#only of them is married (and one is engaged) so its not even really something they CAN understand so

[harrypotterheretic]

This might be a controversial headcanon I have about Merope and Tom Riddle Snr, because - although Merope is talked about with pity in the HP series - outside of it, within the fandom, she is very much a villain and Tom Riddle Snr her victim.

And I understand why - because she, according to Dumbledore's best guess, gave a love potion to (roofied) Tom Riddle snr and got him to marry and sleep with her against his will. In doing so she not only violated his body and mind but destroyed his actual relationship with the muggle girl, Celia, and created scandal in his hometown, making him a subject of mockery - when he was very much a victim.

And its distasteful (at best) to victim blame.

But... I think about how Dumbledore wasn't there and is only guessing, and how he is a man and sees the world through men's eyes, and I think about what the world (and men) are really like.

When Tom Riddle snr returns to Little Hangleton, he talks about having been "hoodwinked" and the people of the village assume Merope lied to him about being pregnant in order to get him to marry her.

Which means the people of the village are happy to accept that Tom Riddle snr was sleeping with Merope before they ran away together. They certainly don't think he was in love with her (hence why he was hoodwinked) but they accept without question that he had engaged in a sexual relationship with her.

And I don't think that's unlikely.

Maybe even before Morfin and Marvolo were arrested, but definitely afterwards. I just don't think it's unlikely - men being as they are, and sorry to be crude - that a man like Tom Riddle snr wasn't perfectly happy to use Merope as a warm hole to get his dick wet.

I don't think he loved her, or was even attracted to her.

But would he have sex with her?

Yes!

Especially if Celia is holding out for her wedding night.

Higher class man having sexual relationships with lower class women, which mean nothing to them, and not caring one jot how this can ruin the lower class woman's life is as old as time.

Merope is "in love" with him, she is unprotected by people who will look out for her, she has no friends, no education and little experience of the world. She is unloved and desperate for kindness.

She is a sitting duck for a callous man who wants to get his end away.

The problem for Tom Riddle snr is that she is not, actually, as powerless as other lower class girls. She has magic.

And when poor, silly, in love Merope tells Tom she is pregnant and he tries to cast her aside, unlike her muggle sisters she is able to do something about it. When he refuses to do "the honourable thing" as she believed he would (because she believed he loved her), she uses magic to get him to marry her.

Dumbledore says he thinks Merope must have somehow found a way to trick Tom Riddle snr into drinking a love potion; that she got him to stop his horse by her house on a hot day and offered him water. That she eventually stopped giving him the love potions because she thought he might have really fallen in love with her by this point, or would stay for the baby, or just didn't want to lie anymore. But he is only guessing. That is, in fact, his headcanon.

Mine is that Tom Riddle snr was using Merope for sex, that she was already pregnant when they ran away (like the villagers thought), and that she only used magic to ensnare him after he rejected her when she told him about the baby. I think she did grab her wand and confund him, as she was reacting to his rejection - and had not been planning to kidnap him before this moment. I think it makes more sense than Dumbledore's explanation for why Tom regains his own mind and leaves, that Tom began to fight a confundus charm applied by an inexpert witch and broke free. And, if it was Merope who stopped using magic on Tom, I think it makes more sense than Dumbledore's theory for her to do so if she had a concrete reason to believe that he had ever loved her in the first place (no matter how misguided that belief was and how much the concrete was actually sand). Whichever version is true, I think Dumbledore's explanations are vague and patchy at best.

I also think it makes the pain of his leaving her more real, than if it was all a fantasy she cooked up in her head, and explains better why she just gave up after he left. She was not only desperate and alone and genuinely heartbroken, because she had been part of an actual relationship (if under false pretences on his side) but was also having to come to terms with the fact that she had been tricked and made a fool of and not only did Tom not love her, the Tom she loved never existed and the real Tom thought she was so worthless he was happy to use her, discard her and didn't care if she lived or died.

I just think that - using a sex class analysis of behaviour - my headcanon is far more realistic than Dumbledore's, because men really are that awful.

Now, the fact that they were sleeping together and Tom was doing so under false pretences doesn't stop Merope's using magic on him from being wrong. But it does even things out between them a bit, Tom is no longer a hapless victim of Merope's, but his being enchanted somehow is a consequence of his own poor behaviour. It is arguably deserved. And I see why that is a controversial take because it removes Tom from being a totally innocent victim of Merope's while making Merope a victim of his and finding an excuse for her bad behaviour. It is - arguably - victim blaming.

But I'm afraid the whole story just makes more sense if Tom and Merope were sleeping together before they eloped.

[sojourner-between-worlds]

.

[readwritealldayallnight]

(part of the Wife at First Sight series)

When Ghost had asked if you would help him with something, you’d answered yes without a question. You didn’t ask for details, smiling and thanking him every time he opened each door that led to the base’s parking garage, giggling when he even insisted on opening the truck door for you. You’d come to grow fond of your work husband, appreciating how he never failed to make you feel special.

You sometimes wished his affections were genuine, rather than part of what you’d assumed was a strange hazing ritual in the military (which you couldn’t deny kind of worked, the two of you had grown closer hadn’t you? Was that the point of hazings?).

But you knew that line of thinking wouldn’t lead anywhere, other than potential heartbreak. He surely was only joking around, wouldn’t return your feelings. That’s why you played along with the ruse, but tried your best not to fall too hard for the man who was making that more and more impossible.

Still though, you couldn’t deny the pang in your heart when you discovered the errand he requested your help with, was to go look at engagement rings.

Did he actually have someone special in his life? Someone he hoped to propose to?

You felt guilty, thinking there might be another person out there that he loves enough to ask them to marry him, all the while you’re enjoying his attention at work, pretending he could ever actually want you as his wife.

You follow him into the shop, eyes widening at the never ending cases and displays of shiny, glittering jewelry, as far as the eye can see.

He chuckles at your expression, telling you not to worry your pretty little head over any price tags, just to pick out whichever one you liked.

You appreciated that he trusts your judgement so much that he wanted your opinion on which ring to buy his partner, and so you take your time looking through them all, even if it makes you sad to picture him slipping this ring onto another person’s finger.

Gaze scanning the displays, your eye is instantly caught by one ring and one ring only. You point to it, Ghost humming in agreement, signalling for one of the employees behind the counter to unlock the case.

The man pulls the ring out, handing it to the Lieutenant who examines it in between gloved fingers.

“Let’s see how it fits.” He murmurs, taking your left hand in his and slipping the band onto your ring finger, both of your eyes locked on the movement.

“Like a glove.” The employee says with a smile, moving to gather a selection of ring boxes he hopes to show you both, seeing that the ring has evidently found its owner and fits perfectly.

“It’s really beautiful Ghost.” You tell him, admiring the ring as he admires your expression. “Your wife’s a lucky woman.” You add, thinking of the mystery woman you’re convinced he’s buying this for, assuming you must have a similar ring size to her or something, if he’s having you try it on.

Your eyes meet his own warm gaze as his hand folds your fingers, bringing the ring up to his lips to press a kiss through the mask.

“Not as lucky as I am to be her husband.”

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: How to Escape a Kingdom || Silver Vanrouge

You get isekai’d as the heroine in a bad novel. The prince is awful. The villainess is worse. The only thing keeping you going is your gorgeous, tired fiancé, Silver Vanrouge.

Series Masterlist

You prided yourself on being a good friend. A great friend, even. The kind of friend who remembered birthdays, hyped up questionable outfit choices, and provided alibis without asking too many questions. But as you stared at the abomination that was your best friend’s first novel, you began to reconsider your life choices.

The book sat in your lap like a lead weight, its aggressively pastel cover mocking you with every passing second. You had read it. You had survived it. But at what cost?

It had started as a simple enough premise: Silver, Duke of the North, was engaged to the heroine. A heroine so naively pure that if someone told her oxygen was a scam, she’d hold her breath until she passed out. The main villains were the neglected fifth prince and his fiancée, the villainess.

The villainess wanted Silver, but Silver wanted nothing to do with her. The fifth prince wanted the heroine, but the heroine, lacking two functional brain cells to rub together, had no idea what was going on.

And then things went completely off the rails.

Somehow, in a sequence of events that you were still trying to understand, Silver got shipped off to an unwinnable war and promptly died. The villainess mysteriously vanished (???), and then—without explanation—the heroine and the prince got married. The end.

You closed the book with the slow, deliberate movements of someone trying not to hurl it through a window. You inhaled deeply. You exhaled through your nose like a dragon trying not to incinerate a village.

You placed the book on the table.

Then you pressed your forehead against the table and contemplated your existence.

Tomorrow, you had to meet your best friend. You had to look them in the eye and tell them what you thought. You had to lie. Or worse—tell the truth.

You did not want to do this.

You needed divine intervention. A bolt of lightning, a sudden coma, a wormhole opening up beneath your feet.

As you walked to their house the next day, still praying for salvation, the universe finally answered.

Unfortunately, it did so in the form of a feral, airborne raccoon.

You were minding your own business, walking past a trashcan, when—BAM. A raccoon launched itself at you with the force of a caffeinated cryptid. There was no warning. No time to react. Just a blur of fur and the sheer weight of your sins crashing into your face.

Startled, you screamed, stumbled, and in a tragic display of physics and poor life choices, tumbled backwards—directly into the trashcan.

The lid snapped shut.

You flailed. You kicked. You thought, Wow, this is really happening, huh?

Then, to add insult to injury, the trashcan began to roll.

With you inside it.

You careened down the street, a human burrito of garbage and regret, before hitting a curb at just the right angle to be yeeted violently into the air.

There was a moment—just a moment—where time slowed, and you thought, Well. At least I don’t have to tell them anymore.

You woke up with that distinct, gnawing feeling that something was off.

It wasn’t the usual I forgot to send an email kind of off. No, this was the I am in the wrong dimension kind of off.

First of all, the bed was too big. Not just luxurious hotel big, but dear God, am I a Victorian orphan who got adopted by a morally gray billionaire? big.

Second, the air smelled clean. Not the comforting, familiar scent of your slightly questionable apartment, where the air carried the faint traces of instant ramen and the existential despair of adulthood.

Third—why was there noise?

You lived alone. The only other living creature that occasionally graced your presence was that one cockroach you had an unspoken truce with. So unless Mr. Roach had recently acquired sentience and thrown himself a rager, someone else was here.

Panic kicked in. You bolted upright, turned your head—this was absolutely not your home.

The walls were pristine. The curtains looked expensive. There was a vanity table. The entire place screamed old money, like the kind of place where people casually owned oil paintings of their ancestors who may or may not have committed tax fraud.

You shot out of bed so fast you nearly concussed yourself on the nearest piece of furniture. Your feet hit the floor. You sprinted to the mirror, skidded to a stop, and—

Oh.

Oh no.

Staring back at you was a person. A person you knew. A person whose entire personality consisted of:

Being impossibly, devastatingly naïve.

Trusting people so fast she’d probably accept a drink labeled 'Not Poison' because "surely no one would lie about that."

Having the observational skills of a decorative cactus.

You were the heroine.

A low, horrified whimper escaped your throat. You sank to the floor, trembling hands pressing into your face.

This was a nightmare. A cruel joke. A divine punishment for every time you had talked smack about the heroine’s IQ in your past life.

The girl who had the critical thinking skills of a potato. The girl whose brain you had long suspected was running exclusively on the Baby Shark song on loop.

And now you were her.

You exhaled shakily, pressing your forehead against the cool floor.

You had survived death. You had defied the natural order.

And for what?

To be reincarnated as a human goldfish with no object permanence?

You were going to die.

Again.

Before you could shake your fist at the heavens and demand an explanation for your untimely demise (courtesy of an overly aggressive raccoon and an unfortunately placed trash can), you needed to do what all great strategists did when thrown into an unwinnable situation: panic internally while pretending you had a plan.

You knew this story. You knew its plot holes were deeper than a budget dungeon crawl, and its character motivations made less sense than a pigeon with a degree in economics. But you had an advantage—foreknowledge. And by the gods, you were going to use it.

The first step? Establishing yourself as Not an Idiot™.

The second step? Ensuring you did not, under any circumstances, end up falling for the fifth prince’s brand of bootleg romantic villainy.

The third step? Avoiding an untimely death like the last protagonist (RIP Silver, Duke of the North, gone but never forgotten).

With this sacred checklist in mind, you marched outside, determined to assert control over your fate—

—only to be immediately ambushed by a squadron of highly trained maids who descended upon you like a swarm of fabric-wielding locusts.

You barely had time to register their presence before you were stripped, perfumed, corseted, and shoved into an outfit so elaborate that it probably required its own construction permit. There were lace trimmings, unnecessary bows, and a pair of shoes so polished you could see your rapidly growing sense of existential dread reflected in them.

You were officially trapped in Victorian Dress-Up Hell.

And then, as if things couldn’t get worse, you were dragged straight to breakfast with your fiancé.

Now, normally, this would be the part where you started screaming. But then you remembered who your fiancé was.

Silver. Duke of the North. The only well-written character in the entire dumpster fire of a novel. A man of honor, competence, and stunning good looks.

Stunning good looks?

That was putting it lightly.

The moment you walked into the dining room, you had to physically stop yourself from gasping like some sort of Victorian maiden experiencing her first bout of hysteria.

Because dear gods above and below—how was he even prettier than his book illustration?!

This was unfair. Illegal. You wanted to file a formal complaint to whatever divine entity was responsible for sculpting this man.

His eyes were closed, silver lashes resting against his cheeks, and you thought—if Sleeping Beauty ever existed, this would be him. A prince of ethereal beauty, untouched by the sins of the world.

And then his eyes fluttered open, revealing a shade that can only be described as 'auroral', and you had to actively bite the inside of your cheek to avoid making a noise so embarrassing that you would have to immediately fake your own death to escape the consequences.

Silver, unaware of your minor cardiac event, blinked at you in mild surprise before rising to pull out your chair. Like a gentleman. Like a man raised with actual etiquette.

Oh. Oh, you were in danger.

Swallowing down the entirely inappropriate reaction threatening to burst forth, you sat down and focused on eating. Silver, as always, was polite and composed, and just when you thought you could make it through breakfast without incident—

He mentioned the prince and the villainess were visiting today.

You must have made a face because he immediately looked concerned. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You usually enjoy their visits.”

Ah. Right. The original heroine was an idiot who thought being terrorized by a manipulative prince with daddy issues and a deranged villainess was fun.

You plastered on your best "I am absolutely thrilled" smile and forced out a chipper, “I can’t wait.”

Silver, bless his soul, nodded.

Internally, you were already constructing an elaborate plan to ensure that the prince got the message loud and clear: you were NOT interested.

And if that involved metaphorically throwing him off a metaphorical cliff?

Well. You had no objections.

The moment the Fifth Prince and the Villainess walked into the room, you instinctively tightened your grip on Silver’s sleeve like a soldier preparing for war. Because that’s exactly what this was—a battle. A battle of wits, patience, and trying very hard not to start swinging the nearest porcelain teapot.

The prince, in all his bootleg Casanova glory, approached first, his slick hair practically radiating the arrogance of a man who had never been told “no” in his entire life. His regal posture was flawless, his smirk expertly practiced in front of a mirror for at least five hours a day, and his eyes held the glint of a man who truly believed women were won like prizes at a rigged carnival game.

He reached for your hand, expecting you to giggle like a brainless debutante and let him hold it for an amount of time that was definitely pushing social norms.

Instead, you gripped his hand like a corporate executive about to close a high-stakes business deal. One firm shake. Then, for good measure, you slapped him on the back with the solid force of a man congratulating his buddy on a promotion.

“Good to see you, pal,” you said, voice brimming with friendly aggression.

The prince, visibly malfunctioning, blinked. “I—”

But you were already moving, looping your arm through Silver’s and pressing close to his side like you were the world’s most affectionate barnacle.

Silver, bless his chivalrous heart, barely hesitated before holding your hand firmly in return, his grip warm and steady. You had to physically restrain yourself from letting out a deranged, victorious giggle at the look on the prince’s face. He was staring at your interlocked hands like someone had just stolen his dessert plate right in front of him.

Oh, what a shame. What a tragedy. You almost felt bad.

Almost.

Then came the villainess.

She strutted forward, all sharp smiles and predatory grace, her heavily perfumed presence announcing itself like a nuclear bomb made of floral overkill. Without hesitation, she reached for Silver’s arm, her movements slow, deliberate—

Silver, in response, immediately took a step back like she had just pulled out a vial labeled “Highly Contagious Disease—Do Not Touch.”

You had never respected a man more in your life.

With the efficiency of someone handling a customer complaint, you smoothly stepped between them and took her hand instead. One quick shake—firm, professional, just detached enough to say I acknowledge you exist but not in any way that brings me joy.

She stared at you, visibly seething, like a cat that had just been denied access to the good couch.

Behind you, Silver sighed in such obvious relief that you were pretty sure you just secured a place in his will.

Tea time was, predictably, a disaster.

The prince kept attempting to flirt with you, hitting you with lines so cringeworthy that they could legally be classified as psychological warfare. Every time he tried, you shot him down with the efficiency of a seasoned HR manager rejecting an office romance scandal.

Meanwhile, the villainess was shamelessly trying to touch Silver, leaning in with the dramatic flair of a woman in a period drama who had just found out she had two months to live. Silver, for his part, looked two seconds away from either falling asleep or astral projecting out of sheer discomfort.

By the time they finally left, you had experienced the emotional equivalent of running a full marathon while being chased by geese.

Silver, apparently just as exhausted, slumped onto you like a marionette whose strings had just been brutally severed.

You sat there, unmoving, staring at the top of his head like you had just been gifted an extremely delicate and beautiful artifact. His silver hair was soft, his breathing slow and steady, and—

Oh. You were in danger again.

Future plans. Right. Focus.

You sat there, contemplating your next move like a war general preparing for battle. Clearly, Operation I Am Not Interested, Your Highness was off to a strong start. But you needed a long-term strategy. A game plan. A—

Silver stirred.

You glanced down, just in time to see his eyes flutter open, confusion evident in the soft furrow of his brow. Then he blinked. Looked around. Realized he was half-sprawled across your lap.

A deep red blush spread across his face like ink soaking into parchment. “I—I’m so sorry—”

You, feeling absolutely no shame about using this opportunity to appreciate just how stunning this man was, smiled. “It’s okay.”

Silver looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and never return.

And as you gazed at him—this rare creature of beauty and genuine kindness, blushing like he was the maiden in distress—you thought, It has to be illegal to be this pretty AND nice.

And then, in true romantic fashion, you immediately started plotting ways to keep him as far away from the main plot as possible

You had, to put it simply, absolutely nothing to do.

After successfully fending off the Fifth Prince’s attempts at romance and blocking the Villainess like a medieval goalie, your schedule was depressingly empty. No political meetings. No noble drama. Just you, a very comfortable chair, and the creeping existential dread of living inside a book with a plot so brain-cell-depleting that it should come with a warning label.

So, naturally, you decided to go watch Silver train.

And damn.

You thought you were prepared. You really did. But watching Silver train was a completely different beast from reading about it in the novel.

The way his sword cut through the air? Poetry.

The way his muscles flexed as he parried and countered? Divine artistry.

The way he casually knocked his opponents to the ground while offering them helpful advice like, “You left your right side open. Try shifting your stance” as if he hadn’t just folded them like cheap laundry? Criminal.

You found yourself wishing for one of those tiny opera glasses so you could watch this in HD. Maybe even a chaise lounge so you could dramatically swoon at the appropriate moments.

But you settled for the next best thing—sitting with a cold bottle of water, pretending you weren’t staring at him like an awestruck peasant witnessing a deity descend from the heavens.

Silver eventually noticed your presence and, being the kind soul that he was, immediately came over. Probably to check if you were in distress because, let’s be honest, the original heroine never did anything without needing someone’s help five minutes later.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, eyes filled with genuine concern.

You blinked. “Nope. Just brought you this.”

You handed him the water, and— oh. Oh, wow. Was he blushing?

“I—thank you,” Silver said, taking the bottle with a kind of stunned hesitation, as if no one had ever done something nice for him before. Which, honestly, in this novel? Entirely possible.

“Well, since you’re bored,” he continued, after taking a drink, “would you like to take a walk around town?”

You nodded. Because, really, what else were you going to do? Stare at a wall? Accidentally trigger a romance flag with the prince by breathing in his general direction? No, thank you.

The town was bustling. People were selling overpriced trinkets, children were running around with the manic energy of creatures that had never paid taxes, and the smell of fresh bread filled the air.

You were browsing a suspiciously glittery hat stall when you saw it—a tiny fortune-telling booth, tucked between a bakery and a store selling the kind of weapons that definitely weren’t legally registered.

“Want to check that out?” you asked Silver, jerking your head toward the booth.

Silver, because he was down for anything as long as it didn’t involve unnecessary drama, nodded.

The fortune teller was exactly what you expected. Mysterious robes? Check. Hood obscuring half their face? Check. A table full of random, ominous objects? Check. A single, gnarled hand that slowly reached out the moment you sat down? Horrifying, but also check.

“Your fate is… twisting.” The fortune teller’s voice was dramatic, like they got paid per cryptic sentence. “You must learn to change your destiny. And… most importantly… you must learn how to say no.”

You and Silver exchanged looks.

“…Huh?”

The fortune teller did not elaborate. They simply leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with themselves.

Well. That was unhelpful.

You both stood up, ready to leave when—

“Oh,” the fortune teller added, just as you were stepping out. “Good luck with your romance.”

You and Silver froze.

The air became so thick with tension that you could probably cut it with one of the overpriced swords from earlier.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you made eye contact.

Silver, visibly flustered, stared very hard at a distant fruit stand.

You, on the other hand, suddenly found a deep, profound interest in the cobblestone street, as if it held the answers to life’s mysteries.

The entire walk home was excruciating. Not because of anything bad—no, because your brains were both melting from sheer secondhand embarrassment.

Every time your hands almost brushed, one of you would jolt like you’d been electrocuted.

At one point, Silver cleared his throat awkwardly.

At another, you tripped on absolutely nothing and had to pretend it didn’t happen.

By the time you got back, you were convinced that the fortune teller wasn’t actually magical, just a professional-level troll who lived for drama.

And you, unfortunately, had walked straight into it.

It was a perfectly peaceful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and for once, you weren’t being subjected to the medieval drama equivalent of a telenovela.

So, naturally, fate decided to drop-kick that peace into the sun.

One moment, you were lounging in the garden, enjoying the fleeting calm, and the next—

A shadow descended upon you. Something small, fast, and full of chaotic energy launched itself from the goddamn sky.

You barely had time to react before you were two inches away from seeing God again.

By some miracle (or the sheer will of your survival instincts), you managed to not die as a tiny, incredibly energetic man landed in front of you, grinning like he hadn’t just almost assassinated you with his entrance.

“Oops!” he chirped, not looking apologetic at all. “Did I scare you?”

Scare you? Sir, you had aged ten years and seen your life flash before your eyes like a badly edited PowerPoint presentation.

“Who—” you gasped, still processing your near-death experience, “—who are you?”

The menace placed a hand on his chest, dramatic as hell. “Nice to meet you, future daughter-in-law!”

