#royal flush 2

[meiideryz]

hendery's the type to play big two and win easily <3

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop

Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson. 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering. 

A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me. 

8k words

Masterlist Part 2

Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’. 

The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’. 

Weird. This does not look like a printers. 

You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly. 

Oh. 

This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop. 

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors. 

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it. 

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look. 

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’. 

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare. 

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.” 

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?” 

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare. 

“Really? You?” 

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance. 

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?” 

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over. 

“You can let go now princess.” 

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing. 

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume. 

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up. 

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.” 

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac. 

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!” 

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips. 

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?” 

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again. 

“Are you immediate start?” 

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-” 

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.” 

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.” 

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you. 

********************

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it. 

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this. 

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations. 

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.” 

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.” 

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time. 

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad. 

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place. 

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that? 

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand. 

Oh I'm not falling for that again. 

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed. 

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.” 

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.” 

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here. 

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms. 

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him. 

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.” 

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away. 

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.” 

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing. 

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie. 

********************

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie. 

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?” 

“Any appointments with Eddie?” 

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?” 

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back. 

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm. 

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?” 

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.” 

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement. 

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!” 

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back. 

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!” 

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind. 

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand. 

“Hey, how you getting on?” 

“I'm good, just bored.” 

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?” 

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers. 

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.” 

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe. 

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown. 

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.” 

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.” 

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.” 

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Right, let's just play nice. 

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing. 

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light. 

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.” 

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you. 

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?” 

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” 

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo. 

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing. 

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.” 

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step. 

********************

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people. 

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots. 

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were. 

“Morning Eddie.” 

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words. 

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him. 

“I'll be nice if you will.” 

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee. 

“I'm sorry Eddie.” 

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Are you sorry…?” 

“What for?” 

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away. 

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop. 

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, how do you know?” 

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client. 

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again. 

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move. 

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first. 

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?” 

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.” 

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.” 

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.” 

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement. 

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?” 

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.” 

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?” 

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.” 

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process. 

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word. 

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you. 

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson. 

“So, questions. Can I go first?” 

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin. 

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?” 

“23.” 

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.” 

Act younger is more like it. 

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.” 

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling. 

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?” 

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow. 

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.” 

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink. 

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.” 

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask. 

“How did you start working here?” 

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.” 

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look. 

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.” 

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen. 

“What band is that?” 

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt. 

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.” 

“Oh, what do you play?” 

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.” 

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?” 

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away. 

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red. 

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply. 

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.” 

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing. 

“Your turn princess.” 

“I don't want to play anymore.” 

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.” 

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?” 

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.” 

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.” 

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused. 

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you. 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.” 

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip. 

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.” 

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.” 

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second. 

“Eddie what do I owe-” 

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

********************

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him. 

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line. 

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap. 

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it Miss?” 

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?” 

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him. 

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.” 

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer. 

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear. 

“What you up to, princess?” 

“Fuck!” 

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. 

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look. 

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass. 

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!” 

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal. 

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.” 

Pouting, you hit him on the arm. 

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-” 

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands. 

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home. 

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you. 

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing. 

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door. 

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it. 

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.” 

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest. 

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away. 

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself. 

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?” 

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.” 

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist. 

“For your modesty. Come with me.” 

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried. 

“What's going-” 

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?” 

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods. 

“Not a problem.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth. 

“I'll be right back.” 

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin. 

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar. 

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.” 

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.” 

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal. 

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.” 

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you. 

“Eddie, we're still working I-” 

“It's one beer. It's alright.” 

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?” 

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug. 

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.” 

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier. 

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.” 

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?” 

“Come on, don't make me say it.” 

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.” 

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty. 

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull. 

“And I'm the Easter bunny.” 

Giggling, you take another sip of beer. 

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.” 

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I promise.” 

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough. 

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?” 

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar. 

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.” 

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes. 

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.” 

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings. 

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.” 

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it. 

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.” 

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.” 

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.” 

“We can keep it professional.” 

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. 

“Professional? You?” 

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.” 

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words. 

“You're really confident.” 

“You haven't seen what I can do.” 

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.” 

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.” 

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need. 

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?” 

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?” 

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind. 

“Final rule. No kissing.” 

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?” 

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.” 

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out. 

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness. 

You shake it.

********************

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it. 

Those theories are put to bed on day three. 

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?” 

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes. 

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely. 

“Maybe.” 

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. 

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.” 

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands. 

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.” 

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards. 

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision. 

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?” 

“Hey princess.” 

“Come on up.” 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy. 

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles. 

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?” 

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table. 

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.” 

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.” 

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt. 

“Yeah, you know who they are?” 

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.” 

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.” 

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.” 

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve. 

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. 

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms. 

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him. 

 “Come on then, sit down.” 

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed. 

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?” 

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?” 

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?” 

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes. 

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more. 

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Porn, sweetheart.” 

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.” 

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him. 

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-” 

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.” 

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.” 

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?” 

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.” 

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.” 

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm. 

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop. 

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whisper. 

“You comfortable?” 

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.” 

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine. 

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed. 

“Now just chill sweetheart.” 

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck. 

“Fuck, that's really nice.” 

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed. 

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word. 

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe. 

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!” 

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment. 

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.” 

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck. 

“I- I haven't decided yet.” 

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core. 

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him. 

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?” 

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words. 

 “N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.” 

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.” 

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. 

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point. 

“Really?” 

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back. 

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand. 

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more. 

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass. 

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you. 

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“Holy hell!” 

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach. 

“Eddie, please.” 

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit. 

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest. 

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?” 

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel. 

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more. 

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?” 

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple. 

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess. 

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison. 

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control. 

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-” 

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him. 

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent. 

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-” 

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up. 

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...” 

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.” 

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief. 

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again. 

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.” 

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.” 

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.” 

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting. 

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats (Pt. 3)

Aegon ii x Velaryon(Strong)! Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence. S2 SPOILERS

Part 1 | Part 2

“With free reign of King’s Landing, Aemond will focus his attention on the occupation of bast-” Aegon’s face flushes bright red. “Harrenhal.” He corrects himself, “and the extermination of house Strong.”

“What did you call it?” Daemon arches a brow.

“Harrenhal,” Aegon repeats.

“Before that,” Daemon prods.

Aegon sighs, looking to his wife.

“Bastardhal.” Y/N rolls her eyes.

“My brother’s term of endearment.” He explains, “a slip of the tongue.”

“Mmm,” Daemon hums. “Perhaps allegiance to your brother runs deeper than you let on.”

“I have left my siblings and abandoned my post to be here. I remain loyal to Rhaenyra’s claim and her line of succession. What else would you have me do?” Aegon scoffs.

“There are a number of things.”

“If you refuse to believe that Aegon is loyal to our queen, believe that he is loyal to me and I am loyal to my mother.” Y/N takes a protective step in front of her husband.

Daemon’s jaw ticks, frustrated and teetering near sanity’s edge. “You then, are responsible for his indiscretions.”

“I take full responsibility.” Y/N agrees, “he is here for me.”

“Perhaps he might further demonstrate his loyalty.”

“And how, do you suggest, I do that?” Aegon wonders.

“Deliver us your brother’s head on a platter.” Daemon sneers.

“Mother!”

“Am I wrong, Rhaenyra?” Daemon scoffs.

“That is enough!” The Queen slams her fist against the table. “Thank you, Aegon for the information you provided. We will coordinate with our army and send reinforcements to Harrenhal. We will send word to Cregan Stark-”

“By raven?”

“However I see fit, Daemon. Stay your hand.” Rhaenyra snaps. “You are all excused.”

Aegon is out the door just as swiftly.

Y/N flinches as it slams behind him.

Jacaerys remains stoic in the corner, saying nothing for a long while as his mother and step father begin bickering. “Sister,” he nods toward the hallway.

Y/N returns the gesture, following him out past the royal guards. “The nerve of him.” She is fuming as they begin strolling the grounds.

“That is Daemon.” Jacaerys breathes. “Pay him no mind.”

“It’s not as if I don’t want Aemond’s head. Luce is our brother, for the gods’ sake.”

Jace swallows, mouth set in a firm line. “He was our brother.”

Was…is he not anymore?

“In these dealings with Aemond, you must remember that killing him will not bring Luce back.”

“It would be even.”

“A son for a son was also even.” Her brother reminds her. “Your grievance with it hath brought you here.”

“I should have allowed the murder of a child?”

“I did not say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“What is even is not always right, I expect you know that by now.”

“Indeed.”

“Ravens will take too long.” Jacaerys laments, “but mother will not let us deliver messages anymore. It is a shame that our safety comes at the expense of other’s.”

Y/N draws in a steadying breath. “Pity.” She turns away, in the direction of her chambers. Aegon is waiting for her there, sipping from a pitcher of wine. “Did they not give you a cup, my darling?”

“Hmm,” Aegon hums into the container, “of course.” He lowers the pitcher from his mouth, “but this is faster.”

The princess puts a hand to her head.

“I am not a dog that’s been kicked, do not look at me that way. As if I am weak.”

“I love you and you are hurting.” Y/N sighs, “I do not know how else to look at you.”

Aegon mulls this over for a moment. “I did not mean to call it bastardhal.”

“I know that.”

“You are not a bastard.” He presses on, “I am sorry for ever calling you one.”

“You are forgiven.” It is nothing more than a word. It cannot harm her anymore.

“If no house would claim you, then I would.”

Y/N gives him a sad smile, “thank you, Aegon.”

“You think I jest? Or does it simply mean nothing coming from me?”

“It means everything coming from you,” Y/N takes a step toward him. “Forgive me if I have made it seem-”

“No,” Aegon shakes his head, “forgive me. I am lost in this. I mustn’t take my frustration out on you.”

Y/N cups his face in her hands. “If you are loved by no one, know you are loved by me.“

“Without you I have nothing.” He reaches a shaky hand out, stroking her hair, reverently. “I am nothing.”

She draws back, searching his eyes. “That is not true.”

“If you ask me to slay my brother, I will do it.” Aegon breathes.

Y/N presses her lips together. She had not asked, Daemon did. But Aegon does not bend to Daemon’s will, only hers.

“Please do not ask.” He murmurs with wide, sad eyes.

Y/N cannot stand to see him cry. It tears at the depths of her soul. She wraps her arms around him, “I will not ask.”

Aegon clings to her. “I would do it.”

“I know, my love.” Y/N presses kisses to the side of his face. She knows his sadness, the burden of being least loved by everyone else. Some part of him will always seek to win her approval, her affection… her love.

He is pawing at her then, at the laces of her dress. He does not know how to comfort her, nor himself. He knows how to bring pleasure so blinding it nearly drowns out the pain.

Y/N helps him remove his clothes, wrapping him up in her arms. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” He’s stumbling backwards then, hovering over her on the bed. Easing his cock into her.

She sighs, losing herself in the gentle rocking of his hips. There is no haste to reach their peak, taking what little comfort they can from each other.

It is not until his thumbs skate over her cheeks that Y/N realizes she is crying. Even here, on their marriage bed, there is no end to suffering. Only an end to loneliness.

————————————————————————

Y/N waits until Aegon is sleeping soundly to clamber from the warmth of his arms and dawn her riding gear. Dragonstone is quiet as she makes her way down to the dragon pit. Stormborn is nestled in beside Sunfyre, her light blue scales complement the golden hue of her companion.

“Where are you off to at this hour, your grace?” One of the keepers asks.

“I’m going to take Stormborn out for a bit of fresh air. The moon is beautiful this evening, don’t you agree?” Y/N smiles, tucking a bit of loose hair behind her ear.

“Indeed, Princess.” He eyes the sword, sheathed at her back.

“This is only a precaution,” Y/N lies, “we can never be too careful in these times.”

He nods, “I will saddle her.”

“Thank you, Marcelo.” Y/N nods, tugging on her riding gloves as she waits. Tapping at her wedding band, beneath the cool fabric.

“She is ready, your grace.”

“Thank you, again.” She says, climbing up onto Stormborn’s saddle.

“It is my great honor.” The man smiles, watching in wonder as the princess sets off across the sea.

Only a few torches are lit at the entrance of Harrenhal.

Y/N lands near the stone walkway, striding up to the tall hooded figure and ripping back his cloak.

Aemond turns to his assailant. “Y/N?”

“Take out your sword.” She demands.

“Lucerys death was a tragic mistake, a lapse in judgment I do not care to repeat.”

“I will not kill you with your back to me, I am no coward. You will face me, take out your sword.”

“For the sake of the gods, Y/N,” Aemond growls. “Do you aim so desperately to break my brother’s heart?”

“I will not allow the slaughter of innocent people. This ends here.”

“A brother for a brother it will be then, not a son for a son.” Aemond reluctantly withdraws his weapon.

Y/N charges him, in a blind rage, their blades meet, clanking together.

“You make a better sparring partner than most.” He draws his sword away, narrowly dodging her next attack.

“This is not a children’s game, I want your head!”

Aemond purrs, “you must earn it then.”

She sees red, swinging at him again, until his blade slices across her side and she has cut deep into the flesh of his leg. Bringing the Prince to his knees, with her sword at his neck.

“Do it,” Aemond insists, “you will not get another chance.” He stares up at her blade, dripping with his blood. The fear etched into her eyes, tresses of dark hair clinging to her sweat damp skin.

In this light, each of them resemble their brother.

The end Y/N desires is so near she can taste it, rising like bile in her throat. She chokes on it. “No.” She drops her blade from his neck, covering her aching side instead. “No.”

Aemond hangs his head. “I am sorry for that business with Luce. I lost my temper that day.”

“And I lost my…” No, she cannot say it, the pain is too great.

“Let me see your wound.” Aemond insists.

In her shock, Y/N obeys.

He tears across the bottom of his cloak, knotting the material firmly around her torso. Unbothered by her hissing protest. “This will hold until you reach Dragonstone. Go to Aegon, he will tend you.”

“You must leave this place.”

“You have my word.”

“And you must leave King’s Landing.”

Aemond smirks, “where would I go?”

“Anywhere.” Y/N suggests, “take Helaena and your children. We both know, she is too kind to bear the weight of the crown and our blood. Take her away so she might be happy…and free.”

“Do you not wish to be free from the weight of the crown?”

Y/N hesitates for a long moment. “I am the crown. I am my mother’s heir, her only daughter. I cannot abandon her, she has lost too much.”

Aemond swallows, “very well. Helaena will write you. You and my brother might visit, once we’re settled.”

“Perhaps we will.” She will never forgive him for Lucerys. They will never be as they were before Storm’s End. “You are my husband’s brother and husband of my dearest friend.”

“I am also your brother’s murderer. A title that trumps all, despite your best intentions. You are good, and kind, but human all the same.”

————————————————————————

“Aegon.”

“Hmm?” He reaches for his wife, blindly, stroking a hand over her dark waves. “What have you done to your hair, darling girl?” He grumbles, “it is awfully coarse.”

Jace bats Aegon’s hands away. “My sister is gone, you buffoon. Get your clothes on.”

“Jacaerys?” Aegon springs up, covering himself with the top sheet. “What are you doing?”

“Y/N is missing. The dragon handlers informed me that she left on Stormborn nearly two hours ago. Sunfyre has been yowling ever since.”

“Alert your mother,” Aegon demands, “raise the guard. Who on earth let the heir to the throne take a dragon from the pit in the middle of the night?”

“She is a princess, not a prisoner.” Jace reminds him, “I have a hunch as to where she went.”

“Harrenhal.” Aegon begins tugging on his clothes. The little brat bedded him and snuck off; again. “She will be a prisoner upon her return. I tire of these games.”

“You mustn’t be so harsh, my sister would go to the ends of the earth for you.”

“Yet she will not stay with me.” Aegon steps into his boots. “Surely she loves me so dearly that she flees at every opportunity.”

“Do not see it that way.” Jace sighs.

“I have no other way to see it.” Their chamber door swings open, revealing the woman in question.

“Aegon,” Y/N chokes. The blinding rush of battle is gone, leaving only her pain.

“Leave us,” Aegon waves a dismissive hand at his nephew.

“Y/N,” Jacaerys looks to his sister instead.

“I am well, brother.”

“You are bleeding.”

Y/N glances down at her wound, “perhaps you might go quietly to the maester and request milk of the poppy?”

“The maester should tend you,” he argues.

“Aegon will tend me, tis but a scrape.” Y/N insists.

Her brother squares his shoulders. “Very well, I will be back.”

“Thank you, brother.” Y/N forces a smile as Jace exits the door.

“What happened?” Aegon demands, squinting into the dim light as his wife stands before him, in her riding gear.

“I could not do it.” Y/N curses her own weakness. “I went to Aemond, I stopped him from taking Harrenhal and I let him go.”

Aegon shifts her garments aside to reveal the damage. A long bleeding gash, beneath her ribs. “Aemond did this to you?” He sits her down on the foot stool, pacing in the small space before it.

“We dueled,” Y/N admits. “I made my mark on him as well.”

“Gods be good.” Aegon breathes.

“If Daemon catches word of this-”

“You are injured. That is where my interests lie, not in the folly of men.” Aegon seethes.

“He has already condoned the murder of children. Helaena’s children, of all people. What will he do if he hears of this?”

Aegon passes a hand over his face. “Surely we cannot leave the wound open like that, it will fester.”

“I know,” Y/N nods. “We must seal it up, with a heated blade. We can do it here, no one need know.” She reaches for his cup on the dresser, chugging the foul liquid down for some relief.

“You’re asking me to…” his eyes dart to his dagger, abandoned near his boots. “No.”

“Aegon.”

“I can’t.”

“It will be quick,” she reasons. “It will scar, but it is on my side, you will not look upon it often.”

“That is what you’re concerned with,” Aegon snaps, “of all things, you think I care about the scar it will leave? That I might frown upon an imperfection?”

“I-”

“You are maddening.”

“I am sorry. I do not wish to fight.”

“It is unavoidable from what I’ve heard. Marriage causes strife and disagreements.”

“Not ours,” Y/N insists, “you are the only person who understands me.”

“I do not understand why you would put yourself in danger.”

“For you.” Y/N tells him. “So you would not have to choose between your wife and your brother.”

“I would choose you, imbecile.”

Y/N bares her teeth. “I couldn’t let you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are mine, Aegon! I protect what is mine.”

In the way of the dragon. And that, Aegon understands very well.

“Here it is,” Jace returns with milk of the poppy.

“Thank you,” Aegon takes the gauntlet, bringing it to his wife’s lips. “Drink all of it.” He demands.

“Is there anything more I can do?” The other man asks.

“Rest the blade of my dagger over the fire until it glows red, then bring it to me.”

Jace nods.

“First, might you find something for her to bite down on. Leather works best.” Aegon purses his lips, “bring me my belt.” One of them is still etched with her teeth markings from Laenor’s birth. He’s delivered two of their children, surely he can do this.

Jacaerys rushes to the armchair beside the bed, tugging Aegon’s belt free and placing it on the foot stool beside his sister.

Y/N curls her fingers around the harsh material. Her vision has doubled, swaying from side to side.

“Are you going to faint?” Aegon catches her face between his hands.

“I feel fine,” Y/N slurs.

Aegon taps her chin. “That is good, my dearest love. I am going to remove your shirt.” He eases the material over her head, leaving only the bindings to cover her breasts.

“The blade is ready,” Jacaerys calls, from the fire place.

“Open.” Aegon tugs at her bottom lip with his thumb until her jaw goes slack, taking the leather belt from her clenched fist and placing the strap between her teeth. “Bite.”

Y/N clamps her teeth around it.

“Good girl.”

Jacaerys approaches, handling the instrument with care.

“You will hold me around the waist, you are not to let go until I say.” Aegon instructs, waiting until she is wrapped around him in an awkward sort of hug. “There you go.” He pats her head before taking the dagger from her brother. He offers no additional warning before lying the blade flat across the expanse of her wound. The cut is a clean one, without jagged edges.

Y/N lets out a muffled cry.

“Shh,” he hushes her, holding the heat to her skin for just a moment more before tossing the dagger away. Gingerly withdrawing the belt from her teeth. Resting his forehead against hers as whimpers settle to deep breathing. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods.

“If you dare leave me again, Gods help me, I will shackle you to my side.”

Y/N strokes a hand over the side of his face. “Yes, Aegon.”

“I do not jest.”

Part 4

Taglist: @minttea07 @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight @ninastyless @aleemendoza2425-blog @livingdead-reilly @whenmypartysover @darlingisntit @nayaniasworld @uniquecroissant @spacexdrago

[i-cant-sing]

Time Traveller AU pt 6

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Time Traveller AU masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

PART 7 is here!

Its been a week since Baldwin finally came clean about the kiss with Charlotte, a week since you cleared of him "cheating on you", not that you cared if he did, and a week since you realised Guy tried and failed miserably to sabotage Baldwin through Charlotte.

Its also been a week over the due date you were supposed to return to Egypt to get your tools from Abbas, but its been hard to leave when Baldwin insists on spending time with you 24/7 because wants to make up to you for "suspecting his devotion to you".

He draped himself over your shoulders, caging you in his arms as he pecks your temple. "I'm sorry for making you doubt my love for you, princess. No, no- clearly, I'm the one at fault! Let me make it upto you~" Ugh, sometimes him being such a green flag is making it seem like a red flag. But you cant argue because... well, if you dont let Baldwin shower you in affection, then he might stop chanting "its my fault, princess" and change the narrative into "its your fault, princess and you need to be punished for doubting me- the KING, for slapping me- the KING, for thinking yourself so highly that you think i cant have all the women i want, me- the KING! To the dungeons you go, darling!"

Anyways, you both were now sitting down in the royal gardens, Baldwin's head laid in your lap as you worked your fingers through his luscious locks, absentmindedly braiding his hair while he made you tell some stories.

"And so, she found out her husband was cheating on her because she found out a jar of strawb- a jar of lard in her house." You looked down at his face, finding him already staring up at you, eyes full of awe. "And she doesnt eat lard. She hates it, so she never allowed it in the house."

Baldwin let out a small gasp. "And then what did this- Sharkerilla lady do?"

"Shakarina left Pickle. Divorced him." You told him, adding in small daisies in his hair. His face displayed pity. "Wow. And how do you know these people?"

You paused for a second. You cant explain to him how Shakira and Pique were celebrities and the concept of drama channels on youtube.

"We were neighbours." You hummed, patting his head. "There, I did your hair. Now I'm going-"

"No. Come on, we havent spent enough time." He whined, blue eyes looking at you pleadingly.

You scoff. "Baldwin, we've spent the entire day together. We ate breakfast and lunch together, we read books in the library, we looked at tiaras and crowns for the wedding, we even played chess." He lifted his head up from your lap and rested it on his palm as he leaned on his shoulder.

"And you lost all 5 games." Baldwin grinned, making you smack his forehead gently.

"I need to go-"

"Why?"

"Because I need to make arrangements for my trip to Egypt." You explained as Baldwin groaned, plopping his head face-first into your lap. "No." He mumbled against your dress.

"No?"

"No." He raised his head, pouting at you. "You're not going to Egypt. I miss you too much."

You gave him a lazy smile. "I'll be back soon."

"Not soon enough." He argued. "I have to go find my family, Baldwin." You continued on with your lie, raising a hand to caress his cheek. He sighed and leaned into your touch. "I can send the knights to find them." "They wont be able to. Only I will. Besides, I need to know what theyre like, if its even best to let them back into my life again, hm?"

