#taken by the ruler of the land

[delulujuls]

healing sessions | aegon II targaryen

hi, it's been a hot minute since i posted here, the last weeks were pretty intense for me and since i have a summer break now, i would like to start writing again and do it more regularly.

this is something new here and since new episode of hotd dropped, im in my westeros era, so please prepare for something other than my last shots (i will still write for f1, don't worry)

and lemme set this straight, im team black till the day i die but those green bastards are FINE AS HELL lmao. also @alicenthightcwer is author of those gifts

summary: aegon isn't dealing well with his father loss, but gladly there is someone who's gonna do her best to lift his spirit a bit

warnings: it's fluff without basically any plot, sister x brother romance so targaryens at their finest, mentions of death, depression, alcohol, drugs

pairing: sister!reader x aegon targaryen

The news of King Viserys's death did not surprise the residents of King's Landing. Nonetheless, the loss of the kind ruler dealt a painful blow to the city, which seemed to freeze in time with the king's passing. The capital plunged into mourning, and in addition to the banners, black flags were hoisted. Westeros was left without a king.

Viserys's successor, his second child and first son, Aegon Targaryen, had not been seen since the king's funeral. Aegon had lost not just a king but, most importantly, a father who, unfortunately for him, named him the future ruler on his deathbed.

Aegon would have gladly given the throne to Rhaenyra, his older half-sister. He would have done it without hesitation, even placing the crown on her head himself. Unfortunately, his mother Alicent, who was with her dying husband and heard his wish to elevate their eldest son to the throne, decided to fulfill her beloved husband's last wish at any cost.

To be honest, Aegon couldn't care less about being king. The young prince had not left his bed for several days, thick curtains blocking any light from outside. Occasionally, servants were allowed into his chambers, but only with wine and poppy milk. Aegon did not eat, allowed no one near him, and slept. Sleep was his salvation. Even the prostitutes, who once outnumbered the rats in the castle, were no longer summoned. The fiery prince had dimmed.

Alicent knew she needed to give her son time to grieve. She didn't bother him, only inquiring about his condition from the servants who managed to enter his chambers. It was enough for her to know that he was alive. Aegon's siblings dealt with their grief in their own ways, and his condition hardly impressed anyone. Except for Y/N, who, despite her own pain, worried about her brother. Sitting at breakfast, she silently observed Aegon's chair, which remained empty. After her husband's death, Alicent decreed that all meals, not just dinners, be taken together. The firstborn had not appeared at any of them since.

After a silent breakfast punctuated by brief, formal conversations, Y/N stood up and grabbed a plate, filling it with Aegon's favorite croissants and a portion of strawberries. She was done pretending nothing was wrong. This had to end.

"You shouldn't go to him," Alicent said quietly as the servants began clearing the table. "You know him, he'll come out when he's ready."

"Or he'll drink himself to death first," she replied, not even glancing at her mother. Alicent clasped her hands and pressed them to her lips, watching her family fall apart without knowing how to stop it.

Y/N left the dining room and went to Aegon's chambers. She knocked first, wanting to maintain decorum, but knowing it was futile, she grabbed the handle and pushed the heavy door open. Inside was darkness. Only a nearly spent candle by the bed gave off any light; the room looked like a cave. She blindly set the plate on a table, and with arms outstretched, she made her way to the windows. With a swift motion, she drew the curtains, and even she was blinded by the sudden light that flooded in. Not hearing any curses from her brother, Y/N looked over her shoulder. On the large bed, a figure lay curled up, back to her. From the waist down, he was covered with a sheet that blended with his pale skin. White hair in disarray touched the crumpled pillow. Aegon was either in a deep sleep or dead.

Y/N opened the curtains at every window, flinging some open. The room was stuffy, reeking of stale alcohol, sweat, and the sweet scent of poppy milk. She circled the bed, crouching opposite her brother. He was indeed asleep, but his breathing was shallow. His lips were cracked, stained with dried blood. His eyelashes were matted with tears, and dark circles marred his eyes. There was a bruise under his left eye that was different from the ones under his eyes, as it began to fade and turn from purple to green. Y/N remembered her mother, who had been rubbing her hand while sitting at the table for several days. She could only guess that Alicent was trying to shake her son off in her own way.

Aegon slept, lying on his side and hugging himself, seeking comfort only he could provide. Y/N brushed the tangled strands from his forehead and kissed him. Aegon did not stir.

The princess knew he wouldn't allow servants to tend to him. She left the room quietly, asking the maids to prepare a hot bath quickly and silently. Y/N returned and sat beside him on the bed, gently stroking his head.

Aegon wasn't the bad person many thought him to be. True, he was unique, and in a room full of people, he was impossible to ignore, but no one is born evil. Now, Aegon was simply engulfed in darkness from which he couldn't free himself. The slender, sticky fingers of depression had tightened around his throat, allowing only alcohol to pass.

After some time, a maid stood by the bed, whispering that the bath was ready, nervously glancing at the sleeping prince, afraid of waking him up. Y/N thanked and dismissed her, then leaned in and kissed her brother's forehead again.

"Aegon..." she began softly, close to his ear. "Wake up, I have strawberries for you."

He furrowed his brow, feeling her hair tickle his face. At first, he thought it was a dream or a drunken hallucination, but when he felt the urge to sneeze, he wiped his face with his hand. When he opened his heavy eyelids and saw how bright it was, he pulled the pillow over his head.

"I said no one was to come in," he muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I'll have you killed for this."

"It's nice to see you too, considering I haven't seen you in over a week," she replied, sitting back on his bed and placing the breakfast she brought on the table beside him.

Hearing the familiar voice and wanting to ensure it wasn't a drunken hallucination, Aegon removed the pillow from his face, clutching it to his chest. From squinted eyes, his violet gaze spotted a well-known figure.

"Y/N?" he asked hoarsely, his voice betraying that he'd only spoken to chase away servants in the past days.

"Yes, it's me," she nodded. "And if you still want to kill me, you'll have to get out of bed, which I doubt you can do."

Aegon sighed, more of a grunt of dissatisfaction. He wanted to cover his face with the pillow again, but his sister took it and easily pulled it from his arms.

"Did you come here just to make my life more miserable?" he groaned, looking at her with displeasure.

"I came to stop what you thought was the best solution," Y/N explained. "I brought you breakfast and a hot bath."

"I don't want breakfast or a bath," Aegon replied, turning onto his other side. "And you can leave. Tell mother I'm not dead yet."

"I'm not leaving until you get out of bed," she informed him, staring at his back.

"Then enjoy your stay," he muttered, closing his eyes again.

Y/N sighed. She knew it might be hard, but in a few days, she had almost forgotten her brother's character. And Aegon's character was sometimes the textbook definition of a Targaryen.

"I came here because I want to help you," Y/N began, feeling a lump in her throat. "No one talks to each other, and when they do, it's just some fucking formalities. Aemond flies on Vhagar every day, Helaena spends hours in the garden with her books, Rhaenyra has been on Dragonstone since the funeral, mother is banging with Cole at every turn, and I don't even know if you're alive," she said in one breath, feeling tears prickling her eyes. Only when she said it all out loud did she realize what was happening. It wasn't just about informing Aegon; it was about making herself understand. The truth hurt her even more than she expected.

Hearing his sister's trembling and upset voice, Aegon sighed and turned onto his back, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Only now could his sister see his full appearance. It was the image of a boy deep in mourning and struggling with unimaginable pain.

For a moment, they exchanged looks in silence until Aegon glanced at the nightstand beside his bed.

"Did you bring strawberries?"

She reached for the plate and placed it on the bed next to her brother. Aegon weakly lifted his hand and took one, eating it whole, including the stem.

"Croissants with filling?" he asked, chewing. Y/N nodded again.

"Nut and chocolate," she answered. Aegon silently took a croissant and slowly began to eat.

Y/N quickly wiped her cheeks as two single tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. The young prince looked at his sister, who also seemed different than he remembered from a few days ago. Her hair was still neatly combed, with a few small braids woven into it. The dark red dress, which he thought he had seen her wear before, now seemed to hang a bit loosely on her shoulders and wrinkle at the stomach. The color of the dress reminded him of the bloody cuticles around her nails, which she must have bitten out of nerves. Her face, still beautiful, was now paler than usual, almost as white as her hair. Her swollen eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and her lips seemed to have completely forgotten what a smile was.

"How are you feeling?" he asked after a moment when he had finished eating. Y/N pushed the plate closer to him, and as he reached for another croissant, she only shrugged.

"I'm sad. And I sleep poorly," she replied, staring out the window.

"You know, poppy milk—", "I won't drink it," she interrupted him.

Aegon raised his hands in a defensive gesture, taking another bite of the croissant.

"And you?" she asked, looking at him. "How are you feeling?"

He also shrugged.

"I don't even know. Now I think I feel nothing," he said, looking back at her. "Most of the time I feel nothing, except when a wave of sadness hits, and then I cry like a child until I fall asleep again."

Y/N nodded silently. She could tell that Aegon had spent many hours crying.

He put the last piece of croissant in his mouth and reached for a strawberry, handing it to his sister. She took it and ate it, nodding with appreciation.

"Not bad, right?" Aegon said, seeing her reaction. "Unusually sweet for this time of year."

Y/N let out an involuntary snort, lowering her head. Their father was dead, the country was without a king, the family was falling apart, and this idiot was talking about how great the strawberries were.

"They really are good, I don't know what you mean," he replied, taking the last strawberry and popping it into his mouth. The girl smiled, for the first time in a long while, then looked at her brother.

"I miss you, you know?"

"I'm not dead yet," he said sarcastically, rubbing his face with his hands. Y/N set the plate aside, and Aegon extended his arm toward her, silently inviting a hug. The girl shook her head and stood up.

"Maybe I miss you, but not enough to hug you after so many days without a bath," she replied, nodding her head towards the bathroom.

"You've got to be kidding," he snorted, but she shook her head again and pointed to the bathroom. Aegon sighed and slid off the bed, looking at her reproachfully the entire time. When he stood, the sheet slipped off completely, and he, naked and unbothered, walked unsteadily toward the bathroom. Y/N asked the servants to change his bedding and clean the room while she locked herself in the bathroom with him. As he sat in the water, she perched on the edge of the tub, rolling up the sleeves of her dress.

She reached for the nearby comb and slowly began to untangle his matted hair. They both remained silent, as words were completely unnecessary at that moment. After a while, she put the comb down and picked up the sponge, wetting it and pouring water over his hair. Aegon closed his eyes and tilted his head forward.

Y/N grabbed the soap and lathered it in her hands, adding a few drops of lavender oil. Aegon smiled as the familiar, pleasant scent filled the air, while she began to wash his hair. He sat there with his eyes closed, allowing his sister to take care of him. Aegon felt that of everyone in the family, only Y/N truly cared about him. Despite being the second youngest sibling, just after Helaena, he had always gotten along best with her. They were almost inseparable, always sitting together at feasts, stuffing sweets into their pockets to eat later in the garden when they managed to escape the table. Rhaenyra, their half-sister, was always the oldest and most composed. Aemond, younger than Aegon, was calm and collected but could stab a knife into someone’s neck without blinking if provoked. Helaena lived in her own world, surrounded by books, flowers, and maesters who had tried to help her ever since they noticed something was off with the growing princess. Aegon was often irreformable, acting and speaking first and thinking later. When he was younger, he was incredibly unruly, the mastermind behind every wild idea that Y/N almost always eagerly supported. The young princess loved her brother, who always tried to make her smile. Aegon loved his sister and knew that of all the people in the castle, she was the only one he would kill for and die for either.

Young prince winced quietly when Y/N, massaging his tense shoulders, ran her thumb over a particularly tight muscle.

"You're as hard as a rock," she said, continuing to massage his back. Aegon smiled to himself.

"Not quite yet," he joked.

She rolled her eyes and soaked the sponge again, rinsing the soap off his back with warm water. As she got up to stoke the fire, Aegon submerged himself in the water, washing the soap off himself and his hair. After a moment, he sat up straight and wiped his face off, leaning on the sides of the tub. He silently watched his sister, whose silhouette was highlighted by the flickering fire in the fireplace. Her white, slightly wavy hair cascaded down her back. The young prince smiled and bit his lip. Blood of my blood.

When Y/N finished tending to the fire, she stood up and dusted off her hands. She looked up, feeling her brother's gaze on her. He watched her in silence.

"Care to join?" he asked, glancing at the tub before looking back at her.

She shook her head, stepping closer and looking at the murky water. "I think I'll pass this time."

Aegon extended his hand toward her, and she gave him hers, which he pressed to his lips, planting a wet kiss on her skin. She smiled at his gesture.

"I'll go dismiss the servants," she said, stroking his cheek. "Make sure you wash away all the sadness."

The princess left the bathroom and returned to the chambers. They looked much better now, with two servants finishing changing the bed linens. When they were done, she thanked and dismissed them. She approached the large wardrobe, looking for clean clothes for her brother. She planned to get him outside for a walk, even if just a short one.

She placed the clothes on a chair and sat on the bed, running her hand over the freshly made bedding. Shortly after, Aegon emerged from the bathroom, not bothering to cover himself with even a towel.

When he stood in the doorway, Y/N involuntarily looked up at him. She looked him up and down, causing Aegon to smile.

"Like what you see?" he asked, approaching the bed without taking his eyes off her.

"I'm just checking if you washed yourself properly," she retorted, lifting her head to meet his gaze when he stood right in front of her.

Aegon still wore a faint smile as he cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. His pale skin had gained a bit of color from the hot bath, but he had goosebumps from the cool, fresh breeze coming through the windows. The dark circles under his eyes were still visible, but his gaze was now clear and certain, darkening as he was looking at his sister.

"I missed you too," he said after a moment of silence, during which they exchanged looks. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. "Make love with me."

It wasn't a command or even a request. It was a quiet murmur filled with desperation, almost sounding like a plea. Aegon needed to feel her warmth, needed to feel something other than the alcoholic breath of death that placed cold kisses on him.

She silently stood from the bed, and before he could say anything, she touched his cheek and kissed him. Aegon wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, returning the kiss. Blindly, he started to fumble with the ties of her dress, but seeing his struggle, she began undressing herself. He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her tenderly. When she loosened her corset, Aegon grabbed the bottom of her gown and quickly pulled it over her head, tossing it aside. She shivered at the sudden chill but soon felt Aegon's warm body against her skin. He smiled into her mouth.

"You're so soft," he whispered between kisses, holding her tightly as if he wanted to lock her inside his ribcage. "Go on, lie down."

She obeyed, positioning herself comfortably on a pile of pillows. Aegon hovered over her, kissing her gently. Their hands tangled in each other's hair, touching and grasping every bit of skin they could reach. Lips swollen from kissing released soft sighs and moans mixed with tender words.

Aegon could be gentle, delicate, and caring. He wasn't like this with the whores he sometimes brought to his chambers to relieve himself and kill boredom. But he loved his sister dearly and would never harm her.

The young prince couldn't remember the first time his sister came to his chambers and stayed the night. It was probably before their father's illness. One autumn, Aegon caught a terrible cold. He couldn't sleep at night, and his cough kept the entire western wing of the castle awake. One night, a sleepy Y/N went to his room, silently took the nearby laying ointment, sat on his hips, and began rubbing it on his chest. Aegon, feverish, thought he was hallucinating. But when he woke up the next morning and saw his naked sister asleep in his bed, he knew the events of the previous night hadn't been a fever dream.

Now, too, Aegon had to think twice if the soft body in his arms was really there or just a trick of his drunken mind.

"Are you real?" he whispered, pulling away from her lips and looking at her face.

"You'll have to find out for yourself," Y/N replied just as softly.

Aegon smiled involuntarily and hurriedly disappeared between her thighs.

At dinner, not only Aegon's chair was empty. The chair next to his, Y/N's, was also vacant.

Aemond glanced sideways at his sister, who tried to hide her smile behind her hair. Otto looked at her as well, then at her mother.

"Helaena?" Alicent spoke, looking at the blushing face of her daughter. "Is something wrong?"

"Aegon is feeling much better," she said. The young princess knew this first because the garden she particularly liked was just below her brother's chambers, and the windows, this time, were wide open.

[tra1nchi]

My tummy hurts ngl,, Bttm male reader,, MINORS DNI!!,, Dub/non-con,, evil ruler,, forced femininity,, death mention,, reader referred to as her like once,,>○<

He is ruthless,, power is all his mind can think about,, not caring for any souls lost in any of his purges of smaller kingdoms,, he needs more land,, more riches and especially more concubines,,

He set eyes on your quaint little village off in the forested lands by his kingdom,, your father, The chief wanted to make peace with Vincent's kingdom,, in order to keep you,, his son safe and sound away from any danger,,

You were never a fighter!! A sweet little boy who'd rather keep to himself then pick up a sword >□< The chief was surprisingly okay with it,, he was a kind man allowing your more capable and sword trained sister to take your spot as next in line!!

Though none of her skills would help you,, Vincent and his army grew angered by your fathers peace claims,, "Your land is fertile and therefore under my law, I can take what is mine." He declared in a rather aggressively written letter,, but your father fought back,, that's his families land!!

You cradled your dying sister in your arms,, She sobbed and begged for you to end her pain but you refused,, you couldn't!! That was your own sibling!! You didn't even hear Vincent walking in,, the tall man looked down at you and intentionally thought you were a poor little maiden,,

Something snapped in his mind,, ripping you away from your dying sister,, cradling you in his arms as you struggled,, His voice softened cooing you like you were a wounded animal,,

He had taken you in as a concubine,, you didn't know if he was delusional or just plain crazy as he never seemed to acknowledge you as a man,, always "My wife.." or his "Baby girl.."

He even ignored your poor cock during the roughest of sex!! >○< you angered him by not immediately undressing for him,, what?? How dare you do that to him,, he has treated you lavishly,,

His white hair was damp with sweat,, his arm hooked under you leg,, his large hand digging into your soft flesh,, Your cock pathetically weeped against your tummy,, he wasn't touching it at all!! "Little slut,, maybe you should birth my heirs hm?" His voice was heavy in your ear,, his cock pumping in and out of your tight hole,, your legs trembled from the sheer force of him!! He isn't gentle!!

He gripped at your hair, shoving your face down into the mattress,, His hand finally touching your cock,, but he was gentle,, so annoyingly gentle!! "Whore. You like this don't you? Being treated like a dumb fucking girl, getting her pussy all filled up." letting out an almost playful giggle,, staining your insides with his cum.

[saphirafoxgirlspost1]

(Open Rp) Alternate Love Story in "The Fox princess and the Monkey King"

Long Ago, In the Kingdom Of Sakutopia Ruled by The Kind and Compassionate Emperor Of the Celestial world Connected in Every beautiful Kingdoms.. including The Jade Palace.. but There's One Land that was Forbidden and the New parts of hell was Known as "The Shadowland" Home of the great Shishagami who is a ruler of this Barrens of Decay, No one dared to go there because the entrance was Guarded by the Great Orc who will Attack anyone that tried to go in or Going out. Then There was a Kingdom Nearing this Waste land was Known as the Dark Kingdom Home of the Demonic Bats and Decay itself.. His name is "Koumori" The Son of the Great Shishagami and He was Known as the "Bat King", He's been Watching The beautiful Kingdom with his crystal ball hating all the beauties and Living until he Spotted The Princess Of the Sakutopia Name "Saphira Lorraina Fox" The daughter Of the emperor himself, He began to Fell in love with that beauty and he wanted her as a Trophy wife, His queen. He decided to Plan to marry his Daughter and taking over the kingdom Turning the celestial Realm into Darkness and decay, Then the Next day The Bat King arrives at the palace as the Emperor Demands an explaination why the bat King enters the kingdom uninvited Himself, Then The Bat king Told The emperor that He wanted a hand In marriage to His daughter.. The Emperor was furious and Shouted," You will Never Marry My daughter! She Sees you that your Not worthy for her hand! Begone you Vile Demon! Your Not Welcome to my kingdom!" The Bat King was Seething in rage..and Then He said," Fine but mark My words Your Majesty, Your Daughter will be Mine Either she Likes it or not! She Will be My Queen!" Then The Bat King Vanished from the kingdom.. The emperor was Worried about Saphira's Safety and Now, She is in Danger and So, He began to sent His daughter to the Jade palace where the Jade Emperor will Protect her Until the Bat king is being dealt with.. Before Saphira Head to the golden Carriage, her Father Stopped and handed her a Jaded Box, he said," My dear Daughter,, if the bat King is coming after you and ambush you.. You must go to the Human world and go to the Peach Flower Mountain, remember I told you about the Monkey king?" "Yes Father, you told me all about it..including his Life, the peaches, everything else. Why?" She asked.. then her Father answers," There you will find him.. He'll protect you from The Bat king." Then he hugged His daughter goodbye with tears running down on his cheeks. When Saphira got into the Golden Carriage and took off heading Down to the Jade palace but suddenly The Army of the Demonic Bats Ambushed them.. Then the Coach knew this would happen, So he summon the Portal to the human world and went through it..as the Portal Closed, Saphira Change into her Human Form.

Her hair is White as snow, Her eyes is Blue as a sapphire Sea and her skin is Pale as a moonlight.. While the carriage was taken her to the lovely area..it stopped by the docks and she comes out..and got in..and little does she know..she notice the beautiful Butterfly with a monkey face on the wings as she smiles, She knew that this Butterfly is rare to find it but little does she knows that this butterfly is the monkey king watching over her..When suddenly..She hears the bats screeching from the new portal..as she landed on sure and saw the mountains..and she began to run like hell..and saw the path to the top of the mountain.. Then She began grabbed her horse when it got out from the boat..she rides up there and made it to the cave.. she enters it..and sees the bolder is closed to be protected…The army of demon bats retreat after failing to enter the cave..The Bat king is Not Happy about it..So he Decided to Change into His Human form and Hides in the Big City waiting for her to Come to the city.. Meanwhile Saphira Saw the Ruines on the wall showing the life of the monkey King, every place turns gold as it shows it until she sees the monkey king and she said, "You there!" She sees him running and began to chase after him.. and when he stops and she said, "Wait I-" when she touched it..it went passed her.. and the gold faded as She gasp.. Then The Small Monkey face Butterfly appeared and She said, " I Should've Swore He was here.." Then Suddenly.. She sees the Monkey Face Butterfly Landed on the back of her hand and She looked at it and saw the golden eyes..and then The Butterfly said….

[witchywcmans]

TOO SWEET. | LAIOS TOUDEN

synopsis ━━ after accepting his new title, your moments alone with laios start to become a rarity. it was hard for him to find time, making him long for the days in the dungeon with you. and now, the kisses between you two were quick and desperate, until one night...when a very tired laios just can't seem to ignore you. (laios x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ cunnilingus + fingering, praise, size kink, reader on top, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, yearning + sexual tension, laios and reader haven't boinked in a bit, monster facts as dirty talk ofc, confession, mentions of dubious consent in 5th paragraph (from when the winged lion switched into laios's body). nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 5.4k

song inspiration ━━ howl, florence + the machine / oil & water, pvris / love story, taylor swift

author's note ━━ THIS ONE-SHOT CONTAINS MANGA SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING OF DUNGEON MESHI! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! okay, part 3 (and final part) of my laios series is here! like the other parts, this could be read as a standalone, if you want. my plan for part 3 was to make it vague in case ppl who haven’t read the manga want to read it, but that kinda went out the window. I highly encourage everyone to read the manga if you want more of the story, it gets so interesting! I'm a SUCKER for a knight x ruler ship, so that's what you're getting in this!! I've enjoyed writing this little connected series so much and it really pushed me to start writing reader one-shots! if it hadn't been for all the ppl in the dungeon meshi fandom who read my work, I probably wouldn't have started this. this anime + manga has become one of my absolute favorites!! I hope you guys enjoy this! ps: don't worry, I will be writing more laios in the future 😉

🪽 part i: PLEASE, EAT. / part ii: FORBIDDEN FRUIT. / part iii: TOO SWEET.

After what felt like years, all was right in the world when the Island’s dungeon was destroyed and the Golden Kingdom finally rose from the sea. You had gotten to know Laios – in more ways than one – throughout your journey inside the dungeon, which had left you terrified at some points, especially when you almost lost him. But it hadn’t surprised you when the people had declared him King of a land that was thought to have been perished 1000 years ago. With everything he sacrificed, Laios – the devour of monsters, the destroyer of demons – was the only right person to rule.

With the help of Marcille, Senshi, Chilchuck, and even more friends met along the way, Laios was advised thoroughly as he undertook the stresses of establishing the Golden Kingdom once again. He had to deal with villager problems, instituting the economy, and keeping an eye on the monsters that took residence in surrounding lands. He watched them from his bedroom window on the farthest tower of the castle, admiring the beasts that warded off any threats to the kingdom. But his passion had become the production and preservation of food throughout his land, specifically in regards to magic and monsters. He made sure not one person in the Golden Kingdom went hungry, even if it killed him someday.

Most days were spent researching with his advisors or sitting in the throne room, listening to villagers' pleas for more building materials, better water, or whatever else they came up with that day. Laios made sure to listen to every ask, but he had to admit – just talking to people was exhausting. He never regretted his decision to become King, but sometimes … he longed for the days in the dungeons, tearing into whatever monster they cooked up that night, fighting alongside you, holding your hand or kissing you … tasting you.

Like your former party members, you had taken up residence in the castle as Laios’s chief knight and sworn protector. It made sense, given the fact that you had saved him with your crossbow on several occasions in the dungeon. You frequented by his side, except when he was in his own chambers. You led him to meetings, walked with him through the streets of the kingdom, protected him if any threats arose. Ever since you took up this mantle, your moments alone together had become rare. There had been one night: after Laios was safe and sound in the walls of the castle … that you shared his bed with him, tears streaming down your face because you had been so worried for him, but it didn’t matter anymore now that he was safe, and healing, and pounding into you so hard that it left you both gasping for air. Besides that, the only encounters you had alone were fleeting, consisting of swift, passionate kisses and rough squeezes in dark corners. You two hadn’t been intimate in any sense of the word since … well, since the Winged Lion was defeated. 

Just the memory of the demon made you shiver. You remembered when the Wing Lion had switched into Laios’s body and granted his true desire to become a monster. Before trying to escape the dungeon, he had tried fooling all the party members that he really was Laios and he almost fooled you. You recalled the way he had tried to kiss you – probably devouring your own desires right from your mouth – and how his hands so eagerly tried to slip underneath your skirt, finding you already aching and ready for your lover, just needing to be touched after being so distraught over Laios’s wellbeing. But you recognized the foreign contact from a mile away, and you had pushed him back, screaming at the Winged Lion to bring back your Laios.

You shook yourself out of the memory as you walked Laios back to his bed chambers that night. His stomach was full from dinner, but he was also worn out from a long day of meeting with his advisors. Marcille had really chewed into him about something today, but you weren’t sure of the reason. Holding open the door to his room for him, you caught his tired, lingering gaze before he disappeared inside. You swallowed hard, stationing yourself outside his door, your fingers on the handle of your sword. Nights like these were hard. They were lonely. It was just you out here, manning the King’s chambers, with nothing but the memory of his mouth between your legs or his groans echoing in your ears. 

His half-lidded eyes tonight had you reeling, squeezing your thighs together as you tried to forget about how much you wanted him. It had been almost two weeks since he last kissed you. And that kiss had been quick, desperate, two people colliding in the small, unlit closet used by the maids.

Your hand enclosed around the hilt of your sword, and you nodded at two other guards walking past. If you kept losing yourself to daydreams like this, there was no way you’d be focused enough to protect Laios from an immediate threat. That’s what mattered after all: the King’s protection … the King’s protection … the King. Surely, it wasn’t wise to be so entranced with the new King of the Golden Kingdom as his sworn sword. And again, you understood why you were picked. But it was nights like this where you really wished you had just been … his lover. Hell, you’d even survive with just being a lady of the court if it meant no more secret meetings in closets.

You could’ve dwelled on this predicament for hours, if the door to the Laios’s chambers wasn’t opening.

You turned immediately, your hand on the hilt of your sword going tight. But it was just Laios, leaning against the open door and rubbing at his tired eyes. He had shed his fancy clothes for a nightshirt and loose-fitting drawers. His hair had grown a bit longer, and he refused to cut it out of spite. The way it was sticking out right now, pushed back slightly by his hand … you swore you could feel your knees buckling.

“Your Grace?” You greeted, remaining professional, until you saw that look in his eyes again. That tired, lingering gaze. Full of want, and care, and desperation for another body against his.

His eyes crinkled, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at your call. “Please, do not feel the need to call me that at this hour.” He then held out his hand, beckoning you closer.

Swallowing hard, your eyes flicker down the barren hallway before taking his hand, letting him lead you inside his bed chambers. This was the moment you’d been waiting for so long. His movements were calculated, deliberate, as he slowly shut the large door. You unhooked your belt and scabbard, setting them by the door. As you turned to him, he was already in front of you, helping you take off your armor. His fingers were slow, not in a hurry, as he fiddled with the metal fasteners. He struggled with some clasps, muttering under his breath, and you laughed softly. Each piece was set delicately on the ground, and then he was lifting off your chainmail as if it weighed nothing. You sometimes wondered how you were able to walk around with such heavy material every day since taking up this mantle.

Finally, you were left in nothing but your clothes beneath the armor: a loose red tunic and suede trousers. The relaxed nature in his eyes vanished, replaced by an intense hunger, mirroring the stance of a wolf. Laios was rushing towards you, pushing you against the wall, and pressing his mouth onto yours. You matched his desire tenfold, winding your hands into his hair as you kissed each other with desperation. His fingers fisted into the sides of your shirt, pulling you against him, while his tongue prodded into your mouth. He groaned immediately. All this time without tasting just a bit of you had him weak in the knees. He’d never go this long without kissing you ever again.