Oh. Oh.

So this was Silver’s dad.

You had to take a moment. Because one—this man did not look like anyone’s dad. He looked like someone’s mischievous younger brother who steals your socks and sets them on fire for fun. And two—Silver was so calm and gentle and responsible.

How?

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN??

Genetics had to be playing 4D chess.

But you quickly discovered that while Lilia was absolutely, certifiably insane, he was also hilarious.

So, like any normal people, you both immediately started talking mad shit about the Fifth Prince and the Villainess.

“Can you believe,” you huffed, sipping your tea like an 18th-century noble gossiping at a ball, “that the Prince keeps trying to flirt with me in front of Silver? In public? With witnesses?”

Lilia cackled. “That boy has no shame. And his fiancée—gods above, she has the personality of a spoon.”

You nearly choked on your tea. “RIGHT?? And she keeps trying to touch Silver like he’s a limited-edition collectible.”

Lilia grinned. “Well, he is handsome.”

“Yeah, but he’s not touchable handsome. He’s look from afar and cry a little handsome.”

“Ah, so you cry when you look at him?”

“…I— I feel like I’m being entrapped by my own words.”

“What are you two talking about?”

You both turned to see Silver standing there, looking… confused.

You, ever the graceful conversationalist, froze like you had been caught committing treason.

Lilia, on the other hand, looked positively delighted.

“Oh, just talking about our beloved Crown Prince,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm so thick you could butter toast with it.

Silver blinked. His eyes slowly drifted to you.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Your dad and I were just bonding over our deep, mutual hatred.”

There was a pause. And then—

Silver smiled.

Not just any smile. A pleased smile. The kind of smile you’d expect from a man who just found out his worst enemy stepped on a rake.

Which. Well.

Considering the Crown Prince was his worst enemy, that checked out.

Unfortunately, the moment of camaraderie didn’t last.

Because Lilia, with the delight of someone about to ruin your entire month, dropped a bombshell.

“Oh, by the way,” he said casually, like he wasn’t about to wreck your day, “war is brewing. The Prince wants Silver to go to the front lines.”

You stopped breathing.

Your blood turned to ice.

The original heroine had been all for it—saying some nonsense about how it was the right thing to do and how Silver should go save lives.

You?

You were NOT that kind of saint.

You were going to beg.

You were going to grovel.

You were going to throw yourself onto the ground like a soccer player faking an injury if you had to.

Silver was NOT going to war.

Lilia was watching you now, a knowing smile on his face.

You were too busy plotting your fiancé’s survival to care.

You had barely finished your morning tea when trouble arrived at your doorstep, wrapped in a cloak of audacity and bad financial decisions.

See, apparently, the previous owner of your body had the charitable sense of a malfunctioning Roomba. She’d give money to anything that sounded remotely good. Orphanage? Sure! Rehabilitation center? Fantastic! An organization claiming to rescue drowning fish? Take all of it.

And now, since you had not been throwing bags of gold at questionable "charities" like a medieval Jeff Bezos with a conscience, someone had come personally to shake you down.

The man standing in front of you was the exact type of person who looked like he belonged in a back alley deal gone wrong. He had the thin mustache of a man who thought twirling it made him look menacing and the beady eyes of someone who’d absolutely try to sell you "magic beans" at a 500% markup.

"You!" he sneered, pointing a bony finger at you like he was about to curse your entire bloodline. "Why have you ceased your donations to the Sacred Order of the Benevolent Fish Saviors? Do you not care for the plight of the aquatic brethren?"

You stared at him, unblinking.

“…Are you seriously trying to convince me that fish can drown?”

"The oceans are a dangerous place!" he snapped, voice thick with righteous fury. "Only the kindhearted can understand the delicate balance of aquatic life—”

"Alright, shut up." You pinched the bridge of your nose. "No more money. Get a real job. Touch some grass. Read a book that isn’t written by con artists."

You thought that would be the end of it. Oh, how wrong you were.

Because instead of groveling like any normal scam artist when their grift gets cut off, this man decided to take the most insane course of action possible—he lunged at you.

Now, let’s get one thing straight. You were ready to commit a crime. Your 4-inch heels were locked, loaded, and prepared to introduce themselves to his ribcage. But you didn’t even get the chance.

Because before you could react, something blurred at the edge of your vision—

CRACK.

The next thing you knew, the man was frozen in place, his wrist locked in an iron grip, and standing beside you was Silver.

Silver, who you hadn’t even noticed entering the room.

Silver, whose grip looked firm enough to end generations.

Silver, who just made a grown man sound like a dying accordion.

The scammer wheezed, his face rapidly losing color as he tried and failed to wrench himself free.

Silver’s expression? Calm. Unbothered. Serene, even. Like he hadn’t just manhandled this guy into an early retirement.

“…I’d appreciate it if you didn’t attack my fiancée,” Silver said, voice so polite that it somehow made everything ten times more terrifying.

You blinked. You could physically hear the bones in the scammer’s arm considering a career change.

Silver finally let go—shoving him toward the door like he was disposing of a particularly annoying mosquito. The man stumbled out, barely managing to stay upright, and within seconds, he was sprinting off the property like the devil himself was on his heels.

When Silver turned back to you, he looked almost sheepish. "…Sorry you had to see that," he murmured. "I don’t usually act like that in front of others."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Because what were you supposed to say to that?

“Oh no, Silver, that was awful. Truly terrible. In fact, I definitely did not find it insanely attractive when you nearly broke a man’s wrist for me.”

Yeah, no way in hell were you admitting that.

Instead, you just smiled, folding your hands neatly in front of you. "No, no, it’s fine. No need to apologize."

Silver still looked vaguely guilty. You, meanwhile, were trying very hard to resist the urge to start giggling like a schoolgirl.

Because holy shit.

Was it legal to be this attractive AND chivalrous?

If Silver kept this up, you were going to have a serious problem.

The ball was grand, elegant, and, most importantly, the single biggest waste of your time since you once spent two hours watching a documentary about the history of forks.

You had already resigned yourself to being bored out of your mind when Lilia swooped in like the guardian angel you never asked for and dragged you to a shadowy corner of the ballroom. This was, according to him, the best place to engage in the most sacred of all noble pastimes—people-watching and ruthless judgment.

And what a show it was.

"Oh, oh, look at that one!" Lilia cackled, nearly doubling over as he pointed at a woman who had, in a bold and truly ill-advised move, decided to wear a dress that looked like a monochrome cake. "She looks like she repurposed a funeral veil!"

You took a sip of your drink and nearly spit it out. "Lilia, that dress has committed war crimes against fashion."

"The ruffles! The sleeves! It’s like someone asked themselves, ‘How do I make this look as unflattering as possible?’ and then succeeded beyond their wildest dreams," he added.

You continued this noble pursuit for a solid fifteen minutes, giggling over outfits that defied both reason and taste. The two of you had just started critiquing a man who looked like he had raided a circus wardrobe when your night took a dramatic turn for the worse. The prince—His Royal Unwantedness—had spotted you.

You watched in horror as he began striding over, each step dripping with the unearned confidence of a man who had never been told "absolutely not" in his entire life except by his father. This was a man who probably thought women fainted at the mere sight of him when, in reality, they were most likely collapsing from secondhand embarrassment.

Lilia’s expression shifted instantly. The usual mischievous twinkle in his eyes vanished, replaced by something cold and sharp. He looked ready to commit several crimes, and you were tempted to let him.

But no. You were mature. You were reasonable. You were absolutely about to handle this like a professional.

So you winked at Lilia and whispered, "Relax. I got this."

The prince didn’t bother with pleasantries when he arrived, because of course he didn’t. "Dance with me," he said, because why waste time on politeness when you can just issue demands like a badly written romance villain?

You took his hand with a practiced, polite smile. "Of course, Your Highness," you said sweetly, the verbal equivalent of setting a trap and waiting for him to fall right in.

The dance started off normally enough. The prince led you across the ballroom, his movements controlled and graceful. Unfortunately, any illusion of elegance was immediately ruined by the fact that he would not stop staring at you. Not in the way Silver did, all soft and careful, but like he was trying to figure out if you were edible.

"You seem different tonight," he said, voice oozing with forced charm. "More… confident."

You forced out a laugh that you hoped conveyed the exact right amount of fake amusement. "And you seem exactly the same, Your Highness."

If he noticed the insult, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he pulled you just a little closer. That was his first mistake.

His second mistake came when his hand decided to wander lower than what was remotely appropriate.

Your reaction was immediate. You didn’t even think—your knee just shot up with the force of divine judgment.

And oh, what a glorious moment it was.

The prince let out a strangled sound somewhere between a dying peacock and a man realizing all his hopes and dreams had just been shattered. He crumpled like a marionette with cut strings, collapsing into himself as the entire ballroom fell into stunned silence.

For one perfect, breathtaking moment, nobody spoke.

Then you gasped dramatically, placing a delicate hand over your mouth like the very picture of innocent devastation. "Oh my goodness!" you exclaimed, voice laced with the perfect amount of fake concern. "I was simply startled when you touched me there! I had no idea you were so close!"

The Empress, who had been watching this whole scene unfold with the same expression one might wear when realizing their soup had a cockroach in it, took a single look at her son, let out a long, exhausted sigh, and then turned on her heel and left the ballroom. She didn’t even glance back.

Somewhere behind you, Lilia was laughing so hard he had to physically clutch a pillar for support.

Before you could bask in your triumph, a warm, familiar presence appeared at your side.

Silver.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice quiet but firm.

You nodded, still recovering from the sheer joy of watching the prince—His Royal Lowness— collapse like a sandcastle at high tide. "I’m fine," you assured him.

Silver, ever thorough, scanned you with a careful gaze, double-checking for any signs of distress. Apparently satisfied, he slowly turned his attention to the prince, who was still on the floor making noises that sounded vaguely like whimpering.

Silver’s face remained neutral, but the sheer force of his glare was something otherworldly. You were surprised the prince hadn’t just spontaneously combusted on the spot.

Lilia sauntered up beside you and, with the most casual nonchalance in the world, lifted his hand and gave you a perfectly subtle high-five.

Falling in love with Silver was not something you had planned for. It wasn’t even something you had remotely considered, because falling for a fictional character—even one brought to life by the absurdity of your existence—was stupid.

And yet, here you were. Doomed.

It had started subtly, like a slow-acting poison. You’d watch him train and catch yourself admiring the way he moved, graceful and disciplined, like a warrior from some epic tale.

Then it got worse. A white bunny hopping through the garden? That looks like Silver. A particularly stunning sunset, lilac and soft? Those are Silver’s eyes. A suspiciously sharp knife on the dinner table? Silver has a sharp sword.

There was no escape. The entire world had transformed into a living scrapbook of Silver-Themed Hallucinations, and it was ruining you.

You couldn’t sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, there he was—standing under the moonlight, holding your hand, looking at you like you were something precious. It was unbearable.

Which brought you to now.

You were sitting at a tea party, drowning in a state of sleep deprivation so severe that you were genuinely considering just face-planting into your teacup and accepting whatever fate awaited you. The sunlight was too bright, the air was too floral, and the pastries tasted like nothing. Everything sucked.

And then, because the universe hated you, the villainess approached.

She had the smug, self-satisfied look of someone who had never had a single original thought in her life. "Oh dear," she said, voice dripping with saccharine mockery, "you look absolutely dreadful today. Has your precious Duke been keeping you up all night?"

Usually, you would have handled this with grace. A snide remark, a well-placed jab, maybe even an eyeroll so dramatic it would have sent you into another timeline.

But not today.

Today, you were tired.

Today, you were grappling with a full-scale emotional crisis.

Today, you had reached your limit.

So, instead of responding like a rational, civilized person, you calmly reached for the nearest cup of juice, lifted it with all the dignity of a noblewoman, and threw it directly at her face.

The liquid splashed over her dress, staining the expensive fabric a deep, unforgiving red.

Silence. Absolute silence.

Her mouth opened, presumably to shriek, but you were not done.

Before she could get a word out, you grabbed her by the collar, yanking her forward so she could fully comprehend the depths of your unholy exhaustion.

"The next time you run your mouth," you said, voice dangerously low, "you might just end up meeting God."

Her eyes widened in pure, unfiltered terror.

Oh, but you weren’t finished. You gave her collar a final, dramatic tug. "And keep your hands off my fiancé."

Then, with the grandeur of a war general who had just claimed victory, you released her, turned on your heel, and stormed out.

Silver, who had witnessed everything, stared at you as though you had just set the entire kingdom on fire.

You grabbed his wrist, ignoring the way he flinched in bewilderment, and dragged him out with you.

You didn’t stop until you were safely inside the carriage, away from prying eyes, and only then did you collapse onto the seat, pressing your hands against your face.

Silver sat beside you, still looking utterly shell-shocked. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, clearly struggling to form a single coherent thought.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slowly reached for your hand. His touch was warm, steady—like an anchor. "What’s wrong?" he asked softly.

And that was it. The last thread of your restraint snapped.

Before you could even think about stopping yourself, you turned to him, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

It was immediate. There was no hesitation, no moment of confusion. Silver kissed you back like he had been waiting for this his whole life. His hands moved to cradle your face, gentle but firm, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

You didn’t know how long it lasted—time had ceased to exist—but when you finally pulled away, your heart was a mess.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment crush you. "I love you," you admitted, voice raw. "And I have been suffering."

Silver’s eyes widened, but only for a moment. Then, with a sudden, almost breathless laugh, he leaned in again. "I love you too," he murmured against your lips, "so much."

And then he kissed you again.

Take that, villainess.

There were many things you did not want to deal with first thing in the morning.

A war? Absolutely not.

A war involving Silver? Somebody was going to die.

You groaned as you dragged yourself out of bed at the noise downstairs, feeling like a corpse being forced to participate in capitalism. You stomped downstairs, barely managing to keep yourself upright, and immediately regretted existing.

Silver was already in the living room, arms crossed, looking about two seconds away from snapping someone’s spine in half like a stale breadstick. Lilia, usually a walking cryptid with an unshakable grin, looked like he was holding back every unholy thought in his mind just for the sake of his son’s sanity.

And then. Them.

The Prince. The Villainess. The living embodiments of tax fraud and emotional instability.

Oh, hell no.

You grabbed the nearest maid, who was visibly vibrating with fear, and whispered, "What’s happening?"

She gulped. "T-The Prince is trying to send His Grace to lead the war."

Your soul ascended.

Your patience evaporated.

You had not suffered through an isekai, navigated 18th-century nonsense, and fallen head over heels for your incredibly hot and kind fiancé just for him to be thrown into a battlefield meat grinder because some discount royal didn’t want to risk his own cowardly neck.

You stormed across the room like a woman possessed, and the moment the Prince saw you, his whole face lit up—because he thought you were still the naive airhead he could manipulate into convincing Silver to go die for him.

The Villainess, however? She shrank back immediately.

Maybe it was the murderous glare you were directing at them. Maybe it was because she had witnessed your unhinged wrath firsthand. Maybe it was because deep down, she understood that she was in the presence of a feral raccoon of a person who had already died once and had nothing left to lose.

The Prince reached out to touch your shoulder as if he could physically weasel you onto his side.

Big mistake.

You swatted his hand away so hard you nearly dislocated his wrist.

"No," you said, voice dripping with finality.

The Prince blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Silver’s not going to war." You looked him dead in the eyes. "Try someone else."

Silence.

The Prince’s face twisted into a diplomatic smile. "But, my dear—"

"Do I look like your dear?" You took a step forward, forcing him back. "Silver already said no. The Emperor didn't send a decree, which means you’re just trying to shove him in front of your responsibilities, aren’t you?"

His jaw clenched. "That’s not—"

"Oh, but it is," you cut in, grinning like a predator who just found dinner. "If you need a sacrifice so badly, why not lead the war yourself? Oh, wait—you’re scared." You tilted your head. "Why should Silver go fight and die in your place? What do you contribute to this kingdom besides being the reason the Empress probably drinks herself to sleep?"

Lilia let out a choked laugh. Silver covered his mouth to hide his amusement. The Villainess looked like she wanted to phase out of existence.

"How dare you!" The Prince seethed, looking like a child whose toy had been taken away.

"How dare you?" you mimicked back, voice laced with venomous mockery. "Seriously, just die already. It’s called natural selection. Worms like you don’t deserve to keep reproducing and terrorizing the female population."

The Prince, red with humiliation and rage, looked like he wanted to lunge at you, but before he could humiliate himself further, he turned on his heel and stormed out.

The Villainess trailed after him, but not before giving you a look that was equal parts impressed and terrified.

As soon as they were gone, you turned to Silver and clapped your hands together.

"So," you said, still brimming with unholy energy. "Let’s get married."

Silver, who was still processing the apocalyptic verbal execution you had just delivered, blinked at you. "What?"

You nodded sagely. "Yeah. Immediately. Preferably before they try something else. Then we can go on a honeymoon somewhere far away from all this war nonsense."

Silver stared at you, beautifully confused. "...Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," you replied. "Pack your bags, babe, we’re getting hitched."

Silver, against all odds, smiled. And then, he agreed.

Lilia threw a celebratory punch in the air.

Congratulations. You’re planning a wedding now, baby!

Planning a wedding was supposed to be a stressful but joyous occasion.

Your reality? It was mostly just stress.

Between dodging passive-aggressive nobles, fending off suspiciously enthusiastic tailors, and ensuring that the wedding menu didn’t include anything remotely related to the Prince’s favorite foods out of sheer spite, you were running on fumes.

And that’s when Silver came to you, looking strangely hesitant.

Immediately, your brain went to worst-case scenarios.

Was he having doubts? Did he get conscripted behind your back? Was he about to pull a tragic self-sacrifice move that you’d have to thwart with unhinged levels of devotion and threats of arson?

"Can we talk?" he asked, his voice unsure.

You, in full fight-or-flight mode, clutched your chest. "Silver, if you’re about to say something stupid, I’m legally obligated to stop you."

His expression twitched, like he wasn’t sure whether to be exasperated or endeared. "It’s not stupid," he assured you. Then, after a pause, "I wanted to ask… do you like this country?"

You stared at him. Stared.

"Silver." You grabbed both his hands. "Are you joking?"

His gaze softened, but he stayed serious. "If you had the choice, would you leave?"

You blinked. "Why?"

Silver exhaled, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly. "Lilia and I… We lived somewhere else before we came here. I was thinking—if we left, we could live peacefully. Away from all this. We wouldn’t be nobility, but we wouldn’t have to deal with—" He gestured vaguely, as if trying to encompass the entire kingdom’s collective insanity.

And that’s when it hit you.

You could leave. You could actually escape.

You didn’t have to waste your life playing politics in a country where half the nobility was allergic to common sense. You didn’t have to pretend to care about court scandals that made your brain rot. You didn’t have to deal with war-hungry royals who had the intelligence of a damp sock.

You could take your hot, kind, sword-wielding fiancé and dip.

You could live a peaceful, quiet, cottagecore dream where your biggest concerns would be whether the goats ate your laundry or if Silver accidentally adopted another wild animal.

You gripped Silver’s hands so hard you nearly cut off circulation.

"Silver." Your voice shook with emotion. "I love you so much right now."

He blinked, startled by your intensity.

"I’m taking as much wealth as I can from this godforsaken kingdom," you declared, fully committed. "And then we’re running. We’ll live a cozy life, I’ll grow a garden, you can train without political idiots breathing down your neck, and we’ll be so disgustingly in love that Lilia will probably want to leave out of secondhand embarrassment."

Silver stared at you for a beat, lips parting slightly—before he suddenly let out a breathy laugh.

God, he was so beautiful when he smiled.

He cupped your cheek, gaze warm, and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips. It was soft, reverent, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You melted, gripping his sleeve to keep yourself from combusting.

When he pulled away, he whispered, "Then that’s it. We’ll get married, and we’ll be free."

And that was that.

You were getting married and escaping these lunatics before they had the chance to retaliate.

Honestly? Best wedding gift ever.

Mornings in your new life were warm, lazy, and sweet— the kind of peace you never thought you’d get after surviving the absolute circus that was your past life.

You stretched with a yawn, shuffled into the kitchen, and started making breakfast. The house smelled of fresh bread, eggs, and domestic bliss.

And then, like clockwork, Silver appeared.

You weren’t sure if he was half-awake or just naturally this clingy, but the second he found you, he wrapped himself around you from behind. His arms encircled your waist, and he rested his chin on your shoulder, pressing a slow, sleepy kiss to your neck.

“Good morning,” he murmured against your skin, voice still husky with sleep.

Weak. You were weak.

“Silver,” you tried to scold, but it came out softer than intended.

He hummed, not moving, not even pretending to be helpful. His weight was solid, grounding, a warm anchor against your back.

"You are actively making this difficult," you sighed, flipping a pancake.

“Difficult to cook?” he asked, his lips brushing over your jaw.

“Difficult to live, Silver. How am I supposed to focus when you’re like this?”

He chuckled, pulling you impossibly closer. “I don’t see the problem.”

And this was your life now.

In the afternoons, Silver trained with Sebek, and you watched, entertained by their very specific brand of friendship.

Sebek was loud, passionate, and dedicated. Silver was calm, level-headed, and tired. Together, they created the strangest dynamic known to man.

“Silver, your form is slipping!” Sebek barked, nearly vibrating with intensity.

Silver deflected Sebek’s attack without even looking. “It’s fine.”

“It is NOT fine!” Sebek yelled, throwing himself forward with the fury of a man who took personal offense to subpar swordsmanship.

You sipped your drink, watching this unfold like it was a very dramatic stage play.

Eventually, Silver knocked Sebek’s sword from his hands with an effortless twist, and Sebek fell to his knees, gasping.

You clapped. “Wow. What a performance. I’d rate it a solid 8/10.”

Sebek looked offended. “8?! What was missing?!”

“More drama,” you said. “Maybe fake your death next time. Really sell the loss.”

Sebek narrowed his eyes, as if actually considering it. Oh no. What have you done?

Lilia showed up almost every day, either to offer unsolicited advice or to cause chaos. Sometimes, he brought Malleus.

You still hadn’t fully recovered from realizing that Malleus was the fae prince.

Today was no different. He arrived grinning, eyes full of mischief, which was already a sign of danger.

“So,” he started, dramatically leaning in. “Have you two considered… adopting a dragon?”

Silver blinked. You stared.

Malleus, sipping his tea beside him, nodded sagely. “It would be an honorable task.”

You set your cup down very, very slowly.

“I—what?” you asked, convinced you misheard.

“A dragon,” Lilia said, as if that explained everything. “You’re living in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nature, why not raise a baby dragon? Imagine the bond! The companionship! The chaos!”

Malleus actually looked excited. “I could grant you one from my own lineage.”

Silver looked at you, waiting for you to react.

You looked at Silver.

Then back at Malleus, a literal fae prince, who had just casually offered to gift you a baby dragon.

Sebek, in the corner, looked like he was about to faint.

“...You’re joking,” you said, voice dangerously neutral.

Lilia and Malleus just smiled.

You dragged your hands down your face. “I barely survived dealing with a corrupt kingdom, now you want me to raise a fire-breathing menace?”

