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ak319 · 8 months ago

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Yan Regent Consort x fem reader

Headcanon

(Warnings: This story contains matriarchal themes, fem dom such as mpreg, fem dominated world, role reversal, and BXG pairing! Yes, it's a boy x girl, so don't interact if you are not comfortable!!)

Xu Junlai was a boy who held different roles in the eyes of others, son to some, friend to some, an object of admiration or envy to others. He was born into a family of five sons and two daughters. His mother, Xu Huang, served as a minister in the court, while his father, Xu... well, he wasn’t married into the Xu family, he was merely a concubine of Junlai’s mother. Because of this, Junlai never received familial love, not from his step-siblings and not even from his mother, who was always either too busy or uninterested in family matters. Her absence from his life gave his brothers free rein to treat him as they pleased.

His oldest sibling was his sister, Xu Tai, whom everyone feared. She didn’t particularly dote on him, but she maintained order in the household whenever she returned from her training and service in the army. Xu Tai had high ambitions for the country, aspiring one day to become a commander or much better a General. His other sister, Xu Ai, was studying to be a scholar; she was a year older than Junlai, who himself was the second youngest in the family.

Junlai had long learned that if he didn’t stand up for himself and speak for himself, he would live a life of misery and eventually die alone, perhaps with no one to mourn his passing. So, he did speak for himself when necessary. A hard life had forced him into this role. It wasn’t as if anyone liked him before, or that he had earned any respect, so what was there to lose?

He had passions that he quietly pursued, calligraphy, reading books, sneakily borrowing them from Tai’s library at the estate and, most importantly, dancing. Yet he was made fun of, and ridiculed for his interests.

“Your father was a prostitute, and you doing this seems to scream that you are on the same path. You disgrace,” his stepfather, Xu Fen, sneered. But his words never truly hurt Junlai.

“But your sons are learning such skills too. Are they on the same path?”

“THEY ARE NOT! They are doing that so that when the time arises, they will be presented to the court for the new Empress and her harem. That is where their skills will shine; being a Xu, that is inevitable. You, however…”

“Mother may not have married my father, but she openly acknowledged that I have been granted the name Xu.”

“So? What are you--oh--so you want to enter the court? That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard this week. Part of the reason your presence here is sometimes bearable. Have you seen yourself? There is nothing graceful about you, such venomous features, that blank face, eyes like a devil’s. You are someone any woman would avoid, not bed.” Fen’s cackles echoed in the distance as Junlai stood in the garden, his usual blank expression firmly in place.

The court? But he didn’t desire any of that. That was a life of hell. As if my life is better now... Harem or no harem, at least he could demonstrate his skills and take a jab at his useless brothers. Perhaps that was the most thrilling part of it all. There was absolutely no chance that an Empress or even the Emperor Dowager would allow the son of a prostitute to enter the harem.

So, Junlai practised night after night, in the empty hall that felt both sacred and suffocating. The flickering candles cast shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls, whispering secrets of long-forgotten elegance. The sound of anklets chimed like distant bells, while the rustle of silken fabric filled the air, wrapping around him like a lover’s embrace. In the dim light, his body became a fluid extension of art, each movement imbued with a haunting beauty that could draw anyone into his graceful orbit. And perhaps, just perhaps, the voice that emerged from his lips was powerful enough to ensnare even the coldest of hearts.

But one fateful night, when he miraculously received permission from his mother to join the ceremony, everything changed. Three of his brothers discovered him lost in his usual routine, an ethereal vision in the half-light. As always, he expected their laughter, their scorn, but no... that night, the hall, once a sanctuary, transformed into a chamber of horrors.

Instead of melodies, the air was filled with his screams as they pinned him down, the laughter of his brothers echoing like a dark symphony. They poured scalding water over his feet, the pain searing through him, brutal and unrelenting--just a week before the ceremony.

═════ ◈ ═════

The day of the ceremony arrived, and you, the new Empress, had only been on the throne for a year after successfully defeating your sisters for the throne. However you were overwhelmed by the throng of men entering your court, you sat in silence, your mind already planning the next day's work while subtly noting the movements and behaviours of your court members.

The musical festivities began, likely your father's favorite part, as it allowed him to exert his influence over the affairs of the men. You had little energy to deal with such trivialities, and the classification of men in this way unsettled you. Your mother was deeply involved in it all, and you loathed the thought of it.

"Those are the sons of the Xu family, good-looking, aren't they?" your father remarked, his voice dripping with expectation. Your head snapped to his direction, and for a fleeting moment, you glanced at the display before you.

“Um, yes,” you replied, your tone devoid of enthusiasm.

Your father internally rolled his eyes at your lacklustre response. You might have bedded a few men and have a son with one of the concubines, but it was clear you weren’t taking any of them seriously. 'This idiot daughter of mine, clearly not worried about not having an heir still. By now your mother would have had three-'

"They came for you, so at least enjoy it a bit. If you prefer any changes, the music, the dance-"

"It's fine, Father. It's fine."

You granted your approval to Xu Huang in the end, an honest minister in your eyes, someone even your mother trusted. Her daughter, Tai, was a formidable warrior, perhaps the first to impress you with her skills.

As dinner commenced, no one anticipated the doors to swing open once more. A lone figure stepped into the hall, drawing everyone's attention, including yours. He was slender, his long hair tousled—surprisingly beautiful even in such disarray. Those eyes of his, empty yet hauntingly deep, bore into yours with an intensity that both intrigued and unsettled you.

His walk was seductive yet exuded an aura of defeat and determination. Silence enveloped the hall, a palpable tension as he stood in the centre, commanding attention. That’s when you noticed his feet, bare and crimson. You were certain that if you looked closer, you would see the dark stains of blood marring his skin.

It felt as though the entire court was holding its breath, waiting for you to question him. Just then, you caught the whisper of Xu Huang, “Son…” from her seat a few feet away.

Her son?

"Are you... Xu’s son?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued.

He nodded.

“Um--your Majesty, he was sick, so he couldn't perform earlier, although his name was registered on the list by me…” Xu Huang explained, her voice steady yet tinged with concern. You responded with a curt nod, your mind racing.

“If you are sick, then you shouldn’t be here,” you asserted, a protective instinct rising within you. You were certain the sickness plagued his feet. There was no way you would allow him to dance under such conditions.

“I want to dance,” he replied, his voice challenging and unwavering.

The spark in his tone caught you off guard. What an odd boy...

“Very well. Then do. I would like to see you dance,” you commanded, a blend of intrigue fluttering in your chest

“Your Majes-” Xu Huang began, but your glare silenced her immediately.

“Begin.”

As the sounds of the pipa and hulusi filled the hall, an almost electric hush fell over the audience. Everyone shifted their attention from their meals to the boy dancing, his presence so captivating that even your father, Wang Hua, sat bewildered. A simmering anger brewed within him as he grappled with his own intrigue. Are you seriously interested in him?

Though Hua possessed some knowledge about the boy, witnessing the fluidity and artistry of his dance made those thoughts melt away. Junlai moved as if in a trance, each motion a hauntingly beautiful expression that stirred something deep within you. The performance was mesmerizing, drawing you into a world that felt both ethereal and painfully real.

The only glimmer of envy and fury came from Junlai’s own brother and step-father, their faces twisted in disdain as they seethed at the spectacle before them. Even the blood that dripped from Junlai’s feet onto the glass-like floor seemed to only heighten their ire. They couldn’t maintain your gaze for even a moment, while Junlai seemed to command the room effortlessly, as if reigning over it with merely a flick of his wrist.

As the final echoes of Junlai’s performance faded, your ears, now deprived of the boy’s beautiful voice, were met once again with a profound silence that enveloped the hall.

Junlai stood with his gaze cast down, a picture of humility, while you rose from the podium, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. A ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd, their eyes wide with curiosity about what would unfold next. To your surprise, the boy barely flinched as you stood before him, towering over his slight frame.

“Name?” you inquired, your voice steady.

“Junlai,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And who did this to you...?” You leaned closer, searching his eyes for the truth.

His neutral gaze met yours, and you sensed a flicker of vulnerability beneath his composed exterior.

“People... whom I would rather not talk about on such a glorious day... a day for you, my Majesty.” He lowered himself in a respectful bow, his head tilting downward, yet his posture remained defiantly graceful.

“Is that so...?” you mused, glancing at Naun, your attendant, who stood discreetly behind a pillar to your left. She nodded subtly, understanding the unspoken command in your gaze.

This boy not only is now part of your harem but...your choice for the night.

You were resolute, you would not entertain the other sons of the Xu family. What need had you for them? Junlai’s dance eclipsed all of theirs combined, a testament to his raw talent and spirit. You were not greedy, you simply sought the best. And he was not only the best but also intriguingly peculiar, a captivating boy you were eager to indulge in and explore further.

As you crawled on top of him, Junlai had been cleaned and prepared for your gaze, yet a small part of you missed his disheveled appearance, the wild, untamed beauty that spoke of his struggles. You soothed yourself with the reminder that he would soon return to that captivating state.

“When I asked you about the culprits, you didn’t name them. You don’t want me to punish them?” you murmured, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, relishing the softness of his skin as he leaned into your rough hand.

“But you already have... by choosing me,” he replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and rich. “You are... something, you know. I have never encountered a boy like you... but I always wanted to.”

“I never wanted this... to be in the bed of an empress, in her harem, but here I am…” His words hung in the air, laced with a surprising confidence. Something about you made him bold enough to voice such thoughts. You didn’t seem as cold and cruel as the whispers suggested, those comparisons to your mother fading in the warmth of his gaze.

Your deep chuckle reverberated against his neck, sending shivers coursing through his body. “Oh, how lucky I am then. More fortunate than any empress, for having caught you.” You pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, searching for the flicker of fear, but finding only intrigue. “Being in a harem means being mine, and I take care of what I own.”

“Do you fear me, Junlai?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “You should...."

His heart raced at the challenge in your tone. “I don’t fear you, your Majesty. I only fear what I might become under your rule,” he replied, daring to meet your intense gaze.

“Ah, but isn’t that the thrill of it all?” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing tantalizingly against his ear as you spoke. A gasp left his plump lips as you nibbled on it.

Junlai’s breath quickened as your gaze pierced into him, as if you were seeing not just the boy he was but the depths of his soul. The air thickened with an intoxicating blend of fear and desire. He could feel the heat radiating from your body, enveloping him in a cocoon of both safety and peril.

Your fingers danced down his arm, tracing delicate patterns that ignited his skin, setting his nerves alight. Junlai's breath hitched as he felt the heat of your body press against him, a heady mix of power and vulnerability.

“Do you see how beautifully broken you are?” you continued, your voice low and mesmerizing.

Junlai felt the walls around his heart tremble, caught in the magnetic pull of your words. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the challenge now tinged with uncertainty.

“Everything.” Your lips curled into a wicked smile, a promise of the chaos to come. “I want your loyalty, your obedience, and most importantly, your heart. I will not only keep you in my harem, I will make you my most cherished treasure.”

As you leaned closer again, your lips tantalizingly brushing against his, he could feel the weight of your intentions, his robe being done deftly by your rough fingers. “Now, are you ready to dance for me?” you asked, your eyes glinting with mischief and hunger."

Junlai nodded, a flicker of excitement igniting within him. At that moment, he was no longer just a boy marked by pain, he was a dancer, ready to twirl and leap into the unknown, to be claimed by you.

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai sat in the veranda, gazing out at the distant mountains with a forlorn expression, his slender fingers tapping absently on the polished wooden rail. Though the quarters designated for the favored concubine were lavish, adorned with silks and priceless porcelain, the space felt hollow without you. If only he could give you a daughter, the coveted title of consort would be his. The thought flitted through his mind like an unreachable dream. And yet, as the days stretched into months, it was your absence that gnawed at him, leaving him restless and aching.

God, when would you return from the campaign? Two months had passed, each day heavier than the last. He endured the whispers, and the scorn from the other concubines who mocked him for his damaged feet, but he bore it all without flinching. He knew you valued him for his skill, his grace, the things that went beyond mere perfection. You had appointed the empire's finest healers to tend to him, a silent reassurance that he still held a place in your heart.