“It’s been weeks,” he muttered between kisses. Gone was the monster-obsessed adventurer who saved you from turning into a sea serpent. He’d been replaced by a King who yearned for your touch the second he saw you every morning.

“Since we last kissed,” you corrected as he pressed your back even further into the cold, stone wall. His lips broke away from yours, leaving a trail of spit connecting you two. You exhaled, “It’s been months since we were alone for longer than two minutes.”

“I know,” he sighed, now nuzzling his cheek against yours, “and I’m sorry. All I want to do is go back to the dungeon … with you. It’s just … there’s no time, and I’m so tired.” His mouth then dragged to the shell of your ear, and you shivered when his hot breath ghosted over the side of your face. “But the way you looked tonight at dinner … I don’t know … it was the way the wine made your face red … no matter how tired I was, I had to have you tonight. I missed you so much.”

You were sure that your cheeks had to be as flushed now as they were at dinner. Just his kiss alone had you wet, already wrapped around his finger. “I missed you too, Laios.”

He hardly gave you a second to continue before he was kneeling in front of you. He couldn’t wait; there was this fierce longing in his eyes that only you could cure. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your trousers as he muttered, “I need to taste you.”

Despite his desperation, he did take a moment to admire how soaked your underwear was, how he had always been the one to cause this. You looked down at him and he looked up at you. With long, expert fingers, Laios tugged your underwear down along with your trousers. Your pussy was absolutely dripping, like a goddamn faucet. A whine escaped his lips, hungry for a taste, and he spread your folds just slightly to see the wetness gather. There were just about a thousand monster dishes he enjoyed, but nothing – absolutely nothing – compared to how delicious you were.

Laios didn’t even give you time to step out of your pants and underwear. He was grasping your hips and burying his face between your legs, pushing you right back against the wall. You choked on a moan, even though you both knew you had to be quiet, but you just couldn’t help yourself. He placed one of your legs on his shoulder to give him better access, and when he finally got the first few drops of you on his tongue, he damn near started crying.

You were exquisite. You were too sweet. Sweet like Dryad fruit.

Grinding your hips against his tongue, you whined out his name and realized how badly you had needed him in this way for weeks. Your hands found purchase in his hair, tugging his face deeper into your pussy. He lapped at you, absolutely ravenous, groaning when more slick entered his mouth. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked harshly. His fingers dug into your hip, surely bruising you, while his other hand wrapped around your leg and pushed them even further apart. 

“Missed the way you tasted,” he muttered before flicking your clit with his tongue. “I could do this for hours.”

You let out a shuddering breath, already hazy from his touch. “Why don’t you then?”

“I want to,” he chuckled, all awkward and blushing. Just the sight of him looking up at you with those pretty eyes while licking a stripe up your pussy had you gasping. “Tomorrow. I promise. I just need to be inside you tonight.”

His promise for tomorrow had your heart fluttering. You both were going to make time again, but he also had more plans for you tonight. This wasn’t going to be just two minutes in a closet. Thinking of him stretching your walls with his girth, pushing into you after all these weeks of yearning for him, of touching yourself whenever you could because you just missed him so much … it all made you start to buck your hips against his tongue again. You knew how much he loved that. You physically felt him smile against you, sucking on your clit once again as he prodded one finger inside your tight warmth.

Your eyes rolled back once he found your g-spot, curling his finger and beginning to pump in and out. “Fuck, Laios, I –”

“Needed this so badly,” he confessed, swirling his tongue around your increasingly swollen clit. His cock was straining against his drawers, precum seeping through the thin fabric, but he wanted you to cum on his tongue first. It’s all he’d been dreaming about. “Needed you.”

“I needed you too,” you whispered, and then felt him add a second finger inside of you. You bit the side of your hand, muffling your moan. “So good – fuck. Doing so good, Laios –”

Your body was starting to shake, your walls clenching around his fingers. Laios was relishing in your taste, teasing your clit in the most delicious way. You were so, so close and he needed this so much and so did you and before you knew it, you were crying out into your hand again. Your pussy went tight as his fingers curled into your g-spot and you came all over his waiting tongue. Laios whimpered when he finally tasted your release, pushing his face as much as he could into your pussy, almost suffocating himself. He licked at you, making sure he got every last drop, and when your hips finally stilled, he pulled his fingers out of you with a wet pop and lapped at the excess.

Sweat ran down your brow as you settled against the wall, trying to calm your breathing. When you opened your eyes, Laios was getting to his feet and towering over you. His hand clasped around your jaw and gave you another bruising kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It was like he was trying to devour you, to mold both of you into one so you could be together forever.

Carrying you over to the bed, he set you down on top of the blankets and finally tugged your pants and underwear from your ankles. You laughed together when he realized that he had gotten so excited he forgot to rid you of these. "Sorry," he said, setting them down in a pile.

You couldn't help but smile when you noticed the blush on his cheeks. "Missed me that much, huh?"

His face went even more pink. "Stop embarrassing me when I'm trying to seduce you."

He pulled his nightshirt over his head, and before his fingers could grasp the hem of your tunic, you were pinning him with the brute strength he forgot you acquired in the dungeon. "You don't have to do much to seduce me, Laios," you whispered in his ear, making him shudder.

Now underneath you, you straddled Laios's lap, feeling how hard he was in his drawers. He looked up at you in shock, like you were an offering from the Gods, as you lifted your tunic off and dropped it to the floor. His breathing stilled, watching the way your breasts heaved, and his cock was practically begging for release. 

You leaned down, pressing your mouth to his throat, placing sloppy kisses on areas that made his breath hitch. This was the new King of the Golden Kingdom under you, trembling from just your lips on his skin. He was wrapped around your finger just as much as you were wrapped around his. Dragging your lips down, you kissed his chest before finally swirling your tongue around one of his nipples. Laios muttered expletives under his breath as you wrapped your lips around his nipple, pinching his other one. His whole body was becoming tense underneath you, his straining erection poking against your backside, but you kept teasing him.

At the end of the day, you were always there for your King.

Once both his nipples were taut and wet from your expert tongue, you leaned back up to his face and kissed the corner of his mouth. He watched you with half-lidded eyes, cupping your face so tenderly. “Laios, I just want to be extra sure. Do you want to …?” Your question hung heavy between you two, but recognition flashed in Laios’s eyes. You nuzzled the side of his face and added, “I know you’re tired. I don’t want to keep you up if you’re that exhausted.”

“I’ve been thinking about this – about you – for weeks,” he said, his eyes filled with need. “I want this. I want you.”

You stared at him, absolutely melting at the sight of that dopey grin on his face once again, the one you loved so, so much. Now you were blushing, unable to not giggle when you saw that grin. You traced the curve of his mouth with your finger, and he bit down on the top of it unexpectedly, making you both laugh. This is why you loved Laios: everything was so easy with him.

Wait, love. Is that was this was? The burning feeling in your chest whenever he was near. The way you couldn’t help but smile whenever he did, or how you always laughed along with him. The natural disposition to protect him, whether it be from demons or people. The way you could so easily melt under his touch, under his kiss. It had always been there, staring you right in the face … love.

Feeling your heart beat rapidly in your chest, you finally moved so he could push down his drawers, and his hard cock sprang free. Precum leaked from the blushing red tip, dripping down his shaft and onto his stomach. You adored how pretty his cock was, how easily he could stretch you out with his girth. He liked the way you looked at it now, how you praised him. It took a couple of times, but he eventually stopped being embarrassed about his size around you. He still liked to give you monster facts as he fucked you sometimes – as a treat.

Laios’s hands settled on your hips as you lifted yourself, positioning yourself above his cock. You wrapped your hand around his shaft to get the perfect angle, smearing his precum and making him hiss. “Did … did you know,” he said, voice strangled, “the maximum speed of a Red Dragon is approximately – oh, fuck – 60 kilometers per hour?”

“Mhmm …” You hummed, finally lowering yourself with his help, sinking down onto his cock slowly. Once he slipped a few inches inside your warm, wet walls, you both gasped. You placed your free hand on his chest and encouraged, “Tell me more, Laios.”

“Gods …” He breathed out, feeling your body quiver above him. “I … uh – fuck … people have theorized that changelings – shit – use their ability to change living things in order to propagate their species – fuck, almost there –”

You both let out a breath of relief once he was finally seated inside you. Laios sat up, tugging you more against him, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You stayed there for a moment, adjusting to his size once again, clinging to him as he kissed your cheek and murmured how you took him so well. You’d probably never get used to how big he was, but he filled you so nicely, so completely. After making sure you were comfortable, Laios decided to take the reins and began moving you on his cock. You whimpered after the first pass, and he had to grip your hips so tightly just to stop himself from going overboard, wanting to make this last just a little while longer. Each roll of your hips had you mewling as his cock curved inside you, brushing your spongy g-spot. His fingers dug into your skin, rocking you back and forth, grinding your already oversensitive clit against his pelvis. 

Burying your face into his neck, you let him start to bounce you on his cock. He groaned, feeling himself throb inside your tight heat. Everything about you was perfect: from the way you fit him inside of you so nicely to the way you whined against his skin, begging for more. He was thoroughly obsessed with you. It was a miracle that it took him so long to initiate with you after the Golden Kingdom had risen. He found himself thinking about your touch, about your taste, more often than not. And the way you smiled at him, your laughter sounding like wind chimes in a busy street market … he knew how deep his feelings went, farther than he expected. He was the King but you were the one who brought him to his knees every time.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned, biting and sucking on the side of your neck. “You always feel so good … so warm …”

He started thrusting up into you when his arms got a little tired, and you let him simply take control. There was so little control he had in his life now, especially since he was being watched almost all the time, so you’d give him this – you’d give him you. And gods, did it feel good to just melt into him, to not be his sworn sword, just for a little while. Right now, you two were just lovers, desperate to soothe each other’s ache.

The expansive bedroom was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and moans echoing off the ceiling. Your arousal oozed out with each roll of your hips, dripping onto the lavish blankets befit for a King. But neither of you seemed to give a damn as his nails created crescent shapes in your hips, and you squeezed around him so much that he choked on a whimper. With your face nuzzling the crook of his neck, you carded your fingers into his hair, pulling slightly and eliciting another sound from him.

“Did you also know,” he began in a strained tone, “fuck – wargs have no fear of monsters larger than themselves – please, fuck – not even … not even dragons?”

“Are we still doing that?” You snorted, lifting your head from his neck.

He laughed along with you, and now you both were looking into each other’s eyes as he thrust up into you, hitting the best spots. He leaned down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, moaning at the way you squirmed. His tongue moved to lick up the valley between your breasts, almost animalistic, before his mouth was grazing yours and his eyes were burning into you like melted gold. You clung onto him tighter, your chest flush against him, and you knew then that this wasn’t just fucking anymore. Laios was making love to you and you were making love to him and – fuck, he was going to make you cum so hard to make up for the past few weeks.

You were creating an absolute mess on top of him, just a blabbering heap of moans and whines, eyes locked on his as you rode him into oblivion. “I’m gonna cum,” you mewled, unable to keep your voice level. Your fingers tugged on his hair again, and he responded by downright slamming you up and down his thick cock.

“I know. It’s okay. I know.” One of his hands left your hip to reach in between your bodies, where you both were linked, and two fingers began to circle your clit. You hissed, back arching even more into him. Your vow to be quiet long forgotten as he teased your ache. “That’s it … there you go.”

Laios knew his strength, and it was certainly showing it off tonight. He was rocking your hips on his cock – so close to release – while rubbing your clit in tight circles. His sweet nothings in your ear had you crying out his name, and after a few more messy passes, you were cumming around him. You were shaking like fresh mandrake in his arms. Your walls squeezed him so tight that it only took one more thrust up into you before he was emptying himself into you. He came with a lewd groan, his hands falling to his sides and leaving you to bounce yourself on his cock through his release. Eventually, when the wave after wave of pleasure settled between you both, you slumped against him and breathed heavily. And he just held you, burying his face in your neck and licking at the bites he left on your bruised skin.

When you lifted your head to kiss him, he surprised you by rolling you onto your back, his soft cock slipping out and leaving you feeling empty. He kneeled at the end of the bed and spread your legs wide open, letting your combined releases spill out. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and the anguish in his tone stunned you. “It’s been weeks, and I just … I need you.”

As soon as the word, “Please,” left your lips, he was diving in again, spreading your folds with two fingers. He licked a long stripe through your pussy, gathering your releases on his tongue. He didn’t care that he was tasting his own cum; all he wanted was this – you. He lapped at you, still starving for your taste, and the way he had you cumming again was slow, calculated. Laios edged you, teetering you on the brink of release, before his hunger got the best of him. And when you came again on his tongue, it felt long and relaxing, like a weight had been lifted off you. Warmth seeped from your aching pussy and onto his tongue. He drank his fill, relishing in your sweetness.

Laios rose back on the bed, curling against your side like a tamed dire wolf. His arms slotted against you, pulling your naked front against his once again. His hand lifted to your cheek, pushing strands of hair behind your ear. Your noses brushed against each other, and he finally kissed you, slowly and passionately. There was no desperation left in him. It was replaced by the steady rhythm of his heart next to yours. 

“I love you, Laios,” you blurted in the softest voice you could muster. Once you realized what you said, you didn’t dare open your eyes to see his reaction. You simply felt him, his lips hovering just over yours, and then he hummed.

“I love you too,” he whispered, and your eyes opened to watch him. That dazed grin appeared once again, making your insides twist and your cheeks tinged pink.

Laios practically giggled and pecked your lips just to soothe your nerves. “I’m not sure how to handle you like this,” he joked, finally making you laugh with him. “Usually, you’re the one making me nervous.”

“I just …” You shook your head. “I was afraid you wouldn’t say it back.”

“I thought it was obvious that I’ve been in love with you since we first met,” he said in that straightforward tone of his. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones and he smiled. “Seems like I’m cooler than I thought.”

You chuckled, hitting his chest and making him fall back onto the bed. You were sitting up slightly, propping your elbow and resting your chin in your hand. Laios was looking up at you like you put the stars in the sky. Both of you knew, instinctively, that a King being intimate with his sworn protector was typically frowned upon. Neither of you truly cared, but the opinions of his people had to matter. He was a new King after all, and every move of his would be scrutinized. Which left him with one option.

Lacing his fingers with yours, he said, “We should get married.”

Your brow furrowed. “That seems a little rash.”

It was your gut instinct to deflect, to push him away, even when you scooted yourself closer to him. But you couldn’t deny that this had been in the back of your mind, shoved in the dark corners when you thought it might be too crazy of an idea. The first time it popped into your brain was when you saw Laios’s monster form lying helpless on the ground. His body was deteriorating, blood seeping out from every crevice of the three-headed creature. The Winged Lion had been defeated, but you couldn’t stop the wail that erupted from your mouth as you took in Laios’s monster body, reeking of death and despair. You remembered running from from the tower, taking one of the heads in your arms, and crying, your tears soaking the fur. 

But then you and Marcille found him amongst the trees of the island, where Falin’s body had been frozen and resting against a boulder. From the moment his eyes met yours, you had no doubt that this was your Laios. And he was okay. He was tired, but he was okay. You didn’t think you could shed any more tears, but then you were running towards him, wrapping your arms around him, and he was burying his face in your neck and – gods, that had to be when you knew. With the relief flooding through you and his arms embracing you … you knew then that you wanted to be with him forever. You didn’t want to see him in harm’s way ever again. You would kill – again and again – for him. You would be by his side as long as he would have you. You loved him. You wanted him. Forever.

Laios snorted, bringing you out of the memory. “Rash? After how long we’ve known each other?” His tone grew serious. “I trust you with my life. That’s why I named you my sword. But I don’t want to go weeks without you ever again. I love you – I’m in love with you – and I know that I don’t want anyone else by my side.” He squeezed your fingers in his own. “I want to marry you. And then, we can be together freely with you as my Queen and sword sword.” He then paused, thinking. “We can do that, right?”

You laughed. “You’re the King. You can make your own rules, but …” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip for a moment as you mulled over his words. “Are you sure you want to marry me?”

“I’ve never been more certain about anything.” He then tapped his chin, feigning curiosity. “Unless you want me to marry Marcille? It would certainly be a loveless marriage, but she can be friendly when she isn’t advising me.”

Shaking you head, you flicked his arm. “Not sure if your sister would appreciate that. Or Marcille, for that matter.” Not even magic could force those two apart. They would love each other until the end of time.

Your eyes narrowed now. “Are you actually proposing to me without a ring, Your Grace?”

The formality made him cringe, but then his face relaxed as he stared up at you, taking in your beauty. You were the most beautiful like this, vulnerable and bare with your hair jutting out at every angle and your lips swollen from kissing him. But he’d reckon you were beautiful in every light. He couldn’t help but also think back to when you found him by Falin’s crystalized form, how it felt to just hold you again after such an egregious fight. Your warmth had seeped into him, reminding him of home. You were home. And that was when he knew, too, that he wanted to be bound to you. 

Laios brought your joined hands to his lips, kissing each of your knuckles. “Once the sun rises, you will get a proper proposal. I’ve always been a man of my word, haven’t I?”

And that he was. Because the moment you stirred awake the next morning, still sleeping in his bed, you opened your eyes to find Laios, King of Golden Kingdom, kneeling at your bedside. He held out a ring to you, eagerly awaiting your response. Once your eyes adjusted to the light and you saw his golden doe eyes, his big grin, you wrapped your arms around his neck. Of course, you said, Yes.

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

The Prince - Chapter One

A/N: Hello! I have been working on this since the season started, so it seemed only fitting that I got the first chapter out before the finale. This fic is fully written, and will be posted every other day. (If you know me, this is unheard of, I usually post as I write.) Anyways, I hope you enjoy! This chapter is a little heavy on the world building, but I promise we get into the good stuff quickly. Let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters!

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 4.6k Synopsis: Jacaerys fell in love with the reader years ago when they first met in the Vale. Five years later, the reader comes to King's Landing and tries to deny her growing feelings.

Next Chapter

Arnold Arryn was imprisoned in a sky cell after trying to contest the inheritance of his cousin, Jeyne Arryn. You were young at the time, and watching your father get arrested made very little sense to you. Jeyne was fifteen, and your closest friend in the world. You didn’t understand fully what had happened to your father. One day he was there, and the next gone.

Jeyne tried to explain it to you the best she could. She was a woman, and women very rarely got the chance to rule. She needed to make an example of your father.

What you came to learn, in the years that passed, is that banishing him to a sky cell was not the only example Jeyne was setting. As part of Arnold’s punishment, he – and all his descendants – would be disinherited from the Arryn line.

A testament to your friendship, Jeyne kept you in the Eyrie, kept you by her side. She let you wear the type of gowns she wore, you ate the same decadent meals, and she made sure everyone treated you as a lady, although the title no longer belonged to you. It was the only change that you really noticed in the coming years. Your father was gone, yes, but otherwise, life went on as normal in the Vale.

Jeyne had been three when she inherited the Vale. Of course, she would not be able to rule for years. So, Lord Yorbert Royce was elected to rule in her stead, until Jeyne became of age. As Lord Protector, it was Royce’s duty to see that the Vale remained prosperous.

In the final years before he died, when Jeyne was just coming into her role as Maiden of the Vale, Royce arranged a marriage proposal for you. House Blacktyde had visited the Vale when you were thirteen, and their second eldest son, Barun, had taken a liking to you immediately. Royce informed the family that you were without title, without dowry, but Barun was not to be dissuaded. Royce crafted an arrangement that would allow you to gain a title, becoming a lady of Blacktyde, that would also result in allegiance for the Vale.

It had been a win-win.

But after Royce had passed, and Jeyne had taken on the mantle of the Vale, it crept in how wrong the arrangement was. Barun Blacktyde was your same age, but he looked ten years your senior. He had strong arms, corded with muscles, and a sheet of blonde hair that covered his wicked face. In the few times you met, his hands wandered, prodded, and bruised. He was sinister.

Now, at twenty-one years old, there was no more stalling to do. Jeyne had told the Blacktydes that she needed you at her side, that you were still too young, anything she could think of to put off the wedding. She was stalling until she could find a way out of the arrangement, but your hopes were fading as time was.

On the morning when you were to meet with your future husband and sail away to the Iron Islands, a different guest arrived in the Vale.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was sixteen the day he saved your life.

War was brewing in Westeros, all the houses knew. After the death of King Viserys, the fight between Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Aegon had ignited anger across the realm. In the Vale, Jeyne assured anyone who asked that she was devoted to the rightful ruler, Rhaenyra. Yorbert Royce had gone in Jeyne’s stead years ago, swearing fealty to the future queen.

When Jacaerys arrived in the Vale, he had arrived on a mission for his mother, coming to strengthen and call upon the alliances that Rhaenyra had gained years back.

Jeyne needed absolutely no persuading, but she took a liking to the young prince immediately. Nearly ten years younger than her, she delighted in the pride he already carried, the future heir to the throne. If he had been anyone else, she would have laughed him out of the Eyrie. But Jeyne believed that women needed to stick together, and this was Rhaenyra’s son.

She also believed in always keeping her mirth. And few things delighted Jeyne the way the prince’s affections for you delighted her. You had been at her side when the prince came to call. The way Jeyne tells it, she could have said anything to the prince, and he would have nodded his head in agreement, so enchanted by you was he.

You remember it differently.

When Jacaerys had arrived in the Vale, you were at your breaking point. Bleak was your outlook on life. But when you saw his green dragon in the sky, it felt like hope for one shining second.

You were at Jeyne’s side and listened to her discussions with the prince. You would disagree that his attention only lingered on you. He was a proper gentleman and gave Jeyne the respect due to her title, but every so often, his attention would flit back to you.

Jeyne invited him to stay in the Vale for a few days, enough time for them to discuss what aid the Vale could provide, and time for he and his dragon to rest. The prince agreed, smiling – perhaps your way, but you couldn’t be sure. You had been smiling, too, because you knew that the prince’s stay here would put off your move to the Iron Islands.

Back in her chambers, Jeyne nearly squealed when she shut the door behind the two of you. Immediately, she poured two goblets of wine, thrusting one into your hand. This was not uncommon behavior for your cousin, who enjoyed any and all delights, but what you couldn’t understand was why.

“Oh, Y/N,” she said, breaking off with a laugh, “His eyes never left you!”

“Whose eyes?”

“The prince’s, who else!”

“That is not true.”

“It is! I think I just witnessed love at first sight,” she says with a snort.

“I think I’m just the first woman he’s seen who has not been related to him,” you say, making Jeyne burst with laughter. You can’t find it in you to belly laugh the way she was now. Jacaerys had been kind to the both of you, mocking him seemed wrong.

“Are you going to send aid?” you ask, hoping to change the subject.

“I’m sure,” she says, taking a swig of her drink. “I just need to figure out what he’ll have to offer to get me to agree.”

“What more could we need here?” you ask with a shake of your head.

“What indeed,” Jeyne muses.

In his short stay, Jacaerys imbedded himself in your life. Jeyne always overslept breakfast, typically still in her cups from the night before. That first morning after his arrival, you came to the dining hall to find Jacaerys sitting with a few lesser lords of the Vale, a wide, handsome smile on his face. When he saw you, you can’t deny that a light flared in his eyes. He stood up and pulled out a chair for you, inviting you into the conversation.

Over the next few mornings, his attention strayed from the lords and focused almost solely on you. He told you stories about his dragon, Vermax, and adventures they had gotten into with his younger brother, Lucerys. He explained the training he had been going through since he was a young boy. He even confirmed the legend of how Prince Aemond lost an eye, although that one was told at a hush.

Because of his dedication to speaking with you, you knew Jeyne’s initial assumptions were correct. Although never venturing into anything uncouth, Jacaerys always found a way to compliment you, to make you laugh, to make you feel seen.

His presence was a beautiful distraction from the future that was awaiting you.

The prince didn’t know of your betrothal to Lord Barun, and both you and Jeyne were happy to keep it from him. The lord had already voiced his complaints about returning to the Islands once more without his bride, but with the prince and his dragon here, it felt like nothing could touch you.

The morning that Jacaerys was meant to leave the Vale, you come down to the dining hall to find that he wasn’t there. You pretend that you are not disappointed. Spending your mornings with him had been a welcome change of pace, but you had known they would be coming to an end.

When you stand to leave, the doors opened at the opposite end of the hall. Prince Jacaerys walks into the room, a smile on his face the moment he spots you.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” you say, curtsying to him. He studies the dining table, the maids scurrying to clean up the mess, and his smile falters a little.

“I’m sorry to have missed our last breakfast,” he says. “I am leaving shortly. I only came to say goodbye.”

“Of course,” you say. He is to fly north to Winterfell next, fulfilling his promise to his mother. “It was an honor to have you here, My Prince.” He smiles and takes your hand gently in his, pressing a soft kiss.

“I hope to see you again soon, Y/N.”

“Good luck, Your Highness.”

Once Jacaerys and Vermax had disappeared over the horizon, you made your way to Jeyne’s receiving room. You are welcomed in immediately, and find your cousin slouched over on a couch, groaning quietly to herself. She is not a morning person by any means. You are not sure you had ever even seen her up this early.

“Good morning, cousin,” you say, drawing her attention up to you. She grimaces at the light shining through her windows.

“What has you so chipper so early?” she asks.

“I’m always like this in the morning,” you say. She makes a noncommittal sound as she sits upright.

“The prince just left,” she says.

“I know. He came to say goodbye.”

“Of course he did,” Jeyne says with a smirk.

“Did the two of you come to an agreement?” you ask, pouring her a glass of water. She doesn’t answer until after she’s taken a sip and looks up at you with grateful eyes.

“Yes. He’s agreed to send a dragon to protect the Vale.” She takes another hearty drink of the water, before deciding she doesn't like the taste. She motions for the wine, and you bring it over. “He also agreed to take you on as ward once the war is over.”

“What?” you ask, your head snapping to her face.

“Well, not his ward,” she says with a laugh, “Although, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Rhaenyra will allow you into King’s Landing under her watch.”

“Why?”

“I made up some lie about learning more about the realm, so that you could become a greater aid to me. But what matters is that it will get you away from Blacktyde. With the war coming, I can keep him at bay for the length of it, assuring him that I need you here. But once it comes to an end, I want you in King’s Landing. He’ll have a harder time getting to you there.”

“Jeyne,” you begin, but she wavs a hand to silence you.

“When you get to King’s Landing, you will need to make it your chief task to marry as quickly as possible. I don’t know that he’ll ever stop,” she says quietly. You nod your head, the reality sinking over you. The single spark of hope you felt at seeing Vermax in the sky seems to light again within you.

“Thank you,” you say, crushing her into a hug she wants no business in returning.

In the coming weeks, Westeros changes, and The Vale with it. Within a year, two, the home you had grown up knowing and loving, transformed before your eyes.

No longer could you recognize the faces around you. Servants and guards you had grown up with your whole life were disappearing, either as a direct result of the war, or because of the conflict growing between families as different Houses pledged their allegiances to Rhaenyra or Aegon.

In the last year before the war ended, Jeyne ordered that you go to Gulltown. Jeyne had asked years prior in her deal with Prince Jacaerys that a dragon be sent to protect the Vale. Weeks after that agreement had been finalized, Queen Rhaenyra sent word asking that the Vale also foster her younger children, until they could be safe with her again.

Jeyne had accepted, and with their cousin, Princess Rhaena, the three youngest princes, came to live at Gulltown. She asked that you go there, as the war efforts struck closer and closer to the Eyrie. You begrudgingly agreed, because she was your Lady, but also because she didn’t often wear that look of panic in her eyes. After everything she had done for you, it was the least you could do in return.

And that was when you met Rhaena. She was just a few years younger than you and had just had a dragon of her own hatch. She had named the little pink creature Morning, and she was as beautiful as the sunrise.

Rhaena quickly became your close friend. With few friends around anymore, the two of you bonded quickly. You fantasized about the end of the war: what kind of dresses you would get to wear again, the foods you would eat, and mainly for Rhaena, seeing her family again.

The boys were her family, of course, and she doted on them as if they were her own, but she longed for her sister, for adult company. She had confided in you about her struggles to get a dragon of her own, and you knew she wanted to proudly show off her beautiful Morning.

You also dreamed of the end of the war, but for different reasons. If Queen Rhaenyra remained true to her word, you would be going to King’s Landing with Rhaena.

It seemed like the war would never end, until one day, it did.

Jeyne came to Gulltown. She was unexpected, but that wasn’t uncommon behavior for her. She often showed up and left without a warning. When she arrived, you and Rhaena were in the nursery with the younger boys, Aegon and Viserys, now seven and three. You were seated on the floor with Viserys, a dragon figurine in his hand and a horse in yours. You raced away from the dragon, but still Viserys swooped upon your figurine. You cried out playfully, making the younger boy laugh, just as Jeyne walked into the room.

“Jeyne!” you say in surprise, quickly standing. “I didn’t know you were coming to Gulltown."

“The young prince takes a liking to you,” she says with a smile. “Must run in the family.”

“Oh, aren’t you over that by now?” you ask.

“What do you mean?” Rhaena asks, turning both of your attentions.

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head, “She’s just making a bad joke.”

“I am not,” Jeyne says proudly, knocking your shoulder with a hand, “You should have seen the crown prince when he saw her.” Rhaena looks at you curiously, and for some reason it makes you feel guilty.

“Her opinion alone,” you say, tidying up around the room. Rhaena gives you a small smile, seeming to accept this explanation, and then turns back to Jeyne.

“What brings you here?” she asks.

“Good news.”

She informs you both that the war has ended, and before the two of you can run off to bag your bags, she holds you back and tells you the best news of all. Barun Blacktyde grew tired of waiting and had married another.

Jacaerys awakes with a smile on his face. He is in a strange bedroom, one he hadn’t been in since he was a little boy. The room had been his mother’s, when they had lived in the Red Keep. It had passed through owners, many of whom Jace didn’t want to think about now.

Today, all of his thoughts were to be consumed by one thought: his family returning home.

