s ashes high into the sky on Dreamfyre, and scattered them upon the winds. - Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Their Triumphs and Tragedies, Fire and Blood

Alysanne Targaryen

The last years of Alysanne Targaryen were sad and lonely ones. In her youth, Good Queen Alysanne had loved her subjects, lords and commons alike. She had loved her women’s courts, listening, learning, and doing what she could to make the realm a kinder place. She had seen more of the Seven Kingdoms than any queen before or since, slept in a hundred castles, charmed a hundred lords, made a hundred marriages. She had loved music, had loved to dance, had loved to read. And oh, how she had loved to fly. Silverwing had carried her to Oldtown, to the Wall, and to a thousand places in between, and Alysanne saw them all as few others ever would, looking down from above the clouds. - The Long Reign: Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progeny and Pain - Fire and Blood

Alyssa Targaryen

The princess was seldom long away from the Dragonpit after that day. Flying was the second sweetest thing in the world, she would oft say, and the very sweetest thing could not be mentioned in the company of ladies. The Dragonkeepers had not been wrong; Meleys was as swift a dragon as Westeros had ever seen, easily outpacing Caraxes and Vhagar when she and her brothers flew together. - The Long Reign: Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progeny and Pain - Fire and Blood

Laena Velaryon

Though Princess Rhaenyra had been proclaimed her father’s successor, there were many in the realm, at court and beyond it, who still hoped that Viserys might father a male heir, for the Young King was not yet thirty. Grand Maester Runciter was the first to urge His Grace to remarry, even suggesting a suitable choice: the Lady Laena Velaryon, who had just turned twelve. A fiery young maiden, freshly flowered, Lady Laena had inherited the beauty of a true Targaryen from her mother, Rhaenys, and a bold, adventurous spirit from her father, the Sea Snake. As Lord Corlys loved to sail, Laena loved to fly, and had claimed for her own no less a mount than mighty Vhagar, the oldest and largest of the Targaryen dragons since the passing of the Black Dread in 94 AC. By taking the girl to wife, the king could heal the rift that had grown up between the Iron Throne and Driftmark, Runciter pointed out. And Laena would surely make a splendid queen. - Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession, Fire and Blood

~

The Hightowers of Oldtown were an ancient and noble family, of impeccable lineage; there could be no possible objection to the king’s choice of bride. Even so, there were those who murmured that the Hand had risen above himself, that he had brought his daughter to court with this in mind. A few even cast doubt on Lady Alicent’s virtue, suggesting she had welcomed King Viserys into her bed even before Queen Aemma’s death. (These calumnies were never proved, though Mushroom repeats them in his Testimony and goes so far as to claim that reading was not the only service Lady Alicent performed for the Old King in his bedchamber.) In the Vale, Prince Daemon reportedly whipped the serving man who brought the news to him within an inch of his life. Nor was the Sea Snake pleased when word reached Driftmark. House Velaryon had been passed over once again, his daughter, Laena, scorned just as his son, Laenor, had been scorned by the Great Council, and his wife by the Old King back in 92 AC. Only Lady Laena herself seemed untroubled. “Her ladyship shows far more interest in flying than in boys,” the maester at High Tide wrote to the Citadel. - Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession, Fire and Blood

Rhaenyra Targaryen

At the center of the merriment, cherished and adored by all, was their only surviving child, Princess Rhaenyra, the little girl the court singers dubbed “the Realm’s Delight.” Though only six when her father came to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen was a precocious child, bright and bold and beautiful as only one of dragon’s blood can be beautiful. At seven, she became a dragonrider, taking to the sky on the young dragon she named Syrax, after a goddess of old Valyria. At eight, the princess was placed into service as a cupbearer…but for her own father, the king. At table, at tourney, and at court, King Viserys thereafter was seldom seen without his daughter by his side. - Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession, Fire and Blood

Baela Targaryen

“She is overly fond of boys,” the castellan wrote Baela’s father, Prince Daemon, after that incident, “and should be married soon, lest she surrender her virtue to someone unworthy of her.” Even more than boys, however, Lady Baela loved to fly. Since first riding her dragon Moondancer into the sky not half a year past, she had flown every day, ranging freely to every part of Dragonstone and even across the sea to Driftmark. - The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Triumphant, Fire and Blood

Rhaena of Pentos

During the first quarter of 135 AC, two momentous events were the occasion of great joy throughout the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. On the third day of the third moon of that year, the people of King’s Landing woke to a sight that had not been seen since the dark days of the Dance: a dragon in the skies above the city. Lady Rhaena, at the age of nineteen, was flying her dragon, Morning, for the first time. That first day she circled once around the city before returning to the Dragonpit, but every day thereafter she grew bolder and flew farther. - The Lysene Spring and the End of the Regency, Fire and Blood

Daenerys Stormborn

Memories walked with her. Clouds seen from above. Horses small as ants thundering through the grass. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch. Rivers running bright and blue below, glimmering in the sun. Will I ever see such sights again? On Drogon's back she felt whole. Up in the sky the woes of this world could not touch her. How could she abandon that? - Daenerys X, A Dance with Dragons

~

Then all of that had faded, the sounds dwindling, the people shrinking, the spears and arrows falling back beneath them as Drogon clawed his way into the sky. Up and up and up he'd borne her, high above the pyramids and pits, his wings outstretched to catch the warm air rising from the city's sun baked bricks. If I fall and die, it will still have been worth it, she had thought. - Daenerys X, A Dance with Dragons

[passionateseadruid]

Snake king’s bride 7

Holiday Havoc part 1 of 2

CW: Swearing, religious topics, Violence, one mention of dub-con and more

Summary:

This chapter was brought to you by spite and Lucifer’s slutty waist and sluttier child bearing hips. Man needs to close his FUCKING LEGS!

Notes:

HEY REALLY QUICK IMPORTAINT NOTE: So in this chapter there's gonna be a lot of references to religion and a surprise and ONE mention of Dubcon at the end. If you are uncomfortable feel free to skip this chapter. If you want to skip the chapter but you want to see the surprise I’ll leave a note at the end.   Also sorry this took so long to get out, I was having a hard time getting inspiration for this and then my computer broke. And on top of that a good 30 minutes of work was Deleted! Fuck ao3

It's been a few weeks since you've met Fizzarolli. He hasn't Been able to find anything but you're hopeful because you'll actually get to see him again at the end of the week for the kings annual holiday party. To top it all off you haven't bought a single present for anyone (plus you're not even sure who it's appropriate to buy presents for).

But none of that is what you were concerned with right now. No, right now you have to convince the short blond idiot in front of you not to wear a green tree print tux embroidered top to bottom in tinsel, lights, and other decorations.

"First of all, you are NOT coming with me to my parents dinner-"

"Of course I am! I have to introduce myself to my new in-laws." He cuts you off playfully sticking out his forked tongue.

"I figured you'd overstep again." You sighed. "If that's the case then secondly you cannot wear that to this dinner. All of my brothers are gonna be there, plus Lilian is gonna be there. I want to make a good impression so that you don't kill them."

"Okay fine. What do you want me to wear?" He sighed. Under his happy exterior he was fairly nervous.

You went into his closet and looked through his clothes. "We also need to set up some ground rules. My entire family is veryreligious and while I'm no Mother Teresa I still don't want them to worry about me."

"Teresa was such a goodie two shoes. I observed her when she was alive and she was even more virtuous than anyone else makes her out to be." He sighed and looked toward the ground for a moment. "She... reminds me of someone I knew back in heaven. Or she did, but the angel I knew... changed"

"Really? You don't talk about your past much."

"...You said you had ground rules for me." Lucifer avoided your eyes as he changed the subject.

"Firstly, don't tell them anything about you being the devil; or about heaven or hell; oh or about our situation. Secondly, don't mention Charlie; I don't want them freaking out about you being billions of years older than me, or about the fact that you have a daughter whose old enough to be my sister."

"She's actually old enough to be your great grandma."

"And you don't find any problem with this relationship."

"Darling look I know that we're an... ahem... unusual couple but I can't go on without you. I'll do anything to have you." He cups your chin and forces a kiss.

"Rule three, you are not allowed to be overly sexual. I have four brothers and three of them have kids so no groping me and no talking about how you wanna diddle my holes in my sleep."

"That's disgusting, I wouldn't do that to you." He defended against your accusation. 

"Okay we should probably go over each of my family members and their jobs. I hope we'll have enough time to go over this and get them presents."

"Don't worry! We'll just give each of them $10,000."

"Hells currency isn't going to be valuable on earth.

"I know. But for all your protests towards my affection you sure seem to forget who I am. I'm the Devil darling. I have pretty much every politician in my pocket. Here check this out!" He pulled you away from the clothes and into a side room off of his bedroom. Never a good thing to have. He shows you a room that's mostly filled with carnival games. "Here I'll spin this wheel, you take a dart and throw it at them. Whoever it lands on I'll go have a little chat with."

"How about you do that and I'll go pick out something for you to wear." This was just too weird. "If you're absolutely serious we'll need 14 grand."

////////////////////////////////////////

About an hour later you two were sitting in the kitchen going over your family members. He wore the red sweater with a big duck plastered on the front and black pants you'd picked out. It was annoying having him matching your red sweater and floor length black skirt but nothing could be done about it considering the only other option was letting him dress like an idiot.

"Okay so my Mom’s name is Janice, she likes crafts. Dad's name is Dalton and he and my oldest brother Austin like to weld and woodwork. Austin is divorced and has only one girl, her name is Monika. Don't worry she's probably not gonna want to talk to anyone let alone you. My next oldest brother is Peter who's married to Margaret and they has twin boys named Christopher and Evan. Everyone calls Christopher CC though, since he likes that the best. The twins and their dad like rollercoasters and the batfam. Dallas is the brother I'm closest with and he is the epitome of middle child, very class clown type. He has two kids a boy names James and a girl named Missy. He lost his wife last year so don't don't bring it up okay? And finally my spoiled brother Michael. He's the youngest son, my mom's pride and joy. The golden boy, her favorite. Him and his Fiancée got married this summer in July. She despises me so whatever you do bite your tongue and be as nice as you can to her okay? The last thing I need is for Maggie to start crying."

"Golden boy Michael hits a bit to close to home for me." Lucifer looked away from you. Just anywhere away from your figure.

'Oh like that isn't your fault.' You thought, thankful that he couldn't read your mind. "Got all that?"

"Yep." He motions to a notepad that he wrote it all down on. "Quick question. What's the "BatFam"?"

"Bat family. Like Batman and all his robins. Here I should have a picture on my old phone of them last year trick or treating. Peter was Batman, Margaret was cat woman, Evan was Nightwing AKA Dick Grayson, and CC was the fifth robin, Damien Wayne."

"What about your old roommate?"

"Lilian moved in with her uncle when we were 14. He worked a lot to provide for her so she was left alone most holidays. I invited her over one year and she basically became part of the family. Are you ready to go? The fudge I made yesterday has probably settled by now."

"Yeah, let's go." He held out his hand. You took the fudge in your hands instead. He frowned and opened the portal. You both stepped through and found yourselves at your parents house. Lucifer knocked on the door and 

"Auntie!" James shouted from behind the CC who'd opened the door.

"Hi auntie!" CC smiled as the two boys hugged you.

"Hi boys! Let me get inside and put the fudge down." You smiled warmly, not noticing the short man behind you seething. Yes Lucifer knew how childish it was to be jealous of two young boys, and your nephews at that, but he couldn't help it. You smiled so warmly at them and you gave them the attention he so desperately craved.

You two walked in with the boys in toe. 

"How's my favorite baby sister?" Dallas asked as you set the fudge down on the counter and he picked you up to twirl you from behind. "Better not be doing the Devil’s Tango with that deviant." He teased quietly so only you heard him.

You giggled. "I'm doing fine."

"You better be! Do you know how worried we were when Lilian told us you ran away with your fiancé! None of us even knew you were engaged! Why didn't you tell us?" Austin pulled you out of Dallas's hold and squeezed your shoulders protectively.

"Her and I had a bit of a spur of the moment engagement. I mean if it feels right and they’re the one, why not tie the knot." Lucifer put his arm around your waist. "Hi, call me Lucy. Lucy Magne." He held out his other hand for either of your brothers to take. Austin takes his hand and his eyes widens when he feels the Devils cold black hand.

"Sorry. It's a skin condition. Very rare. Not hereditary."

"Uh huh." Austin looked suspiciously at him.

"Bestie!" Lilian runs up to you.

"Lilian hi! I- oof!” You were cut off by her hug.

"Why didn't you tell me you got a sugar daddy?" She whispered.

"A what?!" You blushed.

"Come on I'm not dumb. A man shows up in a clean white suit and asks about all the things you like. He says he wants to provide for you. It's so obvious it's painful."

"Well it's not as simple as that." You tried to explain but you were pulled away by your parents.

"Sweetheart! Where have you been? So much has happened in these past four months." Your mom hugged you. "I'm sorry mom. Things just happened and my life got kinda hectic."

"You're not pregnant are you?" She asked.

"What? No."

"Then why did you drop out of college? You practically fell off the face of the earth. You're only 19, you should live your life. You don't need to grow up so quickly. We already have 5 grandchildren, you don't need to rush into marriage and family life. You should enjoy being young."