He pondered over for a moment. "Then I will come along?" "What? Why?" He gave you a charming smile. "Because I dont want to part from you. Not for weeks, not for days, not even for-" He leaned up close to your face, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips back to your eyes. "-a minute."

Your face flushed and you looked to your side, using your hand to push his face away, making him chuckle as he grabbed the same hand and pressed a kiss to it. "You're so adorable, my little prude."

You shot him a glare. "I- I'm not a prude. But at least one of us should have a little shame."

He gave a chuckle, poking your still flushed cheek. "Shame? Whatever for? I love you." His eyes lit up in amusement as your head whipped towards him. Baldwin raised a brow at you. Its not the first time he's confessed, but... it still catches you offguard everytime.

"Did you hear me? I love you." He repeated, eyes still twinkling at how you continued to become flustered.

You opened your mouth and then closed it like an idiot, not knowing how to reply.

"Thank you." You finally said, looking anywhere but at him. He burst into a fit of laughter. "Oh god- I tell you- I love you and you say "thank you"? You really are something out of this world!" Baldwin teased you, making you huff.

"Lets not get off topic, Baldwin. You cant come with me to Egypt because you cant abandon Jerusalem. If your throne is empty, Guy- though he doesnt have the brain for it, or Salauddin or someone else will attempt to take your throne from you! You have a responsibility to your people! Keep them safe." You reminded him.

Baldwin stared at you before sighing, leaning back and resting his head on his arms. "You're always so smart, aren't you?" He smiled with his eyes closed. "I suppose it is a good thing that you care so much for your future subjects."

-

Next day, you were all set to leave for Egypt again. Baldwin and you stood at the gates of the castle as the kingdom all gathered around to bid you safe travels. You were ignoring Baldwin's stupid lovey dovey eyes boring holes into you, because there are people here and you dont want this blue orbed man to embarrass you.

But alas, he took your hand in his, making you look at him. He flashed you his dimples, bringing up your hand to press a kiss to it, the crowd cooing while you blushed (though it could be mistaken for anger with how hard you were frowning).

Tearing his eyes away from you, he addressed his people. "O people of Jerusalem! Your princess is going on an important journey. I ask you all to pray for her safety and well being!" The crowd looked on you two with awe, or more at Baldwin for being such a doting husband-to-be.

"While I know that your hearts must ache to see your princess depart from us for some time, I bring you good news to keep your hearts at peace as well." You looked at Baldwin in confusion. Good news? What is he talking about?

Baldwin smiled at you, the sunlight hitting his face at angle that made him look majestic.

"In 3 weeks time, the princess and I will marry!" Your eyes widened as the crowd erupted in cheer.

Baldwin hugged you close, and you whispered. "Three weeks? But I'll be gone for at least two! I wont have enough time to make-"

"Dont worry about a thing, princess. Sibylla and I will make all the arrangements necessary and trust me, it'll be a wedding for generations to remember." He pulled back, grinning at you as he pecked your forehead. "You just focus on returning safely, okay?"

Sibylla, Guy and their son were also there to bid you farewell. Sibylla pulled you in for a tight hug, promising to give you a grand wedding and that she'll keep your prefrences in mind. Their son ran off and Sibylla went to chase after him, leaving you alone with Guy.

"Bye." Guy gruffly said while you smiled tightly at him. "I know what you did, you buffoon." He looked at you slighted. "What the hell are you-"

"Charlotte? The letters? Yeah, we'll talk when I return. And you better not cause anymore trouble for me or else-" You turned to look at Baldwin, waving sweetly at him. Guy gulped, taking in your threat.

-

As usual, your first stop was at Salauddin's camp. You would go without stopping here, the knights Baldwin sent with you claimed to know the way but... you dont trust them to know how to survive the desert. And you knew you were right when some people from your caravan started feeling faint.

"Return to Jerusalem and take care of yourself." "But we cant just leave you, princess-" "You are not going to be able to serve me if you dont survive the desert. Salauddin's camp is near and with his guards combined with mine, I'll be more than safe. Go now. And tell the king that I insisted you returned." You assured them, commanding a few knights to guard them on their way back.

Looking ahead, you saw the sand hill beyond which Salauddin's camp was. Isabella, your lady-in-waiting, gave you your niqaab and chaddar.

-

"And then, he told me about who Charlotte was and what really happened. It was all a big misunderstanding." You told Salauddin as he moved his pawn.

"You believed him?" He raises a brow as you made your move.

"Of course! I already knew Guy was behind it. I figured it from the letters, and his face practically gave it all away when I confronted him about it." You reached under your veil to fan yourself. "Is it burning in here or am I just imagining it?"

Salauddin turned and brought you some cold water. "Guy could be a threat to you. Dont trust him."

You turned your head to the side, barely lifting your veil before bringing the glass underneath it to your lips, gulping it down as you let out a relieved sigh. "I know. Guy is a tool, and tools are meant to be used."

His lips quirked slightly at your words. Sitting back down, he played his move. "When do you plan on leaving Baldwin?"

"Soon. The plan is in motion." You took some time before moving your knight. Salauddin wasnt making this game easy for you this time and neither was the hot temperature.

He leaned forward, taking your knight with his bishop. "And how do you plan on doing that when your fiance has just announced your wedding date?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "How did you- spies?" Salauddin's silence confirmed how news travelled so fast. "You dont need to worry. I'll be long gone before the wedding day."

"Care to indulge me on your plan?" He popped a date in his mouth.

"No." You replied making him glare at you. "If your plan involves relying on Guy, then you're even stupider than you look."

You scoff, pushing his king down. "I'm sorry, how many rounds have you won against me?" He smirks, though you suspect that he's just trying to cover up for being a sore loser.

"Maybe I just let you win so that you get to live." Of course, how can you forget his "win or you die" version of chess.

"Whatever you say, grandpa." His jaw clenched, making you chuckle. "Your existence gives me a headache. Leave."

As you walked out, you're suddenly hit with a wave of dizziness. Under your veil, your face is sweaty, you cant even use your hands to wipe it away because of how clammy they are, you even feel beads of sweat rolling down from your neck to your leg.

"Are you alright?" Salauddin came up behind you, eyes studying you stumbling a bit.

"Yeah- I'm just- hot..." You muttered, sweat gathering around your upper lip while your mouth felt like cotton. He watched you blink slowly as the sun hit you in the face, making you raise your hand to shield yourself, even though your muscle cramped.

"Y/n?" You heard him call you, but black dots clouded your vision and then in a second, you fainted.

-

You woke up to the sound of drums playing outside. Looking around, you recognised this to be the women's tent you had been in the first time Baldwin brought you here.

Isabella walked in, halting for a moment when she realised you were awake before rushing towards you. "Princess? Are you okay?" She poured you a glass of water, helping you drink it. "What happened?"

"You fainted from the heat. We were going to take you back to the kingdom but Sultan Salauddin advised us all to stay put here because the air was only going to get hotter for the rest of the day. And by night, it would be too cold for us to make it back." She smiled gently. "He was kind enough to offer us stay here."

You nodded and sighed. For sure none of you wouldve survived if you were to return to Jerusalem today.

You walked out of the tent to see it was night now. The drums you heard earlier were being played by some men of Salauddin's, accompanied by few women clapping and having an overall merry time around the bonfire.

You didnt spot Salauddin with them, but you suppose he's probably either working or resting.

The temperature had indeed dropped as night fell, and you wrapped a shawl around before joining the camp fire. You sat down on the ground with some women, smiling as they immeadiately welcomed you warmly. The one on your right was quick to show you her baby, and you recognised him to be the one you saved.

"Jibrael." She told you his name. The baby was almost a month old, and his chubby cheeks made you coo. Jibrael- or Gabriel, is an angel who acted as an  intermediary between God and humans and as bearer of revelation to the prophets, most notably to Muhammad (PBUH). In Christianity, Gabriel was the archangel announcing the coming birth of Jesus Christ and John the Baptist. In Judaism, Gabriel is a helper to Daniel and a warrior angel for God's cause.

You played with the baby for a while before handing him back to his mother to be put down for sleep. It was getting cold now and most had already left to go to bed now. You wrapped the shawl around you closer, snuggling into it as your eyes gazed at the dancing flames. You felt someone sit next to you.

"How are you feeling now?" Salauddin asked, keeping his eyes ahead.

"I'm fine. Thank you for catching me."

"I didnt. You fell. It was funny." You turned to glare at him (the respectable gap between you two did not go unnoticed... or unappreciated by you.) and perhaps for the first time you saw him smiling. Genuinely.

Though his thick beard covered most of his lower third of the face, you could see his sharp jawline that sculpted his face. Strong. Hard. His lips, bottom one appearing to be plumper than the upper one, were resting in a relaxed smile.

The moonlight seemed to soften his sharp features, but his kohl lined eyes adorned with luscious lashes shone with amusement and... something in the orange hue of the bonfire.

He turned his head to you. "What?" You were thankful for your veil covering your expression for being caught staring at him like an idiot. You shake your head, dismissing him, turning your head back towards the dying fire.

"What are you going to do once you leave Baldwin?" Salauddin asked, stoking the fire.

"Leave."

"To where?" You shrug. "Anywhere. Maybe try finding my family. Or venture somewhere else."

"He wont give up so easily." You rolled your eyes. "Yeah yeah, because he loves me and all-"

"He wont forgive your betrayal." Salauddin cut you off. "He wont forgive you for the embarrasment. He wont forgive you for the insult of rejecting a king. He wont just- let you go." He looked at you, his tone haunting as he uttered the next words.

"Baldwin will hunt you down. And he will make you wish you were dead."

You stared at him, processing his words. Baldwin would... hurt me?

"Are we talking about the same man?" You ask him with a light chuckle, though your throat has ran dry.

He nods. "I know he seems like he couldnt hurt a fly, and physically, he couldnt until you cured him. But I've seen him on the battlefield. I've had him as my enemy and I've observed him obliterate people who just tick him off." He offered you some dates, and you took a few. You were hungry, and these looked pretty good right now.

"Baldwin is smart, calculating. He's the king, he has the power to end his enemy very easily. At the drop of a hat. But he doesn't. He waits for the perfect moment, or rather creates the perfect chance to torture any man who had the misfortune to be on the receiving end of his anger. And he does it with a completely cool, clear mind." And even though Salauddin has fought Baldwin many times, they both know they're only fighting for their people, for their religion. Its nothing personal, so they're technically not enemies.

"So what do you suggest I do to not piss him off so badly? I've already tried rejecting him respectfully."

He stayed quiet for a few moments, stoking the fire. He smiled when he felt your curious eyes on him.

"There is a way." He said.

"Which is...?"

His smile widened even more. "You're not ready for it yet." You frowned. "Drop the act, Salauddin. You came here by yourself because you wanted to tell me the plan. Stop teasing and just tell me." He chuckled hearing you become frustrated.

"In due time, Y/n. In due time." You roll your eyes, standing up. "I'm not going to beg you to tell me. But your "plan", which I dont think exists, it better not mess with my escape." You stomped back inside your tent, and Salauddin snickered as you tripped a bit on your chadar on the way in.

He stood up, giving a nod to the rest as they all settled in for the night.

-

"Salauddin!" You cried out, your eyes full of tears that he could see from a mile away, even if your were wearing a niqaab. He could feel your agony, your distress. You were standing in the middle of the desert alone, the boiling sun along with your black chadar covering you from head-to-toe, would only be increasing your body temperature. Why were you all alone? He left you with his caravan. Or did Baldwin leave you in this harsh enviorment to die? Did he find out you were going to leave him?

"Salauddin!" You called out to him again, your voice wet from all the crying. This time, he rode his horse towards you. Fast. He needed to get to you, even though the galloping hurt his shoulder. Yes, he got wounded while he was fighting. He sustained many injuries, many gashes, so much so that by the time he reached you, his white armour had turned bloody. But he was not bothered by it, no. He needed to reach you. You. How long have you been out here? Arent you dying of thirst?

Your arms were still wide open, though drooping from the lack of energy. He could hear you sobbing as you called him again, and he all but ran towards you, bodies colliding as he pulled you into a strong embrace. Muscled arms wrapped around you, comforting you that he's here now. You're safe now.

Salauddin looked around as you bawled into his chest, trying to see if everyone had really abandoned you here and... left you die.

You pulled away from him, but Salauddin didnt remove his hands from you. And thats when he felt the cloth you were wearing. It was too thin. The sun must've burned your skin now. Is that why you're crying? You're in pain?

In a blink, he removed his own thick black chadar that rested on his shoulders and wrapped it around you, pulling it over your head to stop more heat damage.

"Y/n?" He spoke softly as you continued to cry so brokenly as he adjusted the cloth over your body. "What happened?"

"Y-you left me!" You blubbered. He shook his head. "No. I- I left to go in battle. I couldnt take you along. It was dangerous-"

"You left me, Salauddin! You left me here! Baldwin- he hurt me! He hurt me so badly! And you weren't here to protect me!" You sobbed out, your eyes red and swollen from the tears. "I am a part of the ummah! I am a Muslim! You- you were supposed to keep me safe! On your honour, I was in your care! Why didnt you save me, Salauddin?"

Salauddin felt his heart being crushed at your words. He failed to keep you safe? But... he was at war. What was he supposed to do?

He grabbed your shoulders, pulling you to his chest as he rubbed circles into your back. "I'm sorry." He whispered, shushing you as your body shook from tears. "I'm here now. I promise to keep you safe, Y/n. I will never leave you again. I will never let anyone hurt you again. I swear, Allah as my witness, I will do everything to keep you safe." You pulled your head back from his chest, your red eyes looking at him weakly.

"You're too late, Salauddin." You whispered and a sharp sound whooshed through the air, making your body jolt in his arms. You both looked down and thats when he saw it-

An arrow. Poking through your chest.

"Y/n?" His voice trembled, watching the life drain out of your eyes.

You fell, and so did Salauddin, catching your body. He couldnt- he couldnt believe it. He cradled you in his arms, readjusting the chadar over you again, softly calling your name.

Wake up. Wake up, Y/n. Return to me.

Footsteps approached him, though he couldnt bare to tear his eyes from you. He already knew who it was.

"Why?" Salauddin asked him.

Baldwin kneeled down to his level, staring at you for a moment before yanking his arrow out of you, making a stream of blood gush out. Salauddin panicked, tried to cover the gaping wound with his hand. He looked at Baldwin in disbelief. This... this was not the Baldwin he knew. Baldwin was never so cruel- so heartless.

"She deserved it." Baldwin stated before stabbing him in the chest.

Salauddin continued to hold you in his arms, watching Baldwin leave on his horse as you two bled out to your deaths in the middle of the desert.

Salauddin woke up with a jolt, his forehead sweaty as he breathed fast. He could feel his heart beating against his chest loudly.

Nightmare. Thats all it was. He was still in his bed, in his tent.

He got up to fetch himself some water, taking sips to slow down his heart. Judging from the darkness, he knew it was still nighttime. It was quiet, everyone was asleep except for a few men he left to guard them.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Salauddin whipped around just in time to knock the shadowy figure standing behind him with a sword. In a second, Salauddin had overpowered and snapped his neck, only then realising more shadows moving outside his tent.

"We're under attack! WAKE UP!" He yelled before grabbing his two swords and running out to defend his caravan.

-

You woke up to screaming and Isabella pulling you out of bed.

"We're under attack!" She says, yanking you out of the women's camp that was set on fire. Your eyes were wide and for a moment, you were frozen as you took the scene in front of you.

Fire. There was fire everywhere. All the camps were ablaze, along with some people being burned alive. Haunting screams echoed the entire area. Time slowed down as you saw Salauddin's men fighting... some people. You couldnt figure out who they were, but you knew they werent the knights Baldwin had assigned for you. No, you saw them fighting these mysterious figures as well. They were covered in dark clothes to blend in with the night, had hoods and masks covering their faces but they fought skilfully and very fast.

"Princess, we must leave!" Isabella caught your attention again, dragging you away from the chaos. You saw her following a knight- your knight, who led you towards a horse for you to escape with.

Salauddin... where's Salauddin?

You looked back frantically and you spotted him in the sea of flames, cutting through multiple armed one with his two swords slicing them brutally.

For a moment, your eyes met and then in the next, he screamed your name.

Isabella had pushed you away just in time as two men came at you with swords. You knight yelled at you to run. Again, Isabella pulled you to make an escape but it wasnt long before you two got separated by a woman who was on fire, running in between you two.

"H-help her." You told Isabella who took of her shawl to put out the fire. In the middle of all this commotion, you heard a distinct cry.

A baby's cry.

Jibrael!

It was coming from one of the tents. You ran in, looking around for the baby before spotting the bassinet. You grabbed the crying baby and held it close to your chest, trying to shush it as you walked towards the exit only to halt when you saw who was blocking it.

The shadowy figure. He was wearing dark hood and mask, while the rest of his armour was made of leather. He was armed with swords, daggers and a satchel.

It clicked. Assassin.

The assassin stared at you with dark eyes taking a step forward. You backed away, holding the crying baby protectively to your chest. He tilted his head at you, and for a second, you thought you saw amusement in his eyes.

Slowly, he walked out of the tent without saying a word but he stood right behind the curtain of the tent. You saw his shadow pull out his sword before standing there still.

What is he doing?

You turned around, hoping to find another exit but thats when you saw it. Two more shadows stood outside the tent and then they dropped something on the tent walls.

Fire. They lit the entire tent on fire and stood outside with their swords, giving you the choice to either die by their swords or burn yourself alive.

The fire spread fast, burning the flammable tent easily. Dark smoke started to surround you making you cough. The baby continued to cry harshly and you pulled him under your chadar to protect him from the fire and smoke.

But you didnt realise it until it was too late. Your chadar, your clothes had caught on fire as well. You screamed for help, screamed in agony as your skin burned. It felt like you were being branded, felt like someone was ripping your skin off.

Is this it? Is this how it all ends for you? Suffocated, skin charred, body naked? In a period where no one knows who you really are?

You fell to your knees before hunching over the baby, cradling it in your arms as its harsh cries burst your ears, protecting him from being burned for as long as you can.

Allah... Allah... Allah...

Through the thick smoke, a figure ran and covered your body with a thick cloth, patting down to put out the flames.

He picked your trembling body up, your arms still wrapped around the baby protectively. He walked through the ablaze tent, his face still covered by the smoke, or perhaps your vision was too blurry.

He exited the tent, the smoke cleared out and a gush of air filled your lungs. But you were burned, suffocated and exhausted.

The last thing you saw before your world faded to black was Salauddin's face.

-

You woke up to the sound of Quran recitation. A gentle, steady voice read the words beautifully.

Fluttering your eyes open, you looked around the room for the source. To your side, you found Salauddin reciting the Quran with his eyes closed in concentration. Was he a hafidh? (Hafidh is someone who has memorised the Quran completely).

He opened his eyes when finished reciting, looking stunned for a second to find you awake before a small smile graced his lips.

"We're in Egypt now." He informed you before concern washed over his face. "How are you feeling now? I changed your bandages in the morning, but I think its time to replace them." He grabbed the bowl of water and bandages on your side.

"B-bandages?" He stopped before understanding your confusion.

"You were in the tent when the assassins set it on fire. Your... clothes caught on fire, which stuck to your skin and burned it as well. I had to remove the remains of your clothes to treat your burns-"

"What?!" Your eyes looked down to confirm his words, he had indeed changed your clothes. "Why did you-" Your hands touched your face, heart sinking as you realised your veil was not there.

"You removed my niqaab?! My clothes?!" Your fury was only a disguise for your fear of what he'd seen, what he'd done to you in your vulnerable state.

He shook his head. "I had to do it as soon as we were safe. You were hurt-"

"Why? Why did you have to do it? Why not Isabella or any of the other women?!"

His face turned solemn. "Isabella... was gravely injured. She was in no position to look after you. Most people- most women from my tribe did not survive. The few who did were also wounded. The men... I just thought you wouldnt prefer someone you didnt know to look at you in such state." Salauddin looked at you, his eyes clear. "I did not do anything unbecoming of a man. Allah as my witness, I did not touch you with ill intent."

Perhaps it was the way he said it, or perhaps you just wanted to keep your mind at peace but... you believed him.

"How's Isabella now?" You let him change the dressings on your arms, watching him like a hawk as he moved quickly and carefully, no unnecessary touches or lingering that would make you uncomfortable. Even when he treated the the burns on the back of your legs, he worked fast, applying some balm on the red areas. The balm was like a cool gel against your irritated skin.

"She's better now. Just needed some rest." He replied as he finished wrapping the bandage on your legs. "Your back." Salauddin softly asked. You hesitated.

He sighed. "Y/n... I need to apply the balm or your skin will scar." You slowly turned around, holding your breath as you removed the robe from your back partially.

If he wanted to, he could've done anything when you were unconcious. You calmed yourself.

Again, Salauddin's hand worked fast, applying the balm quickly and placing some gauze over the marks. He pulled your robe over your back again, letting you turn around with a flushed face.

"My... my face?" You asked cautiously. You did not know if damage had been done there as well.

Salauddin understood you. "Fortunately, your face was save from the flames." He stood up and went over to the wardrobe to grab you a white chadar, handing it to you so that you cover your head with it. "Maybe when you were ducking over Jibrael, your arms covered both you and him from the fire."

"Jibrael...?" You asked. He smiled assuringly. "He's fine. You saved him... again." You sigh in relief. At least this wasnt all for naught.

Salauddin sits back down in the chair and though you've covered your hair with the shawl, he keeps his eyes trailed down on his hands in his lap. "I must ask you of one thing." You peeked at him before keeping your eyes focused on your lap as well.

"Will you... tell Baldwin about this incident?" Why would you when it would only cause Baldwin to panic and prevent you from leaving the castle, or his sight at all? You still need to come here to get parts for your time machine and even if the machine was working, you need to be able to use it without Baldwin or his army of knights breathing down your neck.

"No. It will only cause misunderstandings between you and him and I need to punish the real culprit for it."

He frowned but didn't raise his gaze. "And who might that be?"

"Those men... they were assassins, right?" He hummed. "Judging by how vicious they were, I think they were Ismailis."

Ismailis were a sect of Shia Muslims. Basically, like the great schism of Christianity into Orthodox and Catholic Church, Islam also had a schism that divided it into Sunni and Shia Islam. Shia Islam further had divided into different sects, of which one was Ismailis.

Sunni and Shia Muslims have been at war with each other since the beginning over religious differences. And considering Salauddin was not only Sunni Muslim but also targeted many Ismaili assassins so that they would not oppose his rule, it would be an understatement that they wanted Salauddin dead.

But... you know Salauddin had already gotten rid of most of the assassins and established his dominance over them. You're sure he's already had a peace treaty with them.

"Salauddin, you have an agreement with the Ismailis, don't you?" You watched his eyes widen slightly. "You're on peaceful terms with them at the moment?"

"How did you know?" Of course, the great Sultan Salauddin, an orthodox Sunni, wouldn't want the world to know that he spared the Ismailis. No, that would stir rumours that Salauddin has empathy for Ismailis, for the Shias, and which would lead to the rumours of hum being a Shiite Muslim.

You waved him off. "I know your character. I know of your mercy. Besides, I know both you and the Ismailis have a bigger common enemy- the Christians. Its more than likely that the Ismailis are supporting you so that you defeat Baldwin and claim Jerusalem, then they can focus on you. Plus, if the Ismailis wanted to kill you, why wait until now? They know you've been camping outside Jerusalem for months now." Salauddin was... impressed by your deduction skills to say the least. How are you connecting the dots so fast? Just who are you, Y/n?