It has been years since he has been able to communicate with his brothers through any other means than letter. And since the younger boys are still little, most of his letters go to his brother, Joffrey. He will be thirteen now, and Jace can’t even imagine what the boy will look like. What the younger two, or even Rhaena will look like now.

He imagines he has changed much, too, in the last five years.

When he sees them again, time stands still. He recognizes Joffrey first, but only because he looks so much like Luke. Jace races to him first, wrapping him in a bone crushing hug. His brother hugs him back just as fierce, and when they break away, there are tears in his eyes to match his own.

“You’ve gotten big,” Joffrey jokes.

“So have you,” Jace says with a smile.

He embraces Aegon and Viserys in turn. The boys had been so young when they left, he’s not sure they recognize him. They hugged him back, but it seems more so because Joffrey did first, than anything else.

Lastly, he sees Rhaena. She has grown in the last five years and is more beautiful than he remembers. He convinces Baela to let her go for a moment and embraces her, too.

“Welcome home,” he says. She doesn’t respond other than with a sob-like sound but rubs a hand over his back. She is smiling when they break apart.

They start their day at the dragon pit, those who had gone to the Vale wanting to show off their dragons, Rhaena especially. It has been years since Jace has flown with any of his brothers, and flying with Joffrey now, he feels a weight lift off his chest.

His mother wants them close all day, and doesn’t let them stray too far. When Joffrey asks for specifics about the war, Jace has to tell him in hushed tones from the corner of Rhaenyra’s chambers.

At the end of the day, a feast has been arranged for the family, as well as a few of his mother’s trusted advisors. Jace sits next to Rhaena, across from Joffrey. Rhaena speaks animatedly with Baela about Morning, and the pride in her voice brings out his own. He remembers what it was like when Vermax first hatched, when he realized the honor he had been given, to become a dragon rider.

So lost in these thoughts, he only catches the last few words of Rhaena’s story.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“Oh, just a story that Lady Jeyne told Y/N and I,” she says, as if it’s a passing thought, something completely inconsequential, and turns back to Baela. Jace stares off into nothingness, until Joffrey chuckles into his food. Jace glares at him, kicking him discreetly under the table.

“What?” Baela asks, looking between the two.

“Nothing,” Jace says firmly.

“Have you been to see her yet?” Rhaena asks, looking at Jace.

“Seen who?”

“Y/N,” she says with a shake of her head.

“No, of course not.” He knows he says it too harshly, but he is actively trying to fight off an embarrassed flush, and to figure out a way to choke Joffrey from across the table without his mother knowing.

“Oh,” Rhaena says, “Seemed like she took a liking to you.”

“Did she?” Jace asks, his heart rate accelerating.

“Well, I wasn’t there,” she says with a laugh, “But Lady Jeyne certainly thought so.”

“Ah.”

“It would be good for one of us to greet her,” Rhaenyra says, across the table. “In welcoming the children home, I fear she got lost in the commotion.”

“I’d be happy to,” Jace says. Joffrey is barely breathing across from him, holding back laughter.

“Thank you, Jace.”

When supper finally ends, Jace makes sure to grab Joffrey and hold him back while the others exit.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“What did you say to Y/N?”

“About what?” Joff asks, brushing him off. “Your eternal crush on her? Nothing.”

“Why did Rhaena make it appear otherwise?”

“Because Lady Jeyne liked to joke about it,” Joff says. “I swear, I never talked about it except with you in our letters.” Jace nods, centering himself. He ruffles Joff’s hair, frustrated with himself for badgering him when he only just got him back.

“Sorry,” he says gently.

“Don’t worry about it. Are you going to go see her?”

“I told Mother I would,” he says, straightening. Joffrey smiles at him, a little bit in jest, but also with enough encouragement that assures Jace that he can walk up the steps to your chambers.

“Good luck,” Joff says with a pat on his back.

When a knock comes from your door, one of the maids assigned to your quarters opens it. You hear her gasp in surprise but then she says, “Your Highness.” It’s the only reason you are able to connect that the man standing in your doorway is Prince Jacaerys.

You adjust your dress as you walk towards him, trying to see the boy you met so many years ago. He is taller now, maybe even broader. His hair, somehow, has gotten even curlier.

“Y/N,” he says with a smile. For some reason, the sight of it sends your stomach into a summersault.

“My Prince,” you say, curtsying to him. “What a lovely surprise.”

“It’s wonderful to see you in King’s Landing,” he says, the smile still on his face.

“It’s wonderful to be here,” you say. “I wasn’t sure I would ever get to see it.”

“Would you like to see more of it?” he asks quickly.

“What?���

“I could give you a tour, if you’d like,” he says. “The Keep is vast; it took me months to figure out all its hiding places.”

“I’m sure you have much better things to do than give me a tour,” you say abashedly. He steps forward, looking at you with kind eyes.

“You and your house safeguarded Rhaena and my brother for years. It would be my honor to show you my home,” he says. Something about the look in his eyes, the passion behind them, makes you think that this is a bad idea. But you also know, there is no way to decline your prince.

“The honor is all mine, My Prince,” you say. He smiles at you, a dimple forming in his cheek you hadn’t noticed before. You take his outstretched arm.

He guides you out of your chambers and into the hall. Outside, the sun has begun to set, casting shadows all along the airy halls.

“I apologize for not coming to welcome you sooner,” he says.

“You were reuniting with your family, there is no need to apologize, Your Highness.”

“Just Jace is fine,” he says, drawing your gaze to him. “You’ve known me long enough.”

“Have I?” you ask with a laugh. “I knew you for only a matter of days, five years ago.”

“It seems like longer, but I suppose that’s true,” he says, “And you did not know me when you saw me at your door.”

“What?” you ask in surprise.

“You didn’t recognize me.”

“Well, the prince I met five years ago was a boy,” you say, heat rushing to your cheeks for some unknown reason. “You do seem like a completely different person.”

“Maybe I am,” he says with a coy smile.

“What about me?” you ask, lifting your chin to him. He says his next words softly.

“What about you?”

“Did you recognize me?”

“Of course. The years have made you more beautiful, but you still look like Y/N,” he says. A chill passes over you at the casual way he says your name. You briefly try to make sense of what you are feeling, but more than that, you want to stay in this moment.

He turns you down a hallway, guiding you towards the great hall.

“So, what truly brings you to King’s Landing?” he asks. “Your cousin was adamant about it years ago.” Something in his expression makes you think you could tell him; makes you believe you could tell him anything.

“Jeyne is more than my cousin, she’s my best friend. She has done me a great honor by keeping me in the Eyrie. But she also knows that we are somewhat . . . sheltered there.”

“Sheltered?” he repeats.

“There’s not much more I can learn there.”

“They’ve seemed to have taught you well enough. Joffrey says you were a great sparring partner,” he says, making you laugh.

“He’s too kind. Or he’s a liar,” you say, a fluttering in your stomach when Jace smiles at you. “I was more of a dummy for him, I think.”

“He was always quick with his sword. I have a scar on my forearm from sparring with him.” He turns over his wrist, his arm still linked with yours, and rolls up his sleeve to reveal the miniscule scar. You laugh at him. Jace’s eyes are on you the whole time, alighting at the sound from your lips.

“A warrior’s scar,” you tease.

“Indeed,” he says, his smile falling.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, “I didn’t mean to discount all you did in the war, Your Highness.”

“I know,” he says, a soft expression on his face.

You fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence as he leads you through the gardens.

“Is continuing your studies the only reason you have in coming to King’s Landing?” he asks.

“There are not many prospects for marriage in the Vale either,” you say, dropping your head.

“Ah,” he says stiffly, “You know, I find that hard to believe.”

“What?”

“That no one in the Vale would want to marry you,” he says, making you blush.

“Well, having absolutely nothing to offer in the way of a title, or even a dowry, I’m not the best candidate.”

“Even so,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“How about here?” you ask, “And hope for me here?”

“I think so,” he says, looking at you intently.

“We shall see,” you say, casting your eyes away from him to look upon a rose, nearly as red as you feel.

When you get back to your chambers, all you want to do is write to Jeyne. You promised yourself you’d wait at least a week before writing to her, but after the evening you had, you aren’t certain you can wait that long.

The prince had taken you out for nearly two hours, showing you all around the Keep, asking you questions about yourself, and completely confusing the memory you had of him.

Even five years ago, he always had a way with words. His affections were clear and sweet. They were apparent still, visible in the way he looked down at you, the tender way he held your arm to his.

But what had changed was the way his actions made you feel. Before you had blushed at his brazenness and laughed along when Jeyne made fun of it. It wasn’t funny anymore. Prince Jacaerys was a man now, and whatever feelings he had would be as grown up as he was. Even with the news of Barun’s marriage, you were still here to find a husband, quickly. That man was never going to be the prince. You vowed to yourself then that you wouldn’t see him again, unless absolutely necessary.

[softspiderling]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I wish Cregan’s choice of guests had less cocks.”

You leaned back in your seat, swirling the mulled wine in your goblet after the fifth time being stepped on your feet during a dance.

Alysanne nearly spat her cider all over the table as she laughed and she quickly covered her mouth, pushing her goblet away.

“You are incorrigible.”

“I am right!” You insisted, giving your friend a look.

It was Cregan’s name day, he was twenty and four now and you had taken the annual journey to Winterfell upon yourself to celebrate with him. As usual, his choice of guests consisted of men and a only handful of ladies, two of which were you and Alysanne. You were in the miserable position of being a lady who was not spoken for, so every lad in attendance was hoping to strike up conversation with the lady who came from another land.

“They are not that bad.”

You rolled your eyes at Alysanne.

“You only say that because no one even dares to offer their hand to you because they know you’re Cregan’s.”

Alysanne smirked but didn’t deny the fact. You were happy that Cregan and Alysanne had finally gotten around to confess their feelings for another, you weren’t sure how much longer you had in you to hear one friend talk about the other, even though the mutual affection was so clear to everyone else, but it left you at odds in certain situations.

Like Cregan’s name day celebrations.

This was the fifth one you attended after befriending Alysanne when her father came to your land to talk trades with your mother. This was the first one where Alysanne was (unofficially) spoken for.

Only the year previous, Alysanne had entertained multiple men for dances, hoping to provoke Cregan into a confession. But now, she leaned back comfortably without the risks of being asked for a dance by anyone but the host.

“You look miserable.”

Cregan had joined you, placing his empty cup on the table to wrap a hand around Alysanne’s shoulder, his eyes amused as he looked at you.

“I am miserable,” you lamented. “I think I need to soak my feet for the next three nights to recover from the absolute horrors that befell me on the dance floor.”

Alysanne snickered, laying her hand on Cregan’s.

“She’s used to better dance partners.”

“Of course,” Cregan said, a grin growing on his face. “The diplomatic kind. How could I forget. Remind me of his name again, Leoric of Caryndor?”

“Myles is of Caryndor, Leoric is the Count of Edrion,��� you corrected him, biting back a laugh.

“Oh forgive me,” Cregan snorted. “I wouldn’t want to insult any of your highborn consorts.”

“Don’t be crude,” you huffed, despite the grin on your face.

It was a known fact that you had no shame in going after what you desired. It was a mere coincidence that your mother’s most frequent guests were of highborns who had impeccable dance lessons.

“Aegon the Conqueror pales in comparison to you,” Alysanne laughed. “Unfortunately Queen Rhaenyra is wed, or I would fear for the Seven Realms if there was possibility of you nearing the Iron Throne.”

“Aye, do not forget her son, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon,” Cregan replied, turning to you. ”You are close in age.”

“A very comely Prince,” Alysanne added and a smile tugged on your lips.

“I have yet to meet the ruler of Westeros, he is the Prince, you said? I do hope he is not a bore.”

Cregan huffed out a laugh.

“It might be some time before you lay your eyes upon him. His house rarely comes to the North. It is a little cold up here for a dragon.”

“Dragon?” you asked curiously, a brow arched. “I do hope to make his acquaintance soon.”

“Gods help him if ever ever does.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author’s note: just a little drabble to and i burn for you (and you don’t even know my name) to explain reader’s background a little. tagging @eldrith just because and @throughgoeshamilton bc you have asked for this.

[cdragons]

No Hope - Robb Stark x Lady-in-Waiting!Reader

Summary: You ended it. It killed you to do so, but you had to do it. Soon, it won't matter anyway - you were set to travel with Lord Stark and Lady Sansa as her lady-in-waiting to King's Landing. It's not as if you two will ever meet again. How wrong you were...

Warning(s): Hard Dom Robb, OC is cold, Robb is dark AND delulu, Canon divergence, hard smut, slight BDSM, KIng's Landing criminal justice system, etc.

Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY DIPPY!!! I know I'm three days late, and I swear I meant to finish this on your actual birthday, but I ended up overwriting, and then I had to be at the DMV for about 7 hours and then had to pack up my house yesterday 🫠. ANYWAY, thank you so much for being such an amazing friend! It really has been such an honor to see how much you, your writing, and your blog have grown! Here's to another year of friendship and great writing!

The siege against King’s Landing was a success, resulting in an overwhelming victory for Stannis’ campaign as the new King of the Seven Kingdoms.

House Lannister, despite the arrival of reinforcements from House Tyrell, led by Ser Loras, was no more. While it was a clever ruse on House Tyrell’s part, neither house would have expected men from the Riverlands to join Stannis in his fight, resulting in an overwhelming victory. As a result, the futures of two of the ancient Seven Great Houses of Westeros now rest in the hands of a new ruler—King Stannis of House Baratheon, a figure whose emergence will undoubtedly shape the course of Westeros.

Despite being a wheelhouse dozens of miles away from King’s Landing at this point, the shouts and cheers of Stannis’ men rang clear in your ears. Inside were three young women transported to the Westerlands—to Robb Stark, the Young Wolf and King of the newly independent North.

The thought of seeing him again after the way the two of you left things off made the ride all the more unpleasant.

You remained silent and softly stroked your lady’s head as she rested her head on your lap. Tried as she could to stay lucid and awake, but it seemed that the stress and terror from being trapped as King Joffery’s former betrothed before being sold to his dwarf of an uncle had taken its toll. As she slept, you took in her features and noted the changes from the child you knew in Winterfell to the young woman trapped in King’s Landing. Her gorgeous red Tully hair lost some of its splendorous luster, appearing more matted and unkempt than you had ever seen it after years of being in Lady Sansa’s lady-in-waiting. Despite being in the South for over a year, her ivory skin seemed to pale until it was translucent. While the court believed her pale fairness to result from her Northern birth, only you and Shay knew that it was from Sansa’s inability to stomach more than a few meager bites off her plate during her mealtimes.

“The circles under her eyes have darkened further,” you thought as Sansa gripped your skirt – tightly clenching her fist as if she were a small child still terrified of the dark. “She’s grown too thin – she’s barely improved since I’ve returned by her side.”

It terrified you when Shae, who took your place as her handmaiden, informed you that her mood had improved tremendously since Lord Tyrion’s success in releasing you as a wedding gift to his new wife. Knowing that Sansa, to which your previous liege lord entrusted her care to you, was in such a state for months broke your heart. The bright and cheerful smiles you adored had become so rare since you returned to her side. But you hoped that due to recent events, your red-haired wolf would soon smile as brightly with all the more radiance as she did as a child.

“Do you think Lord Tyrion will be alright?”

You looked up to see Shae sitting across from you on the other side of the carriage. Her expression, while usually impassive and unreadable, was fraught with unease about the uncertainty of the future—hers and her lover’s.

“Stannis Baratheon is not one who shows mercy,” you answered truthfully. “It is likely that he will face the same fate as his nephew, as well as his sister and father.”

Perhaps your tone was too blunt, judging by the slight flinch Shay gave when you referred to Joffery Lannister. But, it would not help anyone, much less her, if you spoke anything less than the truth – that was what Ned Stark taught you since you were a child, and it was by that faith you would remain steadfast no matter what. She deserved nothing less than the truth; it was what you owed her. After all, from what Sansa spoke to you, she helped protect her however she could when you were not by her side.

And for that, you were most grateful.

“However,” you continued, “perhaps Lord Varys will vouch for him. The Master of Whispers holds Lord Tyrion in high regard, and out of all his family, your lover is admittedly the best of them. If nothing else, maybe he’ll pledge loyalty to Stannis and convince Tommen to do the same.”

 She grew flustered, “He is not…we are not–”

“You will not find judgment from me,” you assured her with a bitter chuckle. You looked down at Sansa, her sleeping figure sparking a twinge of guilt in your heart. “Believe me, I am the last one to preach about the sins of an affair between a lord and his servant.”

It was a joyful reunion between mother and child. Before the wheelhouse fully stopped, Sansa flung open the doors and leaped out, racing into her mother's arms. Lady Stark was just as eager to hold her daughter – forgetting all forms of propriety and etiquette when she picked up her skirts to run. Both were a mess of wide smiles and joyful tears, and you don’t believe you’ve ever seen Lady Stark act so young. Seeing the two embrace – one who lost a husband and two sons and the other who lost a father and two brothers –made for such a beautiful scene that it made you weep in relief.

“I did it, my lord,” you silently prayed out, “I’ve kept my promise.”

You swore you felt your liege's gratitude by the gentle breeze that blew through the field. But unfortunately, the joy you felt would only further load the weight of the shackles of your guilt and self-loathing that refused to release you. Even if someone as good and honorable as Ned Stark could find it in his heart to forgive you – you couldn’t help but feel you don’t deserve his forgiveness.

…No…you knew you didn’t deserve it, and knowing that made the shackles heavier than you’ve ever felt.

Sansa was absent since Lady Catelyn insisted that her daughter remain by her side for the night. Shae accompanied her, and you remained alone as you lay on the cot set for you. A squire announced himself before entering the tent the men had set up for you and Shae. He called out your name and informed you that you were expected to wait in His Grace’s tent.

“His Grace requested a moment with you,” he explained, “he wishes to thank you for your service and loyalty to Princess Sansa.”

“Well, you can tell ‘His Grace’ that he can thank me here,” you scoffed. “Because I’m not fucking moving.”

You dismissed the young man without a second thought. Seriously? Did he genuinely expect you to come so quickly to him? Honestly, the nerve of that man.

It was not long before the squire returned.

“H-his Grace insists that you meet him,” he stammered.

The poor boy looked terrified, like a little puppy caught by its master for doing something it wasn’t supposed to. Seeing his discomfort was almost adorable – it nearly made you smile.

“And I insist that he let me rest,” you raised your brow and cocked your head to the side. “Or is he, in fact, ordering me to meet him? Ahh, and after such a long journey – honestly, he acts so spoiled sometimes, such a typical highborn born with everything.”

“Please, my lady,” he pleaded.

You impassively stared at the poor fellow briefly. His cheeks were flushed bright red underneath the dirt and grime, and his eyes looked close to crying. Gods, Robb – what in the Seven Hells kind of tongue lashing did you give the poor boy? Surely, he wasn’t so desperate to see you, especially considering how the two of you left things off.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I suppose I could spare him a moment. But it won’t be before I’ve had a bath – I’ve already called for hot water; it won’t be long.”

“Oh, thank you, my lady,” he sighed in relief. “His Grace will be most grateful to see you once he is finished speaking with his council in the war tent.”

Fuckin’ son of a–

You swore you felt a vein on your forehead pop. Did that idiot really summon you to his tent while he was in a council meeting?

The walk from your tent to Robb’s was a battle in itself - your mind dreaded what your heart longed for.

You had just finished your bath and changed into a simple linen dress (plain but clean) when you decided you kept His Majesty waiting long enough (two hours, give or take). You were just about to enter when a particularly irritatingly slow clap stopped you in your tracks. There was only one person who could bring out your ire in such a short amount of time. You turned around to see Theon Greyjoy – standing and smirking like the arrogant bitch you fought and played with since you were just a girl.

“Well, aren’t you a vision?” he smirked. “Makes you wonder how the men of King’s Landing kept their hands to themselves when they saw you.”

“Wouldn’t know,” you wryly replied, “after all, I spent most of my time there in a dark, damp cell. I barely had enough food and water to survive, let alone to be a vision.”

Although Theon still joked and teased like he always had, you could see the war had taken its toll on him. He grew thinner. His body had lost weight, and his muscles appeared leaner and more taut. His shaggy curls were more closely trimmed and no longer tickled his shoulders. But his eyes—how they looked so haunted and tired—made your heartbreak.

“He’s missed you,” he whispered. There was no need to state a name – you both knew who he was referring to.

“He got married,” you replied while looking away. To a Frey, no less.

“She's dead, and he never loved her.”

“That makes it better?”

“It does when you were the one who broke his heart,” he retorted.

You sharply turned back, “That is not–”

Light poured out of the tent behind you as the front flap opened. You heard your name being called out in that tone that always made your knees buckle—revering and filled with longing with an undertone of authority. It beckoned you to look at him, and when you did, you swore you felt your heart leap into your throat by him.

“You’re late,” he grunted.

Robb Stark, with his crystalline blue eyes not once looking away from you, shifted to the side and let you in. His gaze moved to Theon and narrowed when he noticed the lack of distance between the two of you. Saying nothing, you silently bowed your head before heading inside the warm tent. However, you remained close enough to hear the brief exchange between the Greyjoy and Stark. But after being away from Robb for so long, you couldn’t focus on any words between the two men.

Taking a deep breath, your body tingled as you took the familiar notes of fine leather and freshly burned smoke. You glanced at his bed and longed to lie in its furs without the hindrance of clothes. Your mouth watered at the idea of wrapping yourself in them. The idea of pressing your nose against the furs made your center throb and grow wet, as the idea of the scent of his hot sweat mixed with his musk trapped in those hides was almost too much to bear.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you nearly missed Robb calling out your name. You responded by regaining your composure as quickly as possible so as not to betray any lustful thoughts swimming in your mind.

“What did you and Theon talk about?” he bluntly asked, standing impassively as you remained silent.

“Was the journey smooth?” he tried again. Nothing.

“I hope my men–”

“Idle prattle doesn’t suit you,” you tiredly sighed. “Just tell me whatever you waited so long for, and then I can return to my tent and finally rest.”

Robb clenched his fists and stared at the ground. How cruel, how unfair – one word from you, just hearing your voice, struck every word on his tongue dead. War made him lax. He, of all people, should know how you could drive good men to insanity.

Yes – it felt like he was going mad.

He looked up from the ground and wanted to weep. There you stood – looking as beautiful as a fresh layer of snow and just as cold. It took everything in him not to reach out and pull you close. He wanted to feel your body close to his, to revel in the softness of your hidden warmth. He wanted to go back to Winterfell – to simpler times with his father and brothers alive and laughing, to when Jon was by his side and his brother and best friend, and to when you would look at him like he was your world.

How you used to look at him – how he still looked at you.

Robb tried to start a conversation to loosen the tense atmosphere, but it was clear you weren’t having it. You even cut him off on his third attempt. Your voice was so cold that it burned him like ice. He wasn’t even sure if you were looking at him or just at a corner of the tent so you could maintain that cold, domineering façade you had perfected since childhood. It was obvious to him that you were trying to goad him into losing his temper – giving you the perfect excuse to leave and ignore him again.

Why else had you sent his squire back to him after he requested your presence to wait for him at his tent? Furthermore, why else did you make him wait two hours for your bath?

“I wish to thank you for your loyalty towards my sister during her time as the Lannisters’ hostage,” Robb calmly said, keeping his voice steady but firm. “You acted bravely.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I acted as anyone else would have in my position. My loyalty to your sister and family is not something to be admired or coveted.”

“That’s not true,” Robb argued. “Your loyalty to my family is nothing short of admirable. It’s only right that–”

“Robb.”

It was infuriating how regal you looked, carrying the air of a queen.

“My loyalty will always belong to House Stark, that’s true – but,” you stared deep into his gaze, “all I cared about in that damp, rotting cell, where I was given barely enough water and food to survive, was whether my lady was well.”

Please stop it.

“I didn’t endure because my lady was a Stark,” you continued, “I endured because it was Sansa.”

He couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Is it only for Sansa that you’ve suffered?” he rasped in anger.

This wasn’t good; he just got you back. If he doesn’t properly utilize this chance, you’ll be gone from him forever. He knew you’d never leave Sansa’s side. Your loyalty to her, even when she still acted like the spoiled little princess of the North, drew him to you. As the eldest daughter, Sansa was the one closest to their mother. However, as the second eldest child, it also meant that she had to understand she could not always have their parents’ attention. Before Jeyne Poole, before Septa Mordane – you were Sansa’s first and constant companion. You were someone whose loyalty ran deep and remained unwavering in the worst times.

He collected himself enough to apologize for his outburst when your voice returned – regal and imposing, cold and distant.

“Not just Sansa,” you stated. “…I also made a promise to Lord Stark.”

Something in him snapped. Robb considered himself a good man, an honorable man. One whose father instilled lessons of honor and duty in him since he was old enough to walk. A father who he missed, whose absence was painful. But hearing you speak of him, of his father, it was like a bucket of ice water was poured over him, and it awoke a bitter memory he had long forgotten.

“Is it true?” Robb demanded unannounced after storming into his father’s private study. His father sat at his desk, appearing as tired and weary as the day of his departure from home to the vicious South treads closer with each passing day. Ned set down his quill and sighed deeply. He knew it would not be long before Robb would come in to demand an explanation. He supposed that, as his boy’s father, he owed his eldest son that much… if for not his own sake, then for the sake of closure. “…What may you be referring to, Robb?” he asked, despite already knowing what this was about. Robb furiously shook his head, “Do not pretend with me, Father. Did you or did you not plant the idea of a future engagement between her and me as treason against you?” “…Before I answer that,” Ned began carefully, not wanting to upset his son further, “am I to understand that when you mean ‘her,’ you are referring to a particular lady-in-waiting favored by your sister?” It frightened Ned how quickly Robb’s anger was snuffed out. He whispered your name with reverence and veneration fit for the Maiden. But just as soon as his heir’s fury went away, it came back at a speed and quantity tenfold. Ned could see it in his eyes. Robb may have inherited his Tully mother’s eyes, but the cold storm raging in them could only belong to one whose blood belongs to the Old Gods of the North. “Sansa requested her to accompany us while she learns to be Prince Joffrey's future queen,” Ned explained. “Robb… your sisters need people they can trust – now more than ever with Bran’s accident.” “And she’s agreed to this?” Robb interrogated. “You expect me to believe that?” “Yes,” Ned solemnly nodded, “because it was brought up to me by her…”

Robb didn’t believe it then, and he still didn’t believe it now. He refused to entertain the idea of you, of all people, who would propose to his father that you leave him. You, who Robb loved with a love more fervent and true than any fanciful tale sung by the bards in Southern courts. You, who listened to all of Robb’s deepest fears and worries since you and him were still small children. You, who whispered promises of love and devotion to Robb night after night since he first warmed your bed.

You, who cried tears of joy when he secretly proposed to you underneath the blood-red leaves and snow-painted branches of the weirwood tree, swearing his love to you before the Old Gods and New.

…No…no, no, no—it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be…but what other explanation was left?

“Robb…?” your voice gently called out to him. “If that’s all you wish to say to me… then I must be heading back to my–”

He walked forward and tightly grasped your arms, making you unable to escape. Robb felt your feeble attempts to pry his fingers off with your delicate hands. But it was to no avail.

“Why…?” Robb rasped, letting out all the pain and longing he had been keeping locked inside since you dissolved you and his affair. “Why did you leave? …Why did you leave me?”

“Damn you,” you thought. “Damn you, Robb Stark.”

It was pathetic… how easily this man broke down your walls. One word… one word from him was enough to make you want to surrender everything.  

“I…I-I… only did what I thought was best,” you stammered. “For us…and for you…”

Robb scoffed because why wouldn’t he?

“For me…?” he rhetorically repeated. “Leaving me – no, abandoning me… that was for my benefit? Do you really expect me to believe that?”

You shook your head, “Belief is secondary to truth,” you explained. “And I am telling you the truth. I’ve never lied to you.”

“Right, of course – that’s why you ran off to King’s Landing with my sister,” Robb raged. “Yes, certainly that for my well-being. You, being paraded and courted by knights and nobles with their pretty words and fine silks – what a relief to know that you endured all that for me…”

Oh, this son of a – gods, how could one man be so beautiful, yet so infuriating?!

“Did you ever love me?” he asked, his voice a little rough from choking back tears. “Was it ever real? Any of it? Or was it all a lie?”

“I believe I told you I was expected to wake your sister for her early celebration…” you looked out the window, “…right now…? It would seem…?” It was the morning of Sansa’s eleventh birthday. Lady Stark planned to surprise her daughter with a splendid spread of leek pottage, freshly baked bread, slices of smoked meat, and a cup of sweet Dornish wine. She entrusted the duty of waking the little princess of the day to you, Sansa’s most entrusted companion. It was expected that you would take the role. After all, everyone in the castle knew what an absolute nightmare Lord Stark’s eldest daughter was in the early mornings. …But…it would seem that Lord Stark’s eldest son and heir did not understand the gravity of your role today…considering he remained insistent that you spend your morning with him… in his bed… without any clothes on your person. While usually, you’d be much more cross at his insistence… you couldn’t deny how delicious it felt waking up in his arms after a night of gloriously intense lovemaking. And the way he further convinced you by tracing feather-light kisses down your neck and collarbone was downright sinful. “I believe…” he momentarily nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, causing you to softly shriek and giggle. “…I told you never to speak of my sister or any member of my family while in bed with me.” His lips trailed further down to the valley of your breasts. “Stay here…with me…and let’s forget the world this morning.” Gods, it’d be so easy to give in …to remain hidden from the world within the arms of your beloved…but life was hardly so easy. “You know I – can’t…!” you sharply gasped at the feel of his lips around your teat. You pitifully whined his name. “Robb, please…” “Shhh—careful, my love,” he huskily whispered, “unless you want all of Winterfell to know how even one of its coldest women is powerless against her wolf…” You held his chin to press a soft kiss against his lips. Gazing into his deep pools of sapphire, you knew this was the only man you could ever give your heart to. “My wolf…” you corrected, “and only mine…” “Yours…” Robb agreed as the two of you got lost in each other all over again.