"I know mom." 'But I don't really have a choice.' "Him and I aren't rushing in to anything like that though. He's just… passionate about me and kinda… clingy."

"Come on Janice. We raised our girl right. She knows not to run around with degenerates." Your father came up to you both and squeezed your mother’s shoulder reassuringly. "Hi pumpkin." He turned to you.

"Hi dad." You two hugged each other. He led you over to the dining table and sat you down next to Lucifer who was arm wrestling with Monika.

"Why you going easy on me, old man? Just cause I'm a girl?"

"Haha… hah…" He chuckled awkwardly. "Who is she Goliath? I wasn't going easy on her." He whispered to you.

You looked at Monika. "Suplex him next." You smiled towards her as Lucifer's face fell. "It's nice to see you off your phone for once Monika."

"I guess I'm in a holiday mood since it's nearly Christmas." Everyone eventually came over to the table to eat.

////////////////////////////////////////

After about an hour of talking with your siblings you heard crying coming from the playroom your parents built decades ago.

"Is anyone hurt? Did the bookshelf fall down on someone? Did the curtain rod smack someone on the head?"

"Your freaky Fiancé made Missy cry." Evan pointed at you accusingly as James held the tot in his arms.

"What did you do?" You asked Furiously.

"Nothing." He held his arms up defensively. "It was just some light teasing."

"He said the goat man was gonna eat me!" Missy sniffled. 

"What goat man?" You rubbed her cheeks, whipping her tears away.

"Krampus." James answered.

"I didn’t say he was gonna eat her. I said Krampus beats naughty children who don't share with their siblings." Lucifer explained.

"I didn't even want the stuffed moose that badly. I swear I didn’t Auntie."

You shushed James and turned to the Devil. "What is wrong with you?! Why would you think that’s okay to say to CHILDREN?!"

"Honey I-"

You ran your hand through your hair. "You know what? I want you out. I’ll see you tomorrow but right now I need to be alone."

"What…?" His eyes widened.

"Leave. You've caused enough commotion for my family. My brother Austin thinks you're a creep. My mom, Dallas, and Lilian all think you're a deviant. And now you're traumatizing my niece and Nephews."

He left out the back door and you explained the situation to your parents afterwards.

////////////////////////////////////////

"Okay seriously this guy’s bad news sis." Michael persuaded as you two sat on the couch. It's been almost an hour and things are starting to die down. You and your youngest older brother sat in the kitchen talking by the island. "Look I know we've never been super close but you're my favorite sister and I worry about you. Without you, I'd be the one they shirk responsibility of watching the kids onto."

You rolled your eyes. 'Of course.' "So what do you suggest I do now?"

"Dump him. It's not like you need to get married. I mean, come on. You? A wife? HA! No, you're not the marriage type."

"I suppose. The only problem is that I can't get this stupid ring off." You look away. He goes to the cabinet and pulls out some vinegar. He grabs your hand and pours a bit on your ring but it won't come off. He pulled and pulled but it still wouldn't come off.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING TO MY BRIDE?!" A distorted voice came from the Fireplace in the living room. Out stepped Lucifer back in his white suit with his top hat. His red horns popped out of his head, fire sprouting between them. Just like at the ball; only this time he sprouted a tail. He grabbed you and pulled you toward the fireplace.

"NO! LET ME GO!" You thrashed in his hold. In a Last ditch Effort you grabbed the crucifix hanging on the wall and said, "Matthew 10:14 Begone Satan!"

"Ow! First of all it only works if you say the whole thing. Secondly IM NOT HIM!!" He slapped the cross out of your hand and slapped you to the floor. "AND FINALLY YOU REMEMBER WHAT I SAID WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU EVER BROUGHT UP THAT BOOK AGAIN. HOW ABOUT I KILL YOUR FAMILY INSTEAD SO YOU LEARN NOT TO FUCK WITH ME- Ah!" You two were cut off by a shot ringing out throughout the house and your dad holding a smoking shotgun in the doorway. "FUCK YOU! THAT’S GONNA BRUISE LIKE A BITCH TOMORROW!!"

"NO NO NO, PLEASE PLEASE. I'll do anything you want but please don't hurt my family." You clung to his striped vest as hot, fat tears ran down your face. 

His cheeks flushed at the sight of you sobbing, begging on the ground. He bit his lip as he fantasized about all the things he could do to you here and now.

"Stop! His skin is turning red! You're making him angrier!" Michael called.

"Shut up you horse-shit eater! Ah!" He cried as your mom rushed in and sprayed him with holy water. A few places on him started to blister like a burn. A few on his right horn and arm and one on the shell of his ear.

"PLEASE! ILL DO ANYTHING!" You begged, wrapping your arms around his small waist.

"I'll spare them if you vow to never contact them again. And I get to do whatever I want to you tonight."

"Deal!"

"NO!" Several members of your family shout. He envelopes your hand as a fiery illusion overtakes both of your hands and he pulls you into the fireplace.

Notes:

Yep, your dad has a shotgun now! Yay?j

[aphroditesmoon]

Replaceable [part 1]

jacaerys velaryon x reader

part 2

(no use of y/n, reader's house is not stated)

summary: After your twin sister decides to run away weeks from her wedding to the prince and heir to the throne, Jacaerys Velaryon, you are left with no choice but to step in her place.

A/N: English is not my first language + I've only watched hotd and not game of thrones so forgive me if my facts are wrong!

°°°

'Do not make the same mistake as your sister' those were the words constantly reminded to you by your mother 2 weeks from your sudden wedding ceremony.

Your twin sister have always preferred women, another thing you two have in difference besides your looks and contrasting personality.

You had expected her to rebel againts the wedding in some sort of way, perhaps by taking a lover behind everyone's back, but still doing her duty, but once again she has suprised everyone by making a decision so dishonorable to your house's name.

With the ongoing war againts the greens, putting the Queen Rhaenyra and her supporters on edge, they can't afford to lose the support of your father's troops, and your father too, refuse to give such support without any benefits on his side.

So here you were, to take your sister's place as the bride of prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

you are not that familiar with him if you are honest, your sister had the common courtesy to interact with him decently during their courting, but only out of respect and duty, and you were never one to force yourself to the company of others, preferring to hide in your twin's shadow, away from all the politicking and unnecessary drama.

Though you'd prefer to leave all's company, you were not a brat, you know it is your duty to make effort and clean up the mess left by your sister. So here you were with your respective parents, having dinner with the queen's family. You were seated next to the prince, though neither of you had acknowledge eachothers presence, not out of disrespectful but out of awkwardness.

"I would like to start off with acknowledging that while the circumstances of this betrothal has been quite a chaotic arrangements, I do not hold grudge against you, my Lord, or your daughters, I am sure lady [name] will be a fine wife and future queen to my son, and I could not hope for a more well mannered and lovely daughter in law", The queen Rhaenyra spoke as she stood up from her seat. you offer her a sweet smile and decided to offer her a low thank you.

You can see the Jace glancing at you from your side, only a minute before he turns back to his food completely silent to everyone.

Your father has offered his thanks to the Queen and the king consort and expressed his apologies again for your sister's behavior, quickly waved away from the queen, reassuring your family that no offense was taken and what matters is the next step to take.

The whole night, conversations around the dinner table was carried by the adults, the children all sat quietly, awkwardness filling in, not that you can blame any of them, especially Jace. You can't imagine the confusion and grief he must be feeling, from losing his brother a month ago, to being left by his betrothed, and of course the pressure of his family's life and throne being at risk.

If you can't give him the wife he wants, you'd at least give him a wife he could tolerate.

"...is more of [name]'s specialty more than mine" you were brought back to reality hearing your name mentioned by your mother in her conversation with the queen and king consort. "hm?" reflexively you responded.

"oh is that so? I am quite the admirer of old valyria history myself, I must have you quizzed on it over tea if I do say so" the queen teased offering a beautiful smile.

catching up on what was being discussed, you let out a shy laugh. "my mother boasts, my queen. I only know what I was taught by the septas, though I admit I am quite fascinated by the subject of history, my knowledge of it is not extraordinary of any sort" you're own easiness in the way you talked gave you a boost of confidence, as your parents too, you noted, as they gave you a proud smile.

The queen waved off your denial, "nonsense, you are being too humble I'm sure". you chuckle at the compliment not knowing how to respond, not used to them being thrown at you. "though it is good you favor history, Jace also prefers it over other things to learn, I'm sure that's something you could bond over!" she continued smiling and glancing encouragingly at her son who hasn't said a word the whole evening.

All eyes were on him, expecting some sort of answer. He let out a small cough and slowly nodded his head, as if only realizing he's still here. "ah- um, yes, that's right" he offered a small forced smile that barely lasted a second in your way and stared back down at the table.

you truly cannot tell if it's the nerves that is making so unsociable, his grief, or simply a strong sense of uninterest towards you. You would understand if it's the latter, though you can't deny it'd still wound you abit, if it were the case.

Feeling a bit bold from your early conversation with the queen, you decided to try your luck with him too. "oh is that so? I have also heard you are quite fluent in high valyrian, my prince, perhaps a lesson or two to offer my humble self, some time soon?" You ask with a smile.

He raised his eyebrows, "Fluent? oh now it seems it's my mother who boasts my lady, I am still in the learning of it, though I have improved much, and of course, if you wish, I would love nothing more than to teach you" his nerves seemed to calm down a bit as he smiles kindly at you.

You feel a sense of pride in your accomplishment of this small interaction, you can't exactly say you were good with people, but after years of observing your sister and he ways, you knew a thing or two you'd say.

You understand the circumstances of this betrothal was not the most convenient, but you would try to make the best of it, if not fit yourself than for the unfortunate prince.

[stardustand-pearls]

Stay?

Peter Pevensie x reader

Masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I sat in the garden, picking at my nails, a habit my mother despised. I had just found out that I was betrothed to High King Peter, something that I had suspected for a while now. My siblings had all wed, leaving me as the only unmarried member of my family. The kingdom, once under my father's domain, now thrived under my eldest brother's rule, granted to him upon his marriage with Lady Eleanor of Galma.

I was brought back to reality by my mother's voice. "Y/N!" My mother called out. Startled, I quickly rose and gathered my skirts, going to meet my mother. "What is it, Mother?" I ask, slightly breathless. "Are you prepared?" She asks me, standing with her hands firmly planted on her hips. I meet her eyes, my brows furrowed. "Prepared for what?" I questioned, fidgeting with my dress. With a scoff, my mother acted as though the answer was obvious. "For our trip to Narnia, of course. What else?"

I sat in my carriage, once again picking at my nails whilst idly looking out the window. I passed beautiful scenery, something I couldn't fully appreciate at the moment. "Stop that!" My mother scolded, a deep frown etching her face. "Stop what?" I responded, my face mirroring her expression. "Stop picking at your nails! I lothe that filthy habit. A proper bride would not do such a thing." She sneered.

I firmly place my hands in my lap, biting my lip as an attempt to settle my nerves. The rising anxiety was undeniable. What if King Peter did not care for me? What if he takes one look at me and decided to call off the wedding? With a sigh, I push all those feelings away for now, deciding that dwelling will only make things worse.

After many hours, we finally arrive at Cair Paravel. Peering out the window, my eyes widen in surprise. While I'd heard of this castles breathtaking reputation, I didn't expect this. It wasn't overly decorated with gold, and huge monuments, it was beautiful in it's simplicity.

I open the carriage door, gathering my skirts and jump out. I grab my bags, whilst my mother chooses a different approach, allowing the servants to manage her belongings. While I could have done the same, it wouldn't have felt right, not when I can carry them myself.

When I've placed my bags in my chambers, I look around. It was quite different from my chambers at home, but not necessarily in a bad way. A little while later, I decided that some fresh air would do me good. I look around for my mother, but she is nowhere to be found. Slowly, I make my way to the garden, looking at all the different flowers.

At the sound of a twig snap, I quickly spun around. I saw a tall man, with messy hair that fell into his blue eyes, he wore simple clothing. I recognised him from somewhere, but I couldn't put my finger on where I'd seen him before. "I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, milady." He said, bowing slightly. I offered a slight curtesy back, not knowing whether he was royal or just a stable boy. "Oh, it's alright, I am just exploring the garden. If you don't mind me asking, what is your name?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. A hint of mischief flashes in his eyes. "I'm no one whose name concerns you, miss." I give him a slight smile, but my mind couldn't help but wonder, who is this mysterious man? He grins at me before offering me a goodbye. He took my hand in his and pressed his lips against it. "Untill we see again, milady." I have no time to respond, for he is gone within seconds.

When I get back to my chambers, I decide on taking a bath. I let Clara, my maid, know. I sit down on my bed, I slowly unravel my braid, thoughts of the man in the gardens lingering. But, alas, there is no rime to dwell. Clara enters the room with some hot water, and fills up my bath. I smile and give a silent thanks before climbing into the water. Clara leaves the room, and I'm left alone with my thoughts until the water turns cold, prompting me to get up and wrap myself in a towel.