You rubbed your chin. "So that means that someone not only hired the assassins but also wants us to think that the Ismailis were behind it all." Who could it be? Someone who wants to harm Salauddin but... they also wanted to harm you. It couldnt be the Roman Catholics or other Christians. No, they'd know better than to interfere with Baldwin, their Holy Emperor's war. Especially not with his wife-to-be in harms way. Who... who would know that you're with Salauddin and still attempt an assassination-

"Guy." You muttered, pinching the nose of your bridge. Of course, its fucking Guy, shit for brains Guy who cant sit still and wait his turn to play king.

"Guy? Why would he attack me when you're still here?" Salauddin's mind immeadiately gives an answer as soon as he asks out loud.

"Because I am here." You groan. "He's trying to eliminate us both, or at the very least- me, while I'm with you so that he can provoke Baldwin to go to war with you because you "killed" his future wife. He would tell Baldwin that it doesnt matter if they were Ismailis or not, we were all Muslims and this is just how Muslims are! He'd send Baldwin off to not only go to war with you but rather go to war with Muslims everywhere! And knowing Guy, he probably hopes that Baldwin dies in the process of his rampage. If you, me or Baldwin are all dead, or even one of us is, then Guy will only have to worry about dealing with one less person. His best bet was probably to get rid of me and you both, then have Baldwin go to war with all the Muslims who killed his fiancee. He's using all of us as pawns so that he gets to sneak on to the throne and be king!"

You heard Salauddin sigh. Perhaps he agreed with your theory. Perhaps he didnt. Whatever he may think, you know he will still conduct a thorough investigation of his own to find out who the real culprit is,

"Dont worry, I will deal with Guy. In fact, I'll let you have him to slaughter as you please." Of course, Salauddin will kill Guy. He has to pay for the blood of all his people.

Salauddin watched you get up from the bed and walk towards the vanity. "How long will these take to heal?" You asked, referring to your burns. "Usually take about a month, but the balm I used will significantly fade the marks." Good. You dont need Baldwin freaking out over them.

He stood up to take his leave. "I'll check on what information they've been able to gather from the assassin we caught. You-" He pointed towards the bed. "Rest. I mean it. These burns will only get worse in the heat outside, thats why I gave you the coolest room in the palace." He continued to glare at you until you finally sighed and sat on the bed. "I have to go see Isabelle-" You tried but he raised his hand. "No. You are to stay here, in your room. No one gets in, and no one gets out. I dont trust anyone to not try to kill you, not even in your own entourage- whatever is left of them. My men are stationed right outside. If you need anything, you tell them. But you are not to leave your chambers."

"I'll see you at dinner." He left and you saw the guards stationed outside your door.

The great thing about Egyptian palaces was that they had big windows to allow for ventilation. So you were already out of the window and climbing along the edge. You were about to jump when you heard someone call you.

"P-princess?!" Isabelle looked at you in horror. Apparently, you had climbed down near the balcony of her room. "Oh hey, Isabelle! How are you now?"

"I- I'm fine- princess, please get down from there!" She practically begged, fearing for your life. You climbed over her balcony and hugged her. "I'm so glad you're okay! Because I need you to do me a favour." You gave her a sweet smile while she looked at you in confusion. "See, I need to go out for a bit but Salauddin has told me to stay in and rest. So... I need you to cover for me again, just like last time."

"I- what- princess-"

"I wouldnt ask you if it wasnt of grave importance." You pleaded, finally making her give in. "Okay, I'll go to your room-" You stop her when she begins walking away.

"You cant just walk in there. There's guards stationed there and they wont let you in."

"Then how am I supposed to get in?"

You smiled at her. She didnt like that smile. It wasnt... well meaning.

"Well..." You looked at the balcony and she followed your gaze, almost immediately coming to tears.

"Princess please-"

"I am right here. I will help you, I promise Isabelle! I wont let you fall."

-

After helping a trembling Isabelle climb into your room, you had finally made your way to the madrassa. You had covered your face with your chadar and sneaking inside was no feat.

Abbas jumped out of his seat the moment you entered.

"Y/n! I thought you forgot all about me- wait what happened to your hands?" He referred to the bandages.

"I had an accident while conducting an experiment." "What experiment? Can I be a part of it? Please please please-"

"Abbas." You silenced him. "Business first. Did you make the tools I asked you to?" He quickly ran to his desk and pulled them out from the drawer. You examined them. They werent the best but you could make do with them. You nodded before asking for a paper so that you could draw the last few bits you needed.

"I need these by the end of this week." Abbas chuckled. "Oh I thought you were joking. How do you expect me to build- whatever this is! in a week? No way. I would need to get all the material and-"

"Abbas. I need it this week. I dont care how, but you have to do it."

He looked at you suspiciously. "Maybe if you could just tell me what it is that you're making-"

"No. I cant. And you will make me this by the end of the week, if not earlier because I have a very good reward waiting for you."

Abbas rolled his eyes. "I dont need your money-"

"I will let you ask me anything you want. Any question on any topic you'd like." You knew Abbas's thirst for knowledge.

You saw the twinkle in his eyes. "I will still take the money." "Of course, but I'll pay you after you make me this." He sighed and agreed.

"Wait- check this please?" He handed you his journal that had some math equations. You huffed, grabbing his pen and working on the mistakes. "I'm doing this just so that you do my work." You gave him some other math problems you did in grade 8 and handed it back to him.

You turned to leave before pausing.

"Abbas?" He hummed. "I think... we should set some security measures." You whispered.

"Whatever for?"

"Just in case someone came looking for me or my work. You know you're not supposed to tell anyone about this."

"I couldnt even if I wanted to." He tilted his head. "Why would someone come looking for you? Are you in trouble?"

You shake your head. "No. But you're aware of how other... scholars are eager to steal ideas." He nodded, being a victim of such crime.

"What do you have in mind?"

-

Salauddin was informed when you had returned to the palace. Of course he knew the moment you left. This was his Egypt. Not a bird flies without his knowledge here.

He sent out a spy after you, both to keep you safe and to follow you around. He couldnt help but let out a huff when he was told of your daring climb out of the window. Didnt he tell you to stay in bed?

"This girl..." He grumbles.

The spy told him that you went inside the madrassa. Why? What business could you possibly have there?

Perhaps you're creating a poison? To kill Baldwin? No, there would be easier ways to get poison. You did tell him and Baldwin that you were going to Egypt to find your family, but he has a hard time believing that.

Just what were you upto?

He'll find out soon enough. This is his kingdom, he finds out things. And he'll find out your secret too.

He knocked on your door before entering. You were sitting on your bed, your face now covered with a niqaab and your hair with his white chadar. His clothes. He felt something warm in his heart at the thought.

"How are you now?" He asked, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I'm fine. Just bored waiting here all day." You sighed exasperatedly.

Such a liar.

"I apologise for not being able to entertain you. I was busy with the assassin." You looked at him in anticipation. "He didn't reveal much but he did say that they were hired. I suppose that would bring us closer to your theory."

He watched your eyes narrow in thought. "It has to be Guy. He knew I was going to the desert to you first. He needed to get rid of me without anything to come back on him. Coward."

The door was knocked.

"I hope you dont mind- I had them bring dinner up here." Salauddin explained, letting the servants in. They set down a dastarkhawan in the balcony. A red table cloth was set on the ground, onto which many dishes were placed. You both sat down on cushions, the area was lit up with candles placed. You were busy admiring the view of the pyramids from your seat while Salauddin poured you some ginger kehwa.

"Here." You lifted your niqaab a bit to sip the hot tea, a sigh escaping your lips. Salauddin's lips quirked a bit but he, like you, kept his eyes focused on the pyramids.

You picked up the plate of dates from your side, knowing how fond he is of them. "Here." You mimicked his voice, making him smile as he grabbed a piece.

You both silently ate, admiring the view and enjoying each others presence.

Some time later, you were both done with dinner and just sat in silence. That is until Salauddin spoke.

"I'm sorry." You looked at him. "For letting you get hurt."

You exhaled, trailing your eyes back towards the night sky that was littered with gleaming stars.

"I know. But you shouldnt be, Salauddin. I'm not made of porcelain."

I know. I saw you jumping off the palace walls with the confidence of an assassin and the grace of a headless chicken.

"Still, you're under my care. I am responsible for you-"

"I free you of this burden." You're not a burden. "I am not that hurt and I am not scarred for life. If anything, all that incident made me question is just how far would man go?" Your eyes glazed over as you recalled the incident in the tent, where the assassin left you and the baby to burn to death. You could understand killing you, but a baby? He was willing to let a baby burn?

"It makes me believe just how barbaric people were to the Ahl al-Bayt (family of Prophet Muhammad PBUH). How easy it was for them to slaughter his lineage, how easy it was for them to keep water from them, how their hearts did not halt for a moment when they heard the cries of Ali Asghar- who they killed with an arrow in the neck." Your eyes glistened. "A baby. He was just a baby. How would've his father felt in that moment, holding his dead son in his arms, knowing he had to bring him home to his wife?" The battle of Karbala was one of the most heart wrenching tragedies of Islam and whats worse is that Prophet Muhammad knew of it years before it happened. He knew his own grandsons will face martyrdom years before it actually happened, when they were just little children in his arms.

"Man is cruel." Salauddin stated.

"But Allah made man. Why... would he allow man to be so cruel? Even animals are not this merciless." You wondered.

"Because man cannot see God." He says. "There are signs of His existence, signs for those who wish to be guided. Animals can see God. Angels can see God. Humans... Allah has made us with the ability to think, to choose. Man chooses to be cruel when he forgets that Allah is watching, that these things- the stones, the trees, everything around him? They're all living beings who will testify against man." He smiles. "But that is why the true believers also have a greater reward in the hereafter. What do you think of the reward, of what you'll get when you enter heaven? You dream of wealth, of food, of all luxuries. But there's a greater reward waiting for us. Do you know what that is?"

You gave a slight shake of your head.

"The true believers will see Allah. They will get to meet their Lord, their Creator, the One who saw them through it all, the One who knows their secrets and kept them hidden, the One continued to shower His blessings upon them even when they were not grateful." Those words... they comforted you. How peaceful it is to the heart to hear that your Creator waits for you. The One who has seen you shed tears and took care of you in this world will also take care of you in the next. And at the same time, this is such devastating news for the sinners too. Those who act selfishly, who forget who their Lord is, they will end up in hell and will never get the opportunity to see their Creator again, to ask of mercy from the most Merciful.

"Still..." You mumbled, wanting to find an excuse for such wickedness.

"It is not our place to ask why, Y/n. Allah does not owe us answers, explanations. He already has given us His book for guidance, his prophets for example. But know this- everything happens for a reason. Maybe the battle of Karbala was just to show us how quick man can turn on his own. Perhaps in the future, a time will come when people will kill many women and children, slaughter men so brutally while the entire world watches and yet... no one does anything. And then people will wonder- surely, man is not so evil. Surely, man wouldn't kill innocent children. Perhaps then they will remember history."

-

Salauddin woke up with a sigh. He had gone to sleep after he left your room last night, but he woke up from yet another dream he had of you. You. You. You. Since that night in the desert, he's been having constant dreams about you. Its either you dying at the hands of Baldwin or Guy, or its you asking him to help you. Tonight, he dreamt of you two celebrating Ramadan together, with you picking up the plate and offering him dates, however unlike dinner, you were sitting much closer to him in his dream, by his side. So close, he could see himself in your eyes.

Salauddin wasnt vain enough to admit it to himself- he had feelings for you. But what were they?

Lust? Not really, he's seen far prettier women than you. Beauty... is subjective and Salauddin is a firm believer in "beauty is in the eye of the beholder".

Admiration? No. He admires your intelligence and your wit but Salauddin also has those qualities.

Infatuation? Sure he does think about you often during the day but not enough to call it obsession.

No, its love. It has to be. His heart doesnt know what exactly it is about you that draws him in. His mind doesnt comprehend why he feels like you belong with him but his soul, every fibre of his being screams that you do.

Allah has created someone for someone. He created Eve for Adam, He creates a woman from the rib of the man.

Salauddin touches the side of his chest, just above his abdomen.

Perhaps you're his missing rib.

You were smart, you were daring, you were also stupid enough to put yourself in harms way but it was... endearing. More importantly, you were the only person who could bicker with him, stand your ground against him and get away with it too.

He sat down on a chair, looking out at the pyramids. Like the man he's named after (Prophet Yusuf/Joseph), Salauddin believes in dreams having meaning. Perhaps its a way for God to talk to you, to warn you or guide you.

And from all his dreams about you, he's come to interpret it that he must save you from Baldwin... and everyone else. And he can save you- he can save you without you having to go through the trouble to be plotting against Baldwin and endangering yourself by working with Guy.

He could marry you.

If you were to marry Salauddin, you would become the queen of Egypt and the wife of the strongest Muslim leader of the time. Not only that but the entire ummah, Muslims around the world will come together as one to fight against Baldwin, against anyone who dares to harm you. You would be safe, you would be secure by his side as his wife.

But the plan is easier said than done.

Baldwin wouldnt backdown so easily. He would wreak havoc and if he's as obsessed with you as Salauddin has seen him, then he wouldnt stop at nothing to get you back. Baldwin will have to be dead for you to be safe from him.

Besides Baldwin, you yourself also are a hurdle. You havent shown any interest in him (which is understandable because you're engaged) but he doubts you're interested in marrying anyone at all. You're not one to be affected his wealth or status, you dont go for materialistic things. He's sure if he were to ask your hand, you would laugh hysterically and then maybe try mocking him. And Salauddin does not want to force you to marry him. He wants you to want him.

There is a way he could convince you. All he has to do is make himself look better than any man, especially Baldwin because you do seem to have a soft spot for him despite trying to sabotage him.

A sinister idea comes to mind.

What if Baldwin breaks up with you?

If Baldwin, for any reason, decides not to marry you then not only will you be free from him but a war will be avoided.

All Salauddin has to do is give Baldwin a reason to break up with you. He could send some concubines to him, but he doubts Baldwin would use them. And even if he did, it isnt reason enough for him to call off things with you. No, the only way Baldwin would break up with you is... if you're unfaithful to him. You dont need to cheat, dont need to sleep with any man. No, you dont have to do anything at all. All he has to do is make sure you're in the right place at the right time and Baldwin's there too, just enough to create doubt in his mind. And the ball will roll from there. Baldwin will continue to second guess your loyalty to him until he's driven himself insane. Then he'd leave you without ever punishing you for a crime he thinks you committed but has no proof of. Thats when Salauddin will swoop in as your knight in shining armour and you'll see that all men but him are shit and you'll say yes to his proposal-

No.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. Despite it being a perfect plan, the safest plan- Salauddin cant bare to stain your character. He cannot spread a rumor about you being unfaithful. He cannot have anyone talk badly of you, even if it will end up with you in his arms. You're important to him. And if you ever figure out that Salauddin was the one behind it all, you'd never forgive him. You would never trust him.

The thought of you not trusting him, just like you dont trust him enough to tell him why you sneaked out of the palace, it hurts him. He doesnt know why but he wants you to trust him- trust him enough that you come to him with your problems and have faith that he will solve them for you. He will keep you safe. He will protect you.

He will have to find another way.

Salauddin offered the morning prayer before reciting the Quran, asking Allah for guidance for his problems and good health for you.

He walked out of his room and turned to the corridor where your room was, only to find you sneaking out of the room with Isabelle. You were still wearing his white chaddar, and it engulfed your small body like a blanket as you hurriedly walked down-

You tripped on the bottom of the long chaddar and fell face first.

"Princess!" Isabelle cried out as she helped you up, but you quickly dusted yourself off and continued talking her ear off as if nothing had happened, the tail of the chaddar trailing behind you as Isabelle walked beside you to keep up with what you were saying.

"Idiot..." He whispered to himself, though he was smiling. He called a servant and ordered him to bring the finest chaddars and niqaabs for you. He cant have you tripping all over the place because you wear his chaddar that was too big for you, despite how adorable you looked in it.

-

You knocked on his door.

"Salauddin, I was going to the market-"

"And you came to ask for permission? Okay, granted." He waved you off with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. "Where do you get the audacity- nevermind. I came to ask if you'd lend me a few gold coins? I need to buy some things, souvenirs if you will." You had lost your coin purse in the desert and you need to pay Abbas.

He raised a brow. "What do you need? I can have it brought to you here."

You pursed your lips. Why is he being difficult? "I dont know what I need until I look. Just give me some money, I promise to pay you back as soon as I can."

He stood up, walking upto you but you neither backed away nor moved your eyes from him. "Its not about the money." He pulled out a pouch and dropped it in your hands. "I worry for your safety. Who knows how many others Guy has hired to kill you? I'm coming along."

"Aww, you're worried about me? That's so sweet-"

"I wouldnt want my image to tarnish because a guest died in my care." Your smile dropped as you grumbled something under your breath.

"Whatever. I still dont need you to tag along-"

"Good thing about being the sultan is that I dont need anyone's permission." He cut you off before walking past you. You stomped after him. "Salauddin, dont you have work-"

"You can either come with me or stay in your room for the rest of your stay here." He stated.

-

"What?" He heard you snicker beside him. Your eyes twinkled with amusement. "Oh, its just these rags suit you a lot." Salauddin and his guards had worn disguises to blend in with the commoners. He didnt want to draw attention to you two.

He rolled his eyes. "I have to blend in for your safety-" "I have never looked more in danger than I do right now. Look around and see people staring at a lady dressed so modestly is surrounded by brooding men wearing rags." You giggled as Salauddin looked around to see some people were indeed looking your way.

You stopped at a small stall that was selling some jewellery. You were looking at some rings, trying to choose something for Sibylla. The shopkeeper, an old man must've seen Salauddin standing over your shoulder looking around for any suspicious men.

"Son, why dont you help your wife pick something? Focus on her!" The shopkeeper said, catching you both off guard. You looked at Salauddin and laughed at his surprised face. Continuing to pull his leg, you stared up at him and batted your lashes. "Well, husband? What do you think would suit me?" You asked raising two different earrings to your face. One had a ruby in it, the other had sapphire.

He looked at you for a moment.

"Neither."

Your smile underneath your veil vanished, and you placed the earrings back on the table.

"The blue opal ones." He nodded his head as the shopkeeper handed him the tear drop gold earrings that had the precious stones fixed in it. He brought the earrings near your face, never touching it as his eyes assessed his pick.

"They bring out your eyes." He said before paying the old man and giving them to you, all while you were looking at him in awe.

"Wait! Why did you pay? I had the money." You two had begun walking again. "You mean the money I gave you?" You frowned. "I'm gonna pay you back." He smiled. "You dont need to. I have enough. As for the earrings... consider them a gift."

"Gift?"

He hummed, his chest puffed up. "Part of the hospitality of the sultan."

You glared at him before smiling. "Thanks." You two continued to walk around the market, Salauddin gave alms to the poor he encountered. You were standing at another stall, watching in fascination as the man ground up the black powder and mixed it with oils to make kohl. He filled it up in a beautiful vessel before asking if you'd like to try it.

"Oh, I dont know how to." Especially not without a mirror, which the man didnt have. But he was persistent to sell his product and when he looked at Salauddin's kohl lined eyes, he offered it to him.

"Would you apply it on your wife?" This time, Salauddin didnt react like he did the earlier when he was associated with you. He took the wooden stick dipped in the kohl and looked at you for permission.

You gave a nod. He walked upto you, gently cupping your veil covered face. You thanked God for the niqaab, or else he would've seen how violently you were blushing.

"Chin up." He whispered before tilting your chin up. Your eyes shifted as they stared into his brown ones. "Open wide." He ordered, even though your eyes were already saucer shaped from the close proximity.

He began tracing the soft edge of the stick along the waterline of your right eye. He seemed to have noticed that you were holding your breath. "Relax." He softly commanded, patting your cheek with his thumb. That broke you out of your trance as you narrowed your eyes at him.

"Dont tell me what to do." You grumbled. "Open wide." He ordered again bringing the stick up to your left eye for a second coat. You hated the way he commanded you, hated that he seemed to be having his fun with this.

"Dont order-"

"If you dont listen to me, I will marry you today." Your eyes blew wide open in shock.

"What-?!"

"Hush." He smiled placing kohl on your now wide eyes. "Whats wrong? You seemed to enjoy playing my wife but when I joke to marry you, you dont like it."

He's... joking?

Without realising, you blinked causing the still wet kohl to spread in your eyes. Salauddin had pulled the stick back just in time to not poke your eye out.

You hissed in pain, raising your hand to rub your eyes but Salauddin caught your wrist pushing it down.

"Open your eyes, Y/n. Look at me. I said- look at me." You opened your eyes to stare at him, your vision blurry from the mixture of tears and kohl.

Salauddin grabbed his handkerchief and began to dab the excess away as he tutted at you to stay still. Once he was done wiping the excess away, he blew cold air on your irritated eyes gently.

"I swear... if you dont sit still, I really will marry you today." He threatened you as he watched your red eyes glare at him. He didnt like that you were in pain, even if your own stupidity was the cause of it. This time when he applied kohl, you didnt dare to move an inch.

Fortunately, he worked faster this time around.

He gave a nod of approval when he was done. You dont know whether it was because he liked how your eyes looked now or if he was admiring his own work.

Salauddin handed the man money before taking a few bottles of kohl.

For the next hour, you two walked around in silence mostly. The image of your kohl lined eyes occupied his mind, not only because of how beautiful they were but also all the emotions that switched in a matter of seconds. You could try and hide your feelings all you want but your eyes tell. The eyes... they're the window to one's soul.

He saw attraction, anger, mesmerisation, disgust and pain in your eyes. Or maybe he's overthinking this. Maybe it was all just momentary and you really do hate the idea of being married to him.

You were both standing at yet another shop, this one was selling dates. Salauddin walked inside the shop a little more to inspect the quality of the dates, expecting you to be following behind him but when he turned around, you were gone. He walked outside the shop, hoping to find you there but it seemed like you had vanished. Even his guards hadnt seen you.

And then, as Salauddin whipped his head around, he saw the silloutte of your chadar disappearing around the corner. He ran after you, hoping to not lose you in the crowd but as soon as he turned around the corner, he couldnt spot you anywhere. He ran down the street, looking left and right but you werent there.

Where are you, Y/n?

He began walking back towards the main street when in the corner of his eye, he caught the sight of a familiar chadar. He turned his head to the right and there you were, standing with your back to him under the shadow of the large canopy of the shop talking to some man.

He walked up behind you, the man you were talking to seeing him first.

"Y/n." He snapped. You turned startled before your shoulders relaxed at the sight of him. "Oh, its just you. Did you buy the dates?"

Dates? You're asking him about dates after you just made his heart stop for a few minutes?

"Why did you leave me?" Ya Allah, that came out way more desperate than he wanted it to.

"I was getting something from this man." He raised a brow, almost as if he didnt believe you. You sighed. "This is Abbas. I hired him to make some things for me?"

"Such as?" You narrowed your eyes at his accusatory tone before nodding at Abbas, who then pulled out a heaxagonal shaped board that looked somewhat similar to a-

"Its 3 people chess!" You exclaimed, bouncing on your feet as you handed it to Salauddin. "I designed it and had Abbas make it for you!"

"For me?" He asked, turning the board around as he tried to understand how it would work.

"Yeah. I wanted to thank you for saving my life. And for your hospitality. And for lending me money."