Instinct and fury blinded rationality and composure as a sharp crack rang within the tent as your palm made contact with Robb’s cheek. Hot tears spilled from your eyes as the wet trails streamed down your cheeks.

“Fuck you, Robb…” you grit out.

Did he not think you haven’t craved him and his love as much, if not more, since your separation? Was he so obtusely… thick in the skull to think that you hadn’t cursed yourself for plunging you both into the cruel depths of a life without the other? Had he not realized that what saved you from falling into despair… from the moment you were thrown into the Red Keep’s dungeons… was your sweet memories of him?

You angrily swiped away your tears on the back of your hand before shoving him aside so you could make your way out of the tent. You couldn’t stand to be so close to him, not anymore, not when it cut you so deeply.

What was the point? Of being so close to one when they cannot have the other?

But it seemed your king did not agree with your sentiments as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back toward him. Your chest collided against his, and you felt the hard planes of his muscles and wanted to sink to your knees while stripping him of all barriers that blocked his glorious body.

Robb growled as he felt the tremulous rhythm of your beating heart, effectively giving away all your true feelings and desires toward him – the same he felt to you.

“You’re a cruel woman…” he growled as he forced you to look into his deep, blue eyes by holding your chin, “but you’re my woman.”

Without another word, he seized you by the arm and threw you onto his bed. He tore off his tunic before gripping your ankles with both hands and forcing them wide open before he forcefully pulled your body to the end of the bed. Not wasting another moment, he clutched the neckline of your nightdress and tore it open, leaving you exposed and defenseless against him. You felt the peaks of your breasts harden against the cold air and tried to cover them with your arms, but Robb slapped your hands away and pinned your hands above your head.

“And I’ll make sure you learn your place by the time I’m done with you…”

Time meant nothing inside that tent. The only things that mattered were Robb Stark, young King of the North and recently widowed, and you, his precious whore he loved so dearly. It could have been an hour, it could have been five –you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that your former lover was currently cementing his claim on you as his bitch-in-heat by making you cum twice with his fingers and thrice more from his cock.

“You *huff* …really…expe- fuck…!” The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, interrupted by the squelch of your juices mixed with his as he moved in and out of you. He loudly groaned when he felt your walls clamp down on his still-hard shaft. “Fuck – how are you still so fucking tight…?”

You didn’t answer him; you couldn’t – at least not with words. Each of Robb’s thrusts hit that spot inside you that made you lose all sense of logic and rational thought. All you could offer was broken garbles and moans of your ecstasy as your insatiable wolf continued to feast on your pleasure. And this only seemed to further incense Robb into driving himself deeper inside you, as if he had not already caused you to peak three times since he first pushed into you. Your vision became blurry as your eyes crossed, but he brought you back by delivering a hard slap against your bottom, the stinging pain quickly shifting to ebbing pleasure.

“Well?” he tauntingly jeered, thoroughly enjoying your sharp tongue could only be quieted by him fucking you dumb. “I expect an answer…!”

“Ah-ah-ah – FUCK…!” you cried out after he delivered another harsh slap on your bottom’s other cheek, making you sharply gasp and continue to slather your drool and tears into his bed’s furs. “I don’t know…!”

Robb cruelly smirked, “Don’t know…?” He grabbed the front of your neck and pulled you until your sensitive back was pressed flush against his hard chest. “Don’t lie to me… you know… don’t pretend that you don’t – but do you want me to tell anyway?”

Fervently nodding, you felt him grin as his hot breath panted against your neck, causing goosebumps to prick across your skin covered in bite marks.

“It’s because…” Robb quickened his pace from rough to erratic as your mind nearly blanks from feeling more and more of him hitting the entrance to your womb, “we both know that cunt belonging to such a cold whore like yourself…could only be thawed with cock like mine and only mine.”

The war changed him. The Robb you knew and loved would never dream of speaking to you in such a filthy and vulgar manner. Before, your Robb always made love to you sweetly with the gentlest touches, and as far as you could tell and feel, he was gone. In his place was a wolf with a voracious appetite who could only seem satisfied with your humiliation from his rough squeezes and unforgiving pace. The evidence was plain to see by how he littered your body with purple love bites down your neck, red bite marks over your breasts and inner thighs, and deep indents of his nails from gripping your hips too hard and too long.

And the worst part of it? You loved it. Every bit of his ministrations was a piece of heaven. If this were torture, then you would only crave pain for the rest of your existence. Everything hurts so good, from the way his thick, throbbing cock stretches your walls to the way his rough, calloused hands manhandle your body with his bruising grip. You weren’t sure if there was anything left of you that Robb didn’t already possess. Your eyes glazed over the veins in his arms bulge as you barely register the rasped grunts and growls leaving his lips. If you looked down, you were sure to see the outline of his cock bulging from inside you as he continued to split you open.

He stilled for a moment and whispered in your ear as you cried out your frustration and begged him not to stop.

“I’m going to cum in you,” he rasped with perverse glee, “and afterward, I’m going to make sure my seed takes root in your womb.” He pushed your face down to the furs and forced your hips to meet his thrusts without mercy. “You tried to… escape your fate by leaving. Well, *huff* let me tell you right now… that’s never going to happen – I’ll lock you… in the tallest tower in Winterfell and chain you to the bed if I have to…”

One of his hands left your hips and went below you as his fingers deftly sought out the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs that was your clit. You tried to protest, not sure if your body could take even more pleasure, but all that came out was a warbled cry as he pressed down and circled your bud. The overstimulation was proving to be too much as your body started shaking. You felt a cord tightening more and more until it just *snapped*, and you screamed out your release as your entire body trembled.

Robb refused to let up his pace, and he continued to thrust in and out of you as you felt him stiffen and – gods, how did he get even bigger? Before he released his seed inside you, he bottomed out – making sure that there was nothing of him that was not inside your sopping cunt. Your vision went white as he let out a loud and powerful groan from his release, and you could feel his hot seed painting your inner walls with his essence.

His peak seemed to drain him of all his energy as he gathered you in his arms without pulling out and resolved himself to finally rest. His sweaty forehead rested against your shoulder as he panted. Between each labored breath, he planted a kiss across your shoulders – your body still twitching from the intensity it endured as you, too, tried to catch your breath.

All was silent until you found yourself speaking, “…There was no hope, was there…?”

Robb lifted his upper body on one arm to hover over you. You repeated your question, to which he gave you a relaxed smile and tucked a stray piece of hair stuck to your temple behind your ear.

“No, love…” he confirmed. “But you must have known that from the beginning…I would have never let you go.”

…How does one respond to that?

You tried to search for the answer in his eyes, but all you saw was love… love, and madness. It was always there inside him; you’ve known that from the beginning… only you were blinded by his beauty and your love for him. But your lord knew the truth; he saw that obsessive love from the start; after all, Robb was his son. He warned you, but you didn’t listen. It wasn’t until you saw him beat a poor knight bloody and broken on the ice-covered ground – all because you made the mistake of smiling at him.

That’s why you ended your secret engagement. You had hoped that time and distance would ebb away the insanity flowing in his blood, or perhaps he would find someone else and eventually forget you – whichever came first.

But that was a fool’s dream; you knew that now.

Wordlessly, you nodded, to which Robb gently pressed his lips to yours, just as he had back in Winterfell. With each second, you began to respond more and more to the kiss. You wrapped your arms over his neck as his lips trailed down your next again, and you felt your sore body humming for more despite its sensitivity. Your fingers gripped his unruly, dark auburn curls as a tear trailed your cheek.

Forgive me, my lord…I’ve failed.

But you know you were secretly glad of it. After all, how could you not be? Life was growing inside you at that very moment.

Tagging: @dipperscavern, @ethereal-athalia, @axelsagewrites, @rise-my-angel, @anewpersonthatexists, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @lenasdmns, @justmymindandstuff, @aoi-targaryen, @vyctorya, @metalblindbitch, @h34rts-4uu, @aphroditesmoon, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @sylasthegrim

[angel-sweets666]

stuck together chapter II

Barbarian bakugo x princess! Reader

Your parents arranged you to the brash and rude prince of the barbarians to save their own skin.

Warnings: suicide of a character, death and dead bodies (flash backs or nightmares) mentions of war, threats of execution. Wet dreams (smut) talks of impregnating, thoughts of breeding. Slight breeding kink, swearing, slight time skip

first chap here

A/n just wanna warn yous deku is not a good person in this AU, think of like a bad ruler. Someone who acts nice and then executed like a bunch of people. A hypocrite

Bakugo tapped his index finger against the wooden table, his eyebrows furrowing. Clear frustration on his face. Staring up at the map then at the two guards before him, a blonde and a redhead. Both large men with equally frustrated looks on the faces.

“well what do you think we do?” Denki asks, staring at his two other companions “that lands too rugged, not good.” Kirishima rubs his chin in deep thought. “You idiots! It’s obvious here!” “Too close to the monoma kingdom, he’ll obliterate it the moment he sees it.” Kirishima interrupts bakugo, trying to knock some sense into the prince. The electric blonde looks back over the map, staring at the multiple empty lands. Most of which were once war grounds.

“we could… go here!” He points to a green patch, several kilometres long and wide. It be perfect, If only it wasn’t where bakugo fought in a bloody war.

flash back

bakugo heaves as he looks to his left over his shoulder, dead bodies. He looks forward. More dead bodies, most of which were of todorokis soilders. “Stand down Bakugo. Your gonna loose!” A tall red headed man booms out, standing next to a once alive horse, now dead and laying down. “No…. I won’t….” Bakugo straightens his back and grabs his sword. Letting out a loud war cry (scream) before lunging at the huge red headed man, his act of bravery to avenge his men who were now cold bloody and dead on the floor. Leaving their wives, children, siblings and parents behind just to fight in this war for him.

back to now

Bakugo snapped out of his flash back , placing a gentle hand on the large burn mark on his side, a scar from a brutal war. The scar now healed over and nothing but scar tissue. "Todoroki battlegrounds, can’t do the plan there " he mumbled to Denki and Kirishima. Neither of them had been at the war; they were still in training at the time. If only katsuki could’ve just trained at that time, he was only 18 where the first war he fought in happened

Denki rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Like everything is Todoroki battlegrounds! It's taken your family, what, seventy years just to get Flamoria to back off? This whole continent is practically Todoroki battlegrounds!"

Bakugo glared at him but couldn't entirely disagree. "There. Still battlegrounds, but fifty nine year-old battlegrounds," he said, pointing to a large plain of land in the distance. The expanse was unclaimed by any kingdom, a constant reminder of the war's devastation.

. “Are you sure bakubro?” Kirishima asks, his pupils turning to slits. A feature almost all purebred dragons have. “It’s fine shitty scales.” Bakugo grumbled as he looks to Denki “huh?! Oh yeah.. it’s uh.. very green!” Denki stuttered, nodding his head “good, here’s final” he takes a pen and circled the large land. Chucking the pen back onto the wooden table “there, done.” Bakugo said as he arose from his chair and began walking out the room, kirishima quickly rolling up the map and grabbing it before scrambling to keep up with the two blondes

You heard the sounds of heavy footsteps echoing through the stone hallway outside your chambers. Curious and slightly annoyed, you peeked out the door to see three men you knew all too well: Kirishima, Bakugo, and Denki. Their boots clomped loudly against the floor, disrupting the quiet.

Frustration bubbled up as you leaned against the doorframe, placing your weight on one hip. "Can you three keep it down?" you shouted, your voice sharp.

Bakugo spun around, his expression already irritated. "What are you on about, woman?!" he yelled back, clearly not in the mood for any complaints.

"Can't a girl sleep?" you retorted, your tone matching his.

Denki and Kirishima scrambled to get on their knees and apologize, "We’re sorry, your highness! We didn’t mean to wake you!" They looked so apologetic and sweet that you couldn't help but smile. "It’s alright, hons. I’m yelling at Bakugo," you reassured them. Sometimes you wondered, "Why can’t Kirishima or Denki be the future king? Then I’d marry them," because they were such sweethearts.

Bakugo grumbled, "You’re not my mother."

"No, but I’m your future wife. Close enough," you teased, unknowing to bakugos already bad mood. You didn’t know that when he had nightmares or reminders of war he got angry and sometimes… physical

His eyes darkened with rage. "Excuse me? I am the future king, and you will not speak to me like that unless you want to end up in the dungeon with your head hacked off! His voice boomed as he got close to your face, causing you to back up in fear.

"Kat…Katsuki?"

"WHAT?!" he roared, his voice filled with venom, making your heart race.

You backed up again, trembling. "S-sorry…" you stammered, scrambling to get back into your chambers, your heart pounding in your chest.

“way harsh man she was only teasing..” kirishima mumbled “I don’t give a fuck she needs to learn her place.” Bakugo spits back, his flared up anger bubbling to a cool. Beginning to walk up the hall again, yanking the map from kirishimas hands and storming away. The two boys looked shocked! Bakugo was always so calm with women, rude? Sure, very. He made fun of and were rude with women, but never yelled at them. Same goes for children and the elderly. what was going on??

bakugo walked up the halls to his bedroom chambers, trying to take deep breaths. “Bakubro what’s going on man?” Kirishima asks “yeah! Ever since we thought of the plan you’ve been acting all funny!” “IM NOT ACTING FUNNY!” Bakugo yelled in response “You just threatened to execute *name* by hacking off her head.”

bakugo sighed “just..! Leave me alone. I’ll see you idiots later” bakugo walked into his chambers and slammed the door in his guards face. “Who put a stick up his ass?” Denki mumbled as the two marched to their posts outside the palace.

You sat in your room, shocked at what had just happened. How could bakugo just threaten you like that? He was rude to you, ignored you ect but never threatened you! You slowly sat down on your bed, staring off into nothing. The way he yelled at you, they were right when they said he was terrifying. You thought you two were warming up to eachother, clearly not.

you laid down in bed and tried to go to sleep, but you were very shaken up from the incident it took you a while to fall asleep. The way Katsuki looked at you like you were nothing more than a block in his way just shook you to the core. Bakugo on the other hand was completely fine! As if he didn't just threaten to kill you. He was sleeping soundly in his bed of furs.

however as time went on and the clock ticked to early in the morning, katsukis once peaceful sleep became that of a nightmare.

nightmare

bakugo heaved on the ground, a todoroki soilder standing over him menacingly. One that was particularly short. He clicked his tongue as he crouched down over bakugo “I thought you were strong? Didn’t you kill lord Izuku? That’s what they all said, you stabbed him right in the chest. Cold blooded killer you are.” He harrassed bakugo, an attempt to scare him “I didn’t fucking kill him he killed himself.” He spat back, unable to move due to the blade of the soilder right near his neck under his jaw. “ then howd they find him with YOUR blade in his chest and you gone?” The soilder asked “I- left him alone for five god damn minutes!” Flash backs of the day Izuku was interrogated and tortured by members of bakugos court, the screams of his once childhood friend turned mortal enemy rang in his ears. In a desperate attempt to escape the torture he stabbed himself with katsukis sword with scary aim

right in the dead centre of his chest.

back in real word

katsuki shot up in a cold sweat, panicking. These nightmares had been getting worse and worse, he knew izuku deserved it! But the boy was once his child hood friend, and an ally to his kingdom. Only for when he took over to put his kingdom in insane amounts of debt, poverty and famine. He was a horrible person as he got older, bakugo had to do something! The man got up, wiping up remaining sweat from his body with a rag. Taking a walk down the hallway, he paused by your chamber doors. you.

the woman who seemed to get in his way constantly.

he felt bad for you, he knew you had no choice in this. You couldn’t control if you were to be married off or not. Neither did he. He bit back his pride, knocking on your bedroom door loud enough to wake you up.

The sound of fur sheets rustling filled his ears, followed by your soft voice. "Come in…"

Katsuki opened the door and saw you in your nightgown, snuggled up in bed. "It’s me," he grumbled in a low voice.

"Oh… Baku—"

"Call me Katsuki," he interrupted, his response shocking you.

"Okay… Katsuki."

The blonde sat by your sleepy form awkwardly. "Sorry about today… I shouldn’t have gone off at you. I won't hack off your head, dumbass," he apologized, a rare occurrence.

You blinked in surprise. "Holy shit, did pigs learn to fly?"

Bakugo scoffed. "No, I'm apologizing."

"So… yes, they have. Okay… I accept your apology," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Bakugo breaths a sigh of relief “you better” he grumbled out “I am! I’ve accepted the apology!” You sat up, staring up at him. Bakugo looked over you, checking you out for a second. A slight blush going over his cheeks but you would never see that in the darkness. You cleared your throat “so… Uhm… when’s the wedding?” You asked to try and strike up a conversation. “When was your gown fitted?” Katsuki asked “2 weeks ago..?” “Then in two weeks.” He replied calmly

“your voice is pretty when your calm..”

“hah?!”

“your voice, your always so loud and gruff…it’s pretty when your calm.” You compliment him

“Oh shut up.“

you giggle “you should get some rest, it’s late.

“early.”

“huh?”

katsuki looked at you “it’s early, it’s 1 am.” His face seemed almost like he was mocking you. “Right… yeah… early…”

katsuki stood from your bed “g’ night..” he makes his way to the door and walks out, closing the large wooden door behind him.

that visit of his was strange and oddly comforting, a late night apology from katsuki? What did kirishima do to make him do that?! You laid back down onto the mattress of your bed, staring up at your roof.

The way he walked in shirtless, he was so handsome you’ll give him that.

sleepily your eyes fluttered to a close and you soon drifted off, having a much opposite dream from katsukis.

your dream

your face was pressed into the pillows by a big hand, the feeling of hips slapping against yours being the second thing you feel.

the first thing would be the monster sized cock sliding in and out of your pussy.

katsuki grabbed your hips and pushed you down on his cock harder

“cmon you can handle… hah… it. How else am I supposed to get that heir huh? I need to.. fuck! Fill you up with a baby first to get a baby…just a little longer…” he grumbles into your neck, biting down onto skin before you feel a hot sticky fluid rush into your womb. Doing just as he said he would do to you.

hopefully one day 🙏

a/n I WONDER WHAT “the plan” ISSSSS. it is shorter but it builds up to what’s gonna happen trust the process🙏

tag list:

@literallyjusta-reader. @augustraine @audreykins45 @i-simp-for-mha-men @applepi25 @gabby-ha @@luv444lay @sillyemanusz @thecutienadq @chimeily @thephantomkid6-66 @mutsu422 @alligator-person @nottherealslimshady @therealsatorugojo

[rachalixie]

forgive me for what i haven't done

summary: you arrive at your enemy's kingdom under the guise of making peace. the prince being nice to you wasn't part of the plan.

genre: strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort

warnings: she/her reader, reader's father is emotionally manipulative and physically harms her, mentions of violence

word count: 17.5k

a/n: absolute massive thank you to @sulfurcosmos, @isilentprincess, and @woahfruity for reading this through and giving me your honest feedback. i truly appreciate you <3 this fic has sent me through the five stages of grief.

you can’t ignore the bruising grip your father has on your arm as he walks you to the steps of the large palace. the journey here was a mere two hours, but it feels like this palace was built out of another world altogether. it’s shorter than your own, absent are the dull reaching peaks and towers of your home, traded for warm bricks covered in snaking ivy and the shining sun peeking through powdery clouds. where it lacks in height, it makes up for in its expanse. the building was wider than any you’ve ever seen. 

it was more beautiful than any building you’ve ever seen, too. 

you hope your nerves don’t show as you throw one last glance back at the carriage you arrived in; it would soon take away your handmaidens that had made the journey with you, and you wouldn’t see them again until you went home. it makes your heart ache that the only people you felt comfortable with were leaving you behind. you try and focus on the present instead, knowing that wallowing in self-pity would get you nowhere. you had hours of meeting strangers ahead of you, making polite small talk with them and learning whatever information you could about the royal family until you could go to bed and be upset in private. you weren’t here for pleasure anyways, your father had reminded you as the carriage had pulled in. you were here for a reason.

the first person you make eyes with is the king, a kind looking man, hair and beard speckled with gray and a soft smile on his face as he takes in his visitors. he had invited you and your father here, a gesture of goodwill, an unspoken plea for peace between your two kingdoms. 

“they want peace,” your father had scoffed, throwing the letter from the neighboring king to his desk. you watched as it slid off and fluttered to the floor. “the scum that killed your grandfather want peace, and they dare ask me to negotiate a treaty with them.”

“well,” you started, swallowing down your nerves like you did every time you spoke to your father. since your mother passed, all those years ago, you had taken over the role of his confidant, like he did with her. though, he never listened to your advice when you gave it; you were simply a body for him to talk at, to pour out his grief and frustration out on. “did the king not overthrow his own father? he is not the man that hurt our family, and i assume neither are his sons. can we not let the past stay in the past?”

the two kingdoms are small - a unity between you would open opportunities for new trading, allies in battle, new paths to resources that your people don’t see.

“their bloodline is rotten,” he says, definitive. “i would be doing the world a service by ridding it of their pitiful existence.”

his words of extremity did not surprise you; he spoke of all of the neighboring kingdoms in this way. he was not one for alliances, keeping the borders of his territory locked to outsiders, deeming them not fit to enter his kingdom. you can barely remember a time when foreigners or immigrants inhabited the now barren lands.

“and the people in their kingdom?” you question. “they are truly innocent. will they be given refuge here once their kingdom has fallen?”

“i do not care!” he spits out at you, eyes burning in anger, and you shrink back a little. “they will burn along with their miserable rulers. i will find a way to take them down, all of them, to make them pay for what they did to my family. and you, gods help me, will do as i say.”

and you would. in truth, you had barely even considered going against him. you were alone, you had no options other than following through with his wishes, no escape from him and his cruelty. you had nowhere to go that he would not find you. and yet, he remained vexed as he moved closer to you, speaking quietly in a manner that was more terrifying than if he was yelling at you. his fingers curl around your upper arm, like a warning-

“welcome,” the king’s voice breaks you out of your memory, and you muster up a smile for him. “thank you for making the journey here. and please, call me stephen. you are esteemed guests here, no need for formalities.”

your father doesn’t offer the same notion back, nodding coldly at your side. king stephen furrows his brow for a moment, and it’s clear on his face that he’s caught off guard. so expressive for a royal, you muse as he shakes his head and the smile returns to his face.

“my sons,” stephen gestures to the boys standing by his side, the ones you had yet to lay your eyes on. “crowned prince christopher, his betrothed, the lady roseanne, and our youngest, felix.”

betrothed? you did not know the older son was engaged. this complicates things. you can feel the anger coming off in waves from your father, and you place your hand on his forearm for a moment. not now, please, you mentally beg, and you almost sigh in relief when the tension leaves his body, turning your attention to the two royals in front of you.

the taller of the two dons a mop of curly hair under his circlet, cleanly pressed clothes shining with the royal blue of their family. a striking woman is at his side, an arm loosely curled around his. as he moves forward to greet your father, linking arms like the king had, your attention is drawn to the boy left standing alone. 

the shorter boy is what you can only describe as ethereal. his features are sharp in all the right places, smoothed out by soft planes and dips covered in starlight scattered freckles. his clothes are similar to that of his brother’s, but no crown adorns his head. 

he might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. it makes your knees weak. 

“i am felix,” he says, his voice deeper than you would expect from the gentle features of his face. he dips his head a bit, a sign of respect, as he takes your hand and presses a gentle kiss to the back of it. your voice is steady when you respond with your own name, and you’re glad for it. 

his attention is diverted when your father’s hand lands on your shoulder, his touch more gentle than it ever is whilst away from prying eyes. 

“my daughter, princess y/n,” he announces, a proud smug on his face when you shyly curtsey. he must think your timidness is a ploy to get their trust, and not as a result of the raging nervousness boiling under your skin. 

“it’s an honor to meet you, your highnesses,” you meet each of their eyes, looking for any sign of malice, but you find none.

“come inside, please,” the king beckons, and the circle of knights that had been flanking him move aside gracefully to make way to the tall archway leading inside the palace. you’re once again taken away by the beautiful architecture inside, melting candles lining the walls made of warm brick. “we will begin the peace talks tomorrow, spend the day settling from your journey.”

“we will go freshen up,” your father states, cutting your exploration short with a poorly concealed fake smile donning his face. you hope no one else can see through him the way you can. “and we will meet you for dinner?”

he doesn’t wait until the king answers before he pulls you off to a hallway, beckoning over a servant and barking at him to show you both to your chambers. you pray to the gods that your hosts see your father’s unorthodox behavior as a difference in customs, rather than rudeness. the servant looks flustered, eyes wide as he directs you to your adjoined chambers, and you almost feel bad for him. you’re sure he can tell when your father’s anger returns, getting stronger the further you walk from the royal family, and you keep your head bowed until the two of you are behind closed doors. 

he lets go of your arm harshly, almost throwing you off of him in his haste and if you weren’t so afraid you would remind him that he probably shouldn’t yell as you’re sure he was about to do.

“he is engaged?” he growls out, teeth gritted together in fury. “this was not in the intel that i was given. this does not fit into our plan!”

his plan was for you to woo the prince, get him to fall in love with you, and then to kill his father and take the throne. nevermind the extensive gaps that he didn’t care to think out, that you weren’t brave enough to tell him about. the thought of the prince not going along with the neighboring king taking over his kingdom never crossed his mind; it was either extreme hubris or immense stupidity on his part. perhaps it was both.

“will i have to marry him? the prince?” you asked, avoiding his eyes. you kept your voice as leveled as you could, but you couldn’t completely mask the apprehension you were feeling.

“you will do whatever is necessary to gain his trust. if the boy proposes, you will accept.” he said, clinical and cold like he wasn’t gambling with your life. if your father was correct, these men were murderers, men who killed others in cold blood. what would the prince do if he discovered your father’s plan? how long was he expecting you to keep up this charade?

“control yourself,” he says when he takes in the tears pricking at your eyes, the wobbling of your lips as the gravity of his words sink in. “those of our class do not weep so easily.”

“what do we do now?” you ask, regretting it almost immediately when his anger turns towards you. you had wished, foolishly so, that he may forget this revenge-fueled nonsense and let you go home. 

“i do not know, stupid girl. why do you not think of something instead of having me do everything for you?” you pray that no servants were listening in through the door, and no knights were making their patrol past the hallway. with how loud he’s speaking, there would be no hiding his ill intentions. “i thank the gods you were born a woman and i can marry you off. with how useless you are, there would be no helping my kingdom with you as a ruler.”

the words sting, your heart aches at the cold insult he’s thrown at you, but it’s not the first time he’s said something like this. it’s at the tip of your tongue to tell him that this wasn’t even your plan, that you didn’t want to betray this kingdom in the first place, that you’re tired of being his pawn in a game only he wants to play. you want to tell him that you would be a better ruler than he is if given the chance, that you almost hope for the day that he keels over and dies because you would be free of him. but you’ve learned to hold your tongue in times like this, knowing that he only says these things out of frustration; flashes of the kind man he used to be when you were younger play through your mind, calming you down as you scramble for some kind of answer. 

“i will go after the younger one,” you start, a half-baked plan forming in your head. “if king stephen and christopher are out of the way, he is next in line for the throne, is he not? we just have a couple more people to get out of the way. befriend the king, distract him and make him trust you. i will handle the prince.”

you disappointed yourself by expecting some kind of verbal affirmation, some kind of praise for doing something right, but all you get from your father is a curt nod and a gesture to leave his chambers.

a nod was better than nothing. a nod was silent assurance that you were doing something right, that he was wrong about you. that you could think for yourself. 

when you enter the hallway, you catch a glimpse of the servant from earlier peeking around the corridor. you smile at him, hoping that he had heard nothing and that your face didn’t betray the whirlwind of emotions clouding around in your head. he simply smiles back, foxy eyes crinkling and he nods at you before disappearing. 

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

dinner was an incredibly awkward affair; all throughout the meal, you couldn’t avoid meeting eyes with felix from where he was sitting across from you, and you flushed and looked away every time. his eyes were striking, soft browns highlighted with specks of gold reflected from the candlelight. this was the boy you were supposed to woo and manipulate, and you couldn’t even meet his eyes. gods help you.

you weren’t sure if your hosts could sense the concealed hostility in your father’s voice, but you could. he was doing a poor job of hiding his apathy, answering king stephen’s questions with short words or grunts. he eyed his food with judgment and took hesitant bites, even though you thought it was exceptionally made.

even the banquet hall itself was remarkable, banners of blue and gold hanging from the tall ceilings and plants of various kinds lining the walls. light shone down from the high windows, bathing the royals in front of you in a golden light.

“is the food not to your liking?” king stephen asked, a small frown gracing his features when he saw your father’s mostly full plate. 

“this is amazing, like nothing i have ever tasted before,” you voiced, directing the attention to yourself. your own plate was nearly scraped clean, and you might have licked it to savor the flavors if you didn’t have your royal dignity to uphold. 

your heart pounded in your chest from addressing the king so directly. 

“good, i am glad,” stephen smiled warmly at you, quelling your nerves, and his smile reached his eyes in a way your father’s hadn’t for years. “i shall make sure to send your compliments to our main cook, he was worried that the meal would not suit our guests’ tastes.”