As I'm drying off, Clara re-enters the room. "Which dress today, miss?" Clara asks, opening my chest. "The blue one, please. And Clara, I've told you countless of times, call me Y/N." I say, feeling a smile tug at my mouth. "And I've told you countless of times: no." Clara responds, holding up my blue dress, smiling at me. I laugh slightly and nod in acknowledgement. I put on my chemise and Clara assits me with my corset. I must have put a corset on hundreds of times, but I'd never get used to it. Suddenly, my mother enters. "Ah, there you are, my dear. You're scheduled to meet High King Peter in... oh, just fifteen minutes," she informs me, a gleeful smile on her face. "Clara, please tighten her corset." I shoot a disapproving look at my mother, but before I can protest, Clara tightens my corset, apologizing, "Sorry, miss," with a sympathetic smile. I pull my blue dress over my head and leave with my mother.

As we make our way to King Peters study, I wipe my hands om my dress. The nerves that I had repressed sudden made themselves known. My mother and I make our way to his study before Peter, and we wait. "Stand straight, dear." My mother comments, frowning slightly. I sigh but comply. Just as I turn, a familiar face catches my eye—the man from the garden! My initial smile fades into confusion as I notice his regal attire. I blush, realizing my embarrassing mistake in addressing High King Peter as a commoner before. As he approaches, I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the encounter.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A/N:

Thank you for reading! English is not my first language, so I hope that this is alright! This is the first part of a series I plan on doing. If you liked it, please leave a like. :))

[sisterofsomeone]

Till Death Do Us Part

Chapter 1/?

Summary: On a wedding day in Baldur’s Gate, a marriage is sealed with a sanctified bond. A powerful magic that allows your minds to meld and cannot ever be undone. It is also required to share your darkest secret for the bond to be bestowed. There is a common myth passed around that once, a very long time ago, a woman was tricked into marriage by a demon of sorts and only found out when they wed. Every wedding at that moment the room falls silent, waiting for another scream, another myth making secret to be revealed. You just never thought you would be witness to it.

Series Warnings: Wonwoo x fem!reader, slight Seokmin x fem!reader (because I can't help myself), established relationship/situationship, angst, fluff, swearing, drinking, smoking, there are references to end game BG3 and spoilers for the whole game so please proceed with caution! smut MDNI 18+, unprotected sex, pet names (baby girl, pretty girl, princess), oral sex (male and female receiving), breeding kink, slight daddy kink, size kink, reader has a vagina that gets described as a pussy/cunt, slight dub-con for a second then clear consent, (more will be added as the series goes on!)

Word count: 3.5K

Author's note: Hello again! I was originally going to write this as a oneshot, but I just kept writing and writing and felt that I really wanted to try and flesh this world out. So, it's becoming a series! I cannot promise regular updates as I am in my final year of university, and start back up at my graduate job in september, but I am really enjoying writing this so I'm aiming for at least once a month, but maybe more. I do also have another series in the works which I want to post soon as well, so keep on the lookout for that one! I’ve never written anything like this before so bear with me if it’s not very good! Please enjoy, I really do hope this is entertaining for you, and have a wonderful day/afternoon/evening! Lots of love, Caitlin <3

This is a work of fiction and in no way is meant to represent the actions, ideals, or attitude of the idol Jeon Wonwoo.

Baldur’s Gate. The jewel of the Sword Coast. Granted, you never knew there was supposedly a dragon sleeping under the city before the invasion, but still. A wonderful place to live. Life here was easier for someone like you, the eldest daughter of the Apothecary Merchant. Father had spent most of the money he made to dress you in the finest of clothes, hire chefs to teach you to make the finest of meals, and ensure you were surrounded by the best trained ladies in waiting possible. Status meant everything to him, and you knew you had to marry up to please him. Being the eldest of three girls, you were schooled in house making, cooking, mathematics, business, politics- anything and everything that would endear you to one of the knowledgeable and wealthy bachelors your father was hoping to wed you to. Your younger sisters however were afforded the luxury to follow their throws of passion and learn dance, music, or geography to teach and travel. You didn’t much care for home making, your fascination with the foul words in other languages usually left your tutor giggling after you begged her to teach you them. You were smart, quick with numbers and well versed in politics and business. It was something your father loved about you. The daughter that would lift them even higher in status. You were his political pawn.

You were with your mathematics tutor when she burst through the door. Your mother, her face flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly with her heavy breaths.

“The- The King wants you to attend the ball.” She spoke. “The ball for the princes to choose their brides. He has called for you specifically.”

“Oh?” You didn’t so much as look away from your work, still toying away with the problems in front of you.

“Yes! Oh Gods girl, what are we to do with you?” Your tutor excused himself as your mother swanned towards the large windows. She was as dramatic a woman as you had ever met, and you loved her for it. Turning to face you, her dress billowed, and it struck you yet again how beautiful she was. You knew she used to be the catch; the young daughter of a cattle farmer swept into the Sword Coast by her wild fancies and taking Baldur’s Gate by storm. She married your father in a rather quickly arranged match, both being only 21 and your bump already starting to show through her clothes. She had always held a special place in your life, and the closeness in age only solidified your bond.

“You’re to help me avoid it. You know I want nothing to do with the royal family.” You raised an eyebrow, smirk playing on your lips as you turned another page in your book.

“It’s such a shame. You should go, if not for yourself but for me. It says and family and you know how much your sisters and I would love it!” Her fingers danced across the edge of the paper, twirling the red silk ribbon that used to hold the envelope closed as she read and reread the words.

“You know, there must be a specific reason they invited you. I heard only four girls and their families were invited specifically by name.” He voiced wavered, tone light, eyes meeting yours with that twinkle you knew meant trouble. Sometimes it felt like you were the parent in this.

“Will I need a new dress?” With that she squealed and swept you into her arms.

“Oh darling! You are going to love this!” Untangling her arms from around you she ran from the room and to the staircase.

“Girls! Darling! Come downstairs, your sister has an announcement!”

It was dark outside when you were finally allowed to rest. Your mother had dragged you and your sisters around every tailor in the city, eventually settling on a beautiful, glittered gown from the Facemaker’s that made it look like you were dripping in starlight. Your sisters marvelled at you, them seemingly more excited for your prospects than you were. As you stood before the full-length mirror, watching the way light danced across the dress you caught your own breath. You stood tall, the shimmering fabric laying against your body as if made solely for you. Your face now seemingly had the allure you always attributed to your mother, the colour of your eyes mirroring her own beautiful hue. It was the first time you felt a fraction as beautiful as her. That’s why you let your mother buy the dress, but you’d never tell her that.

The evening was warm as you took a book from the library and made your way to the balcony. Lighting the lamp on the table you slipped yourself onto the velvet covered seat and pulled the small blanket around your legs, hiking them up to your chest. It was here you sat, absorbed in the words of scholars until a small cough caught your attention. This was routine at this point, so you put your book down and pulled yourself from the seat, dangling a hand over the railing in front of you before leaning your head over. The man clasped your hand and smiled up at you.

It had all been an accident, you meeting Seokmin and Wonwoo. You weren’t supposed to be walking unescorted to Sorcerers’ Sundries, well technically you weren’t supposed to be walking there at all, but what Father didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. You had stopped but for a moment to watch the magic show at the front entrance when you felt a hand dip into your pockets. You grasped their wrist and turned, only to be met with a small child.

“I’m-I’m so sorry miss, please let me go.” The tiny tiefling looked terrified, eyes wide and lower lip trembling. Immediately you dropped your guard, gaze softening and grip on their arm loosening.

“Child, no need to be scared I won’t call the Fists. But let’s not go picking anymore pockets hm?” They nodded, thanking you as they scurried away. Thats when you heard the laughter. Two tall men, eyes dark and trained directly on you and the scurrying child.

“What are you two laughing at huh?” The slightly broader one cocked an eyebrow at you, and the other pointed behind you. There you saw the scared tiefling, not so scared anymore as them and their friend – who you hadn’t noticed until now – were poking their tongues out at you as they waved a purse above their heads.

“That’s mine!” You shouted as they hurried off, tails wagging and giggles filling the dark streets.

“You fell for that hook line and sinker.” One of the hooded men let a plume of smoke escape his lips and curled them into a smile. “Are you new here or something?”

“No, no. Look at her, she’s a sheltered little princess I bet.” The other said, closing the distance between you and him. You finally got a good look at him. Dark eyes, golden tanned skin, a smile spread across his face that lit a fire in your stomach. He leaned down, face now only inches from yours. “Such a sheltered little princess, aren’t you?” There was an earthiness to him, a woody smell that danced under a zesty citrus. This was no commoner’s perfume.

“Who are you?”

Wonwoo’s eyes shone from below you on the balcony, that same smile lighting that spark deep in your soul. He was intelligent, worldly, but most of all, he was kind. He climbed up the balcony as usual, pulling you into his embrace and kissing you. It was hot, fiery and passionate. It always felt like he was swallowing you whole, devouring every part of you. He pushed you backwards, lowering you into the plush of the loveseat as his body covered your own. His mouth never left yours, tongue playing against your bottom lip as you gave him entrance. He moaned, fingers running through your hair and pulling, revealing the length of your neck to him. He kissed down it, careful not to leave any marks as he did so.

“My beautiful girl, my pretty girl.” His lips left a searing trail down to your chest, his hands trailing down your sides, bunching up your dress to reach your core.

“Wonwoo, baby, we can’t. Not tonight.” It was almost useless, his lips never stopped working against your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse point. “Wonwoo, baby.” A whine left him that had a throb course through your body and set that flame burning.

“Don’t tell me to stop baby please.” He kissed you again, hands never stopping their assault on you. “Please don’t tell me I can’t play with my pretty girl’s pretty pussy.” His eyes darkened, teeth bit down harder, and you could almost feel the punctures from his canines.

“This pretty pussy has been invited to the King’s ball. This pretty pussy might have just been sold off by her ever-scheming father.” He stalled at this, hands stopping their assault and mouth leaving your skin.

“What?” His eyes were trained on yours as you swallowed thickly.

“We got the invitation today. Gods know how he did it. But he did.” Wonwoo moved off you, settling into the space beside you.

“Are you happy? With the idea I mean?” You let out a short laugh, cold and harsh.

“Happy? Why would I be happy? No one has ever seen them, been allowed near them, and what? I’m supposed to marry one of them. Be used as breeding stock. Finally put all this stupid training to use.” He laughed softly from beside you.

“You think this is funny? My life being sold off to the highest bidder and you laugh?”

“No! No, it’s not like that I promise.” His arms were around you again, pulling you into his chest. “I think there’s more to this than you know. Go to the party. You might be pleasantly surprised that’s all.” His lips were on yours again. “And no matter what happens, I’ll never let anyone else touch you the way I do.”

The morning broke through your curtains and the man beside you stirred. His chest was warm beneath your cheek as you kissed the arm draped around you.

“Darling, you must go before we get caught. Again.” He groaned, rolling the pair of you over, trapping you beneath him. That smile was back, softly lit by the warm glow of the sun pouring in through the windows. “Wonwoo, baby please.” His lips were soft against yours, pouring love into you like there was no tomorrow. His fingertips danced across your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He rolled his hips into you, want evident at the broken gasp that left his lips. “Wonwoo baby.” You moaned out, fingers moving to his shoulder blades. He rolled his hips again, the slickness of your cunt allowing for him to rock smoothly and bump his cockhead into your clit. “Wonwoo, we can’t.” But your body gives you away, the roll of your hips as you shake beneath him has him lining up instantly.

“Princess, say no right now and I won’t do it. But say yes and I’ll give you a baby. I’ll fuck you so full it has no option but to stick. You’ll be mine.” Your lips chased his as you nodded frantically against him.

“Yes Wonwoo, yes yes yes.” He pushed in, cock stretching you as you raked your nails down his back. His thrusts were deep, angling his hips to hit that spot inside of you.

“My princess wants a baby yeah? Wants me to fuck her full?” He growled into your ear, hips smashing into yours.

“Please, wanna make you a daddy.” You purred back. His hand snaked between your bodies, fingers rubbing circle after circle into your swollen clit as you arched up into him. He never stopped kissing you, never stopped whispering praise into your mouth as you came around him.

“Please Wonwoo, want you to fill me up. Please.” You dug your nails into his skin, drawing a hiss from him. He’s panting, sweat lining his forehead as he thrust into you again and again, bringing you to orgasm over and over until you couldn't take it anymore. He pushes you over the edge again and again, having you crying his name into his mouth over and over as you beg for him to finish in you, mark you as his.

But he doesn’t. He pulls out as he always does and finishes onto your thigh. It’s over then, the light shifting to a cold blue as the sun shifts behind a cloud. He moves away from you, gathering his clothes and dressing.

“When will I see you again?” He pauses, eyes meeting your own.

“You won’t see me like this for a while. At least, not this version of me.” You don’t know what that means, but he doesn’t give you any time to ask as he kisses you again so softly. His hand caresses your face, thumb rubbing your cheek as a tear falls from his face and onto yours. “But you will see me again, I promise.” As he pulls away, he places a final kiss on your forehead before stepping back towards your balcony. You let him go like you always do, but not without that horrible hole ripping through your chest.

The night of the ball drew closer, and there was no sign of Wonwoo or his brother. You were alone. The lessons ramped up, your father wanting there to be no chance of failure. You were his pawn, and he was so ready to make that final check. Your mother tried to get through the walls you put up, your sisters gushed every day about how lucky you were, how you were going to have the life of your dreams. But you weren’t. You wouldn’t be with Wonwoo. Wouldn’t be able to kiss him again, wouldn’t be able to hold him. You’d never be able to make him a dad.