“It wouldn’t breathe fire immediately,” Malleus assured.

“That is not the part I am concerned about.”

Silver, who had been quiet this whole time, actually seemed to be considering it.

You kicked his shin under the table.

He cleared his throat. “I think we should wait.”

Malleus sighed. Lilia just patted your back. “You’ll change your mind.”

Not likely.

But at night? It was just you and Silver.

After a long day of chaos and laughter, you’d collapse onto your shared bed, immediately melting into Silver’s embrace.

He kissed your forehead, soft, lingering. “Tired?”

You sighed happily, nuzzling into his warmth. “Mm. Just happy.”

His arms tightened around you, like he never wanted to let go.

And this was your life now.

Your old country was probably in flames, but who cared? You had love, friendship, and peace.

Silver smiled at you, soft and content. And you thought, Yup. This is it.

Thank my best friend for writing this ridiculous, insane novel.

Who do you wanna see next?

Series Masterlist ; All Masterlists

[sonolynn]

Forbidden Fruit

summary | Jace didn't want her, but Aemond did.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

tags | 18+ MDNI, Jealously, Aemond yearning, explicit sexual content, mentions of bastards, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, size kink (?), oral f!receiving, Angst if you squint. "Technical" infidelity but is it really if Jace started it? (yes). ooc!Aemond (probably). NOT PROOF READ (its one am, leave me alone).

w.c | 3.8k

note(s) | My first smut fic!! Ah I'm scared...I also think I have a problem with making Aemond want fem!reader when he rightfully can't have her. Also I swear I'm not a Jace hater!! I love Jace, but in this fic specifically I made him long and wish for Baela.

____________________________________________

“Why don’t you marry her then?” 

Aegon’s voice was taunting, as if pushing Aemond to say something. Aemond stared down at the cup in front of him; even with a stoic expression, his mannerisms betrayed him. He tapped his finger against the edge of the cup, he picked at the skin around his nails on the opposite hand-all the tell tale signs of thinking, a mind that cannot be stopped. 

“Because she is betrothed to Rhaenyra’s bastard.” His voice dripped with malice as he spoke. Aemond hated that Jacerys would inherit the throne enough; What his bastard nephew didn’t need was the girl Aemond had wished for his entire life. Ever since the two of them were children Aemond had a…weird infatuation with her. When he was a boy, he would pick flowers from the garden and he would purposely do good deeds for her, just to have her hug him or smile graciously at him. 

But now, everything was different. She was a woman grown, and him a man grown. She was to be engaged to his bastard nephew, and he would have to sit and watch as they shared a kiss, held hands, smiled and danced as newlyweds. He’d have to hold a straight face as the two of them left to Jacerys’ bed chamber, only knowing the connotations that came with what would happen on their wedding night. 

Ignoring his brother's tedious rants about hells knows what, Aemond stood from his chair, opting for a walk in the gardens.

____________________________________________

Aemond walked, hands clasped behind his back, and his gaze drifted into nothingness as he walked with just his thoughts, and the cool breeze that accompanied the summer evenings. He tried to distract himself from the thoughts of her, for they were all almost too painful to ever truly think about. 

But he couldn’t help himself. He thought of her as a sickness, one that lingered and grew stronger by the day until it fully consumed your every waking moment. He thought of her laugh just as contagious as the plague, her eyes as intoxicating as the finest of wines. He thought her to be a type of sickness, and he so desperately wanted to be affected. 

Aemond was never one to smile-one to truly-smile, his half smirks or half smiles were only ever in a sarcastic sense, but for some reason his smiles were real with her. With her he laughed a little more, with her he walked a little faster. He knew it was stupid, perhaps perpetually idiotic-to ever think, let alone long for such a pure and innocent creature. 

As Aemond walked, he noticed her sitting by one of the fountains in the garden. She looked breathtaking, he thought to himself. Her hair was down and cascaded down her shoulders, her face was just the perfect amount of shaded with the moon's light. And above all, she held that intoxicating smile that she always held. He never knew why she was always smiling, nor did he wish to find out. 

She turned her head, her smile widening at the sight of Aemond. 

“Aemond!” Her voice was cheerful, slowly standing as he walked towards her. 

��Princess,” Aemond smiled-a half smile-at her as he looked around, then slowly back at her. “It’s quite late. Should you not be in your chambers?” 

She always thought the way he cared for her, even if he didn’t show it outright, was extremely enticing. She knew how he was with others, but she knew the differences he had with almost everyone in court-so what made her so different? Why her, the object of the second son's affection. 

“Perhaps I do not wish to sleep. Perhaps…I quite like the quietness of the garden.” She smiled innocently, looking back towards the fountain as she started to walk. Aemond knew her well enough to see that this was a quiet plea for him to join her; Because no matter how much she enjoyed the quietness of the garden, she enjoyed it much more when he was with her. 

Aemond stared at her, as he often did, but this time, it was different. The stare he held was nothing short of primal. He watched the light in her eyes as she smiled up at him and for some reason, now, he wished to watch as the innocent light in her eyes slowly dwindled as he claimed her. 

“Aemond? Is something wrong?” Her voice snapped his thoughts back, if only for a moment. She stopped walking to look up at him and she crossed her arms underneath her chest. His eye trailed down slowly, fixating on the way that her cleavage just slightly out of her dress. He was like a man starved; Clinging to the littlest of details that would make his imagination run wild. 

She seemed to notice the way that his eye raked over her chest like a starving man, and her face flushed with embarrassment. She-though subconsciously-reached up to place her arm over her chest, but to her surprise, Aemond gently took her hand, and when she looked up, his one sapphire eye was locked with hers. 

“You needn’t cover up. Not around me.” He spoke calmly, though his heart was racing and his head spinning. He let out a shaky breath as he lowered her hand and looked into her eyes. 

She watched him carefully, searching his gaze for anything that would betray him. In truth she didn’t know what she was searching for, but she felt as if she should be searching for something. 

Aemond lifted a hand, placing the back of his knuckles against her hot cheek. The gesture was gentle, and slow, something he was not known for. His eye slowly trailed down her face, and his eye caught on her lips, his breath heavy as he reached his hand up and gently placed his thumb over her plush bottom lip. 

Her eyes followed his, big, and full of longing. She stared at him as his thumb pushed against her lip. She didn’t know exactly what to do; She knew that this moment was intimate, far too intimate to be happening between a betrothed woman and a bachelor. But, the way he gazed at her made her feel hot, and the way he trailed his hand over her face and body made her want to see where this could lead. 

His free hand shakily went up to her waist, cupping it firmly as he brought her closer. He leaned forward, just slightly, till his nose was pressed against hers. Her breath hitched, and her eyes instinctively closed. She waited for him to press his lips against hers, to feel his mouth on hers like she had (shamefully) always wished for. But, it never came. 

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Aemond breathing heavily, desperately trying to restrain himself. He pulled away slightly, and he shook his head,

“I shouldn’t take advantage of you…not like this.” Though his words held conviction, it seemed his body betrayed him. His hand stayed on her waist, slowly trailing up and cupping her breast in his hand. She gasped softly at the feeling, and his thumb went to her lip again before he connected his lips to hers. She responded immediately, putting her hands on his arms. 

He kissed her like he was dying, his body subconsciously reacting more to the kiss then he’d wish it to. He pulled her flush against him, his strong hands coming to cup her face, his shoulders shrugging in a futile attempt to have her closer. He opened his mouth, causing her to gasp at the feeling of his tongue against hers. Her mouth moved with his as if it was known to her; As if this was a dance she had practiced for years to perfect, as if the dance of her lips was a song that Aemond had mastered just for her. 

She practically melted in his arms. She had been kissed before; Jace was a good kisser but he was soft, and the kisses were never not chaste. But, kissing Aemond was like walking through fire. Her entire body reacted to the way he clung to her body, how he pulled her impossibly closer. It was like a fire had escaped through his lips and was now coursing through her veins and settling in her abdomen. 

Even though she didn’t know exactly what to do, it seemed her body did. Her hands slid down his arms and slowly made their way to his chest as she moaned softly. 

The moan grounded him, like he had been falling from the heavens and down to earth. He suddenly pulled away, breathless as he stared down at her. Her eyes opened steadily, and she looked up at him with confusion while a frown graced her kiss swollen lips. 

“We shouldn’t have done that.” He spoke breathlessly, his hand still gently stroking her side. 

“Maybe not..but it felt good.” Gods, the way she spoke held him in a chokehold. He wished desperately to dive back into her; To drown in her lips and never come up for air, but.. 

“Not again. You are to be married.” He suddenly pulled away and at the feeling of his hands leaving her body, she frowned deeper. 

“Aemond-” “Goodnight, Princess.” 

And with that, the prince turned and rushed back into the keep. 

____________________________________________

Aemond couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in bed, picking at his nails, biting his lip-genuinely anything to help stop the incessant thoughts of her lips. 

The thoughts started off sweet and innocent. The way she looked up at him as he trailed his thumb over her lip, the way her lips pursed just slightly when he leaned forward. 

But then the thoughts got venereal fast. He thought about how he felt to finally kiss her. The way his lips practically burned when they pulled away. He knew that as he gazed at her kiss swollen lips his night would be harbored with thoughts of what they’d look like doing gods knows what else. 

His hand slid down underneath the sheets, firmly grasping at his length as he let out a shuddering breath. He hated doing this; Feeling so pent up and so desperate that he had to resort to using himself. But as of right now he couldn’t care less. 

He imagined her lips around his cock, her innocent eyes gazing up into his. He’d imagine the way she’d gag around him, how her lips would look kissing the head of his cock. 

He groaned at the thought, his head tipping back as he closed his eye and let his thoughts wander more. He’d think about how she’d look with his seed covering her lips and her chin, how she’d moan his name as he devoured her between her legs-

He peaked with a gasp, and a low moan of her name. The minute his orgasm washed over him, and he started to slowly come down, he felt an intense feeling of guilt, shame, but most of all pain. 

Guilt and shame because he hated himself for touching himself to someone who couldn’t be his. 

Pain because she’d never be his. Pain because he knew that no matter what he did, she’d still be betrothed to Jacerys. 

____________________________________________

The next morning, she sat alone at breakfast, supposedly liking it more that way. With her fiance practically ignoring her, and her father too entranced with kissing the king's ass, she learned to enjoy the solitude of just…nothing. 

Plus, she always had her thoughts. Even if they were only occupied with Aemond. 

She played around with the food on her plate as her mind trailed. She remembered the way he kissed her, how he held her. She felt happy, something she so rarely felt with Jacerys. 

She knew how he felt, how he longed for and wished for Baela. She did not blame him, she was beautiful, but she also didn’t feel sad, which, at a point did bother her but, not so much. 

At least, not after last night. 

She smiled to herself as she thought about the kiss, wishing that he would do it again, longing for the way the heat escalated through her body. 

She didn’t register the voice next to her until it spoke her name. 

She looked up, surprised. But, when her eyes met with Aemond’s, her heartbeat quickened, and she smiled. 

“Aemond.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“What?” “You’re not eating.” “Oh,” Her cheeks flushed red for a reason unbeknownst to her, and with a soft huff, she pushed the plate away, “It seems as though I have lost my appetite.” 

Aemond looked concerned at that, and he looked down at her. Despite himself, he found himself worrying yet again for her comfort, her needs. 

“Is something the matter?” She shakes her head, but for some reason, Aemond was persistent. “If this is about what happened last night, then I should apologize-” 

“Apologize?” She interrupted, sitting up straighter at the mention of the word. “Why?” 

“Yes…apologize. Because we should not have done that-”

“But I wanted it to happen.” 

Aemomd stopped and he slowly looked towards her. His eye pierced into hers as if to read every thought and emotion that crossed her brain. He just simply couldn’t believe her. 

“You shouldn’t say things you do not mean, Princess.”

“You don’t know that I don’t mean it.”

“Princess-”

“Aemond.” She said his name as if to challenge him, and he knew that he truly could never challenge her. He saw it in her eyes, he saw by the way she looked at him and smiled that she wished for him just as he wished for her. But these feelings-these blockages-would only cause unnecessary trouble. 

“Please, do not give me a hope that cannot be upheld.” Her heart broke a little at that, and, as he stood to leave, she instinctively stood with him, taking his wrist in her hand as she pulled on his arm. As if the small gesture would stop him from walking, (it did). 

“Aemond please..You do not know what I wish for.” 

His lip curled down into a small frown as he looked at her. He knew what she felt-at least he thought he did-but even if his suspicions were right, even if she did wish for him like how he longed for her, he couldn’t. He may dislike, perhaps even hate his nephew, but he was better than stealing his fiance. 

Right?

“We cannot. To be with you would disgrace your family and the alliance-” 

“Fuck the alliance!” She swore, her eyes boring into his as she studied his face. “Fuck the alliances Aemond, I wish for you. Desperately, I wish for you. Jace does not see me like how you do. Jace does not make me feel the way that you do-”

“It does not matter if Jace makes you happy or if he makes you feel desired-” “He does not wish for me as you do!”

“Princess-” “You do not understand! We are speaking of breaking it off. Neither of us wish for this.” Aemond went quiet at this and he sighed heavily, turning his full body towards her. He pried his arm away from her, staring at her incredulously, his body language giving no open window to how he was truly feeling. With no words coming from him, she continued. 

“I love you.” At those words Aemond showed his shock. He took a step back from her and he raised an eyebrow. 

“You do not mean-”

“Oh for the love of-Yes! I mean it! I love you, Aemond! I love you as if it is breathing! Instinctively, not thinking about it….I love you.” 

Aemond couldn’t hold it anymore, he walked to her and gripped her face tightly, her cheeks squishing slightly in his grasp as he smashed his lips against hers. She initially was shocked at the sudden kiss, but she kissed him back fiercely, holding his wrists as she leaned up to kiss him deeper. 

He led her back until he pressed her back against the table, holding her thighs as he pushed her onto the table. His body fit perfectly in between her thighs, just like he imagined it would. His hands gripped her thighs, one of his hands traveling up, feeling and savoring the soft skin as he groaned. 

She pulled away from the kiss to leave small kisses along his jaw. He bit his lip at the feeling, the action presumably so innocent and so sweet it almost made him chuckle. 

He pulled back slightly, his gaze intense and lust filled as his hand trailed underneath her breasts. 

“Tell me to stop.” He demanded. His head was spinning with the lust that clouded it. He waited for her to push him away, or to whimper a soft “I do not think myself ready”- But she shook her head, bringing his head back to hers swiftly to connect their lips in another passionate kiss. 

He pulled away from the kiss, groaning to himself as he left hot, open mouthed kisses against her jaw and neck. He looked down, his breath heavy as he stared down into her cleavage. He wished for nothing more than to rip her dress open and kiss every inch of her body, but being in the dining room came with its disadvantages. So, he settled for kissing her cleavage, before trailing his lips down the fabric of her dress till he came to her thighs.

Aemond pushed her dress up as far as he could, staring at her the whole time. He slowly pushed her thighs about, giving her time to stop him but she never did. Gently kissing the inner side of her thigh, he tried to reassure her. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes; The way she looked at him with both anxiety and lust. He stared up at her searching for any sign or signal that would make him stop. 

���Is this okay?” Once he saw the light nod of her head, he disappeared underneath her dress. 

She had never been intimate with a man-courtesy of her father, enforcing the “Women should be pure” melodramatic speech into her head ever since she could stand. She always thought it to be a chore, only having heard stories from unhappy married women who hated their husbands, and much less disliked their children a little less, but this? This was exciting, this felt good. 

She placed a hand on his head, moaning his name under her breath as he ate her like a beast. His hands gripped her thighs as if to ground himself-He had tasted women before but for some reason she was so much sweeter, so much more divine. His eyes practically rolled back just from pushing his tongue into her heat, sucking gently on her flit before he pulled away slightly, focusing his attention on her clit as he dipped a finger inside of her. 

The sudden stretch made her jump, and gasp loudly. She may have pleasured herself before but it really never felt like what Aemond was doing to her. He eased his finger in slowly, dragging it back out, and then slowly pushing it back in. Hearing the moans that graced her lips, he continued the slow thrust of his finger for a moment before he added another one. 

She let out a loud moan, a hand on the back of his head as she pushed his head closer to her heat. She felt him chuckle against her, the vibrations only adding to the pleasure. She moaned loudly, perhaps too loudly for comfort, but Aemond only seemed to want more of those noises to come from her. 

He slowly curled his fingers, his mouth praising her clit. The added pressure with the curl of his fingers, and the sucking of her clit made her eyes squeeze shut. 

“Oh gods Aemond, I’m going to-” Just as her orgasm was going to consume her, it stopped. With her heavy breathing, and slightly shaky legs, she slowly sat up. Aemond smirked up at her, holding her gaze as he nipped at her inner thighs. “You stopped..” 

“Yes. Because if you are going to peak it should be on my cock.” 

Her face flushed at the words, and she stared at him with wide eyes as he pulled his trousers down slightly to free his throbbing cock. As their eyes met, he seemed to notice the slight anxiety in her eyes, because he pressed his forehead against hers and lined himself up with her entrance. 

“Tell me to stop if it hurts too much.” She nodded in response, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as he pushed into her. She let out a gasp; The feeling was new, discomfiting but..new. Her face scrunched up at the stretch, and Aemond shushed her quietly as he started to move. After a few thrusts, her body relaxed, and she started to moan his name. 

Hearing his name fall from her lips was like a prayer answered, like a lifelong dream he had been waiting for. He grunted as he started to rock his hips back and forth into her slowly. It took everything inside of him to not pound into her, to fuck her like he had fantized about. He wished that her father could see her now, her maidenhood gone and her body fully submitting to the pleasure he so gracefully gave her. 

“Aemond..Aemond oh gods-” Her voice broke as he went faster, her moans only getting louder. She tried to wrap her mind around the pleasure he was giving her, the way his hips moved slowly yet deeply, the way the tip of his thick cock rubbed against the spot so deliciously. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she held him close to her. 

One of his hands was on her thigh, the other on the table as he thrusted into her, as if holding the edge of the table would stop the creaking sounds, or the way she moaned his name, or how his groans got louder as his climax approached. 

White splattered her vision as her orgasm washed over. She cried out his name in pleasure, holding him close as his legs trapped him inside of her. The feeling of her core pulsating and tightening made Aemond’s head spin, and he grunted out a moan of her name as he came himself, spilling his seed inside of her. 

As the two sat there, basking in the afterglow of being intimate, neither of them would move for what felt like hours. Even though the position that they were in was compromising, they smiled, and laughed softly at the situation itself. 

Once they both got cleaned up-the best they could get cleaned up for just having sex on the dining room table-Aemond took her hand. She smiled softly at Aemond, her heart racing in a new, and exciting way. The two stared at each other for a while, trying to wrap their minds around the fact that now, they could truly be together, or at least, now, they had a hope that they could be together.

____________________________________________

[beanxiv]

satoru gojo who has the biggest sweet tooth ever but won't hesitate to offer you a bite of his kikufuku-- even though it's his favorite.

satoru gojo who, when you shake your head to him buying you an expensive gift, buys it for you anyways, because no amount of money will be more valuable than seeing you happy with a what he's bought you. especially when he knows its his name on the card that's being slid through the reader to purchase whatever it is you set your eyes on.

satoru gojo who readily pulls his blindfold/sunglasses off in your presence because only you quiet the overlapping, draining echoes in his head.

satoru gojo who peppers you with kisses for as long as you let him, because you deserve to feel just how much adoration he has for you.

satoru gojo who takes you out to gorgeous high-end restaurants, having the both of you dress up just as gorgeously. not to mention, throughout the night you'll hear endless compliments of how "that outfit really compliments your figure," or how, "that color makes your eyes look so pretty." and so on and so forth, satoru can't run out of compliments when you give him so much to talk about

satoru gojo who is the best at princess treatment. do not try opening your own door around him. he will do somersaults to get there before you can. you know those tiktoks of people rolling over the top of the car and dropping onto the ground to open the door for their significant other? yeah, that's satoru.

satoru gojo who surprises you with those giant, beautiful bouquets that have money and your favorite snacks in them because he loves to see your expression when he hands it to you

satoru gojo who loves to show you off. he'll send the gc with him, shoko, and suguru endless texts about how he loves his s/o so much and how he's so lucky to have them. and he sends especially petty messages sometimes about how suguru and shoko are still single while he's happily married (he'll say this before you're even engaged)

satoru gojo who used to not get flustered by anyone because-- well he's satoru gojo-- he's the one who gets people all flustered up. but when you came into his life? try as he might to talk smooth and be flirty, you turned him into a stuttering mess sometimes. he'd play it off when he got lucky, but whenever you caught him off guard? he'd blush to his ears, glancing away and all.

satoru gojo who always texts you if he's at the store to ask if you want him to pick up something for you while he's there.

satoru gojo who, if you're sick, will act like you're dying in his arms. he'll panic, rushing around to get you medicine, whatever snacks you're craving, etc. he showers you in kisses and cuddles like they'll be his last

alternatively, satoru gojo who, when he gets sick, demands attention 24/7. you're not there when he wakes up? he'll pout and be upset until he's had his fill of your cuddles. loves when you feed him while he's sick, it makes him feel so loved and taken care of.

satoru gojo who loves when you ask for his opinion. which outfit is nicer? well both of them look perfect on you, but that one brings out your skin tone. which show should you watch? what about the one where you'll love to watch together? it makes him feel so important when you ask what he prefers.

satoru gojo who kicks his feet and giggles when he gets a text from you. he's on a mission with suguru, shoving his phone in suguru's face giggling over whatever you said. the phone is so close to his face that whatever is on the screen isn't even legible at this proximity but it makes satoru skip like a little schoolgirl as he and suguru walk to wherever they've been assigned to.

satoru gojo who asks shoko for advice since she's a friend of yours. asking her questions like, "should I get them this or this?" or "do they like this or this better?"

satoru gojo who starts a book or tv series just because you recommended it to him. because when has his beautiful partner ever steered him wrong? this applies for any advice you've given him too

satoru gojo who makes you an example for megumi. "see this, megumi? your standards should be this high! look how perfect y/n is, you should find you a partner like that too!"

satoru gojo who shows you megumi's picture album of when he was younger because he loves to see the two most important people in his life bonding, even if it means embarrassing megumi.

on that note, satoru gojo who's apartment is filled with photos of you and megumi and all his friends and family, and his phone's wallpaper is a picture of you too

satoru gojo who watches old tapes of you and him in high school together a lot whenever you're on missions without him. the nostalgia makes him miss the times when everything was okay in high school, but it also makes him so grateful that he finally managed to make you his after pining for you for so long

satoru gojo who's possessive but in a boastful way, you posted a tiktok? he's the first like, comment, and save. spams your comment section saying, "THATS ACTUALLY MY S/O" and whatnot because he's absolutely obsessed with you

satoru gojo, the strongest sorcerer, who is absolutely no match for you because the moment you make eye contact with him, he just goes weak and can't say no to a single request of yours

©beanxiv — all rights reserved. copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform or by any means is not allowed.