“minho worries too much,” christopher laughs, meeting eyes with his fiancée. the way he looks at her sends warmth up your spine, like you’re witnessing kindling sparkling into a burning flame. “his cooking is the best in the entire kingdom.”

it might have turned you off that he was boasting like that if it wasn’t about someone whose status was below his. a crowned prince, giving compliments like that to a palace worker? kitchen staff, at that? it was different, for sure. 

the thought stuck with you for the rest of the night, even as your head hit your pillow at night. though you weren’t so naive to think that first impressions were indicative of their entire nature, it seems that the image of this royal family that your father painted for you might have been more skewed than you initially thought.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

while your father spent the next day with king stephen and their advisors, beginning the process of drafting and scrapping and rewriting peace treaties that you knew would never come to fruition, you were left to your own devices. venturing out of your chambers where you were bound to run into strangers was unsettling, but you pushed the feeling aside as you got dressed.

your father no doubt assumed you were jumping right into spending time gaining felix’ trust, but you didn’t know how to approach the younger prince to fulfill your part of the deal. you didn’t even know how to find him, or who to ask for his whereabouts; the sheltered walls of your home did not provide many opportunities for you to practice talking to people. 

the people here did not seem to have the same problem. wherever you turned, visiting nobles and palace staff sent you smiles, casual how are you’s and i hope you slept well’s handed out to you like spare change. it made your head spin, and the desire to retreat back into your chambers was strong.

you found your way outside instead, through an archway made of brown stone. the fresh air often helped you think. 

your casual walk allowed you to take in details that you couldn’t when you first arrived. the trees and greenery surrounding the palace were things you did not get at home, the forever winter killing off any color you longed to see. crops and livestock were held miles from the palace, outside of the reach of your vision and the invisible leash your father had kept you on, but here they thrived under the midday sun. you had a horse that you called your own, but you were only allowed to use him to travel to nearby towns on the outskirts of the palace property, right outside of the strong walls that surrounded it. none of the villagers there spoke to you past cold formalities, no matter how hard you tried, so eventually you gave up, settling for spending your time inside the castle.

here you found that you simply had to step outside of the palace walls to feel the soft grass beneath your feet, to smell the earth under your nose, to drink in the vibrant pinks and purples of the flowers in the gardens. there were so many trees, tall and strong with no walls blocking your vision of the soft foliage. you found a quiet bench under a tree, leaves and twigs decorating it’s surface from disuse, and you decided to call it your own despite having no ownership of any part of these grounds. 

no ownership yet, if your father had anything to do about it. 

you sat there for hours, drinking in the scenery as the sun made it’s path across the clear sky. you had expected boredom to creep around the edges of your mind, but it never came. the tranquility was so addictive that you found yourself back there, on that same bench, the next morning. and the next, your feet carrying you there before you were even fully awake.

“penny for your thoughts?” a deep voice disrupts your peace on that third day as a slender body sits on the bench next to you, just close enough that the warmth of his body touches your skin. you’re equal parts relieved and distressed when you see that it’s felix, and you smile at him in greeting, hoping that it didn’t come out as a grimace. this time when you meet his eyes, you make an effort to not look away.

“i do not get to see things such as this at home,” you wave your hand towards the garden, towards the birds chirping and the gentle sound of a stream bubbling. “it is beautiful. serene, you know?”

you don’t know how to act around him, and you certainly didn’t expect him to approach you. your words came out awkward, sounding unpracticed and superficial, and you try and hold back a flush from taking over your face. you hoped it wasn’t outstandingly clear how uncomfortable you were in his presence. do better than that, your father’s voice rings in your head.

“i agree,” he turns away from you, drinking in the picture-perfect view in front of you. “i am very lucky to call this place my home. what is yours like?”

“gray,” you deadpan, and the responding laugh he grants you makes your heart skip. better.

“there must be something beautiful there, it cannot just be you, right?” he says, a playful smirk tugging his lips upwards. 

“flattery will get you nowhere, my prince,” you shoot back, enjoying the moment of quick banter between the two of you before your words turned sober. “when my mother was alive, she would paint the hallways and the walls of our chambers with beautiful flowers and vines and clouds. the flowers were my favorite part, she painted them in such beautiful shades of purples and yellows. most of them have been painted over, but the ones in my chambers remain. those are my favorite part of the castle, the most beautiful things i have ever seen.” 

“i would love to see it one day,” he says, adamant and genuine as he takes your hand in his to squeeze it once before letting it go.

“maybe you could visit?” you look up at him through your lashes, a fake gesture to toy with him that left you feeling staticky and wrong. it was a complete lie - you would never subject this beautiful boy to the somberness of your home, lest it dull his brightness. even though he might not have a home soon, you push away the thought.

“only if it means i can see more of you, and not having you hide away,” he says, pointedly, though his face shows no malice. 

“it is overwhelming, for me,” you explain, embarrassed at having been caught. “to be surrounded by strangers.”

“yes,” his eyes are far away for a moment, his head deep in thought. “i understand.”

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

the next morning you had only just left your chambers, planning for another day exploring the greenery around the palace, when you spot felix leaning against the wall opposite of the door. he approaches you with a warm smile and takes your hand, his skin soft under your fingertips. how long had he been waiting there for you?

“my lady,” he bows his head, bringing the back of your hand to his lips to press a kiss there, as he had done when you first arrived. “would you care for a walk around the palace? it would be my honor to be your escort for the day.”

“if you ask so nicely,” you smile back, humor seeping into your voice naturally. “how can i refuse?”

“excellent,” his smile widens and he holds an arm out for you to take. “i’ll take you to meet my friends! that way, you will have friends here, too, instead of strangers.”

his friends, you thought, would be nobles and lords and other members of high class that you would have to make fake pleasantries with. while his gesture was sweet, you had no interest making relations with the elite members of this court, the ones whose lives you were planning on upending. the last thing you expected was for him to take you straight to the kitchens, down winding hallways and corridors, marked by the ever increasing aroma of delicious baked goods and mouthwatering herbs.

“minho!” felix exclaims, bouncing on his heels excitedly, catching the attention of a man who was frowning deeply at a pot bubbling over a fire. “this is y/n, i am taking her around the castle today. y/n, this is minho, the king of our kitchens, and a dear friend of mine.”

the way he introduced you, so casually, was perplexing; no one had ever spoken your name without princess or lady preceding it. even more so was his casual use of king when talking about someone of lower class, a term that should be solely reserved for his father. 

“hello, my lady,” minho looks up, his lips turning up into a graceful smile, slightly crooked teeth peeking through his lips. his hair curls around his ears a bit, dainty jewelry adorning his lobes, and his features look almost sculpted in perfection. he’s absolutely beautiful.

“is everyone in your kingdom this pretty?” you blurt out, forgetting yourself, and minho barks into laughter. felix’s hand moves to lay on your arm, right at the crook of your elbow, and if it wasn’t for the amused smile on his face you may have thought you upset him.

“you are one to talk, my lady,” minho says, delight on his face that quickly morphs into exasperation as the pot he was monitoring earlier begins to bubble over.

“careful, min,” felix drawls out, his fingers curling further into your arm. almost possessively. interesting. “she is our guest, not someone for you to flirt with.”

“alright, your royal highness,” minho says distractedly, stirring vigorously. “now stop distracting me, unless you want raw meat and vegetables for dinner tonight.” 

felix grins in response, shooting a wave at the cook before leading you to a door in the back of the kitchens. it follows outside to a set of fields you hadn’t laid eyes on before, a cobblestone path winding through it like a river.

“so, do you think i am pretty too?” he teases as he leads you down the path, towards a set of men - knights - sparring in the midday sun. “or is that reserved for minho?”

“well-” you laugh, startled at his boldness. “i will not lie, you certainly are beautiful. but do not let it get to your head.”

“well as you said, flattery gets you nowhere, my lady,” he laughs too, and the two of you break all composure as you lean into each other. it’s almost too easy to be casual with him, too natural to break the carefully taught formalities that were drilled into you. you thought it might be a challenge, or awkward at the minimum, to get close to the prince, but you’re finding it to be quite an enjoyable experience thus far.

as you approach the knights, sweaty and panting from the exertion of their practice, you point out two men stand out from the rest, wearing armor with the royal colors showing proudly rather than the simple silver of the other knights. they held themselves with grace, power exuding off of them almost effortlessly, and they spark your interest.

“changbin and jisung,” felix points them out. “chris’ most trusted knights, and our friends. i pray for you if you ever get into a poker match with those two, they’ll cheat you out of every coin in your purse, the rascals.”

his voice is fond as his words are teasing, a juxtaposition that fascinates you. you don’t think you can recall a time where someone has used an insult as a term of endearment as he had just done. you lock this away in the back of your mind to ponder on later as you take in the two knights in front of you. the shorter one is clearly fond of exercise, if the muscles that even his heavy armor can’t hide is any clue. his hair is as dark as a raven’s feathers, curling from sweat, and his face is kind. the one next to him is slimmer, but no less strong. his face is round, cheeks swelling from the gummy smile he’s wearing, and his eyes are so pretty. 

“felix!” the more muscular one, changbin as felix had pointed out, beams at the man beside you. “care to join? your moves must be getting rusty with all the sitting around you royals do.”

felix sends a glare to changbin, no heat behind the gesture, and him and jisung laugh in response. 

“i have company, you scoundrels,” felix complains, almost in a whine. “could you not just boast about my prowess on the battlefield? you had to make me look bad?”

“please, lix,” jisung teases before turning his attention to you. “he may not be the most powerful warrior, but he is quick. the most agile swordwork i have seen, probably. it is like he is dancing with his opponent.”

felix flushes, shy under the compliments of his knights, his friends. 

“hyunjin and seungmin must be around here somewhere,” felix muses as he walks you down the corridor lined with knights, back inside and down a hallway you haven’t seen before. “this is where mine and chris’ chambers are. hyunjin is chris’s personal secretary, and seungmin is mine. though, i would consider him more of a menace than anything else.” 

his voice is lined with fondness again, like the way he spoke about minho and changbin and jisung. it’s the same manner as how he talks about his father and his brother, his family. it was like they were all his kin, regardless of blood.

“you are on a first name basis with the staff here?” you ask after a lull of silence, curiosity winning over your hesitance. your own handmaidens did not address you by name, the women who were your closest companions since you were young girls. you had never even thought to grant them the privilege of doing so.

“we treat everyone with the same respect, regardless of status or bloodline,” he says, words sounding a little colder than usual. 

“do not misunderstand,” you quickly correct, not wanting to offend him. because you want him to trust you, your mind supplies. not because you want him to like you. “i think it admirable. it is…different, to how things are in my kingdom. i am simply not used to it. i would prefer it this way, if i had the choice.”

it wasn’t a complete lie; you were searching for words that would win him your favor, but it surprised you how naturally they came to you. 

“do you not?” he furrows his brow, looking at you in confusion. whatever iciness he had before had melted into befuddlement, like he genuinely didn’t understand. “have a choice, i mean.”

you don’t know how to tell him you don’t have many choices at all. 

the silence takes over the both of you again, less comfortable than before, but he remains quiet as if he can sense the thoughts whirling inside of your head. it’s only when you reach the limits of the palace property that you’re thrown out of your mind, glancing at him with unspoken question.

“i thought we could take a stroll through the lower towns to end our day,” he explains, no signs of lingering animosity from your previous conversation. “it is my favorite place to go to get away from the palace once in a while.”

the lower towns, like most things in this kingdom, were not what you had expected. there were children playing in the streets, laughing and screaming while their parents watched on in exasperation. markets lined the cobblestones you walked on, selling vibrant fabrics and jewelry, freshly baked goods and crisp produce, and a variety of trinkets that overwhelmed you in the best way, patrons were striking bargains for products on every corner, trading goods for coin, a smile on each face you encountered.

it was a good distinction from the towns you were used to, where knights patrolled to ensure nothing was amiss. people there lived in fear, not in joy. everywhere you turned, people smiled at the prince beside you, and he would wave back or offer a small nod, ever polite. the few times you had managed to sneak into the lower towns to buy paints and canvas or trinkets as gifts for your handmaidens, you had gone in a thick cloak that covered your face lest you be recognized. here, walking around in your day dress, you felt almost naked. 

a child runs up to felix and wraps his small arms around his legs, bouncing excitedly on his heels.

“prince lixie!” he squeals, and felix leans down to ruffle his hair, a large smile on his face. it might be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. “is that a princess?”

it takes you a moment to realize that the child is asking about you. you don’t interact with children much, your father would never allow them to touch you like the boy is with felix.

“yes, she is,” felix whispers, like he’s sharing a secret. “a very beautiful princess. why don’t you say hello?”

“hello,” the boy turns shy, peeking his head out from behind felix’ leg. the child, you found, could be forgiven for his lack of decorum when addressing you. he had a lot to learn at his young age. “i am joshua.”

“hi, little one,” you say, a little awkward as felix’ eyes are trained on you. “i am y/n.” 

you were at loss for words, but the few words you managed to give had the boy practically beaming at you in response. you watch as felix tells him to return to his friends, because you and him were on official palace business, and the boy nods sagely before scampering off.

“sorry about him,” he says once lucas is out of sight. “i have been visiting him in the village since he was very little. i have taken a liking to him, naughty as he is. he is the son of one of the merchants here, and he lost his mother years ago. i see myself in him.” 

“he is precious,” you take his arm again as he continues down the path. “i always wanted to visit the children in the orphanages at home, but i-” you cut yourself off, a habit you’ve taken to since arriving here. i need to learn to think before speaking. “i have not gotten the chance.”

“the children here are lovely,” he says. “i like learning from them. they keep me humble, remind me that not everyone is born with such privilege.”

he says it so simply, as if it’s his right to question such things; a man born into royalty surely has no business spending time with lower-class children, learning from them. it is one thing to offer them a coin, something that the kingdom could clearly spare. but what could they possibly teach him that his well-respected tutors could not?

you didn’t bring it up, afraid that he would react the same way he had earlier, when you questioned his informality with his staff. afraid that maybe, he would react in anger, though you couldn’t quite imagine the perfect lines of his face twisted into anything but peace.

before the two of you leave, he stops at one of the many stands selling an array of sparking jewelry and scarves, and he asks you if you would like anything. you want to say yes, the handmade twists of metal and dyed fabrics captivating you, but you shyly shake your head. 

you almost miss his forlorn expression when you refuse, turning away from the stand. it’s better this way, to not receive gifts from him. there will be nothing in your possession to remember him by, then.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

as felix drops you off at your door in the evening, the day comes crashing down on you - he’s so kind. everyone here is, from the royal family to the staff and the people living in the villages outside the gates. throughout the entire day you spent with felix, you did not once think about why you were here, simply enjoying his company and learning about him, not the secrets you were tasked with uncovering. 

it’s given you a lot to think about.

as he leaves, he runs a gentle hand down your arm from your shoulder to your wrist, squeezing gently before walking away. even his strides are made in lovely, even steps that makes him look other-worldly.

you lean against the doorframe, taking a deep breath to try and settle yourself, and it’s then that a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye captures your attention. 

a servant is standing just down the hallway opposite from the one felix disappeared into, the same servant who had walked you to your chambers the very first day. the first person here who had smiled at you for no reason other than to be kind.

“hello,” you call out softly, beckoning him closer to you; you don’t know who looks more nervous out of the two of you as he approaches you with uncertain steps. “what is your name?”

“jeongin, my lady,” he almost whispers, hesitant, wide eyes trained on you. 

“nice to meet you, jeongin,” your lips tug upwards. he’s adorable. 

“we have met before,” he blurts out, smacking his hands over his mouth. “i am sorry, i spoke out of turn. i just meant…” 

he trails off, looking down shyly. 

“meant what, jeongin?” you ask, sure to keep your voice light and free of demand despite the curiosity starting to burn in you. what did he mean, you’ve met before? surely, he means within the palace earlier that week, right?

“i used to live in your kingdom,” he admits, his fingers playing with them hem of his tunic. “when i was younger. my mother was a servant in your castle.”

“really?” you gasp, understanding and puzzlement taking over simultaneously. 

“yes, but i left when i was still young,” he explains. “i remember you, though. you were always kind. i admired you for that.”

“thank you, jeongin,” you manage to force out, knowing that you did not deserve his kind words, even as informal as they were given. he was wrong; you were just as wicked as the rest of the nobles in your court. perhaps you were simply better at hiding it.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

your father pulls you into an empty corridor near your chambers the next day, his strength harsh enough to make you stumble over your feet.

“what have you learned,” he speaks in hushed tones, scared of being overheard. it’s more of a demand than a question, as if he simply expected you to have what he needs after such little time.

“i spent the entire day with him yesterday,” you start, choosing your words carefully, lest he discover that you’re actually enjoying yourself here. “he took me around the castle, and i have an idea of the layout, in the case that we need to make a hasty exit.”

“anything else?” he pushes, leaning further into your space. 

“they are…unusually fond of their staff here,” you divulge, more reluctant to give up this information. “they might be of use.”

“good girl,” his smirk is like frost, and he reaches out to cup your cheek. a gesture that, to others, may have seemed paternal, protective. though his touch sends an unpleasant shiver up your spine, his words satisfy some sick satisfaction within you - the need for his approval was met.

“your mother would be proud.”

as he walks away, it makes you queasy how those words make you straighten up, proud. pleased. living in the echo of your mother’s footsteps for so long made you doubtful that you would ever be able to fill them, but maybe this was a start.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

you see felix later, walking to the banquet hall with another boy dressed in simple clothes. they pause by the entrance, deep in conversation, and you duck behind a pillar, out of their sight. you’re just close enough to hear snippets of their conversation, when their voices raise from their hushed whispers. they must not want to be overheard, you realize, straining your ears harder. this was your chance to gather some kind useful information for your father.

you close your eyes and listen, picking up puzzle pieces of she’s sick and time off and you’ve almost completed the puzzle when it hits you - though any conversation they might have had was not meant for you to hear, this one in particular felt like a breach of privacy. not of felix’ but of the boy standing before him. 

his secretary, seungmin, that he had spoken about the previous day. the boy who, as you had just learned, had a sick mother, and was requesting some time away to care for her. as you peek around the pillar, you see felix rest a hand on his shoulder, leaning close to the boy before pulling him in for a gentle hug. 

he’s friends with his staff, and he touches them so casually? this didn’t fit. it fit nothing of the way you were brought up, formality and proprietary trained into you, and it fit nothing of the picture your father had painted of the royals that ruled over this kingdom. it seems that with every observation, instead of answers you were left with more and more questions. 

“what are you doing?” a voice sounds from behind you, too close, and you nearly jump. 

“what?” you breathe out, turning to see jeongin standing behind you, eyes wide.

“you were just standing there with your eyes closed,” he explains. “is everything okay?”

“my lady,” you correct, the words leaving your mouth as if it had a mind of its own. “is everything okay, my lady.”

“oh,” he says, twisting his bottom lip between his teeth. “apologies, my lady. there is no such need for formalities here, i had forgotten.”

“it is alright,” you assure, watching as he relaxes and lets out a breath. 

“just, a word of advice?” he says, continuing before you could tell him that no, you didn’t want nor need his advice. “if you are going to be here for some time, you should try and adapt. not to overstep, my lady, you just might find yourself more comfortable if you relax a bit.”

he walks away with a smile, and you’re left alone to reflect on his words. he did overstep, but it does not mean he didn’t give you something useful. adapt, he had said, and perhaps he had a point. felix seemed to be more open with you when you were agreeable, when you didn’t question his strange impropriety. 

maybe becoming one of them, even through a facade, was the key to unlocking whatever you needed to find.

he arrives at your door as the sun was setting, light knocks accompanied by a call of your name that you almost couldn’t hear. you call out softly for him to enter, a delighted smile taking over your face when you see what he has grasped in his hand, held out in offering.

a beautiful bouquet of flowers, wrapped in creamy tulle. the petals were a vibrant purple, highlighted by sharp yellows and soft whites towards their center. they were violas, your mother’s favorite flower. 

you hadn’t seen one since she had passed. your father had forbade anyone from growing them on his lands.

“how did you know?” you gasp, smiling at him brightly as you take them from him. you move them closer to your face, and if you were alone you might bury your face into them, savoring their powdery sweet smell. “that these were my favorite flower?”

“you told me,” he says, ears turning pink under your attention. “that your mother painted your room in purple flowers. i just guessed, but from your reaction i hope i got it right?”

how had he remembered such a small detail that you had given him, when you knew little to nothing about him?

“oh, felix, they’re perfect. you remembered such a small thing?”

“there are a lot of things i wish to know about you,” he confesses. 

“likewise,” you smile at him. 

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

smoke, creeping through the gap between the floor and the wooden door, rising in curling pillars towards you. snaking around your neck, entering your throat and your nostrils, burning your lungs to ash. you scramble for the doorknob, but the moment your fingers hit it you’re snatching your hand back - it’s icy hot, unable to touch. 

there is no escape.

the windows - covered by royal blue curtains, catch fire from below, and you throw them back. you need air, something to clear out your crumbling lungs, but when you look outside the city is on fire. red-hot flames lick up the side of the palace, trees turned barren and flowers burned to a crisp. 

in the center you can see felix, flames surrounding him but not touching. he’s whispering something, and you cry out that you can’t hear him. speak louder, please, you beg. help me.

“this is your fault,” he speaks, his voice right in your ear, but when you turn towards it, it’s not felix next to you. it’s your father.

his hand slides around your waist, pulling you close to him, embracing you. 

“good work,” he says, proud smile on his face as the both of you watch the city fall to the flames. “i knew you could do it.”

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

since the younger prince had taken you on a tour of the castle, you’ve seen him every day. sometimes he would greet you at breakfast, disappearing afterwards only for him to show up at your door later to ask you on a walk around the grounds. other times he would be waiting for you outside your chambers when you woke up with a basket of fresh pasties baked by minho for you to enjoy together, and he would watch in delight as you savored the flavors. on rarer days, you would only see him in passing while he was between duties, but he would stop to press a kiss to the back of your hand, every time. 

you played along with him, accepting his flirting and responding in turn. it came instinctively, and you often forgot that you were meant to be luring him into a false companionship, not a real one. he was alluring, smart with a fragment of recklessness, soft with sharp edges, a perfect balance of everything. 

as the days passed, he would get bolder. his touches lingered for longer, the searing heat of his hand pressing on your arm, your shoulder, on the small of your back. his kisses moved from your hands to your cheeks and your temples, to the crown of your head, and it left you aching for more. he didn’t hold back his compliments, reflecting not only on how beautiful he found you but also how thought you were clever, intelligent, good-natured. you never thought those things about yourself, but something in the way he said it made you think they were true.

in the times that you weren’t with felix, you spent time with jeongin. the boy was as sweet as he looked, the the more time you spent together, the more his shyness melted away to reveal sharp wit and an even sharper tongue. you found your own walls dropping around him too, his easy companionship making it difficult to remain closed off to him. he reminded you of the home of your childhood, the one that you missed fiercely, and you were grateful to have him by your side. he kept you humble, holding you accountable for the way you acted, even though a spark of fear remained within him any time he spoke his mind in that regard. you managed to hold back your annoyance at his remarks, and soon you found that it simply faded out of reach. you became fast friends, almost too quickly, evidenced by the way he would raise his eyebrows at you when he saw you with felix, like he could see right through you.

you were lucky that your attraction to the prince was all that he could see through. the weight of your impending betrayal was like a shackle on your ankle, following you wherever you went, impossible to truly forget about. while you had yet to learn anything about the royal family that could serve as a benefit to your father, you saw your relationship with felix as a betrayal in it’s own right. if you were better, you would leave him alone - you would leave this kingdom entirely, and refuse to play any part in their downfall. but you couldn’t physically stay away.

you couldn’t stop from filing away small bits of information that might serve to be useful, either. the prince’s brother’s favorite meal, in case the opportunity to poison him came along. his father’s daily schedule, told to you by felix freely when you had asked, your fingertip running down his arm from his shoulder to his wrist. the likely areas where secrets may have been hidden, restricted to you and glossed over by felix when he would walk with you around the castle. you hated it, categorizing this information into handy little parcels that you would deliver to your father.

a welcome distraction came in the form of the very thing you should be avoiding; on a few occasions, felix had christopher and his betrothed, roseanne, accompany the two of you on whatever excursion he had planned for that day. 

a simple picnic in the garden, juicy fruits picked just that morning and fresh baked bread and crumbly cheeses to snack on while the four of you talked. conversation came easy with chris and roseanne, once you broke out of the too familiar anxiety that surrounded you when with new people. felix’s warmth from where he was settled next to you, allowing you to lean into him, helped more than you wanted to tell him. chris was so similar to his brother, sharing his kindness and his humor, though his jokes were cheesier than felix’ dry sarcasm. roseanne was lovely, someone who you could see as a close friend under different circumstances. 

a on a visit to the lower towns, just as lively as it was the first time you went. it was then that you officially met hyunjin and seungmin, the prince’s assistants. the way they bickered with one another, and their royal counterparts, made you laugh so hard that your stomach ached with it. even they were striking, and it left you wondering whether one’s disposition on the inside reflected their beauty on the outside. 

your friendly chatter continued into mealtimes, where the kings would join you, the very few times where you would get to see king stephen at all. he bantered with his children, asking them about their days and their plans for the next ones, acted like a father instead of a king with them. it sent a pang of longing through you - your father had been like that, before. you don’t think he remembered how to be a father, anymore.

as much as you loved the prince’s company, you hated the approving nods you would get from your father whenever he saw you and felix together. the acknowledgement that you craved for just weeks ago felt near futile now - he didn’t see that instead of making the prince fall for you, the opposite was taking place. he didn’t see the genuine connection between the two of you, the way you craved for him, the way nothing else seemed to matter when he was in front of you. he didn’t care about your heart, about how it would likely break beyond compare when he he was finished here. he didn’t care about you. 

the you that was falling for felix. for his compassion, for his gentle nature, for his quick wit and effortless beauty. for the way he treated those around him, for the way he spoke to you like you were more than a pawn in a cruel game of chess. it made you sick to your stomach to think about what was to come, what you hopelessly wished you could avoid. you find yourself wishing, not for the first time, that you and your father were truly here seeking peace. that you could imagine a future here without guilt gnawing at your chest.

the closer you grow to felix, the stronger the gnawing feeling in your stomach becomes. but you can’t stay away from him, even if you tried; the sparking light in his eyes drew you in and you were helpless to his magnetic pull. the way he would beckon you over with his hand, palm facing upright as if waiting to join with your own, left you no choice but to go to him. you knew you were selfish, spending time with him out of your own desires while doing nothing to warn him of what was to come and making no actions to follow through with your father’s wishes. you knew your time here, living in peace, was running short, the last dribbles of sand slipping down an hourglass.

and yet, when he finally pulled you into an empty alcove and held you close so that he could press his lips gently to yours, you let him. you responded in kind, moving together with him like some kind of dance. 

when he invited you into his chambers and into his bed, you didn’t say no. even then, when he gave you all of himself, you took it. 

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

fire, this time contained in a ring of wooden slats, smoke curling up into the night sky. felix, by your side, you tucked into his side while the two of you claim it’s warmth for your own.

“why?” felix says, running a hand up and down your arm. you hum, snuggling further into him when a breeze makes it way to you through the trees surrounding you.

“why what?” you ask, voice syrupy sweet.

“why did you do it?” he turns towards you, the flames still visible in his eyes. he glances over your shoulder pointedly before turning back to the campfire, pulling you into him again. you look behind you, and a firestorm meets your vision. you can barely make out the outline of the beautiful palace through the inferno, but a figure stands out in the center of it. you move closer, the heat threatening to scorch your skin, to see your father strapped to stake. burning. dying.

you turn back towards felix, question dying on your lips when he’s not there. a sick feeling enters your stomach as your gaze returns to the fire, and where your father was is felix in his place.

you let out a horrid scream.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

waking up to the sight of felix, blonde hair illuminated by the morning light like a halo around his head, was something you think you could never get used to. even if you were allowed this under better circumstances, if the two of you had fallen together after meeting at a ball or a diplomatic meeting, his beauty was something that you truly could not comprehend. 

you have half a mind to scold both him and yourself for breaking proprietary, for falling into bed with one another out of wedlock, as parts of two separate kingdoms that have yet to establish ties. you don’t, though; you were as much at fault as he was, and you had enjoyed it too much to ruin it for either of you. you do not acknowledge the guilt that was creeping up inside of you from your dishonesty, or the remainder of fear that lingered from your dream. looking at felix while he slept seemed like a much better way to spend your time.

he is equal parts pretty and cute when he mumbles, smacking his lips together as his eyelids flutter, holding onto the last pieces of sleep he can. when his brown eyes peek through his eyelashes and land on you, you can see the smile in his gaze.

“morning,” his deep voice rumbles, and he pulls you close to him by the waist. you land almost on top of him, his movement making you lose your balance from where you were perched on your elbow watching him, and you both let out breathless laughter at your undignified flailing. you settle against him, his chest pillowing your head while you trace senseless patterns into whatever patches of skin you can find.

you can still feel the phantom touches that he had imprinted on you the night before, as he held you more gently than anyone ever had. you can feel the silky smooth strands of his hair under your fingers, the ghost of his breath panting against your neck. you can hear the sweet sounds you pulled out of him over and over. 

“penny for your thoughts?” he asks, just as he did when he met you in the gardens the very first time. 

“mm,” you sound, not wanting to break the peaceful silence the two of you were basking in. “just thinking about my mother.” 

“oh,” his face drops in sadness. not in pity, but in compassion. in empathy, for of all people he would understand; he lost his mother, too. “can i ask how she passed?”

a refusal is at the tip of your tongue, as it is when anyone asks about your mother, but it fizzles out when you look at him. you found yourself wanting to talk about this with him.

“she was sick,” you start, early memories of your childhood filtering into your head. “since i can remember, she was sick. it took over her body slowly, it took years for her to succumb to being bedridden. she would paint for hours and hours, back then, until she collapsed. but then, it took over her mind too. that was the worst part, her forgetting who my father was, who i was, forgetting who she was. when she passed, it was almost a relief, i could not stand to see her in that state of pain anymore. i was twelve, when it happened.”

“i am sorry,” his voice is deep, thick with sadness. “that sounds like something a child should never have to go through.”

“what about…” you trail off, not wanting to make it sound like the two of you were trading secrets like giggling children. 

“she was murdered by bandits, in the lower towns, just a few years ago,” he answered your unfinished question. “she went further than she was supposed to go from the castle grounds, and she always refused to bring knights with her. my father blames himself, and i blamed him for a long time too. but it was not his fault.”