Even the Emperor Dowager, shrewd and discerning, seemed to favour him, perhaps because he respected his daughter's choices or was mesmerized by his art. Either way, his endorsement granted him a measure of safety within the harem’s hostile world. And yet, safety was far from his mind. He spent sleepless nights worrying about you, imagining the dangers you might face, each possible harm a dagger in his chest. His own safety meant nothing if you were not there, by his side, safe and triumphant. He danced in the empty hall , every night, all night even. His gaze at the marble wall at the end, imagining you sitting in your throne watching his performance. Every word, every step a testimony for your longing. If anyone else saw him at night , they would be scared for their life.

A boy dancing as if he was possessed.

What had he become? Another lovesick boy, a fool just like his father, infatuated, aching, lost to his devotion. He had once vowed never to become so vulnerable, and yet here he was, the intensity of his love binding him more than duty or obligation ever could. He used to revel in this power, at first motivated by pride, even defiance, to show his brothers that he had won something they could never touch. But now, with every beat of his heart, every drop of his blood, he was wholly, helplessly, irrevocably yours.

Although not long ago, one significant shift rippled through the palace, Xu Tai, the skilled warrior whose loyalty you trusted, was now appointed as General. Junlai took comfort in this news. His sister's allegiance was unwavering, and her impressive abilities spoke for themselves. You chose her for her skill and integrity, qualities Junlai respected, and even admired from afar. He knew that with Tai at the helm, your interests, and your life, were in capable hands.

He hadn’t anticipated finding peace in such a development, yet knowing Tai held this position gave him a strange sense of relief. However when he just received a letter from Tai herself, that sense of relief seemed to diminish.

You had been poisoned by an arrow at the battlefield. Thankfully the physician present did their best to take it out but it was unknown if you would come back alive. The news was also sent to the Emperor and eventually spread over the harem and then the country.

The news struck the palace like a tempest. Word spread first as whispers in dimly lit corridors, then as gasps behind silken fans, until eventually, the rumours became cries of despair from every corner of the empire. The Empress has been poisoned, they said, her life teetering on the edge. The harem held its breath, the concubines offering quiet prayers. Yet amidst them all, Junlai felt as though his entire world had shattered.

Days passed in agonizing limbo, and Junlai clung to any scrap of information he could gather. The air in his chambers grew thick with dread, the whispers of the other concubines like needles against his skin. Would she return? Could she survive this? He tried to still his racing heart, to banish the wretched possibilities that plagued him day and night, but his mind clung stubbornly to images of your pale face, the way you looked as he’d last seen you, strong, assured, untouchable.

But now, you were mortal. Wounded. Vulnerable.

He’d never felt so powerless. Each night he would sit in the garden, his injured feet barely feeling the cold stone beneath them as he gazed at the stars, praying fervently for your safety. Let her come back to me, he whispered into the darkness. Take my health, my strength, take anything you want, but let her live.

The news of the looming threat reached the palace in the dead of night, casting a shadow over an already grief-stricken palace. The Chief Minister summoned her closest advisors including Xu Huang, the walls of the council chamber echoing with grave voices as they strategized. The Wei Dynasty had betrayed them, their forces striking not only on the battlefield but now threatening the heart of the empire, taking advantage of your absence. This insidious plot was spearheaded by the rebel leader Guo Wang, a lecherous woman of ruthless ambition and bloodthirsty intent. Her name alone sent ripples of fear through the court, her reputation for savagery preceding her.

The capital was left vulnerable in a way it hadn’t been for years. With Tai, your most loyal and capable General, at your side on the battlefield, and your position as Empress left temporarily vacant, the capital was guarded only by lesser warriors and the remaining commanders, a force barely sufficient for an ambush of this scale.

Junlai’s despair deepened. He had kept his composure in the wake of your injury, holding fast to the hope that you would return to him. But now the looming threat to the capital turned that sorrow into fear and fury. He knew what would come if Guo Wang breached the palace walls, the carnage that woman would wreak upon all in her path. The court, the innocents of the capital, and, he shuddered, the vulnerable harem.

He understood now what his sister had never fully articulated, the key to victory was not in repeating the old ways, but in disrupting the enemy's expectations. And Guo Wang’s forces? They would be expecting the standard defences. They would expect the palace to hide behind walls, women in armour standing guard at every gate. That was their mistake. Junlai knew better. But being a man and more so a mere consort was something that Junlai couldn't change. Nobody would listen to him. Two weeks left before the Guo reaches them even if Tai had sent for backup to the capital, it would have taken them a bit longer to get here.

No, he would not let this slide. The audacity to kill you , trying to take you AWAY FROM HIM!?. He will fucking lay corpses upon corpses of these disgusting pieces of filth. He will BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!

"I will not rest until I see you fall, Guo Wang..."

═════ ◈ ═════

"Mother, please. Trust me. You have to listen-"

"Your only job is to stay here, in the harem, and bear her children! Leave the military and court decisions to the court and the Empress."

Xu Huang froze, his chest tightening at the cold dismissal. His mother, ever so pragmatic, always intent on keeping him within the narrow boundaries of what was deemed acceptable for someone of his position. But tonight, he couldn’t bear it anymore. The years of suffocating silence, the weight of expectations that had been placed on him, all of it came crashing down in a wave of defiance.

"BUT I AM DOING THIS FOR THE EMPRESS!" His voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving. Xu Huang recoiled as if struck, the shock of his outburst still fresh in the air. But his fury only seemed to fuel him further. "Her Majesty’s court, her harem... I will not let some barbarian come in and tear it all apart. And don’t forget it, Mother!" He took a step forward, his voice thick with venom, his eyes burning with a passion he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. The tears were a mask, barely held together by his pride.

"I WILL protect her, and I WILL protect this dynasty."

He let his words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications. He stood taller now, a dangerous glint in his eye, as he moved closer, letting the venomous truth seep into every syllable. "As for bearing children, oh sure, I will. But I won’t do it for you. I’ll do it for ME. For MY future. I’ll be elevated, not you. You will always remain a slave to the system, while I may one day be a part of the Wang dynasty. And you know what that could mean." His voice dropped to a low, almost mocking tone. "How do you think Tai became the General? If I can place someone on the board, I can just as easily toss them out."

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Xu Huang’s eyes at the mention of Tai, but it was quickly masked. He knew the truth, he had no such influence, but the bluff was enough. It was enough to make his mother tremble. The stoic, unflinching woman who had held him back his entire life now looked unsure, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if seeking something to steady herself.

"What are you proposing?" Her voice, cold as ever, betrayed the slight quiver in her tone. She had heard his words, but was she truly willing to listen?

Junlai smirked, the edge of triumph curling at the corners of his lips. "Now, we are talking."

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai had always been more than just a skilled dancer; his mind was a sharp, calculating instrument that never ceased its relentless pursuit of efficiency and innovation. While the others focused on traditional warfare, the old strategies, sieging, ambushing, and brute force, Junlai saw only limitations. What he needed was an advantage that would catch their enemies off guard, something that no one had considered. The answer, as it often was, lay in nature.

Birds.

The idea came to him one evening while he watched the flock of crows circling above the harem. Their wings cutting through the air with precision, their effortless movement, a pattern of chaos within perfect order. It wasn't just the birds that caught his attention, but the fact that they held the power to burn.

In the markets, there had been whispers of incendiary techniques used by distant lands, fire-starting mechanisms using birds trained to carry torches. The court dismissed this concept as superstition, yet to Junlai, it was a brilliant, unrecognised weapon.

Junlai would need to launch the birds at night when the enemy's defences were at their weakest. The element of surprise would be vital, he knew that as soon as the birds were released, they would need to fly directly to their targets, avoiding the natural predators and the dangers of interception. So he had the women train them, following his instructions.

He took advantage of the dark sky, the birds’ natural night-flying abilities, to send them directly into the heart of Guo Wang’s camp. The wind, as if in cooperation with his plan, would be at their backs, ensuring that the fires would spread faster.

The moment the birds were released, the chaos began.

As the trained crows took flight, their wings slicing through the air like silent messengers of destruction, the fire lit up, first softly, then raging. Guo Wang's forces had no warning, no time to react. They watched in horror as the embers from above ignited their tents, their supplies, and worst of all, their weapons.

The women who had been enlisted as fighters, strong in their defiance but unprepared for such an assault, panicked as the fire spread, consuming their weapons and armour. Their leaders scrambled, but the flames had already done the work. The camp was ablaze, confusion and terror rippling through the ranks. The birds had burned their half camp, crippled their supply chain, and taken away the one thing they held most precious, control.

Thus, it made it easier for the soldiers to attack Guo's forces and easily win. Junlai watched with pride as he saw Guo's head impaled and being paraded around inside the castle's walls. A perfect homecoming gift for you. A gift to prove that he was not just a man in your harem, but someone who would do anything to ensure your reign remained unchallenged. Which made him again fall into a pit of worry for your return.

"Her Majesty has returned!" one of the attendants announced, her voice echoing down the hall.

Junlai stood in the corridor of the harem, his heart pounding in his chest. He had not realized how much he had missed you until the news arrived, that you were finally returning from the battlefield, victorious, but at a terrible cost. The victory meant nothing if it came at the cost of your well-being.

He watched from the shadows with along with other concubines as you entered, your face a bit pale but overall with no less than a sturdy and imperial aura. Your steps echoed in the hall as you greeted your father, your son and for a fleeting moment, met his gaze.

His mind was torn between wanting to rush to you and knowing that you would hate such an open display. So, he waited, watching, every fibre of his being aching to be near you.

And you called him finally, after two painful days.

"I... Your Majesty," Junlai's voice cracked slightly, betraying his calm facade. He couldn't hide the flood of emotions that coursed through him, the concern, the longing, the worry. He took another step closer, his voice low, "You came back... but how long will it take until you're truly well again?"

You always held yourself in such high regard, and the idea of being seen as anything less than the Empress was a bitter pill to swallow.

"I am better," you said, your tone firm, but Junlai could see the exhaustion etched into your features. "The battle was won, and my soldiers did well. That's enough for me."

Junlai stood in front of you now, so close that he could reach out and touch you if he dared. His gaze softened even further, and for a moment, the two of you simply stood there, him staring into your eyes, his heart heavy with the thoughts he didn’t dare speak aloud. Then he was finally graced with your embrace causing him to breakdown.

"Whatever it takes. Just... don’t push yourself too hard. You need rest." He whispered getting his act together.

You gestured for him to sat beside you on the bed. "I heard from Father...about what you did." He gulped, his form of being just...a boy in love under your gaze.

"I... I just... couldn't-- I had to! I did it all in fear of what might... happen..." You raised his chin.

"You didn't do it for love, then?"

"Of course I did! I did it for you only!" He grasped your hand against his cheek, his eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking at every word. "You... have no idea... what... torture it was for me to live after knowing that happened to you... my Queen. It was worse than death itself."

A hint of a smile graced your lips. "I am proud of you. I am... proud of my choice too..." You gazed lovingly at his face and wiped his tears, pulling his frail body to your chest. "Tai told me you... always had an interest in warfare... sneaked in to read her books."

His heart stopped. His sister... knew? All this time... she did? Yet she...

"Um... I--- yes." His whole body shivered when your deep chuckle traveled to every cell in his body.

"I have made a... decision."

His hands fisted your tunic in anticipation. "You will be the Regent consort here when I am away. You will manage the harem, manage the safety of the capital, it's people. Charities and all."

Junlai’s heart skipped a beat. His initial instinct was to deny, to say that it was nothing, that he just did his duty and wanted nothing more than to be a mere slave to your love. But the way you spoke to him with a glint of respect, of something more than just duty, it made him pause.

You saw him. Truly saw him.

He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the trembling in his hands, the heat in his chest. Regent consort. The title echoed in his mind like a promise, like a dream he had never dared to imagine. No man had ever had it...it didn't even exist until now. He would be the first man in history to have that. He will be known by every generation to come..

"But--but I... I don't deserve it," he stammered, the weight of your approval sinking into him. "I am... only a concubine, someone who had no right to such a role. You shouldn't place such responsibility on me."