[mundanenonsense]

part 2 of the biker!simon x learnerdriver!reader

3989 words (not really edited, sorry for any mistakes)

cw: slight NSFW, mdni, mentions of death, if there’s anything else I should mention, pls lemme know.

[previous] [next]

~

As soon as he stepped into the familiar house, Simon immediately kicked his boots off, bending over with a groan, his stiff muscles practically screaming at the sudden pull when he placed the boots on the shoe rack. His mask almost instantly got pulled off his face and thrown into the pocket of his hoodie, discarded and unnecessary. 

He knew his mother hated it. 

Slowly and silently he headed over to the kitchen, opening one of the windows to let some fresh, crisp spring air in as he proceeded to boil the water in the kettle, grabbing his mug, gifted to him by Joseph one Christmas. It was hand painted, chipped at the handle and a bit ugly. But to Simon it was one of his most prized possessions. That’s why when he was away, it lived right at the back of one of the higher cupboards, so that his mum wouldn’t accidentally knock it down and smash it.

Whenever he held something close to his heart, he would cherish it. Protect it. Do anything and everything not to break it. And for a man who’s job was to break stuff, he had to put quite a lot of effort into it. 

He was made to break and he knew it. Everyone who looked at him knew it. Strong, heavy muscles rippled under the inked skin, with every single movement. Hands that should be permanently stained with blood, were clean, only because he spent over an hour under a hot stream of a shower, meticulously scrubbing them, and the rest of his body, after returning to the base. The scars on his skin just reminded him that although he bore many, he probably caused hundreds if not thousands more through the years of being in the army. 

So now he was blankly staring at the teabag that currently sat in the hot water, as he oh so gently stroked his large finger over the little crack (that wasn’t his fault, Joseph dropped it himself whilst he was sat in Simon’s lap, explaining what each of the painted monstrosities was), eyes narrowed, cogs turning in is brain. 

He needed to find you. 

You. 

His beautiful, sweet, stranger with eyes that he was willing to do anything for and driving skills of a grandad with myasthenia, unable to press the gas pedal hard enough.

There was no point crying over spilled milk. Simon knew that. He had his chance and he fucked it. But maybe that was for good? Maybe he would have spooked you if he suddenly decided to beg you to marry him with a bolt nut instead of a ring? Maybe you’d have hated that? A woman as beautiful as you deserved only the best. 

He was a fucking twat, of course you wouldn’t want a fucking steel nut instead of an engagement ring.

In all fairness, you already looked like you were a split second from a breakdown, he was sure that even if he asked for your name, for your number, for anything at all, you’d have just deteriorated.

His poor, little driver. 

If only you knew how much he wanted to soothe all the stress that so clearly held you in its tight grip. 

To take it away. Calm you down.

Fuck knows well, he knew how. 

He struggled himself. He was running on fumes. The past months being away took their toll on him, they always did, no matter how much he tried to keep all of that inside. Maybe that’s why, when he saw those vulnerable, teared up eyes in the reflection of your rear view mirror, Simon was instantly and utterly gone? 

So genuine. So true.

Don’t worry sweetheart, from now on he would make sure that the only tears that would be guesting under your eyelids and sliding down your cheeks were those of happiness. Or overstimulation, from when he would fuck you breathless in the back seat of his car. Legs shaking, hands weakly holding onto his scratched up shoulders. Don’t worry, sweet thing, it wont scar, and even if it does, these will be some of his proudest scars that he acquired yet. Just trust him. Dig in deeper. Harder. Make it stick. He’ll kiss all those tears off as he drives his fat cock into your crying cunt again and again and-

But how? 

Simon took a sip of the hot tea, his calloused hand sliding over the tightness by the zipper of his cargos, humming quietly, grinding his teeth together. He rolled his neck, closing his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep, deep fucking breath, knowing he needed to calm down. Desperately. 

His mother could wake up and come downstairs at any minute and he didn’t really want her to see him sporting a raging hard on, or at worst explain to her that it was because he could not get his future wife out of his head. That wouldn’t be fair to you, sweetheart. But then again, it would probably never get mentioned. 

Not if he could help it.

Fast forward a few hours, Simon was comfortably and rather peacefully asleep on the soft sofa in the lounge, covered up with one of the knitted blankets his mother started making after her retirement. He was warm, his stomach was full, his mind was (somewhat) at ease after being pampered and waited on as soon as Anne found him sitting at her dining table. 

He knew she would do it, she always did. At first it annoyed him. The learned independence and self sufficiency from the years of growing up under his father’s iron fist and later the military made him struggle to adjust to her suddenly overbearing care. It took some time for both of them to adjust. A long time in fact. Before she stopped letting her paranoid thoughts take over every single time Simon would be sent away. And before he let her mother him whenever he was back without a grumble of complaint. 

So now he just let her.

Of course he did. 

He knew how hard she was trying to take care of him and Tommy whilst they lived with his father. How difficult it was whenever she’d try to help them after yet another beating, which would result in her getting one too. Anne was so fucking full of love and care that Simon began denying her that for years, afraid that it will end critically for her. He knew that one day he would have to stand up to his father and when it finally happened, he needed his mother by his side. Because fuck knows that Tommy wasn’t in the state to do anything.

Losing people made him both desensitized to death and yet so incredibly, overly aware of it. 

He knew he’d lose Anne one day. 

So if she fucking wanted to treat him like a kid whilst he visited her between the missions, he’d let her.

And although the sleep was truly a blessing, it was disrupted when he heard the quiet sound of the door opening, the metal squeaking against the hinges, wood brushing over the doormat and quiet rustling of something being passed between hands. Simon’s eyes staying closed but body instinctively tensed up, so that he was ready to throw himself off the sofa and straight at the potential danger. 

“Oh, ta lovey, you sure spoil me wi’ all these! Do you wanna come in? I’ll make us a brew. Me lad’s come to see me, but he’s fast asleep in’t living room, it won’t bother ’im, pet.” 

“No, no, Anne, thank you, I’ve got a tonne of work to do at home, got a new commission so I’ve got to work on it, but I’ll pop in for a brew at some point in the week, yeah?” 

Simon’s shoulders relaxed and he breathed in deeply, hearing an unfamiliar feminine voice decline his mum’s invitation, grateful that he wouldn’t have to deal with one of her gossiping friends. In moments like this he was jealous of Tommy being all hitched with Beth and their lil shitling attached to his hip. He was officially off the table when it came to the matchmaking. 

Simon wasn’t ever interested, of course. But that didn’t mean that his mum and her pain in the ass friends didn’t try.

But now you have so serendipitously appeared in his life. 

He just had to secure you permanently somehow. 

As the front door shut, he got up from the couch with a groan, his knees and shoulders cracking as he stretched. He met his mother half way to the kitchen, where she gently patted his upper arm (struggling to reach the shoulder with the arthritis slowly settling in her joints, bless her heart) and nodded at the kitchen.

“Just me neighbour’s made us some biccies, she’s a good hen like that. Come on, I’ll stick the kettle on, make you a coffee, an’ you can ‘ave some. You’ve proper lost weight fightin’ out there. They wanna feed you lads better in’t army if they expect you t’scrap proper.”

And to his satisfaction, the biscuits were truly great. Crunchy, but not overly dry. Not too sweet to cause heartburn either. They were a buttery goodness that melted on his tongue as he chewed one by one, unable to stop. 

Anne and her feeding habits were a welcome change. The hunger that he suppressed for such a long time was demanding to be felt too.

But with every single bite he couldn’t help but think about biting into you. 

Sinking his teeth into your soft looking skin, anywhere and everywhere you would let him leave a mark. He’d be gentle of course, he could not risk hurting you (too much). A sensitive thing like you, who clearly was struggling to drive faster than 30 miles per hour must have been delicate. 

He wondered how the rest of your lesson went. 

He really should have followed that stupid white car just to make sure no driver who was stuck behind you would stress you out more than you already were. 

If anyone as much as tried to use their horn, he would deal with them. Don’t you worry your sweet, little head. He saw how you reacted almost crashing into the hedge when he revved the engine. The sound of a car horn would likely send you spiraling and he could not let that happen to his brave little driver. It’s okay sweetheart, you’d never have to encounter that dumb fuck again. Why? Well, silly goose, you can’t really use the horn or even drive for that matter, if you don’t have arms, no? Oh wait, you can? Well, he’d make sure to discourage them from getting behind the wheel ever again. He’s good at threatening people into submission. That’s kind of a part his job.

He’d happily cuddle you afterwards. Wrap his big arms around you tenderly, stroke your soft hair and tell you how well you did and that one day you’ll own the roads. Even if he had to somehow close off the whole city so that you could drive stress free. Bomb threat perhaps? Terrorist threat? Murder every single driver registered as living in Manchester and close off all the entry roads into the city? Slash the tires of every single car? Johnny would surely help with that. Especially if he was doing it for his lieutenant’s bird.

Before Simon knew it, he was standing in front of the neighbour’s door, helmet in one hand, empty and washed out tupperware box in the other, knocking against the hard wood with the tip of his shoe. “Seein’ as yer not stayin’ over tonight, pet, can yer take that tupperware box next door? If yer don’t, I’ll only forget, yer know what I’m like, Si.” He once again couldn’t say no. He ate majority of the biscuits anyway, the least he could do was return the bloody plastic box to the owner. 

He heard snapping of the lock bolts as the key turned from inside and then the door opened, revealing you.

The air got knocked out of his fucking lungs, eyes opened wider, the grip of his hands tightened, afraid that he was going to drop everything he was holding as he stared into those beautiful eyes which haunted him every single time he closed his own, even to blink, since this morning. 

Looks like he didn’t have to spend his evening planning on how to find you at all. 

You were right here, under his fucking nose this whole time and he had no idea. Now staring up at him, chin darted up, head tilted back a little to accommodate for the height difference between the two of you. 

Future Mrs Riley was so much prettier when there wasn’t a car window in the way. 

You stood there, one hand on the doorframe, ready to shut it closed (good girl, look at you, staying so careful, he’s so proud of you), eyes narrowed a little as you studied his features, clearly not recognising him, but sizing him up. He was a stranger after all. 

Strangely handsome, but still, a stranger who was for some reason stood at your door, staring at you silently, making it impossible to tear away from his intense, dark gaze (was it dark or were his pupils just abnormally blown? Was he on fucking drugs? Nah, Simon was in fucking love, and when someone is in love, their pupils dilate. But how could you know sweetheart? Just stay oblivious for now.). You weren’t entirely sure why. Maybe because it felt like a challenge? First person to look away loses. As if you were both taking part in some dumb staring contest, but from the way he was looking at you, you could tell it wasn’t a fight for dominance. 

At least not anymore. 

Because as much as you always read in your silly books, the author describing that someone’s gaze softened, you didn’t really understand what that meant. Until now. Because a couple moments after your eyes met his, you could see it happening. 

The whole demeanor shifting. His furrowed eyebrows relaxed, deep set wrinkles disappearing from between them, although still leaving delicate lines in their place. The eyes seemed to have lost their sharp edge, that intensity remaining, but now having taken on a gentle way to it. They weren’t indifferent, cold, even scrutinising anymore. No. 

Simon cleared his throat, looking away first, down at the tupperware box in his hand. 

Something he rarely did. He was a manmade predator. He knew how to intimidate, scare, make someone feel like a little roach about to be squashed under his boot. But in this moment, standing at your door, he couldn’t help but want to drop to his knees and beg for you to walk all over him. Just to confirm this was not a fucking daydream and that for once, life has fucking smiled at him and said ‘hey, there you go, have it the easy way mate’. Walk over him like a fucking marching band, please, pet. Run him over with a car for all he cares. At the speed that you drive at, the worst he’d get was a couple broken ribs and a sprained wrist and that is nothing, lovey. He’s been through worse.

Fuck, you turning in the opposite direction on that junction this morning seemed to hurt worse. 

You still stared at him, curiosity flashing through your eyes as he dropped his, but you let yourself study his face for that quick moment. The slightly crooked nose, messy blonde hair that he clearly put no effort into styling, sharp jaw with a freshly trimmed beard, a few scars, a particularly nasty looking one that ran down the length of his cheek, a split bottom lip that was almost healed and a yellow bruise painted on the temple. 

Man’s been through shit.

“Hi?” You said quietly, a little hesitantly as you attempted to catch his eyes again, tilting your head to the side.

Simon’s eyes snapped back up to yours as if your sweet voice gave him the permission to indulge in the beauty that you oh so kindly provided and blessed him with.

He couldn’t believe his luck. Maybe he choked on one of the biscuits that turns out you made and now he was dead and somehow he made his way to heaven. Somehow. If he clawed his way into there, he didn’t remember that, but surely he wasn’t just invited. Not with all the fucked up things he’d done in his life. But if this was the promise of heaven, he’d happily do anything to experience even the snippet of it.

He needed to say something, anything that would make you stay, indulge you, keep you from shutting the door in his face, something that would portray all the fucking intensity of scrambled up emotions he was feeling right now. Fuck, would it be weird if he ran to his bike now and undid one of those nuts and came back asking for your hand? He couldn’t ask without a ring. He didn’t have anything on him that could imitate one. “Th’ biscuits were mint, pet.” 

You raised your eyebrows as he extended the tupperware box to you, realizing that he must have been the son Anne mentioned earlier when you dropped the sweet treat off. You assumed she was talking about Tommy, Tommy was often over.

Not this absolute behemoth of a man who, for a brief moment after opening the door, you expected to pull out an axe and just kill you on the spot. 

She spoke to you about him over a cuppa one day. Samuel was it? You’d never seen him, only heard about him, which made sense since he was a soldier who apparently spend majority of his life away on deployment or out at the base. 

Well, now he was here and he complimented the biscuits you stress baked after yet another unsuccessful driving lesson. You were surprised he enjoyed them. Thought the tears that streamed out of your eyes as you mixed the batter would have made them a tad too salty.

“Oh, I’m glad. Thanks, Samuel.” Big, well deserved pat on the back for you, showing off that you listen, that you know who he is, without him having to introduce himself. You’d known his ma for a few months now after moving next door to her. She almost immediately decided to kind of adopt you, after learning that ‘y’ were just a teeny thing, livin’ all on ‘er own.’.

He appreciated the try. Really. No, honestly. If you wanted to call him Samuel, he’d let you. Hell, he’d change the name in all his documents if it made you happy. “‘Ts Simon, love.”

And he fucking immediately wished he never said that and actually went with the idea of a name change, because the way your eyes instantly saddened broke him. There was that worry in them again that he saw in the morning. The expectation of punishment almost. Guilt. Upset. You looked as if you just admitted to killing his childhood pet, not accidentally calling him the wrong name. 

No, no, no, sweetheart don’t be upset with yourself. In his head he already promised himself to only make you cry for two specific reasons. This wasn’t one of them. Please don’t beat yourself up for it. He should have taken it back, the nervous stuttering of all the half words and sorries filled his ears and he wanted nothing more than to cup your flushed cheeks and kiss those words off your lips. 

Don’t be sorry, sweetheart, don’t apologize, not to him, not to anyone, ever. You tried. That’s all that matters. He can be Samuel from now on, really. Promise.

Just like when you mouthed the ‘I’m sorry’ through the closed window of the car. 

Poor thing. 

Guilt didn’t suit you.

But your name that you introduced yourself with in the midst of all that babble did indeed suit you. He chewed on it for a moment as he repeated it in his head, memorizing it, tasting it, almost choking on it as he finally said it out loud.

He watched your eyes wonder to his motorbike helmet as you tapped your thumb quickly on the lid of the plastic box that you held in your little, slender hands. 

Were you realizing who he was? Were you remembering the intimate (intimidating), heartfelt (angry) looks he was giving you as he stared at your reflection in the rearview mirror of your car? 

Surely you must realize.

He would recognize you just by your eyes anywhere. How could you not do the same?

Did you just not care? 

Were you truly this fucking oblivious? 

Or were you just pretending?

“Let me get you some more of those biscuits. As a sorry for getting your name wrong. I think I’ve got some left…” 

He stared at the open door as you rushed back into the depths of your house. 

Stranger danger, did your parents not teach you about it? 

But he wasn’t really a stranger was he? You shared someone in common. Anne told you about Simon. He was her fucking son. And she lived next door, it’s not like he would do anything to you, at least in your head. In his head he wanted to do everything to you. But you’d enjoy it, obviously. 

So at least both of you were sure that no hurt was on the cards.

He would never do anything to hurt his missus.

Now standing in the doorway, was he supposed to follow you? Was that an invitation?

He fucking hoped it wasn’t, because if he walked in right now, his claws would settle deep into the floorboards and he’d refuse to leave. Would you even want him to leave? Would you ask him to stay? He never stayed. He never accepted any food offered to him just like he never opted for the post fuck cuddles. That wasn’t something he ever wanted really. 

Nah, he had shit to do. Reports to write. Places to be. People to train. Guns to clean.

He was full, he didn’t need more biscuits. His mother fed him more calories today than his usual weekly allowance was during deployment. 

But then again, if his future Mrs Riley insisted, he’d gladly stuff those biscuits down his throat, even if it meant his stomach was going to suffer. He’d do it with a damn big smile. Just to show you how much he fucking appreciated you feeding him. Hoping that you’d feed him forever. Was your pussy a meal you’d consider giving him too? Because fuck, he’d devour it as a pallet cleanser between all the biscuits he was willing to eat. Just let him have a taste. Please. He’d make it worth your while. His face stuffed between your legs, hands tightly wrapped around your thighs, keeping you nice and spread open for him as he munched on you like a man starved, singing praises into your pretty cunt about how nice she tastes. Drinking up all the juices. Staying hydrated was important after all.

That’s when you could cry, lovey. He’d lick those tears right off too. Can’t let your sweetness (or saltiness in this case) go to waste.

“Come in, Simon, shut the door behind you, the draft’s chilly!”

Without thinking twice, Simon stepped into the house, shutting the door quietly behind him. Hearing his name in that sweet voice of yours was like a call to prayer. Like a call from the goddess who he swore to worship until the day he died. You were cold? Oh you poor, pretty eyed thing… Don’t worry, angel, he’d happily set himself on fire if his body heat itself was not enough to keep you warm.

~

hope you liked it!

requests open, I guess?

If you wanna be added to the tag list, let me know!

@anonymouse1807

@shesneverreallythere

[the-teufort-nine]

Can you do the mercs with an autistic scientist wife, who loves books, music and butt pats please? (Preferably spy, medic, Engie, scout and sniper please!!) thank you!!! Have a good day!!!

this you? XD ahaha im sure you loved that this took me forever to answer😬

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ Mercs x Autistic/Scientist/Wife!Reader: Books, Beats, and Butt Pats ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Featuring: Spy, Engineer, Scout, Medic, and Sniper

Spy:

You got this man to settle down and marry you?! Good lord, you must be magic.

Big sugar daddy energy from Spy ngl. Expect to be treated to lavish gifts from him often. Deep in the grips of a new hyperfixation? Prepare to be gifted something related to it every week or so.

Loves how smart and driven you are. After years of working with moronic lunatics and madmen, you are a welcome change.

Will go out of his way to get you hard to find records and books if you are mad at him.

You can try and get him to quit smoking, but unless its a huge trigger for you, he probably won't, even if you show him what his lungs probably look like.

Probably won't pat your ass, since he's a

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁Gentleman. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

But he might give it a squeeze if you two are in the mood ;)

Engineer:

ASS MAN ASS MAN A S S M A N

You're this man's wife? Butt pats ahoy! No, seriously, you're getting your rump lightly smacked on the daily.

Really enjoys having a partner that is near or on the same intellectual level as him. He would still love you if you weren't, but its really nice to have someone aside from Medic that he can talk shop with.

I hope you like country music, because Engie built every single music playing device in the house, which pretty much gives him complete control over the music choice when he's home.

Let's be honest here; this man is probably also autistic.

Your interests may not be the same, but you two like to be together when you're engaging with them. The parallel play goes crazy.

You two definitely have matching reclining chairs in your living room that you read your books in. Comfortable silence your beloved <3

Scout:

God, please stick around. This man needs someone in his life who isn't a deadbeat good lord-

He will happily listen to you talk about your interests any day, even your science related ones, but do not expect him to understand anything above, like, a seventh grade level.

ADHD 🤝Autism power couple

Butt pats? Hell yeah! Grass grows, birds fly, and brotha? He's smacking your ass like a set of bongos.

Household music is an equal mix of your interests and his. Expect to hear Tom Jones in the mornings; he likes to play his records while he makes breakfast.

Can't read nearly as well as you, but he really likes listening to you read.

Medic:

Like Engineer, this man appreciates a wife with a good head on her shoulders and a t h i c c ass.

Will give you butt pats, but be warned! There is a 50/50 chance his hands are covered in blood.

Probably also on the spectrum.

He probably introduces you to German music and literature, and will happily teach you the language if you ask!

Need some less-than-legal supplies for a project or experiment? Don't even worry, queen, your man will provide. <3

You are definitely going to live longer than most humans. Even if an accident takes you out, Medic surgically grafted your soul to his a long time ago, so not even death will do you part!

I think you two would dance to your shared records together pretty often.

Sniper:

Butt pats? Nah, butt bites.

FREAK behaviour with this man. He is a wild bushman who lives in a van and who's most developmentally impactful social interactions came from insane, bloodthirsty mercenaries who were not even close to being normal. How did you get him to propose.

A good listener though! He remembers the little things that you mention, and will often surprise you with something related to an interest of yours, even if you only mentioned it once.

Not a huge music fan, but he lets you have total control over his van's radio. You are the only one who gets this privillage.

Asks you to preserve small animals for him sometimes. He likes to keep them as decorations.

Please invent something to counteract those Mann Co. kidney enlarging pills. Please.

Loves reading with you! This man enjoys silence, and he actually really enjoys a good book or two when he had downtime.

[hisfavegirl]

Aegon Targaryen As Your Soulmate.

a/n : With Reaction.

When He Propose To You.

The night in Paris was breathtaking. The Eiffel Tower shimmered in the distance, its golden lights reflecting off the Seine, casting a dreamy glow over the quiet streets. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of roses from the nearby garden, and the city buzzed softly in the background.

Aegon had been unusually quiet all evening, his fingers laced with yours as he led you down a secluded pathway near the river. You didn’t think much of it—he often got like this when something was on his mind. But when he suddenly stopped under the silver glow of the moonlight, his grip on your hand tightening, your heart began to race.

“What is it?” you whispered, searching his face.

His violet eyes burned with an emotion so raw it made your breath hitch. He exhaled, almost like he was steadying himself, before reaching into his pocket. And then—he got down on one knee.

Your lips parted, a sharp gasp slipping out as your hands flew to your mouth.

“I’ve been trying to find the right words for this,” Aegon started, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “But the truth is, there are no perfect words—only this. Only you.”

Your heart thundered.

“You are the best damn thing that has ever happened to me,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “And I don’t want another day to pass where I don’t call you my wife.”

He opened the small velvet box, revealing a stunning ring that caught the moonlight just right, sparkling like the stars above you.

“Marry me.”

You felt everything all at once. The world around you blurred, your vision swimming with unshed tears as your chest tightened with overwhelming love, shock, joy.