His eyes softened slightly. "You dont need to thank me, Y/n. Its... my duty. I'm responsible for you." You waved him off. "Yeah yeah. Look, just take this and I'll teach you how to play so that one day you could play it with your wife and... kid? Or maybe with your wife and Baldwin? Or two wives-?"

"Y/n, I appreciate the gift but I would appreciate your silence more now." You pouted at his words but never the less, you both left to return to the palace, unaware of the eyes watching you two.

The mysterious figure wrote down what he'd seen before using messenger eagle to deliver the note to Jerusalem.

-

It had almost been a week in Egypt. You and Salauddin were having lunch together when a guard came to him and whispered something in his ear, the sultan frowning.

"Whats wrong?" You asked him.

He looked at you. "Baldwin... he's coming to Egypt."

"What? When?"

"He's crossed the desert. He should be getting here today, in a few hours." Salauddin was still frowning. Why is Baldwin coming to Egypt?

You shook your head. "Baldwin wouldnt ever leave Jerusalem, not unless..." Your eyes widened at the realisation.

"He's coming for a war." Salauddin confirmed.

Fuck.

Part 7 is here!

[pikavani]

Let me introduce to you my newest self inserted OC, Outono!

Outono, the Court Jester, was a paradoxical figure in the royal court. With her striking beauty and enchanting singing voice, she captivated all who beheld her.

However, her attempts at humor often fell flat, leaving awkward silences in their wake. Her nerves betrayed her before every performance, manifesting in uncontrollable shakes and a flushed complexion.

Despite her comedic shortcomings, her gentle nature and sincere apologies endeared her to those around her, earning her a unique place in the court's tapestry of characters.

I cannot describe how much I fell in love with this Jester! She only existed for 2 days maybe but I wrote a whole background story around her and created multiple fake scenarios in my head. She's so cute! But also a girlfailure hahaha

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

synopsis: while gaming with your friends who live in your dorm, someone suggests something a little cynical and humiliating for the loser to do

tags: explicit, vulgar, m@sterbation on cam, 3some, penetration, oral

wrd cnt: 1.2k

a/n: repost/rewrite! (continuation)

The normal night for you and your friends after a brutual day of calculus was a quick game of whatever the three of you decided that night...and quick was a few hours.

The three of you lived in the same building, but it was more convenient to just game together on call.

Tonight it was rounds and rounds of "poker night 2".

"Can you hurry it up?" Scara says, waiting on Xiao

"You know..unlike you I actually look at my cards" Xiao replies, rolling his eyes in the webcam and smiling when he hears you chuckle.

"All I'm saying is, I didn't win for nothing last round."

"Beginners luck" You say, raising your eyebrows in question of his skill, earning a scoff from Scara.

The game went on for a while, and the three of you had the usual banter and laughter, which made the comments ahead a little... questionable.

"Xiao…...I swear to you if you win this round I'm going to bed and blocking you."

"Wanna bet on it, dick?"

"Of course you're thinking about dick" Scars jokes, in a mockerish tone making you burst out into laughter.

"You think about jerking off more than what's for lunch."

"So that's the bet tonight??" You say, not expecting what Xiao would say next.

"What so loser has to jerk off for the world to see?" Xiao says, the light of the monitor screen reflecting into his eyes in his dark room, as he waits for a joke in response.

"I'm down." You say, hearing Scara slightly sigh out a deep breath before agreeing alone with you.

Suddenly a game of poker had a lot more riding on it than some fake money.

Of course, in ironic fashion Scara is in a loosing streak and cursing loudly at every terrible hand that follows his incredible bluffs.

"I can hear you from the fucking CEILING. Calm down..." Xiao says.

It was down to either you or Xiao, Scara losing considerably already, so at least you saved yourself the embarrassment of losing the bet.

It was your turn at this point, and you decided to go all in; with a straight flush. No way you weren't going to win.

Xiao, in the lead, didn't need to win, he just needed you to lose.

You were confident in your choice....until you saw Scaras cards.

A royal, fucking, flush.

"Fuck" you breathe out. You saw your character icon drop down down to the number "0". Game over for you.

“You don’t have to actually y/n- it was just a joke.” Xiao mentions.

“Fuck off”, you yell, your competitive nature acting before thinking.

You dropped your pants and spread your legs over the arm rests, each leg on either side as you groaned in annoyance at your loss.

"Uh oh...someone's not so happy huh?"

"Shut the hell up..." You say, defeated and salty, so close to winning. "I-I won't let you win again you know...this is just a one time thing" You manage to spit out, deep sighs leaving your body as only your chest and below is left in frame, your fingers visibly rubbing your hard nipples through your tank top as you begin to pinch and rub your clit, before fingering yourself with only your panties to cover your pussy.

"Fuck..." Xiao whispers, barely making its way to your ears as his palm covered the lower half of your face.

"Heh....what a bunch of whores the two of you..." You say, whimpering as the sounds of your slick coating your fingers becomes more and more apparent, your throat pitching higher as you gasp and moan for release, hearing Xiao and Scaras voices get deeper with groans, the sound of them pumping their cocks to the sight of you and your arousal.

Was was meant to be just a joke was your downfall.

Soon after, you see the boxes that would be Scara and Xiaos names and faces turn to black, leaving you feeling guilty and really fucking desperate, did you do something wrong?

You didn't know what would come next, they were your only friends on campus after all.

Minutes that felt like hours passed, and a furious knock returned at the door, almost startling due to how vulnerable you were right now.

"Y/n...it's us." You heard from beyond the wall.

Familiar voices which made you even more nervous as you open the door, Xiao and Scara leaning their bodies against the door frame with animalistic looks plastered upon their countenance, cheeks blushed and eyes set low.

"What's wrong..." You asked, letting them slowly enter your room, dimly lit with just the computer screen illuminating the space that they'd seen just from the other side.

"What do you think?" Scara says, his hand finding your waist as he pushes you aside to close the door now behind you, pressing you against it.

"Tell us this is what you want to…isn't it?" Xiao says, his face so close to yours you're practically sharing the same breathes of air, feeling his warm hand on your side of your neck as he spoke.

It took you 2 good minutes of convincing with a makeout against the door and you were so easily stripped, and layed into bed, and in such vulgar positions.

Scara holding your hips behind him, and Xiao next to your head.

They already knew how they were going to fuck you, Scara, imaging it as he saw how you pleasured yourself; on your hands and knees with your ass in the air would give him a good look of his cock sinking into your tight little hole; the one you were riding on call.

Your hands gripped your own sheets tighter until your knuckles were lightened from how slowly he started to push his thick cock inside of you. Scara groaned, smacking a hand across your ass before reaching his hand down to rub your clit in circles like he watched you do on call.

"You like that? It looked so sexy when you did it for us. Made me so fucking hard..." He'd spout, feeling your cunt clench around him.

"I'm here too you know" Xiao says, his thumb toying with your bottom lip before it parts your mouth open, the tip of his cock allowed itself in as muffled moans from how Scara thrusted into you vibrate around his length, making him groan and throw his head back; pinching and tugging at your perky nipples from under you all the while.

"Fuck..you have suck a nice mouth y/n...."

"Don't get me started on her pussy..." Scara groaned, one hand gripping your hip with the other was wrapped in his hair, keeping it back as he fucked you so deep and full.

"You'll take me next, right y/n?" Xiao cried, his eye brows furrowed as he looks down to see your mouth wrapped around him, wet sounds of your pussy and the drool around his cock making sinful noises in symphony.

"Fuck fuck fuck....can I come inside y/n...please-god it’s too much”.

Scara groans, seconds away from painting your pussy white, looking to Xiao for your confirmation.

You urgently nod, needing to feel his cum inside you.

That's exactly what you got.

With one last thrust Scara held your hips close to his, emptying out his balls into you as Xiao did the same. Cum dripping out of your cunt and more going down your throat, both the men breathlessly grunting, pleasure taken over all three of you.

Maybe losing wasn't so bad after all?

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[adispit]

The Aftermath

Alpha rival king x alpha m!reader

A mini part 2 of The Crown!

Warnings: dubcon, handjob, possessive Leo

note: yeah this isn’t really a smut centered piece more centered on the story also I didn’t beta read this so if there’s errors yeah 😭

Something was wrong. Your nape ached with a searing intensity, and your fangs felt inexplicably dull. The air around you reeked of something unmistakable—alpha. Jolting awake, your entire body ached with a deep, lingering pain. Wait a minute, this wasn’t your bed. Where were you?! These luxurious sheets were also something you couldn’t afford…even as a royal.

Your entire body reeked of alpha pheromones—clearly not your own. They carried a hint of musky leather and a scent reminiscent of stormy nights. What was even more concerning was the fact that your body responded in this scent—you liked it..! As an alpha! Panic and confusion surged through your mind as blurry afterimages of the previous night flashed through your thoughts in a matter of seconds. You felt your face flush red with humiliation and shame. Right. You had gotten…bitched. Bitched by Leo.

Sunlight streamed through the windows of your bedroom like any other ordinary day. Except it wasn’t. The clear and fresh humiliation seared and burned into your mind, your only remaining pride as an alpha remaining— completely shattered and destroyed. How could you have submitted! To the very man who invaded and conquered your country?! The man who ruthlessly slaughtered your countrymen…the very man who also mercilessly fucked you…on the throne. Embarrassment once again took ahold of you as your sore nape throbbed at the thought of the events of the previous night.

"You done wallowing in pity?" A cold, harsh voice sliced through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. A slim and lean man stood at the foot of the bed you lay in, holding a clipboard. He emitted no scent and seemed to be a beta. “Who are you?!” you demanded, glaring at him with guarded suspicion.

“Calm down. I’m a private doctor who’s friends with Leo, he called for me to come examine you.” He rolled his eyes in irritation. “He doesn’t even pay me to deal with the bullshit I have to deal with…Anyways, you clearly went through a number. This guy initiated such a forceful bitching on the spot when you were clearly emotionally and mentally stimulated. Now the consequences of that is, due to the traumatic experience which was caused by the sudden change of your secondary gender, your body is in a pseudo-state of an omega. You aren’t really one right now, you still retain your alpha features….” Hearing the doctor ramble on, you blankly stared off into space.

An omega. You were now an omega. Why— “Hey! Are you listening?” He snapped his fingers. “Listen to what I say!” His frustration was evident in his growl. You blinked your eyes apologetically, trying to focus on his words. “As I was saying, you do still have your features as an alpha, those fangs can still mark someone and your cock still has a knot. Well, a rather pitiful one as of now though, I did have to examine you.” He shook his head in what seemed like gratuitous pity.

“However, your body is in a state of transition into an omega right now. You will leak slick and have random pseudo-heats until you have stabilised as an omega. Without the presence of Leo, the alpha who marked you, your body would not survive those heats and it would be fatal. This is also because of the heat you went through after he bit you.” He droned on monotonously. Like a knife through butter, your heart felt as though it was ripped open at the news.

This man was fucking sick. Everyone was fucking sick! Grinding your teeth in fury, you glared at the doctor in a fit of rage. “Okay, don’t shoot the messenger…just trying to do my job. Just have plenty of rest and with your alpha by your side. I’ll prescribe an ointment for that bite. And speak of the devil! I’ll go now.” He helplessly pinched the crease between his eyebrows before striding off. “How’s my wife doing?” A rich, magnetic voice echoed in the chamber as you were met with piercing blue eyes that seemed to engulf you in their entirety.

“Fuck off.” You spat at him with as much venom your hoarse voice could muster. A pitiful attempt that seemed to only make the teasing grin on his face grow bigger. If he hadn’t bitched and fucked you, you would have assumed this man would have been sent by the heavens to save you. “So feisty… love that about you, (Name),” he grinned, his eyes locked on you, seemingly ready to devour you at any moment.

“You’ve heard the man, as your husband and your alpha, I shall assist you through your heats and provide you with all the loving care you could ever need.” With a malice-filled smile, he manhandled you into a hug that seemed to steal your very breath away from you. “Ugh! Don’t- fucking touch me!” You struggled weakly, flailing your arms as he gripped onto you tighter at your resistance. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through your lower abdomen, causing you to collapse weakly into his arms.

Lightly caressing your cheek, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek as he muttered for you to rest, clearly displeased. The rasp of his voice filled your ears as you couldn’t help but press your legs together unconsciously. Your heart pounded in your ears as blood rushed to your cheeks and also your… “Are you hard right now?” A hint of amusement in his voice cut through the heavy silence. “N-no! I’m…” Leaving no room for argument, he lifted up your flimsy gown to the sight of your pathetically erect cock, leaking beads of precum.

Huffing playfully, he palmed at your throbbing dick, earning a soft whine from you. Your eyes were half-lidded and glazed over with lust. Your mouth hung agape, forming words that didn’t exist with a voice you didn’t have in your efforts to comprehend the pleasure you were begrudgingly feeling. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want rough and calloused fingers so delicately brushing over your sensitive tip, making your insides twist and turn at the familiar delicious burn of pleasure.

Your head started to droop, but a sharp squeeze to your cock brought you back in an instant. “Are you enjoying yourself, (Name)?” Leo smiled, full of mirth but also of ill intentions. Slowly, he began to pump your member again, his cruel smile twisting upwards as he heard you let out a strangled moan. Glancing at yourself, you had no choice but admit you were a mess really. Your skin covered with a fine sheen of sweat as you panted laboriously and your hips involuntarily rocking into the warm hold of Leo’s fist.

Grunting disdainfully at the lack of response from you, Leo sighed into the crook of your neck, hot breath brushing against the very bite mark that seemed to burn. “You say you don’t want this though,” his hand crawled achingly slowly up to the desperately sensitive tip. “Maybe I should just leave you be. Just. Let. You. Be.” With each word he punctuated it with a gentle rub of the precum-soaked tip, you nearly found yourself sent over the edge from that alone. You were too close to stop now.

“Please…” A weak plea left your throat. You couldn’t help himself. You knew it was a mistake, but one your useless body was so desperate to make. This ache had to go away. “Please Leo…”Leo grinned victoriously. “Well, since you asked so nicely…” You smelt the air suddenly surge with pheromones. Ah. That soothing smell. Whilst seemingly suffocating in his pheromones, Leo increased the speed of his pumping, making you come undone with a silent scream as the exhaustion overtook you. Slumping down, you felt your taut body sink into his arms before once again passing out. “Fuck.” Leo looked down at the wet stain in his pants and the tent that wouldn’t go away.

A few years ago, under the cover of night, he had ventured out to the same forest clearing where he had once found solace. It was a place he had comforted you in before, though back then, you were both younger. As he arrived, ready to unleash his annoyance on the intruder, he was taken aback to find you huddled, trembling with unshed tears. Your defiant gaze intrigued him, and despite his initial intention to chase you away, he was struck by your vulnerability.

“Hey, you can’t be in… here…” he began, but trailed off when he saw your pitiful form. Struggling with unfamiliar emotions, he attempted to offer comfort, a rare gesture for someone of his royal stature. “You… okay?” he asked awkwardly, furrowing his brows.

“I’m o-okay!” you quickly responded, rubbing your eyes and standing up with a sheepish grin. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you with my crying…” Your innocent reaction only made him more determined to be gentle, despite his internal conflict. His pheromones, released unconsciously, elicited a low snarl from you, signaling your hostility. The mingling scents of earthy soil and rain from you in the air only highlighted the moment.

“Sorry…” he said, rubbing his head in apology. You merely nodded and hurried away into the distance. Though he had expected never to see you again, fate had other plans. Now that you were back in his life, he was resolved never to let you go again.

note: so yeah that’s it uh Leo had an interest in you and ran w it and he met u to ur very misfortune. Reader isn’t having a really great time overall 😭 but I hope this explains things! Tried my hand at something more story related

Reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[ugh-yoongi]

hang up if u want to | kmg

he's in japan. you're at home, knowing there's no point in staring at your phone, waiting. mingyu might not wanna define what the two of you are, but that certainly doesn't stop him from asking for what he wants.

pairing: idol!mingyu x f. reader genre: situationship au; a lil angst, smut warnings: swearing. sexting — use of gendered terms for genitalia, mentions of oral and penetrative sex, masturbation, images/videos, dirty talk i guess?, squirting. one mention of reader wearing a dress. another mention of reader wearing mingyu’s shirt and it being large on her. (not meant to be an indication of size—that mf is just so large i think most people would drown in his clothes.) mingyu is domineering and kind of brat tamer-y but i wouldn't say this is dom-y at all. he also uses the term "baby" a lot bc i refuse to use y/n. rating: explicit. minors dni. wordcount: 3.6k listen to: namasenda - dare (pm) / khalid, 6lack, ty dolla $ign - otw / keshi - like i need u / edward maya & vika jigulina - stereo love / monsta x - addicted / brockhampton - sugar / shy martin - good together author's note: hello, i barely text men let alone sext them, so if this sucks my bad. i'm also not 100% comfy for writing any groups outside of bts, so i'm also sorry if the characterization is off. the mingyu brainrot was brainrotting tho bc if there's one thing he's gonna do it's look hot holding his phone in a photo, so. here we are. i was gonna wait and post this tomorrow but it's valentine's day so fuck it we ball. thank you: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, & @effortandmore for checking this over and brainstorming with me. namasenda for the lyrics in the title and inspo.

Kim Mingyu Missed Call (2)

Your eyes glance upwards at the time. It’s nearing one a.m.; Mingyu’s second call came and went only a few minutes ago. The first one will have come not long after he got off stage, because they always do. There’s a script—unspoken and unacknowledged, but a script nonetheless—and Mingyu follows it religiously.

You sigh. Leave your phone on your nightstand as you change into pajamas, back into the bathroom to wash your face. Roll your eyes as you hear the texts roll in, the sound grating and ominous as it vibrates against the wood.

All part of the script.

Kim Mingyu: just got back to the hotel Kim Mingyu: you up

Also part of the script: this is the only way it goes. Maybe Mingyu wants to text you, but adrenaline’s the only reason he ever goes through with it. That post-concert high, nothing else to do with all that energy but invest it into you, and the thing about scripts is that they get old, grow stale. Always the same thing, and you can only have that conversation so many times before you get tired and rip it up.

We all have roles to play. Mingyu is the one who refuses to define what it is the two of you have, put a label on it. He’s the one who calls from countries away and speaks in that low, hushed tone. He’s the tempter, the one who holds all the cards but refuses to lay them down.

A royal flush, every single time.

And you—you’re not helpless. Not some poor creature fighting for its life in a spun-silk web. Mingyu’s capable of devouring you in more ways than one, but it’s not like that. Not really. As laissez-faire as he is, you come and go as you please, too. Perhaps it’s as mutually beneficial as it is destructive, but that’s the nature of the production; the result of the roles you two of you play.

Kim Mingyu: you ignoring me? Kim Mingyu: i saw your ig story Kim Mingyu: knock it off baby

You smile, private and sardonic, because you aren’t helpless. Sometimes it’s your web, and it’s all Mingyu can do to keep his head above water. Another role you’d borrowed from someplace else but still have memorized. Still remember all the lines, the mannerisms.

On your story: a video of you, bare skin glittering beneath the golden-fluorescent light of your bathroom; you, with your dress unzipped, the straps slipping down your arms; your hand pressed to your chest to keep yourself covered. Your back turned to the camera, visible only in the mirror, as the silk dropped to the floor.

In the settings: only two accounts given permission to see, both belonging to the same person.

In your DMs: Mingyu, on his private account with the username that looks more like a keysmash than any legible thing, reacting with the fire emoji.

Related: the image hovering just above Mingyu’s texts. The one he’d repaid you with not long after seeing your story. A mirror selfie of his own: grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, a soaked-through white t-shirt stuck to his stomach, the lines of his abs visible.

That, and everything below it—all left unanswered.

The thing about Mingyu is he’ll give chase. Doesn’t shy away from all the things he wants; isn’t shy about giving voice to them.

But he’ll never, ever beg.

(Not like this, at least. When he’s in your bed it’s always a different story. He’s a kept man, there, and kept men have no qualms about things like that. Begging for your mouth, your pussy. Begging you to let him come.)

Normally you’d let it go. Let him talk to himself in your texts, because he’s got a lot of nerve if nothing else, but you’d gone out earlier. Grabbed a few drinks with your girlfriends, let the alcohol thrum through you like a livewire. Watched as they danced with men whose names they didn’t know and never learned and thought about what it’d be like to be able to do something like that in public.

Got home, felt a little scorned, just on the edge of bitter. Made a show of taking your dress off in the bathroom mirror and posted it someplace you knew he’d look.

You: did you like it?

Rhetorical. Mingyu may not want to put a label on this thing, might not want to be caged-in and suffocated, but you know what you do to him. All the ways you affect him.

i could tell you, comes the immediate reply, and your eyes are halfway rolled when—

Kim Mingyu: or i could show you

It takes a second to come through, but once it does your breath hitches in your throat. Far from the most obscene image he’s ever sent you, but just as effective. An expanse of tanned, soft skin, lean muscle; still in those same grey sweats, bunched up a little on the thigh as he lays in his plush hotel bed with his legs spread.

At the center of it all, the outline of his hard, thick cock, so fucking big as it stretches the fabric taut.

All you can do is stare.

Mingyu is not of this earth. This thought is nothing new: he has always existed outside the realm of possibility, in more ways than one, so this is merely a fact. Grass is green, the sky is blue, sometimes you can love someone in a way that’s so overwhelming and still be no good for them.

Another fact: it’s primal, the way you need him. Always has been.

You: what am i looking at? You: new sweatpants?

On the other end of the line, it’s easy to imagine his reaction. A quick snort of laughter, tongue pressed into the fat of his cheek before he clenches his jaw. If he were here, he’d haul you into his lap, kiss you deep and messy. Trail his fingers along your skin until they settled in the hollow of your throat.

Pull away just for a second. Just long enough to say, “Watch your mouth,” before he’s licking into it.

Kim Mingyu: don’t be like that 🙄

This time your eyes fully roll. Spitefully, you snap a picture of what’s in front of you: your bedroom wall, some drama playing on the TV, a sliver of amber light from the lamp next to you.

You send it.

You: while we’re sending pictures of irrelevant shit

Truth be told, you’re not like this often, but you get a streak of it every now and then. Only ever at times like this, when the two of you haven’t seen one another in a while and the distance between you is still so ambiguous, untitled.

Usually Mingyu will come by your place. Get you stripped down to almost nothing, have you writhing on his fingers. Then, in between satisfied groans, he’ll slap at your thighs, tell you to stop being a brat.

Kim Mingyu: then send me something worthwhile You: you first

Another beat of silence. Long enough to flick through the channels, plug in your phone, let some of that heat dissipate.

Your phone chimes, and when you look down—

Those grey sweats are long gone, replaced with a pair of black briefs barely containing his cock, still hard and curved toward his stomach. You swallow. Let your eyes linger on the corded muscle of his thighs, all that soft skin. Let your mind remind you, just for a second, how it feels beneath your fingertips, your hands, your mouth.

All the sounds he makes.

Kim Mingyu: is that better Kim Mingyu: is that what you wanted

Unbidden, the corners of your mouth lift. hm… close but no, you type out. Let it sit for a few seconds before you delete it. If Mingyu wants to be a tease, you can do the same.

You situate yourself against the pillows. Angle your phone so the length of your body is visible: your bare legs twisted in the sheets, the bruise Mingyu had sucked into the inside of your thigh before he left just barely making it into the frame. What’s fully visible, though: his shirt that’s draped over your frame, how much it engulfs you, the way you’re drowning in it. In him.

You send it.

You: depends... is this what you wanted?