You leaned closer, your fingers brushing against his cheek in a tender gesture, lifting his gaze with a gentle but firm pressure. "You don’t need to deserve it, Junlai," you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of your conviction. "You have already proven your loyalty, your cunning, and your heart."

You emphasized with a small but significant shift in tone, "You are my mind in the harem. You will ensure that my absence does not shake the foundations of this dynasty. You will stand guard over the people, the capital... everything I’ve worked for."

Junlai’s hands clenched tighter around your tunic as he processed the weight of your words. The enormity of the role, the responsibility, it was almost too much. But the way you spoke, the way you believed in him, gave him a strength he didn’t know he had.

"Are you afraid?" you asked, your voice soft but direct, your eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his knees weak.

He paused, feeling a swirl of emotions churn in his chest. Fear. Desire. Ambition. Hope. They all mixed together until he couldn’t tell where one feeling ended and another began. But he was honest with you, always. "Yes," he said simply. "I am afraid. But if it means standing by your side... I will do whatever it takes."

You smiled at him, a slow, dangerous smile that made his breath catch in his throat. "Good," you said, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

He had never imagined that the harem would become more than just a gilded cage. He had never imagined that he would be the one trusted to hold the reins when you were away. But now, it felt like everything was changing.

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only a quiet confidence that he knew, deep down, was meant for him.

"I won’t let you down," he whispered, his voice steady with determination, even as the weight of his new role settled over him like a mantle. "I will protect everything you’ve built, Empress. And I will make sure that no one dares challenge your rule."

You let out a satisfied sigh, your fingers trailing down the length of his arm as you leaned back, taking in the sight of him, your trusted consort, your mind in the harem.

His eyes softened, and for the first time since the battle, since everything had changed, he felt a flicker of peace settle in his chest. There was no going back now. But for the first time, he didn’t want to. He had you. And that was all that mattered.

Junlai leaned into you then, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath steadying as he let himself savor the moment, the moment where everything shifted, where he was no longer just a boy in your harem but the one who would protect everything you held dear.

Though, he mustn't forget one last thing~~

═════ ◈ ═════

"Ju-nlai?" Xu Fen stammered, his face twisting into an expression of disbelief. The boy, no, the boy, who once knelt before him, who had suffered beneath his cruelty, now stood in front of him as a figure that exuded nothing but cold authority. The sight rattled Fen to his core.

Junlai’s gaze locked onto him, dead and distant, as though he were staring through him. “I came to meet my brothers,” he said, his voice as calm as the still waters of a lake, but carrying the weight of a storm hidden just beneath the surface.

“Oh really? Why is that?” Fen’s words dripped with thinly veiled disdain, though his insides were anything but calm. He took a cautious step backward, uncertain of what Junlai intended. The boy had always been an afterthought, a lesser player in the family’s schemes. But that had changed, and Fen knew it.

Junlai’s eyes flickered over the room, moving like cold knives, and finally settled on the women standing behind him. His gaze was hollow, merciless. “Are you going to bring them out, or...?" His words trailed off, but the implication was clear. He wasn’t asking, he was commanding. His tone had a chilling finality, as though the fate of everyone in that room rested solely in his hands now.

Fen felt the air constrict around him, the tension thickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, unable to hide his discomfort. With a reluctant sigh and a sour expression, he turned on his heel and went to summon the others, though it pained him to do so. He knew it was futile to resist. The man who stood in his mansion now was not the boy he had once controlled but something far more dangerous.

Minutes passed, each one dragging as Fen stood nervously, but when the Xu brothers arrived, they entered with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. They were offended, of course, by Junlai’s sudden appearance, but there was a deeper undercurrent of fear in their eyes

"Same as always..." Junlai murmured to himself, but his smile, if it could even be called that, was something else entirely. It was a sharp, knowing grin, filled with something dangerous. His voice rose, becoming almost melodic in its dark amusement. "Which is going to make it more fun!"

For the first time in the Xu household, the black sheep of the family, Junlai, let out a laugh, but it was no ordinary laugh. It was a hollow, manic laugh that seemed to echo off the walls. The sound was unsettling, almost inhuman, a reminder of the twisted journey that had led him to this moment.

Junlai’s eyes never left them as he spoke again, his voice low and chilling. “You see… I’ve come to remind you what happens when you think you can break me. You’ve burned me before… but now, I’m going to return the favour.”

Fen’s heart skipped a beat. He had always thought he could control Junlai, keep him beneath his bootheel. He had been wrong.

“Now, I think it’s time for you to understand what it feels like.”

It took one subtle gesture from Junlai and the guards moved quickly, and efficiently, grabbing the Xu brothers and laying them down on the floor. Their hands were bound, their legs spread wide, and Junlai’s eyes glinted with a dangerous gleam as he stepped closer, his boots making a soft but deliberate thud with each step. The room seemed to grow colder.

"No--p-please...forgive them...NO! I BEG YOU!" Fen's voice mixed with his son's pleas as well which earned him a slap from Junlai. That was all it took to reduce them to sobs and whimpers.

"Shut your fucking mouth, whore. And watch." He dug his hands into Fen's hair and steadied him beside himself. "Look, how cute they look." He giggled.

The guard poured more water onto the brothers' feet, the boiling liquid now bubbling and splashing as it engulfed their limbs. The screams grew louder, desperate. One of the brothers jerked against his restraints, his body writhing in pain, but there was nowhere to go. Fen could hear their flesh sizzling, the sound of raw skin peeling and blistering under the scalding heat. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He had put them through this once before. Now it was his turn to witness the consequences. God, he always loved fire and its power. In fact, he began to see himself in it. Agile, dangerous, unyielding and most importantly, passionate when it came to you.

Fen watched, trembling, as the heat of the water burned into the skin of his sons. Junlai stood tall, his form casting a long shadow over the brothers writhing in pain, and spoke in a voice that resonated with unrelenting authority: “Let this be a reminder, boys." As he turned to leave, his guards following behind him, the sound of his laughter lingered in the air, a dark, triumphant melody that filled the hearts of those who heard it with dread.

Now is the turn of some concubines who have been acting up recently in your absence. Surely, they won't mind a little visit, right?

"Everyone stresses out your father soo much, don't they?" He cooed , caressing his flat abdomen as he settled in the carriage.

Nevertheless, it's all entertainment for him.

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devdozes · 3 months ago

Note

Spiderman phainon but what about Spiderman mydeimos???

SPIDERMAN MYDEIMOS‼️

AAAA I NEED TO START DRAWING SPIDEY MYDEI RN

Being Spider-Man's Girlfriend was supposed to be cool, but nobody told you it would involve this much damage control.

"Hold still, Mydeimos, you're bleeding on the couch again."

"It's fine," he said, tone as flat as ever, even as you pressed a disinfectant wipe to his arm. His golden eyes barely flicked toward the wound. "It'll heal."

"Yeah, but my couch won't," you huffed. "You keep doing this, and we're gonna have to invest in plastic covers like an old married couple."

"Tch. Ugly."

"So is your arm right now."

He exhaled sharply through his nose—his version of a laugh. His whole vibe screamed 'intimidating man who has no time for nonsense,' but you knew better. Mydei might look like a cold, blunt realist, but he had his moments of secret softness. Not that he'd ever admit to them.

"You saw the news, right?" he asked, switching topics while you bandaged him up. "Everyone thinks Spider-Man is terrifying. Some reporter said I move like a 'predator in the dark.'" He scoffed. "I'm saving them, and they still call me scary."

You patted his arm, amused. "To be fair, you do have that whole 'gruff, intimidating presence' thing going on."

"They can't even see my face."

"No, but you could stop glaring at people like you're deciding their fate."

Mydei clicked his tongue and looked away. He totally did that.

Once you finished bandaging him, you leaned back with a satisfied grin. "There, all done. Now you can go back to swinging around the city like a menace."

"I'm not a menace."

"You also saved a kitten today and pet its head for like a whole minute."

"Shut up."

You beamed. Got him.

He sighed and leaned back, arms crossed, eyes scanning the ceiling as if contemplating the entire universe. This was the real Mydei. Not the scary, unapproachable figure everyone thought he was. This was your Mydei—the one who let you patch him up, who tolerated your teasing, who had a hidden love for cute things and a soft spot for you.

You nudged his leg with your foot. "Wanna watch something? I promise not to pick anything stupid."

"Liar."

"Okay, I promise not to pick something too stupid."

He huffed but didn’t object as you grabbed the remote. A victory. A small one, but still.

A few minutes passed before he moved again. This time, he didn’t just rest his arm around you—he practically wrapped himself around you, his strong arms locking you in place. His head buried into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

You blinked. "Uh... Mydei?"

He mumbled something unintelligible but didn’t budge.

A small laugh bubbled up in your throat. Everyone called him a tiger, but for you, he was just a big, clingy cat.

"You're really comfy," he muttered, voice low, almost sheepish. "And warm."

Your heart did an embarrassing flip. How was this the same guy who scared half the city?

Smiling, you brought a hand up, gently running your fingers through his hair. "I swear, for someone with a scary reputation, you sure act like an oversized cat sometimes."

"Don't make it weird."

"Too late."

Mydei groaned but didn’t move an inch. If anything, he held you tighter.

Minutes passed, and you realized he wasn’t just holding you—he was trapping you. His arms were ridiculously strong, making escape impossible. Even shifting slightly earned you a grumble from where his face was buried in your neck.

"Uh, Mydei? I can’t move."

"Don’t need to."

You huffed. "Okay, but I kinda wanna grab the popcorn—"

"No."

You tried to wiggle an arm free. Failed. "Mydei, you're literally Spider-Man. You can reach it."

"Lazy."

"You're the one pinning me down!"

"Mhm."

He was completely content like this, muscles relaxed, warmth radiating from him as he clung to you like some oversized, stubborn cat refusing to let go of its favorite person.

Eventually, you gave up and sighed. "You better not fall asleep on me."

No response. Just the steady rhythm of his breathing, still wrapped around you like a human blanket.

You were about to tease him again, but the comfort of his warmth, the quiet hum of the movie playing in the background, and the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours started to lull you into drowsiness. His breath was slow, his hold secure, and before you knew it, your own eyelids grew heavy.

Sinking deeper into his embrace, you let sleep take over, your fingers still loosely tangled in his hair. Mydei shifted slightly, adjusting his grip just enough to bury his face even further into the crook of your neck, murmuring something inaudible in his sleep.

And just like that, you both drifted off—tangled together, warm, safe.

Mydei woke up first, groggy but comfortable. The first thing he noticed was you, still tucked under him, breathing softly in your sleep.

His golden eyes softened. He was heavy, practically draped over you like a living weighted blanket, yet you hadn’t pushed him away. You let him stay.

Carefully, he loosened his grip—just enough to scoop you up in his arms, moving with the silent ease of someone used to carrying people through the city.

You barely stirred as he lifted you, your face nuzzling against his chest instinctively.

Mydei sighed, pressing a quiet kiss to your forehead before walking toward your bedroom. But Just as Mydei tucked you into bed, his entire body tensed. A sharp, unmistakable sting prickled at the back of his neck—his spider-sense screaming.

His golden eyes snapped toward the window, instincts already kicking in. Something was happening.

In one swift motion, he pulled the blanket up over you, making sure you were comfortably settled. His fingers lingered for just a second—reluctant, but there was no time to hesitate. Duty called.

He turned, moving across the room with silent precision, already shrugging on his suit and golden metal claws. The familiar fabric clung to him like a second skin, his mask slipping over his face as he strode toward the window.

He turns his head to give you one last glance, before jumping out the window off to where his senses were taking him. . . . . .When he reached the scene, the first thing he saw was chaos. A messed-up road, broken stones, debris everywhere—

And a car on fire.

His eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, scanning the destruction. His gaze caught on something small lying among the rubble.

A Spiderman plushie?

Before he could react, an immense force slammed into him from the side, sending him flying—straight into the wall of a shop.

The impact rattled through Mydei’s ribs as he crashed into the shop’s wall, shattering the glass windows with the sheer force of the throw. Dust and debris clouded his vision, the ringing in his ears a dull reminder that he’d let his guard down. His fingers twitched around the small Spider-Man plushie he had picked up—what the hell was that doing here?