You dropped to your knees, throwing your arms around him, knocking him back onto the pavement with your weight.

“Yes,” you choked out, pressing frantic kisses to his face. “Yes, Aegon—yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!”

He laughed breathlessly, his hands burying in your hair as he pulled you in for a deep, lingering kiss, the kind that made your toes curl and the rest of the world fade away.

Paris had never felt more like a dream.

When You And Aegon Posted The Announcement Of Your Engagement.

When you and Aegon Targaryen dropped your engagement announcement, the world stopped spinning.

The first photo? Utter perfection.

Paris at night. The Eiffel Tower glowing behind you. Aegon’s hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you breathless. And your left hand? Front and center, flashing a massive diamond ring.

The second slide? Even worse for them.

Aegon, smirking against your neck, his arms wrapped possessively around you as if to say, “She’s mine.”

And then the caption? A KILL SHOT.

“Said yes to the love of my life. Forever with my king.”

Then? Mass hysteria.

Aegon’s fangirls:

“I’M GONNA BE SICK. THIS ISN’T HAPPENING.”

“WHY DID HE HAVE TO PROPOSE IN PARIS??? WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE SO ROMANTIC???”

“Not Aegon Targaryen taking my last shred of hope and throwing it into the Seine.”

“SHE REALLY PUT ‘FOREVER’ IN THE CAPTION. I’M UNWELL.”

“The way he’s holding her… the way he’s KISSING her… this is worse than heartbreak.”

Some were in complete denial:

“This is fake. They’re trolling us. RIGHT???”

“The way I am IGNORING this post and going about my day as if I didn’t see it.”

“NO. I REFUSE. I WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS.”

And then, the grief hit.

“It should have been me.”

“I can’t even HATE her because she looks so happy. But I’m still dying inside.”

“How do I explain to my boss that I can’t work today because Aegon Targaryen is officially off the market???”

“I hope Paris was worth the pain you’ve caused me.”

Then? The edits.

Slow-motion clips of Aegon smirking, winking, running his hand through his hair. Montages of his best moments, now labeled: “HE’S GONE, HE’S TAKEN, I’M IN TEARS.”

And the hashtags? Immediate trending topics.

#AegonEngaged

#SheWonWeLost

#ParisTookEverythingFromUs

#HePutARingOnItAndABulletInMyHeart

Your fanboys? Equally destroyed.

“BRO, HOW DID SHE SECURE AEGON TARGARYEN???”

“She’s officially sold out. We lost, boys.”

“The way he’s devouring her in that kiss??? I CAN’T.”

“I respect it… but I’m also sobbing.”

Some had full meltdowns:

“I WAS HOLDING ONTO HOPE. NOW I HAVE NOTHING.”

“Not only did she win, but she won IN PARIS. The disrespect is astronomical.”

“We can’t even say she’s just a fling. SHE HAS A RING. IT’S OVER.”

Meanwhile, the overanalyzing began.

“The way Aegon is holding her like he’s afraid to let go…”

“You can SEE the obsession in his eyes. He’s never letting her go.”

“This isn’t just a proposal. This is a CLAIM.”

At this point, no one could deny it.

This wasn’t just an engagement.

This was a global tragedy. And Aegon’s fangirls & your fanboys?

Never recovering from this heartbreak.

Aegon Family Reaction To Your Engagement Announcement.

When Aegon dropped the engagement bomb on Instagram, his entire family group chat EXPLODED.

Alicent (His Mother) – SHOCKED. EMOTIONAL. PANICKING.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ENGAGED??? AEGON???”

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU WERE GOING TO PROPOSE???”

“I AM YOUR MOTHER. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN WARNED.”

“DID YOU EVEN PLAN A WEDDING DATE? HAVE YOU TWO TALKED ABOUT THE FUTURE?”

(…then sends a million heart emojis because she loves you and is already planning a royal-level wedding in her head.)

Helaena (His Sister) – SOFT AND SUPPORTIVE.

“Awwww. I love this. You two are perfect together.”

“Mom, let them enjoy their moment.”

“Also, I’m already picking out gifts for the wedding.”

Aemond (His Brother) – ANNOYED BUT SECRETLY AMUSED.

“This is what you’re doing in Paris? Proposing?”

“You couldn’t even warn us first?”

“You know your fangirls are crying themselves to sleep tonight, right?”

(But deep down, he’s actually happy for you both—he just refuses to admit it.)

Daemon (His Uncle) – ABSOLUTELY LOVING THE CHAOS.

“HAHAHAHA. YOU REALLY DID IT, YOU MADMAN.”

“This is hilarious. The internet is in flames.”

“Also, Aegon, if you don’t throw the most INSANE bachelor party, I’m disowning you.”

Rhaenyra (His Half-Sister) – SURPRISED BUT SUPPORTIVE.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d be the first to settle down.”

“But… I’m genuinely happy for you.”

“You found someone who can handle your insanity. That’s true love.”

Otto Hightower (His Grandfather) – PANICKING LIKE A CEO.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW THIS AFFECTS YOUR IMAGE, AEGON?”

“The world is going to talk about this for WEEKS.”

“Did you sign a prenup?”

(Alicent kicks him out of the group chat for ruining the mood.)

Criston Cole (Family Bodyguard) – SILENTLY JUDGING BUT ACCEPTING HIS FATE.

“Guess I’m protecting her now too. Great.”

Meanwhile, Aegon?

Smirking at the chaos he just unleashed.

When You And Aegon Posted Your Wedding Video On Internet.

The internet exploded the moment the wedding video was posted—Aegon walking out of the church, smiling brighter than ever, hand in hand with you, the new Mrs. Targaryen. The video was cinematic, capturing every perfect moment: the way he looked at you with pure adoration, the way he kissed you like you were his entire world, and the way you both laughed, danced, and celebrated at the extravagant reception.

The caption?

“Beyond Happy. Forever my queen.”

And with that, Aegon’s fangirls completely lost their minds.

Instagram Comments Section: A Fan Meltdown

“NOOOOOOOOOO THIS CAN’T BE REAL!!! I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE!!!!” 😭💔

“HOW DARE SHE LOOK THAT BEAUTIFUL?? AEGON, BLINK TWICE IF YOU WERE FORCED INTO THIS!!”

“He looks so happy… I hate this."

“Not me sobbing while watching this in my room at 3AM.”

“I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT HIM. HE WAS OURS, GIRLS. NOW HE’S HERS.”

“I just know she’s the luckiest woman ALIVE.”

Twitter/X Fangirl Breakdown :

“I am LITERALLY inconsolable. Aegon is MARRIED. To HER. I need therapy.”

“Someone check on the fandom. We’re NOT okay.”

“Why does he look so in love? This HURTS MORE.”

“Watching my man walk out of the church with another woman… worst pain of my life.”

“Aegon’s smile in that wedding video just ended my entire existence.”

TikTok Reaction Videos :

One girl, full mascara streaks down her face: “I just saw the wedding video… I need a moment.”

Another girl, drinking straight from a vodka bottle: “It’s official. I’m entering my villain era.”

A group of fangirls screaming in their car: “WE LOST HIM. HE’S GONE. HE BELONGS TO HER NOW.”

Someone dramatically playing sad music while clutching a framed photo of Aegon: “This could have been me…”

The Ultimate Fangirl Betrayal: Aegon’s Wedding Reception Photos. If the video wasn’t enough, the photos from the wedding reception sent the fangirls into a frenzy.

Aegon twirling you on the dance floor, his eyes only on you.

Aegon kissing you like he was drowning and you were air.

Aegon lifting you up bridal-style, grinning at the camera.

Aegon feeding you cake, licking frosting off your fingers.

At this point, some girls deleted their fan pages, some started crying in their pillows, and some just accepted their fate.

But the real heartbreak? Aegon himself responding to the meltdown:

@AegonTargaryen: “She’s my wife now. Y’all better deal with it.” 😎💍

When You And Aegon Posted About Your Pregnancy

When the post went up, the internet exploded.

Aegon’s Instagram—normally flooded with thirsty comments and heart emojis—was now a war zone of disbelief, heartbreak, and sheer chaos.

The photo? Devastating.

It was a beautiful shot of you and Aegon—his hand resting possessively over your very visible baby bump while he kissed the side of your head. The second slide? An ultrasound.

Two embryos.

Twins.

The caption? Simple, smug, and absolutely soul-crushing:

“Our greatest blessing. Can’t wait to meet our little dragons.”

And then—pure pandemonium.

“TWINS?!! BITCH STOLE BOTH OUR BABIES?!”

“I HAVEN’T EVEN RECOVERED FROM THE ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT WTF.”

“I’m gonna be sick. Aegon was supposed to impregnate ME.”

“Not one. BUT TWO. SHE TOOK BOTH. I CAN’T BREATHE.”

“I need a moment. Aegon Targaryen rawdogged this woman twice and now she’s carrying TWINS. I can’t function.”

“We lost, ladies. This is our red wedding.”

“I was delulu, but this… this is the final nail in the coffin.”

Some were in full denial:

“That’s AI. That’s NOT real. I REFUSE.”

“Maybe it’s for a movie role? Right? RIGHT?!”

“The ultrasound is Photoshopped. I checked.” (It was not.)

And then there were the true unhinged ones:

“I’M GONNA PRETEND THOSE ARE MY BABIES.”

“Okay but what if she lets me babysit?”

“I hope the twins grow up knowing their father was mine first.”

Within an hour, your name was #1 trending worldwide. Fan edits, conspiracy theories, and pure devastation flooded every corner of the internet. It was over for them.

You had won.

When You And Aegon Posted About Your Twins Arrival.

The moment Aegon posted the photo—you lying in the hospital bed, exhausted but glowing, holding your newborn twins in your arms, while he kissed you with tears in his eyes—social media imploded.

The Caption That Broke the Internet:

“Welcome to the world, little dragons. Your mother is the strongest woman I know. I love you forever.”

And just like that, Aegon’s fangirls and your fanboys lost their collective minds.

Instagram Comments Section: An Emotional Warzone

“I AM CRYING, THROWING UP, SCREAMING—THIS CAN’T BE REAL.”

“Aegon crying over his wife and babies? Yeah, I’m done for.”

“I should’ve logged out when they got married. Now they have KIDS?!?”

“Not him looking at her like she hung the moon while holding their babies. This is actual pain.”

“You mean to tell me Aegon, the playboy prince, is a devoted husband and crying father now? Yeah, I lost.”

Twitter/X Reactions: A Global Tragedy

“Not only did we lose Aegon, but now he’s a full-time husband AND father? We lost him forever.”

“He cried. HE CRIED WHILE KISSING HER. How do you expect me to survive this?”

“I thought the wedding was bad, but the baby announcement just ended me.”

“Aegon went from heartbreaker to husband of the year and now devoted girl dad?? This is unfair.”

“We are officially extinct. Aegon belongs to HER and their BABIES now.”

TikTok Reaction Videos: Fangirls & Fanboys Mourning

One girl dramatically closing her laptop and walking away: “Nope. Nope. This is my villain origin story.”

A fanboy sobbing into a pillow: “First she took him, now she has his children. I have nothing left.”

A group of fangirls screaming at the screen: “NOT THE TEARFUL KISS. NOT THE BABIES. I CAN’T.”

Someone chugging wine in a dark room: “I need time to process this betrayal.”

A TikTok edit of Aegon’s bad boy days fading into husband & dad Aegon with the caption: “WE LOST HIM FOREVER.”

The Final Blow: Aegon’s Response to the Fangirl Meltdown

Just as the internet was spiraling into despair, Aegon added another post—a short video clip of him holding one of the twins against his chest, murmuring softly while the baby cooed, and then looking at you with the most lovestruck expression.

@AegonTargaryen: “I never knew I could love like this. My world. My family.”

And just like that, his fangirls & your fanboys flatlined.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

Big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for letting me use your beautiful dividers

[sleepymothafterhours]

Med Student Zayne Headcanons

Part 1 Of med student!Zayne

part of reasons you shouldn't skip your 8AM

no warnings except another shitty professor

Au Master list ---> Here

let me know if you'd like to be tagged in anything regarding this fic pls

reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated <3

Med Student!Zayne who caters his schedule as much as he can to making sure you can at least get lunch together once a week

Zayne who after so long being with you sends you a text reminding you to eat something throughout the day

Med student!Zayne who seems to always run into people who know him while he's holding two bowls full of soup but only on specific days

who checks every morning to see the soup of the day and packs two Tupperware boxes, one for each of you on days he knows they have your favorite kind

Who does think it's funny how Caleb can hardly be around him without errupting with jealousy despite Zayne being loud and proud about his own girl

Med student! Zayne who looks at you seemingly blank when you talk about how you wish you could marry him now, you'd gotten obsessed with the idea after so many years with him

who supposed watching your friends show off engagements rings and talk about wedding planning could've been a fair reason

who kisses the top of your head and gives you a soft "my love we can't yet," When you mention how different the financial aid is when your married (no you totally hadn't looked into it)

Zayne who can't see you as often as he wants especially with how close he is to getting into graduate school and it drives him crazy

Who found you in a study room pouring over your essay after an exam went wrong with tears in your eyes sipping water to try and hide the hiccup of sobs, so distracted you don't even notice the double take he has to do to make sure it really is you

Med student!Zayne who was already plotting ways to tell his study group he couldn't go but now looking at you knew he wouldn't be lying when he told them there was an emergency

who startles you with the click of the door shutting and knows you didn't notice him when you start to say "Sorry I should have had the room for another-" only to trail off when you notice its him

Zayne who's never seen you this upset in all the years you spent together, stressed out of your mind? Sure, angry about a grade? absolutely but he'd at least never bared witness to you so upset

Who tries calming you down, its okay to not do well but the project was half your grade and you only didn't do well because of a couple shitty teammates who refused to do any of the work

he suggests an email, to which you show him the one you had been reading, it didn't matter if you did your part, he wouldn't regrade anything that would separate you from the other two people,

Med student! Zayne who knows the professor personally and after a very..strongly worded email to the dean and a quick talk pretends to know nothing when your grade goes back up to an A

nor the reason why the professor has suddenly stopped being such an ass to you...

[stheresya]

"I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight […]" (Sansa III, AGOT) “Wed?” Sansa was stunned. “You and my aunt?” “The Lord of Harrenhal and the Lady of the Eyrie.” You said it was my mother you loved. But of course Lady Catelyn was dead, so even if she had loved Petyr secretly and given him her maidenhood, it made no matter now. (Sansa VI, ASOS)

I find that these little passages reveal something interesting about sansa's personality. specially when you juxtapose how she's characterized in the text and her worldviews here, and how at first glance they may seem contradictory. but first, let's take two things into account:

the patriarchal society of westeros is very strict on women's sexuality. which means that not only is female virginity held in great value, but also female adultery is very firmly condemned by everyone, unlike men who are allowed to maintain public mistresses and flaunt their bastards everywhere.

sansa is characterized as the conformist, the one who internalizes her society's rules. she's very religious, she's a proper lady in every sense of the word and she often says and does exactly what she's told.

and yet, in these passages we can see that sansa does not care much about societal rules when it comes to intimate feelings. she often hails aemon and naerys' (supposed) forbidden love without a single care that queen naerys was bound by duty to a husband and aemon was meant to be loyal to his king. but most astonishing of all is her nonchalant response to petyr's (false) information that her mother was not a virgin when she married. on one hand it may speak on sansa's views towards women's sexuality, since her current friends (mya and randa) are girls who engage in sex out of wedlock, and she never judges them, just like she doesn't judge her mother for apparently doing the same, and catelyn continues to be the person she admires the most. sansa also doesn't view her parents' relationship any differently because of this, the marriage between ned and cat is still as happy as she remembers, because all that matters to her is that there was love in the home she grew up in. the thing about sansa's character is that she plays by the rules up until a certain point, but on the inside she always prioritizes emotion over societal norms, and that's why she looks more upset at petyr for marrying someone while claiming to love another, because in her mind he's being unfaithful to his heart by marrying out of practicality. we have examples that showcase sansa's prioritizing feelings in AGOT when she, the good daughter, disobeys her father for the first time because she thought she was in love with joffrey, and in ASOS where she never thinks she owes tyrion anything just because he's her husband. so it comes as no surprise that she's so infatuated with the love story of an adulterous and incestuous relationship like aemon and naerys'. one of the main themes in this series is that feelings don't care about honor. and if love is the death of duty then sansa seems more than happy to see duty killed for the sake of love.

of course this doesn't mean she'll stay that way, specially when she's already lost her so much of her innocence and is now tangled in petyr's schemes where she must set her own feelings aside in order to act on his plans. and despite her silent judgement of petyr marrying someone he didn't love, her current betrothal with harry is an entirely practical union on her part since she feels nothing for him and only sees him as a means to an end. there have been many instances since book 1 where she was able to turn off her feelings in order to withstand certain situations. so... what even is sansa's mind? an interesting universe on its own for sure.

I just think sansa's romanticism is one of her most interesting traits (for better and for worse), something that truly contributes to the distinctiveness of her character, and I really hope petyr or anyone else are unable to completely kill that in her.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

okok let me finally do my analysis on kusuke and makoto parallels like ive talked about a thousand times (obvious warning that im gonna talk about incest, and also that im gonna be talking about a gag manga in a serious light so if that upsets you just go away ✌️)... yippee, perverted older brothers with unhealthy dynamics with their powerful younger siblings analysis!!

the most obvious parallel is in their interactions with the others sibling. they literally have the same exact meeting, they both go from being fake nice to "my sibling is special and youre not worthy of them"

not included in pictures but also note that kusuo got rid of makoto by calling on kokomi and kokomi got rid of kusuke by calling on her fans

"the second hes distracted, LETS GO"

"we're the only ones who can match up to each other"

kusukes idea of kusuo being inhuman also influences the way this is treated i think- he tells kokomi that marrying a beautiful man will suit her best and that kusuo is above that kind of thing (aka actual romantic and aesthetic attraction), and it seems that being the only ones who can measure up to each other is probably the closest, in his eyes, that kusuo can get to love (confirmed in my opinion by the marriage/engagement symbolism a few pictures down⬇️). thats why he thinks theyre the only ones worthy of each other even if he doesnt see kusuo in the exact same way as makoto sees kokomi. if that makes any sense :p these are obviously already parallel on surface level, but id say theyre even more similar if you look deeply into it

"i know everything youre thinking" and "everyone else looks like monkeys to me"

associating their sibling with heaven/god

a certain fixation on their sibling's body... top two are specifically them trying to see their sibling naked without consent

? not sure how to describe this. implications of engagement/marriage? this use of an explicitly romantic symbol actually confuses me in kusukes case but thats not really relevant here...

theyre the reason their sibling cant relax or be themself even at home... also note that kusuo specifically says that kusuos masochism (which i guess in some contexts masochism can be non-sexual but in this situation, since kusuke is canonically a pervert and there are several implications and allusions to sexual pleasure, it obviously means he gets SEXUAL pleasure from pain/humiliation) is the main reason he doesnt like him. likewise, kokomi is bothered by makotos overprotective and overbearing nature, though unfortunately she doesnt seem to be aware of his sister complex and thinks hes just being an annoying big brother.

not necessarily something that can be captured in a picture but theres also the fact that they both have pretty perfect lives but are still obsessed with their sibling and only their sibling, its all they really care about and their entire lives depend on them.

makoto is extremely attractive, charming when hes trying to be, and is a famous actor... he clearly gets girls. but he doesnt want any of them because hes stuck in his obsession with kokomi, shes the only girl he wants and its ruined his perception of other girls. he believes hes the only one that can be right for kokomi and touch her, and that likewise kokomi is the only girl he can be with. her presence dictates his life, he skips work just to follow her around and prevent her from getting involved with other guys. we only see maybe a few sentences from him where he isnt talking about kokomi, even when hes on tv.

kusuke is an attractive and charming genius, easily pulls girls, cambridge graduate, and is the favorite child in his family. but none of that matters, it only sets him apart from other humans and gives him a skewed perspective of anyone who isnt kusuo. he believes kusuo is the only person he can get that sadomasochistic pleasure from, and kusuo is the reason he developed it in the first place and he specifically seeks him out and coerces him into it. he really only cares about his family, theyre the only people in the world that are worth anything in his eyes, and his only interactions with anyone else have been using them as tools to get to kusuo. his life goal is (or was, before the end of cat tank arc) defeating kusuo. he has cameras in his familys house that hes presumably constantly watching, implied by him being ALREADY watching before his parents even called him about kusuos limiter.

[justboredtingz]

Yes, Your Highness Part. 2 || Kenma x Reader 🔞

Part 2 to This. I also wrote an alternative ending

(Prince! Kenma x F!Knight! Reader)

I wrote part 1 in like 2020 LOLLLL I’m such a bad person but it’s here now i guess. Anybody still like haikyuu?? T^T. BUT ANYWHO it’s is long ASF, idek the word count because i typed it on my phone lol.

Smut, angst (sorry), no happy ending because i said so, death, just try to immerse its long asf.

You stood behind Kenma’s chair at the long dining table, hands clasped neatly behind your back. Your armor had been freshly polished, gleaming faintly beneath the soft candlelight, though the weight of it felt heavier than usual tonight.

Across from Kenma sat the princess, radiant in a pale silk gown that caught the eye of every courtier in the room, save for the prince himself. Kuroo explained to you how the King and Queen expected Prince Kenma to marry the princess. It was obvious she was the King’s pick for him— She had come from a very powerful country that would be beneficial to have as an ally. The Queen was only worried about him making “beautiful sons” and felt that the princess would suffice.

Kenma sat with a practiced posture, calm and unreadable, golden eyes half-lidded as he absently stirred the broth in his bowl. Every so often, he shifted faintly in his seat and though he never looked directly at you, you noticed the minute tilts of his head, the way his gaze flicked toward your presence behind him.

He was distracted. And you were certain the princess had noticed.

“Prince Kenma,” she spoke with a gentle lilt, fingers folding atop the table. “Are you enjoying your meal? You’ve hardly touched it.”

Kenma glanced up briefly, voice even. “It’s fine.”

His tone was polite but distant. He made no effort to engage further, letting the conversation dissolve awkwardly. The princess’s smile twitched at the corners.

You kept your expression neutral, though your pulse quickened. His disinterest was palpable. And dangerous. It would be concerning for the King and Queen if Kenma did not take a liking to the princess.

Moments passed in strained silence. Then, without warning, Kenma set down his spoon quietly and pushed back his chair.

“I’m done.”

A few heads turned. The princess blinked, her expression flickering with surprise, but before she could respond, Kenma stood fully, “please excuse us.”

“Come,” he said softly, glancing over his shoulder. The single word wasn’t a request.

Your throat tightened. You bowed briefly to all that were in attendance before falling into step behind him, boots clicking softly against the polished floor. He’s really done it for himself. The Queen will not be happy with his manners.

Kenma’s strides were unhurried, but his shoulders were faintly tense beneath the fine fabric of his tunic. You followed him out of the hall and into one of the dim stone corridors that led toward the quieter wings of the castle.

It wasn’t until you reached a small alcove near the outer courtyard that he stopped. Without a word, he turned, golden eyes lifting to meet yours.