“Your invitation madam?” Your mother was positively glowing with excitement, your sisters each hanging off one of your arms, you suspect to stop you from running. Your mother presents the invitation, and the guard cocks an eyebrow. “Please, this way for special guests.” You were escorted towards a separate entrance, a large pair of white wooden doors beset by giant boars on each side. The doors were parted for you, and the entrance was the most beautiful you’d ever seen. You were ushered inside, your sisters gasping and pointing at the artwork lining the walls. But your eyes were drawn to the three other girls.

“They’re your competition child.” Your father pulled you aside from your sisters and scanned you from head to toe. “But you’ve got a brain to best all of them. Be smart, be strong. Be the girl I raised you to be.” You glanced back over to them. Each one you knew to be a member of one of the aristocracies, as you were. You vaguely remember having a run in with the half-elf, but if she remembered you, she gave nothing away in the cold gaze she returned.

“If everyone is now here?” A voice sounded from the stairs above you. Your eyes followed where it was coming from, and the woman you saw standing there was the most beautiful you had ever seen. Dark eyes, with even darker hair cascading down her back that held soft curls that bounced as she began to walk towards you all. You had never seen this woman before, but something pulled at you from your stomach as if you recognised her.

“You are all chosen specifically by the princes themselves. My sister's sons wouldn’t allow for our intervention, so feel very lucky. Some of you would never have made it this far.” Her eyes fell on you at this, and your father bristled beside you. “Now, if you’ll follow me.” She sauntered towards the large doors across the marbled floors. You moved to follow the queen's sister, silently cursing yourself for not recognising her as your legs pulled you along before your brain could think of a reason to turn and run. She demanded that the girls line up, manhandling you all into a line with you left on the end. Your families were to follow along behind, and not say a word.

There was a commotion behind the doors, music filled whatever room you were about to be ushered into and laughter and conversations could barely be heard through these giant doors. You tried to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles of your dress, hands moving on their own as you chewed on your bottom lip.

There was a moment of silence before the doors swung open, and an even longer moment of silence when all the eyes in the ballroom fell upon you. Your gaze flitted from person to person, not a single face you couldn’t put a name to. Families with daughters much better suited for this match burned holes into your skull from jealousy. You were standing there, with the whole world at your fingertips and their daughter wasn’t.

You were ushered down the steps before you, the sea of people parting as the four of you made your ways forward. Your eyes were on the floor as you had been instructed to do so, never for a second daring to look upon the men sitting at the other end of the ballroom.

“This is the half-elf Carmae of the Boat Merchant.” You were right about recognising her then.

“This is the high elf Dauphine of the Gold Merchant.” You heard her light steps, the small “Hello sirs.” that sounded so beautiful falling from her lips as she greeted the men.

“This is the wood elf Avalynne of the Cloth Merchant.” You were next.

“This is the human Y/n of the Apothecary Merchant.” You stepped forward, curtseying as you were taught, eyes moving up to acknowledge the men before you.

“Hello sirs-“ Those eyes. That smile. Wonwoo sat before you, hand rested on his chin as he surveyed you. You felt a churning in your stomach as you let your eyes fall upon Seokmin beside him. His soft curls sat upon his head as he smiled ever so softly at you.

“We can now begin.” The music started up again as the crowd of people swallowed you up. Your sisters beamed at you as people swarmed you. They wanted to know where you got your dress “The Facemaker.” You politely replied. Who did your hair? “My mother wanted to.” You smiled at them. You were pulled from conversation to conversation. Every family wanted a piece of you. But your mind was back on Wonwoo. Your heart calling out to him across the floor.

His eyes followed you, dark and cold like you’d never seen them before.

“Wonwoo, calm down. She’s yours I’m not going to take her.” Seokmin leant over to his older brother, giggling slightly at the older man’s demeanour.

“I know you’re not. But they might.” He followed his brother’s gaze to the men being introduced to you by their fathers. “It seems like being the prince’s chosen gives a girl a certain…” His eyes scanned the crowd of men now surrounding you. Your father ever so keen to get you introduced to as many of them as possible. You were trying to be amicable, that soft smile on your face hiding the discomfort you felt. The burn of jealousy coursed through his veins as he watched you laugh and smile at these fools. If only they knew what he’d done to you, the noises he could pull from you with just his tongue or fingers. The way you beg him to cum in you, the tears in your eyes as he fucks you through another orgasm. You’d be too much for those idiots, they couldn’t make you feel how he did. Couldn’t make your body react the way he did.

“The princes will now have their first dance with each of the chosen.” Wonwoo and Seokmin stood, and the floor was cleared again. You finally found yourself walking back towards the man who held your heart in his hands and smiled. Wonwoo noticed that it finally reached your eyes.

“It is lovely to meet you Y/n.” He placed a soft kiss against the back of your hand.

“It is my honour sir.” You smiled even wider this time as he drew you closer as the music began.

“I hope you’re a good dancer.” He flashed you that dazzling smile once more as the music began up again.

“I hope you are too sir.” You felt the flush creep up your cheeks as the two of you started to dance. Your eyes glued to his as he led you across the floor, his never once leaving yours. You finally got what he meant that morning. While this was a surprise, you’d help him play the part for as long as it took to get your Wonwoo back.

[saetgvia]

spark | wriothesley

in which you and wriothesley find an unlikely spark.

CHAPTER TWO: ARRANGED

prince!wrio x fem!noble!reader, invented country au

✧ genre: fluff, angst...? maybe...? if you squint...?, arranged marriage trope

✧ tw: usage of damn, if you see anything else lmk <3

✧ word count: 456 words (i'm SO SORRY EWOIHSFOSDL)

✧ playlist: spark - taeyeon, radio - lana del rey, deja vu - txt, darl+ing - seventeen, invu - taeyeon, agora hills - doja cat, killin' me good - jihyo, i like you (a happier song) - doja cat & post malone, fever - enhypen, eleven - ive, hype boy - newjeans, hard to love - rose, sour grapes - le sserafim, oh my god - adele, my head & my heart - ava max, nonsense - sabrina carpenter, the feels - twice, might as well - wayv

✧ pre-reading note: yo uh there might be inconsistencies between this chapter and the last one, the idea for some of this came AFTER the publishing of the prev chapter so uh yeah!

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ii. arranged

He strides in, holding a pot of tea on an ornate silver tray that gleams in the warm light.

'Oh, no!' the queen chuckles. 'He's our teaboy. He quite likes to dress up, my ladies in waiting tell me he's quite the charmer.' You let out a shaky breath. You like the queen, she's sweet and seems to have an excellent relationship with her people. The king, too, is nothing but jovial. If you're to marry Wriothesley, at least his family is nice, and the rumours say he is too.

'No, that's Wriothesley.'

He's more ethereal than you ever could have thought. Ebony hair streaked through with silver and wearing a grey suit accented with a crimson tie, he was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. His smile, radiant enough to light up the whole kingdom, and his sweet dimples that just made him seem all the more handsome. Black studs glinted in both of his ears, giving off the impression of someone tough, but with that grin you couldn't see him as anything other than the sweetheart everyone said he was. And he's walking over to you. Uh-oh.

He takes a seat next to you on the couch, chuckling softly and aplogising for being late. He looks even more ravishing from here, and as he turns to you, you quickly turn around, suddenly very interested in your tea.

'Hello darling. Thought I was going to have to remind you to close your mouth.'

The side eye you give him was devastating. He snickers quietly at your switch up, then speaks in a rich, deep tone.

'Mother, Father, Queen Eliana, King Richard. May I take me bride-to-be on a little walk?'

Your mother giggles daintily, and your father nods his approval. As quickly as he sat down, Wriothesley stands back up and offers you a gloved hand. You take it, and your mother shoots you a glance that's both a warning and a knowing smirk at the same time.

'Shall we?'

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The garden is absolutely dreary. Winter has hit Emeia hard, and the leaves have abandoned the fingers of the trees which arch longingly for summer. Icy white roses still bloom in early winter, and you admire their sweet aroma as you stroll around the path with Wriothesley. He's surprisingly easy to talk to, and you find yourself laughing a lot more than you thought you would, ladylike manners and covering your mouth be damned. It starts getting dark and the cold caress of the breeze makes you shiver. Wriothesley, being the gentleman he is, notices, and offers you his coat.

'No, I'm okay thanks. I think we should head inside then. And... thanks for tonight, Wrio.'

He smiles.

'Wrio, huh? I like that name.'

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a/n: i am so so sorry that this is insanely short but i'm running low on motivation :/ i promise i'll get more out soon even if there's a bunch of short parts pls don't hate me :P

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taglist: @reimiiko, @whiskey-19

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please like and reblog my work! tumblr relies on reblogs to function, so help my work be seen by more people <3 my spark taglist and overall is now open, drop an ask if you want to be added! just specify which one.

© saetgvia 2024. do not copy or repost.

[dreambigdreamz]

On Our Own | Éomer Éadig (part three)

Summary : The wedding night.

Rating : M, oral + consummation

Word count : 8,776

Author’s note : ahehehe. I have never written anything smut and rarely write anything physical-romance beyond eye-contact and that sends me into agony 😣 I know this doesn’t do anyone or anything enough justice. But I tried. Next up, our newly wedded King and Queen of the Mark has their first marital quarrel <3 Elfwine will simply have to wait until these two can sort their feelings out and that might take some time.

Part One Part Two

Hope you enjoy.

The ladies-in-waiting were getting Lothíriel ready for her first shared night with her husband, while Éomer was having to undergo a further round of backslapping ribaldry before his friends and companions escorted him to her door. The Princess had a heavy mind and was apt to drift away into distant thoughts but she did not let it show that the silence hung gloomy around the bride on her wedding night.

“He liked you,” one of the young women said as they were brushing out her hair. “He watched you very closely, he liked you.”

“And why should he not?” she asked back with the instinctive arrogance of a girl who was delighted with the result of her best efforts.

“Then, why were you ever nervous this morning about whether he would like you or not?”

Lothíriel only smiled sheepishly, looking at the mirror in front of her with a flutter in her stomach that reminisced again the rare smiles on the King’s face that had turned everything around for the wedding day. And she was immensely grateful for it.

But the day was over and night had set in, and what to say but that Lothíriel felt a new kind of dread?

She was then quietly put into her nightdress and her dark hair plaited by her ladies; Lady Saelwen kissed her good-night and gave her a mother’s blessing.

“Good-night, princess. Or rather,” Lady Saelwen looked up from her curtsey with a glow of matronly pride and smile on her face, “Queen Lothíriel.”

Lothíriel gave a slow nod, giving a small smile in return. It would seem she was trying to repress a beam of childish delight, already donning the grace and propriety of a queen — but rather, it was the nervous thump-thump in her chest that made her smile come out uncertain.

“Lady Saelwen,” the Princess — the Queen of Rohan — turned round to speak decidedly to the woman as the ladies were retreating towards the door. “A word, if you have a moment.”

The other ladies-in-waiting all looked with apprehension. There was an underlying tremor in the way the princess had ordered, and they were only too curious to know what she would have to say to Lady Saelwen now. But Lothíriel saw them standing around, and said coolly, “The rest of you may leave.”

Once the ladies had departed and only Lady Saelwen remained, Lothíriel stood up and walked briskly to her. The older lady waited patiently, though there was a look in her eyes that prompted the princess to voice anything she might have to say. After a few moments of silence while she processed her words and emotions, Lothíriel blurted out with as much self-command as she could,

“I do not know what I am supposed to do. I have tried to ask everybody I could, and nobody has told me what exactly I am supposed to do.” The words came out of her, first a bit composed and steady, but then increasing in speed as her vexation grew obvious and her trepidation took over, fidgeting with her hands and the strings on the front of her nightdress as she continued, “My mother says everything will happen by and by; but that is vague, and actually does not answer the question at all if you think about it, really. My aunt — oh Valar — my aunt says all that I need to do is obey my husband and make sure I do not sully our family’s honour in no way. Whatever in Middle-earth is that supposed to mean? What does she mean?”

At this point, Lothíriel was almost talking to herself incessantly, her voice growing wobbly with each word that formed from her anxious mind. Her eyes finally fixed on Lady Saelwen and with a regained composure and determination, Lothíriel said, “You must tell me. You must tell me everything.”

Up till then Lady Saelwen had observed the princess mildly and nodded with a calm countenance contrasting to Lothíriel’s very much disheveled expression. Now, she was nervous herself, biting her lip in careful consideration of a proper answer. “You are overthinking, Lothíriel. Maybe there is not an exact . . . description to tell you. Don’t let yourself panic, sweetling, it will go just fine and there is nothing to worry about,” the lady cooed in that motherly way of hers as usual, gently stroking Lothíriel’s hair to soothe her.

But this time the Princess — the Queen — was not to be satisfied.

“No. I must know what it is that might happen and what I should do then. I will not have my fears lulled in this manner, you know I never liked it. Nobody bothered to tell me about that ring-exchanging culture in Rohan, nobody bothered to let me know what might happen, and look how that turned out! I am sick of it! Lady Saelwen,” and then Lothíriel’s voice steady and her face grew stern, as if she was speaking to a servant or a lesser person that was not her beloved nanny since her childhood. In truth, Lothíriel’s good nature had given way to anxiety and then anger in turn that now she felt inclined to lash it out right now on anybody really. “Lady Saelwen, I command you to tell me.”