But before he could process it, a deep, guttural laugh rumbled from the cracked road ahead.

"Not so tough now, are ya, Spider?"

Mydei’s sharp golden eyes snapped up, locking onto the massive figure emerging from the wreckage. The guy was built like a wrecking ball—easily over seven feet tall, muscles bulging unnaturally under his torn clothes. His skin had a rough, almost stone-like texture, giving him an armored appearance. His face was twisted in a grin, eyes gleaming with the thrill of destruction.

Super strength. That explained the obliterated street. But Mydei had already noticed something else. The brute’s movements were sluggish—slow to adjust, slow to react. He had power, but speed? Weak.

Mydei cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as he tossed the plushie aside.

“Alright, big guy,” he muttered, voice laced with sharp amusement, “You’re strong. I’ll give you that.” He bent his knees slightly, fingers twitching as he prepared to launch. “But let’s see how well you handle someone who actually knows how to fight.”

The brute snarled and charged, the ground trembling beneath his heavy steps. But Mydei was already moving.

WHIP—

A web shot out, latching onto the crumbling remains of a streetlight. In a heartbeat, Mydei launched himself into the air, narrowly avoiding the devastating punch that cratered the pavement where he had just stood. The mutant’s fist sunk into the concrete, struggling to pull it back out.

“Too slow.” Mydei’s voice rang from above.

The mutant barely had time to look up before Mydei came crashing down with a devastating kick to his jaw. The sheer force sent the brute stumbling back, cracks forming along his hardened skin.

"HRGH—!" The villain spat out something red—blood? A tooth? Who cared.

But Mydei didn’t stop.

He was already moving again, flipping midair, using another web to slingshot himself behind his opponent. Before the brute could react, Mydei landed a flurry of precise, brutal punches—each blow aimed at weak points. The ribs. The back of the knees. The joints. The guy was a tank, sure, but even tanks had weak spots.

The mutant roared in frustration, swinging wildly, trying to catch him. But Mydei was untouchable. Ducking. Weaving. Flipping. His movements were as fluid as water, never in the same place twice.

"You know," Mydei mused, narrowly avoiding a grab attempt, "for someone with that much muscle, you’d think you’d be better at actually landing a hit."

The brute’s eyes burned with rage. "STAND STILL!"

“No thanks.”

With that, Mydei shot a web at the mutant’s face—SPLAT!—effectively blinding him.

The villain roared, clawing at the sticky mess over his eyes. And that’s when Mydei saw his opening.

Launching forward, Mydei twisted midair and delivered a final, devastating roundhouse kick to the side of the mutant’s head. The sheer force sent him flying—his body crashing through a half-destroyed car before finally going still.

For a moment, silence.

Then, a groan. The brute twitched, clearly still conscious but dazed.

Mydei landed smoothly, rolling his shoulders. “You’re still awake? That’s impressive. Too bad it won’t last.”

With practiced ease, he shot out several webs, wrapping the mutant up tight against a broken lamppost. Struggle all he wanted, the brute wasn’t breaking out of that anytime soon.

The sirens were already wailing in the distance. Cops were on their way.

Mydei exhaled, finally relaxing his stance.

Then, he noticed it—the little Spider-Man plushie he had tossed aside earlier, lying near the wreckage.

“…Tch.” Without thinking, he picked it back up, dusting it off. He glanced at the unconscious villain, then at the mess around him.

“…Still gotta get back before she wakes up,” he muttered.

Just as Mydei swung through the city, a sudden, searing bolt of energy shot past him—so close he barely dodged in time. Someone was watching. Someone hidden.

Golden eyes narrowed. Fine. If they wanted to play this game—

He’d find them first.

The cowardly villain was a lanky figure wrapped in tattered cloth, his gaunt face shadowed by a hood. His power? Energy-based projectiles. He hid in the dark, firing shots from afar, never engaging in direct combat. He was weak up close—he knew it, Mydei knew it.

Which was why the villain always ran when things got too heated.

And tonight was no exception. As soon as Mydei got close, the villain turned tail, attempting to flee.

But before he could escape, a flying baseball bat shot through the air at an insane speed, striking him directly in the head with a sickening thud. The villain's body crumpled to the ground instantly.

Mydei's gaze snapped to where the bat had come from, and there you stood, arms crossed, glaring down at him from your apartment window with an expression of pure annoyed fury.

"Dear Spider-Man," you said, voice dripping with passive-aggressive venom, "if you're gonna fight, please try to be quiet and not interrupt people's sleep."

Mydei blinked. Then sighed. Oh god hes fucked . . . . . Mydei landed on your balcony with practiced ease, his mask still in place as he crouched, golden eyes watching you with a mix of guilt and amusement. You were still standing at the window, arms crossed, your glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

"I was handling it," he muttered, pulling off his mask.

"Yeah? Well, I handled it faster," you shot back, tilting your chin up. "And now my precious sleep is gone, all thanks to my dear superhero boyfriend who can’t keep it down."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I’ll make it up to you."

You raised a skeptical brow. "Oh? How?"

Without another word, Mydei scooped you up effortlessly, pulling you into his arms before stepping inside.

"Mydei—! Put me down, you dramatic bastard, or what do you call phainon? yeah HKS."

He ignored you, carrying you over to the couch and gently setting you down before disappearing into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned, holding a warm cup of tea in one hand and your favorite snack in the other.

He placed them on the table in front of you before sitting on the floor down beside you.

"Accept my offering," he murmured against your thighs.

You huffed, trying to hold on to your grumpiness. But between the warmth of the tea, the comfort of his hold, and the way he was resting his on your lap like some overgrown cat, your resolve crumbled.

"...Fine," you grumbled, taking the tea. "But you still owe me for the lost sleep."

Mydei smirked. "I can think of a way." "Shut the fuck up mydei" But then an idea flashed in your mind as you gave him a cheeky smile.

Mydei eyed you suspiciously as you flashed him a devious smile, pulling something from behind your back. His sharp golden eyes narrowed when he saw the fabric in your hands—a pair of matching Hello Kitty pajamas.

"If you want to make it up to me," you cooed, holding up the ridiculously cute pink pajamas, "then put this on."

Mydei's expression went completely blank. He slowly blinked at you, then at the pajamas, then back at you again.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"I fight crime in the dead of night, swinging across the city, getting smashed into walls, and dealing with the most annoying villains imaginable—"

"And now you're putting on the Hello Kitty pajamas," you cut him off sweetly, pushing them into his chest.

Mydei sighed, running a hand down his face. He was a realist, a straightforward man who prided himself on logic and practicality. There was no practical reason for him to wear pink Hello Kitty pajamas.

And yet, ten minutes later, there he was.

Standing in your living room.

Wearing them.

And looking absolutely massive in the cutesy, oversized fabric.

You barely held in your laughter, eyes sparkling with mischief as you twirled around in your own matching set.

"This is blackmail material," Mydei muttered under his breath, crossing his arms as he towered over you, looking both dead inside and resigned to his fate.

"You look adorable," you chirped, hugging his arm.

He grumbled, ears slightly red, before pulling you into his arms like a hostage.

"If I'm doing this, we're doing this right. Movie day," he declared, dragging you onto the couch.

"Exactly! Now, go order snacks," you said, shoving your phone into his hands.

Mydei gave you a long, unamused stare.

"...You're really milking this, huh?"

"Absolutely."

He exhaled heavily but started placing the order anyway. Because, despite his protests, he was completely wrapped around your finger.

And unfortunately for him?

You knew it.

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neil-gaiman · 2 years ago

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Hello Neil,i know you have 120k asks, so you will never see this, but genuinely, how do i start writing? I know it probably sounds silly to you, but I am 15 and already feel behind. I want to be a writer, I have loved reading ever since I read Coraline at 9 and have always wanted to do something creative with my life and to be an author just feels so fitting for me,I just don't know how to do it I guess. I keep trying but it always turns out bad,I don't even know where to beigin and how to pace the story or do anything really.I write short fanfics sometimes and when i go back to read them they are just objectively bad. I know what I do and dont like in stories,I just can't seem to accomplish what I want when I try to write it. And I do have so many ideas, but it never goes anywhere, and I can't put the words on the page. I know improving takes time but I just wish I had some guidance on how to improve(English is my third language so I probably made mistakes, I apologize )

You sound a lot l would have done at the age of 15, had I been articulate enough to say anything like that. At the age of 15 all I knew was that I really wanted to be a writer and that I wanted to write and draw comics one day. I had some ideas that would turn out to be good ideas 15 years later or 25 years later but at that time they were just ideas and I didn't know how to make them into stories.

The most important thing you can do is to keep writing. The second most important thing you can do is to live and learn and experience the world and accumulate a store of things that you have to say and things that you need to write about.

5K notes · View notes

almostwisegalaxy · 21 days ago

Text

Deep Headcanon: Na Baek-jin as a Boyfrie

Na beak jin x GN!reader

"You taught me that love shouldn't save me. It should just let me be someone new. - Na Baek-jin

..................................................................................

A Tense Romance: The Awakening of Vulnerability

Na Baek-jin doesn't fall in love easily. He sees attachment as an exploitable weakness, a distraction from his objectives. But you are the exception he never anticipated.

You arrived as a quiet counterpoint to his coldness: neither dazzled by his charisma nor frightened by his methods. You answered him without trembling. On that day, you became a mystery greater than all the schemes he orchestrated.

Love, for Baek-jin, is never expressed in simple words. He has never said "I love you." He doesn't know how. But you hear it in:

"You came home late. You should avoid that alley."

"I've changed your access code. It's safer now."

"I looked into that professor who's treating you badly."

He speaks of love as one draws up war plans: coldly, strategically, never saying why he worries.

But you learn to translate.

Heavy Silences, Talkative Glances

Baek-jin is not a man of tender gestures. But when he looks at you, his gaze says what he cannot verbalize. In his eyes, there is an anxious obsession, a love that frightens him.

The rare times he touches you, it's calculated:

He silently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, as if to make sure you're real.

He lets his hand brush yours when no one is looking.

He places a coat over your shoulders, not because you're cold, but because he cannot bear for anything to touch you without his consent.

It is a silent love, yet almost violently intense.

The Forbidden Notebook

One day, you discover a hidden notebook in a locked drawer. It's a journal. Na Baek-jin writes in it what he will never say.

"Today, they smiled at someone else. My stomach tightened. Is this fear?"

"I almost told them I was afraid of losing them. But it would have sounded like a loss of power. So I said: 'Do what you want. It's none of my business.'"

You never speak to him about it. You protect this secret as he protects yours. But sometimes you leave a note between the pages, a silent answer to his inner war.

Love Through Chaos

He draws you into a world of power, manipulation, and contained violence. But he never directly exposes you. He places an invisible barrier between you and what he does. Yet you know. You know his world devours his soul, that he sacrifices his last illusions of goodness.

And sometimes, at night, he breaks. He sits beside you. He says nothing. But his hands tremble. You place your hand on his, and for once, he doesn't pull away.

"I don't know who I would be without what I do. But I know that if you are no longer here, I am nothing."

This is not a declaration. It is a raw plea.

Mending What's Broken

Love with Na Baek-jin isn't about flowers or perfect photos. It's a field of ruins where you choose to plant a flower.

It's the silence in an empty apartment, where he leaves you the key, but never explicit permission. You invite yourself in when he can't take it anymore. You don't ask questions. You let him breathe. You make rice, you open a window.

One day, you fall ill. And unexpectedly, he takes care of you. In an almost mechanical, clumsy, yet clinically precise way. You sense he's never done this before. But he reads, he learns, he makes lists.

"You need to drink every 2 hours. I set alarms. I avoided anti-inflammatories; they interfere with your medication."

You cry. And he doesn't understand why.

The Day He Was Afraid

That day, you disappeared for six hours. Your phone was off. He searched everywhere. He called every contact, every camera, every informant.

When you return, exhausted by a simple dead battery and a traffic jam, he has no words. But he pulls you close, hard, brutally.

"Don't ever do that again. You don't have the right to disappear. You're not just someone in my life. You are my only anchor."