“i am sorry, too,” you place your hand on his cheek, hoping the weight of your caress would surpass the lack of words you offered him. 

“as strange as it is to say, i-” he cuts off for a second, letting out a strangled laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “i am glad that you understand. it is hard telling these things to people that have not experienced that kind of pain.”

you don’t think it’s strange at all. it settles something within you, the part of you that had felt so alone for years. for all of his charms, it was this display of raw honesty that transformed what you had thought to be superficial attraction into something more, something deeper.

“i feel the same,” you close your eyes, trying to tamper the nausea that arose at those words. you’re going to take his father from him too, your back-stabbing mind informs you. and his brother, you don’t deserve his comfort. 

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

your father calls for you that morning, sending a note to your chambers. you only see it when you finally get out of felix’ bed and make it to your own to freshen up, a smile present on your face that you can’t help. 

every step you take towards your father’s chambers feels more and more like you’re signing your death wish, and the sound of his door opening several moments after you knock on it sounds like cannon-fire in your head.

“you asked for me?” you move closer to the desk where he had sat, and from your position you could see messy piles of paper with words that had been angrily scrawled on them. 

“i have asked you for many things,” he starts, voice dripping with condescension. “but it is good to see that you can manage to follow simple orders.”

his passive aggression makes your blood boil; after weeks of being treated so kindly by your hosts, your patience was wearing thin in the face of your father.

“i am trying to earn their trust fully,” you try to reason. “it is taking longer than expected.”

“and sharing a bed with him is not enough? whoring yourself out to them has not given you the opportunity to find out what you need?” his words were almost enough to make your skin catch fire. how did he possibly know what you and felix had done? “complete what i have asked of you, now. the faster we finish this, the quicker we can leave this horrid place.”

leave this place, and go back to what? an empty castle where you are disrespected, forgotten, ignored? a place with no life, no joy, no laughter? you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore, but you were certain that going back was not a favorable outcome.

“i’m not a servant that you can bark orders to,” you bit out, regretting it almost instantly when he stood up so fast that his chair fell to the floor behind him. 

“watch your mouth,” he growls, stalking towards you, and you take a few steps back from him. “it seems that the only thing you’ve learned from the insolent brats here is how to be weak. how to disrespect your king, the one who has clothed you and fed you since you were born.”

your king, he said. not your father. 

he grabs you by the neck and pushes you back, back, back until you’re up against the door, his grip strong enough that you knew would leave behind a ring of bruises. you wish you could deem this unfamiliar, but the sensation of feeling pain caused by his hands was not uncommon.

“i am growing tired of your excuses. you think they care about you? they would kill you in an instant if they knew what you have been hiding.” he moves closer, until his face is inches from yours and you cannot look anywhere but at him. “if you know what is good for you, you will stop this insolence and do as i say.”

when he removes his grip from you, your knees give out, and you brace yourself against the doorframe to keep from falling. he returns to his desk, not sparing you a glance as you leave his chambers and close the door behind you.

you don’t notice the frightened frame that had been standing outside the door through the tears clouding your vision.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

you’re sitting at the fireplace in your chambers when you hear your door open, jeongin slipping in and closing it quietly behind him. he settles himself next to you, taking in your haggard appearance.

“your father is not here to make peace, is he?” he asks, his voice quiet and free of judgment. like he was confirming what he was already known to be true, not making an accusation.

“no,” you answer simply, too exhausted to try and lie to him. your friend. maybe the first real one you’ve ever had.

“you are helping him.” he says, letting a crumb of distress loose into his voice.

“yes.”

“you have come here under the illest of intentions, gained our trust,” he starts, calm. quiet.

“i know,” you sigh.

“you are going to hurt a lot of people.“

“i know.”

“you are going to do it, even though you do not want to.”

“i know, jeongin!” you snap, feeling guilty when he jumps a little.

“it’s just,” he’s playing with his fingers, a tell of his nerves. “i remember what it was like, at home. before, and then after. when things changed, when people became meaner. more cold, and closed off. that is why we left, and came here. don not make us go through that again.”

“i am sorry,” you whisper, a heavy, uncomfortable feeling settling in your stomach at his words. all you can offer him is an empty apology, useless as it is.

“i had hoped that you would be different. that you would stay true to who you were, or who i thought you to be.” he’s looking into the fire, not blinking as if mesmerized. as if he’s trying to dissociate from this moment in a way you wish you could. “when i saw you here, you still had it. that light, from before.”

“i do not want to do it, innie,” you choke out, echoing his words while your eyes burned. “i do not know what to do. i never wanted this, i hate it.”

“i know,” he says. “i can see it. in everything you do, your hesitation, the way you hold yourself back. but you do not understand.”

“understand what?” you’re exhausted, you don’t have it in yourself to be frustrated at him.

“that you have a choice,” he says, as if it was a simple thing. “that you can choose to end this, choose to do what you know is right.”

“i am scared,” you wobble out.

“being scared is good,” he finally breaks away from the fire, but the light in his eyes burns just as bright when he looks at you. “it makes you genuine. that is what makes you different from him. but you do not have to let that stop you.”

“i do not know how,” you whisper, voice barely carrying over to him. 

“figure it out,” he says, just as quiet. “or i will do something, that you will not like. i will not let you harm my friends, no matter who you are.”

he leaves you then, slipping out of the chambers as quietly as he had come in, leaving you to your thoughts and what felt like a never ending stream of silent tears flowing from your eyes.

the next morning, you hand jeongin a note to give to hyunjin for christopher. 

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

the sun had been set for hours when you wrap a scarf around your neck to hind the greenish blue splotches forming around your neck and secure the buckles on your boots. you hadn’t seen felix all day, but you knew that if he asked you to spend the night with him that you wouldn’t be able to follow through with what you were about to to.

your cloak shrouds your face from anyone who might be awake as you quickly make your way through the gardens, to the bench that you often inhabited. christopher is already waiting there for you, a grim look on his face.

“why did you ask me here, my lady?” he asks, clearly confused. 

“please, i need you to listen to me,” your voice is hushed, like you’re scared of anyone hearing despite the hour of day and the concealed location you had chosen.”i am going to tell you things that you will not like, but i need you to listen until the end.” 

“are you alright?” he looks concerned at how desperate you sound, but you shake your head. now isn’t the time for him to worry about you.

you tell him everything. the things your father had said about his family, the plan he had concocted before even stepping foot in this kingdom, the way his demands have been increasing from your lack of progress. the way you had changed as a result of being around the people here, that you didn’t wish to play in your father’s game any longer. you watch as his face morphs from surprise to anger to betrayal and back again, a cycle of emotions that might be comical under any other circumstance. 

there were many ways you could have done this; telling the king for one, but this would open the chance of him ending your life along with your father. trying again to reason with your him, making it clear that you weren’t going to comply with his demands, but you could never see him compromising his mission. there was one single thing that you had thought of that had a chance of succeeding, with your head still attached to your body.

you end your speech with a demand, simple as it is, and that’s when he shows disbelief.

“you want me to kill your father?” he asks, incredulous. 

“i may have loved him once,” you admit, voice thick with emotion. “but not anymore. he is not my father anymore, he is a tyrant. there is not a single soul in the kingdoms that would benefit from him being alive.”

“how do i know i can trust you?” he raises a cool brow, indifference masking whatever he was truly feeling underneath. “what if this is part of your plot?”

“you do not have time to consider my legitimacy!” you cry out, desperate. “i have tried to delay him, to think of some way out of this. he is getting angrier by the day and i fear that he will do something without thinking, something bad, and soon.”

“why not just leave then?” he asks, as if giving you a test. for all it was worth, it was a test that you wanted to pass. “why go through all of this when you could just get out, save yourself?”

“that would not be fair to my people, to leave them with him,” your words come out more passionate than you expected them to. “they deserve better than that. and it would not be fair to you, either. you have shown me more compassion than anyone has since my mother was alive. i will not repay that kindness by leaving like a coward.”

“has he hurt you?” the question catches you off guard, as does the concern filtering through his gaze. you bite your tongue; you want to answer, tell him yes, but that tiny, frightened version of you inside stops the words from coming out. you want to pull down your scarf, show him visible proof of the way your father treats you, but your hands feel like lead. he takes your silence as a confirmation though, nodding and cursing under his breath. 

“i will not kill him,” he says, and you open your mouth to beg, plead for him to listen, but he holds a hand out as he continues. “but i will keep my guard up. i will not take this lightly; my father’s life is in danger, and i will take every precaution while i gain information.”

you sigh through your nose, defeat making your body sag into the bench. this was your last chance; chris may as well have just sealed all of your fates.

“please understand,” he says, weary. “i cannot go to my father with accusations when i have no proof. i believe you, i just need evidence before i can act.”

“please, just,” you say as you stand, not wanting to ask him for another impossible task he might refuse. “do not tell felix? i cannot have him getting caught up in this. i do not want him hurt.”

“you care about him.” he states, as if he is already sure of your answer. 

“more than i thought possible,” you answer, and it is the truth.

“i cannot promise you that i will keep him in the dark. he is my brother,” he frowns. “we do not keep secrets from one another.”

“please,” it’s all you can say before you walk away, pulling your hood back over your face. you can only hope that he will listen to your plea. if not for your sake, but for felix’.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

you should go to your own chambers, should stay away from felix until things were figured out, done and over. but your feet take you to his door instead of your own, and you’re inside his chambers before you can second-guess your stupid decision. you can tell he’s awake by his breathing, irregular and short, and it both pains and excites you that you are allowed to know things about him in that capacity.

“hi,” you keep your voice low, almost a purr as you climb into the bed and throw an arm around his curled up form. his nose scrunches and he wriggles a little bit, almost dislodging you, but you keep your grip strong. you don’t know when you will get this again. 

“you smell like outside,” he complains, his body going lax. “where were you? i missed you.”

“just checking on some things,” you mumble into his skin, your lips finding home on the back of his neck. “i am all yours now.”

“do you not have people to check on things for you?” he asks, opening his eyes finally and turning his head towards you. you’re glad for the lack of light that keeps him from really seeing you. seeing the stress pinching your brows together, and the guilty frown that you can’t get rid of. “i have told you, my staff are there at your disposal. for whatever you need.” 

“why trust others to do things i can do myself?” you quip back, the guilt of not telling him eating at you. you bury your face into his neck, hiding yourself, and the hand he tangles into your hair soothes you a bit. you feel tears welling up against your will and you let a shaky breath out into his honeyed skin.

“are you alright?” he tries to move your head up to look at you, but you refuse, shaking your head.

“i just really care about you, you know that right?” you admit, the last words you spoke to chris echoing in your head. “i didn’t expect to ever care about someone this much.”

“i care about you too,” confusion laces his words, and he runs a hand up and down your back. “are you sure you are alright?”

“i will be.”

so will he. you would make sure of it, somehow.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

felix is out of bed by the time you awaken the next morning, but it isn’t something unusual to wake up to cold sheets next to you. he is a prince, after all, and he can’t spend all hours of his day with you. if anything it’s better that he’s gone today; it will help you keep the distance that you failed to keep the night before.

you’re slow as you dress, the decision you made before you succumbed to sleep weighing heavily on your shoulders; you were going to speak to your father, for a final time. you were not going to give him a choice, you were going to rob him of the basic right that you he so often deprived you of. you were going to make him listen to you, for once.

but when you enter his chambers, he is absent from them. you try and dampen the dread creeping up your throat; surely, he wouldn’t act now? only a couple of days after you last spoke?

you approach his desk, looking for any sort of clue that might lead to his whereabouts, but what you find is worse than you’d imagined. pages upon pages of plans, detailed imagery of how he wanted to kill the king and his sons, how he wanted to enslave the people here, how he would take the resources here and let the land rot and decay, all scribbled down in near nonsensical sentences. 

stupid man, leaving these out for anyone to see. you swipe them off the table, folding them neatly and tucking them into the bodice of your dress where no one would find them, just as your father enters the chambers. your hand flies to your chest, covering up what you had just done, but your father must think it an act of surprise from his lack of acknowledgement.

“what are you doing here?” he asks, eyes narrowed on you. you hold your head up even when you want to cower before him. 

“the crowned prince knows of your betrayal,” you inform, watching as his eyes filled with anger. no fear, as you had expected.

“how,” he growls, making quick steps towards you and taking both of your arms in a harsh grip. his rings dig into your flesh, 

“i told him,” you say, surprised when the words come out clean and leveled and your head stays up high. “i will not help you any longer. the king will know soon, and you will be thrown in prison.”

it was an empty threat; you knew the king was still unaware of what was going on. 

“you would trade me for these people you barely know? the same people who killed your moth- your grandfather?” and it clicks into place. he made a mistake, he misspoke, and it showed the last of his cards that he had kept so carefully hidden from you. it’s clear now: he’s gone mad, searching for some kind of revenge, even if it is on the wrong people. he’s locked himself into some grief-fueled conspiracy, and you realize now that he’s truly lost to you. that he had been lost, for years now. 

“you are not fit to rule over anything,” you snarl. “you are not fit to be a father, you are not fit to do anything more than sit here and place blame on everyone but yourself!”

he doesn’t react for several moments, searching your face for something, before letting out a bark of laughter, eyes wild.

“you ungrateful, insolent, stupid girl,” he shakes you with every word, and your teeth rattle. “you think you can threaten me?” 

he raises a hand and the back of it strikes you across the cheek, metal catching on the delicate bone there. you fall to the ground, the force of it knocking you off balance, and when you raise a shaking hand to your burning skin it comes back flecked with blood. 

“get out of my sight,” he spits at you, stepping around your form as if you were a mere pest before him. “this changes nothing. your threats mean nothing, but heed mine. if you ever step foot in front of me again, i will have you hanged. from now on, you are not my daughter. you are nothing.”

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

the walk to your chambers feels longer than usual despite your hurried steps, and you can’t shake the feeling that something unfortunate was going to happen, soon. what did your father mean when he said that your warning changed nothing? did he not believe you?

you don’t dwell on his clear descent to madness for long; you curse yourself for not seeing the blatant signs of it earlier, his obsession and his misplaced fury, but you know that there are more pressing issues that need your attention. 

perhaps a further look at his aimless scribbling would give you some answers. either way, it was the proof you needed, the evidence chris claimed was necessary to have before approaching king stephen with your claims. you knew needed to act, and soon.  

when you find felix already in your chambers, his presence is enough to qualm the hurricane raging under your skin. it comes back full force, though, when you look at him and he’s angry. 

“when were you going to tell me,” he starts, voice ice cold like you’ve never heard it before. it terrified you. “that you were planning to kill my family?”

“what?” you gasp out, every nerve in your body freezing to stone. any urgency you were feeling regarding your father is wiped out, replaced with cold trepidation. chris told him.

“you came here to kill my father, to kill my brother and his love and to, to use me,” he grits out, voice trembling, and you can’t stand it.

“no, i-” you choke out, the words escaping you. you wanted to tell him everything, wanted to show him what you had found and bring the evidence to his father together, but you can’t get it out. “maybe at first, but no, not anymore-”

“not anymore?” he cries out, incredulous. “how can i trust anything you say to me? you’ve been lying to me since you got here, lying about everything, lying about caring for me-”

“no, felix, i love you,” the confession rips out of you and the timing couldn’t be worse. you wanted to tell him after, when things were not in the uncertain state they were in now. you wanted to give him the confession he deserved, something worthy of the man that he was. he shakes his head at your words, crystal tears forming in his eyes.

“you do not get to say that to me,” he bites out. “i do not even know who you are, you have been lying to me from the beginning, playing with me, you do not get to say that.”

“i did not want to,” you almost wail, the feeling in your knees giving out as you fall to his feet. the emotions that you haven’t been letting yourself feel were pouring out of you. “i did not want to, but he would have killed me, or married me off to some brute to get rid of me and i had no idea what to do.”

you want to shout, look at what he did to me, look at the evidence of what he would do to me, but you can’t. 

“stop. stop talking.” he drags you to your feet by the arm, grip harsh like he would rather do anything than be touching you right now. “get out of my chambers. i want you and your father out of my home, and if you do not leave i swear to the gods i will tell my father to have you hanged.”

you stumble towards his door, turning back to throw one last pleading glance at him, and you regret it as his next words cut you right to the core.

“they warned me about you, did you know that?” he’s no longer speaking out anger, but rather cold indifference. it’s worse, somehow. you wanted to ask who they were, but in the moment it truly didn’t matter. “they told me about your family, how vile you all are. how you would poison us from the inside. but when i laid eyes on you, i did not believe them. i know now, that i should have.”

your body remains frozen long after he leaves, and you don’t realize that your body has moved to your bed until jeongin peeks his head into the door.

“innie,” you choke out from where you’re laying over the covers. he rushes to your side, and his face falls when he sees the tears leaking from your eyes. 

“what happened?” he pushes your hair out of your face with the tips of his fingers, so gentle that you can’t help but let out a sob. 

“felix,” you stutter out. “he hates me- he wants me gone. and i don’t blame him, i hate me, but innie, it hurts.”

you let jeongin pull you into his arms, tears leaking into his shirt, and even then your traitorous heart wishes it was felix holding you like this. the last thing you remember before sleep clouds your mind is jeongin whispering i’m sorry into your hair.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

fire, but this time it surrounds you. not burning, but encasing you in warmth, covering your body completely. it spreads, catching onto the surfaces around you.

it’s threatening to combust, taking you with it. you didn’t know what do to. flee? protect, your mind demands. so you run, past door after door, passing by people who beckon you inside. you can’t, you need to leave.

chris, asking you to come inside. minho, calling you in for a meal, fresh and fragrant. jeongin, asking you to join him, telling you he’s worried about you. 

felix, standing still as stone on his balcony. your father behind him, eyes dark as they narrow in on the prince. no.

you rush to them, gliding past felix, your flame sliding off his skin like water. you push your father away, your momentum carrying the both of you forward as the flames catch on his frame.

falling, falling, falling, off the balcony towards an endless pit of darkness. you look up and felix is watching, beautiful face twisted in anguish as he watches the two of you plummet.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

you didn’t leave. despite felix’ warnings, you didn’t make any moves to flee the castle. you needed to see this through, needed to ensure that the people here were safe; the only way you would leave this palace is in the absence of your father’s company. if you were going to die, you would rather it be by stephen’s hands than by his.

you almost don’t leave your chambers, terror paralyzing you as you sit on your bed, waiting nervously for something to happen. whether it be news from christopher about his efforts or a group of knights ready to take you to the dungeons, your body itched for some action. you don’t leave for breakfast, and you don’t let jeongin in when he quietly brings you a meal and leaves it at your door. you pick at it, watching the morning sun rise into the sky and wishing you had a jug of wine to drown yourself in.

by midday, you had made up your mind; you were going to enter the king’s chambers, deliver him the information you had, and sneak away from the palace at night. where you would go, you did not know, but you knew that you were not welcome in either court anymore. you had ostracized yourself from your home and from the group of people here that you hoped to one day call your family. 

you had no one. and it was your own doing.

you push away the thought as you hurry through the familiar halls, stopping at one of the only doors you had yet to enter. the king wasn’t in his chambers, you discovered, when you spent several minutes knocking on the door to no avail. the council chambers were empty as well, and you felt your heart speed up as you raced through the halls, avoiding any person you saw. your boots clicked on the stone as you hastily entered and exited chambers and hallways, searching desperately for the king, hoping he was here somewhere. 

you find them in the banquet hall, a smile on stephen’s face as he signs a long document with a feathered quill. you’re not close enough to see what it is from you’re standing behind a column at the entrance to the hall, hiding your presence from them. your father moves to stand next to the king when he finishes, leaning in close as he takes the quill from him, and he raises his hand behind the king’s back. in his hand, sunlight glints off of a piece of metal in his hand - a knife,

you look around desperately for a knight to alert, but you find none. why are there no knights here? your stomach lodges itself into your throat as you stare at the two kings, frozen as your father readies the knife, poised to strike stephen right in the center of his back -

“no!” you cry, breaking away from the spot you were glued to as you run faster than thought was possible have towards them. your father turns towards your voice in shock, the knife slicing through the king’s side in a clean movement, and the king falls. 

“what are you doing?” your father snarls, the man by his feet forgotten as his attention turns to you. you spare stephen a glance, meeting his wide eyes, and you hope he can see the apology in yours. your father’s forward movement moves your attention to him, and you see him stalking towards you with his knife poised. “i am growing tired of your foolishness, you wretched girl.”

“if you want to kill someone, kill me. not him,” you plead, backing away from him. “he did not kill her, you know that. this, this delusion you are living under, it needs to stop!”

“do not speak of her to me,” you can see his anger rising, redness traveling up his neck. “you are a poor excuse of a woman compared to her. you know nothing. everything i have done, i have done for her, and i will kill you and the rest of them if i need to.”

you’ve heard your father recount his killing of countless adversaries, spoken in cold tones with no regret, but to see him with his weapon raised at you is something you had never imagined in all of your days. it was a truly terrifying sight.

he backs you into the same column you had been hiding behind earlier, a mirror image of the way he had cornered you in his bedchambers days ago. his free hand circles your neck, covering the bruises that he had left behind then, and your hands fly to his wrist.

“this will never free you,” you choke out, tears brimming in your eyes that make your vision blurry. this way, when you look at him, his features are so unfocused that he almost looks like he used to, when he was sane. kind. “do you not understand? this will not bring her back. you will be truly alone.”

“better to be alone than living with you as a reminder of what i have lost,” he says softly, the sharp blade of the knife pressed to your side, stinging as it nicks your skin. 

you close your eyes, resigned to your fate. this was how it was going to end, no matter what. you, suffering from the result of his hands, his jolted mind. you, a mere ghost of your mother, biding your time in this world until he decided that you had none left. living a life that would never truly be your own. 

no.

your eyes fly open and meet his and he hesitates, the knife pulling back the smallest bit. you take the chance, your hand moves from one of his wrists to the other and you twist, taking in a sharp breath when he gasps and lets the knife clatter to the floor. he lets go of your neck and you drop, grabbing the handle of the knife with a shaky hand and slashing upwards, hoping that it would land somewhere. 

he drops to the floor with a howl of pain, clutching at his thigh, and in the next moment you’re on top of him, pinning him to the floor with a knee to his stomach. the knife is still in your hand, unmoving from how strongly your fingers were grasped around the handle. it would be so easy to plunge it into his chest, so simple. you would finally be free. 

you barely register when several knights finally barge into the hall, swords pointed at the two of you. your focus was purely on the man under you, at the madness swimming in his eyes and the ugly curl of his mouth shaped in scowl. 

“you will not do it. you are weak,” he wheezes out, confident even as he struggles to speak from your weight on him.

you raise the knife. 

a moment of tense silence. 

and felix calls out your name. the only voice that could break you away from the trance you were in. his lovely voice, shaped in your name. 

when you meet his eyes you drop the knife, and you’re pushed away from your father when by knights who move to secure him in shackles. you stand on wobbly feet, taking in the hall - felix, hovering by your side, hands raised as if he wanted to touch you but couldn’t. chris, standing by his father’s side, supporting him as he rises from the floor. blood drips down his side, but not an alarming amount. he would be fine. your own father, cursing angrily at the guards who were keeping him restrained, his words passing through you with no recognition.

you’re sure you looked horrible, in this moment. hair a mess, chest still heaving, clothes torn. you didn’t belong here. you drop your father’s papers that you kept hidden in your clothing to the ground, watching them flutter before settling, face up for all to see.

“i will leave at first light,” is the last thing you say before leaving the king, the princes, and your father behind you.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

you didn’t look at your own reflection until the next morning. your face was a horrible painting of blues and blacks, and the bruises on your neck are fading into green, though you’re sure more were forming underneath them. 

you look horrible.

you didn’t come with many things, and most of them were unnecessary for where you were about to go; traveling into the woods didn’t require fancy dresses and jewelry, so as you packed your bag you left them behind. 

the last thing you expected was for felix to push the door to your chambers open, a noisier affair than you were used to from the way the door banged against the wall. 

“you are still here,” he breathes out, panting a bit like he ran here. he eyes the bag you were holding warily.

“i am,” you answer, fear seeping into your veins as he moves closer to you. not of him, never of him, but of the power he held over you. of the way his words could break your heart into more fractures than it already was in. 

“your father is in line for execution, at midday,” he informs, placing a hand on top of yours when he reaches you, his warm skin stinging the ice-cold skin of your own. 

“good,” it’s the only thing you can think to say. the only reaction you can muster from learning that your father was about to die, like you had wished him to.

“chris told me what you asked him to do,” he says, voice low. “i did not stay long enough to hear the whole story, when he told me the other day. i came to you in anger, and i did not listen to you either. i am sorry.”

his voice wobbles in sorrow, and it breaks your heart. 

“no, do not be,” you whisper, flipping your hand around so you could tangle your fingers with his. you wanted to feel him like this, at least one more time. “i should have been honest with you. when i chose to go against him, when i chose you, i should have told you.”

“you were scared,” he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “of him. and of us, i presume. i cannot fault you for that.”

“i was scared, but-” you cut yourself off, trying to find the right words. he waits for you patiently, eyes trained on your features. “since my mother died, my life has not been my own. i have not been allowed to make my own decisions, i don’t know how to…do this. that is no one’s fault but my own.”

“this?” he asks, velvet soft as he seeks for clarification. 

“to be honest about things. to trust people with what’s going on. to…not be scared of people’s reactions,” even this show of candor was sending your heart into a frenzied pace. “i do not know how.”

“then let me teach you,” you can hear the tears in his voice but you don’t look up to meet them. you didn’t think you could handle it. selfish. “please. i do not know what you are planning to do - after, but please do not leave.”

“felix, i have never felt more free than i have here, in this kingdom, with your people. with your family,” you squeeze your fingers around his hand, the only thing you could bring yourself to do. “with you. you have already taught me so much. how do i continue to take and take from you like this?” 

“you do not owe me anything,” he vows, bowing his head a bit. “anything i give to you, i give gladly. i act without thinking and i make rash decisions, too. do not think that i am not learning from you in turn. if it were not for jeongin finding me and explaining things to me yesterday, i would have done something horrid. i could have lost you, do you understand? you and i, we are not so different.”

jeongin. once this was all over, you were going to award that boy a house. or a village. whatever he wanted.

“did he do this to you?” he says when you don’t answer, raising one hand to the bruising around your neck and another to your cheek, feather-light fingertips tracing along the lines. “did he hurt you?”

“yes,” you breathe out, admitting for the first time to someone other than yourself what kind of man your father truly is. letting yourself accept that maybe, it was not your fault. that maybe, you deserved something better. 

you stayed.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

chris meets the two of you outside your chambers hours later, looking more exhausted than you’ve seen him before. he takes in your linked hands with a smile.

“felix told you?” he asks, gentle. you nod, leaning into felix. “i am sorry, that i did not do more. that it came to that.”

“do not apologize,” you say, resolute. “if anyone should be sorry, it is me. for putting you all through this.”

“if anyone needs to apologize, it is your father,” felix swears, his grip on your hand tightening. “if he was not already on his way, i would kill him myself for hurting you.”

you squeeze his hand back, hoping the gesture would bring him some comfort. violence was not a color that you think shaded felix often, but you couldn’t deny that his protectiveness was attractive.

it is chris’ duty to oversee the affair, but you cannot bring yourself to accompany him. the thought of seeing your father again, restrained and awaiting death, was not something that you wished to experience. 

felix stays with you, guiding you through the halls and into his bed, holding you tight the entire time. his presence by your side is overrides the myriad of negative emotions inside of you and for once, your mind is quiet, failing to remind you that you needing felix in this moment was self-serving. it’s as if the thoughts were dying along with your last-living relative.

you wished that you felt happy, relieved to be released from him. or even sorrow, full of grief for your lost father. but you felt nothing.

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

chris enters felix’ chambers at dusk, waking you and felix from the sleep that neither of you intended to fall into. 

“my father wishes to see you,” he addresses to you, waiting with leveled patience as the two of you slowly rise from the bed.

“is he angry?” your voice comes out as a whisper, betraying your anxiety.

“yes, but not at you,” he assures, settling a hand on your shoulder, his touch light. “do not worry.”

but you did worry, all throughout the walk to the king’s advisory chambers to when you enter the door, startling him out of whatever hushed conversation he was engaged in with his staff. when he looks at you he is angry, and you’re glad in that moment for christopher’s warning. you moved with more confidence than you truly had, chris and felix’ presence at your sides helping more than you cared to admit. 

“you wanted to see me, sire?” you ask, your hands wringing together. felix takes one of them into his own, if only to stop your movements.

“i wanted to discuss things with you,” stephen waves off his advisors, waiting for them to leave the chambers before continuing. “regarding your father.”

“my father is dead,” you state plainly, moving forward until you were in front of the king. “i swear fealty to you, my lord.”

you slowly knelt at his feet, gasping in surprise when felix knelt by your side. 

“whatever i can do to prove my loyalty, i will do it,” you assured, keeping your head down. normally, you would internally bristle at the thought of kneeling before a king like this, in an act of submission, but this time it was different. this time, it was your choice. 

“you have proven your loyalty by going against your own kin, my child,” his voice was thick with emotion. “please, stand.”

you don’t, until felix does and pulls you along with him. you’re confused at his immediate acceptance of you, the daughter of a man who wished him such ill-will. you look at him and you’re sure he can see the puzzlement on your face.

“i did not ask for you here to make you prove yourself,” he explains, gesturing at the papers strewn about the table. your father’s notes. “i simply wished to thank you, for preventing such heinous acts from occurring. these notes…” he pauses, as if gathering his thoughts. “are unsettling. more were found in his chambers, detailing increasingly vicious flights of fancy.”

you would learn later that in your father’s notes were his plans for you, for once his own were executed. perhaps stephen felt pity for you as a result of what he saw. when you meet eyes with the king, any trace of anger is gone, replaced with a deep kind of sadness.