But the lady was not fazed a bit by this fey mood of the princess. She stood there all calm and proper, only pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “What exactly am I to tell you?” Then, with a little hesitation she added, “Why do you suppose I should know it enough to tell you?”

“Oh,” was all Lothíriel managed to say as her shoulders slumped from their tense posture, a few things dawning on her all at once, and she was quieted though her questions were not.  “Oh, okay, I am sorry.” But then why did not her mother or grandmother or other matrons ever told them anything? “But surely somebody should have told us,” she complained as a last resort.

Lady Saelwen only sighed, and they were both silent. Then she observed Lothíriel’s blank expression and tried to think of something to say, and choosing her words carefully, she said, “All that will happen is most probably a few . . . kisses, and then he would insert himself and it shall be done.”

“Insert himself? Insert himself where?”

“Your— where your moon blood comes from every month,” Lady Saelwen said nervously, wishing they could get this conversation over and hoping no more questions were coming her way.

Lothíriel stared at her. “Where— and, and that is also from where the baby will come out?” She had learned long ago the story about the storks bringing babies was simply untrue.

Lady Saelwen nodded solemnly without a word.

“So, it is true then?” There was almost a note of incredulity and disbelief in Lothíriel’s voice. “What Mylaela has been saying . . .”

“What has Mylaela been saying?” Lady Saelwen demanded.

“She told us very long ago that where everything goes in, is where the baby comes out,” Lothíriel gulped nervously. “So it’s true? I was hoping she was just being crazy like she always is.”

“You should not be discussing such kinds of—”

“Well, how else am I to know what it is that everybody wants me to do?” Lothíriel snapped viciously. “You send us out of the room when the conversation becomes inappropriate, and then you expect us to know what to do on our own. You think we already know about everything by the time we’re grown up or whatever; but most of us don’t, not unless we go around shamelessly prying and listening behind corners, like Mylaela does. Most of what she hears and says is appalling, but I think I have her to thank for right now!” 

The newly wedded queen stopped her frantic pacing across the room, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion and sighed. “I know, I know. I am getting worked up again, and this will not do. It’s just . . .” She raised her hands in a gesture of haplessness. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Lady Saelwen. Ariellë had her love match; Andrídha fell head over heels as soon as she met my brother; but what of me? What will happen to me? Nobody should be sent away to do something they haven’t even got an idea of what! ”

Lady Saelwen endured her anger not only civilly, but kindly. She took a step forwards, and rubbed Lothíriel’s side of the arm comfortingly. “I understand, I understand what you are feeling, my sweet princess. Be brave; you are strong, and you must be brave. You are a Princess of Dol Amroth and if he mistreats you in any improper way, king or no, you come straight away to me, understand?”

“Thank you, but I do not think he will, rest assured.” And Lothíriel only smiled, not adding how Lady Saelwen’s words had felt quite useless and brought no real comfort to her actual dread of the night. How could she let the woman know what was truly making her nervous, when she herself could not materialize that fear itself into words? “So, is it going to be very painful? Like childbirth?”

“More or less, I suppose. I would not know of either, now would I?” Lady Saelwen tried to brush away the embarrassment; watching over the princess for over two decades had not prepared the spinster for this.

“Would I . . . die?” She held out tightly for the older woman’s hand.

“Heavens forbid, no! What makes you say that?”

Lothíriel struggled with herself to bring out the words. “I don’t know, maybe the fact that women often die in childbirth? Mylaela also told us that the man lies on top of the woman in bed, so isn’t it possible that she might suffocate to death? And in any case, you said—”

The door to the chamber opened to reveal Éomer King standing there. Lothíriel turned abruptly and stared with wide eyes, and let go immediately of Lady Saelwen’s hand that she had grown to clutch in desperation. It probably did not strike as a regal pose, and she awkwardly tried to straighten herself and take a step back to be standing independent on her own. And then in her best attempt to sound calm and normal, she said very slowly, “If that is all, you may leave now, Lady Saelwen.”

The lady curtseyed and made her way out.

Once her lady-in-waiting was gone and she left to herself, Lothíriel promptly invited the king to sit down at the table; all the while his eyes fixed on her meaningfully.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Lothíriel asked not too composedly, still trying to recover from the shock of having to receive him so soon, hoping desperately he had not heard anything.

“The ale, please. And one for yourself too.”

“I . . . don’t like ale very much.”

“This is different,” said he with patience, as if he understood the cause of her uneasiness. He was too skilled with women to ask her what was wrong. He knew very well what was wrong: the impending sense of fear added to the loneliness, and homesickness natural enough in a young woman. But she would show none of it, nor would she accept sympathy for it. So Éomer remained silent on the subject. “They call it wedding ale. It’s sweetened with mead and spices. It’s for courage.”

“Do we need courage?” Lothíriel found herself draping herself in cool lightheartedness, chuckling to mask away the uncomfortable, disquieted feelings attending to her.

He was emboldened by her smile and got up to pour her a cup and handed it towards her, saying with the slightest curve of his own lips, “I should think we do. It is only a tradition, and traditions merely exist to impart courage at times.”

She took the cup of hot ale from his hand, noting the gold band on it, and dared to look up at him standing next to where she sat. The candlelight had enveloped his figure in a golden frame, and the expression on his face was an unreadable one. Lothíriel lowered her head in confused turmoil of her emotions and sipped the heady drink. “Oh, this is nice,” she remarked with quite a delight in her face and took a few more sips eagerly this time.

It soon became apparent, however, that she was going through the ale quite fast as she poured herself another cup and finished that one as well. Éomer quietly watched her from across the table, enchanted by the flawlessness of her being. He drew a heavy breath, at last, and stood up and walked to her as she was pouring another time. Lothíriel glanced at him, her cup of ale held in her hand. Gently, he took the cup from her and she looked on in silence, her face a blanch-surface of calm but her eyes were indignant, curious and resigned all at the same time.

“Even the best of ale should not be taken in excessive,” he said with a small smile, polite but firm as Lothíriel’s head drooped.

“Should I now leave for you to retire?” Éomer added.

“L-Leave?” Her eyes widened at his unexpected words, her confusion hardly concealed. And on top of that was worry bordering on alarm. “But is there not something we are supposed to do?”

He hesitated a moment, before saying slowly, “I shall be honest now as you asked me before: I do not wish for you to be brought to bed positively terrified and unprepared for what will take place when you hardly know what—”

“I know what must be done.” She had stood up abruptly in indignation, her reassurance had come out haughty, and then she covered her mouth in an apologetic way, and she added a bit more composed, “Or at least, I would be willing to learn. Whatever the case, I shall not skimp my duty.” Saying so, Lothíriel willed herself to look up at him with utter determination though she felt like her knees would give away anytime.

It was Éomer’s turn to speak out hastily this time. “Is it always going to be duty, for you?”

“I do not understand . . .” she was taken aback, was quite perturbed, to be honest. But she knew better to let it show, waiting for him to clarify what he meant, but her heart was beating away quite violently at this very unexpected change in his behaviour.

“I am sorry,” Éomer started again. “But I would not wish for you to be forced by your duty to do something unwillingly. I would not wish for you to be unhappy because of our marriage.”

“I am not unhappy,” Lothíriel tried to put up the argument calmly but with precision.

“But you are uneasy,” Éomer countered with a docility of his own.

“It is only the wibber-gibbers, the heebie-jeebies.”

“And quite drunk,” Éomer added, and a smile threatened to pervade his countenance.

His bride gave a scowl, “That was only my third cup that you took away.”

There was a long while of silence, as both of them strove to deal with the different emotions. Éomer looked on the lady standing in front of him with quiet apprehension, unable to keep from admiring every thing about her, while she looked down at the floor, trying to collect herself wisely and keep the situation in control. But she hardly knew what she needed to be doing! All she knew was she needed to make him understand, she needed to let him know that it was all right with her and they somehow needed to get this done and so she needed to make him stay. Then what? What next?

Lothíriel bit her lip in thoughtfulness, finally deciding on being equally honest to him as he had also asked her before, going through her words carefully as she said, “I thank you, for caring about me. But you are a king and you also have a duty to your people. You need an heir for your country, and it is my duty to help you. I would be honoured to be your friend, partner, and comforter. I shall be perfectly honoured to be your wife.”

“And what of happiness?” The King of the Mark lifted her chin, making her look into his dark eyes filled with a thousand concerns and questions that she understood but did not know how best to answer.

“That too. I believe I shall be a happy woman married to you.” Then she tiptoed to kiss him.

This time, despite the drink and the pounding of her heart, Lothíriel was fully aware of the touch of his lips against hers: it was soft, warm and his beard brushing lightly on her cheeks. She knew she had done one thing correctly at least as he responded to her and deepened the kiss that grew passionate; his one arm round her waist, drawing her body closer to him, and the other caressing the side of her face as she stood there, quite rigid, the warmth spreading through her from where he touched her body over her nightdress.

She had never even been kissed before today, let alone to have known how it felt like to be touched this way by a man.

When they parted, Éomer saw her face flushed as her ruby lips and the glimmer in her large, grey eyes. He gently ran his thumb across her smooth skin, taking in the sight of her as if mere memory could never be enough. The slightest look of sadness crossed his face, and Lothíriel saw it in his eyes as if his heart was breaking from some kind of pain—with a sense of the situation, she grasped the meaning of that look to be something of love, and that was when Lothíriel’s instinct brought her to hold his hand that was against her cheek, and her eyes spoke of earnestness.

“My dear lady wife,” Éomer said softly, dropping his hand from her face and holding her hand in both of his. She felt soft and gentle, her small hand fitting into his rough, calloused ones like they were meant to be fitted for one another perfectly. Lothíriel, in turn, laid her other hand on his, trying to get out of her shell to reassure this kind man who was now her husband.

But she glanced at the bed behind her, and steeled herself to ask him awkwardly, “Would . . . would you like to undress me, my lord?” The warmth in her cheeks grew fiery, her eyes cast down on the floor, unable to meet his eyes again in the embarrassment of what lies ahead.

“You shall call me Éomer, when we are on our own.”

Lothíriel dared to look up at him and quickly looked back down again, feeling very much like blushing and giggling and running away all at the same time. 

A soft sigh later, he reached out, nimbly caressing a lock of her hair between his fingers, before his fingertips grazed her cheek, trailing down her neck. Lothíriel could feel her breath quicken at the feathery touch, as he wordlessly continued to trail his fingers down to the neckline of her dress. He paused there and looked her in the eye, his silence telling her there would be no going back once he started. As he found her face unwavering, he deftly pulled on one of the strings at the front of her nightdress, and soon they came loose and Lothíriel held her breath, as Éomer lifted it up from the hem of the dress and over her head. She raised up her arms, making sure her plaited hair did not get messed up.

When she stood there in front of him, unclothed and uncovered by anything, a great wave of emotional instability hit Lothíriel then. She felt like sinking into the floorboards, she felt like sobbing and telling Éomer honestly that she could not do this. She had never dreamed of having to do this; she would willingly have gone through the world without knowing about this; she would have died before ever imagining herself this way in front of a man, husband or no. This was utterly appalling!

But despite the strongest urge to drop all courtesy and run and dive under the bed sheets, or to even just try and cover herself with her hands, Lothíriel stood still. She could not bear to meet his eyes, but she willed herself to do it with all that she had in her entire being. She was a Princess of Dol Amroth and she was not meant to show fear or uncertainty. She was now a Queen of Rohan and there was a country and people to lead.

She brought herself to look up at Éomer, and saw in his face the usual, unreadable expression of a vague scowl. Like he was displeased. Or just a very intense gaze. Lothíriel could not be certain.

Something like disappointment washed over Lothíriel this time, and she felt the emotions constricting in her throat — she looked away, hiding the vulnerability in her gaze, her silver-glazed eyes facing the quivering flames of the candles in the room.

“Are—are we not supposed to blow the candles out?” she asked in a small whisper.

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Isn’t that what’s normally done? In the dark?” Lothíriel said innocently, her words trailing off on a high intonation that indicated her uncertainty.

“Who told you that?”

“No-one!” She had looked at him in alarm, not wishing to come off as the kind of girl who ever discussed these things. Though only earlier she was bitterly resentful of not knowing, it was still hard to shed off old ideals that had been ingrained in the ladies’ minds that it was horrifying to know of these matters.

She saw a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and her stomach turned a somersault again. She loved and hated what he did to her feelings, so entirely what she had never been used to.

Éomer replied slowly, “Not exactly. Not always, no. But if you wish . . .”

“I do,” Lothíriel affirmed and there was a tiny quiver in her voice. She was thinking, while Éomer went to put out the flames one by one, that it was better to not have to see his face at all and for him to not see hers if he did not wish to. And he obviously did not wish to. Maybe? But Lothíriel stole a quick glance at the sight of her husband walking round the room, bending to blow out the candles, the light reflecting off through his golden hair. She would mourn in silence to herself the loss of having to see him; but as one candle remained lit at last, Éomer turned to her.