It's the first time he cries. And you say nothing. You just rest your head against his shoulder. And you understand: he let you in. You are in his nervous system now.

Rage and Tenderness: The Living Paradox

Love with Na Baek-jin is brutal and tender. He knows no moderation. When he worries, he shouts. When he's scared, he turns cold. When he loves you, he trembles.

He loves you like one loves on the edge of a void. Like someone who has never known solid ground.

But he learns. With you. Every day. Slowly. In small doses.

He starts sending you messages with a ❤️ that he deletes and re-adds three times before pressing "send." He starts resting his head on your shoulder, in an almost childlike gesture. He learns to fall asleep without fearing abandonment upon waking.

The Seasons' Notebook

One day, you create a tradition: writing him a letter with each change of season. He never replies. But you continue.

One winter day, he hands you a notebook. It contains his replies. All of them.

Spring: "I never thought I could love someone as much as my ambition. You showed me that love doesn't erase strength; it redirects it."

Summer: "I watched you laugh today. I wanted time to stop. For the first time, I wished to live for someone other than myself."

You cry as you read. He pulls you into his arms. And for the first time, he tells you:

"You are the only thing in this world I don't want to control. Just keep."

An Uncertain Future, But Together

Na Baek-jin doesn't believe in tomorrow. He lives by the logic of the present: control, survive, defend.

But sometimes, he watches you sleep, and he dares. He allows himself to dream.

He imagines an apartment where you don't have to hide. A café he would open, far from schemes and fists. A dog. Maybe a child. Normal evenings.

He doesn't believe it yet. But he confesses it to you one evening, whispering against your neck:

"I never thought I'd live to be old. But if I have to... I'd want it to be with you."

And that's what love with Baek-jin is.

It's not clean. It's not easy. But it's true.

It's the kind of love that hurts, that heals, that sometimes destroys, but if it survives, it becomes indestructible.

Because he loves you with all that he is—even what he hates about himself.

And one day, he finally understands that he might deserve to be loved in return.

Not despite all of it.

But because of all of it.

Love as Healing

Na Baek-jin remains a man of contradictions. He controls, he tests, he doubts. But he loves. Intensely. As if you were the last purity he deserves.

He respects you. Not just your body, but your ideas, your freedom, your right to question him. He relearns how to live. He deconstructs what he was taught: that love is weakness, that the world is a power game.

With you, he learns that intimacy is not a danger but a liberation. That saying "I'm tired" doesn't mean "I lose" but "I rest in your arms."

Love, Baek-jin Style

Loving Baek-jin isn't living an ideal romance. It's being loved by someone who knows the taste of blood, but who chooses to lay down his weapons before you.

It's seeing a boy everyone believes invincible wake up with a start at night and whisper: "Are you here?"

It's learning to decipher silence, to read between the lines of a gaze, to understand that a "Be careful" said while looking away means: "Come back alive to me; I wouldn't survive your loss."

It's living a love that doesn't try to be perfect, but chooses to be true.

It's loving a boy who has done terrible things, but who, with you, learns to be gentle without feeling weak.

............................* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊

°Moments when he says I love you without words

The First Time He Fought for You

It was an alley. You weren't supposed to be there. Not supposed to see what you saw.

They surrounded you — not to truly hurt you, but to test. To hurt him, indirectly.

And when he arrived, he didn't even look at you at first.

He just stood in front of you, back straight, fists clenched.

He didn't yell. He didn't threaten.

He destroyed them. Methodically. Without a word.

And when it was all over, his knuckles bleeding, breathing heavily, he turned to you.

Not to reassure you.

He just whispered:

> "I told you not to linger here."

But his hands were trembling.

And you understood: it wasn't anger. It was fear. A panic-stricken fear of losing you.

The Night He Allowed Himself to Cry

You came to his place unannounced.

You found him sitting on the floor, leaning against the bathroom door, soaked in sweat and cold water.

He'd been fighting. Again. Not to survive this time — just because he didn't know what else to do to exist.

You didn't ask him any questions.

You sat across from him, knees touching knees.

And there, in the cold light, he lowered his head. He murmured:

> "I don't know how else to be. I've tried. But I always fall back."

> "You don't deserve someone like me."

And without you responding, he cried. Not loud sobs. Silent tears, full of humiliation and love intertwined.

You reached out your hand. He took it. It was the first time.

The Night He Whispered "Stay"

You were ready to leave. Another argument. Too much tension. Too many walls.

You had gotten out of bed, silently, in the dark.

And as you gathered your bag, you heard his voice. Deep, cracked. So human.

> "Stay."

One word. Just one.

Not a plea. Not an apology. A confession.

You stopped.

He sat up, still wrapped in the sheets, hair messy, gaze burning. He didn't move, but his whole body seemed to reach out to you.

> "I don't want you to leave... even if I don't have the words to tell you properly."

> "But if you leave... I know I won't recover from that."

You stayed.

Not because he begged you. But because it was true.

The Day He Had a Nightmare and Sought You Like a Child

He had always slept alone. Even with you beside him, there was a tension in his muscles that never truly left.

But one night, he screamed in his sleep.

A hoarse, deep cry. The kind that seems to well up from childhood, from unspoken traumas.

You woke him. He was sweating, eyes wild, hands clutching the sheet.

He looked at you as if he'd forgotten you truly existed.

And then he reached out.

Not like a lover. Like a ten-year-old boy who doesn't want to sleep alone in the dark anymore.

You came close to him. He hugged you so tightly you gasped for breath.

And in the crook of your neck, he whispered, almost inaudibly:

> "I dreamed you were leaving, and I couldn't catch you."

> "Even my legs wouldn't respond."

The Day He Said "I Love You" Without Saying It

He will never say those words in a classic way.

But one evening, as you watched the rain fall against the windows, he entered the room.

He sat beside you, rested his head on your shoulder, and remained there motionless for long minutes.

Then, as if speaking to the rain:

> "Before you, I never wanted to go home."

> "Now, it's the only place I want to go."

You said nothing. You simply placed your hand on his.

And he kept it there.

The Day He Entrusted You With His Future

It was mundane. A subway station. A moment between two obligations.

You were talking about plans. About the future. Simple dreams: a dog, a car, a normal job.

He smiled. Rare. Almost sad.

And then, without looking at you, he said:

> "Do you think a guy like me can have all that?"

> "Not now. But one day. With you."

And that day, for the first time, he allowed himself to hope.

Not in silence.

Out loud. With you.

The Moment He Defended You... From Yourself

You were devaluing yourself. Again.

You laughed, saying you weren't good enough, that you didn't understand why he stayed.

He froze.

Then he stood up, approached slowly, and looked you straight in the eyes.

> "Don't you ever say that again."

> "You are the only clean thing in my life. And I swear, I will destroy anyone who makes you believe you're worthless—including you."

You felt like crying.

Not because he was yelling. But because it was true. Raw. Protective. Na Baek-jin, in all his rage to love.

And That Silence...

The most intense?

It's not a scene. Not a declaration.

It's that moment, where you're sitting next to each other, saying nothing.

He looks at your hands. You look at the scar on his chin.

And in that silence, you feel everything he will never be able to express.

> That he loves you like a survivor loves the morning light.

> That he's afraid, every day, of losing you.

> And that he's ready to become a new man—not for you.

But because, thanks to you, he discovered he was capable of it.

............................* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊

Conclusion:

Na Baek-jin as a boyfriend is not an easy romance. It's a story of healing, of balance between control and surrender, between strategy and sincerity.

But if you hold on, if you understand his language, if you respect his silences, then you become more than a love for him: you become a refuge. And he will be willing to do anything to protect it.

Na Baek-jin never learned to love. But with you, he creates a new code. A love that is at once raw, honest, and indestructible.

..................................................................................

Other weak hero class fanfictions here

Yeah. My man (⁠灬⁠º⁠‿⁠º⁠灬⁠)⁠♡

@mariii-0001 @mizxuqii @iiwsmr @emswirls

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controld3vil · 7 months ago

Text

𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣, 𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨

pairing(s): aemond targaryen x twin!reader

synopsis: “My son, Daeron, what’s he like?” Alicent wondered as she couldn’t recall ever waiting so eagerly for news from her youngest. Oldtown felt distant now; her home was here. “And his sister?”

notes ➜ i got major writers block from writing for rhaenyra :( content warnings: targcest, twincest, happy & bittersweet reunions 😋, features only ONE scene with aemond (at the very end :/), slowburnn

Despite the turmoil of her life – the crowning of her son, the tragic murder of her grandson, Jaehaerys, and the loss of her father as Hand – Alicent never felt as anxious as she did now waiting to meet her son and daughter after more than five years apart. Love for them lingered in her heart, even amidst the estrangement that marked their relationship. Oldtown seemed like a distant memory, a place she sometimes revisited in dreams. It was a compact city of scholars and believers, a center of Faith that once filled her with strength, a quality she now desperately craved. The Queen Dowager sat with her hands folded in her lap, her fingers nervously plucking at the debris on her cuticles, an irritating habit she found impossible to suppress. Each tug felt like a reflection of her own fraying nerves as she prepared to face the children she loved yet scarcely knew.

A hint of red bourbon hair catches Alicent’s eye. “Gwayne.” Her brother turns toward her, momentarily distracted by the horse at his side.

“Sister.”

“I wish to give you my blessing,” she says, her hands folded solemnly. Gwayne steps forward, with a casual ease.

“Wow,” he replies, a light-hearted tone in his voice. “My thanks to the Dowager Queen.” He bobs before glancing back to his tasks, preparing to march south the new Hand, Ser Criston. His men and the forces of King's Landing would soon form a formidable army.

“Have you heard from father?” Alicent asks, her voice laced with anxiety. “I sent word to Highgarden and Oldtown but, there has been no word.” She twiddles her fingers, a restless gesture as she fights to quell her unease.

Her brother picks up her distress. “Otto Hightower is ever resourceful. He will send news when there is news.” His tone suggests a reassuring nonchalance, yet it also reveals his own certainty. Gwayne knew their father well – he rarely wrote unless there was something significant to report. It was not unusual for Otto Hightower to remain silent; he preferred to communicate only when necessary.

Though their conversation comes to a halt, the Queen is left unsatisfied with Gwayne’s dismissal. Her heart is heavy with concern, and she longs for more than just the absence of news.

She peeks into the distance before turning back to him. “I often wonder what life could have been if he had brought you to court instead.” Earnestly, she offers a tentative smile, her expression drawing a warm grin from her older brother, who is charmed by her speculation.

“I’m the oldest son,” he replies, focusing on the object in his hand. “It was right that I was raised in Oldtown.”

“You were eight years of age and motherless. It must have been difficult.” Alicent’s tone carries a mixture of sympathy and concern, her desire to delve deeper into the topic. The knight senses her intention; their conversation is more than just light banter.

He shakes his head again, his demeanor shifting. “You get on with it, don't you? When there isn’t any choice.” His eyes are expectant, as if urging her to reveal what’s truly on her mind.

“My son, Daeron,” the Queen begins, her lips tightening with a mix of pride and longing. “What’s he like?” A small glimmer of affection leaves her eyes when she mentions her youngest, though it stings to know how long it has been since she received from him or even heard his name mentioned. She regrets not having time to raise him, to know the man he might become. Daeron feels like a stranger to her, and despite her disappointment, all she longs for is to seek insight from someone who knows him well.

“Does he not write to you?”

“Less and less, these days.” A subtle curve of her lips transforms into a sad frown.

“Ten and six now,” Gwayne says with a gentle chuckle, warmth flooding his expression at the thought of his beloved nephew. “Let us perhaps hold less of his interest. He's stalwart, clever – adept with both his lute and his sword. And a feature in the fancies of many young ladies, I'll wager.” He pauses, catching the concern on her face. “He's kind."

Relief washes over Alicent, her shoulders relaxing as if a heavy weight has been lifted. A kind son – at least he embodies the benevolence she always had hoped for her children.

“Kindness is a quality I find lacking in his brothers,” she admits, her tone reflecting candid honesty that earns a thoughtful hum from Gwayne. Her thoughts drift back to the one person she has longed to meet. “And his sister?”