The response is immediate:

Kim Mingyu: absolutely not. take it off baby.

You’ve starred in this production before, knew where it was headed the second you saw the missed calls, so you’d put on his favorite of your underwear. Skimpy red lace, part of a set he’d had sent to your apartment. Used to tell you in desperate whispers how ruined he was seeing you in them; used to have to rein himself in so he didn’t rip them off.

So you snap another photo. Spread your legs a little further, pull the hem of Mingyu’s shirt between your teeth. Know seeing that sliver of your stomach will drive him crazy, too, but it’ll pale in comparison to the underwear.

You consider video calling him. Want to see his face when you send this photo—the pinch of his brows, the slight drop of his jaw. The way he’ll whimper a little, say baby in that tone that floods you with heat: a little desperate, all hushed awe, bordering on a whine.

The same kind of heat that starts to creep back in again. There’s power in desire, in being desired, and even though you’re here and Mingyu’s in a hotel room in Japan, you can still feel it. Subconscious, like some kind of red string shit. Anticipatory.

Kim Mingyu: goddamn Kim Mingyu: you wear those for me? Kim Mingyu: fuck, i wish i was there to take them off of you

You suck in a breath. and if you were? you send back.

Kim Mingyu: you know that pair is my favorite Kim Mingyu: drives me crazy every time you wear that set Kim Mingyu: but i’ve changed my mind. i want you to keep them on Kim Mingyu: want you to keep my shirt on too You: yeah? you want me to wear your shirt while you fuck me? pull my panties to the side? Kim Mingyu: slow down baby, i’m taking my time with you

In your bed, you snort to yourself. Mingyu has never been patient with anything, but especially not with you. Most of the time he’s so keyed up, wound so tight, that it’s all the two of you can do to make it to your bed—and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes Mingyu puts all that body to use, presses your back to the wall and throws your legs over his shoulders as he eats you out. Wraps your legs around him as he fucks you right there, the slide so, so easy with how wet and messy he gets you.

You remind him of as much. Type out, you? taking your time? i’ve got a couple walls in my entryway that would say differently, and laugh when the reply comes through—can’t help myself sometimes—and promptly stop laughing at the next one: never can, with you.

Kim Mingyu: have i ever told you what i love the most? Kim Mingyu: just kissing you. you always taste so good, baby Kim Mingyu: the way you get so worked up and start grabbing at me when i’m doing it. the way you try to get me to touch you. the way you start grinding your pussy on me like you can’t go another second without me inside you

You feel like you’re on fire. Gets worse with every word you read and re-read, try to commit to memory. You know it all too well, what he’s talking about. Know how warm his skin is, how firm he feels under your touch. Know what he tastes like. How soft his lips are. The way he sounds when you start to writhe, the way he groans when he presses tighter against you, presses you into the mattress, hard cock rutting against you, enough to take the edge off but nowhere near what he needs.

You: love that too You: love when you’re inside me even more

Kim Mingyu: me too baby Kim Mingyu: love the way you feel around me Kim Mingyu: always so fucking tight Kim Mingyu: ffuck

Your stomach drops at his last message. are you touching yourself? you type, even though you already know the answer. Another sight you’re blessed to know: Mingyu’s hand wrapped around himself, how the size of his cock makes it look small in comparison. Head tilted back, abs flexing under the weight of the pleasure.

You get a singular character in reply: 응.

show me.

He doesn’t respond right away. The pause is enough to have anticipation thrumming through your veins, make you a little shaky. Your hand trembles as you trace patterns into your warm, soft skin, pretending it’s Mingyu’s touch and not your own. Pretend it’s Mingyu’s hand that grabs at your breast beneath his shirt, thumbs over your nipple; Mingyu’s touch that has soft gasps escaping you. Pretend it’s Mingyu’s hand that dips beneath the hem of your panties.

Kim Mingyu Attachment: 1 Movie

On the screen: Mingyu’s face greets you first, eyes half-lidded and hazy, the corners of his mouth lifted in a smirk. He tilts his head back, lets you see the sweat-slick skin of his neck, the column of his throat; pans the camera down over his collar bones, his bare chest, before he flips the screen. Can barely fit the entirety of his frame in the shot, and it strikes you someplace deep, how big he is. How overwhelming.

You suck in a breath as your eyes focus—as you take in the way he’s stroking himself. His cock glistens with whatever lube he’d indulged in, but you can’t help but pretend it’s from you and your mouth. Wish you could see the way he’d touch himself as you sucked him nearly to orgasm and told him to finish himself off. The way he’d whine, beg a little, get a little shitty with you.

“Fuck,” you say out loud. You can feel your pupils blow at the thought.

“Jagiya,” comes Mingyu’s voice, intertwined with the sounds of the tv, a city so far away from you, “fuck, I’m so fu-fucking hard.”

If you’d thought you were on fire before, it’s nothing compared to now. Hearing the need in his voice, watching the way he’s touching himself. The way his hips stutter as his body seeks out more, more, more, always more, and the way he squeezes the base of his cock so he doesn’t come too soon.

“Wish it was you. Wish it was you touching me like this. I—fuck, need you so bad.”

You watch as Mingyu strokes over the head of his cock, as each subsequent pass gets more tacky and wet. Lick your lips at the sight of it. Want, more than anything, to get your mouth on him and taste the salt of his skin, the precome he’s jerking himself off with.

Before he even needs to ask, you start recording a video of your own. Leave your panties on because you know he’d want you to. Record the first pass of your fingers through your slick, let out a disbelieving little laugh at how wet you are, how you can hear it. Moan as you dip a finger into your cunt, just to the first knuckle. Say, “I’m so wet, Gyu, oh my god,” all breathy.

Not all that different from how you sound when he’s here. When he’s flesh and blood and right beside you, on top of you.

You use the wetness you’ve gathered and move your hand to your clit. It’s throbbing beneath your touch, your body already wound too tight, and you nearly hiss in oversensitivity and relief when you finally touch yourself the way you’ve wanted to. “Fuck.”

You force yourself to take your time. Slow, small circles, when everything in your body is screaming to be selfish, begging for release the same way Mingyu’s had.

“Should I finger myself?” you ask. A sharp inhale as your next pass has your toes curling. “Wo-won’t feel as good as you, but I need—need more.”

Before you cut the video, you zoom in a little. Make sure Mingyu will be able to see the way you’re touching yourself, be able to hear the sound of your arousal, the same sounds that have warmth blooming in your cheeks.

Kim Mingyu: jesusf fuck Kim Mingyu: god baby youre so hto Kim Mingyu: wanna see you finger yourself Kim Mingyu: please

It’s a little embarrassing, how incapable you are of denying him anything. You trust him implicitly, love him even more, so it’s second nature to give in, to adjust your phone so you don’t have to hold it. Second nature to press record, pull your panties to the side just like you’d proposed earlier; second nature to make a show of sticking two fingers in your mouth, sucking on them, before bringing them to your entrance and easing them inside.

Nothing compared to the stretch of Mingyu, both his fingers and his cock, but it’s still good. Enough to have you sighing softly, barely audible over the sound of everything else: the rustling of your sheets, the low thrum of your own television, you in general.

A rhythmic song and dance. Practiced. You grow wetter with each push and pull; know Mingyu will be able to see it, the way you work yourself open. That, too, has you a little dizzy. Breathless. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. Not only like this, but all the time. Does he see an expiration date? Something good while it lasted? Is there just this—something carnal and superficial?

Or does he just see you?

It drives you crazy. Inspires something within you: not just the desire to please him, make it worth his while, but to be something else, something more than this. Has your fingers moving a little faster, has you grinding your clit against the palm of your hand. Has you a whining, writhing mess; has sounds spilling out that you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard come out of you.

You send it before you can overthink it. Whatever Mingyu sees in you, at least these are the images that’ll play in his mind whenever he thinks of you. At least you’ve sunk your claws into him.

Seconds pass in a blur. You’re still on the brink of a mind-numbing orgasm, stuck in this liminal space simply because Mingyu isn’t here, and you know, too, how this goes. Know you aren’t supposed to come without his say-so in the same way he edges himself until he gets yours.

Kim Mingyu: shit shit shit Kim Mingyu: i wish that was me. wanna take you apart like that. wanna finger you while i eat you out, make you squirt all over me again Kim Mingyu: fuck i thin k about that all the time Kim Mingyu: im gonna cum

I think about that all the time.

So do you. You, on your hands and knees, Mingyu eating you out from behind. Bracing yourself against the headboard with one arm, the other one reaching behind you to pull at his hair. You remember how relentless he’d been that night. A man possessed. Disregarded all your breathless pleas, every Mingyu, Gyu, fuck, fuck, Mingyu, baby— that left your mouth. His tongue left your pussy only long enough to say, you can take it, baby before he was right back at it. Before he worked in two fingers alongside his mouth. Before his free hand came down hard on your ass, the sting startling you, making you jerk, forcing you closer to his mouth.

You remember coming with a scream. You remember coming to with Mingyu’s lips to your neck, the sweet way he was speaking to you. You remember the knee-jerk embarrassment you felt when you saw the giant wet spot you’d left on the bed and how quickly it dissipated when Mingyu pressed a kiss to your temple, called you his good girl.

You: you can come, but you know the rule

You move your fingers back to your clit, feel all that pleasure flood back, start in your toes. It’s not long before you’re pulling a blistering orgasm from your body—one that feels like it belongs to Mingyu, wasn’t yours for the taking.

thank you, he replies, right beneath a photo of his abs streaked with cum.

The comedown is jarring. You feel both too big for your body and completely out of sorts now that you’ve fulfilled your role. Now that there’s nothing to do but sit in the stillness of your bedroom, that same drama playing on television, some girl getting her heart broken.

You wonder if Mingyu’s thinking the same. If his body also sags with relief, if the absence of all that tension feels crushing. If the first thought he has in this newfound clarity is also I love you and if he also swallows it down every single time. You wonder if he thinks about his role, if it’s becoming stale and tired.

Because you know what comes next:

Kim Mingyu: i’ll be home soon Kim Mingyu: can i see you

And you also know what you’ll say. After all, you’ve played this role before.

if you've made it this far thank you so much for reading! this is prob not my best work since it's a lil rushed but i needed something to get me out of my slump.

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival. A thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

Ch 2

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

[just-aake]

Everlasting Devotion - Part III

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Warnings: light fluff, light angst

Words: 7572

It’s not difficult to spread news through the kingdom, especially regarding the royal family.

After all, gossip and rumors from the castle staff had initially revealed Natasha’s “secret relationship” with you. It makes sense that you would use the same method to spread the news of your supposed breakup.

With a carefully planned moment when some passing castle staff could easily overhear you and Natasha discussing returning as just friends, the two of you set the stage for your new charade.

By the next day, whispers of the breakup became the focus of every conversation. Nobles and common folks all either speculated whether the information was accurate or tried to pinpoint the reason for the sudden change.

In one of the castle’s guest rooms, maids pack the noble occupant’s belongings while they discuss the matter.

“Do you believe it’s true that Queen Natasha and Lady Y/n are no longer together?” one of them asks, her voice hushed yet eager for gossip.

The other maid glances around briefly before whispering, “I heard that this morning, the two passed each other in the halls with just a simple greeting, nothing like their previous interactions.”

“At least that means that they’re still on friendly terms with each other, right?” another one chimes in.

The first maid shakes her head with a sigh, “I hope so. Remember how Queen Natasha was so depressed when Lady Y/n became distant from her earlier in the year.”

“It’s so unfortunate that things didn’t work out for them,” the second maid remarks sadly, looking at the half-packed trunks before her and asking.

“Is Lady Y/n really leaving this evening?”

“Mhm,” the third maid answers with a nod but then pauses in realization and glances toward the door with a curious look.

“Speaking of which, where is Lady Y/n? She said she had to step away for a moment, but that was a while ago.”

They all look at each other with perplexed and clueless expressions before collectively shrugging in response and returning to their tasks, letting the conversation shift to other gossip.

Meanwhile, over in the opposite wing of the castle, in the new queen’s private chambers, your gasp of breath is muffled under Natasha’s mouth as she covers your lips with hers again, bringing you into another deep kiss.

Your hands clutch tightly at her clothes, pulling her closer from her position above you.

Now, given her newly changed relationship status, the two of you shouldn’t be in this kind of situation together.

However, when you visited her earlier to discuss further details of the plan, one teasing comment led to another, and before she realized it, Natasha found herself pulling you into a kiss and guiding you to her bed, where the two of you are now tangled in each other’s embrace.

“Natasha…” you whisper in between one of the kisses.

Her heartbeat quickens at the sound, loving how her name falls from your lips.

Pulling back slightly, Natasha takes a moment to look at you, and her breath catches at the stunning sight before her.

A lovely red flush graces your cheeks as your chest rises and falls heavily with every breath.

Your eyes look at her with such a loving gaze, and also a hint of desire underneath that causes Natasha to lean in again, unable to resist not being near you.

Her lips hover above yours, brushing them lightly in the gentlest touch.

You release a soft breath of anticipation, urging her closer.

And Natasha’s not one to ever deny a request from you.

Leaning in, she’s about to lose herself in the feeling of you once again — when her door suddenly slams open.

The sound of her younger sibling’s outraged exclamation fills the air.

“You broke up with Y/n?!”

A surprised shove from you pushes Natasha off from above your body, causing her to instinctively catch herself beside you on the bed before she could fall over the edge.

Realizing the result of your action, you reach out to steady her and give her an embarrassed, apologetic look before withdrawing away when you remember the new presence in the room.

Groaning at the interruption, Natasha runs her fingers through her hair in frustration, pushing it back from where it had fallen over her face as she shoots a glare at her little sister.

“How many times have I told you to knock, Yelena?!”

Ignoring her reprimand, Yelena stands frozen, mouth agape in shock. She looks between the two of you in confusion, struggling to find words.

After a second, she regains her composure, swiftly closes the door, and turns to face both of you again, pointing at Natasha in accusation.

“No way,” Yelena groans in disbelief. “Please don’t tell me this one of your stupid plans again.”

Sitting up straighter at the insult, Natasha huffs and crosses her arms in offense.

Before she can begin an argument with her sister, you gently rest your hand on her arm, stopping her.

“Actually, Yelena,” you interject. “This time, it was my idea.”

“To break up!?” Yelena exclaims, her voice rising in confusion and disbelief.

“To pretend to break up,” Natasha stresses the distinction with a frown.

She stands from the bed, subtly adjusting her clothes where you had pulled them, inadvertently revealing a glimpse of her toned body for a brief second.

Clearing your throat lightly at the sight, you quickly look away and scoot to the opposite side of the bed from Natasha, standing and directing your attention to Yelena instead.

“It’s just until the matter with Dreykov is resolved,” you explain. “There’s so much tension between everyone on the council at the moment, and I don’t think our relationship is helping to ease that pressure.”

“Unbelievable,” Yelena sighs in exasperation, rubbing her temples as she mutters, “Why can’t you two just be a normal couple?”

“We are a normal couple,” Natasha argues defensively, her brows furrowing as she crosses her arms.

“Well, according to the whole kingdom, you’re not even together anymore,” Yelena reveals.

You release a relieved breath, nodding at the news.

“So it worked. People actually believe that we’ve broken up,” you remark before glancing at Natasha for confirmation.

“That’s good. Isn’t it, Natasha?”

For some reason, your relieved words cause an uncomfortable feeling to form in her chest. Natasha presses her lips slightly in a thin line in discomfort, but when you turn to look at her with the question, her expression quickly shifts, and she manages a small smile.

“Yeah…” Natasha nods lightly. “…good.”

Yelena makes a sound of disbelief, rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“Unbelievable,” she mutters under her breath.

Turning to her sister, Natasha asks impatiently, “Was there something you needed?”

Unbothered by her annoyed tone, Yelena shrugs calmly.

“Not really. I originally came here to slap some sense into you, but since you’re just pretending, I don’t have to anymore.”

“Great, then leave,” Natasha responds flatly.

“Actually,” you interject, stepping in between the two. “I think I should go. I need to finish preparing everything for my return home this evening anyway.”

Natasha’s expression falls at the reminder.

She tried to convince you to stay longer, but you remained firm in your decision to return to your manor as soon as possible.

Letting out a tiny sigh, Natasha takes your hand, caressing it gently as she pulls you close.

“Alright then, I’ll meet you later in the courtyard before you leave.”

At her offer, you and Yelena exchange a quick glance at each other, silently communicating something to each other.

“What is it now?” Natasha asks, her irritation resurfacing at the unspoken interaction. She already knows she’s not going to like the answer.

Stepping back, Yelena raises her hands in surrender and shakes her head in refusal, clearly opting out of delivering the bad news.

Natasha rolls her eyes and turns to you, her gaze expectant.

You give her hand in yours a tiny squeeze before gently pulling away, patting her arm to offer some comfort.

“It might be better if you don’t,” you explain carefully. “People are just starting to believe our ruse, and we wouldn’t want them to become suspicious.”

Natasha huffs in disbelief.

“So seeing my best friend off before she leaves is suspicious?”

“No,” Yelena answers with a slight smirk. “But it’s been less than a day since you broke her heart. Wouldn’t a breakup be more believable if there’s not much interaction between you two at the moment?”

Her words cause Natasha to frown.

“Is that what they’re saying?” Natasha asks, her voice growing more upset. “That I hurt Y/n. I would never do that.”

“But you kind of did,” Yelena counters before shrugging slightly. “At least the pretend version of you did.”

Natasha’s brows furrow deeply at the revelation, a mixture of frustration and sadness flashing in her eyes.

She opens her mouth to argue, but you interrupt her by placing a calming touch on her shoulder.

“What matters is that our plan’s working,” you say, caressing her arm comfortingly before intertwining your fingers with hers, bringing her focus to you.

“Which means Yelena’s right,” you continue firmly. “We shouldn’t be seen together for the moment.”

You tilt your head and look at her with that same soft expression that always makes her want to grant any request of yours.

“Okay, Natasha?” you ask for her confirmation.

She presses her lips slightly in irritation at the situation, but at your expectant gaze, Natasha relents with a sigh.

“Okay,” she murmurs reluctantly. “I’ll keep my distance.”

In the background, Yelena mutters a soft “whipped” under her breath before coughing lightly when Natasha shoots her a warning glare.

You roll your eyes at Yelena’s teasing before cupping Natasha’s face and pressing a light kiss on her cheek.

“I’ll see you at the next council meeting,” you reassure, turning toward the door.

Considering that’s days away, Natasha isn’t all that comforted by your words. Her eyes follow you, a mixture of longing and resignation in her heart.

As you walk past Yelena, she remarks with a mischievous grin.

“I’m telling Kate.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” you reply with an amused smile. “Goodbye, you two. And Yelena, don’t tease Natasha too much when I’m gone.”

“No promises,” Yelena calls out with a sarcastic wave.

When the door closes, Yelena turns to Natasha with a knowing smirk.

“So…how many seconds did it take for you to cave and agree to Y/n’s idea?”

Natasha sighs deeply, running a hand through her hair in exhaustion before moving toward her desk.

“Not now, Yelena,” she warns, not in the mood for further teasing.

Yelena observes her for a moment, noting the tension in her posture, before shrugging and turning her attention to her sister’s display of weapons. She picks up one of the swords, testing its weight and balance with an appreciative nod, and takes a few practice swings.

Natasha ignores her sister’s actions, already used to Yelena always playing with her things, and turns her attention to the documents she was reviewing before she was understandably distracted by your presence.

Her brows pinch in irritation when she realizes that most are from nobles expressing their agreement with her decision to break off her relationship with you, followed by their recommendations for other potential political partners.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Yelena says suddenly, grabbing Natasha’s attention.

Glancing up, Natasha gives her a questioning look, prompting Yelena to elaborate and gesture at her with the sword.

“You and Y/n pretending not to be together.”

Natasha scoffs and leans back confidently against her chair.

“We’ve known each other for years. I think we have a pretty good idea of how to behave as friends.”

“Mmm, Y/n probably can, but you can’t.”

“Sure, whatever you say, Yelena,” Natasha remarks sarcastically, brushing off the comment.

“No, I’m serious,” Yelena insists, moving closer to stand across the desk from Natasha. She waves her unarmed hand in the air for emphasis as she explains.

“It was fine before when the two of you pretended to be a couple, but that’s because, let’s be honest, you often behaved like one in the past.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief, refusing to acknowledge the most likely truth in her words.

“But pretending to be just friends?” Yelena continues, pointing at Natasha accusingly. “I can’t even remember the last time you looked at Y/n without that lovestruck look in your eyes.”

“I look at her the same way as everyone else,” Natasha defends.

“Mhm, sure,” Yelena responds flatly, rolling her eyes.

With a long sigh, Yelena’s expression grows serious, and a hint of concern flickers in her gaze as she continues.

“I’m just saying it’s obvious that you’ve been in love with Y/n much longer than she has been with you. And now that you’ve experienced what it’s like to be with her, you’ll probably struggle with this whole ‘just friends’ situation.”

A silence envelops the room as Yelena’s words hang in the air.

Natasha appears to be contemplating her sister’s warning before she leans forward on her desk with a slight smirk.

“Y/n told you when she fell in love with me?” Natasha asks curiously.

“You’re hopeless,” Yelena deadpans, hanging her head in defeat.

Natasha chuckles lightly, leaning back in her chair, relaxed and sure.

“I’ll be fine. I know how Y/n feels about me, and she knows how I feel about her. Nothing is going to come between us.”

Yelena shoots her a skeptical look.

“Except for the fact that the two of you are now eligible for other suitors,” she points out, pondering for a moment before adding, “I mean, wasn’t Y/n already meeting with Commander Hill as a potential partner before you two pretended to be together?”

Natasha recalls the moment when you confronted her about the secret relationship rumor after your date with Maria.

You had told her that the two of you were just talking then, but Natasha still remembers the discomfort and nervousness she felt when she discovered you were looking for a partner.

Now that she thinks about it, Natasha wonders, if there wasn’t that momentary rift in her friendship with you, would she have been considered as one of your choices as a potential partner, or would you still have accepted Maria’s invitation instead?

The sudden curious thought unnerves her slightly, causing her to shift uncomfortably in her chair.

Attempting to appear unbothered, Natasha shrugs and replies calmly, “Yeah, but nothing resulted from those meetings.”

“Because of your little charade,” Yelena points out. “Who knows, maybe if you hadn’t asked Y/n to be a part of your plan, they would’ve been married by now.”

Natasha frowns deeply at that comment before quickly shaking her head to dispel the uncomfortable thought.

Considering she has a brief meeting with the said commander later today, the last thing she wants to dwell on is how you and Hill nearly shared a future together.

“Is there a point you’re trying to make with all of this?” Natasha asks.

In response, Yelena slams her hand atop the desk, shooting her a serious glare and an exasperated sigh.

“I just don’t understand why you would choose to go backward in your relationship.”

Natasha gives her a confused look.

“As opposed to what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Yelena replies sarcastically, gesturing to one of the desk drawers. “Maybe that little box hidden in there might give you an idea.”

Natasha looks at the drawer where she knows the ring intended for you is hidden, then back to her sister with a disapproving glare.

“You’ve been snooping through my things again,” Natasha accuses.

“Wha-No…” Yelena defends.

She waves her hand aimlessly in the air as she tries to come up with a believable excuse.

“I just happened to see it…that one time.”

Natasha crosses her arms and raises a disbelieving brow, staring at her expectantly.

Knowing she’s been caught, Yelena sighs and continues, “…when I was searching your desk to borrow one of your knives,” she admits.