“thank you, for keeping my family safe at the sake of your own welfare. anything you wish for, i will grant it.” 

your mind screams at you that you don’t deserve it, that you had put them in more harm than anything, that he doesn’t owe you any kindness. 

“i wish for nothing that i do not already have,” you glance at felix, shooting him a small smile when you notice the pride gleaming on his face. 

───•───•───✧𓆩⟡𓆪✧───•───•───

it takes less of jumping through diplomatic hoops than you would have expected to sign your kingdom over to stephen. the lands were adjacent to one another, so rearranging property lines was as simple as removing a single line from a parchment map. you learned that it was more common than you had originally thought to combine kingdoms, though usually it resulted from acts of war. you were queen for all of two days before officially resigning.

your father, for all his boasting, did not carry many alliances with other nations, and the ones he did have stephen was glad to cut off. your father’s knights did little more than grumble about having to change their colors, and the ones that refused to were promptly dismissed from service.

the castle that was once your home was a different case; you never wished to go back there, other than to gather the things that still held your mother’s touch. that place hasn’t been a home to you in a while, but you decided that it could be a home to someone. 

it would take some time, but you had plans to turn the palace into an orphanage. a place where everyone and anyone could come and seek shelter, food and water, and company. it was the least you could do for your people, who had suffered under your blind eye for over a decade while you sat in your chambers, ignorant to all that was going on outside the palace walls.

the biggest relief was the weight of your kingdom off of your shoulders. maybe it was selfish to think that way, but you had never asked for that life. you knew your people were in better hands with stephen than they ever would have been with your bloodline, and you could think of no better successors than chris and roseanne. 

you had your ladies in waiting brought from your old palace, but they did little more than help you dress. jeongin had become your formal assistant, but you considered him a friend and a confidant more than anything. you had offered him and his family whatever he wanted, now that the riches your father held were in your name, but he had refused. he simply asked for a new house in the lower village for his parents and siblings, but stated that he wished to remain in the castle. 

you and felix decided to hold off on announcing a formal betrothal, deeming it wiser to let the kingdom that had nearly doubled in size settle first. you had not been together long, after all, and most of your time together was spent with you under a guise. you took the time to relearn each other, to memorize every miniscule detail of the other’s personality, your habits and your mannerisms and your preferences. despite your earlier reservations, propriety mattered little with the two of you; you spent even more time together than you did before, and you had all but moved into his chambers, only using yours when you wanted someplace quiet to think. 

you don’t remember a time when you were happier than you were now. for the first time in your life, you looked toward the future with brightness.  

[pascaloverx]

BORN TO DIE

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Author’s Note: This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. This fanfiction is a work of fiction and may contain inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Readers be warned. I hope you enjoy the story and interact with it. I apologize if there are any errors in the High Valyrian sections; I used a translator and am unsure of its accuracy. Thank you and happy reading.

AO3 LINK ONE

PREVIEW

Walking through King's Landing is exhausting. Your life as a bastard has not been easy, especially with the struggle for the Iron Throne. Unsure of which direction to take, you have tried to be invisible to the Targaryens while working in a brothel to survive. This morning, you were summoned by a royal messenger on behalf of King Aegon II. You thought it was a joke, but soon realized you really had to go to the Red Keep. You are taken to whoever summoned you like a little mouse sneaking through the sewers until you reach the surface. Perhaps they don't want to publicize that a prostitute is being brought in for a private conversation with the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

"I heard that my presence here had been requested. But I didn't imagine I would be summoned by Prince Aemond," you say as you enter the room indicated by the messenger and come face to face with Aemond One-Eye. He looks a bit more intimidating in person, but in a way, it's not a bad kind of intimidating. Just surprising.

"Ao kostagon enter, bastard." Prince Aemond commands with a certain skill. But you are somewhat worried that he might know you are a Targaryen bastard. So pretending to be oblivious seems to be the wisest course of action for now.

"This is a lovely place. An extremely enchanting castle. However, if you summoned me here for a conversation in another language, I will be a nuisance to Your Highness. Since your request for my presence proves ineffective, perhaps I should leave immediately," you say, trying not to show any hint of fear. You are a prostitute, accustomed to pretending all sorts of things. As you hesitantly move toward the exit of the room, where you are alone with the Prince, he doesn't seem to fall for your ruse. He throws a dagger in your direction, which grazes the corner of your cheek before embedding itself in the door, which is closed.

"Do you intend to waste our time here? I know you speak High Valyrian, and honestly, I’m hating your attempt to deceive me, gundjabo." He speaks while watching you turn, somewhat irritated by his actions. However, the One-Eyed Prince seems very proud of his deed. He is speaking in High Valyrian to you, probably to test you, but you feel that if you do not meet his expectations, the dagger will find its final mark and you will die.

"If you know that I can speak and understand what you are saying in High Valyrian, Your Highness, tell me, what use would a prostitute be to you? Do you, by any chance, have some secret desire in your chambers that requires a different language?" You might lose your tongue for speaking this way to the Prince Regent, but anger got the better of your temper, causing you to suggest that he brought you to the Red Keep to exchange heated vows in High Valyrian, which is nothing but folly.

"Your mouth would be much better sealed forever. But I need you for a mission, so for once, be less of a deceitful prostitute and serve your King," Prince Aemond says as he moves across the room, seemingly trying to reach you. You, however, despite your nerves, manage to grasp the dagger embedded in the door. Now, he stands just a few steps away from you, while you hold the dagger that could have gravely wounded you.

"I think this is yours, Your Highness." Your eyes meet the Prince's gaze. One eye reveals a hint of surprise, perhaps even pride, confirming that you can speak High Valyrian. The other eye, covered forever, conceals something deeper—perhaps resentment, perhaps fear. He approaches slowly, as if analyzing your behavior; likely wary of being harmed. But swiftly, his hand moves over yours, pulling the dagger from your grip and into his own.

"Follow me," is all he says as he sheathes the dagger somewhere in his attire and opens the door. You don’t fully understand his intent, but you know you don’t want to provoke Prince Aemond's wrath. At least not in this way. You follow him quickly, while the Prince seems to be almost racing toward one of the castle’s exits. He mounts a horse with enviable precision. You watch him, still unsure of your role in his sudden departure from the castle. He adjusts his long hair and then extends a hand toward you. You stare at him for three seconds before hearing him grunt in your direction. Seemingly as impatient as possible, he nearly falls off the horse while trying to grasp your arm, but he manages to hold onto it after the first attempt—holding your arm, not falling off the horse.

"Where are we going, Your Highness?" you ask, feeling your hair whip in the wind, as you notice a few people—probably servants of King Aegon II—passing by as if you’re inconsequential. Another grunt from Prince Aemond makes it clear that if you don’t get on the horse, you might be risking your well-being.

"I intend to test you before revealing your purpose. Now I suggest you come with me, or I’ll be forced to find another bastard to replace you and order your death." Prince Aemond seems astonished by your reluctance, forcing you to follow his commands. But really, there’s no other option. You leap toward him, being propelled onto the back of his horse. He begins to gallop with astonishing speed, so fast that you’re compelled to wrap your arms around his waist. He gives a slight turn of his head, looking in your direction, which startles you and almost makes you fall off the horse. However, this seems to amuse Prince Aemond. Before you can react, it seems you’re arriving at a location. A place certainly surrounded by nature, which gives you a comforting feeling despite the unknown. That is, of course, until you notice a massive dragon ahead. He brought you here to become dragon food.

"As flattered as I am by the importance you place on feeding your dragon well, I must say that a prostitute who speaks High Valyrian will not be any more special than any other meal given to your dragon," you say as you dismount the horse, struggling a bit. Prince Aemond is too absorbed in admiring his dragon to notice your struggle to get off the horse.

"Vhagar is a female dragon. And keep your mouth shut for a moment. You’ll soon understand your purpose here," Prince Aemond says, drawing closer to Vhagar. She, with her head lowered, lifts it from amidst some branches and foliage to see who is approaching.

"She is quite impressive. But I don’t understand why I was brought here, Prince Aemond. Is there a reason I need to meet your dragon?" you say as you follow the Prince toward the dragon. Vhagar emits a somewhat shrill noise, making you stop for a moment to look at her.

"I’ve heard that my sister plans to raise an army of bastards. I thought I might at least try to have one bastard on my side. There is a dragon, which has been confirmed to be available to be claimed. I want you to claim it for me and fight alongside your King." Prince Aemond speaks with vigor, as if discussing a great triumph that is to come. You look at him reluctantly, struggling to accept such an absurd proposal.

"You brought me here to force me to interact with your dragon. So if I don’t pass this test, I’ll be eliminated one way or another," you say, looking at Prince Aemond with some anger. He remains indifferent to whether you live or die. He just wants to ensure that he isn’t wasting his time chasing an illusion.

"I'm glad you're not as stupid as you seem. Now, stop wasting our time and go on," he says, as impatient as ever, stopping midway between you and Vhagar. You let out a nervous laugh, not quite believing that this is how you're going to meet your end.

"Likyri, ȳdra daor sagon zūgagon." You speak with a certain precision as you approach Vhagar. It’s not as if your job is to claim her. But if she accepts you, you might be able to prove useful to the Prince. And if you’re useful to him, you’ll be useful to the King. You move your hand forward to signal Vhagar that you are there. You are a nobody to her, but you appear alongside her rider. You look into her eyes, trying to stay steady as the dragon raises part of her body in your direction. She seems to be still assessing who or what you are.

"Gīda, Vhagar. Ao ȳdra daor jorrāelagon naejot zūgagon nyke." You try to calm her, speaking in High Valyrian or at least the most you’ve learned. You’re somewhat terrified when you notice that your hand is on Vhagar. It seems she has allowed you to touch her, perhaps mistaking you for a previous rider. The reasons for the dragon allowing your touch may not be particularly relevant. What matters is that now you’re at risk of becoming dragon food, as Prince Aemond certainly seems very enthusiastic about the fact that you’ve touched, and are still touching, his dragon.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

Aegon the Conqueror x Stark!Wife!Reader

Everyone believed that Aegon married you for political reasons, but is it really true?

Requested? Kinda

The night air in King’s Landing was cool as it swept through the open balcony, bringing with it the scent of the distant sea. The castle with its towering walls and imposing presence loomed behind you, but your gaze was fixed on the waters far below. The flickering lights of the city cast a warm glow across the landscape, but it was the vastness of the sea that drew your attention, its dark waves hitting the shores and falling back.

You stood on the balcony of your chambers, your hands resting lightly on the stone balustrade. Your thin fur-lined cloak, a comfort from the North, shielded you from the night’s chill, but it was the warmth of your thoughts that truly kept you at ease. Even here, in the heart of the South, you carried the North within you—its resilience, its strength, and the fierce loyalty of your bloodline. The people had always spoken of your beauty, a rare and ethereal thing, comparing you to the winter roses that bloomed only in the harshest of climates. But you were more than just beauty; you were as kind as you were fierce, a true Stark of Winterfell.

Your marriage to Aegon Targaryen had come as a surprise to many. The Conqueror, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, had taken you as his third wife after securing his empire. Whispers in the court claimed it was a political move, a way to bind the North to the Iron Throne. Even you had believed it at first, resigned to the idea that your union was born of strategy rather than love.

But Aegon had proven those whispers wrong.

You heard the door to your chambers open, and though you did not turn, you knew it was him. Aegon’s presence filled the room, powerful and commanding, yet gentle when it came to you. His footsteps were soft on the stone floor as he approached, his gaze fixed on you with a warmth that melted the remnants of the Northern cold clinging to your heart.

He came to stand behind you, his arms slipping around your waist, pulling you against the solid wall of his chest. His touch was familiar and comforting, the feel of his hands on your growing belly a gesture that had become second nature to him. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, his breath warm against your hair. “My wolf,” he murmured, his voice deep and affectionate.

You leaned back into him, allowing yourself to be enveloped by his warmth. Your hands found his, your fingers intertwining as he held you close. Though you had once thought this marriage was merely a union of convenience, Aegon had shown you time and again that his love for you was genuine. He looked at you with a reverence that made your heart race, his violet eyes filled with a softness that was reserved only for you.

He often showered you with gifts—exquisite gowns made of delicate and expensive silk, rare books, and jewels that sparkled like stars—but it was the way he touched you, the way he looked at you, that made you feel truly cherished. Aegon was a conqueror, a king, but to you, he was a man who loved deeply, with a passion that could not be feigned.

His hands rested on your belly, and you felt the flutter of movement beneath your skin, a reminder of the life growing inside you. “I can feel the dragon inside you,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

A soft smile curved your lips, and you turned your head slightly to look up at him. His eyes were fixed on your belly, his expression one of pride and wonder. He had been over the moon when he discovered you were with child, his joy radiating from him like the warmth of a dragon’s breath. The thought of you carrying his child—a child who would inherit both the blood of the dragon and the wolf—filled him with pride.

“And our child will be strong,” Aegon continued, his voice full of conviction. “The bloodline of the dragon and the wolf… it will bring forth the prince who was promised.”

You turned in his arms, your hands coming up to rest on his chest as you looked into his eyes. The love and adoration you saw there made your breath catch. Aegon’s love for you was as fierce as a dragon’s flame, and it warmed you from the inside out. You had come to love him in your own way, a love that was as steadfast and enduring as the North itself.

“Do you truly believe that?” you asked softly, your voice carrying the weight of your emotions.

Aegon’s hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. “With all my heart,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. “Our child will be the hope of the realm, the bridge between fire and ice.”

You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing briefly as you savored the warmth of his hand on your skin. When you opened them again, you saw the sincerity in his gaze, and it made your heart swell with emotion. You knew then that your marriage was not born of political necessity, but of love. Aegon had chosen you because he loved you, because he saw in you the strength and beauty of the North, a beauty that had captured his heart from the moment he first laid eyes on you.

You stood there in his embrace, the cool breeze from the sea brushing against your skin, but the warmth of Aegon’s love was all-encompassing. His arms tightened around you, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The two of you remained like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, with the promise of a future filled with love and hope.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together. The dragon and the wolf, united by love, with a child who would carry the legacy of both houses forward, the child from which bloodline will come the prince that was promised.

[spider-jaysart]

For the Supersons week 2023 bonus prompt: In another life

@super-sons-week

(Click for better quality)

This is an au of mines called Species swap where Damian's an alien and Jon's a human instead. Besides my apocalypse one, this one is also one of my most faves! And for fun, I also named it Earth 59

(More under the cut)

Damian and the Batfamily, plus the Al Ghul's, are hero aliens instead of humans (though, the Al Ghul's are more like warriors here like Tamaraneans are for example) and Jon and the Superfamily are the humans in this au who save people on earth with their highly trained combat skills and helpful gadgets.

The Al Ghuls live on a far away planet called "Lazarus planet" and Damian grew up there with them (just like in his origin). All aliens there were trained to fight very skillfully. Damian too while growing up there was trained to fight very skillfully as well, since he's going to be the ruler of that planet one day when he grows up.

But then Talia had no choice but to send Damian to his Father's planet on his 10th birthday, since some vicious aliens from another planet had came to invade their home and wanted to assassinate all of their people during that day, so she had to do it to keep him safe until the war was over. She quickly leaves their planet and uses one of the mini traveling spaceships to drive Damian to Bruce's planet, which is Gotham. After landing there and finding Bruce, she leaves Damian there with him to be taken care of while she's gone.

So for the mean time while Damian has to stay on Bruce's planet, he begins to finally get to know his Father and finally learns about the rest of his unknown Batfamily members for the first time as well. And while all of that's happening, after some time, the Al Ghul's later win the war on their planet and Talia goes back to go get Damian. Though, Damian has already become attached and didn't want to just leave his Father and his other family so soon after getting to finally know them for only just such a short time, so Talia lets him stay a little longer because of that. After that, her and Bruce both later decide on an agreement about sharing equal time with him, letting him usually spend one week on Lazarus planet with the Al Ghul's and the next one on Gotham planet with the Batfamily so that it'll be fair

With the Superfamily, Jon, Clark, Lois, Kara, Kon, and Chris live on earth as humans and fight crime protecting people (just like the Batfamily as humans). They train a lot to stay strong and also own a lot of gadgets. And just like how the Batfamily would, they have things like a Superrang, Supermobile, and etc. They also all wear masks to hide their identities

Damian's never been to earth before, not even his Mother. Though, he's always heard stories from his Father, brothers, and Grandfather about earth and it's humans, since they're the ones who have actually been there before. He was always curious about what it was like over there but he never dared to visit it, especially since he was always told by his family that he wasn't ever allowed to because of certain reasons that could possibly endanger him

One day though, during a mission in space with his brothers when he was 12 years old, which involved a bunch of dangerous aliens who owned powerful electric, laser guns, he fell down to earth after being severely shocked and knocked out by a strong laser blast. He fell down in planet earth's direction, later crashing into a video game store while Jon and his family were nearby, busy dealing with a mission of their own. Jon, after hearing the crash, went to go take a look at where and what the loud sound was caused by and saw Damian just laying there knocked out in the store with the ceiling rocks on top of him, since he had destroyed the stores roof during his crash into the place

After the rest of the Superfamily found out about it, they took Damian with them to the Fortress of solitude to find out who he was (he was still knocked out), since they knew he wasn't from earth after looking at his unique outfit and long unusual sharp, large sword. As soon as Damian woke up, he tried to fight them and escape, feeling endangered since he didn't know them, but they calmed him down and then kept him inside of a clear cube that he couldn't break through at all with his super strength so that he could stop, which just got him upset again but even more than before

They let Damian out once they found out that he wasn't a threat and tried apologizing to him. Jon excitedly then tries to become his friend and tries showing him around Metropolis during that same day until they can get him back home. Damian's clueless about earth things and only knows a little bit about the things that his family has told him about it before, so Damian ends up curiously asking Jon a lot of questions about everything around earth and in Metropolis, while Jon tries to answer them all for him (he thinks that Jon is a very smart person cause he knows all the answers to his every question lol). So they both get to bond a little and know eachother better that same day (they also fight some crime together while walking around the city)

Meanwhile, the Batfamily and the Al Ghul family are both panicking very much and are trying to find Damian as fast as they can since he's still missing. So once the Batfamily and the Al Ghul's got to earth, they got into a mini fight with the Superfamily, thinking that Damian's in danger with them. But then Bruce remembers Clark being the same exact boy he had met as a kid when he himself accidentally crashed onto earth many years ago in the past and got his help to go back home, so it all gets figured out in the end and peace is quickly made between them both and all is finally understood

Both of Damian's family finally found him after that and tried to take him safely back home, but he refused and didn't want to leave since he found everything so interesting on earth, plus he was also just starting to like Jon too. After arguing back and forth, they decided that he could visit sometimes, but only with supervision from whoever is available to go along with him during those times to make sure he's okay. Damian was pleased with that decision.

So after everything and as time went on, Damian and Jon later became the duo team named Supersons and also best friends in the end too (with crushes on eachother)

Some facts:

Damian and the Al Ghul's are the ones who rule Lazarus planet since they're the royal family there

Those from Lazarus planet are called "Lazarens" and those from Gotham planet are "Gothamites", so that makes Damian a mixed alien who is considered a "Lazamite"

Most characters who are aliens in canon are now humans in this au instead

All planets like Tamaran and Krypton don't exist in space in this au and are instead just big cities on earth. Tamaran city is corrupted under Blackfire's control over it and Krypton is a city that was destroyed many years ago, so it is now abandoned and no one ever visits it

Damian is pretty reckless on earth while fighting and using his powers on humans who are criminals, since he's used to being that way when defeating enemies who are very strong like him back in space. So Jon has to sometimes remind him to be more careful about what he's doing and how he has to be more calmer when handling humans and certain other things

Just like how Damian always visits Jon on earth for patrol together or just hangout or have sleepovers at the Kent farm, Jon also visits Damian's planets sometimes too and they get to do many of those things together there as well

Damian wanted to find a way to be around Jon more though after becoming his friend, so after hearing that Jon goes to school in the early day, he immediately wanted to be registered in too (it's also because they don't have many schools in space for alien kids and he was homeschooled for years by Talia, so he wanted to know the experience too). Talia and Bruce didn't want to do it since they were afraid that he could get caught as an alien if he were to make any kind of mistakes around the civilians over there, but after being constantly asked over and over by their son and seeing how much he wanted it, they finally did it for him. The Superfamily decided to help him out by making him a holographic bracelet that makes him look human (which makes him look like how he always does in canon)

Damian doesn't have his canon pets with him in space in the beginning (only Goliath and Batcow who have some type of alien DNA in them) and has no idea what earth pets are like either because of this, but he does meet them on earth later on. After escaping their everyday cages, they all unexpectedly run out of a nearby pet shop while Jon is showing Damian around the city and they happily run towards the Boy Wonder. Damian prepares to defend himself since he isn't very trusting of them at first, thinking they are going to try and challenge him with an attack like other creatures he's fought before, but he was immediately met with the complete opposite after getting pushed down to the ground by them, getting a bunch of doggy and cat kisses to the face instead. This unexpected love from them quickly made him change his whole view on them, causing him to fall in love with their lovable, fluffy cuteness. The pet store owner tried to take them back inside, but Damian threatened him with his large sword so that he can leave them alone. It scared the poor guy away and Damian happily left with his new pets. After seeing that, Jon had to quickly go after Damian to tell him that's not how things are done on earth and that he has to actually go back and adopt them first for real instead of just leaving with them. After all of that, Damian later puts special collars on them (made by the Batfamily) that help them breathe properly in space so that he can take them home with him

When Jon gets married to Damian in the future when they're both adults, he also becomes a king on Lazarus planet too like Damian

In this au, Damian and the Batfamily destroyed Eberos (the creature from Dceased who was made by Darksied to start the apocalypse) before he could even do anything to earth

For abilities and other little things:

Damian has flight, Superstrength, Superspeed, laser vision, laser beams, and flame blasts that he can throw from his hands. And also, while it may be a learned skill for him in canon, it's actually a natural born ability of his to be able to imitate many voices in this au

Whenever he gets really mad, Damian's hair turns into flames until he calms down again

Lazarens have Lazarus blood in them, so whenever they get cuts or are severely injured, their wounds just close back up (after an hour) and they regenrate whatever part of their body they lost (which usually takes almost a month). They can also live up to 2000 years or even longer because of this. There are also multiple Lazarus pits on Lazarus planet

Damian's big sword is way too heavy to actually be held by humans, so only those with super strength like him can hold it. He can also transfer his abilities to the weapon while holding it during battle and make it light up in green fire, which helps him create bigger damage against enemies and make fast clean cuts through anything too

Not one of them, but Damian is allergic to these giant "shrimp" like creatures in space and will grow a big headache and will also be sneezing out whole fire breath sneezes as if he's a dragon if he's too close to them for too long. He can even take out almost a whole battle field with it too, that's how bad it is (inspired by my friend @paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 's headcanon where Damian is allergic to shrimp). After finding out about this allergy, Jon created an antidote for him that makes it go away faster whenever they bump into these creatures

Lazarens only fall in love once with someone and aren't able to go through it again with other people

Bruce is a Gothamite who is born with a lot of rare abilities that many other Gothamites don't have, so some of them were passed onto Damian too. They're: Super high intelligence, the super clear ability to observe things much better than a human as if they're like robots, astounding quick memory, and the ability to move any shadows with them when they need to stay hidden

Damian's system allows him to eat whatever he wants, especially weird stuff, without any kind of problems. He's still a vegetarian though and even tries to be one with earth food too (sometimes he doesn't understand what any of the meals actually are though and needs help from others to tell him if they involve meat or not)

[bumblesimagines]

When Fire Meets Fate

Part 12

Request: Yes or No

Summary: For three days, the Queen and King Consort of Westeros remained unreachable after hearing the news of Prince Lucerys Velaryon's death. But with war threatening to spill over, they must put aside their grief for the sake of the Realm.

CW/TW: Typical HOTD warnings, spoilers for S2, mentions of Luke's death/loss of a child, hella grief, implied sexism toward Rhaenyra/a female ruler, angst, will (Y/N) Hightower ever catch a break? tune in next time to find out