He said nothing. Only stood there, leaning his head against your chest piece, faint color blooming high on his cheeks.

“Your Highness…” You spoke softly, cautious, placing your hands on his shoulders. “You know this is unacceptable.”

Kenma lowered his gaze, shoulders drawing inward. “I know,” he murmured. His voice was quieter now, edges softened by something unspoken. “I just—”

Before he could finish his sentence, footsteps echoed faintly down the hall.

The princess.

You caught her silhouette first — emerging just past the columned archway, her gaze sharp and searching. You quickly removed your hands and placed them at your side, Prince Kenma getting the message and sitting up. And when her eyes found you, standing too close to the prince, your larger frame overshadowing his, her expression changed. The smile returned. But this time, it was brittle.

“Your Highness,” she called smoothly, voice cutting through the air. “Forgive me. I grew concerned when you left so suddenly.”

Kenma straightened faintly, face returning to its usual calm. “I needed air,” he said, simple and flat. But the princess’s eyes slid to you again, narrowing ever so slightly.

“Ah. Of course.”

She lingered a moment too long, taking in the space between you both. Then, with an elegant dip of her head, she stepped back into the hall, but not without a final glance, her expression unreadable. Your heart hammered against your ribs.

“She suspects something,” you whispered once she was gone.

Kenma’s gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t care.”

But you did. Because now, you could feel it — the truth of the matter being you and Kenma could never be together. He would never be yours.

You escorted the prince back to his room. He wanted to finish where you had last left off, but you explained to him the circumstances with the princess present in the castle— people might consistently be in and out of his room until she leaves, and it would be fatal for you to get caught in the act. Kneeling and kissing his hand, you let your lips linger a second too long on his knuckles before parting ways. Your heart throbbed in your chest, wanting to spend another night with him.

Sadly, during the princesses visits, you were ordered to move back into the Knights quarters on the West end of the castle, completely opposite from Kenma’s chambers. The King wanted them to have more “private time” while she visited for them to bond, and having you around all the time wasn’t going to help Kenma socialize.

You were left to your thoughts, which always drifted to kenma. Suddenly you felt a slap to your back, almost sending you flying forward, “You’re outta there. What’s goin on?” Kuroo stood there, pulling off his armor to place on the stand.

You adjusted your armor before shrugging it off, making it appear as if it was a minuscule issue, “ just worried about prince Kenma not taking on to the princess.”

He let out a small ‘ah’ before patting your back once more, “Well he’ll have plenty of time warming up to her during our sparring session tomorrow.”

You looked up at him confused, “They’ll be watching our sparring session?” It was rare for royalty to be interested in anything related to the knights, you questioned the reasoning behind this all.

“The Princess asked to king to watch. Sum’ about her wanting to make sure the prince is being well taken care of. Her servant just notified me of this not too long ago.”

Ahhhhhh that’s why. She might want me to be replaced.

You only nodded, letting out an annoyed sigh, “It might be one of those situations regarding me being a woman again.” You said that, but you knew it was more likely related to what she saw earlier tonight. Getting rid of the competition.

However, there has been plenty of times where people assumed Kenma wasn’t being protected enough due to your gender. “A woman can’t protect the prince, they’re too emotional! Too hormonal!”

You wiped your face with your hand out of frustration before thanking kuroo, “Thanks for the heads up. Now I gotta kick your ass to keep my job.”

He let out a laugh before walking off, waving behind him, “Don’t get your hopes up, I’ve been practicing while you’ve been playing maid.”

You ignored his last statement and changed into your sleep clothes.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The sun hung low in the morning sky as the knights assembled in the outer courtyard, a training ground. The air was thick with anticipation, it wasn’t often that members of the royal family deigned to attend sparring sessions.

You tightened the straps of your armor, jaw set. She’s watching today, you reminded yourself. Play it smart.

Across from you, Kuroo grinned lazily as he adjusted his gauntlets. “Nervous?” he teased. You smirked. “Not a chance.”

But when your gaze flicked toward the viewing platform, your pulse stuttered.

There she was, the princess, seated gracefully beside the King and Queen. And beside her, seated in rigid silence, Prince Kenma. Deep burgundy velvet hung from his narrow shoulders, fastened by a simple gold clasp that gleamed dully in the sunlight. The color made his skin look even paler, the shadows beneath his eyes a little deeper. Beneath the cloak, he wore a high-collared black tunic— tailored perfectly, but you knew he hated the way it felt, too stiff, too formal. Faint gold embroidery traced the collar and cuffs, fine but understated, like everything about him. His trousers were dark and fitted, boots polished to court standards though he hardly seemed to notice them. But it was his hair that caught your eye— tied loosely back with a black silk ribbon, already coming undone from the rough treatment by the wind. Strands had slipped free and now framed his face in soft, uneven wisps. He hadn’t bothered to fix it. And those eyes— half-lidded, unreadable to anyone else. But you knew that gaze. You felt it lingering on you even now, sharp and unrelenting, as though he could tear through steel and bone to find whatever part of you still dared to hope. Your mind flickered back to the previous encounter you shared. The way he rolled his hips and twitched in your hands, his soft moans, those golden eyes almost black with how dilated his pupils were. One night was all it took for you to feel possessive over him. He was your Prince to protect, your Prince to serve.

He looked out of place in the bright morning sun. His posture was straight, but his hands fidgeted faintly in his lap. You sent a small smile, but something flickered in his expression — a silent plea.

Don’t lose, that gaze seemed to say. Don’t give them a reason to take you away.

You gave a subtle nod in return. Then drew your blade. The first few clashes went well. the lower ranked knights standing no chance against you. Men getting frustrated, calling you ‘bitch’ and ‘whore’ to get under your skin, attempting to anger and distract you. Kenma was obviously aggravated by their behavior, but whenever you put them on their ass, he couldn’t help but have a small smile creep to his face.

The next battle finally came, this clash was all speed — steel against steel, your body moving on instinct. Kuroo was good, too good for how relaxed he always seemed.

Blades sang as you met strike after strike, boots skimming across the stone. Sweat dampened your brow beneath your helm, but you pushed harder.

Then — a misstep.

You lunged in low, and Kuroo anticipated it too well — twisting at the last moment, his arm sweeping around to catch you by the waist. The force of it sent you off balance, your back hitting his chest with a dull clank of metal.

A playful murmur reached your ear. “Careful, kitten. Wouldn’t want you to fall.”

You stiffened — not at the words, but at the way his hand lingered at your waist. A touch too familiar. A touch meant for show. He wanted to embarrass you.

Your gaze darted instinctively to the platform.

Kenma’s expression had darkened — not with anger, but with something quieter. His knuckles were white against the armrest, eyes locked on where Kuroo’s hand rested on you.

He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t touch you like that in front of everyone. But Kuroo could. And was making a point to do so.

You pushed away sharply, grabbing his arm and flipping him over your shoulder. Regaining your stance, “Fight properly,” you hissed. You could see the princess unsettled in your peripheral, obviously hoping for Kuroo to win.

Kuroo only smirked, getting up and dusting himself off, before he, too, returned to his stance. “As you wish.”

The bout continued— faster, harder. Your frustration fueled each strike, but it dulled your edge. You didn’t understand why Kuroo was trying so hard. He knew that if you failed, the princess would have you removed. Kuroo feinted left, and in your impatience, you overcommitted. Steel cracked against your pauldron, the blow jarring through your shoulder. You stumbled back with a hiss of pain, blade dropping.

A sharp intake of breath echoed from the viewing platform. You lost. You immediately lose if you drop your weapon. Kuroo was smart enough to hold on to his sword when you flipped him. He was also smart enough to aim for your pauldron, knowing it would disarm you.

The princess rose gracefully, eyes gleaming. “Enough!” she called, voice ringing clear across the courtyard. “The knight is injured and has lost the bout. And—” her gaze flicked meaningfully toward Kuroo, “—I could not help but notice the… improper closeness during the match. How can one entrusted with the prince’s safety allow herself to be so easily distracted? Worse yet — to permit such familiarity in front of the court.”

The King frowned, his gaze narrowing.

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself upright despite the throbbing in your shoulder. “It was nothing,” you ground out. “A scratch. I can continue. And that—” your eyes burned as you glanced at Kuroo, “—was not permitted. I was caught off guard. It will not happen again.”

The princess descended a few steps, her tone all honeyed concern. “Your Majesty, surely you see — this is not suitable. If one so easily distracted and compromised can be swayed in the middle of a simple sparring match…” she trailed off delicately, letting the words hang. “It is evident that a woman should not be protecting the prince. Such… entanglements are dangerous.”

Murmurs rippled through the onlookers. Before the King could speak, Kenma stood abruptly, voice low but steady. “She is not fragile.”

All heads turned.

Kenma was never one to talk, especially in public, and to see him defending you this way made your heart thud against your chest. His gaze did not waver. “She is not compromised. Nor unfit.” His fingers curled tightly around the edge of the railing. “I trust her.”

The princess turned to him, brows arched in feigned surprise. “Dearest prince, I only seek your safety. I know you must be fond of her, but—”

“I will not be guarded by anyone else,” he said, sharper now.

But the King’s voice cut through. “Enough. The princess is correct. We cannot risk it. You are our only son, and it’s important you have someone competent protecting you, ” His gaze settled on you. “You are to step down. Sir Kuroo will assume primary guard duties. The transition will be made within three days.”

The world seemed to tilt.

Kenma’s fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning with a rare spark of fury — but the King had spoken.

You bowed stiffly, pain forgotten. “As you command.”

Your gaze flicked to Kenma one last time. Beneath the calm mask he always wore, you saw something: helpless fury.

But there was nothing either of you could do now. The princess has won.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You finished your sparring matches, which went late into the evening. Prince Kenma had left the moment the decision was made, and the princess stayed to watch, her expression showing pure self-satisfaction. You foughtand practiced until late into the evening, letting out your frustrations in battle. Once done, you didn’t remember walking back to the knights’ quarters. Your mind was too loud. The dull throb in your shoulder was nothing compared to the searing heat in your chest.

You lost your position. You lost your closeness to the prince. To your Kenma.

Because of a cheap trick. Because of a moment’s distraction. Because of him. Plus, the princess somehow manipulated your superiors to put you on stable duty— the lowest ranking position in the castle.

You shoved open the heavy oak door, armor clinking as you strode across the stone floor. The moment you began unfastening your gauntlets, a familiar voice called from behind. “Hey—”

You turned sharply. Kuroo stood there, hands half-raised in a placating gesture. “Listen, I didn’t mean—”

Your fist connected with his jaw before he could finish. The impact sent him stumbling back against the wall. He barely caught himself before you advanced, seizing his collar with both hands and slamming him down to the floor. You were pissed. Something predatory came over you. It felt like your prey had been snatched from under you by a weaker predator, all because of one misstep.

You placed a knee to his chest, gauntleted fist cocking back again. “I don’t know what the fuck you were trying to do out there,” you snarled. “But you just cost me my fucking job. I’m on fucking stable duty now.”

Kuroo coughed, blinking dazedly up at you. Blood trickled faintly from the corner of his lip. “I was trying to help,” he rasped. “Make it look good—”

“You made it worse!” You pulled him to your face, trying to make him understand. “I don’t need your help. I never did.”

For a moment, neither of you moved — your ragged breaths loud in the tense silence. Finally, with a bitter growl, you released him and pushed off, staggering back.

Kuroo sat up slowly, wiping his mouth. “…I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think she’d use it like that.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The words were lodged too deep behind the knot in your throat. All you did was give him one last look of disgust, before retreating to your room.

The sun had long since dipped beyond the horizon when the summons came.

A younger page arrived at your door, eyes wide with nerves. “Prince Kenma requests your presence in his chambers.”

Your heart lurched painfully. You almost refused from embarrassment — but your legs were already moving.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You entered the prince’s quarters in silence, the guards outside casting you wary glances saying ‘you shouldn’t be here’. You ignored their looks as the door clicked shut behind you.

Kenma stood by the window, bathed in soft moonlight. He wasn’t dressed for court now. Gone was the stifling finery they forced on him. In its place, a loose black tunic hung open at the collar, soft fabric draping across his slender frame. The ties at his neck remained undone, the folds of the garment falling haphazardly as if he’d given up lacing them altogether.

His hair was down long, silken strands cascading freely tickling his shoulders, some pieces slightly tousled, as though he’d run his fingers through them one too many times.

Barefoot on the cool stone floor, he looked smaller somehow — no prince, no perfect image. Just Kenma. Tired. Caged. Alone. He turned as you approached, his golden eyes shimmering faintly in the moonlight.

For a moment, he only looked at you — gaze flicking over your bruised knuckles, the tension in your jaw. Then he stepped forward, reaching out.

His fingers brushed yours before lifting your hand gently to his lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against your skin. “For today.”

Your throat tightened. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You quickly knelt on one knee, grabbing both of his hands into yours, kissing each finger letting your lips linger, “ I failed you, your highness.”

Your words hung heavy in the air. It was only yesterday that you were able to touch Kenma in the way you fantasized about. You were hoping for a long future of being able to be with Kenma in this way, but not even a full 24 hours later, everything you envisioned has burned to the ground. You’re awfully aware of the fact that you’re only a knight. And he’s a prince. These events are only a karmic reminder of your place in his world.

Kenma’s fingers tightened faintly around yours. His breath caught, a soft sound escaping him— not quite a sigh, not quite a sob. “You didn’t fail me,” he murmured. “I failed us.”

You looked up at him— at the rare rawness in those golden eyes. It was what drew you in so deeply. The way he looked at you was intoxicating.

Then his hands slipped free of yours, trembling faintly as they rose — one brushing against your cheek, feather-light.

He fell to his knees in front of you, his gaze flicking up to your lips. The breath between you thinned to nothing.

“Kenma—”

But before you could finish, he leaned in, a hesitant tilt of his head, as though asking without words, as though needing permission.

You caught his wrist gently, stopping him.

His eyes widened, the faintest tremor running through him. “Why?” he whispered.

You swallowed hard. The ache in your chest was near unbearable. “If we do this now… it’ll be harder for me to stop. You know why that’s a problem, my prince.”

He blinked, lashes trembling. “I don’t care.”

“But I do.” Your voice broke slightly. “If they catch us tonight, it won’t just be my job they take. And I’d like to be around you a little bit longer if that’s okay.”

He looked down, the weight of it sinking in. He knew they would behead you, but he wanted to be selfish. His fingers slipped from your cheek, curling into trembling fists at his sides. You pulled him into your chest, holding him in your embrace. At this very moment, you could no longer deny it. You have fallen deeply for the Prince before you.

You forced a steadier tone, a whisper. “I’ll come back. On my last night here. I’ll see you again before I go.”

He looked up, desperate, searching your face.

“Leave your balcony door open,” you whispered. “I’ll come to you.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved — trapped in the space between wanting and knowing better.

Finally, he gave a small nod, barely visible. His voice was hoarse. “I’ll be waiting.”

You rose slowly, your heart shattering with every step back. At the door, you hesitated. Without turning, you spoke one last time.

“I will always be your loyal servant, Your Highness.”

And with that, you left — the echo of your own footsteps chasing you down the darkened hall.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The next two days passed like moving through water: heavy, slow, suffocating.

You were ordered to assist Kuroo in “transitioning” into your duties. You were no longer allowed to guard Kenma’s quarters alone, no longer permitted at his side in public.

Instead, you spent long hours briefing Kuroo on Kenma’s routines, his preferences, his tells. It was a cruel irony; the deeper you spoke of the prince’s quiet needs, the further you felt yourself slipping from him—yet the more you craved his presence.

Surprisingly, Kuroo was subdued.

The tension from your fight had bled out into something softer, an unspoken understanding between you both. “You know,” he said one afternoon as you walked the perimeter together, “you’ve done more for him than anyone here gives you credit for. No wonder you got that nice expensive room right next to his.”

You glanced at him, wary.

He smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I’m happy taking your place.”

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m happy leaving it.”

Silence settled between you. Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably before speaking again “Also… I honestly got lucky during our match. That hit wasn’t actually on purpose…” He trailed off with a small chuckle, gaze flicking away to the side, not wanting you to see his embarrassment.

You smiled to yourself, patting his shoulder. “Knew you weren’t that good.”

You were coming to terms with Kuroo taking over. It reassured you that Prince Kenma would be in good hands.

But you didn’t trust the princess. You weren’t sure if it was jealousy or something deeper, but a warning stirred inside you. There was ill intent behind her gaze, something you couldn’t shake.

Her looks grew sharper with each passing day. Her words more pointed, her smiles thinner.

At midday meal, her voice cut through the hall when Kenma glanced your way.

“Oh, how charming,” she said lightly, her tone carrying just far enough. “Even now, our dear prince is so fond of his former guard.”

Murmurs rippled through the room.

You kept your gaze fixed forward, but the flush burned your ears. Her emphasis on “our” stirred something inside of you. Kenma, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He held her gaze for a beat too long — flat and unimpressed — before returning to his plate in silence.

But the damage was done. The stares lingered.

At another point, passing in the corridor leaving your post from Kenma’s quarters, the princess “happened” to intercept you. “Leaving so soon?” she asked sweetly. “Such a shame. I’m certain the prince will miss your… companionship.”

You stopped, meeting her gaze evenly. Your tone remained polite — just barely. “Of course. And I shall seek his company… when he invites it.” you said softly. “If companionship were so easily arranged… I imagine His Highness would have shown more interest by now.”

Her smile faltered, the faintest twitch betraying her composure.

For a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. Then she gave a sharp little scoff, pivoting gracefully on her heel. “We shall see.” You watched her retreat down the hall, jaw tight — but a small, bitter smile tugged at your lips. Bitch.

The weight of it all built with every hour. And through it all, Kenma grew… bolder. Reckless.

He no longer hid the way he looked at you when you passed. The warmth in his gaze was impossible to miss. And every glance, every flicker of that golden stare, felt like a blade against your ribs.

Stop looking at me like that, you wanted to scream. Before I can’t control myself anymore.

But the words never left your tongue. you quite frankly longed for the next time your gazes could meet. You longed for every subtle touch he gave you, whether it came in passing or through the smallest brush of fingertips beneath a shared cloak or along a tray exchanged during lessons.

And lately, you’d begun to notice the shift in Kuroo’s eyes, too — the way he watched these exchanges with growing wariness, gaze sharpening with each stolen glance between you and the prince.

Still, you waited.

Waited as you taught him everything Kenma-related, waited through each agonizing hour beside Kuroo, waited for the third night to come. For you to finally be alone with the prince again.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

It came.

When the sun set on the third day, the air in the castle seemed different. Thicker. Watching. Your heart had never beat so loud. The hour approached midnight when you slipped into your quarters, hands trembling slightly as you packed what little you needed. Armor off. Dark, soft clothing on— easy to move in, easy to hide in.

A single dagger strapped to your thigh. Not for Kenma. For anyone who tried to stop you. You were willing to do anything to be with him again.

At your window, the sky was black as ink. No moon tonight— a small mercy.

You exhaled slowly, forcing your shaking hands to still.

One last night.

Your gaze flicked to the tower across the courtyard — to the faint sliver of golden light still spilling from Kenma’s balcony door. Open. Waiting.

You pulled your hood up, heart hammering. And without a sound, you slipped into the shadows — toward him. Toward the one mistake you knew you couldn’t stop yourself from making.

You moved like a shadow through the courtyard, slipping between columns and through patches of deeper darkness. Not a soul stirred. The guards had long since grown lax at this hour, too confident in their watch. When you reached the base of the tower, your heart thundered so loud you feared it would give you away.

But still, the balcony door remained open. A single golden sliver of light spilling across the stone. He was waiting for you, and you refused to let your nerves keep you away from your prince. You climbed swift and silent, scaling the outer ledge with the ease of long practice. And then — you were there.

Kenma stood inside, barefoot once again on marble, clad in that same loose black tunic — now hanging even lower on his shoulders, the ties at his neck completely undone. His hair fell wild and soft around his face, golden strands gleaming in the low candlelight.

He turned the instant your boots touched the balcony rail. His breath caught.

“You came.”

“I said I would, your Highness.”

You stepped inside, shutting the door with a soft click. The tension between you thrummed near unbearable. For only a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with all the words neither dared speak.

Then Kenma moved first. Quick, graceless, a blur of need as he rushed to you. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, face nestling in your chest.

“I missed… ,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Being with you like this.”

You exhaled slowly, arms wrapping around him, fingers threading into the silk of his hair.

“I know,” you whispered back. “I missed it too.”

But when you tried to pull back, to look at him, he clung tighter. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Not yet. I—”

You felt it — the slight tremble in his body, the sharp hitch of his breath. He tipped his head back finally, golden eyes shimmering, lips parted.

“Please,” he whispered, voice thin with desperation. “Please. Don’t reject me— I need you tonight. Stay.”

You tucked some loose strands of his hair behind his ear, making sure to caress his cheek.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

You claimed his mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing the small sound that escaped him. His fingers fisted your tunic, tugging you closer, so close you could feel every tremble, every ragged breath.

When you broke the kiss, he chased after you with a soft whimper, breathless.

“Bed,” you ordered softly, voice rough with restraint.

He obeyed without a word, stumbling back onto the bed and sitting with his legs folded beneath him, flushed, panting softly.

You stalked forward, unfastening your belt, slipping free of your outer layers, eyes never leaving his.

“Take it off,” you commanded.

His hands shook as he tugged the loose tunic over his head, baring pale skin flushed pink with want. He hesitated after, fingers twisting in the sheets — too shy to move further, too desperate to stop.

You crawled onto the bed, straddling his lap, now only in your underwear, fingers tracing up his sides, watching him shiver.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” you whispered against his ear. “Haven’t you, my prince?”

His breath hitched, hips bucking faintly beneath you. “Y-Yes,” he gasped, seemingly wanting to say more but nothing slipping from his lips.

You claimed his mouth again, deeper this time, devouring every needy sound. Your hands roamed down his chest, nails dragging faint lines down trembling skin.

When you reached the waistband of his trousers, he whimpered, head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.

“Words,” you coerced softly. “Tell me what you want”

“Your hands…” he whispered, voice thin, almost broken. “Please… touch me.”

A faint smile curved your lips. “Good boy.”

You let the praise linger for a beat, then slid your hand beneath the waistband of his trousers, until his aching length was freed into your palm.

The sound he made was sinful — a broken little cry as you wrapped your hand around him, stroking slow, teasing. “My prince,” you purred. “Look at you… so desperate for someone you can’t even have.”

Kenma whimpered, hips twitching helplessly beneath your hand. One trembling hand reached out blindly, fingers catching at the waistband of your panties where they hugged your hip — not in demand, but as though seeking something to anchor himself against the overwhelming heat building inside him.

You leaned in, lips ghosting his ear. “Relax, my prince,” you whispered. “I’ll take care of you.”

With agonizing slowness, you kissed your way down his throat, lingering over every sharp breath, every faint shiver beneath your mouth. When you reached his chest, you nipped at a pale nipple, drawing a soft cry that made your core ache.

But you didn’t linger, not yet. You slid lower, dragging your lips down the trembling plane of his stomach, savoring every broken sound. Kenma’s breath came in ragged little gasps, eyes lidded and hazy with need.