Natasha blinks at her in confusion.

“What happened to all of yours?” Natasha asks, referring to Yelena’s own collection of weapons.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yelena brushes off quickly, looking away and twirling the sword in her hand in distraction.

Natasha examines her sister carefully, suspicion in her eyes. She knows Yelena well enough to recognize when she’s hiding something.

However, Natasha also understands the lack of privacy and freedom that comes with their roles in the royal family, where every move and decision is under constant scrutiny.

Having recently experienced this lack of freedom herself, Natasha decides to give her some leeway, trusting that Yelena will come to her if she needs help.

“Alright, then,” Natasha accepts nonchalantly.

Yelena squints at her in suspicion at her simple response before widening her eyes in surprise, realizing she wasn’t going to pry further. Yelena goes to return the sword to its place before facing her again, bringing the subject back to the original discussion.

“So, why haven’t you asked Y/n to marry you?” Yelena questions, her tone curious and insistent.

“It’s complicated.”

“Is it Mom?” Yelena asks knowingly. “Is she trying to make you do some elaborate proposal?”

“No, it’s not that,” Natasha chuckles lightly before her expression turns somber at the real reason why she hasn’t asked you to marry her yet.

“It’s just…with everything that’s happened, I just…I want to make sure it’s safe…”

Natasha glances down at the documents from the overbearing nobles, their demands and judgments returning to her mind. She rubs her temple in irritation, feeling the tension increasing there again.

“…before I drag her into this kind of life,” she finishes, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yelena observes her for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought before she shakes her head knowingly.

“Nat, you can’t protect Y/n from every danger out there,” Yelena remarks. “Besides, we both know she’s perfectly capable of handling herself.”

“I know,” Natasha answers sadly, recalling how you tend to face your problems alone and how well you had hidden your troubles from her and the others.

She still regrets not noticing what you were going through sooner.

Determined not to make the same mistake again, Natasha mutters softly under her breath in a promise, “But she shouldn’t have to.”

Realistically, she can’t shield you from every danger. But she can still try to give you a peaceful kingdom—the kind you’ve always believed she could accomplish.

That’s the least she can do for you after all the trust you’ve placed in her.

Letting out a tired exhale, Natasha reaches to the side of her desk and opens a secret compartment, retrieving the weapon from its place.

Her expression softens as she turns the item over in her hand, examining it with a gentle touch. It is one of her favorites and special to her for a reason.

The engraving of her family crest is prominently displayed on the hilt. The intricate hourglass design reflects hours of delicate and careful craftsmanship. Each detail and aspect of the weapon had been chosen and customized personally for her.

After a moment’s hesitation, she looks at Yelena in contemplation and makes a decision.

“Here, so you won’t have to go through my things again,” Natasha says, offering the knife to Yelena.

Before she can take it, Natasha pulls it back slightly and points at her with a warning, continuing firmly, “But you better return it after you finish with whatever it is you’re doing.”

Yelena nods in understanding as she accepts the weapon, admiring it appreciatively before recognizing it and securing it at her side.

“Right, because this was a present from Y/n. It’d be a real shame if I accidentally lost it,” she jokes with a slight chuckle.

Not amused, Natasha gives her a severe glare, a silent warning that causes Yelena to raise her hands in surrender.

“I’m kidding,” Yelena reassures. “Don’t worry, Nat, I’ll take care of it. Promise.”

She makes her way to the door and opens it before pausing and turning back to Natasha.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Mom wanted me to tell you that you need to meet with her sometime soon to discuss the plans for your birthday celebration.”

Natasha groans at the reminder.

Her upcoming birthday meant yet another social event that some nobles will manipulate for their own selfish agendas.

Considering how the previous year’s celebration turned out, Natasha is not looking forward to participating in the planning for this one.

“I assume ‘nothing’ is not an acceptable answer for her,” Natasha says with resignation.

Yelena shrugs, replying, “Maybe if Y/N was the one to suggest that. Knowing Mom, she’d probably consider it then.”

She pauses, a mischievous glint in her eyes, before releasing an exaggerated gasp.

“But wait, it wouldn’t make sense for Y/N to do that for you.”

Her voice drips with sarcasm as she gives Natasha a teasing smirk.

“You know, since you broke her heart.”

Before Natasha can react, Yelena swiftly hides behind the door, closing it just in time to block the small, paperweight Natasha hurls at her, the object clattering harmlessly to the floor.

Her laughter echoes down the hallway, causing Natasha to huff in irritation.

She turns her glare to the documents on her desk. With a frustrated growl, she crumples the papers and throws them away.

As she sits back in her chair, Natasha runs a hand through her hair, closing her eyes for a moment to collect herself. She sighs deeply, realizing she’s not going to like this new charade at all.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

After preparing everything for your return home, Natasha’s mother invited you to spend some time with her before you leave.

The fireplace casts a warm glow, creating a cozy atmosphere in the room as you engage in a friendly game with her.

Sitting across from the former queen, you study the board between you, contemplating your next move.

“So,” Melina suddenly speaks up, drawing your attention. “You and Natasha have decided to remain friends, is that right?”

Realizing she’s referring to the breakup rumors you and Natasha fabricated, you look down at the board to avoid her scrutinizing gaze. Calmly, you move one of your pieces forward, capturing one of hers, before nodding and meeting her eyes again.

“Yes,” you reply, keeping your tone casual. “We both agreed it would be for the best.”

“Hmm,” she hums thoughtfully.

Her eyes narrow in suspicion at you as she taps the edge of the board in contemplation.

You maintain your composure, accustomed to facing similarly observant eyes from her daughter.

After a moment, Melina sighs softly and turns her attention back to the board.

“I see. Well, I won’t deny that I’m disappointed it didn’t work out between you two, but I promised Natasha I wouldn’t meddle in her love life anymore. So…” She moves one of her pieces and looks up at you with a nod. “…if that’s what you’ve both decided, I’ll respect your decision.”

You offer a small, appreciative smile and refocus on the board. Noticing the new position of her piece, you furrow your brows in confusion.

“Why would you place your king inside the enemy’s territory like that?” you ask.

Melina smiles faintly, letting out a melancholic sigh as her gaze drifts to the board, lost in a distant memory.

“It’s more common than you might think, especially during wartime. Spies have always given our kingdom a fighting chance, so leaders often took on such roles too.”

She looks back at you with a smirk.

“Even I was a spy at one point in my life.”

“That sounds dangerous,” you remark, moving a counter piece and capturing another one of hers.

“It is, but if done correctly, it can be very effective,” she explains, moving the king to a position you didn’t anticipate, trapping your defenses.

She leans back in her chair, relaxed and confident, nodding at you with a hint of a smile. “And who knows, you may discover something along the way.”

Frowning, you scrutinize the board, searching for a path to recover from Melina’s powerful move, but find none. With a soft sigh, you shake your head in defeat.

“I should’ve known better than to think I could beat you in a game of war and strategy,” you admit, leaning back in your chair.

Melina waves her hand dismissively, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Nonsense, you’ve matched me at every move up until the very end. It’s impressive, really. I believe you strategize almost at the same level as your father.”

Your body tenses at the compliment, and your expression falters as you withdraw your hands to your lap.

The warmth of the fire seems to fade, replaced by a sudden chill that runs through you.

Melina notices your change in demeanor, her brow furrowing with concern as she realizes her mistake.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” she apologizes genuinely, her voice softening. She reaches out as if to touch your arm but hesitates, choosing to respect your space. “That was insensitive of me.”

“It’s okay,” you mutter, your voice barely audible as you shake your head slightly. Your hands clench slightly with your next thought, the tension palpable in the air. “I mean, it makes sense that I would have internalized some of his ways of thinking after all these years.”

“No,” Melina interjects firmly, leaning forward to ensure you hear her clearly. “You are not like him, Y/n. You are better. In every way.”

Her eyes lock onto yours, filled with conviction and deep, unwavering belief in you.

The sincerity in her words warms you, and you give her a small, genuine smile of appreciation. You hope that you will be able to prove her right.

Still sensing the slight tension in your expression, Melina claps her hands together, a determined look on her face.

“Now, I wouldn’t want you to leave without a little something from me,” she remarks, reaching over to grab a bundle of books and handing them to you.

“Here you are,” she continues. “You’ve been quite curious about the previous war in our recent conversations, so I had these old books found for you. Unfortunately, there isn’t much information about the Starks, like you requested.”

“Thank you,” you say in slight surprise. As you flip through the books. Your fingers run along their spines until one, in particular, catches your eye. Its edges are charred and damaged as if it had survived a fire.

“Oh, how did that one get in there?” Melina asks, peering over with a hint of confusion.

“What is it?” you ask, intrigued by the book’s worn appearance.

“It belonged to King Howard Stark, found among the remnants after the fire burned down their carriage,” she explains. “We tried to return some of the things we salvaged from the accident, but their son didn’t want to accept anything from us then. Still, we are fortunate that he at least agreed to keep the peace treaty his parents had established.”

You delicately trace the front of the book, absorbing the revelation. Though you once claimed you wanted nothing to do with your identity, you can’t deny your curiosity about what life might have been like if things had turned out differently or about the people who would’ve been a part of your life instead.

Melina sighs sadly at the memories. “I should return that to the storage,” she says, reaching for the book.

But you pull it closer, asking hesitantly, “Is it okay if I hold onto it…just for a bit?”

Melina observes you thoughtfully, humming in contemplation before deciding, “I guess that should be fine since I know you’d take care of it. But why the sudden interest in the Starks?” she asks.

You shrug lightly, tightening your hold on the book.

“Like you said, just curious.”

Before she can press further, a knock on the door interrupts the conversation, and Melina calls them in. The door creaks open, revealing a guard who bows slightly and declares, “The carriage is ready outside for Lady Y/n.”

Hearing this, you stand and give a bow in goodbye to the former queen.

“I should go.”

Raising her hand in a stopping gesture, Melina stands with an amused expression.

“Hold on, with all my spare time now, I don’t see why I can’t come with you to see you off.”

You pause, slightly surprised, your eyebrows raising, but you don’t refuse her company as the two of you make your way to the courtyard.

When you step outside, the chill of the evening air greets you. At this late hour, the area is almost devoid of workers and visitors. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the cobblestone paths.

However, the quiet atmosphere is disrupted by a rhythmic clang of metal against metal from the nearby training yard.

Curious, you glance toward the sound, and a tiny, amused smile forms on your face when you spot the familiar redhead, seemingly engrossed in a sparring session.

“How strange. Natasha doesn’t typically train at this time of day,” Melina comments beside you, noticing her daughter’s presence. She gives you a questioning look, her eyes sharp with curiosity.

You shrug slightly, your gaze naturally following Natasha’s graceful movements as she parries and strikes at each attack.

“I’m not sure why she would be training at this time either,” you reply softly, the lie slipping quickly from your lips.

As you continue to watch, you realize that Natasha’s opponent is Commander Hill. You recall that they were scheduled to meet today, but it seems they decided to test their skills against each other instead.

You’re fairly certain who suggested the idea, conveniently placing them in the training yard just as you are leaving.

At one point, Natasha’s eyes meet yours, and a tiny grin briefly breaks through her concentrated expression, causing your lips to quirk up lightly in response.

“I see,” Melina mutters before clearing her throat.

Your eyes widen in surprise as you remember her presence, realizing how long you must have been staring at Natasha.

Turning away casually, feigning disinterest, you return your attention to the former queen, hoping she didn’t notice your captivated expression.

Unfortunately, the amused grin on her face, accompanied by a raised brow, suggests otherwise.

Sighing internally, you can’t believe it hasn’t even been a day since you and Natasha started this charade, and you are already getting caught by her sister and mother.

You’ll need to work harder to suppress your feelings for Natasha to ensure that this charade remains convincing to others in the future.

Taking a deep breath, you brace yourself for the anticipated reprimand of your deception.

Melina hums thoughtfully, her eyes darting between her daughter and you before giving you a pointed tilt of her head.

“I trust that the two of you know what you’re doing?” she finally asks.

Surprised by her words, you stare at her momentarily before nodding hesitantly and answering softly, “Yes.”

“Good,” Melina says with a satisfied nod. “That’s all I need to know.”

You tilt your head in slight confusion at her reaction, astonished by her nonchalant attitude and the trust she places in you regarding the situation. You wonder if she’s toying with you, offering a false sense of security before delivering a reprimand or lecture.

However, Melina simply gives you a reassuring smile and a comforting pat on the shoulder before surveying the surrounding courtyard. Her brow furrows as she realizes something, and she calls for a nearby guard.

“Where are all the escorts?” she asks, concern evident in her voice.

Before the guard can respond, you break out of your stupor and speak up.

“I told Captain Rogers that I would be fine without one,” you reveal.

The aftermath of the recent attack had left many of the castle’s soldiers out of commission, still recovering from their injuries, both physically and mentally. You can see that the remaining soldiers are spread thin, their numbers barely sufficient to maintain the castle’s defenses.

“No, that’s not acceptable. Surely, we can offer you some protection on your way home,” Melina insists, moving to command one of the guards.

You stop her, interjecting reassuringly, “Thank you, but really, there’s no need.” You gesture towards the carriage. “If it makes you feel better, I won’t be alone during the ride.”

Standing in the distance near the carriage are two familiar figures waiting for you.

Upon seeing who you’re referring to, Melina relents with a soft sigh in understanding, “Oh, alright then.”

She gently touches your arm, adding, “It’s been a pleasure having you at the castle, Y/n. Come visit again soon.”

You give her a bow in farewell, returning the sentiment, “I will. Thank you…for everything.”

Leaving the former queen’s side, you make your way over to the carriage and find Pietro near the packed chests at the back. He fidgets with the restraints, securing them again and again, his movements a blur of nervous energy.

After stowing the bundle of books in the carriage seat, you quietly approach him.

“What are you doing?” you ask the older twin curiously.

Pietro jumps slightly, startled by your sudden presence at his side, and replies hastily, “We’re not doing anything!”

Your eyes narrow in suspicion at his reaction.

Seeing your expression, Pietro shifts nervously and tries to lean casually on the chests, patting them awkwardly.

“I mean, I’m just checking to make sure everything’s secure.”

“The guards already did that,” you point out with a raised brow.

“Well, you can’t be too careful,” Pietro sputters, his eyes shifting around nervously.

You notice his gaze darting toward something beside you.

Turning to see what he’s looking at, you find his twin sister standing a short distance away, gazing intently at the training field.

Confused and surprised that Wanda has yet to greet you, you start to make your way toward her.

Before you can get far, Pietro swiftly slides in front of you, blocking your path and waving his hands frantically.

“You know what, you’re right. Everything’s all ready to go. We should just get into the carriage now,” he suggests quickly, attempting to steer you in a different direction.

Pinching your brows further in suspicion at his behavior, you step back and cross your arms.

“What is going on? Why are you acting so strange?”

Pietro’s face flushes with a mixture of guilt and anxiety.

“It’s nothing, really. Just…um..uh,” he stammers, but his eyes flicker once more to Wanda.

Determined to get to the bottom of this, you sidestep Pietro and stride over to Wanda. He quickly follows behind you, still trying to convince you that nothing is happening.

With her arms crossed, Wanda focuses intently on something in the distance, not noticing your approach.

You follow her gaze curiously, and your eyes widen in surprise at what you see.

In the training yard, Natasha is now struggling in the sparring session, with Maria seemingly gaining the upper hand with each strike. While it’s not unusual for the skilled and formidable commander to hold her own against Natasha, you quickly notice that something is off compared to when you watched them earlier.

Natasha’s movements and swings are staggered, lacking their usual precision. When their swords connect again, you spot the reason.

A tiny red mist appears at the point of contact, and Natasha’s sword is slightly shifted from its intended position, causing her to lose balance from the sudden, unexpected shift in pressure.

Reacting quickly, Natasha adjusts herself and continues the fight.

Swiftly turning to Wanda, you see the subtle red glow in her eyes and on her fingers, moving slightly from where they’re hidden in her crossed arms.

“Wanda!” you call out.

Startled, all signs of her powers vanish immediately, and she turns to you with an innocent expression.

“Yes?”

You give her a disbelieving look, silently telling her she isn’t fooling you.

“In the carriage,” you declare, pointing back in the direction you came from.

Frowning, Wanda points at Natasha in the distance. “But she broke up—”

“Now,” you say firmly.

Wanda sighs, dropping her hands to her sides with a pout, but she follows your order and heads to the carriage.

Turning to the other twin, who is now standing awkwardly nearby, pretending to innocently examine something on his shirt, you call out, “You too, Pietro.”

Grabbing his arm, you pull him toward the carriage. “Don’t think I forgot about your part in this.”

He yelps in surprise at your sudden action. “But I didn’t do anything!” he exclaims incredulously.

“Really? So, you weren’t trying to distract me from finding out what Wanda was doing?” you ask, crossing your arms.

Pietro starts to answer but hesitates, closing his mouth guiltily under your knowing gaze. Deciding there’s no point in lying, he quickly jumps into the carriage before you can reprimand him further.

Shaking your head at their behavior, you hold the carriage door, preparing to enter, but can’t resist glancing over your shoulder at the training yard once more.

Natasha stands victorious despite the earlier interference. She helps Maria to her feet, then casually turns toward you as she sheathes her sword. Catching your gaze, Natasha flashes her usual confident smirk and follows it with a quick, flirty wink.

Huffing lightly, you roll your eyes at her antics but can’t help the smile that forms on your face. With a slight nod of goodbye, you climb into the carriage, and the driver closes the door behind you.

Natasha watches you over at the training ground until you disappear inside the carriage.

She’s glad she thought of arranging this short training session, knowing you would be leaving at this time. This way, she keeps her promise to maintain distance while still seizing the chance to see you.

The moment you appeared with her mother, her attention immediately drifted toward you. Glancing down at her hand, Natasha clenches and unclenches it, observing it curiously before looking back at the carriage.

Perhaps her focus on you was why some of her strikes felt off earlier.

The commander steps up beside her after recovering from her defeat, and her eyes follow Natasha’s gaze across the courtyard.

“Oh, is Lady Y/n leaving today?” Maria inquires, wiping sweat from her brow.

Realizing she is still staring, Natasha quickly turns away. She nods slightly and tries to mask her emotions with a casual tone. “It appears so.”

Maria’s expression shifts to one of sympathy at the seemingly new dynamic between you and Natasha.

“I’m sorry to hear that it didn’t work out between you two,” Maria says gently. “I hope this wasn’t because of the remarks from the other council members.”

Natasha grimaces at the reminder of why she’s in this position, but she quickly changes her expression to something more neutral.

“These kinds of romantic relationships are always complicated,” she says with forced nonchalance, adding, “We’ll be fine eventually. This won’t change anything about our friendship.”

Maria nods thoughtfully, glancing back at your carriage.

“That’s good to hear,” she says. “Whether romantic or platonic, I believe Lady Y/n is someone great to have by your side, either way, Your Majesty. The other lords don’t even try to know her enough to understand that.”

Her praise reminds Natasha of Yelena’s earlier remarks regarding you and the commander.

Clearing her throat to dispel the sudden discomfort, Natasha tries to sound casual as she brings up the topic of Maria’s intentions.

“I heard you and she also shared a brief sort of courtship before,” Natasha begins, hesitantly asking, “Do you still have an interest in Lady Y/n in that way?”

Maria turns her attention back to Natasha, her expression slightly surprised before turning contemplative as she considers her response.

“I won’t lie and say that I’m not intrigued after getting to know Lady Y/n,” she finally replies, her words careful and measured.

Natasha’s brows furrow slightly at her admission, realizing Yelena was correct about the potential problems this new charade could bring.

You’ve always teased her for having so many admirers, yet you are oblivious to the many others also drawn to you.

Now that you’re no longer spoken for, they are probably eager for the chance to be with you. But with the conditions of this charade, Natasha can’t do anything to prevent it from happening, forced to keep her distance and maintain an indifferent attitude about the situation.

Natasha sighs internally at the thought and returns her focus to the conversation.

Before she can muster an appropriate response, Maria gives her a small, knowing smile as she continues, “However, I won’t be pursuing such relations with her anytime soon if that’s what you’re asking.”

Confused, Natasha furrows her brows and asks curiously, “Why is that?”

Maria chuckles lightly before gesturing at her.

“Well, first, because she just got out of a relationship with you,” Maria reminds her. “I’m sure she would prefer some time to herself before delving into something with another person so soon.”

Natasha nods in understanding, acknowledging the truth in Maria’s reasoning. “And the other reason?”

Maria’s eyes drift back to the carriage briefly before returning to Natasha. A faint, self-conscious smile plays on her lips.

“Contrary to how it may seem with my other accomplishments, I’m not as confident when it comes to matters of romance,” she admits.

Natasha considers this, realizing she rarely hears about the commander’s romantic pursuits. The only time it was mentioned was by you about your meeting with her.

Rather than reassurance, her revelation brings about a new discomfort as Natasha suddenly realizes something.

She raises her hand in a halting gesture, her thoughts racing as she pieces together the new information.

“Wait, are you saying Y/n asked you out first?” Natasha asks hesitantly.

Maria nods in confirmation before tilting her head slightly as if recalling the memory.

“I’m still curious as to why she did, though, considering her secret relationship with you,” she remarks thoughtfully. She shakes her head and shrugs, continuing, “Though, maybe it was her father’s decision to have us meet. I heard he made such arrangements for her during that time.”

Natasha falls silent as she processes the revelation. The uncomfortable feeling from before resurfaces with full force. She knows Dreykov had no part in this.

Choosing Maria was something you decided for yourself.

After a moment of silence, Maria speaks up, sensing Natasha’s distracted state.

“Should I come back another time?” she suggests.

Pulled from her thoughts, Natasha quickly shakes her head in response, deciding to redirect the conversation to other matters rather than continue spiraling further about the subject. She can deal with her feelings later.

“No, it’s fine,” she reassures, taking a deep breath to regain her composure. “You mentioned you found something troubling about Rumlow’s weapon operations.”

Maria nods, retrieving a folded document from her side and handing it to Natasha.

“One of the orders from his books lists some strange, unapproved weapons that came in recently,” she explains.

Natasha furrows her brows as she examines the document. It indicates that the weapons were sent to Rumlow from somewhere far west. But the only two kingdoms in that direction would be Carter and—

“Stark?” Natasha mutters in contemplation.

After years of brief communication with the former enemy kingdom, the sudden influx of information concerning them is both unusual and unsettling.

First, there was their previous captain Bucky’s reappearance from hiding, then your revealed identity, and now possibly this.

Natasha would feel better about the situation if she had a chance to meet the Stark king and see what sort of person he is, but all she’s learned about him is from rumors and stories—most of which are not exactly favorable toward his character.

“We’re not sure,” Maria answers, pulling Natasha from her thoughts. “But that’s the least troubling part.”

“What is it then?” Natasha questions.

“They’re missing from his inventory,” she reveals. “Most likely, the weapons have already been sold or distributed to his followers.”

The mercenaries of Hydra. Some of their members escaped capture after her duel with Rumlow and are still hiding in the kingdom.

It’s troubling to think they may have gotten hold of these weapons, and now, without someone to follow, who knows what they might plan to do.

Natasha sighs at the news, adding to her growing list of worries.

“What kind of weapons are we dealing with here?”

“I’ve asked around, but not even Clint has an idea of what these weapons are capable of,” Maria answers.

Natasha frowns, then nods with determination.