The Hightower knight fixes his gaze fondly on his sister. The mention of another niece, one he has watched over, brings forth a rare tenderness in her older brother – a warmth his sister rarely sees. “Well she’s certainly well-regarded,” Gwayne replies, placing both hands on his hips and shifting his weight to one foot. A playful pride lights up his face as he reminisces about the recent achievements of her youngest children. “She’s adapted remarkably well among the scholars. She carries herself with grace and resolve, and they speak highly of her intellect. I’m sure her letters, though few, speak of contentment and growth.”

“Yes, she has,” The Dowager Queen giggles, recalling your recent letter. With every message came, your handwriting and style has evolved. A smile brightens her face at the memory of her earlier struggles with grammar; the first few letters had been messy and disorganized. Though she may have had her doubts as your mother, she is undeniably proud of your respected place among the scholars. “She thrives, or so she assures me. But I yearn to see for myself the woman she is becoming."

Gwayne offers her subtle comfort, placing a hand gently over hers. His reassuring grin promises that when you and Daeron finally come to King’s Landing, a part of her guilt-driven heart will be lifted. “I understand your worries, sister. You’ll have the chance to see them both soon enough.”

Days later, the army returns to King’s Landing, exhausted from a ruthless battle that claimed both casualties and deaths. Ser Gwayne and the Hand, Ser Criston led the march back, to focus on reinforcing their troops and resupplying. The journey was grueling, marked with constant vigilance against Rhaenyra's forces. However, the tension eased momentarily when a dark purple dragon appeared overhead without warning. While the sight terrified the hearts of men, it ignited a spark of relief and joy to Ser Gwayne’s face, leaving Ser Criston bewildered.

The Hand had never seen a dragon with white claws and plum scales.

As you made your unannounced arrival at King’s Landing, chaos erupted. Townsfolk scrambled and fled as your dragon, Blood Moon, circled the castle grounds. Many had not seen your dragon in a long time, and some had never laid their eyes on it before your departure. Blood Moon screeches menacingly, soaring above, casting a shadow over the weary army under Cole’s command. Dragon! The townsfolk gasped in horror, frantically jumping from house to house to hide from the inevitable.

Meanwhile, the Queen Mother rushed to the courtyard, her heart racing at the familiar, nihilistic roar of your dragon. When she caught sight of Blood Moon passing her window, Alicent felt a rush of adrenaline – she knew you had arrived. You were home.

She clutches her dress, tightly, a sharp pain in her chest as the sight of you approaching makes her eyes water instantly. You follow behind her brother and Ser Criston on horseback, conspicuously absent from her dragon. Yet, somehow she knows Blood Moon is close. “My sweet girl!” Alicent rushes forward the moment you dismount, locking eyes with you. Gods, you looked so beautiful. It feels like an eternity since you last met.

“Mother!” In an instant, you were a child again, clamping your arms around her as if to anchor yourself in her presence. You sink into her embrace, basking in the familiar scent of her hair, the warmth of her touch as you nestled your head against her neck, filled with affection.

Alicent pulls back, cradling your face into her hands. “It’s been so long. You’ve grown so much. I can see the change in your eyes…” Her dark, chestnut-colored eyes brim with tears. Her lips quiver as she fights back a sob.

You hold her hands, and offer a soft smile. “I missed you, Mother.” She beams at you, fondly with nostalgia, pecking a gentle kiss on your forehead before gliding her thumbs softly across your cheeks. Gods, you’ve changed. You’re no longer the frightened little girl who resisted staying in King’s Landing. Though Alicent regretted seeing you so sad, she knew it was best for you to learn and grow alongside your brother, Daeron.

There was a time in your early childhood when you dreamed of becoming a lady in waiting for Highgarden, yet when the day arrived, you unexpectedly became homesick, clinging to Alicent like a newborn.

But now, you stand before her, a grown woman. Gone are the days of silly hair ribbons and flowing dresses; you’ve matured into a striking figure, like a blooming rose. Alicent notices how you’ve preferred to braid your hair, gathered in a high ponytail with intricate braids extending from your forehead to the base of your tail. This style frames your face perfectly, allowing her to see your expression fully—happy and radiant. You even complement your look with a striking outfit, featuring long leather garments reminiscent of dragon scales and breastplates adorned with chromatic metal accents.

“I trust the journey to King’s Landing wasn’t too taxing, niece?” Gwayne quips with a playful grin. You let out a short giggle sensing your uncle’s presence behind you.

“It was fine, thank you, Uncle.” You chuckled, turning to see Gwayne with his hands clasped behind his back. Stray hairs fell across his forehead from the skirmish days prior. Though he appeared weary, he maintained a façade of composure as he greeted you.

“You must be exhausted from the journey,” Alicent perks up, as she brushes her fingers over your bare knuckles, sheeply. “Come let us find a place for you to rest and share what I have missed.”

A warm fuzziness flutters in your chest as you savor your mother’s tender urgency. Few understand the depth of her protective love for her children, most only notice her as the former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Even though you haven’t stepped foot in King’s Landing for so long, you appreciate her efforts to ensure your childhood was a happy one. Many dismiss her as a princess bound to duty to bear heirs, but all forget the countless moments that defined her as a mother. They do not recall her swaddling young Aegon when she was only ten and nine, or rushing to the Godswood to catch Helaena from her wandering. Even that time you attempted to make a flower crown, too small for her head, which Alicent wore to appease your pleas.

The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up with your mother who was determined to stay close to you at all times. You were not sure if she took note of your hesitance, but stepping back into King’s Landing stirred distant memories you had long buried. You couldn’t help but gaze around the different sections of the castle, wondering if any of the tapestries had changed or if new furniture had been added. This familiar yet strange home felt like an enigma as you tried to thread together the small moments of your past.

You had changed out of your dragon gear, and now wore a stunning silver dress, laced with an embroidered corset featured with blossoming gold florals. The transparent cuffs by your wrist added an ethereal touch as well as the sleeves. The Red Keep was a serene and quiet place to study and chat with your mother. You sat beside her by a small table, discussing the latest news from the city. Rumors spread quickly as if they were smoke and you both indulged in whatever topic came to mind, relishing in the intimacy in the moment. Sometimes you would bring up about your time in Oldtown while your mother spoke vaguely about the Council's plans. In all, you were spouting words to fill in the inevitable space of silence, cherishing the connection that always bound you as mother and daughter.

“How is Aegon?” Your eyes flashed with concern when your mother placed down her drink. There was a glint of sadness you saw from her. For a quick flicker, it disappears when the widowed Queen plucks one of the pastries from the plate in the center.

Her voice, though tender, betrays her hesitation. “He is healing. But he will never be the same.” The words hang heavily in the air, a quiet acceptance of the grim truth. Aegon’s body had been ravaged, rotted with infection, covered in sores and pus. Alicent couldn’t say it outright but she knew the cruel reality; he might never walk again. The thought of it was too heavy to bear to tell her daughter. She couldn’t tell you the full extent of his suffering; the memory was still fresh in her mind as if it was only yesterday.

Your breath hinders as you process her words, and a deep frown pulls at your face. “He is alive. That is something I am thankful to the Gods for.” Though your relationship with your eldest brother had always been distant, it was never cold. You made sure to write to all of your siblings whenever you could, each filled with personal messages. Aegon, in particular, was never fond of books or history. He was the one who’d light up any room, the first one to suggest a drink when things had dulled. You would not deny how much you missed his infectious laughter, his wide grin that could cast away your sorrows.

Now it seemed, that smile might never return. The war had stolen it from him as it had stolen so much. A lump forms in your throat, and suddenly you feel tears stinging your eyes. You wiped them away with the back of your palm.

Alicent’s gaze falls, lost in thought as she considers the words she wanted to say but can never bring herself to. She felt, even now, like a failure as a mother. Her mistakes, her foolishness, lingered unspoken between you both. The few letters she sent, the distant exchanges, were all reminders of the distance that had grown between you over the years. She could feel the weight of her own neglect – the little attention she’d given you in letters should have been enough to make you stop writing altogether. But despite it all, you never once turned away from her. Alicent had never felt worthy of your love, and though you had every reason to harbor anger or resentment, her heart ached for failing her children.

It was then she felt your hand creep over hers, the simple touch sending a jolt of surprise through her. Your mother lifts her solemn visage, her heart breaking as she meets your eyes. For all the pain and disappointment she imagined you had, there was no trace anywhere in your expression. You looked at her with stoic calmness, your deep indigo eyes pierced with consideration – and a hint of fondness that made her heart ache even more.

Your demeanor shifts, softening into a sympathetic grin, and with a tear-stricken pout still clinging to your lips, you squeeze her hand gently. “None of this is your fault, Mother.”

“It is,” She weakly admits, her voice faltering as she fights the urge to break down in front of her sweet daughter. “It is my fault, for your brother’s cruelty. Don’t you see?”

You pause, the weight of her words sinking in, but you reply with unwavering certainty. “Aemond may be cruel but he would never kill his brother.” The words come out steady but something shifts when you fully acknowledge your twin since your arrival. His absence feels oddly conspicuous, like a shadow that haunts the hall. The Red Keep, so familiar, now seems strangely hollow with its newly reassigned staff and the ever watchful eyes of the City Watch. Yet, even as the quiet settles in, a desire stirs in you to seek him out. Aemond was never far, even when distance separates you. Now, back in King’s Landing, you find that something in your restless heart settles, as though the mere proximity of the Red Keep could ease your disturbed thoughts.

“You have not laid eyes on him in years, my love,” Alicent pleads, a tremor in her voice as she lowers her gaze, avoiding your eyes. “You don’t know what he has become. Aemond is angry.” The visible fear in her earth-toned eyes is raw and unsettling, like a shadow that lingers in the room, one that threatens to swallow the very air between you.

The incident at Rook’s Rest was ambiguous. You were not there to witness it firsthand, and while you had your suspicions, you could never know for certain who struck first. But you were sure – it had not been intentional. Aegon and Aemond didn’t see eye to eye, but they had always shared the same blood, the same bond. Now, from what your mother described, a flicker of doubt stirs within you, uneasy and unfamiliar, making your heart sink. What had Aemond become in these years of absence?

After your chat, a Kingsguard arrived to summon your mother on urgent matters. The former Queen’s gazes lingered on you for a moment, her expression filled with guilt for interrupting your time on short notice. She catches your comforting smile as she gives a curt nod and exits the Red Keep.

For a while, you were left to your residence with the comforts of nature. You sat by the window, absentmindedly nibbling on forgotten baked goods, their sweetness grounding you as your eyes drift toward the sky. The clouds moved at a glacial pace, their slow drift contrasted to your storm of thoughts brewing in your mind. Momentarily, you are allowed to forget your purpose for coming back to King’s Landing. The afternoon sunshine bathed the room in a golden light, casting a calm, almost serene glow on everything.

You didn’t need much more than that – the gentle warmth, the quiet, and familiar taste of tart delicacies your mother knew you loved. It was enough to quiet your mind, if only for a while. The taste of pastries, sweet and tangy, reminded you of simpler times, of moments before the weight of duty and family obligations tangled your soul. You found yourself yearning for that comfort, anything to keep your mind off the growing unease with the inevitable encounter with Aemond.

It was the early evening when the bells of Baelor rang out. The Great Sept, just a few houses down from King’s Landing, held its call long enough for it to be heard in the very heart of the Red Keep. You had arrived hours earlier, slipping through the castle halls with grace of a predator – quiet, deliberate, waiting for the surge of adrenaline that always accompanied your return to this place.

The Council had met moments prior to your arrival, so you knew you’d have to wait until the morning to join them. The politics of the realm could wait. In the meantime, you roamed the ancient, empty corridors of the Keep, your footsteps the only sound in the silence. The air was thick with history, heavy with memories of a time when the halls had been full of life, of laughter and conversation – before everything had changed.

Your thoughts drifted to your siblings. It’s been far too long since you had been together in one place. The Red Keep, usually so bustling with court, now seemed like a ghost town – empty and hollowed out, a shadow of its former self. The events of the past loomed over you, pressing down with the weight of what had been lost, what had been broken.