You arched your back, hips raised high, ass shamelessly swaying with each breath as you settled on your elbows. One hand wrapped firm around his shaft, holding him in place as you dragged your tongue oh-so-slowly along the underside.

He lay sprawled across the wide bed, smaller frame dwarfed by the thick mattress. His thighs shook faintly, spread open for you, cock flushed pink and already leaking for you.

The height difference made him look even more helpless, completely at your mercy — just the way you liked him.

You smirked. “My Kenma,” you murmured. “Already so good for me~”

He whimpered, head tipping back against the pillows. “P-Please,” he gasped. “Please, I—”

You didn’t make him wait.

Leaning in, you flattened your tongue against the tip of his cock, swirling slow, deliberate circles until he was trembling beneath you, a broken moan spilling from his lips.

“You taste even sweeter when you beg,” you purred. And with that, you took him deeper, lips sliding down inch by inch, savoring the way his thighs tensed, the way his fingers scrambled helplessly at the sheets.

Your pace was slow at first, teasing — each pull of your mouth dragging new sounds from his throat. His hips bucked weakly, but you pinned them down with firm hands, forcing him to take what you gave.

“Mnh— ah— more—”

You obliged, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing faster, swirling your tongue along the underside of his shaft with each stroke.

Kenma was a mess now — whining, breathless, head tossing back and forth against the pillows.

“F-Fuck— I— I can’t— I’m—”

You moaned around him, sending vibrations straight through his cock, sending him over the edge. He came with a strangled cry, hips jerking beneath your grip as hot, salty release spilled across your tongue. You swallowed every drop, sucking him through it until he was shuddering beneath you, completely spent.

When you finally pulled back, a thin string of saliva connected your lips to his cock and the look on his face nearly undid you.

Kenma lay boneless and wrecked, flushed pink from head to toe. You crawled back up the bed slowly, towering over his trembling form.

“You’re perfect like this,” you whispered, brushing loose hair from his face— A habit you’ve come to develop.

Kenma’s lashes fluttered, golden eyes dazed and half-lidded beneath your touch. His breathing came in soft little gasps, lips parted, skin flushed from head to toe.

He looked utterly wrecked — and so beautiful it made your core throb. You kissed the corner of his mouth, lingering a moment as his fingers twitched weakly against the sheets.

Then you shifted lower, straddling his thighs with slow, deliberate grace. Kenma watched you through heavy eyes, lips parting slightly as you reached between his legs, wrapping your fingers around his still-sensitive cock. He shuddered faintly but didn’t resist, only whimpered softly as you guided him between your folds. “Look what you do to me, Kenma,” you purred.

You rocked your hips with slow, teasing movements, sliding his length through your slick, gathering it with each pass, coating him thoroughly. A faint, broken sound escaped him, not a word, just a quiet little gasp that told you exactly how much he was feeling it.

You smirked faintly.

Lifting your hand, you gathered some of your slick on your fingers — then brought them to his lips.

“Open.”

But even as he obeyed, his cock twitched helplessly against his stomach — flushed dark and already leaking again, betraying just how much your control over him had unraveled his composure. His breath came faster, chest rising and falling beneath you, thighs trembling faintly as he waited for more. You pressed your fingers past his lips, letting him taste the evidence of how badly you wanted him. His cheeks flushed deeper, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue swirled around your fingers instinctively.

“Good boy,” you whispered, voice low and warm, you pushed your fingers farther into his mouth, causing him to gag, filling his mouth with saliva.

Withdrawing your fingers slowly, you rubbed your clit with the spit-covered fingers before leaning in, kissing him softly, tasting yourself on his tongue. Then you straightened, eyes dark with intent. His golden eyes fluttered open, glazed and helpless, silently begging you to keep going even if his lips wouldn’t dare say the words.

“Now,” you murmured. “I’m going to ride you, my prince.”

Kenma swallowed hard, nodding faintly, voice barely a breath. “Okay…” You guided him to lie flat against the mattress, spreading his legs slightly with a firm touch to his thighs. He was compliant, pliant beneath you.

Your hands braced beside his head, keeping him perfectly caged beneath you. Kenma gazed up at you through heavy lashes, breathing ragged but steady — waiting.

You aligned yourself slowly, sinking down onto him inch by aching inch — watching his face the entire time.

A soft gasp left his lips, head tipping back slightly as you took him fully inside you, tight heat enveloping his sensitive cock.

“A— ah—,” he whispered — so soft, so broken.

You didn’t move at first, letting him feel the full weight of you seated deep on him. Then, slowly, you began to grind your hips deep, rolling motions that had him trembling beneath you, eyes fluttering shut

You leaned in close, kissing his parted lips gently, murmuring praise between each languid bounce.

“So good for me… so beautiful like this…”

Kenma whimpered softly, hips rocking up instinctively to meet your movements, though you controlled the pace with ease.

You saw his hands struggle to find a place to settle, you leaned back, gaze warm. “You want to touch me?” you whispered.

A faint nod, lips parted. “Please…” Smiling, you guided his hands to your chest, “Of course, your highness.”

But as you guided his trembling hands to your chest, a faint thought whispered through your mind — Kuroo is standing guard just beyond the door.

“You’ll have to be quiet for me, my prince. Can you do that?” You warned. A shaky breath escaped him. His wide, flushed gaze met yours. He gave a faint, desperate nod.

“I knew you could,” you praised softly. He cupped your breasts reverently, thumbs brushing over your nipples with trembling touches. You rode him deeper then— faster, harder, grinding down in devastating circles that had him gasping beneath you, fingers clutching at your body helplessly.

Every roll of your hips sent new waves of pleasure through him, soft moans falling from his lips as you kept him pinned beneath your taller frame.

You leaned down to whisper in his ear, “You feel so good under me, my handsome prince… I want you to cum one more time, okay?” Your words drag desperate sounds from him. Kenma clung to you now, arms wrapping weakly around your back, hips stuttering beneath you as he chased his release.

“You can do it Kenma, cum for me baby~,” you gave him open mouth kisses along his neck and jaw. You felt his hips began to studder, losing their rhythm. You sat up, placing one palm against his abdomen and the other against his chest, pinning him to the mattress.

You began plopping down on him, riding him hard into his orgasm. Each roll of your hips drew broken sounds from his throat — too loud.

You leaned down again, pressing a hand lightly over his mouth, your voice a low command against his ear.

“Quiet now, remember? You don’t want me to have to stop now, do you? .”

A muffled whimper vibrated beneath your palm as his body arched helplessly, hips stuttering beneath you, chasing release he could no longer hold back. You began plopping down on him, riding him hard into his orgasm.

“You did such a good job puddin, I knew you could do it.”

You rode him through it, milking every last drop as he sobbed softly into your shoulder, body limp and wrecked beneath you. You weren’t sure why he was sobbing— maybe he wasn’t either. But either way you held him close, rocking your hips slow and gentle as he clung to you, tears slipping hot against your shoulder, body trembling with the aftershocks of release and everything he couldn’t say.

Only when his trembling began to ease and you felt him soften inside you did you slow, then still— brushing sweat-damp hair from his flushed face. Kenma gazed up at you through hazy, half-lidded eyes, lips parted, expression dazed and soft.

“You did so well, my prince,” you praised. “You’re safe… I’ve got you.” You pulled him to your chest, his hand finding your breast to hold for comfort.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in the quiet, in the darkness, in the inevitable ache of goodbye.

But the hour was slipping away.

You shifted gently, brushing damp hair from his flushed face. “Come,” you whispered. “Let me dress you.”

Kenma nodded faintly, pliant beneath your hands as you helped him sit up, his body still trembling, eyes glazed with exhaustion and too many unspoken feelings.

You dressed yourself first with quick, efficient motions, leaving only your cloak folded at the edge of the bed.

Then you turned to him — guiding him carefully through each piece of clothing. You fastened the soft tunic over his shoulders, pressing a lingering kiss to his bare skin as you drew the fabric closed.

You felt him shiver beneath your lips — one last wordless plea for you to stay, even though he wouldn’t voice it. He knew the circumstances were too dangerous. He wished he could be selfish this time. Silently, you moved to tie the sash at his waist, fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary.

When he was dressed, you traced his cheek softly with your knuckles, voice low, “I should go,” you whispered.

You turned toward the balcony, heart twisting — ready to slip back into the shadows, to steal away into the night before anyone could know. But behind you, his voice broke the stillness — soft, aching.

“Wait.”

You turned.

Kenma stood by the bed, golden eyes shimmering, fingers trembling faintly at his sides.

“One more,” he whispered. “… just one more kiss.”

You crossed the space in two strides, unable to refuse him.

Your hands rose to cradle his face gently — thumbs brushing the flushed curve of his cheeks. His own hands lifted slowly, hesitantly — sliding around your waist, fingers clutching the back of your tunic as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

You leaned in, noses brushing — breaths mingling. Then you kissed him. Slow. Deep. Devastating.

You poured every unspoken word, every stolen moment, every impossible wish into that kiss, memorizing the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his small frame pressed so desperately against yours.

One of your hands slipped to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into the silken strands of his hair. The other rested at his lower back, holding him close, anchoring him to you, even if only for this fleeting moment.

Kenma melted against you with a soft, broken sound—fingers fisting tight, body trembling as he kissed you back with everything he had.

You let the kiss linger, savoring the last taste of him knowing it would be the last. For this moment, he was yours, and you his. No guards, no titles, no duty. Just two souls clinging to what they could not keep.

Then—

SLAM.

The door burst open.

A sharp voice rang out — cold, cruel, triumphant.

“Well. How touching.”

You tore away from the kiss, heart plummeting. Your hand flew to your dagger as you yanked Kenma behind you, shielding him instinctively.

The princess stood framed in the doorway, flanked by armed guards — and Kuroo.

He stood just behind her shoulder, jaw tight, eyes flicking between you and Kenma. There was no smugness in his expression. No victory. Only grim surprise, and something that looked far too close to regret.

“Arrest her,” the princess said sweetly. “It seems we have a traitorous little siren among us after all.”

The guards advanced.

“No!” Kenma’s voice cracked, sharp with panic. He moved to step forward, but Kuroo caught him around the shoulders, holding him back.

“Kenma, don’t—” Kuroo’s voice was low, strained.

“Let me go!” Kenma fought against him, golden eyes wild. “You can’t—she didn’t—”

You drew your blade with shaking fingers, breath ragged. You wouldn’t go easily.

One guard lunged. You sidestepped, slicing across his arm. Another grabbed at your injured shoulder, wrenching a cry from your lips. Your weapon hit the floor. Cold iron gripped your wrists as they forced you down.

“Stop!” Kenma’s scream echoed. He writhed in Kuroo’s grasp, desperation plain on his face.

“Kenma,” you gasped, “stay back—”

“I won’t let them!”

“You will,” the princess snapped. She stepped forward, her smile venomous. “You’ve already been compromised enough.”

“She seduced you,” the princess continued, voice carrying through the chamber. “A siren’s trick. Wicked and false.”

“That’s a lie!” Kenma choked.

Your gaze caught Kuroo’s. His grip hadn’t slackened on Kenma, but his eyes met yours briefly — filled with something that looked like an apology he couldn’t speak aloud.

“Kuroo—” you started, not sure what your goal was, but he looked away. His jaw worked, but no words came.

“Take her,” the princess commanded. “The King will decide her fate.”

Rough hands yanked you upright, shackles biting into your skin. You locked eyes with Kenma, throat burning.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t go—please—don’t—” Kenma’s voice broke. His fists battered weakly against Kuroo’s arms, but the taller man only held him tighter, lips pressed into a thin, bitter line.

They drug you out of his chambers. Legs dragging the ground in dwindled defiance.

“Let her go!” Kenma’s cry followed you into the corridor — raw, anguished, and shattering something inside you as they tore you from him.

Your fate had been sealed.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Darkness.

That was all that remained after they tore you from him.

You weren’t sure how long it had been. Days, at least. Time had unraveled in the stone cell where they chained you to the wall — wrists raw beneath iron cuffs, throat parched from thirst that never eased. They hadn’t fed you. Not once. The guards left only stale air and cruel laughter. No water. No kindness. Only the echo of your own heart, slowing by the hour.

But worse than the hunger, the thirst, or the stench of the dark… was the silence.

No footsteps down the hall. No voice you longed to hear.

Kenma wasn’t allowed to visit. You’d heard it whispered between guards — the King forbade it. The prince had pleaded, they said, begged even, until his voice broke. But the order had been clear. He would not see you again. Not until it was done.

And then there were the ones who came to taunt you. Rough boots scraped across the stone one night — four of them, reeking of alcohol and power left unchecked.

“So this is the siren,” one had sneered. Another laughed. “A woman knight and a weak little prince. How dumb can he be?”

You’d tried to rise, voice ragged. “Don’t speak of him—”

A boot caught you across the ribs before you could stand. Pain flared sharp and blinding.

“Still got fight? Pathetic,” the guard spat. “He chose wrong. You’re no match for a princess’s crown.”

You coughed through the pain, chest heaving, wanting to say something, anything, but nothing came.

The laughter that followed was cold. Another blow followed. Another. Until darkness claimed you once more.

When you awoke again, the cell was empty. Blood dried at the corner of your mouth. Your body ached with every breath.

You had failed him. You couldn’t protect him now.

And yet…

You would not break. Not for them. Not for this. That was when the heavy door groaned open.

“Tch… you look like hell,” a rough voice muttered.

Kuroo knelt in front of you, expression held no smirk now — only weary guilt that aged his gaze.

“They’re moving fast,” he said quietly. “Execution’s tomorrow.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Your throat had no voice left. Kuroo sighed.

“Prince Kenma tried.” His fingers worked at something in his pocket. “He fought like hell. But the King… “ He trailed off, jaw tightening.

He unfolded a small, crumpled letter. “He… wanted you to have this.”

Kuroo reached forward, hesitated — then pressed the letter gently into your trembling fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough. “I can’t… I can’t do more.”

For the first time, your eyes burned with fresh tears. Not for yourself. For the boy who couldn’t come. For the words trapped on the page you barely had strength to read.

Your fingers closed around it like a lifeline. Kuroo stood slowly. He didn’t look away from you this time.

“You were brave,” he said softly. “And he… he loves you. Don’t doubt that.”

Then the door creaked shut once more, leaving only the fading echo of his words… and the thin scrap of hope trembling in your grasp.

Your hands shook as you unfolded it, the paper crinkling beneath unsteady fingers. It was worn thin, smudged at the corners, as though it had been gripped too tightly too many times. As though he had written and rewritten it with trembling hands.

————————-

My knight,

I’m sorry I can’t be there. They won’t let me. I tried. I’m still trying.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. There aren’t words big enough for this.

You protected me when no one else would. You made me feel safe when I never was. I should have protected you better. I should have stopped this.

I’m not brave like you. But I will remember. Every look. Every touch. Every moment. I will remember all of it. I won’t let them take that from me.

Please don’t be afraid. You are not alone.

I love you.

- Kenma

——————————

The last line blurred before your eyes. You blinked hard, but the tears came faster than you could stop them. Silent, shaking sobs wracked your chest as you pressed the thin scrap of paper to your lips, holding it there as though you could feel him through it.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

She didn’t know how long she sat there, curled around the letter like a shield against the dark. But when the footsteps finally came, slow and deliberate, she made no sound. There was nothing left to say.

The guards entered in a small formation, faces grim. No laughter this time. No jeers. Only the quiet efficiency of men carrying out a sentence already decided.

“Time,” one of them said flatly.

Cold iron unlocked with a harsh scrape. The chains around your wrists fell to the floor, your skin chafed and torn beneath them. Your legs barely held you as they dragged you upright. The letter was still clutched to your chest. When one guard reached for it, another stopped him with a shake of his head.

“Let her keep it.”

They bound your wrists again, this time with thick cord instead of iron. It didn’t matter. You had no strength left to fight.

As they pulled you through the stone corridors, the air grew colder. Sharper. Above, muffled voices echoed through the halls. A crowd had gathered.

Execution day.

You stepped out beneath a pale, washed-out sky. The square was full — nobles in their finery, peasants pressed shoulder to shoulder, guards at every corner.

At the center stood the scaffold. The wooden platform loomed tall, dark against the gray clouds. The block. The axe. The guillotine immobile to the harsh breeze.

The guards began dragging you forward. Then the first gasp rippled through the crowd.

“That’s—”

“Gods, is that the knight?”

“The prince’s guard—she’s one of the high captains—”

“She protected him for years—what is this?”

More voices rose, a growing wave of shock and disbelief. The faces pressed close to the scaffold were no longer sneering — they were confused. Alarmed.

“Not some siren. That’s the Prince’s Knight.”

But the guards didn’t stop.

You kept your gaze down, feet dragging. The world felt distant, as though you were already watching from somewhere beyond your own body.

“Why is she here?” someone called out. “What has she done?”

The whispers grew louder, uneasy.

“She loved the prince. That was her crime.”

“No—surely they wouldn’t—”

“The King ordered it. No one can stop it now.”

You heard every word. Let them speak. None of it mattered now.

The rough wood bit into your skin.

Your body trembled as they hauled you upright once more. Limbs barely obeyed as they forced you toward the guillotine — its cold, gleaming blade suspended above the block like a silent promise.

You didn’t look. Couldn’t. The world blurred at the edges, your body too weak to hold its own weight.

But then—

A pulse. A feeling.

Your gaze lifted instinctively, and the breath caught in your throat.

Above the crowd, near the edge of the square, half-hidden beneath a hood — golden eyes. Wide, wet with unshed tears. Locked on you.

Kenma.

Beside him stood Kuroo, a hand on his shoulder, jaw tight with helpless anger. They had disguised themselves as commoners, but there was no mistaking that gaze.

You swallowed hard. The weight of your own fate no longer mattered — not when his eyes found yours.

You held that gaze as they dragged you forward. Held it as they forced your trembling body into position. A speaker announced the the crowd your crime, but also spoke of the good you’ve done. Possibly one last effort to save your reputation. It appeared he, too, did not agree with this sentencing. More whispers were heard throughout the court yard. “Is death really the sentence for loving the wrong person?” Or “surely there’s a lesser punishment for such a decorated knight!”

The executioner spoke, “Any last words?” They asked flatly, voice carrying through the hush that had fallen over the crowd.You closed your eyes for a beat, gathering what little strength remained.

Then you opened them — gaze locked with Kenma’s, voice rough but clear.

“Although our love is unorthodox, and quite frankly forbidden,” you said, voice trembling, “I know we will find each other again… in another life. Only if you would have me once more.”

A soft, broken sound escaped him. He quickly covered his mouth to muffle the sound, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. You saw Kuroo’s grip tighten on his arm.

They strapped you down, cool iron biting into your skin. The blade above gleamed sharp and patient.

Breath shaking, you held his gaze, refusing to break.

“I love you, my prince—”

The blade fell.

Black.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

In the days that followed, the court held its breath.

The execution of one of the kingdom’s most decorated knights sparked outrage among the people. Rumors spread like wildfire — some whispered that the prince had wept through the night, refusing food or council. Others claimed they’d seen him wandering the empty halls of the castle in the dark, holding her dagger, clutched tight in his hand.

The king remained silent. But those closest to him saw the cracks. He’d expected to silence a scandal, to prove his rule unshaken. Instead, he had driven his son into a grief so deep it consumed the court itself.

As for the princess — her victory was short-lived. Her part in your execution came to light. She was behind everything. Moving you from your chambers to back the the knights quarters, your placement at the stables, your imprisonment. The king was initially going to banish you, but she pushed for your death. Now, Where once the people had cheered her beauty and power, now they looked with cold, accusing eyes. No matter how many declarations she gave or smiles she forced, none could forget who had truly stood on that scaffold.

And Kenma?

He spoke to no one.

For weeks, he did not leave his chambers. The golden eyes that had once watched the world so carefully now stared hollow into nothing. The princess tried to visit him once. He did not allow her past the door.

Kuroo alone was permitted to see him — and even he could not reach through the prince’s grief.

“She would not want this,” Kuroo told him, voice low.

Kenma only shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what she would want. She’s gone.”

The court moved on. The king’s council whispered of new alliances, new treaties. The princess prepared for her wedding to the prince.

But when the day came, Kenma did not appear.

He vanished.

Some said he fled the castle in the dead of night, leaving only the letter and his crown behind. Others whispered he had been seen in the old forests, seeking the guidance of those who spoke of lost souls and second lives.

The truth was known to none.

But if you listened closely, in the quiet corners of the kingdom, the story remained.

Of a prince who loved his knight.

And who would never love again.

[hyunnie04]

crown prince! bang chan x reader, fluff, royal au | m.list

wc: 1.1k words

a/n: dipping my toes into writing something a little out of my comfort zone! this is also lightly (heavily lmao) inspired by one of my fave games fe3h and it's support conversations.. 👉👈

you had no idea what chan might’ve wanted from you when he had invited you out for a cup of tea on the courtyard. it was unlike him to host such frivolous activities like tea parties out of the blue since he was quite busy these days, dealing with his royal duties and what not.

you haven't really crossed paths with him since your academy days and even now, you only ever caught glimpses of him here and there because of your parents' business involving relation matters, so the sudden invitation came as a surprise.

the said academy was for royals and nobles alike, shaping them up to be the future leaders for the next generation. it was how you both came to know each other. chan is the crown prince of the kingdom up in the frigid north, revered to be one of the strongest knights the kingdom has ever seen. polite, charming, not to mention extremely good looking as well.

you however, is just the eldest child of your family. house l/n had strong ties with the kingdom, your parents being close with several affluent families and being valuable members of the kingdom’s council.

"here we are." felix, his right hand man and closest friend, had stopped in front of the cobbled steps, leading down to the beautiful courtyard before sending you a grin. you thank him earnestly, giving him a smile back.

from a distance, you could see chan sitting quietly in the meadows, the lush grass and flowers crowding at his feet, cupping his chin in thought as the wind lightly blows through his hair.

he looks serene compared to the stressed look he adorns whenever you see him hunched over the castle’s conference room, going over his army’s battle tactics.

you bowed upon reaching his presence, the sunlight illuminating his handsome face. “thank you for inviting me, your highness.” chan stands right up, a slight shock on his face before swiftly recovering.

"i told you before, y/n. there's no need for formalities, just chan is fine." he sends you a warm smile and pulls out a chair for you.

the spread before you was amazing. tons of decadent pastries and cookies were laid in a dessert tier, making your mouth water in anticipation. 

“please, help yourself to some tea.” he takes the beautifully painted porcelain pot, pouring some of the aromatic tea in your cup. the steam from it flows up to the air, filling the table in it's light and refreshing scent. the atmosphere starts to dwindle into quietness, the breeze and wildlife surrounding you filling in it's silence.

"...was there something you'd like to talk about?" you cock your head to the side. he looks a little flustered, but ultimately nods. 

"-yes, actually." chan sighs out while he traces the rim of his tea cup, evading your curious eyes.