“May we not leave just this one?” Her blank face of confusion made him add more hesitantly, “It would be a shame to miss seeing you in the darkness.”

Oh, what does he mean, was the question racing through Lothíriel’s mind in a frenzy as she found herself nodding slowly, like a little puppet whose strings of control had snapped suddenly. She so longed to know what he meant!

“But if you do not wish . . .”

“Yes. I wish, very much.” She told him quickly, and forced the slightest of a smile through her shocked expression for good measure that he was assured of her willingness. Then she added in a flustered manner, “I mean, I only thought . . .”

“You thought?” Éomer asked as he came back towards her, his eyes fixed on her face.

Lothíriel lowered her head, shaking it slowly.

They stood in front of each other, untouching, and after a few moments Éomer said, “Your hair . . . will you allow me to . . .?”

She glanced behind her shoulder to realise that he meant to undo her plaited hair, and awkwardly but clearly she replied, “Oh, yes, certainly.”

When he moved nearer to her, and got behind her back, it was overwhelming how the warmth from the proximity of his body seemed to radiate and envelope her. But Éomer kept strictly to his word alone and touched nothing but her hair that he had asked; he undid the plait of her hair gently, his hands combing through the dark mass of it and, as it got loose and flowed down her shoulders and past below her back, Lothíriel felt soft prickles all over her skin at his barest touches. She turned to look at him, and his eyes met hers with a steady gaze that made her flustered.

“What is it?” he asked, soft and courteous but his voice naturally gruff.

“Nothing. I—” there was something insistent in the look of his eyes, something of undoing all her stone walls, that Lothíriel allowed them to crumble and herself to wither away, and told him plainly but shyly, “You are not upset with my hair?”

The wonder that came into her husband’s eyes could only be described as incredulous and shocked, as for a momentary pause his sternness melted. “No . . . why would I ever . . . your hair? What do you think could be wrong with your hair to make me—upset?”

Lothíriel was left stunned and at a loss for some of her usual quippy remarks as she tried to process the way he had just said what he just said; for she was almost shocked as himself to have this brief glance of him being uncertain and the way he struggled for the proper words, and how he had said them in so uncomfortable a manner, especially that last one. His brows were furrowed and that was not unfamiliar, but now there was real confusion in his eyes and he looked, why, he almost looked like a mere pageboy trying to understand something incredulous. It left her throat dry. Moreover, it left her frustrated because she could not pin down on why it made him so endearing in her eyes and heart. He was still the self-same King of Rohan, tall and proud, very regal and so utterly dashing in his roughshod manners, and yet the distant formality and ambiguity. But here there was this small side within him that was looking at her with wide eyes as if she had said something labyrinthine. It drove her insane.

“My hair . . .” she started uncertainly. “Is it not . . . well, dark and foreign and . . . and so very . . . I don’t know . . . dark.” Lothíriel heard herself saying this and tried to justify the emotions but immediately decided it sounded stupid in the end. She lowered her head, in a struggle that went beyond words or comprehension of men.

She felt, no, she knew, that what she was trying to do was a useless attempt to re-summon the wild uncertainties she had faced earlier in the morning. These were beginning to be cleared away gradually somehow with each passing moment now, but she still wanted to keep room for these doubts just in case, just in case she was hoping too high and above the blunt reality that often fell into the lot of women before her. A high-born lady married to a stranger for convenience or alliance, that case had two scenarios and an uninteresting in-between; and she was well aware which was the more probable oft-times. And just like most young ladies, she entertained this doubt and hope at the same time.

Éomer stared at her for a long moment, during which Lothíriel was on an earth-shattering brink of suspense, then he blinked. “It is beautiful,” he said slowly, caressing and bringing all of her hair onto one side of her shoulder. “And, and I love it.”

A thousand things happened all at once; and it was all in Lothíriel’s mind.

When her heart seemed to have recovered from the momentary pause and air breathed into her lungs once again, when the exploding fireworks in her chest had quietened down and herself had run happily across the length of Middle-earth there and back again in her mind, when her legs had regained steadiness and her ears had stopped to ring with the singing and shouting of her own voice and celestial bells, then Lothíriel’s lips quivered into a smile, grateful and relieved, and she murmured a little “Thank you,” still heaving breathless from what he had just said. If only he knew. Oh, the Valar be praised, if only he knew.

He gazed at her face, from her eyes to her lips to the slender curve of her neck, and asked, “Would you mind if I . . .” His hand, thick and roughened by years of war, softly traced the side of her face. The sensation brought Lothíriel to meet his eyes, and though he did not specify and she longed to know what it was that he meant to say, she nodded, saying,

“Not at all.”

The touch of his fingers, so calloused yet gentle, trailed over her jawline, and then down her neck and landed on her bare shoulder, smooth and glowing in the golden candlelight. They continued down across the length of her arm, leaving behind the feel of goosebumps on her skin and the silent yearning for more of that heat from his touch. When he reached her hand, he held it to his lips and placed a kiss, looking at her and taking in with much awareness of how her lips had parted a little and she looked on with suppressed anticipation in her eyes.

“You . . . are . . . flawless,” Éomer said quietly, almost to himself, and a shuddering breath escaped him before he pulled her towards him in a kiss of effusion, placing her hand over his chest. Lothíriel only had a moment of a small gasp before her lips crashed into his and she found herself kissing her husband again, this time more passionate and desirous as she felt his hands on her back, pressing her body against him. Their lips seemed to move in synchronisation to a dance of desire, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to do away with all space between them as she felt the burning fire inside, longing to feel his body all over hers.

For a moment there, a thought passed her mind about the propriety of how she was behaving and feeling. It left her confused and stopped short her responding, but half a second later Lothíriel had pushed away these chastising thoughts away from her mind and returned to the warmth that was growing inside her at the touch of his skin or the taste of his lips.

He appeared to have understood her mind, or at least taken notice of this new fervour of her kissing, and brought up his hand to tuck away the loose strands of hair away from her face. Then it slowly travelled down her neck, and this time to the side of her breasts where they lay pressed against his night tunic, and making him hard down below. He cupped one of them, gently squeezing it, and earning another small gasp from her as she stopped their kiss to look up at him with widened eyes. Éomer moved his hand away, asking with some gravity,

“Do you not like it?”

His wife batted her lashes bashfully, and her throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed with some nervousness, and shook her head to say quietly, “No . . . just surprised, my lord . . .” She struggled with herself to get the right words out, then emboldening herself to look at him straight in the eye, she said, “Please, continue.”

Éomer’s mouth went dry and parched, but he assumed a small smirk and replied, “It will be my pleasure.”

They recommenced their kissing, and he placed a firm hand over her breasts, softly kneading the flesh and running his thumb back and forth over the tips that grew stiffer with each of his strokes. Lothíriel was by now trying so hard to hold back letting out any improper noise, and no longer was she able to respond properly to his kisses when his touches on her sensitive buds were making her head go wild and her breath go shallow like she couldn’t get enough of air, enough of him. Her one hand served to push against his strong chest whilst her other hand was on his tunic collar, pulling him in desperately than ever.

The painful ache of her breasts grew unbearable over time under his administrations, building up like waves but without any rocks to crash on and release, and Lothíriel, eyes squeezed shut, gave in at last and let out a small whimpering moan into their deep kiss. The sound seemed to affect Éomer greatly, arousing him ever more and driving him to nip at her lower lip with a grunt, and his hand moved downwards across her abdomen, before stopping suddenly.

“Gods,” he swore loudly, breaking off the kiss to look at her basked in the light, a vision of his dreams every night turned real into flesh. He had his brows furrowed in great seriousness, or rather frustration, before he took in a deep breath and asked gruffly, “Bed?”

She nodded, with a blush of shyness now accompanied with the twinkle of eagerness in her grey eyes.

Slowly Éomer led her to the great white-covered bed of mattresses, and sat her down on the edge of it, with his arms on each side of her. She held his face close to hers, observing every chiselled detail from the lines on his forehead to the way his beard was trimmed above and around his lips and small, dark moles across his cheeks.

He was utterly handsome.

It wrenched Lothíriel’s heart for some reason to realise this and the poignant joy that came with the realisation of how fortunate she was to end up with him, to actually have her fate entwined with his. She felt like she could stay in this moment for ever, to have his eyes on her and never stir again. But of course, she also enjoyed the way his touches left her skin burning like there was nothing more holy than the way he’d hold her in his strong arms.

Their kiss changed a different kind as Éomer tenderly placed these tokens of affection all over her face, trailing from the one side of her temple down her ear to the crook of her neck where his head lay buried and covering with gentle, firm kisses, sucking and grazing at her skin in turn. Lothíriel then pushed his shoulders back and asked in her equable, quippy manner, “Why am I the only one undressed here?”

“And do you consider it unfair?” Her husband asked back with amusement in his eyes but barely a smile on his lips.

“I would think so, yes,” she answered honestly, and it was then that a smile overcame his stern features and he took her hands to place them upon his tunic. Lothíriel took hold of it by the hem and raised it up over his head and arms, and she took in the full view of his body, his well-toned muscular front, the light curly hair on his chest and the two dark areoles, and the visible tightness of the muscles packed in his shoulders and arms up to his hands where the veins could be seen underneath the roughened layer of his skin now enveloped in golden yellow. She reached out an arm to lay her hand on him, feel the touch of those muscle-fibres of an experienced warrior that made him look so god-like in her eyes. When her skin touched his revealed chest, she took a nervous gulp to quell the drumming of her heart, whereas Éomer visibly took a sharp intake of breath, still locking her eyes in his.

She delicately trailed her way down across his midriff, touching him with just the slightest tips of her slender fingers, the heat from his body grazing over them and coursing throughout her own. When she reached to the top of his trousers, and made to work on the string, Éomer seized her wrist then, startling her with the fierce gleam in his eyes. But he said softly, albeit what sounded in a low, threatening whisper, “Not yet, my love.” 

The words sent her into a spiral, a love spiral of fluttering warmth in her chest. It caused her to sit still, breathing heavily in anticipation, as her husband, her love, ran his hand through her hair and leaned in to kiss her, gently pushing her down onto the bed. Lothíriel fell back against the soft, white mattress under her, their kiss unbroken as she wrapped her arms over his shoulders, pulling him down the same and he followed suit. She could feel the sheer weight of him above her, though he was standing on his own and just leaned over the edge of the bed. But his body pressed against her bare skin, with nothing between them no more, was making Lothíriel feel like her whole being was on fire. And she wanted more.

Éomer started to move his kisses down her neck, and on her collarbone, and then lower between her breasts down to her abdomen, slightly below her navel. When his kisses ceased, Lothíriel, who had been conscious of everything while having her eyes closed, opened them and looked at him, face slightly flushed at the sight of having him so near her private parts.

“Allow me?” he asked gruffly.

“Anything,” she breathed.

Without breaking their gaze into one another’s eyes, Éomer parted her legs slowly, first placing his hands on her knees then moving up her thighs from the inside. Lothíriel could not tear her gaze away; to feel his hands on her skin, but to see them as well, made her heart go up into her throat where she felt the painful sensation of waiting. 

Éomer’s hand reached and touched at her nether lips, eliciting a shaky moan from the Gondorian princess who felt both pleasure and shock at this act. To say she was mortified would be saying less; but she would not be questioning her lord husband’s intentions, especially when she understood he was nothing but considerate. 

She felt his fingers deftly rubbing over the sensitive regions of that part of her body, going over them in circles at some times and back and forth at others. When one of his fingers was easily sunk into the wetness of her folds, Lothíriel let out a small gasp of pain. But it soon subsided after the first initial shock, and then she began to find it quite dizzying as he started on a perfect rhythm of thrusting it in and out. 

 It became hard for her to keep a level head, and she sank back onto the softness of the mattress beneath as she felt the steady pleasure travel through her body, making her weak. However, Lothíriel had sealed her eyes and mouth close shut, determined that no improper noise should escape her now, lest she became too loud and those waiting nearby the rooms should hear her indiscretion.

But, as said before, it was hard to keep a level head.

She turned her head this way and that, hands clasped tightly onto the sheets as something of a new sensation built up inside of her. All the while, Éomer had taken several notches up the stage, and was kissing those nether lips of hers, as yet untouched in any way even by herself. He was surprising her at every twist and turn; and she was responding to his administrations with hardly suppressed moans and whimpers as he flicked his tongue over her sensitive pearl.

“Are you quite all right?” he asked, pausing to look up at her from below, and found that he enjoyed this view of her just as well. 

“Yes. I do not know what you are doing, but I would like you to keep doing it,” she replied, eyes still shut, and need dripping in every syllable of her usual sultry accent. 

“As my queen wishes.”

He continued whatever he was doing before, and Lothíriel returned to it with a stronger sense of gratitude and relief and she sighed shakily as she felt his finger enter her again. Soon, he was pacing it faster and faster, and Lothíriel’s grip on the sheets tightened and her knuckles grew white in need of a release. Her back was arched barely from the bed, her breathing shallow and everything seemed to be mounting into something great and fragile, until she felt the long-awaited for release overcoming her body in a rush of ecstasy, the tightening knot in her stomach gradually easing as it seemed to flow out of her, leaving her a mess, but a happy mess. 