“Inform Captain Rogers of the situation and see if he can spare any more help in the investigation,” she instructs. “We need to find these weapons quickly before they are used to hurt anybody.”

“Understood,” Maria replies, nodding. “I’ll let him know right away.”

As Maria leaves to carry out the orders, Natasha takes a moment to collect herself.

The thought of being unable to be near you for a while tugs at her heart, but combined with these new problems, she steels herself, understanding that there are other pressing matters at the moment.

Her feelings can wait. It’s like she said before — Nothing is going to come between you two. Natasha glances back toward the departing carriage one last time, a mix of conflicted emotions flickering across her face. Right?

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

A/n: thank you for reading! I know I already said that it may take longer in between parts, but I’m still sorry about the wait (and for how long this part is 😬) Hopefully, with some free time coming up, I can have more time to write.

Taglist : @midastouch013, @2silverchain, @dvrkhcld, @observeowl, @x-drowned-x, @fireandblood-3, @natsxwife, @leequifey, @blacklightsposts, @srt-sah, @scar-letwidow, @likefirenrain, @autorasexy, @natsbiggestfan1, @lex13cm, @iheartjohansson, @tofu9162, @nothanksbye07, @unexpected-character, @natashasilverfox, @acciowriting, @qtreesfanstuff

[tobiotetsu]

the beast’s beauty

fushiguro toji x f!reader

description: because of your father's mistake, the infamous toji zenin forced you into imprisonment in order to pay his debt. however, what you never expected was to fall in love with the monster he was.

genre: angst, historical au, 18+, mini series

warnings/tags: explicit smut(vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, ) violence, mentions of stockholm syndrome & misogyny, blackmail, character injury, blood, profanity, mdni, grammar mistakes

a/n: to welcome our fav dilf to the jjk screen, here's a little beauty and the best retelling for toji:) reblogs are truly appreciated <3 (taglist: open) (wc:1k)

general masterlist

part one ♕ part two ♕ part three ♕ part four ♕ part five

You never enjoyed the company your father kept. Drunks, assassins, mobsters, gamblers. You would always find yourself pulling him out of taverns in the early hours of 2 to 4 am. Usually, fear would course through women’s veins if they had to enter an establishment of this kind however, that wasn't your case. You were predisposed to bars, and whore houses since you were 10.

Now here, age 22 as you make your way through the liveliest bar in town. The air stank of beer and fresh cigarettes; a smell that you've grown more than used to. Your upbringing was merited to being the only daughter of a single father. Your mother died in childbirth and your father never chose to remarry. When you were younger you thought of it as romantic, but as time went on you saw it for what it really was.

He gained a free pass to hoard whores. Your house doors welcomed a new woman every week. The most motherly advice you gained was how to seduce a man and how to keep your tits perky.

The bar was more full than it usually was. Sweaty bodies stood, all facing the same direction. A poker game was at play. By the looks of the chips stacked in the center, it looked rather intense. Your feet began to move faster as a small anxious feeling nipped at your stomach. Shoving arms and legs, you squeeze into the front of the table.

Two men were sitting at opposite ends of the table. The left side of the table was far more crowded than the right. Women were draped over the man who was seated. A hand covered the majority of his face so all that was in view were his eyes. Dark green eyes shined brightly, even though the mess of dark hair was in front of it.

‘He looked focused’ you thought. He stared ahead, not giving any attention to the women around him. You could see why they were all interested in him. Physically, he was very attractive. His legs were spread out under the table, arms crossed and sat straight. His shirt fit on his body like a glove. His shoulders, chest, and even the muscles on his torso were visible through the cloth.

Before you could notice anything a familiar voice caught your attention. At the other end of the table, you see a familiar ratted navy coat. With a far lonelier crowd, your father was squinting at the four cards in his palm.

“All in” he shouted as he pushed all his chips closer to the dark-haired man.

“Dad!” you jumped to him, clasping your hand on his wrist. As you opened your mouth to protest, a deep voice intercepted.

“Sorry, cap.” was all the man said as he displayed his cards. The faces and noise around you felt dull. Muffled voices and blurry vision were all you had as you watched your father’s cards get trumped by a royal flush.

“How much money did you bet, Dad?” The urgency in your voice was a cover for the panic. He had no money. Whatever money he did earn at his sales job was put towards the tavern and prostitutes. Whatever was left was the sum you had earned at the library.

“Sweet pea, I-I messed up,” there was a shake in your father's voice. One that you had never heard before. “It wasn’t money. Gu- I need to get”

You couldn't understand the slurred speech your father spewed.

“Gu? What are you saying, Dad?” you held your father steady near the back entrance of the building.

“Guns” your body jumped at the sound of another voice joining your conversation. You spun around to be faced with familiar eyes. They look much darker at night. The only thing illuminating the scene was a candle hanging beside the door in between you two.

“He didn’t bet money. Your father owes me guns.”

Your eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

He must be confused with someone else.

In an effort to clear your father's name you turn to him for reassurance, but all you are met with is disappointment.

“Mmm sorry. I sold the guns and I didn’t have anything else to give” Your father's voice fell flat.

“Dad, What are you talking about? Why do you have guns? What are you in?” your hands grasp his arms and shake his drunk body hoping to shake the truth out of him.”

“Your father works for my business. And he fucked up and sold my guns for bitch money.” the man said. His head tilted to the right, allowing for his face to be seen. The first thing you saw was a scar that ran through the right corner of his mouth. He was taller than you assumed he was. As he inched towards you his size grew.

“What do you want?” your voice dripped in fear.

“Well, your father here, he bet me something to act as a placeholder, till I get my guns.” he fished in his pockets as he spoke those chilling words. He retrieved a small syringe from his pocket.

Your worried eyes turned to your father but before you could protest, rough hands brushed your lips, pressing your mouth shut. You felt your skin break as a cool needle was stuck in your neck. Tears welled up in your eyes as your fear was confirmed.

You felt your own body turning into mush, your muscles stopped protesting the man's actions and started to skin into him. Your back hit his chest and your head rolled onto his shoulder. With what little power you had you flailed your limbs, but all of your efforts were met with failure.

You couldn't hear anymore, couldn't distinguish voices. Couldn't yell and scream at your father for pimping you like a whore to a beast. You didn't know whose voice it was but you were hoping their word was true, as those were the last words that you heard before you blacked out.

“I'll take care of you, I promise.”

[ jjk gen taglist: @meepmoop12w @thepsychicartist ]

[jjoongstar]

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏'𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒗

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

this can also be read as a stand alone! (prefer read the other parts too to feel more of the grief)

pairing: king!hongjoong x queen!reader (royalty au)

wc: 2.9k

genre: fluff, angst (like super angst)

a/n: i kinda went overboard with the wc, but please take note that this is the QUEEN'S POV. i don't want you guys to misunderstood the story, ok then, enjoy! sorry in advanced if there are any errors in it. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated <3

"do you want to be queen, y/n?"

"what?! you want me to marry your father?"

"NO!! Its not that,"

"then what is it, crown prince kim hongjoong?"

"I'm asking you to marry me and be my queen,"

"your proposal sounds like you're asking me out to play in the garden," you raised your eyebrow at him amusingly.

you both looked at each other and laughed whole heartedly under the shade provided by an oak tree on top of a hill.

the two of you have known each other since you were kids. as the daughter of the king's personal assistant, you two spent most of your lives running around playing with each other in the palace. you were always each other's company.

"CROWN PRINCE HONGJOONG!!!" the yelling of the maids and royal guards. looking for the young teenager.

behind the gate walls, you stood there with hongjoong, hand in hand, and your backs closely against the wall. he looks at you and shushed you to be quiet as he started running towards a direction pulling you with him by your entangled hands, forcing you to run with him.

passing through the village, over a small river, and a few trees not enough to be called a forest but enough to hid what was behind it. hongjoong closed your eyes with both of his hands, and carefully guided you. you gasp in amazement when he showed you the view. a wide meadow filled with tall bright golden petaled flowers. sunflowers.

"i know how much you really love sunflowers, so i planted them here myself, hidden and far away from everyone's sight," he said proudly to you. the only person who knew this meadow is just the two of you. you were left speechless, not knowing how to respond to him. it truly warms your heart to one of his love languages. his efforts showed his love for you.

"this shall be our secret place, my love," he pulls you into his embrace and you held him back tightly. feeling each other's heartbeat. he felt so pleasant and comfy.

"my future queen." he added and kisses the crown of your head.

after being officially engaged, hongjoong would always accompany you to all of your dress fittings. he loves the way every piece of clothing fits perfectly on you, and how it made you shine brighter.

"oh my god! you look so majestic in that color!!" he complimented you with doe eyes, adoring your figure.

you did a little twirl showing it off more to him and he squealed at how lovely you looked. it made his heart beats so fast and his face flushed red, he hid his face in his hands, too shy to show you his honest reaction. you can't help but laughed at him and took his hand away and lands a soft kiss on his cheeks. he felt so flustered with your bold reaction and not wanting to lose, he kisses your lips softly. he dragged you onto his lap and you both enjoyed kissing lovingly at each other and giggling in between.

it was the most grand and eventful wedding to ever be held. he was way more excited and thrilled than you were. he wanted the best for you, and he did. inviting guests from all affiliates, everyone in the country, every living being, he wanted the whole world to know that you're officially his. he had royal professional dressmakers custom you the most beautiful piece of wedding attire. gifting you rare and luxurious jewelleries. ordering royal cooks to prepare thousands of your favourite delicacies. he wanted everyone to know that its your signature dish. banners and posters of you two hung all over the country to celebrate.

he hired the most talented musicians to specifically play your favourite tune. fresh flowers decorated the entire palace walls. he ordered well know artistic painters to create the most magnificent portraits of you and so he hung them in his office. he loved you so dearly with all of his heart. though his words were not enough, he expressed them by showing you. tears of heartfelt stream down his face during the ceremony. you are his friend, his lover, his wife, his queen.

the people knowing their rulers were deeply in love with each other, they had hope for a very bright future for their country.

he had the maids prepared his quarters as to fit the two of you. he opposed the tradition of you having your own quarters. he wanted to be close to you at all times. sleeping next to you. waking up with you in his arms. spending night and day with you. share all those intimate times together. you had always have each other.

hongjoong appointed personal maids and servants to always accompany you and take care of your needs when he's not there beside you.

after years of reign, hongjoong was suggested by his royal advisor to have a concubine. it has always been a tradition passed down by generations. but he banished all of his father's concubine after the former king died and closed down the harem. knowing that only you holds his heart, he shall not need other women. but a dark hidden part of him wanted to agree with the advisor.

it took him months trying to figure out the words to you, but no words were needed. his actions spoke louder. he grew distant. he was less affectionate. and his mind wonders around whenever you talk to him. he didn't noticed he had neglected you until you finally spoke up when you knew about his plans during dinner.

"you want to bring back the harem?"

he choked on his food and you couldn't help but laugh at his reaction first then helped him before he suffocates himself to death.

"i understand with our current situation, i shall give you my permission, under one condition," you added.

the man didn't have time to explain it to you. but you were so understandable with the 'current situation'. he wanted, needed a successor. a child. a continuation of his bloodline. he looks at you attentively. his heart felt sorrow that you agreed to this idea.

"let me have my own quarters-"

"i object your request, my queen," he cuts you off. he denied your suggestion to be places further away from him.

"then do you want me to sit and watch in your room while you and your concubines bang and do your things??" a hint of amusement in your tone and a smirk on your face.

realisation hits the man in front of you and he averts his gaze away from you. he had never felt so embarrassed and stupid.

"its called giving privacy, you foolish king," flicking you fingers softly on hongjoong's forehead. he replied nothing but an amusing laugh at your humor. you called out for your head maid.

"prepare the empty quarters, move out all of my belongings from his majesty's quarters to there. it shall be mine from now on." the head maid was beyond shock when you gave her the orders. she kept on asking the reasons and you told her everything. she was one of the closest people you have in this palace.

even after the opening of the harem, and king's night was full of lust with his new concubines. every after intimate night he would head over your quarters, knocking softly on your door, begging you to let him in.

it surprised you at first but day by day it became a normal routine.

"it just doesn't feel the same without you. it felt so wrong," hearing out hongjoong's rants while having him laying down on your chest, his face snuggled in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. you ran down your fingers softly tracing indescribable patterns, comforting him.

but those nights and regime slowly vanish after he spent most of his nights with the same concubine.

during your usual stroll, you stumbled upon a young woman crouching at the bank of the small stream in the palace grounds. you approached her slowly not wanting to startled her but your shadow caught her attention. she stood up and bowed at you respectfully. glancing at her outfit, she must be the one.

"you must be his favourite," you stated and she looked up at you with a confused look.

'she does look adorable, i understand him now.' you thought to yourself.

"its nice meeting you my dear. be careful not to hurt yourself, okay." you smiled, patting her head and left her alone while you continue on your evening stroll.

you stumbled upon the same concubine again from a far on a lovely evening. she noticed your figure and came running down at you with something in her grasp. stopping in front of you, she squealed in excitement and bowed as usual.

"what's gotten you so excited?" you chuckled merrily at her behavior.

"i plucked these out for you, it reminded me of your beauty." she handed out a small bouquet of mix flowers to you and you took them wholeheartedly while your head maid looks at them in disbelieve.

"its so nice of you plucking out flowers in my own garden and gifting them back to me like this."

the woman in front of you gasped in shock. repeatedly muttering apologies. she wasn't informed of your garden. you were furious but it all faded away because they're flowers. and its because it reminded her of yourself.

flowers reminded you of someone too. someone who used to gift you endless fresh flowers everyday. it made you smile to yourself like a fool. you accepted her pleas and pats her head as usual and made your way.

"put these in a vase and place them in his majesty's office." you handed out the flowers to your head maid walking beside you.

your time spent with hongjoong was getting less day by day. some days you didn't even see him in your sight. you've miss him. his laugh. his smile. his voice. his touch. his kiss. his mere presence.

"hongjoong, would you-"

"not now, I'm busy, tell me later." he cuts you off when you stumbled each other at the hallway.

"what?" you mutter in disbelieve.

"I'm sorry, y/n, love, we'll talk tonight." and he left. leaving you with no further explanation.

you felt your knees weaken and you dropped down on the cold floor. all these time, he had never dismissed you. no matter how important the work was, he always puts you first. even during meetings with the ministers, he dismissed them all just to give you all his utmost attention.

tears streaming down your face unknowingly. your hands clawing at your aching heart.

you asked hongjoong for his opinion on your appearance, for you had dolled up a bit for him today. trying to win his heart back.

"you looked gorgeous as always, my queen," he replied as he held your face in the palm of his hands.

"i love you, hongjoong." you spoke and leans in onto his touch. eyes straight into his. a soft smile on his gorgeous face, but his eyes betrayed the words he admitted. there was no spark as it used to. your heart starting to swell in pain.

"i love you too, sweetheart," he replied with still flutters at the nickname he called you. sweetheart.

somehow it suddenly felt wrong. it felt one sided.

the day you needed someone. someone to hear out you rants. someone to hold you close. consoling you with sweet words. someone who understands you. a person? a friend?

your lover, you yearn for him.

making your way to his office asking his assistant for his presence but was denied as it was said he was busy. again. he's busy. turning around in defeat, but you did not take any steps away from the door. your ears perked upwards at the loud laughter emitted from behind the door. loud giggles of a woman. a very familiar woman.

you looked over at the servant and he bowed to you, understanding your feelings, he apologise in the king's behalf.

you gave him a bitter smile and made your way to your awaiting quarters. every step you take, the more you weep in silent.

every morning the king greeted you at breakfast but it doesn't sound sincere anymore.

every afternoon the king spent his time in his office. laughing away with another woman.

every evening the king enjoys his time strolling around the palace hand in hand with that other woman.

and every night the king made love with his woman. his dearest concubine.

your usual evening routine was disturbed and it felt like your world stopped moving when you laid your eyes on the king and his concubine walking side by side towards your direction.

you gasped in shock when you saw the flower in the concubine's hands. a bright golden petaled flower. a sunflower.

"y-you took her to our meadow?" you voice laced with hurt.

you clutched your heart filled with sorrow and ran away as fast as you could without looking back. not bothering the call of your name by the king and your maid. not minding either the tears gushing out of your eyes as you kept on running aimlessly. somewhere in the forest, you sat down leaning back against a random tree and wailed your heart out.

hongjoong looked for you everywhere. your quarters. the meadow. the oak tree. the palace grounds. the whole village. before the search order was executed, you made your presence in front of the gate.

all eyes were on you, especially his. your maid slowly approach before you stopped her and everyone else's movements and words with a simple raise of your hand.

"don't."

a simple word you uttered, but your tone holds more power to it. with an numb expression. your eyes bore into the king's eyes in nothing but emptiness. he felt hurt for once. but it wasn't even the slightest near as much as how you felt. he gave you space and dismissed everyone, including your loyal head maid. even the maid was more loyal than your own lover.

you waited for hours in your room, on your bed. waiting for hongjoong. you still had some faith in him and hoped that he would come knocking on your door. a part of you still wants him. then there it was, a knock.

"hongjoong!?" you sat up abruptly, eyes gleaming at the door in hope, but it died down in an instant when you saw the person.

"sorry I'm not the person you hoped for, your majesty," your maid.

"the sun has already risen." she added. you looked over the window. she's right. how could you not notice the light? maybe its because the light in you died.

you never expected to find the other woman in the throne room. your throne room.

"what's a whore lurking around in my throne room," you looked at her with arms crossed over your chest.

"sorry to disappoint you, but your king isn't here," you added with a sneer and you kept on insulting and hurting her feelings with nothing but the truth of her service to the king. it was until you were interrupted by the king's voice himself.

"Y/N!! i have never heard you speak with such obnoxious words. mind your language," you responded him with a simple scoff. rolling your eyes at him.

"you are to never speak ill of her ever again," he added while wrapping his arms around the woman's waist as she clings herself onto your man.

"you're joking..." you utter in disbelieve.

"my queen-"

"no, to make things clear. i am the queen of this country, the ruler of my people, and most of all, i am no longer the queen of your heart."

"don't say that, my love. you know how much i love you," his nickname of you still made your heart skip a beat. but his body was still attached to the other woman.

"your actions speaks louder than your words, your majesty."

his felt pain in his heart. for once you addressed him by his tittle. you had never done that. you said it would made you feel so distant from him. you both dropped all formalities between you two. never was a day was those nonsense tittles was used in your conversations, until today.

and the days after.

to my beloved,

the man who stood tall and proud,

the man who ruled my heart.

never have i regretted spending most of my life with you,

growing up with you,

enjoying my childhood with you,

going through my teenage years with you,

living my life with you by my side.

the oak tree that witnessed our bond,

the same tree you confessed your love to me,

the same tree that heard my pleas of missing you,

the same tree that witnessed your betrayal.

for the sunflower meadows we grew up with,

running chasing each other till our hearts content,

for we always awaited every year for them to bloom,

and every season they enjoyed our laughter,

until you had her,

leaving me to wither away.

your mere presence next to me,

you're so close yet so far,

my heart still yearns for you,

but does your heart yearns for me too?

your kisses felt nothing,

your embrace felt numb,

you've lost your spark,

what have i done?

what have you done to me.

you may have deceived my heart,

and i pray for you to not taint hers,

as you did with mine.

my king,

my husband,

my lover,

my friend,

whoever you are,

whoever you'll be,

I will endlessly love you till my last breath.

from yours beloved,

once ruler of your heart.

dividers

taglist: @seonghw4ffles @hwasong @julianatadesmaiada24 @engentiny @cloudy-lilly

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

part 2 to ethan x camgirl reader where he orders another one on one and then they decide to meet up 🙊

I've been hesitating whether or not to make a part 2 for 'pretty boy'...here it is!!

Warnings: smut, masturbating, dirty talk,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

A few weeks later, after a difficult exam, Ethan decided to reward himself by buying another private session with his favorite camgirl. He had been forced to re-watching your regular videos lately, having missed most of your lives due to exams coming up. Now, his cock was half-hard, heavy and aching to be touched, and he could feel a slight twitch as he allowed his thoughts to wander to seeing you live — and having you all to himself — in less than ten minutes. 

The black screen turned on and Ethan jumped when you said his name.

‘’Hi! Ethan, right?’’ It was rare you remembered customers, but Ethan’s sweet face and doe eyes were etched in your memory. Along with the big cock he was hiding in his pants.

Ethan nodded, surprised you remembered him. ‘’Yes.’’ 

‘’Where have you been? I haven't seen your name pop up in my recent lives…’’ you asked with a slight pout.

‘’Yeah…sorry. I’ve been busy with school. College is though.’’ 

‘’Me too, honestly. Balancing weekly live sessions with college has been quite challenging,’’ you admitted, forgetting for a short moment that you were talking with a paying customer and not a friend. 

‘’Can’t you take a small break? School is important.’’ Ethan didn’t want to sound like a parent, he was just concerned about your well-being. It was sweet that he cared. 

You sighed. ‘’I wish. Unfortunately, I can't afford that luxury. Those lives are what pays my bills.’’ 

As the conversation continued, you reminded yourself to keep track of time. After Ethan, three more people purchased private sessions.

‘’Enough about me. What do you want tonight, Ethan?’’ You gave him a flirty smile, your chest bouncing as you readjust your bra to show off more cleavage. It was royal blue with cut-outs that showed a lot of skin under the breasts. All that was covered was a thin lace over the nipples and over the swell of the breasts. 

Ethan felt himself twitch at the sight, so fucking hard. He’d love you in sweats and a sports bra, but seeing you like this had him so hard he was convinced his pants were going to burst. He didn’t dare looking lower, embarrassed he’ll moan when he’ll see the matching panties. 

‘’Anything. I just…missed you. I’ve been jerking off to your old videos for weeks,’’ he admitted with a slight flush to his cheeks. He didn’t want to sound like he was one of those creepy guys who obsess over someone, he just really enjoyed watching you. 

You were flattered by his dedication and decided to reward him. ‘’What about I do something special for my special boy?’’ 

‘’S-special boy?’’

You hummed. 

In a way, he was your special boy. Among all of your past clients, you had come across some really hot customers, but no one ever stuck to your mind like Ethan had. He was sweet, handsome and didn’t reduce you to a material to jerk off to. He saw you as a person. 

Before him, no one had ever made you want to teleport through a screen. Most of the time, you were looking forward to the end of the private session. 

Ethan watched as you reached behind you, grabbing something. ‘’Do you like this one?’’ you asked, holding your newest dildo. ‘’I haven’t used it in a video yet, so this is an exclusive premiere.’’ 

He eyed the phallic object. It was one of those you can stick to a surface and fuck yourself on it. 

Ethan ran a hand through his hair and reached down to palm himself through his jeans to relieve the pain he began to feel with his other. He was excited to see it all inside of you, to see you fuck yourself on it and cum all over it. A rush of warmth went through his body and he held back a moan at the thought.  You had such a huge effect on him.

You set the dildo on the side. ‘’But first, let’s get you going.’’ You refolded your legs in a way that gave Ethan the perfect view of your panty-covered slit, eliciting an immediate whimper. The sheer fabric didn’t leave anything to the imagination. ‘’Are you going to let me see you? From what I remember, you’ve got a nice big cock, don’t you baby?’’ 

Clumsily, Ethan removed his polo shirt, showing off his toned biceps and chest, then he unbuttoned his jeans, shoved them to his knees, and shifted his boxers just enough to free his leaking cock as he watched you shift on your bed. You were so impatient to see it again, to watch him cum again.