"did...your parents ever bother you about marriages?" he slowly manages to get out, stumbling through the sentence.

the tea cup you held in your hand freezes in place. now that he had mentioned it, your father and mother always brought up the idea of marrying. they were always pestering you, wondering when their only child was going to settle down. they stopped one day however, just like that. you wondered if your years of rejecting the idea itself had worked or they simply got tired. but you wondered what brought this on? were his parents arranging him with someone?   

"forgive me, i do not mean to be so straight forward." chan coughs into his hand, noticing the lack of reply and turned his head away in slight embarrassment.

"it's alright." you place your cup down on its saucer, secretly admiring how the tips of his ears redden so quickly. "but now that you've brought it up, yes i have."

"i see," the tea was abandoned now, left to cool in the summer shade. “i’ve heard my father speak about an arranged engagement for me a few years ago.”

you politely nod, urging him to continue. now you’re curiosity is piqued. although, you’re not entirely sure why he had come to talk to you about this, plenty of your shared friends and acquaintances had gotten proposals and arrangements.

“that was back then, however. my father got tired of me refusing to settle down and dropped it all together." you rest your chin on your palm, his words strikingly familiar.

“he never told me the specifics but i’m pretty sure he was talking about you.”

something between a choke and a sputter left your lips, “what?”

“it’s true.” he says it as if it wasn’t earth shattering news for you. "father wanted me to marry the heir to house l/n."

you could only gape at him akin to a fish, not knowing how to digest the information given to you. 

"truthfully, i didn't know you well back then, that's why i declined." chan shifts in his seat, unfolding his legs and turning fully to you. so that was why they had stopped. "but i would have been happy to accept it now, if i had known it was you.” 

an intense heat started to creep up your neck upon his confession, a rosy hue dusting your cheeks and tinting your ears impossibly red.

“you mean-” chan nods at your conclusion and smiles, his eyes crinkling in amusement. he would have accepted?

“i don’t think we would have been close if we were married.” you say whilst scooping up a spoonful of cake, distracting yourself from the violent wave of emotions you felt. it was contradictory, but chan seemed to hum in agreement.

“i think you’re right. i’m glad we met this way though.”he sucks in a breath- a cute habit of his that you have observed even back then. 

chan then asks you in a soft voice, staring deep into your eyes. “we can start over if you’d like.”

“i’d like to get to know you.”

you lean your elbows on the table, the wind flowing gracefully through your hair as you muster out a grin. "i would like that."

the rest of the afternoon was spent comfortably in each other’s presence, finally eating the sweets laid before you two while catching up.

“t’was such a pleasure.” chan offered his hand for you to hold when it was time to retire back inside, placing a chaste kiss on the ridge of your knuckles. 

“my, my. you flatter me.” you chuckle, covering your mouth.

from the corner of your vision, you could faintly make out felix in the grassy meadow, sitting down in what seems to be his own table and sipping his own tea. he sends a cheery thumbs up upon seeing you and chan glance at him. chan’s face reddens, hiding sheepishly in his hands as you laugh.

[chiefdirector]

I'm feeling kinda sappy.

Could I ask for a story where Gibbs gets married to the reader and she moves into his house. Gibbs is away on a case and maybe she starts going through boxes in the basement and digs up pictures of his mom, dad, Kelly and Shannon. She hangs up a bunch of their pictures on a wall. Gibbs comes home sees it. He stares at it and is very quiet. The reader is nervous but then Gibbs tells her it's perfect and no one he's ever been married to wanted to honor them like this.

we keep this love in a photograph... | Jethro Gibbs | NCIS

I know it isn't exactly how you asked, but i took a few liberties, hope you don't mind

-

(Y/N) knew she shouldn't have been snooping around, it could break the trust that she worked so hard to earn, but she couldn't resist. Jethro had recently asked her to move in with him, a big step considering the nature of their relationship. They had to work together and trust that their lives would be safe in the other's hands, but living together meant not only trusting your life with someone, but opening it up to them too.

She knew that Jethro had a past filled with too much sorrow for one man to carry alone. He had tried to bury it in failed marriage after failed marriage, eventually resigning himself to the bachelor lifestyle. He had tried to continue his ways when he met her, but she was something new, something unexpected.

Vance had given (Y/N) the day off to move her stuff in and get settled fully. She had spent countless nights and weeks here with her lover but had never really left anything here except a toothbrush and a spare set of clothes. She never really needed anything more. It was easy enough to part ways with most of her belongings, sofas and dinings chairs never meant all to much anyways. Managing to fit most of her stuff her a pick-up truck, she had set off to her new home.

It was only when she opened the old hallway cupboard to store her now empty suitcases did she find the box. It wasn't labeled, but the creases and fingermarks on the cardboard showed that it had been opened and shut rigorously over the years. The rest of Jethro house was meticulously organised, there wasn't anything that didnt have its own place. Nothing was stored where it wasn't meant to. Especially old boxes.

Slowly, she opened the box and peered inside, being greeted by several picture frames. Most of them were empty, or cracked. There was no reason to keep any of them. Still she flicked through the frames. Lifting the last, she made eye contact with a young redhead holding a small infant. Even though (Y/N) didn't recognise the faces, she knew who they belonged to; Shannon and Kelly.

Quickly, she put the box back, but left the final frame out. She placed it on the sofa before trekking down to the basement, her mind focussed on one thing only.

----

Jethro got home hours after the sunset.

The house was quiet and still, he had expected as much. After toeing off his shoes, made his was through the house, intending to set the coffee maker ready for the morning. One less thing to think about in the far too early hours of the day. He stopped before he made it to the kitchen.

Jethro wasn't a man that hesitated, but the sight of his smiling wife and daughter handing on the wall made him freeze. Her bright eyes and red hair was the last thing he had expected to see, but after the day he had, he couldn't be more thankful.

He took a moment, turning to his left to find (Y/N) laying on the couch, nails and hammer strewn messily on the coffee table. Her engagement ring shone in the moonlight. Gently, he shook her shoulder to wake her.

(Y/N) hummed tiredly. "You're home?"

"Thank you." Jethro said, ignoring her question.

She shot up at the memory of what she had done. Making eye contact with him, then the photograph. "You don't mind. I didn't overstep, did I?"

"Not at all." Jethro sat next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder to pull her onto his chest. "Not at all."

Tags:

@innercreationflower

[melancholymetropolis]

Exchange

plot: In which a Bridesmaid finds out she accidentally got married in Vegas months prior.

pairings: Clan Leader!Gojo Saturo x Lawyer!Reader

genre(s): Second Chance; Accidental Marriage

warnings: unedited (mostly). Golden Retriever/ Fox Au. Gojo is a goofball and makes Y/N laugh a lot. She is very much anti-marriage, but open to love. COMEDY. Couple's Banter. Lots of fluff. Gojo fell first and hard. New Love.

a/n: this will be a mini series with weekly updates.

w.c: 3.5k

“You have gotten even more beautiful since the day you left me.”

My eyes immediately widen from the sentiment. The air in my throat had become thick and my hands had begun to shake. I almost didn’t recognize his voice. Its cadence was a distant memory; one I had left behind months ago. In Vegas, of all places. It was the way he said “beautiful” that transported me back in time. It was the first thing he said to me. In a dark club, under neon lights and a cloud of smoke. He didn’t use basic, sexually charged words to get my attention. He was respectful, I liked that about him. He had been the only guy to introduce himself and offered to pay for my drink properly. He called me things like “beautiful”, “gorgeous” and “breathtaking”. Those three little words had meant more to me than whatever bullshit the other guys were doing. 

His electric, blue eyes seemed to glow in the low light. They never wandered anywhere else but my face when we talked. He seemed genuinely interested in everything I had to say. From me saying that it was my first time in Vegas to how much I hated crowded spaces. I had only come to the club to celebrate a friend’s engagement and was labeled the designated driver for that night. If I recall, he said my job was “honorable” and applauded me for taking it seriously.

And, in an effort to make up for our lost drink, he gave me his number. Told me to call him when I was free. 

Gojo’s eyes were just as I remembered. So bright and powerful— almost inviting to look into. He wore a navy blue suit to compliment the intimidating orbs and brighten his pale complexion. His unruly, white hair had been combed back with a singular curl setting in the middle of his forehead. The silver watch on his wrist looked heavy and vintage— possibly a family heirloom of some sort. I had forgotten how tall he had been. Even though I had worn six-inch heels, he still was a few inches taller than me. And I definitely was not a short woman.

“I left you?” I said, finally coming back to earth. “I don’t recall ever doing such a thing.”

A sly smirk began to form on his face. “Oh really?” He replied, taking slow steps towards me. “That’s mighty convenient on your end.”

“How so?”

“It relieves you of any guilt.”

A painful silence fell between us. Our eyes locked in a heated exchange, while our hands remained by our sides. I couldn’t deny the connection we had—couldn’t forget the spark. 

“Bride or groom?” I asked, turning my back to him. 

The tall man grew closer to me. He took his stance about two feet away from my spot on the balcony. He placed his forearms on the edge and leaned forward. There was a painful aura lingering above his head. Something was wrong. It was more than simply not seeing me for a few months. It wasn’t my habit of escaping in the middle of the night. It was complicated and conflicting.

“Groom,” he sighed, looking at the beautiful countryside of Japan. “I'm guessing you're here for the bride, given the Bridesmaid dress.”

I hummed in disagreement. “I know them both, actually. We worked at the same law firm for a couple of years. I believe I introduced them to one another, all those years ago.”

“Oh, okay,” Gojo snickered. “A divorce lawyer playing cupid. And I thought I saw everything.”

A quiet giggle fell from my lips. “That's right. Consider me a walking paradox.”

“That you are,” he replied sweetly.

The tension from earlier had broken and was replaced with a sense of familiarity. 

It was nice.

A few breaths later, Gojo opened his suit jacket and pulled out a white envelope. He handed it to me. 

I gave him a questionable look. “What's that?”

“Open it and you'll see,” was all he said before placing the envelope into my hand. 

I lifted the tab and pulled out a folded piece of paper. At the very top was the letterhead for the Clark County Department of Records in Nevada State. The letter read:

  Dear Mister Gojo Satoru,

We are pleased to inform you that your marriage license has been processed successfully and your certificate will be arriving at your residence in 3 to 4 weeks. 

As of April 25, both you and Ms. Y/N L/N are legally m—

“Nope,” I said, folding the letter and shoving it back in the envelope. “No the fuck we aren't.” I handed it back to Gojo. “Over my dead fucking body.”

“You hate me that much, sweet pea?” he chuckled. 

“I don't know you to hate you,” I replied, stuffing the envelope in my clutch purse. “And I would like to keep it that way.”

“You're breaking my heart, Y/N,” Gojo replied. His tone was still playful but there was a twinge of sadness in it. “Surely being married to me couldn’t be that bad.”

I scoffed and plucked a flute of champagne from the waiter’s tray. I took a big gulp of the bubbly beverage and sighed deeply.

Fate must've had something against me. I must've done something extraordinarily vicious in my past life to warrant such treatment. Marriage? The whole thing felt like a nightmare. I spent my whole life running from the false institution that was called “marriage”. It's a contract that almost always ends poorly. From spouses cheating on the other to emotional abuse and gaslighting— I had seen the most stable of unions crumble after a few decades. Families broken apart by secrets,  betrayal and unfortunate circumstances. Men and women alike pleading  for one more chance to correct their mistakes. And if that doesn't work, greed takes over. The desperate struggle for power between the couple and how it always ends badly. 

Marriage wasn't something I was particularly fond of. I didn’t see my sentiment changing any time soon. Even if the tall drink of water before me was legally my husband. 

I finished the rest of my beverage and placed it on a different waiter’s tray. I took several more deep breaths and turned my back to the white haired man. 

The alcohol had sedated the raging storm of emotions swirling in my being. A somber feeling eased into my heart, but I quickly shoved it back down. The blasting music in the background had made it abundantly clear that we couldn't do this here. Not now. Not at my best friends’ wedding. 

“I just need time to think this over. Figure out my next move,” I reached in my purse and pulled out a business card. I placed it on the railing. “Call me tomorrow afternoon and I'll tell you how I'd like to proceed.”

“Wait, Y/N—”

“Goodnight, Mr. Gojo.”

I didn't even look back as I walked away from him.

“Come on, Jessica,” I practically begged. “There has to be a way to end this shit sooner.”

“I hate to break it to you, Y/N,” my colleague sighed. “But there isn't. As you could imagine, a lot of people accidentally get married in Vegas. The number is close to about 50,000 couples. And a little less than half of them get their union annulled. Meaning, divorce court is overloaded with requests, follow ups and cases. If you file your paperwork today, you probably won't get a response for 1 to 3 months. Even then, the annulment might not even go through.”

“Because I was already married to him for six months without me knowing?” I said, pinching my nose bridge.

“Yup. To the judges eyes, it might not look like a mistake. He can still deny your annulment.”

My head was pounding and my mouth dry. An unknown fear started creeping up my spine. When I thought of the goals I set out for myself, for my life, marriage was never on the vision board. Especially not an accidental one. And definitely not one with a white haired, blue-eyed, Japanese man. However, he seemed to be awfully giddy about the union. Gojo sent upward of twenty text messages asking me how I was feeling or if I needed anything. He, also, suggested having lunch together to talk everything over. 

I looked out the cab’s window, watching the restaurant come into view. The place was clearly exclusive and very expensive. The right side of the establishment was made entirely of glass, overlooking the ocean just below the cliff. The sun was high in the sky and the clouds danced across her warm light. Waiting patiently in the front of the establishment was a familiar flock of white hair. The taller man had been shrouded in black this time. His overcoat perfectly matched the crisp suit underneath. The stark white shirt seemed brighter in the light; it made his chest glow. 

He looked entirely too perfect. As if he wanted to deflect my attention from something else. 

“Okay, Jess,” I said, pulling my gaze away from him. “I would like to survey all my options before I make a final decision.”

“Take all the time that you need, Y/N,” she replied in a sympathetic tone. “I will assist you in whatever way I can.”

“Thank you,” I smiled. “I will ring you soon.”

The car came to a gentle stop at the restaurant’s doors and I quickly ended the call. I thanked the driver once more and opened the car’s door. I barely had time to place my high heel on the pavement before a flock of black appeared in front of my door. A pale hand flickered in the doorway with outstretched fingers. I could only see his glowing chest and black attire from that angle. Not his face. I swung my other leg out of the other vehicle and took hold of his hand. The taller gentleman takes a firm grip and aids me out of the cab. As I rise from the leather seat, my eyes ease up his glowing chest and broad shoulders. They cascade up his broad shoulders and slender neck. His sharp jawline was relaxed and his plump lips in a soft smirk. Round sunglasses rested on his nose, covering his electric eyes. His white hair was messily styled atop his head and, also, seemed to glow in the sunlight. 

With my bag resting on my shoulder, I used my hand to close the car door behind me. Gojo held my hand tightly as he started to walk to the restaurant. The fingers were warm against my cool ones. It felt nice and. . . comforting. I didn’t have the desire to pull away from him. The realization we were still holding hands didn’t dawn on me until he dropped my mine. 

“Let me take your coat, Mrs. Gojo.”

And just like that, the cocky bastard ruined a perfectly good moment with a couple of words. 

I allowed him to slip my trench coat from my shoulders and settled in the seat before me. The taller gentleman slips off his jacket and takes the seat across from me. A toothy grin plastered on his lips as he eased the round sunglasses off his face. His eccentric eyes were already glued to my face. His gaze was unwavering. It was almost like he was waiting for me to say something in response to his little comment. The white haired man was ready for battle.

Unfortunately for him, I left my bulletproof vest at home. 

“Do you come here often?” I asked, bringing a glass of water to my lips.

Those bright blue eyes flickered to my lips. They darkened at the sight of such glossy softness and lingered on them even after I had placed the glass back on the table. It was almost like he was in some sort of trance. Lost in a memory that he treasured and never wanted to part from. 

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Gojo?”

“What gloss is that?” He questioned, abruptly breaking his gaze from my mouth.

“It’s from Juvia’s Place,” I answered with a raised eyebrow. “Why?”

“It just looks so good on you,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I want to buy you a lifetime’s supply.”

“You’re laying it on a bit thick there, don’t you think?

“That’s what you do when you’re on a date.”

“This is not a date,” I deadpanned. 

“Sure it is,” Gojo chirped. “I mean why else would we be in such a romantic establishment.”

The wife joke seemed to be a warning shot in hindsight. The taller gentleman was trying to test the waters to see just how far he could push me. I left him stranded the day prior. In mid sentence. He was not able to plead his case, explain his side of the situation. I had laid my intentions out to him loud and clear. I wanted zero parts in this relationship. Our union was supposed to be limited anyhow. A vacation fling that went on a little too long for anyone’s liking. At least for my liking. The marriage was clearly a mistake and one I wanted to rectify quickly. However, any time I clearly displayed my disinterest in our union, Gojo was quick to deflect with a quip. That meant he wasn’t going to take anything I said or did seriously. I would have to approach this matter from a new angle. 

I would have to play his game and play it well. 

The waiter walked over to the table and set down our menus. “Is there anything I could get started for you?”

I hummed sweetly and looked over at Gojo. “What do you recommend? I’ve never been here before.”

The man’s chest practically swelled at the sentences. A new source of pride pumping through his veins. A sly smile fell on his lips as the words started to pour from his lips. In Japanese. 

“What dishes do you have without shellfish? She’s allergic.”

The question caused my eyebrows to shoot up. 

I didn’t remember disclosing that information to him. At least, in the past twenty-fours that we had reunited. That could only mean that he remembered the little tidbit I shared all those months ago. Six months to be exact. He carried that information with him for half the year, almost like he intended to use it again. His memory must’ve been impeccable, which was why he was able to recognize me at first glance at the wedding. Looking back, I didn’t even notice him until he approached me on the balcony. I had been seated with the rest of the wedding party, practically on a stage overlooking the venue and I still didn’t spot him. He would be hard not to notice. He was one of the only people I knew with stark white hair and was under the age of eighty. Along with those electric blue eyes that pierced me like a needle. The chemistry we had was undeniable and I knew we shared a mutual attraction to one another. 

Would that be enough to have a fulfilling marriage?

The waiter skated away with our orders and Gojo’s eyes locked back with mine.

“So, how long are you in Japan for?” He asked, bring a glass of water to his lips.

“Originally, I was supposed to only stay two weeks for the wedding,” I answered, tapping my hand on the edge of the table. “But, a potential client just called and asked for a consultation. They are from New York but live in Japan temporarily. So, the answer is a little unclear for me at the moment.”

The taller gentleman sighed, amused. “It seems like I have a little bit of time before we part ways once again. The heavens have truly blessed me this time.”

“And just what do you intend to do with that information, Mr. Gojo?”

“I’d like to convince you to remain Mrs. Gojo for the rest of our days together.”

“As in for the time being? While I am in Japan?”

Gojo smirked at that comment. “As in for the rest of your life, sweetheart.”

I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “And how exactly are you going to get me to do that?”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His pink lips spread into a full blown smile. Those blue orbs sparkled dangerously as they flickered over my face. He seemed to be brimming with excitement. He wanted nothing more than to display his nefarious plan and keep me entangled in his spider’s web. 

“Originally, I planned on going the traditional route,” he conceded. “Showering you in gifts, expensive dinners and maybe a romantic weekend trip to Nokonoshima Island.”

“Buying a woman’s love? That is very traditional.”

“I know, but you are not a traditional woman,” he observed. “You are a divorce attorney. You are used to men attempting to buy a woman’s affection.”

“Very true.”

“So I came up with a proposal.”

“Do tell.”

“As you said, you don’t know me to hate me. Which means you don’t know me to like me either. And I, personally, think I am pretty fucking awesome.”

I chuckled, loudly. “You’re that confident, huh?”

“I am. Which is why I am suggesting that, for however long you are in Japan, we hang out.” 

“Hang out?”

“I would like to use this time to get to know each other. Continue what we started back in Vegas. Before you left me.”

“I didn’t leave you.”

The white haired man scoffed and leaned closer to me. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s not lie to each other. You practically ran your pretty booty out of my hotel room the moment the sun came up.”

“That’s not true!” I interjected with a smile.

“It is true! And you had the nerve to leave me a couple of twenties on the nightstand like I was sorta cheap whore you met on the street. I never felt so violated in my life.”

A fit of giggles burst from my lips, shattering the remaining wall we had between us. 

“That was never my intention! I just felt bad for ripping the buttons off of your Armani shirt. So I gave you some cash for dry cleaning.”

“There’s no need to explain yourself, Y/N. Your message was loud and clear,” he sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair. “I was just your sexy little secret for the weekend. No plans of marrying me. You just wanted to hit it and quit. Leaving me to deal with the pain of your absence alone. Not even a cover to keep me warm, just the memories of our last rendezvous.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” I laughed, shaking my head. 

“However,” Gojo replied, completely ignoring my comment. “Unlucky for you, I have decided to get revenge by blackmailing you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“If you don’t hang out with me while you’re in Japan, I am gonna tell everyone you snore in your sleep.”

“I do not!”

“And you are a blanket hogger!”

“Blasphemy!”

“And you got me pregnant while we were in Vegas.”

A slew of laughter erupted from my being and I could feel tears beginning to prick the edges of my eyes. “ That is not even scientifically possible."

"It is so!" He laughed. "Why else would I have morning sickness and swollen ankles?"

"Gojo, please. I cannot breath. . . !"

"How could you attempt to abandon your child, Y/N?" He crossed her arms over his chest and playfully shook his head. "I am not fit to be a single mother and take care our baby alone."

"Well," I paused and attempted to catch my breath. "You should've just kept your legs closed and this wouldn't have happened."

The taller man let out a dramatic gasp and placed a hand to his chest. "Did you. . . did you just try to slut shame me? After you basically paid for my services? How dare you?"

I lifted a glass of water to my lips; a weak attempt to calm my explosive chuckles down. I gulped the cool drink down and placed the glass back on the table. In the same instance, the waiter started to place our meal before us. There had been a collection of small plates carrying different items on them. Some had stir-fried vegetables and garnish, while others had different kinds of sauces. The bigger plates had anything between sashimi and grilled fish to sauteed pork and beef. Once the waiters were done plating, our table was suited for royalty. All the different dishes came together to create a marvelous spread and their aromas were simply magical together. 

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a little bit of everything,” Gojo replied, meeting my gaze over the food. “I hope that’s okay with you.”

Like a light switch, the playful (borderline pain in my ass) was tucked away from view and replaced with a dashing gentleman. Familiar feelings started to bubble in my chest. Ones I had tucked away months ago. A small wave of adoration danced between our beings. Along with attraction. The little exchange, our unorthodox banter, had lightened the tension that was between us since we reunited. It made room for why we were originally drawn to each other. His playful, almost youthful, side was almost like a cushion in my high-stress daily life. He breathed cool air into my hot tempered mind and gave me a sense of mental clarity I never experienced. It was easy for me to like him. To be attracted to him. To lust for him. But to love him?

That seemed like a different story. 

“It’s perfect.”

---------

Part II

a/n: don't fight me y'all! i've been adulting something fierce. as previously mentioned, this will be a series and i will post updates regularly. if you would like to be on the official taglist, let me know.