Her eyes were blurry as they opened up to the wooden ceiling above, her breaths heavier now and panting for more air, when she felt Éomer’s lips kiss her down there and she realised the fire hadn’t been extinguished. 

“Was that it?” was what Lothíriel found herself asking despite all her internal remonstrations. She tried to keep away from her eyes whatever thoughts could betray her, but knowing she probably failed this time.

“No,” was the subtly amused answer her husband gave her, and a smile. “If you wish.” He paused, and came up towards her and brushed aside some strands of her hair soaked in sweat, and asked, “But tell me. How . . . was that?” 

She could only look up at him, blushing furiously but unable to contain her smile. “I— um, it was . . . it was invigorating.” She saw, at the approximity of their faces, that his lips and a few hairs around were still glistening with the wetness between her thighs.

“I am happy to hear that,” he said, staring into her eyes, and she chuckled nervously, absolutely in love with the way he had said it so genuinely like a young boy who was just as nervous as she. 

He bent down to kiss her cheek, and then a little nib at her ear, asking her with a soft growl, “Are you ready then for the rest?” 

Lothíriel eyed at him shyly and answered, “Surely, you do not need my answer to know.”

“Yet I would hear it. I love your voice,” he said, making her head toss into a spin, as his hand trailed down her body.

“Yes,” she moaned softly under the drug of his touches. 

He pulled himself up straight, making Lothíriel wonder in half-alarm and half-curiosity, and started undoing the string of his pants. She sat up then, too, and helped him with it, keeping her eyes fixed on his that she would not waver. She got it loose and he let them fall onto the floor in a pile, leaving him as naked as the day he was born. Just as she was.

Lothíriel’s eyes, involuntarily as they were, travelled down to his lower body, to where his manhood lay erected and hard as a rock. She swallowed embarrassedly, not wanting to be rude as she stared, but she could not help doing so; blinking a few times, maybe, but it always ended up on his throbbing member, with its pink tip glistening in the light. 

“May— May I?” she asked timidly, something out of courtesy than curiosity as she thought to make it up to him fairly as how good he had made her feel. Well, perhaps the curiosity was also a large factor. 

Éomer, eyes still intent on her face, took her hand in his and brought it to his crotch. From there she slid down, touching him there for the first time, and taking back her hand in timid surprise initially. Then she placed it firmly against it, bringing her hand around the shaft of it.

“It’s . . . it’s,” she bit her lip, trying to think of something to say but her mind having gone blank. So instead she looked up at Éomer, her mouth perched, as he guided her hand to rub up and down the length of him. She took it up quickly, and started to murmur, “Well, it’s —um, hard but soft at the same time . . .” and he chuckled at that, a deep sound that came from his chest and reverberated throughout his body and to hers. 

She noticed he was losing composure, and his fingers were straying from her breasts, when at one point he grabbed her hand and said gruffly, as he pinned her down onto the bed, “That’ll be enough, my lady.” Then he got down to her thighs again, and spread them gently apart, telling her, “Now this may hurt a bit at first, and you must let me know if you wish for me to stop immediately.”

“Yes . . .” Lothíriel answered nervously, worried now as to what he meant and coming to realisation on her own. 

“I promise I won’t let you be in pain if I can help it,” Éomer said again, visible concern filled in his gruff countenance.

“‘Tis all right,” but she bit her trembling lips, gone pale for fear of standing on the brink of the unknown.

“Just... try and relax....it’s not so much painful as when your body is tensed up.” Then, holding her shoulder gently, Éomer looked into her eyes, golden-brown meeting stormy-grey ones with unspoken words of trust. “Do not be afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” said his queen. “I have never been afraid of anything.”

Men, like her father and brothers, had to fight their way in open warfare to secure their kingdoms. Most women, like her, had to endure painful ordeals in private.

As he placed himself at her entrance, and Lothíriel’s heart beat so loud it deafened her ears, Éomer traced circles on her thighs to ease up her muscles. And when he penetrated slowly inside past her warm folds, she turned her head aside, covered her mouth with her hand to muffle the cry of gradual pain. He then stayed still for a while, and she started to breathe slowly, getting herself adjusted to half of his length being inside her. It was a searing pain, and though he was gentle it still hurt her much; but eventually when it seemed she had gotten used to it, and every vein in her body seemed to be pulsing in rhythm with his, she gave a small nod, signalling him to go on.

He began moving his hips against hers, slowly at first as he inched himself forward with each thrust. As his pace quickened, and Lothíriel grew used to the friction of having him thrust in and out, her body too caved in to the pleasure albeit being painful. Her white-knuckled grip on the sheets loosened, and her hands went to his shoulders as he propped himself above her on his elbows. The knot that was tightening in her stomach grew, and there seemed no other way of satiating the sinful desire in her as she buried her hands in his hair, wanting to pull him down into a kiss, but her conscience was not yet too far gone for this.

At last, her determination gave in to the strong urge and moaned softly his name, “Éomer,” which spurred him on to continue faster and eventually led to both their releases, like waves meeting the shore, crashing onto ocean rocks. He too groaned out her name, over and over, as he filled her with his warm seed, his face buried in the crook of her neck. 

He collapsed beside her, their pantings heavy and fast, the only sounds that were heard in the dimly lit chamber-room. Lothíriel had fixed her eyes on the ceiling above, thinking over to herself what had just been done.

The pain was no worse than she had expected. Her cousin Ariellë had said it was not as bad as falling from a horse, and she had been right. Andrídha, her sister-in-law, had said that it was paradise; but Lothíriel could not imagine how such deep embarrassment and discomfort could add up to bliss—and concluded that Andrídha was exaggerating, as she often did.

But when she turned her head to where Éomer lay, his golden hair sticking in sweat and his body glistening, Lothíriel felt inclined to admit, at least a little bit, that the experience had not been entirely distasteful. He had been kindest, gentlest, and most considerate that any woman in her place could have wished for. 

He caught her looking, and smiled and said, “Yes, my lady?” 

She flushed, but quickly regained herself to correct him, “It is only Lothíriel to you, my lord.”

He let out a deep chuckle, closing his eyes for a moment. “That is right.” Then he turned himself to her and kissed her forehead, saying, “Lothíriel, my queen.” 

He got up, and a thought passed her mind in dismay that he might be leaving. He seemed to catch the alarm in her eyes, and told her gently, “I am only getting a towel.” 

He came back soon with it, soaked in warm water, that he started dabbing over her face to wash away the grime and sweat from their labour. Lothíriel looked on with wonder in her eyes, never failing to be awed by his being such a gentle person despite his stern looks. Both remained in silence, the good kind where words are unnecessary, until he reached down to her lower parts, and she, realising the blood and mess down there, embarrassedly told him, “Oh, I’ll do it.”

But Éomer looked at her with a meaningful look in his dark eyes, saying, “I insist.” She then felt it out of her power to keep arguing, and quietly acceded. It was such a strange matter for her, that he would be touching her even after, well, their duty had been performed. But no, it had been more than that. 

“By the way,” he said, bringing her out of her reverie. “I love what you always say. Won’t you say it again? Say it for me again, my queen, say you are not afraid.” He raised her chin, studying the flawlessness of her face in the candlelight. 

She leaned in, half-giggling into their kiss like a schoolgirl, “I am not afraid of anything, not anymore.”

When morning came, Lothíriel woke up in the arms of her husband, wrapped around her like strong walls of safety and happiness. The warm sunlight streaming in from the window fell onto his face, serene in sleep, softening the stern features and transforming into a picture of all that Lothíriel ever wished to love.

He went away with a small nod, bidding her good-morning and a quick kiss, very much aware of the pink glow in his wife’s cheeks as she avoided his eyes in the first waves of embarrassment renewed by daylight. The men greeted him with cheers outside the door, and marched him in triumph to his own rooms. Lothíriel heard him say, vulgarly, boastfully, “Gentlemen, this night I have been in Dol Amroth,” and heard the yells of laughter that applauded his joke. For a while, she lost her breath imagining everything that would come, and felt distressed by the prospects of having it known and teased by everybody, when it was a special thing she wanted to keep only between the two of them. 

But there would be no avoiding the ceaseless questions and inquiries, she knew, now that she was the queen and her top priority was producing an heir for the House of Eorl. Lothíriel mentally braced herself; she would brave through it. And, well, with Éomer, it didn’t seem so terrible.

Her ladies came in with her gown and heard the men’s boisterous laughter. Lady Saelwen raised her thin eyebrows to heaven at the manners of these Rohirrim.

“I don’t know what your father would say,” Lady Saelwen remarked sullenly.

“He would say that words count less than my happiness, and my happiness has been secured,” Lothíriel said firmly with a smile.

 Sincerely Snow

8 July 2024 — 29 August 2024

tagging : @konartiste @celeluwhenfics

this turned out much better than what was on the previous post … unfortunately, no toads from amrothos.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Did someone say Zoyalai coded songs by indie artists who deserve more attention? Probably not but I’m going to give you some anyway

Kanej version - Helnik version - Wesper version

Blossoms by The Amazing Devil Zoya of the garden vibes but also works very well for both of them- “I climb up the ladder, had I taken more care I might’ve seen all the rot in the rungs” “And I stare at the soldiers before me, all my blossoms that have waited to fall, and I walk and I walk and I walk and I walk knowing every last one of them is painted in light as I make myself acquainted with the Saint of Never Getting It Right”

Drinking Song by House Phone actually planning a crows edit to this one but it still fits - “I might have grown to be a king, more mighty than the kings you’ve known, who led us through a peaceful time and never simply occupied the throne but out of castle light I’d still be such a sight for sorest eyes, I’d be a pauper in disguise. I might have led the cavalry into glory in the battle field, and they would cast a monument in silver of my weathered shield but now, with all my medals pawned, no proof except my silver tongue to tell of all the valour I have won”

King by Florence + the Machine - “I am no mother, I am no bride, I am King. I need my golden crown of sorrow, my bloody sword to swing, I need my empty halls to echo with grand self-mythology. I am no mother, I am no bride, I am King”

Not Yet/Love Run (reprise) by The Amazing Devil - “It seems, oh it seems, to me, that you can’t sleep” “Sing me awake with a song about pirates and I will try to harmonise, and sip the sunlight from your eyes, oh sing me awake with all the things we’ll do today but instead we’ll build a den out of pillows and get drunk again” “It seems, oh it seems, to me, that you… you can’t dance for shit” “Where is god, ma? Where’s the vodka? If my old mum could see me now, oh how she’d howl” “Love run (love run) Love run (love run) For all the things you wished you’d done, run for all you know that’s coming, run to show that love’s worth running to”

Howl by Florence + the Machine - “If you could only see the beast you’ve made of me, I held it in my heart it seems you’ve set it running free” “The Saints can’t help me now, the ropes have been unbound, I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground” “A man who is pure of heart and says his prayers by night may still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright” “Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers, starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters”

King by The Amazing Devil - “I’ll keep the king, when you are gone away. Into darkness and howling I’ll keep him from drowning when our boat is untethered from the dock” “And the waves made of fingers and the darkness that lingers rips into the bark of our bones” “the sea and its waters, every unwanted daughter” “but our voices collide with each howl of the tide singing all hell and its fire waits for us”

As usual I might come back and add more if I think of them, and please always feel free to add more

[santoschristos]

I beheld a great wonder in heaven, a woman clothed with the Sun, with the Moon at her feet. And on her head was a diadem of the twelve stars.

Hear me, O Lady Isis, hear and save.

O thou queen of love and mercy, thou crowned with the throne, thou hauled as with the Moon.

Thou whose countenance is mild and glowing, even as grass refreshed by rain.

Hear me, our Lady Isis, hear and save.

O thou who art in matter manifest.

Thou bride and queen as thou art mother and daughter of the Slain One.

O thou who art the Lady of the Earth.

Hear me, O Lady Isis, hear and save.

O thou Lady of the amber skin.

Lady of love and of victory, bright gate of glory through the darkening skies.

O crowned with the Light and life and love.

Hear me, our Lady, hear and save by thy sacred flower, the Lotus of eternal life and beauty; by thy love and mercy; by thy wrath and vengeance; by my desire toward thee, by all the magical names of old hear me, O Lady, hear and save.

Open thy bosom to thy child, stretch forth thy arms and strain me to thy breasts. Let my lips touch thy lips ineffable.

Hear me, O Lady Isis, hear and save.

Lift up thy voice to aid me in this critical hour.

Lift up thy voice most musical.

Cry aloud, O queen and mother, to save me from that I fear most.

I invoke thee to initiate my soul.

The whirling of my dance, may it be a spell and a link with thy great light, so that in the darkest hour, the Light may arise in me and bring me to thine own glory and incorruptibility.

Isis am I, and from my life are fed all showers and suns, all moons that wax and wane, all stars and streams, the living and the dead, the mystery of pleasure and of pain.

I am the Mother. I the speaking sea. I am the Earth in its fertility. Life, death, love, hatred, light, darkness, return to me, to me.

Isis am I, and to my beauty draw.

All glories of the Universe bow down, the blossom and the mountain and the dawn. Fruits blush and women are creations crowned. I am the priest, the sacrifice, the shrine. I am the love and life of the Divine.