‘’Mmh, so big and pretty,’’ you complimented, wishing you could wrap your fingers around it and stroke him — kiss it. 

Shaking off those thoughts, you trailed your hand down your body, and shyly, you slid your hand over your mound through the panties, teasing yourself as you held eye-contact with the camera. Ethan couldn’t hold in the groan he let out at the sight of the sheer blue fabric clinging to your lips. You were  already pretty wet, which is kind of weird since, most of the time, shows like these felt more like a chore than getting off. 

On the screen before you, Ethan’s hand was lazily gripping the base of his cock as he watched you tease yourself. He should feel shy since he was the only one fully naked, but you looked so hot in that royal blue set that he almost didn’t want you to take it off. You let out a soft moan and pressed harder into your fingers for more pressure.

You pushed your panties to the side and brought your hand to your soaking folds, coating your fingers in your own arousal. ‘’I wish it was your hand touching me,’’ you slipped, closing your eyes and imagining Ethan’s fingers on you.

His breath caught in his throat and his hand gripped his shaft just a little tighter. ‘’Me too.’’

You continued without realizing, lost in your own bubble of pleasure. ‘’I want to take your big cock all in my mouth and choke on it until you cum down my throat.’’ 

Your words had Ethan moaning, creating images in his head. He ached to tangle his fingers in your hair and drag his cock over that pretty pout of yours, smear pre-cum onto your lips before  showing his cock down your throat. You would look so pretty like that.

‘’I wan— I want you to split me open and fuck me so hard I can't remember my own name.’’

Ethan moaned again, so turned on he could cry. ‘’Yes, please.’’

The idea of him filling your pretty pussy, looking utterly fucked with those pouty lips and pretty eyes had Ethan palming his cock just a little rougher. God, he wanted nothing more than to have you — for real.

You shouldn’t be making exceptions and prolonging your private sessions, but you didn’t want to stop talking with Ethan. You wanted to keep talking to him for hours and hours. 

He sat there, in his desk chair, chest sweaty and breathing heavily as he recovered from his orgasm, thick ropes of cum still all over his chest. He should wipe himself before it dried, but his gaze was locked with yours, a soft, dazed smile on both your lips. 

You didn't look any better, sitting in your soaked sheets with your slick-covered dildo abandoned on the bed. 

After a moment of staring at each other, something you never expected to happen happened: you asked for Ethan’s number. It was a line you had promised yourself to never cross when making this account, but you didn’t want to risk not seeing him again.

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog  @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn  @bt.oliana  @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys @die4niyahhh  @sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore  @Meadzy21 @luci1fer @nomorespahgetti  @bloodyhw  @depthsofdespairr  @bellysbeach

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3  @Heartsforneteyamsully  @aerangi  @hallecarey1  @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup

[mm-lurking]

Can i request a part 2 or continuation of the bringing up their dead exes in an argument🧙‍♀️

Specifically aventurine’s part yum, imagine he continues the bargain and reader ends up like his ex and reader was right,THE ANGST I CAN FEEL RADIATING IS GIVING IRON TO MY ANEMIC BLOOD 🧚‍♀️✨

Ofc though always take your time :3

(This is the continuation of my first ask, which you can read here)

Oh my my, you really like angst don’t you? You’re like me fr. Thank you for your patience, I was preparing for my thesis presentation. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Aventurine x fem! reader, reader dies, torture, angst angst and angst

WC: 3268 --- You apologised. The first thing you did when your emotions calmed down and you thought things through was to go apologise. You stood in front of his room, nervously fidgeting with your hands and wondering if he would be ok with seeing you. Would he get upset at you again? Threaten to shoot you? Would he hurt you?

Soft knocks resound on his door as you wait for him to answer. After a few more rounds of knocking and no answer, you grow increasingly worried and twist the door handle only to see Aventurine’s tear-stained face as he slumps on the sofa asleep. The tiny frown on his face and his gun lying on the floor tells you all you needed to know: you hurt him deeply and your words broke him.

With tears in your eyes, you quietly tiptoe over to him and cautiously sit next to his figure, carefully wiping the remaining tears from his face. His forehead is cool to the touch as you brush his hair away from his eyes, soothingly running fingers in his hair and watching over him. Him crying like this was your fault and you hated how you said such hurtful things without thinking twice. Unknowingly, the tears in your eyes plop onto his forearm from the surge of sadness you feel which prompts him to stir awake.

“Hm…?”

His sleepy voice rings in the room and you panic as you try to blink your tears away. He looks confusedly at you for a split second which makes your panic even worse and so you quickly get up from the sofa, thinking he wouldn’t want you around, only to be yanked back.

“Where are you going?”

He asks quietly as his arms wrap around your waist and he looks into your eyes. The redness of his puffy eyes and the dark under-eye bags make you burst into tears and bawl on his shoulder.

“Aventurine I am so sorry for hurting you like that I shouldn’t have said such cruel things I am so sorry for the things I said I-”

He inhales sharply as he hears you apologise; taken aback by your breakdown and the pain in your voice. Tears well up in his eyes too and he hugs you tighter. You both stay like that for a good amount of time, letting the tears flow unapologetically as the proximity between you both eases the pains of your hearts. After a while, when he sees you have calmed down, he gently pries you off his shoulder and cups your face.

“I should have confirmed with you before I did anything.”

You shake your head and caress his face sadly.

“No, I should have been more patient with you. I shouldn’t have brought up Lilac Iike that-”

“The matter has passed. Let us speak of it no more.”

You immediately hug him, wrapping your arms around his waist and squeezing him. He reciprocates and smiles as he rests his head on your shoulder.

“I will never allow you to get hurt, I promise you. You are my good luck, my royal flush.”

Hearing him say that makes you giggle and you kiss his cheek.

“And I promise I will do my best in this deal. What is your plan?”

You both spend the rest of the day discussing the deal and coming up with different strategies to handle the enemy territory. He was right, you always made it out alive even with the wildest risks and your life at stake. Why would it be any different this time? The Gaiaithra triclops always looked out for him…right? – “Aventurine…”

The cold metal shackles on your body hurt. Every limb is cuffed and chained tightly to prevent your escape. Despite the painful aching that sets in your body, you call out for Aventurine whose face appears on the phone screen in front of you. In contrast to the cold dark dimly lit room, his face is bright, like an angel that has come to your aid. The salty tears that flow from your eyes sting the fresh slashes on your cheeks adding to your agony. You struggle in your sleep-deprived state to keep your eyes open and see him clearly. Your throat burns and you don't remember the last time you drank water.

“Hello sweetheart- W-what happened to you?!”

You hear the horror in his voice as he stares at you, trying to make sense of your horrible state. Seeing his face brings you a strange amount of comfort and you try to smile but fail. There is so much you want to say but no words leave your mouth as you gasp for air.

“My lucky charm?”

You sob harder upon hearing his term of endearment for you. Your heart aches so badly and you want to run far away from this place into his arms but alas, you are chained and doomed to be imprisoned here.

“Your lucky charm isn’t so lucky is she? She won’t be able to answer you anytime soon, Aventurine from the strategic investment department of the IPC.”

The man who is holding your phone in front of you speaks with a cold monotonous voice. There is an evil grin on his face and you know he has no remorse for you based on the way he glares at you. Aventurine cannot see the man which further agitates him.

“Coward. It is impolite to talk to someone without showing your face to them, don’t you think?”

“It is more impolite to infiltrate our territory on the premises of mutual respect.”

Another man who is responsible for keeping you restrained pulls onto your chains and you shriek in pain at how your body is practically dragged across the floor. Like a plastic bag that is sucked into the currents of the wind.

“Urgh!”

You wince at the impact as your limbs scrape against the cold metal floor like cheese on a grater. When the man finally stops dragging you, he harshly tugs on the chain around your neck which makes you choke in pain.

“You! How dare you touch her, you bastard!”

Aventurine’s yelling rings in the room. You cannot see his face anymore as you’ve been pulled to the other side of the room but you can see your bright phone screen and your gaze remains fixated on it, as if your lover would step out of the phone and come save you.

“Don’t worry, we won’t touch her. We do not need to do so. Take a good look around this room.”

The man stands up and shows Aventurine around the room as if they were two old friends on a video call. He continues to grin as he points to various things in the room.

“Notice how we aren’t in the headquarters where you left your girl?”

“I do not have time for your games. What have you done to her?!”

The man completely ignores the question and continues to ramble despite the anger and frustration on Aventurine’s face.

“See that giant crate over there? And there? Those are our newly made explosives. Guess who is the lucky subject we are testing it out on?”

His laugh echoes in the room and your heart drops. You frantically look around and realise there are four of those crates in each corner of the room. And it just so happens one of those crates is right above your head. Panic sets in and you struggle against your chains which makes the man holding your chains tug on it harshly. You inhale sharply at the action and choke.

“Do you have any idea what will happen to you if the IPC finds you?”

Aventurine warningly questions, to which the man just laughs.

“We are ten steps ahead of the IPC. You can try, but you will never find us.”

Then he looks at you and chuckles.

“Or well, more precisely, even if you find us, you will never find your girl.”

His eyes narrow as he watches you shift uncomfortably in your chains. Then he flips the phone around to show Aventurine your dreadful state.

“After this phone call, she will simply cease to exist, Aventurine. You should have thought carefully before playing the Herald like this.”

“You son of a-”

Click.

The phone call ends and the two men in the room look at you. Neither says a word as the expression on their faces is enough: this was the end. your end. Your phone buzzes continuously in the man's hands and he scoffs at the caller ID before throwing the device towards you. Like a maniac, you attempt to catch the phone but unfortunately, your hands are tied which makes the device land on the floor shattering the screen. You try to drag the phone closer using your face, sobbing heavily as you see Aventurine’s name on the screen.

The men howl at your helplessness and proceed to walk away from the room, making sure your chains are tied to the wall first before doing so. The door closes with a loud bang and silence falls, making you shake in fear. You look at your constantly buzzing phone and attempt to accept the video call, struggling to unlock the phone in your tied-up state.

In what feels like forever you finally manage to accept the video call, huffing and withering in pain from your constant attempts. Aventurine’s face pops on the screen and your last few remaining tears drip on your phone.

“A-aven-”

Nothing but harsh chokes come out of your mouth as you try to call for him.

“I am on my way my love, hang on!”

You sob quietly as you watch him get on the aircraft, throwing around orders to his subordinates while simultaneously keeping an eye on you.

“I will find you. I will save you. Stay with me.”

A small smile creeps on your face as he speaks with conviction and you nod your head as if accepting what he was saying. However, a part of you knows that this is the end, that this is where you must part. As if to confirm your cruel destiny, the timers on all four explosive crates start to go off one by one, filling the room with an ominous sound. With wide eyes, you look around the room and then back at Aventurine.

“My love?”

You aggressively shake your head and gasp for air from the lack of oxygen in the room. The timers on the crates only get more jarring and cold sweat drips down the side of your face. With the last remaining energy you have left in you, you look up at the crater that’s hanging right above your head.

60 seconds.

A harsh choke leaves your throat and you try to show Aventurine the timer. When his gaze lands on it, he freezes.

“No, no!”

You hear him yelling more orders to everyone, asking the officers to locate you faster, asking the pilot to increase his speed but you know it’s not going to suffice.

35 seconds.

“A-aven…! A-Aven…turine…!”

You desperately try to get his attention in your final moments.

“Yes, yes my love?!”

He is completely facing you now as he replies to you. The deep frown and his heavy breathing tells you all you need to know; he is worried sick for you. You take this opportunity to mentally trace his features and take him in for one last time.

14 seconds.

“I…love…you…”

You choke out with all the power you have left in you. The timer gets increasingly louder as if signalling your demise.

“Stay with me! I’m almost there!”

7 seconds.

“I…love…you…Aven…”

The last of his name is lost in the constant beeping of the crates before it all explodes one by one like fireworks. You remember staring at his face lovingly as the last tear in your eye rolls down your face and the explosion hits you. Every inch of your body burns before silence falls and eternity sets in. — He’s been clenching his fist since the moment he picked up the phone call. The amount of outrage, anger and pain in his body is unexplainable. There is nothing more he wishes to do than to beat those men into pulp and carry you back home in his arms, safe and sound.

He has no idea how things turn out like this. Every single detail of this plan was meticulously calculated and designed to ensure nothing would happen to you. You both had gone over all the possible outcomes and devised escape plans but this, what he was seeing on the screen, was not one of them.

His head is pounding as he thinks of Lilac. He thinks of how she had gone through something very similar and how he was a split second late to save her. The fear that sets into his body is one he cannot explain as he feels his throat close up and his heart rate spike. No, no. He wasn’t going to relive that situation again. He wasn’t going to let you leave him too.

Everything is a blur as he rushes to board his aircraft and issues orders to his team. He tightly grips his phone as he keeps watching you, making sure you’re alive. Inova-XI wasn’t very far from the IPC, surely he would make it in a minimum of 10 minutes? And with the amount of brainpower his team had, he was certain he could locate you on his way there and save you.

All or nothing right? All or nothing. He had to give it his all if he wanted you back. His lucky charm. His goodluck. His royal flush. His future and forever. He was the blessed child, Kakavesha of the gaiaithra triclops. Nothing would happen to him. He wouldn’t lose anymore bets.

But all that hope goes out the window the moment he sees the countdown you struggle to show him.

60 seconds.

His heart drops. He looks at the tablet in front of him and he feels his blood go cold. 5 minutes left until the destination. 300 seconds to land on the planet. Not even save you.

“No, no!”

He screams. He yells more orders to everyone, asking the officers to locate you faster, asking the pilot to increase his speed, to just do something to get to you faster.

But deep down he knows it’s not going to suffice. He hyperventilates as he looks at you, who's struggling to call out his name. 

“Yes, yes my love?!”

He answers you rapidly, afraid that even a second away from his phone would make you disappear into thin air. He cannot bear to see your condition as it reminds him of his own days as a slave, chained and tortured to be a puppet at play. Yet he continues staring at you, watching your face over and over knowing this would be the last time he sees you.

I…love…you…”

He swears if it weren’t for his duties he would burst out crying at your declaration. How he wishes he was hearing those words in a better circumstance, where you were safe and by his side, giggling and hugging him. As if things couldn’t get worse, he hears the timer get increasingly louder as if signalling your demise.

“Stay with me! I’m almost there!”

There is nothing else he can say except that. He looks at his tablet and clenches his teeth, fighting back angry tears as he looks outside the window. The planet is visible in his eyes but still so far away. He then looks back at you, eyes swirling with intense emotions of pure regret and pessimism.

“I…love…you…Aven…”

That’s the last thing he hears from you as the explosions go off and he loses signal.

“NO. NO NO NO!!!”

His subordinates jump at the sight of him yelling. Never ever had anyone seen Aventurine in such a frenzy, yelling and punching the armrest over and over.

“No, she has to be alive-! No she has to-“

He breaks down completely, tugging on his hair and staring off into the distance with wide eyes, a look so distraught that his team is growing increasingly concerned.

He can’t breathe. There is not a single atom of oxygen that passes through his lungs and into his blood. His throat is on fire as it completely closes up, restricting him from any taste of air. The aggressive throbbing of his head makes him stumble and he gasps for air, very much like you had been, while clawing his nails into his chair.

He doesn’t remember how he manages to stay alive for the next few minutes. He remembers screaming more orders and then falling to his knees on the floor. It is only when the aircraft halts and his assistant quickly helps him up does he recover to some extent. — His legs feel heavy as he walks towards your room of imprisonment. Or well, what it was. There is nothing left on the land except a massive hole in the ground implying that there was a structure there. Even in the severity of the explosion, he spots some chains left on the ground and upon getting closer-

“L-lucky charm..?”

-he sees a dead body slump on the floor, lying in a cradle position. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that’s you.

He falls to the floor as his legs give out from the realisation. Like a child, he crawls towards you, sobbing and heaving as he gets closer. He doesn’t care how undignified he looks, how his lavish bright attire is now covered in ashes and dust, how his hands sting from the stones puncturing his palms…he drags himself towards you with every fibre of his being.

“Sweetheart…my lucky charm…”

He calls for you over and over as he gently takes hold of your body, crying aggressively to the point his tears disfigure your already damaged body in his vision. The explosion has blown off a decent amount of your limbs, and the only thing that’s passably recognisable is your face. He is completely shaken by how you look, unable to believe this is what has happened to you.

He stays there in the ashes and dust with you, letting the smoke of the explosion completely suffocate him while he caresses your face. The anger that brims in his heart is subdued by the sheer amount of grief he feels. There is nothing left for him to do or say yet he mumbles your name continuously as if it is the very reason he can breathe.

“What will I do without you my love? Who will be my lucky charm now?”

He hangs his head as he continues to cry heavily, completely admitting defeat. His subordinates watch from a distance, turning their faces away at one point as they are unable to bear seeing this leader like this. No one disturbs him and no one has the heart to either, for their leader lost the very beat of his heart.

“Gaiathra triclops…you promised to protect me, then why, why couldn’t you protect my love?! Have you destined me to have a life of loneliness as I watch everyone I love die?!?”

His agony is lost to the winds. When Lilac died, he vowed to never gamble with his partner again. And now with you, with you gone, he vowed to never love again. In the gamble of life, he would always lose his love. Life was a grand gamble and when it came to being loved, he was the destined loser. ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.

[lacedinweb22]

Vampire Next Door ⋆⟡⋆ Miguel O'Hara x reader Chapter 1: New Girl *✩

Your neighbor is strange, to say the least. Miguel O’Hara: Alchemax’s newest scientist, genius, most sought-after bachelor … and according to your wildest suspicions … a vampire?

☆‧͙⁺˚*･

One ... more ... box.

You carry the fifty pound box up the stairs, panting and motivating yourself under your breath. New apartment building, new area, unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar ... smells, but fresh start. You needed this. After your nightmare roommate from last school year, you need peace, quiet, solitude. Your sanity depends on it. Your own little world, free from shitty people, broken promises, betrayal, all of the hell that was last year.

One more set of stairs to go.

You hear footsteps from the stairwell below you, coming closer. You're sweaty, in sweatpants, and not at all ready to make a lasting first impression on your new neighbors. But they're getting closer.

"New girl,"

You turn around, to look up at the tall, handsome– Miguel O'Hara?

But you pretend you didn't know of his existence until now.

"That's me, and you are?" you breathe out.

"Miguel," he says, analyzing you and your box.

In a way, you're grateful you're meeting him now since being out of breath, a flushed face and sweaty shirt can all be attributed to this workout rather than how he makes you feel.

"Please, let me," he offers, holding his muscular arms out. You stop on one step, and turn to look at him, he's one step below you, but still much taller, looking down at you.

He's muscular, and so are you (you’re ¼ his build), but you're also exhausted, so you allow it.

"Thanks," you mutter, offering a weak smile, fixing your hair after he so effortlessly lifted the box out of your arms.

You observe him. He looks different than he did two years back at Nueva York University: bigger, more muscular, more sure of himself, and more threatening? He was intimidating before, intimidating as in hot genius geneticist, but now he's intimidating hot shot Miguel O'Hara.

"You live on the fifth floor?" he asks, stopping at the landing.

"Yeah, and I'm guessing you do too?"

"Yeah, I do. What number are you?"

"501," you nod, smiling. You follow him down the hall.

He walks in front of you, nodding.

"I'm 502," he says, turning back to look at you, reading your face, before stopping in front of your place.

He smiles, his eyes on yours. You melt the way you did back then. Yep, he's still got it. You notice his eyes are different, the same beautiful brown, but with a new maroon tint to them. Almost inhuman. But the way he smiles, that's familiar. You get butterflies in your stomach, and feel everything all over again.

You knew him before Alchemax. You knew him when he was a less famous, all the same genius amongst NYU intellectuals. You remember admiring him from a distance. You sat outside of the library with Ash, and snuck glances at him over her shoulder, watching as he walked to class. You loved the way his dark brown wavy hair cascaded onto his face, the way he poked his glasses up, the way he rushed to class all while holding his school books, his motorcycle helmet, and pulling his lab coat over his compression shirt.

The autumn leaves fell gracefully all around him, like a scene straight out of a movie. He was picturesque, a piece of art, your hallway crush, unaware of your existence

and now right in front of you

... and he's your neighbor.

Ch. 2 here 😼

my lovely taglist: @wingedturtledream @skaochii @bat-yo-us @lostpirate79 @renn-pumkin-head @princessa-micomicona @waiif-uwu @punpuun @thbidkbutok @acehyacinth @thetoetickler @kaqua @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @inafantasyworld10 @d1lf-loverrr @altheadq @thesilenthill @trash-king18 @imnotyourbcbe @tiffanypooh @ihateuguys @littlemissilovecoconuts @royal-jester @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @tbh2idk @gilliantate23 @envyjmoney @qiaipia @ur-fav-ginger @lacook246 @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @blair6th @missing2socks @thel0velykey190 @ladymoztaza @ta3bae @dhollandhs

[onedumbho3]

ATEEZ RECS

Guide: Not Titled (N/T)

Other rec list: SVT Rec list

Headcanons/Reactions

First Kiss With Ateez by @beenbaanbuun

ateez — ot8（ fingering ）|| nsfw, mdni. by @doomdudoom

Ateez Reaction: you cant fall asleep (MATZ. ver) by @lilhwahwa

Ateez as royals who fall for you  (Maknae line) (Hyung line) by @eightmakesonebraincell

Who in Ateez is the Most Gentle in Bed by @yeopans

Arrganed Marriage with Prince Ateez by @nateezfics

Ot8/Poly units

Pretty Flushed Pt.1 & Pt.2 by @holybibly

Wider by @seventhcallisto

(N/T) by @ja3hwa

Drabble #1 by @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

Like a Dream by @cheollipop

Outlaw by @staytinyville

Circus by @lani-heart

Impurities by @seventhcallisto

Hongjoong

hongjooong smut audio || giving hongjoong a hand job in the studio @myloveforyunho

Forbidden Fruit by @nateezfics

Seonghwa

ateez seonghwa - nsfw audio !!! (without music) @hwasdollie

The Way to His Heart by @edenesth

Tattoo by @mingigoo

The Trouble With Roomate by @anyamaris

"Shes a Regular Here..." & Pt.2 by @that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict

(N/T) by @thetypingpup

Yunho

Right Here by @hyukaslvr

All You Can Eat by @binniesbang

Opposites Attract by @tainsan

Nothing Sweeter by @i-luvsang

Your Hand by @smileysuh

Yeosang

yeosang smut audio || yeosang getting a handjob from you after edging @myloveforyunho

Ripple by @anyamaris

'Best Freinds Sister' & PT.2 by @yo-honolulu-lets-get-it

The Royal Librarian by @edenesth

Quiet by @nebulousbrainsoup

Yeosang as your boyfriend by @mybelovedwoo

N/T by @beenbaanbuun

San

(N/T) by @k-hotchoisan

(N/T) by @sanspuppet

At Your Mercy  by @hwallazia

Mingi

Assert Your Dominance by @everyonewooeverywhere

Princess Pt.2  by @choisanboobenthusiast

Slowly, I’m going down by @yutasbellybuttonpiercing

Steamroller by @fallinforgyu

Mind over Matter by @mingisaddctn

Wooyoung

Drabble #3 by @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

Wooyoung Smut Blurb by @myloveforyunho

Deja Vu: “I want you so bad” by @teeskz

Freaks on a Friday by @thisthatpinkvenom

Jongho

N/T by @myloveforyunho

Comatose Pt.1 Pt.2  by @yourfatherlucifer

Almost Natural by @k-hotchoisan