Perhaps this is why you found yourself at Aegon’s chambers. Your heart pounded with anticipation when the doors swung open, revealing the King’s quarters. The air within was thick and quiet murmurs of the maesters attending to him, their words halting when they saw you – your unexpected presence casting a brief shadow over the room. It was strange. To see your brother like this – unconscious, barely clinging to life was a sharp bitter thing.

Sorrow gripped you tightly and unrelenting, as you gazed upon Aegon’s tarred state. His skin, once vibrant and strong, was now tarred and burnt, the pale sheen of his injuries almost too much to bear. His legs, now broken, twists, spoke of the pain you could never truly know. For a time you spoke as thought he could hear you, as though he might awaken any moment. You told of your travels through Oldtown, of Daeron’s small but proud achievements. The familiar weight of his absence made your words tumble out like a lifeline, a way to fill the space between the present and the years that had passed.

It was comforting, in a way, to be near him again. Though this was not the reunion you had hoped. Years ago, Aegon struggled with the position of being the firstborn son to King Viserys. The expectations that pressed upon him, the constant weight of responsibility, were more than any young should bear. Your mother, with her quiet but unyielding voice, had often spoken of it – how the throne was his to inherit, and how Rhaenyra’s claim, a constant reminder of a fractured family, only deepened the divide. The more Alicent and Otto insisted on Aegon’s future, the more you saw him under pressure. He never wanted to defy his sister, yet torn between duty and blood. You had watched him from the shadows, seen his faults, his mistakes, but only made you love him more. In his moments of playfulness, you had found a fleeting sensation of freedom, a reminder that even in the midst of terrible situations, he was your brother.

You watched his chest rise and fall, with each breath fragile of life. The weight on your heart lifted, if only slightly, as held onto that small reassurance: Aegon was still alive. He was still strong. He was the Blood of the Dragon, the rider of Sunfrye, and he was your King. No matter what came next, you would stand beside him, sworn to protect him, willing to give your last breath if it meant keeping him safe.

You left your brother to rest, and set off in search of your next destination. Deep down, you knew where you’d go first, where you always went for comfort, to Helaena. She is the balm to your restless soul, the voice that could untangle your anxieties with a few soft words. When the world seemed too large, too overwhelming, her presence was a silent sanctuary.

Helaena, the second daughter of King Viserys, had been both a mentor and maternal figure to you in your younger years. Her kindness had been a steady anchor in your life, her wisdom a guiding light when the weight of your responsibilities felt too much to bear. As a child, you sought her out whenever you felt lost or afraid and her gentle guidance had given you the courage to venture into new worlds. Her advice forever shaped you in ways you hadn’t fully realized until you left for Oldtown. In that city, with its strange customs and faces, you leaned onto her worlds to adapt quickly, to carve out your own place.

When you found your sister in your old playroom, sewing quietly with her daughter, it felt as if no time had passed. The familiar sight and sounds of the room washed over you – its warmth, its history, the memories that had once made it a sanctuary for both of you. Helaena’s moved with the same careful precision you remembered, her fingers threading the needle with quiet grace. Her daughter, Jaehaera, sat beside her, her wide eyes fixated on her mother’s work. You stood for a moment, watching them and a smile tugging at your lips. The sight of them – mother and daughter, together in their own world, stirred something deep inside you. The years between you seemed to melt away in an instant.

Quietly, you crept closer, your footsteps soft on the floor as you approached the pair. A mischievous grin spread across your face, without earning you shouted, using your niece’s shrill cry to startle your sister. Helaena 's hands faltered, the needle slipping from her grasp as her face registered in shock, her expression frozen for just a heartbeat before it shifted into relief and then pure joy.

She stood quickly, her eyes wide with excitement, as she took you in from head to toe. And then, without a moment, a silent sob escaped her lips, her hand pressing to her chest as she whispered your name.

“Sister…” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion.

Unexpected and sharp, there was a lump in your throat. You swallowed it down, trying to steady yourself but the emotions surged in a way you had not anticipated. “It’s good to see you, Helaena.” you whispered, the words catching as they left your lips.

For what felt like an eternity, you indulge yourself in the soothing warmth of rosemary oils and the sweet aroma of fragrant tea. The tapestry above the balcony swayed gently in the rhythm with the tides, the fabric rippling like satin kissed by the breeze, catching the light in delicate waves. The sunshine poured in the small opening between the outside world and your private space, casting a soft, translucent pink hue across the horizon. The late summer warmth wrapped around you like a blanket, filling the room with a quiet comfort that you never find elsewhere.

A porcelain tea cup sat at the edge of the table, its base a soft coral pink, the edges trimmed in lustrous gold. Besides it, the matching coaster resonated with the same elegance. The teapot shared the same intricate design, its spout crafted to imitate the graceful curves of vineyard vines. Tiny matcha leaves curled around the handle, their delicate shapes glinting with golden highlights. It was a beautiful set – one that made the room feel like a pristine sanctuary, but something was missing. The topper.

Sometimes, in the stillness of these moments, you would let your imagination roam. You would pretend you were some from a faraway land. It seemed childish, almost absurd, but it lingered with you. You often wondered what the world was like beyond Westeros, the vast deserts of Dorne, the mysterious lands of Essos, or the distant, shadowed shores of Asshai. Asshai especially. The thought of it, so remote, so mysterious, had always called to you. You used to daydream that you were a girl from Asshai, someone who knew nothing of wealth, beauty, or the court of King’s Landing.

You imagined yourself seeing the teapot for the first time. You would change your character, each time with a different persona – some curious wanderer, a child of the unknown, discovering the simple elegance of a teapot that seemed to carry more meaning than it should. You’d pretend to be in awe, a stranger to luxury and react differently each time, letting your curiosity guide your every movement.

It was strange, but comforting. In those moments, you could be anyone – but the child of a royal bloodline.

Alicent, however, found you peculiar. In many ways, you were nothing like Aemond, despite being his twin. While she hoped you would be as easy to mold as Helaena or as compliant as Aemond, you were neither. You had a quiet way of drawing attention, of showing interest in things that made others uneasy. Aemond, with his fiery intensity, demanded things, but you – your power laid in silence.

From a young age, you have learned how to meet people with nothing more than a glance, a tilt of your head, or the quiet intensity in your eyes. Alicent never could figure out how you did it – how you could command attention with such subtlety. She often watched, perplexed, as your eyes would light up at the slightest opportunity or how your lips would press into a small pout when the Kingsguard denied you entry into her office. And then, with practiced ease, you would cry – small, silent tears that glistened like pearls on your cheeks. The effect was always the same. Suddenly, the men who had once denied you would be at your feet, ready to do whatever you asked.

Alicent didn’t know the secret. You did.

It was almost too easy for you, the way the ceramic topper fits perfectly into your hand, as if it had always been meant for you. The weight, barely there, seemed to vanish the moment you cradled it, leaving only the sensation of smooth china beneath your fingers. Your gaze traced the delicate rims, following the curve with the tip of your thumb as you glide over the shiny finish.

For an old teapot, it remained unchanged, an artifact from the past that, like the porcelain, had been carefully preserved. It reminded you of childhood, of simpler days that felt like they belonged to someone else. A smile, slow and wistful, tugged at your lips as memories drifted to the surface – tea parties held in this room, alone with the teapot, lost in your imagination.

“Do you miss this?” Helaena’s meek words cut through the quiet, grounding you back into reality. Her words were simple, yet they carried weight. She stood before you, her eyes intent but tender, watching you with a knowing gaze that seemed to see straight through your soul. Never one for many words, Helaena was always able to strike the right chords when it mattered. Conversations between you two never cluttered, there was no need for endless explanation. It was as if, without saying much, you both understood each other completely. She knew the thoughts you carried without needing to ask. And somehow, you always knew hers.

Your grin fades, the playfulness slipping away as you grow contemplative, searching her face for any trace of misunderstanding or unspoken hurt.

“I do,” Your tone coming out slightly more strained than usual. “They don’t have tea parties or play dates in Oldtown. They don’t have anything, really,” The final words felt heavier, laid with sorrow that you hadn’t quite realized was there until now.

A somber silence hangs, the weight of your absence pressing down onto the room. Oldtown had been another world entirely – foreign, starkly different from the warmth of King’s Landing. As much as you had once embraced the city’s beauty, part of your childhood still lived here, among these walls, among the memories shared in this very room. Your eyes drift over the old ornaments and forgotten toys, each one sparking a fleeting moment of nostalgia. It was as though you were caught between two places, two worlds, each different from the other at the ends of the map.

Helaena, ever so quiet, glances down at her sewn collage, her fingers pausing mid-motion. She was lost in thought, the needle still in her hand as she set it aside carefully. Without a word, she scoots closer, settling beside you on a plush cushion. The cushion is periwinkle, a soft reminder of your childhood obsession with the color pink. You smile faintly, remembering how everything had once been pink to you – the teapot set, the floors, even the smallest trinkets. If you had ruled the Seven Kingdoms, Helaena was certain the banners would have been changed to a soft shade of pink, just because you would have insisted on it.

Of course you would. The thought of it, so hysterical, almost makes you laugh. But for now, there’s only the quiet companionship of the moment, and the comfort of your sister’s presence beside you like a silent reassurance that despite the years and distance, this place, this feeling, would always be home.

When the Queen’s knees made contact with yours, you felt the quiet look, filled with anticipation, but not fear, only certainty and love. “I hope you mean to stay this time.”

Her words settled in the space between you, gentle but insistent, like a tender plea. For a second, you simply stared at her, her warmth radiating outward, but your response came without thinking.

“Stay?” you asked, almost as if the very concept of it was foreign to you.

“Stay here,” She planted her palm onto the soft woolen rug, her fingers splayed wide, almost spider-like. “Here.”

There were a few things about Helaena that could catch you off guard, but her sweetness had always been one of them – an undeniable force that softened even the hardest edges of your heart. Still you hesitated.

“Helaena—” You faltered, unsure how to voice the conflict swirling inside you. “I don’t know—”

“Mother would want you to stay.” Your elder sister leans forward, as you witness the beauty of her ribbon silver hair up close. “I want you to stay. It’s been too long, I’ve missed you. Aemond misses you—“

“Aemond.” You repeat, sharply, each syllable weighted with spite. Your expression darkened, the emotions inside you shifting to a cold, quiet rage. “After all these years, he does not come to see me come home. Not even a word from our mother or Cole.” The words tasted like ash on your tongue, heavy with the silence that built between your twin.

Helaena, unfazed by your tone, leans in even closer, her voice faint. “That is what he does.” she said simply, her lilac orbs meeting yours with understanding. “Aemond is… who he is.”

“And you say he misses me…?” The words left your mouth with sharpness that even surprised you, your voice laced with disbelief and frustration.

“I know you are upset, sister,” The Queen reached out to grab your wrist, the one holding the teapot topper as if to calm the storm brewing in your head. Her touch was gentle, yet firm, the kind of protective care only a mother could offer. It was the same tenderness she had to her own children, an unwavering love. “But believe me, Aemond would’ve been there for you… It’s just… He’s not himself lately.”

“Rook’s Rest,” The name falling from your lips with weight of its own. The rumors had reached you, whispered among the soldiers and your uncle’s counsel. They spoke of things that had been kept hidden, too raw and dangerous to put into words. “He was there,” The realization creeping up your spine like an icy chill. You had tried to be discreet, seen enough in the faces of the men who had returned from that place, the devastation in their eyes, the scars that would never heal. “Did he… Was he there?”

Helaena’s silence spoke volume. The Queen hesitated, her expression flickering between you and her thoughts. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she nodded, the tension in her jaw was apparent as she unclenched her teeth, the words coming out strained. “He almost killed Aegon.”

The silent recollection of your brother’s condition, his broken legs and half burnt face. The weight of it crushed you in a way words couldn’t describe. You had sworn to avenge, promised yourself that you would hunt down whoever was responsible. It was Aemond. Him. Your other half. The brother you had once shared everything with, now the source of your deepest grief.