Life, death, love, hatred, light, darkness, are surely mine, are mine. Isis am I, the love and light of Earth, the wealth of kisses, the delight of tears, the bowel and pleasure never come to birth, the endless infinite desire of years. I am the shrine at which thy long desire devoured thee with intolerable fire. I was sung music, passion, death upon thy lyre, thy lyre. I am the grail and I the glory now. I am the flame and fueler of thy breath. I am the star of God upon thy brow. I am thy queen enraptured and possessed.

High do these sweet rivers welcome to the sea, ocean of love that shall encompass thee.

Life, death, love, hatred, light, darkness, return to me, to me.

Hear, Lady Isis, and receive my prayer.

Thee, thee I worship and invoke.

Hail to thee, sole mother of my life.

I am Isis, mistress of the whole land. I was instructed by Hermes, and with Hermes I invented the writings of the nations in order that not all should write with the same letters. I gave mankind their laws, and ordained what no one can alter. I am the eldest daughter of Kronos. I am the wife and sister of the king Osiris. I am she who rises in the dog star. I am she who is called the goddess of women. I am she who separated the heaven from the earth. I have pointed out their paths to the star. I have invented seamanship. I have brought together men and women. I have ordained that the elders shall be beloved by the children.

With my brother Osiris I made an end of cannibalism. I have instructed mankind in the mysteries. I have taught reverence of the divine statues. I have established the Temple precincts. I have overthrown the dominion of the tyrants. I have caused men to love women. I have made justice more powerful than silver and gold. I have caused truth to be considered beautiful.

Come unto me and pledge unto me your loyalties as I pledge mine unto you.

Oh mother Isis, great art thou in thy splendor, mighty is thy name and thy love has no bounds.

Thou art Isis, who art all that ever was, and all that there is to be, for no mortal man hath ever unveiled thee. In all thy grace thou has brought forth the sun, the fruit that was born forth for the redemption of man.

Oh Isis, Isis, Isis, graciously hear our cry unto thee, we mourn for thy blessings on us this day, every day, to nourish, to aid and to fill the emptiness within, that only you our beloved mother can satiate. Unto thee do we pledge our solemn oath of dedication, and for the power and glory of him the Unknowable One to witness our devotion to thee. For as we now receive thee into our hearts, we ask that you never leave us, in times of trial and joy, and even unto death."

art: Goddess Isis - Mistress of Magick Jewel of the Nile

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (4) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: you realize that there is more to this than snow just wanting a bride.

word count: 2,548

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: jealous!coryo, manipulative!coryo, not proofread

It brought you an inexplicable about of joy to get on Snow’s nerves. This was certainly a positive if you had effectively no choice but to marry him. It was fair, though, wasn’t it? He gets you as a bride, and you get to drive him up the wall. And, oh, how you’ve annoyed him. The way his jaw ticked, the narrowing of his eyes when you declared that the beautiful kitten he got you would be named Coriolanus. Just after you denied calling him by his name! If you weren’t intent on seeing how far you could push him, you might have cackled in that moment. 

The joy, however, was short-lived when Snow actually agreed that Coriolanus the Cat was your first son with him. If you would have known that he’d agree, you certainly never would have made the joke in the first place. Now—with Snow and your mother as witnesses to your agreement—you had to behave when around Snow. Granted, you did make the caveat that you would only behave to the best of your ability, which could be as little or as much as you wanted on any given day. Snow would not let you live the agreement down, though, you knew that much. Any time you could think about stepping a toe out of line, you were sure Snow would be quick to bring up the agreement.

You should have known better. 

“What do you think of Snow?” you asked your lady’s maid as she helped you get ready for the day. 

She paused as she tied the laces of your corset. “He would take very good care of you, ma’am,” she said.

You hummed, glancing at your reflection in the mirror. Tigris had made you a pale pink dress. Snow favored red, but your mother would kill you if you wore a color as scandalous as red before you were married. Pink, though, was a close alternative. “In the sense that I would want for nothing, yes, he would. But do you think I could grow to love him?”

She bowed her head, but that did not stop you from seeing the face she made. “He can be charming.”

“When it suits him,” you finish. You sighed. “I apologize. I know you cannot speak ill of the King. I just…am so tired of people acting like I should kiss his feet for showing interest in me.”

As she finished helping you into your dress, she said, “I know nothing of marriage, ma’am, but I know enough to say it is not without its struggles. Even if you could have a love match, there would be days you hate him for the most mundane things.”

“But if it was a love match, then it would all be worth it.” A frown settled on your face. “Or perhaps I’m being naïve. Mama and Papa were once a love match, and their scheming to have me married off to Snow is the first time they have truly spoken to each other in years.”

Your lady’s maid squeezed your hand. “All will be well, ma’am. If you can never love His Majesty, you will find something else to pour your affections into. Now, we should head downstairs. His Majesty is never late.”

You laughed. Well, that was certainly not true. Though, you supposed she didn’t know that. “Sometimes he is.”

But, after checking your reflection one last time, you turned and left your room. Your room was at the top of the stairs, so when you walked out, you could see Snow, holding Coriolanus the Cat, as he spoke with your mother. The sight made you giggle. He looked so uncomfortable holding the little kitten. One would think that he had been made to hold a pile of garbage than a sweet kitty. 

Almost like he heard you, Snow looked up to where you stood. You clenched your teeth, knowing now that you would have to put on an act. Because of the agreement, you no longer could revel in the private moments where you could do everything in your power to annoy Snow. Now, he expected perfection, and he would receive it. 

Slowly, you descended the stairs, your hand dragging along the bannister. The closer you got to him, the more a smirk grew on his face. Oh, you were sure he was reveling in this. 

His eyes never left yours. It was unnerving. Any other man in his position would be staring at your body—treating you completely like an object, just a pretty thing to hang off of his arm. But Snow…You weren’t sure. It was almost like he enjoyed tearing you apart, acknowledging your humanity and your independence just so he could squash any hope you had. 

Snow passed Coriolanus the Cat off to your mother, who looked even more comfortable than him, when you reached the bottom of the stairs. He held his hand out for you, which you reluctantly took. “That dress looks beautiful on you. Did Tigris make it?”

“She’s the only modiste I trust,” you said. 

He smiled. It almost looked twisted. “Then I suppose I should be paying her handsomely for your wedding gown?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, Your Majesty—” your mother cut in. 

Her words died in her throat as Snow narrowed his eyes at her. At least he also was not fond of her. If you couldn’t like him as a person, at least you might be able to bond over hating your mother. “Do you think you have the authority to tell me how I should and should not spend my money? I shall spoil my bride however I see fit.”

“Of course. I just meant—”

Snow ignored her, and held his arm out for you to take. “Let us promenade?”

A hint of a smile danced across your face. If all of your conversations were limited to despising your mother, then this might not be so awful. You held onto his bicep. “Let’s.”

Snow led you out of the house, letting your mother scramble to pass off Coriolanus the Cat to the butler so that the two of you wouldn’t get too far without a chaperone. “I think she is going to loathe you by the time you propose if you keep this up,” you said. 

He snorted. “You think it will take that long?”

“Not all of us are smart enough to despise you at first meeting,” you said. “She likely still has delusions of grandeur, that you are only acting this way in an attempt to sweeten me up to you and after we wed, you will be kinder.”

“Ah. Is it working then?”

You frowned, looking up at him. He was already watching you. Did he ever stop staring? “Is what working?”

“Sweetening you up, as you say,” Snow clarified. He offered you a small smile. “Contrary to what you think, I do not wish for you to be unhappy.”

“No, you only wish for me to be a mindless pawn in your pursuit of power. Snow…If you are trying to make me warm up to you, to even just tolerate your existence as opposed to hating it, you will be disappointed. I will not act out. I will not cause a scene. If you wish for me to provide you an heir, I shall. But I will not, and I cannot, pretend that I am happy with this. You have gotten me a kitten. You have offered me a library. You will give me one of the highest titles in Panem. But you cannot provide me with what I want.”

Snow looked away from you. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. For a moment, you wondered if you touched a nerve. You would not care if you did, but Snow also held your entire life in his hands. He could make you as miserable as he wished. Though you may not like it, this was him being kind in whatever way he could manage. “Would it truly be so awful? Loving me?”

By now, you had reached the square. As your eyes swept through the park, you took note of how well-populated the area was. It was not uncommon at this point in the season for the many courting couples to spend their afternoons in the square. It was certainly better than stuffy teas and tense luncheons. With that, though, came the lack of privacy. Unlike a ball, where the music and the dancing and the overlapping conversations drowned everything out, you were in the open. Anything you said, any wrong move you made, could easily be noticed. It was why, you supposed, Snow liked to ask you to promenade. It was one of the few times you would hold your tongue. 

But you could not be silent about your true thoughts now.

Dropping your voice to a near-whisper, you said, “You cannot force love, Snow. It happens organically, with time. With people who do not go at each other’s throats over every disagreement. We are too different. I have told you, I will not sacrifice my ideals to play a happy little wife.”

“I don’t want you to sacrifice who you are. Your ideals, your resoluteness, your inability to ever let something go…That is why I chose you. All I want is your cooperation. If you give me that, I will make everything else worthwhile.”

You nearly rolled your eyes. What more did he want from you? Was it not enough for you to allow him to show you off like you were some doll, to stake his claim on you and say little to anyone about how unwilling a participant you were? “Am I not cooperating now?”

“You are.”

“Then why do you need my love too?”

Snow finally looked at you again. Now, though, his pale blue eyes had darkened. You sucked in a breath. He almost looked…possessed? Was that the right word? He certainly didn’t look himself, the perfect picture of composure. You spared a glance at the couples around you. If anyone saw the way he looked at you, like he might just eat you, no one revealed it. 

“I want all of you, and I cannot settle for anything less.”

Why did he insist on this? Why did it matter so much to him? Snow was getting everything he wanted. He would get a wife. He would get an heir. You were from a good family. You were intelligent enough for his standards. You would even refrain from acting out in public. You would play the role he wanted in the eyes of Panem. Why was all of that not enough? What was so important about receiving your love too? 

Unless…

You dropped Snow’s arm. He looked at you almost like you slapped him. As the two of you stopped in the middle of the walkway, the other couples started to look more closely. You could hardly blame them. It would certainly be entertaining if you and Snow had a lover’s quarrel (or whatever way they decided to paint this picture) in the middle of the square. But you could hardly focus on them. 

“Sejanus was right,” you said. 

Snow’s jaw ticked. Oh. You definitely touched a nerve there. But that hardly made any sense. Him and Sejanus were friends. Of course, you supposed in telling Snow that if you had to marry anyone for social status, you would marry Sejanus, it would put a strain on their friendship. Snow sucked in a breath, as if trying to calm himself. Yet, when he spoke, his tone was clipped. “Do not say his name around me.” 

“But he, Lord Plinth, I mean, was right,” you repeated. It was hard to take heed in his words when all you could focus on what the revelation at hand. 

“I do not care about what he said and whether it was truthful. I would like to promenade, and so that is what we shall do.”

“Snow—”

He grabbed your hand. You nearly jumped away from him. But between his tight grip and the eyes of the ton, you forced yourself to stay still. Snow brought your hand back to his arm, forced your fingers to curl around his bicep. Some of the tension in his shoulders melted away when you touched him. 

“There,” he said. He let out another breath. “You promised me you would behave, yes?”

“I—Yes, I did.”

“Then stop talking, and let us promenade.”

Was this the life you were going to live now? Placating a King whose mood could flip at the drop of a name? You had never seen someone become so angry so quickly. All you had done was say Sejanus’s name, and Snow had acted like you committed treason. Was it treason for him? Did he truly view it that way? If you had known he would be so adverse to even hearing you speak about Sejanus, you would have never admitted to him that you thought Sejanus would be an easy man to love. At the time, though, you thought it wouldn’t matter. Snow already had you where he wanted you. The only person truly standing in your way to pursue other matches was Snow himself. Why would you think that admitting your true desires change anything? 

Not seeing a way out of this, you bowed your head and did not say another word. You feared what he might do if you stepped out of line. If he was so angry at you saying Sejanus’s name, what could he do if you disobeyed him?

Snow stared at you for a long moment, trying to determine what you might do. When he was satisfied with your compliance, he began walking again, acting as if the spat never occurred. You had been prepared for the rest of the walk to be in silence. You certainly didn’t plan on saying anything else. There was no winning if you did. 

“I am going to meet with your father at the end of the week,” Snow said. You sucked in a breath. If he noticed, he didn’t react. “We will need to discuss the terms of our engagement.”

Not knowing what to say, you hummed in acknowledgment. 

Snow, however, was not happy with that. “Tell me you cannot wait to marry me.”

Tears began to prick at your eyes. How could your life be stolen from you in just a matter of weeks? How could Coriolanus Snow come in and ruin everything you wanted for yourself? How could he keep demanding more? You considered repeating the same sentence he said, but you knew he would not be satisfied with that. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I cannot wait to become Mrs. Coriolanus Snow.”

His chest puffed out and a smirk settled on his face. Well, at least you knew the right things to say to placate him. That might at least make the marriage easier to manage. 

Snow leaned into you, pressed his nose into your hair. It was hardly appropriate, especially in public, especially between two unmarried people. But he was King, and no one would stop him from doing what he pleased, societal expectations be damned.

“Good girl,” he whispered.