For a while, you felt like a child again, small and helpless, standing in the shadow of things you could not control. The memories flooded back, the days your brother claimed Vhagar, the dragon that should have been Laena’s daughters, a move that had shaken your family to the core. You had been in Oldtown by then, unaware of the unfolding storm, but a raven arrived with the news that made your blood run cold. You knew, even from miles away, that Aemond had done something that could not be undone.

As a result, he lost an eye. You could imagine it vividly, the moment when his world – your world changed forever. From a distance, you were devastated. But there was no room for grief, no time to mourn. All you could do was watch, helpless as everything you once knew spiraled further away. The cold empathy you felt in the pit of your stomach couldn’t be expressed, instead it festered, twisting inside you like a wound that never healed.

You were never a part of the war your family had started, yet here you were, caught between duty and the chaos they created. And now, with Aegon, weak and broken, you couldn’t help but worry for Aemond, about his ambition, about the hunger in him that only grew since your separation. It had been long overdue. The moment you would have to face the One-Eyed Prince. But you wondered, would he still look at you with the same sentiments or stare at you coldly for how absent you’ve been?

The fleeting hours of your restless dreams had long since faded. As the bright sunrise bathed the room in soft light, you shared breakfast with your uncle and your mother. Helaena, however, had chosen to eat in her room, not wanting to disrupt the delicate reunion between the Dowager Queen and her brother. You had insisted on staying with her, but she had quietly declined, offering a gentle pat to your shoulder. Her gaze lingered on you, full of unspoken concern, a clear hint of worry for your restless sleep. How did she know? You had asked once, but Helaena wouldn’t say a word.

“You’re thinking about him,” she said, softly, noticing your hesitation. You didn’t flinch or give a nervous sigh. You simply said nothing, your body frozen for a moment before you hummed in response.

“I never realized how long it’s been… until I saw you. How different you look,” you murmured, distractedly tracing the lines of your palm. You shifted slightly in your stance, and Helaena mirrored you, her head leaning closer into your personal space.

She smelt of lavender and poppy – Helaena always did.

“Talk to him.” she urged, her voice quiet but insistent.

You pondered as you walked, your mind racing with thoughts of how to approach Aemond, while your heart thudded in your chest, refusing to be ignored. As you made your way down to the Red Keep, you realized that your mother and uncle had long since finished breakfast. Gwayne was preparing for another march with Cole, and Alicent had slipped away, offering you a sympathetic smile as she excused herself from the table. For once, you found yourself leaving with your uncle to a grand feast set for twenty – but your appetite had long since vanished.

“I trust you are well acquainted with the place?” he teased, his voice light with a playful edge. With no one else in the room except for passing maids, you let out a soft chuckle.

“My early childhood was here,” you replied, your gaze drifting to the half-full glass of wine in your hand. “Everything feels the same.”

“Good to know nothing has changed,” Gwayne muttered with a dramatic sigh, shoveling tart in his mouth.

“But I’ve changed,” you said, lifting your glass to the light. The sun streamed through the window, casting a red hue over the liquid that shimmered like a blood moon. “I don’t belong here anymore.” You could feel the eyes of lords and ladies as you passed by strangers and familiar faces alike, each gaze heavy with contempt. They looked at you as if you no longer had the right to be here, as if this place, once your home, no longer welcomed you.

Gwayne’s voice cut through your thoughts. “That doesn’t change your place here,” he said, firmly, studying your face as you rubbed the tension from your brow. “The lords of Westeros are nothing but greedy old men. They should not concern you.”

You know he was right. You were more than they thought, more than the whispers and the cold stares. You were still the daughter of the late king, and that commanded respect, no matter how they looked at you.

Your gaze lifted, a small smile curling on your lips as you beamed at your uncle. “You’re right.”

“You have every right to be here, sweet niece.” he said, rising from his seat and stepping toward you. His hand gently brushed through your hair, and his auburn eyes, filled with empathetic warmth, offered you quiet comfort. “Your brother will be here in a few days.”

“Ah,” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, a fleeting moment of joy. Daeron, your beloved brother, would join the battle alongside you. You had missed his sharp wit and clever nature more than you cared to admit. The bond you shared was unbreakable, he was the one you had confided in, the one with whom you had bedtime stories in your childhood. You’d watched him grow, maturing into a young man with a fierce spirit. Together, you’d flown with Blood Moon, him with his passion for adventure, and you with your love for literature. You couldn’t help but smile wishfully. “I’m sure he terribly misses me.”

This time, the knight laughs, a soft, knowing sound, as he gives the back of your chair a light, affectionate pat. “He’ll be challenging every lord and knight that would ever look down on you.”

The moment it happened, a hollow emptiness settled within you. In that vulnerable space, you sought solace, mediating in silence as the clouds drifted lazily across the sky. Beneath the sacred boughs of the Godswood, you sat with a quiet sense of divinity and pride. The place was often sought by others, but you claimed it for yourself, a refuge where you could empty your mind. Your arrival was gentle, unhurried. You moved with patience, your steps slow as you approached the great roots of the tree, stepping into its cool shade. The tree itself was majestic – its crimson leaves a remainder of autumn’s embrace. One leaf detached from a high branch, falling gracefully through the air. Without thinking, your hands reached out, catching it as it floated toward the Earth, landing perfectly into your palm.

And then, he appeared.

“Sister,” came his voice, unmistakable, sending a chill down your spine. The sound of it stirred something deep within you, a hunger you had tried to quell. You felt a shiver ripple through you, desperately resisting the urge to show any excitement at his sudden presence. It had long been so long, and after all the time you spent in King’s Landing, Aemond chose now, of all moments to seek you out? “It’s been ages since we’ve been given your presence.” he remarked, his tone sharp, almost teasing.

You turn to face him, noting the neutral timber of his voice. Your brother, he’s changed. His posture was poised, his features more refined. The years had shaped him, as you had expected. He was no longer the boy who cried for a dragon, but the man who had claimed Vhagar – the Queen of Dragons, the largest beast to ever soar across the Seven Kingdoms during Aegon’s Conquest. A small part of you wondered if he might look at you the same way. You, too, had changed. Gone was the mischievous girl who caused trouble for your mother to clean up. Now, you were a woman – grown, poised, and more refined than ever.

You give a curt nod. “Aemond.”

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment, as if unsure how to read the shift in your demeanor. His arms crossed behind his back as he stepped closer. Dressed in obsidian leather from head to toe, a dagger sheath resting at his hip, he presented himself like a predator. His eye patch sat comfortably over his face, and his silvery hair flowed straight and silken, like the velvet fabrics of Highgarden.

“I thought you’d forgotten this place.” He closed the distance between you. Most people would have stepped back when he approached, but you stood firm. There was no fear in your gaze, only a subtle scowl – the one he would know all too well. “Do you remember the stories we used to tell here?” Aemond’s tone shifted, growing softer, almost nostalgic. “Before you drove us apart?”

Oh. His tone is sharp, reflecting the past you both left behind, laced with a hint of nostalgia. He prowls closer, as if waiting for some retributive excuse, a justification that might ease the tension between you.

Yet you respond with a mixture of skepticism and offense. “I haven’t forgotten this place.” you say, your voice steady, but your glance betrays a moment of vulnerability, tinged with grief. "It holds memories — both good and bad." The weight of those memories presses on you, the remnants of a shared past that broke the moment you stepped away from King’s Landing. You had left him behind, left him to dwindle with your mother and siblings, while you sought something else, something that still stirs beneath the surface, unresolved, as it had been the day you left. “Do you think I have forgotten you?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with the years and emotions that separate you now. The One-Eyed Prince halts as if he lays caught red-handed. But he quickly recovers, regaining his rigid posture. “You left, sister. You chose Oldtown over your family.” he says, bitterness lacing his words.

“Only because I had to,” you retort, knowing it was a weak excuse with the way your frustration was bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t abandon you.”

You were pleading at this moment, the tone of your voice meek and growing softer. However his silence was deafening, thickening the tension like a storm cloud. “I was left here alone.” Aemond says, his voice strained. “While you were away, I had to earn my place. We were once one, yet it was you who separated us. You think I wanted to be alone?”

The silence stretched between you, immeasurable and heavy with unspoken grievances. Memories flooded back into your mind — shared laughter, sibling quarrels, late night sneakouts to the Godswood, the bond you once had was failing. You wanted to berate his discretion, to defend your choice and consequences but the weight of his gaze pulls at you. The subtle yearning you both missed for years, miles apart from Oldtown to Kings Landing. Even as a child, you felt the odd coincidence, always finding Aemond’s stare back to yours. The Blood of the Dragon ran thick, weaving a bond neither of you could fully escape.

“I need you, brother,” You spoke in High Valyrian for the first time in years, adopting a strange accent. It felt rushed and rigid against your tongue yet you persisted, with ease. “More than I care to admit. The tides are shifting in King's Landing. Alliances are fraying, and we cannot face this alone.” It’s a desperate plea that escapes your lips, a vulnerability that rarely shows anymore. You were never emotionally empathetic, exceptionally only with your mother and sister. But with Aemond, you had shown glimpses of the weight you carried, moments that spoke of the things you long buried.

Your brother searches your face, his gaze searching for the truth in your eyes. His resolve falters, the harshness in his expression giving way to something softer. Your own softened expression features seem to shatter in his mind, like a broken ship in the middle of a nasty sea storm.

“You expect me to forget?” His voice cracks, the words laced with pain. “To forgive the years of silence?” For a fleeting moment, something in him flickers – something raw, something real. You notice the brief exposure, a fleeting softness in his eye, before it vanishes, replaced by anger. But in that moment, your gaze doesn’t waver. You look at him lovingly, tracing every line and contour of his face, the old and the new. You remember the boy he once was – the faint blush of his childhood cheeks, the tousled hair that now Aegon wore as his own, the green emerald clothes that pleased your mother so.

But he was no longer that young boy. Aemond’s cheeks were more refined, the delicacy of youth replaced by a hardened appearance. His lean physique tells you he’s trained well with swords. His missing eye, his most defining feature, reminds you of the day he claimed Vhagar, while losing that very eye.

“Don’t forget,” you said, your voice steady as you mirrored his every move, no longer concerned with the forgotten leaf on the ground. You stood just a few feet apart, your gaze fierce, unwavering. “Two heads are better than one, Aemond. Because the Blood of the Dragon flows through us.”

The weight of your shared history hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Your palms were slick with sweat, the tension of your nerves palpable. Yet you remained still, your posture resolute, like a dragon poised to strike.

Aemond finally exhales, feeling the remnants of his anger slowly dissipate like mist. “I don’t trust you.”

You step closer, merely under his gaze, close enough to make out hesitation and contempt from his momentary silence. The possibility of rebuilding what was lost was upon you, hanging on the threads of your next words. It was like a fragile thread, binding you together that guarantees loyalty is a promise.

“Let me earn it.” Sincerity in your voice cuts through the air yet the weight of the past lingers, like a shadow. Aemond walks closer, studying you for a moment. His intensity is sharp and brittle. The air you breathe under feels electric with the tension between you evolving into something that may appear on the brink of hope.

This time, you see intrigue under his gaze, enjoying the short moment of nostalgia happening. “You think it’s that simple?” His voice is low, laced with doubt. “Years of silence can’t be erased with just a few words.”

There is a flicker of something that eases his gaze, but it quickly vanishes.

“I know,” You say, settling on the weight of his words like the branches of the Godswood tree behind you. “I won’t abandon you again. I swear it.”

And like the boy you had always known, his breath hitches, the storm of emotions swirling in his one good eye. For a moment, you stand within the vicinity of each other’s comfort, relishing in the warmth of his presence, the ghost of your shared youth – the unkempt promises spirling around you, binding you in ways that were painful and profound.

Eventually, he exhales, easing the tension in his shoulders slightly. “I don’t trust you.” The edge of his voice mellowed, hinting at a reluctant approval. Aemond’s gaze holds yours for a moment longer, as he memorizes every bit part of you. You catch onto his discreet watch and that act alone stirs your heart, creeping a faint smile on your lips. As he walks away, the bittersweet ache settles into your heart. Your promise hangs in the air, intertwining with the silhouettes of your former younger selves. Though it feels uncertain, you know that the Blood of the Dragon runes through you both, that could potentially mend the distance between you.

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