Alexa play The Family Jewels by Marina and every other song i have on the playlist(s) for this series

~~~

Grief was an old friend, for it and (Y/N) had grown aquatinted long ago back in his youth when his mother passed, frail and weak and miserable. Grief was a snake that coiled around the heart and mind and squeezed until one could no longer weep or breathe. It constricted and slithered about in the shadows in the back of one's mind, lunging out with its fangs eager to sink into tender flesh. But grief was no monster, not truly. It formed from one of the purest things humans were capable of. 

Love. 

(Y/N) tried to remember that as he rubbed his fingers into his tear-stained cheeks and handed his empty cup to the nearby maid. She curtsied with her head bowed and stepped away while another lowered herself down onto the stone floor to tend to his youngest children, Aegon and Viserys. He listened to the clacking of wooden toys hitting the floor and each other, the incoherent babbling only they could understand, and the gentle cooing of the maid as she played along with them, encouraging them to play together. 

He couldn't remember the last time he bathed nor the last time he'd changed out of his sleepwear. He could hardly recall the last time he'd seen his wife, or even heard news of her wellbeing. She'd taken off on Syrax without word days prior but reports flew in occasionally of sightings. She searched shorelines relentlessly. She searched for their son's remains. 

Aegon tilted his head up toward his father and leaned forward, reaching one small, chubby hand out toward his pant leg and giving a swift tug. (Y/N)'s fluttering thoughts halted and his attention dropped down to the small boy, his heart and gaze softening as Aegon stared up at him expectantly with those large violet eyes. He leaned down and scooped his son into his arm, a soft exhale leaving him at the familiarity of it all. He couldn't lose another child. Little silent Marin and joyful Luke. (Y/N) pressed his lips to Aegon's temple and squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of them.

"My Lord," Daemon's voice called out from the doorway and (Y/N) sighed heavily. "I wish to speak with you."

"What about?" His voice sounded hoarse, dry and worn from little care. 

"Pressing matters that are best discussed in private," Daemon answered and (Y/N) swallowed harshly, rubbing his cracked lips together in contemplation before he carefully set his son back on the floor and approached the prince, sparing his playing children a glance as the door into the room closed. He inhaled deeply and turned his head toward Daemon.

"What is it?"

"I wish to fly out to King's Landing and kill Vhagar. She is the only thing standing between us and the throne, the old bitch. I asked Rhaenys to accompany me but she refused without Rhaenyra's command. She's always liked you, despite what happened with Laenor. She may yet listen if you ask this of her, or matter of fact, command it. You are our King. She'll have no choice but to-"

"Consort, Daemon. I am King Consort to Queen Rhaenyra. I am but an extension of her and the throne. I will not do or say anything without her knowledge, Daemon, that is my duty. When she returns-"

Daemon's jaw clenched, his voice beginning to rise and echo loudly down the hall. "Rhaenyra has been away for days, (Y/N)! We cannot push forward without our Queen here and she has abandoned her duties to fly out without anyone at her side where she is most vulnerable! Rhaenyra is a queen, she cannot take leave without saying anything-"

"And she's a grieving mother, Daemon. We just learned our son is dead! Our boy is gone. Mere weeks ago he was at our side healthy and happy and- and smiling and now he is dead. We are grieving our- our child. Rhaenyra was a mother before she became queen, or have you forgotten? Luke- Luke was only barely man-grown. We will not see him wed; we will not see him have children; we will not see what could've become of him because-" (Y/N) felt breathless, heart squeezing and twisting as tears flooded his vision again. He was so sick of crying. He inhaled sharply, blinking away the tears whilst Daemon watched grimly. "If Rhaenys believed your plan to be a good one, she would've agreed. Attacking Vhagar will merely put our best fighters and dragons at risk. If you wish to do anything else than be here, you may patrol the island."

"If Rhaenyra does not return soon," Daemon began quietly, voice tittering on the edge of sympathy and irritation. "The Council's support may begin to waver. We look to you in Rhaenyra's absence, and even in her presence many will still desire your approval. They may be here to support her but half of those men are only fulfilling the oath they made to King Viserys, not her. Consort or not, the Council believes you to be a more suitable ruler than Rhaenyra right now." 

(Y/N)'s teeth grinded together, his eyes flickering away from the prince as his words churned in his mind. He knew many of the men on their Council well; power-seeking fools who believed themselves to always be in the right regardless of what others thought or said. He'd been drowning in his grief for too long with no remedy whilst the men likely argued and filled each other's heads with ideas of grandeur. For the sake of the realm, for the sake of his wife's greatest desire... (Y/N) had to put aside his grief and longing, even if it swallowed him whole later. 

"Check for any reportings of Syrax or Rhaenyra." (Y/N) ordered him, taking a deep inhale and releasing it in a sigh. "I... I will deal with the Council for now."

Setting off for his bedchambers, he gave the servants a list of requests that they quickly scattered off to fulfill. He bathed for the first time in a long while, scrubbing away the grime and sweat that'd accumulated over time before he dried himself and finally dressed himself in something other than sleepwear that felt and looked as regal as his position. He soothed his aching throat with sweetened tea and properly broke his fast with a meal before leaving his bedchambers and heading down the halls to where the Council awaited his arrival. 

"My Lord," They rose to their feet and bowed their heads, all but Rhaenys who simply watched him enter, her gaze curious and intrigued. Few of the lords remained standing as he stopped at the end of the table where Rhaenyra's seat was, coming to stand behind it and rest his hands along the top. They watched, waiting for him to sit. 

"Before we begin, I'd like to apologize for not attending the past few meetings, but I am here now, and soon so will my wife." (Y/N) took in the exchanged glances and grim, almost annoyed looks that passed over some of their faces. He took note of those who seemed more vexed than the others.

"I know these past days have been dark and confusing for some without our queen here but I'd like to remind you all that Queen Rhaenyra has not forgotten her duties to the Realm and to this council. If she cared little for her position as Queen, you all would be home or in King's Landing serving under the usurper, but you are not. Why? Because Queen Rhaenyra refused to allow her father's wishes to be ignored by Dowager Queen Alicent and the oathbreakers who support her son. You are here because you are not Oathbreakers nor men easily intimidated or swayed. I am thankful for your presence and support, as is my wife as we go through such difficult times. I ask for more patience, patience I will ensure is rewarded when this comes to an end."

He watched them all, unable to push away the jittering nerves bubbling up in his stomach. (Y/N) had always considered himself a confident man but he'd always merely been Otto Hightower's son and nothing more. He knew the moment he married Rhaenyra, it'd be asked of him one day to command or rule in her stead for whichever reason, but he simply never expected it to occur so soon. His eyes jumped to Rhaenys, staring into her unreadable yet gentle eyes, and felt himself relax when she gave him a subtle encouraging nod. 

"With that out of the way," (Y/N) cleared his throat and took in another small breath. "Has a letter been sent out to Prince Jacaerys? Has he answered?"

The men exchanged glances once more but only Lord Bartimos Celtigar took a small step forward toward the table to speak, his eyes sliding over the rest of the council in mild irritation. "We... We were not aware an order was given to send a letter for Prince Jacaerys, My Lord." He spoke carefully and slowly. 

A beat of silence passed. "The... The brother of the heir to the Iron Throne has died and none of you believed it to be wise to inform him?" (Y/N) questioned, stepping around the chair and pressing his fingers into the table. The men answered in silence and (Y/N) almost rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Maester Gerardys, please prepare a letter for Prince Jacaerys informing him of what has occurred." 

"Will you be asking for his presence, My Lord?" Maester Gerardys asked as he rose from his seat, his hands clasping together and being partly covered when his large sleeves rolled down his arms. Perhaps one of the few men (Y/N) could trust amongst the council with his age and experience in overseeing the family's matters. "We have yet to receive word on his progress in the North."

"Tell him.." (Y/N)'s gaze flickered away from the maester, his thumb beginning to rub into the ring on his index finger. Eyes turned back to him, peering at him closely. It felt as if he'd stepped into a den of vipers awaiting one wrong move so they could strike. "Inform him of what has happened and... and that once he has finished securing Cregan Stark's army, he is to return home. He is needed here, now more than ever." 

"Of course, My Lord." Maester Gerardys bent slightly at the waist in a bow, the chain around his neck swaying and clinking with his movements before he lowered himself back down into his seat.

"Good," (Y/N) cleared his throat and straightened his back, wetting his lips in uncertainty. Nobody had instructed him on ruling; his childhood had been filled with history books, lessons from maesters and septas, and the basics of how to use a sword and defend himself, but never had it crossed anyone's mind that he'd reach the status of 'King Consort.' He released a quiet sigh. "What news do you all have to share?" 

Long stretches of hours passed filled, hardly filled with much necessary news and rather squabbling and insistence in carrying on with a bloody war. (Y/N) stared blankly at the table for half of it, suddenly understanding why his mother oft' seemed in her head whenever his brothers bickered and complained in front of her. Rhaenys and Daemon appeared to share his thoughts, neither providing much input apart from Daemon occasionally agreeing with the idea of pressing forward without Rhaenyra. None of it surprised (Y/N), but he still wished to be with his children instead. He yearned to see Jace, safe and sound within the walls of the castle where no danger could chance upon him. 

His legs and back were beginning to ache, and his stomach lightly grumbled for food. His lips parted to provide some excuse to remove himself from the meeting but the doors parted and Ser Erryk strolled into the room, dipping his head to the lords in respect before making a beeline for him. "What is it?" (Y/N) asked instead. 

"We found a stowaway in one of the ships." Ser Erryk explained quietly. "The White Worm, she calls herself. She's provided little answers as to why she's come here apart from her desire to have a word with you, My Lord." 

"You should remain here." Daemon cut in swiftly before (Y/N) could respond, rising from his seat as the corner of his lips curled. (Y/N)'s gaze darted to him questioningly, his eyes squinting slightly at the prince. "I am well-acquainted with the 'White Worm', My Lord. I shall deal with her for you. There's no need for you to trouble yourself." 

(Y/N) pressed his lips into a grim line. "Very well, Daemon." He dismissed him with a nod, catching the wince from Ser Erryk before the knight dipped his head again and escorted the prince off to where they were holding the so-called White Worm. He watched them go, hands coming together and fingers beginning to toy with the rings along his knuckles. 

Allowing a long moment to pass, one filled with more squabbling and debating, he let out a heavy sigh. "It has grown quite late." He announced to the lords, savoring the way they grew silent at his words and nodded in agreement. 

Before he could continue, however, a distant yet familiar shriek echoed from outside the castle. (Y/N) clamped his mouth shut and swore he felt his heart twist into itself, his body growing stiff when another shriek followed. Syrax. He knew the sound of the golden she-dragon well. How could he not when his wife had insisted on introducing them to each other? His jittering thoughts were confirmed when Daemon returned to the room with Ser Erryk at his heels; the knight positioning himself by the doors and beginning to recite those familiar words:

"Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." 

(Y/N) watched her when she entered, breath nearly knocked out of his lungs when they made eye contact from across the room. He'd be a liar if he denied the thought that she'd abandoned them hadn't briefly crossed his mind but there she stood, his wife and queen.

Rhaenyra looked disheveled and utterly exhausted; Her pale skin had grown speckled with dirt and grime; bags had formed under her watery violet eyes; the hair she oft' kept in a neat and long braid had fallen loose from the hairstyle and tumbled down her shoulders in wild, wind-swept strands; her clothes looked worn and dirtied. 

Everyone seemingly held their breaths as she staggered into the room and rounded the table, her eyes never leaving his until she stood at his side. The words Daemon and Rhaenys spoke slipped in one ear and out the other for them both, the space held between their bodies feeling agonizingly far. (Y/N)'s eyes flickered between hers, not a fragment of a reaction or emotion on either of their faces but they nonetheless communicated. She'd found his remains. 

Rhaenyra broke away first to finally face the Council for the first time in days, her chest falling with a shaky exhale. She stared at the flickering candles littered around the table, her cracked lips parting. She stayed quiet for a beat before lifting her gaze.

"I want... Aemond Targaryen." She spoke, her voice shaking and eyes flooding with unshed tears. Her trembling hand found his and wrapped around him, squeezing him lightly.

"That-" His voice threatened to crack. "That will be all for today, My Lords. I bid you goodnight." 

The walk to their bedchambers was a quiet one, a silence the maids ensured to keep as they helped Rhaenyra into her bath and draped her nightgown over the bed. (Y/N) dismissed them with a nod, waiting for them to collect her filthy clothes and depart before he lowered down onto the stool beside the tub. He shed himself of his upper wear until his undershirt remained, tugging the sleeves up to his elbows and taking the soapy sponge into his hand. 

"I sent word for Jace." He spoke first, rubbing the sponge into her skin and cleaning away all that'd accumulated there over the past days. Rhaenyra finally seemed to break out of her hazy trance to look upon him, her nostrils flaring slightly and head weakly nodding. He scrubbed lightly at her collarbone, the water beginning to turn in color. "I made an attempt at.. dealing with the Council, but you know I have a low tolerance for vexing old men." 

Rhaenyra managed to crack a small smile. "I'm... thankful.. for your patience." She murmured, her still trembling hand grasping one of the other sponges and slowly dragging over her no-doubt aching thighs. 

They fell into comfortable silence again. (Y/N) continued helping her bathe, ensuring to wash her hair that'd grown darker in color from days of going ignored. His mind flickered back to his youth as he carefully brushed out the knots, briefly recalling the times he brushed Alicent's hair. But when he thought of Alicent, he thought of Aemond, and then he thought of Luke and how frightened he must've been in his last moments, likely yearning to be in the protective embrace of his parents. His movements stilled, his heart ramming against his ribcage. 

"Arrax was torn to shreds," Rhaenyra said quietly, as if she'd read his mind. "They... They washed up onshore... I-I... Arrax's wing and-" She cut herself off with a sharp breath, her teeth digging into the flesh of her bottom lip and eyes fluttering close. Tears slipped down her cheeks, causing ripples in the water when they fell from her chin. "He- He... I- I saw- Oh, my sweet boy," Rhaenyra sobbed, her knees tugging toward her chest and shoulders shaking. 

(Y/N) desperately blinked the tears away and took a deep inhale, digging his blunt nails into his palms until the prickle of pain forced his mind to focus on it. A habit he'd fallen into back in his youth, back when their mother passed and his twin needed comfort. He squeezed his eyes shut until the waterworks stopped turning and opened them again.

He leaned down to press his lips against her bare, wet shoulder before doing the same to her jawline. "I know, Nyra, I know. You must weep until you cannot. You must let it out now before it can swallow you again. Our- Our boys need us, Nyra. The Realm, too. They need Queen Rhaenyra to rule and protect them." 

Rhaenyra twisted in the tub and slung her arms around his shoulders, her wet skin soaking his shirt as she embraced him. He allowed the brush to fall onto the stone floor with a clatter and slipped his arms around her as well, unable to stop himself from pulling her as close as possible. Rhaenyra continued to cry into his shoulder until the exhaustion of grief and her days out on Syrax crashed into her. He helped her out of the tub and helped her dry, offering her his shoulder to lean on when she slipped on her nightgown. 

"I..." Rhaenyra swallowed, her head coming to rest upon her pillow and heavy eyes threatening to lull her off into a deep yet much-needed slumber. "I love you." She exhaled softly, her eyes falling shut and her body growing limp against the bed.

Quietly chuckling, he kissed the space between her brows. "I love you too, Nyra."

Rhaenyra tightly clutched his hand as they waited for their eldest to be escorted into the room. He'd arrived moments prior, per the familiar cry of Vermax and the shadow that'd passed over the castle. It would've been followed by the younger Arrax if the Gods had been kind to them, a thought the two seemed to share for Rhaenyra squeezed his hand even tighter, her nails unintentionally leaving imprints in his skin. 

The sound of footsteps drew their blank, distant stares away from the fireplace and toward the two young figures who entered. Baela offered them a sympathetic tight-lipped smile, her hand coming to rest on Jace's arm comfortingly before she exited the room. It hadn't been long since they last saw Jace but still, he somehow appeared older. Perhaps spending time with a man such as Cregan Stark had allowed him to learn much and more. Still, Jace's eyes watered the moment he looked at them, and all (Y/N) saw was his little boy.

"Your Grace, My Lord," Jace began and stepped forward, clasping his hands together as his lips began to quiver. "Lady Jeyce Arryn has pledged her support in exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale. And... Lord C-Cregan Stark... has p-promised-"

Unable to sit and watch idly as their son slowly broke down, Rhaenyra set aside her tea and stood up alongside (Y/N), their hands still tightly bound together as if worried if they parted, it'd snap them out of a dream. Jace's features contorted, his brows knitting tightly the moment his parents drew closer, almost collapsing into their arms as sobs wrecked through his body. Rhaenyra cried as well, her hand releasing her husband's to wrap around him instead, pulling her beloveds close to her body. 

"We're here, Jace," (Y/N) whispered to him, trekking his fingers through chestnut curls that resembled his side of the family so well. Jace's arm tightened around him in return, his light eyes squeezed shut and snot beginning to trickle down from his nose. There'd been few times Jace had ever sobbed in his arms after infancy. He'd always been the stronger one amongst his brothers, the more resilient one. But alas, he was still their little boy.

With Jace safely home, the funeral was held at late dusk when the moon slowly began to peek over the horizon. Rhaenyra lit the stack of wood on top of the pyre where their boy would've laid had his body been recovered and stepped back whilst Maester Gerardys spoke some funeral rites.

On the other side of the flames stood the Velaryons, amongst them Rhaena who watched with teary eyes as Jace stepped forward to toss a folded blanket that'd once belonged to Luke during his younger years. He took little Joffery into his arms afterward and the little boy tossed the wooden toy horse that Luke often played with into the flames as well. 

(Y/N) swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers digging into the fabric of the clothes Luke had been wearing the day before he departed for Storm's End. He walked with Rhaenyra toward the flames, the two parents fighting back the tears and clutching tightly onto the clothes that still held the smell of their son. Rhaenyra pushed her temple into him and exhaled shakily, pressing her hands over his so they could toss the clothes into the fire together and watch the flames hungrily eat at them. 

It was done. Their son was gone, taking a piece of their hearts with him to wherever his soul had departed. But the world stopped for no one, not even royalty, and so the incoming war continued to threaten the stability of the Realm and the lives of those in Westeros.

As much as he desired to crawl back into bed until the world ended, (Y/N) had a duty to uphold as the new King Consort of the Seven Kingdoms.

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔨𝔲𝔫𝔢𝔬

Summary: Because of a past refusal, the god who once fostered and protected your village has cursed the land and left it in constant darkness and bloodshed. But years after the island's condemnation he visits the priestess in her dreams, claiming that he is once again willing to take a sacrifice in exchange for the people's salvation.

You are left to grapple with your reality when that sacrifice is announced to be you.

Notes: 26k words, so . . . grab a snack? Also, this has not been proofread yet so sorry for any errors and misspellings. Banner is credited @saradika

Warnings: MDI - 18+ content! AFAB, Sacrifice AU, violence, horror elements, the reader is drugged physically for ritual purposes but it doesn't affect her in the Dreaming? illusions to death, an animal is harmed but does not die, a small teaspoon of stalker Dream (sorta), hints of possessive Dream but he's also soft. Oral (F!receiving), he's a switch, a bit of soft dom Morpheus I suppose, sex outside but there is no voyeurism involved, unprotected sex.

The memories of your mother are vague at best. Like gazing up at someone while being submerged under water. But what you could remember, quite vividly at that is the wild fables and stories of gods and heroes that she would tell you, sending you off to sleep with images of great serpents slicing through the waves of the seas or the behemoth hound snapping at the tormented souls of the underworld with its many heads. And she taught you of the nymphs of the ocean and the wood, and the great gods that cloak the skies with heavy storm clouds and bind the souls of lovers together. 

But perhaps one of the most important to your isolated village, the one who was vital to the people's survival was the deity Morpheus. Dream of the Endless, the King of Dreams and Ruler of Nightmares. The heavenly benefactor that assured you all prosperity and wealth. He was benevolent and caring, and to commemorate the god, murals were created in his image. Some portrayed him as both beast and man. With the lithe physique of a human, the textured, taloned feet of a bird and great wings pridefully expanding from his back, stretching high in a reaching arch and a head that you could not discern if it was intended to mimic a bird or insect. The protrusion from his face reminded you of the proboscis of a mosquito but it was jointed and colored like ivory like a bleached spine. 

But on occasion the paintings depict the god as a striking statuesque man, clutching a group of blood red blossoms in one hand and fragments of pale sand poured through the fingers of an opposing upturned palm. And he seems to have his wings in this form also. And they are always with feathers the color of the night sky. 

Your mother had told you that he was a kind ruler. But even kindness is not without its conditions. 

The people had spoken of an offering that must be made to the Endless to appease him, an exchange for his watchful eye and shelter. A sacrifice must be given. A human one. The thought had terrified you as a child. But the villagers - even your own parents seemed to accept the requirement without any qualms. No complaints were made from the people. It was taken as a fact of life. The same as how the sun rises in the east or how fire burns when touched. No one fought when the shrine guards came in the morning. When the dawn was but a smudge of lavender in the horizon, knocking on doors and collecting any woman who was of age regardless of it they were already wives with families and duties. 

Not even your father or mother had protested when they came to take her away to the temple. And you had latched yourself onto her hips, refusing to let go even when she assured you that this was a good thing. That it was a great compliment to be even considered for the choosing. And that if she was selected as the offering - to join the Dark God that it would bring honor not just to the village but to your house as well. But you had refused to listen, shaking your head while your tears dampened the fabric that covered her body. The hierodules had to tear you from her hips, and your father had to secure you in his arms as she left with the guards to the join the other women who had been collected from their homes. 

The next passing days for you had been melancholic and distressing to say the least but the village was a kaleidoscope of colors and festivities. And despite the joy that thrummed across the air, the world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting the day for the Choosing when the head Priestess would reveal the offered woman that Endless had deemed worthy enough to be his sacrifice. 

The ceremony had been held near dusk and a heavy quiet had fallen over the collective as you all look up to the priestess, desperate to hear which womans name she would utter. The anticipation was stifling as you all awaited who would become his bride, and your fingernails had dug into your father's hand so harshly that it must have stung, but he did not flinch or jerk away once, far too enamored with the event. And when the sister had revealed the Chosen the crowd had cheered and some gasped, but you had cried. Cried with relief and joy. 

But on that day the Priestess decided to deny the dark god of his sacrifice and that decision would mark the fall and despair of your village for years to come. 

And now you stand where your mother once did. But instead of the cover of a gentle twilight, the unforgiving heat of the sun wafts over you, engulfing you in a sweltering heat and pounds down on the crown of your skull. Voices clamor from down below, the frenzied cries of desperate people, and it has the women standing at your sides shivering like startled doe's. You could not blame them in the slightest. You too wanted to quiver and sob to expel your fear, but you could not bear to show any vulnerabilities. Not to the hungry crowd, too terrified in their own right to empathize with your distress.  

The ritual is only in a few days' time and the atmosphere that looms across the village with a heavy sort of anticipation is a conflicted sort of energy. There was an obvious air of excitement, prickling at your skin and nearly leaving you breathless but there was also the underlying thrum of . . . fear. It pained you to look out to the masses and see their jostling bodies, waiting with bated breath to hear the name of the Endless' intended. To hear if he would finally accept a sacrifice again after so many years of anguish and terror. 

They had decorated the thresholds of houses, and the columns of buildings with rich tapestries and fine wreaths just as had been done in the past. The people- your people frolic about in special fabrics- deep reds and blues to herald the Endless. Gorging themselves on the five-day long feast: the meat of boar and quail and an abundance of fruits. The flow of wine and spirits did not stop. It had only progressed if the slurred shouting and rumbunctious laughter that had reached you from behind the thick walls of the commune was any indication. Celebrating their lives. Celebrating your death. 

Despite your circumstances you had been nothing but pampered since your forced participation. Fed only the finest meals and bathed in expensive oils and perfumes.  You have been chosen by an ancient; a harsh voice hissed cruelly from the depths of your mind. The voice of the old sister. The woman who had sealed your awful fate. The one who claimed that the mind walker -the dark god himself had come to her in a dream and had spoken to her she had reiterated animatedly, sharp piercing eyes nearly rolling back in her skull from her mania. Her body had quivered from her passion and the other women that had been selected and forced into a reluctant row had nearly flinched back at the intensity of it. You all clung to each other, hands gripping the other for support. Something to tether yourselves to the ground. All of the eligible women had been wrangled up, torn from the arms of their families. Even women with husbands and children were taken away, no one was spared in the wishes of finally appeasing the god. 

You had scanned the clamoring crowd in the hopes of finding someone who would be willing to help. Someone who would disagree. Perhaps a stranger would show pity or sympathy, but you found no one. They were all hanging on to the demented rambling of the old priestess. Their silence was palatable. The crazed joyous eyes of people with hope. Hope of reprieve from the decade long curse that had tainted the village. And unfortunately, one of the maidens- one of you that stood in that horrid line was the answer to their prayers. And when you found no sympathy, you looked past the commotion and the roofs of houses to the sea in the distance and imagined yourself taking to the dark waves and escaping under the tide and froth. Emerging somewhere new and wonderful. 

Of course, there would be no freedom for you. Not when her horrid eyes strayed from the desperate crowd and pinned you in your place the air had been expelled from your lungs with a harsh gravity. The realization of your fate. 

And then as if to perpetuate her point further, to drive the knife in deeper and twist, she lifted her crooked finger up in the air and pointed. Right at you. And the other girls that were clinging to your body for support and comfort had jerked from you as if you were dirty and blemished, sobbing with cries of relief while they fled in search of their mothers and fathers in the crowd. But some of them had sank to the dust and clasped their hands together as if in prayer, kneeling at your feet like you were sanctified. 

"The Endless has found his Chosen." She crooned and the people had roared in a victorious cry.  

They took you kicking and screaming, ignoring your cries of protest while they carried you off to the Sisters commune to prepare you and the townspeople looked on, watching you feverously with a horrid sort of enthusiasm. Relief you recognized. 

You had been forced into decadent silks and decorated with jewelry that at one time you would have dreamed of wearing, but they might as well as have been hot iron with the way that they felt against your skin. Restricting, disgusting. 

They paraded you around for days, making you the pinnacle of the festival while you watched them all sink into their basest desires, influenced from alcohol and the intoxication of relief. You tried not to blame them. To see past your pain and hurt and summon some forgiveness. After all, they were only afraid. The same as you had been, the same as you are now. Fearful of the Night King and his spirits. The horrible kakodaimon hoard that serve at his command and wreak havoc should their emperor be denied of his sacrifice. Some are little more than mischievous deities, entertaining themselves with otherwise harmless pranks: Stealing shoes and tying the hair of women into knots while they sleep unaware. The stuff of tales and bedtime stories. But he has other creatures. Monstrous, evil things that steal infants from their cribs and drain bodies of their lifeblood and chew bone. 

The same horrid beings that have been tormenting the village for a decade now, arriving in the night to snatch up any poor soul who had been foolish enough to be caught outside during the dark. Many have died during the years since he's unleashed his army of terrors upon the village. The dark creatures snatching them up in their gnarled claws, as lethal as a sharpened daggers and carrying them off with the swift whisper of wings. All because he was refused. 

And now finally you sit underneath the stars again, after being forced behind barricaded doors and huddling underneath the table and hoping that the creatures wouldn't break through the door and tear themselves inside with gnashing teeth to feast upon your flesh. Clinging to the hope that you would survive until daybreak when the blessed sun would rise from the horizon and banish them away. If only for a little while. 

For the first time since you were a child you may embrace the dark and breath in the warm night air, feeling it sooth your lungs like a balm. You're as full of wonder as you are paranoia. Waiting for one of the nightmares to leap out of the shadows and steal you away. But even the weight of the silver and diamonds adorning your body and the deafening laughter of the feast couldn't tear your eyes away from the black expanse that loomed above. Stretching out like a horrible, beautiful black void that threatened to eat you alive. And you nearly felt crushed with how small - insignificant it made you feel. The unforgiving stretch of the cosmos looming above seemed to force your own mortality upon you with a harsh sort of grace. And it angered you that the dark god had stripped this sight from you for so many years. He had taken so much from you all and now they all once again chant his name as though he was a savior and not the reason for their strife and agony. Celebrating his image like he was a humble god that had not punished them and their children with beasts and terrible dreams. All because he was not given a woman who had been promised to him. 

You had never felt so bare in your life, having been forced on the plush velvet cushions of a palanquin to be carried around on the shoulders of the temple guards and displayed around the village. There was no shelter from the prying eyes of the townspeople who had watched you with the same sort of desperate hunger as a pack of starved dogs, shameless and pitiful. They had been pelting you with the vibrant blossoms of violets and dark seeds, and the abundance had begun to collect atop the cushions, and you had been tempted to sweep the offerings off the side of the vehicle but as if sensing your intentions one of the priestesses had swiftly swiveled her head to glare at you from her place beneath you. You had been tempted to defy her regardless, to hold eye contact with her as you did so, but despite your petty desire you held yourself back. 

They did eventually lower you from their shoulders and back down onto the earth, and a few women had emerged from the boisterous crowd -servants perhaps - to hand you food and drink. You had not wanted to accept it, too prideful to take what they had given you and make them believe that they had managed to placate you with a meal and wine, but eventually your stomach had won and you hesitantly abandoned your dignity. It had been too long since you had last had a decent meal, having survived off of measly scraps for too long. You had gorged yourself on the figs and fish and honey cakes, chasing it with the rich wine when you had become parched and soon your head had become light with the influence of the fermented liquid, and it allowed you to ignore the cajoling throng of people and the sisters' that observed you. 

The priestesses surrounded you like a group of statues, pillars of death. Silent and watching. Guarding. They observe when the villagers approach you, eyes glinting hauntingly like they're waiting for one of the people to lash out and attack you.  You hoped someone would and finally put you out of your misery. But instead, they all crouched down low at your feet, whispering their gratitude like you had asked for this purpose and placed bundles of red flowers on the earth to surround the palanquin. Even a child had approached you, thanking you for the salvation you offered. It had nearly broken you and tears had threatened to spill down your face. It almost disgusted you to look at them. Soft, delicate blossoms that were a harsh scarlet. Red like blood. Poppies you had realized. The flower associated with the Endless. It made you nauseous to be surrounded by his symbol. And suddenly they were not so pretty anymore and there were too many. Overflowing at your feet and pilling up so high that it felt like the people were trying to build a wall around you.  

"Why must I do this?" You gasp, feeling as though you were being crushed. The sister to your right is the one who speaks but she does not turn to look at you, instead focusing on the roaring pyre that the villagers dance around under the guide of the drums and flute. "Because it is your purpose." The answer is cold and matter of fact, sparing you no sympathy. It is a sentence that you have heard uttered one too many times in the passing days, almost as though they believed you would come to accept your circumstances if you heard it enough. You just could not understand why they would be so easily swayed to accept the god who had turned his backs on them so long ago. Abandoned them and tormented them because of his own hubris. Scorned because the head priestess before had not given him her own daughter. 

He had plagued your village for too long. Ravaging men and women and children with horrid dreams and dying crop. Except for now. Ever since the choosing ceremony, when you had been selected the gardens had blossomed seemingly overnight, overgrown with a prosperous harvest and the hunt had been successful after many moons of coming up with little more than measly rabbits. 

They would always return to his dark embrace after the horrors that you have all been forced to endure. It did not matter if he demanded one maiden or a thousand, they would spare as many women that he demanded. Even if it meant finding shelter under the punishing hand that caused all of their pain. 

But it still does not explain why he had accepted a sacrifice after so many years of silence and refusal. After turning his nose up at every attempt to reconcile and give an offering he makes his presence known now. But what had changed? Why you? Surely the god that presides over dreams and walks amongst the subconscious must know that you are no longer a chaste woman. A tainted old maid is what they would whisper about you. There was no sense to any of this. 

"But why me?" And the fragile strings of jewelry draped around your neck clink against each other, but it is an annoying sound that has your nails digging into the rich tapestried cushions. It is the one to your left that speaks now. Her voice is deceptively soft, bubbling like a gentle stream. "We do not question the Endless. " She responds. And although her voice is much more welcoming than her sister's her words are just as indifferent. " You will be our salvation. Our forgiveness. You will save us. " 

Any bit of protest had died in your throat before you could get them out. You focused on the festivities instead, watching the people chant and sing old songs. And dancers leapt around the fire, dressed in furs and leather and colorful fabrics to mimic figures from folklore and the very monsters that had massacred your village for years. Wearing masks fashioned from old hides and animal pelts, brandishing the horns taken from cattle and deer. They playfully leapt at the crowd that encircled the fire as though they were going to swipe. And some had constructed costumes to imitate the dark plumage of the raven, one of his coveted animals. 

This was twisted. A mockery of suffering and pain. Pissing on the memory of the people who had fallen victim to the dream god and his nightmares. 

How could they all forget so easily? 

You could feel the sting of anger simmering within your chest, prickling at your fingertips. It made it difficult to breath around the weight of it all. You continue to watch them all despite the rage and sorrow that it induces. The horrible way they galivant around and clap and cheer. It's disgusting and awful. Even the children. The poor children participate, lunging at the false monsters with wooden swords and some are dressed as the dark creatures themselves.  

To get some sort of reprieve you looked to the night sky, staring up at the full moon as though its goddess would hear your silent plea and save you from your fate. Whisking you from this starving mob and your doomed fate to her hidden island to frolic with the nymphs free from your crude duty.  But the glowing deity did not appear, and you were left to stare at the lonely dark void of the night while the stars winked and fluttered as though their light might dim and die. It was foolish to believe that the goddess of virtue would appear for a woman like you. 

But then you could feel it. A magnetic pull that tilted your head from its upturned position, and your eyes lower onto something gleaming with a pale light. Two shimmering pieces, shinning much like the moon hanging above.  It is a pair of eyes you come to quickly discern. Reflecting the bright glow of the pyre in a way that is decidedly not human. Those are the eyes of a beast: An owls may do that, or a wolf's or a cat. Not a human. But the face that they belong to is very much a man's. 

It is difficult to make out the features of his face past the way that the heat of the open flames warp the surrounding atmosphere and the smoke twists and coils into the open air like deadly serpents. But you can comprehend the sharp jut of high cheek bones and pale milky skin almost as though he was cut from a fine marble. His expression is not a joyous one or celebratory like the other villagers, instead it is stoic and serious. The intensity of his glare has you pinned in place. It is you; you realize. He's staring at you. 

The world suddenly feels weightless, like you're suspended in a vacuum. You had heard a story from an old hunter once. One who had miraculously survived a lightning strike and he had been shunned by many of the others for his scars. After all he must have done something to warrant the strike. He must have scorned the Lord of the Sky himself. But you had spoken to him regardless and he had told you that he had felt it before it had hit him, even though it was only for but a second. His hair had stood on end and his skin had tingled strangely before his body was flooded with a numbing white-hot heat. And you could feel that sensation prickling over you now, like the whisper of a thousand fingertips brushing you all over. It made you shiver, and you adjusted yourself in your seat in an attempt to banish the feeling, but it never faded. If anything, the steady pulses persisted and seemed to thrum with even more intensity nearly making you gasp aloud. You wanted to look away from the strange man, but you could not seem to will yourself to turn your gaze from him, and some strange part of you did not want to. He was gorgeous in a haunting sort of way, but you could not figure out why. There was an unearthly quality to his countenance, like he was he was not a man but wearing the face of one. 

It was then you noticed the color of his robes. Black. But that was not right. No one else was allowed to sport the Endless' color, no one else apart from the head priestess was allowed to wear his color, as a way to display her connection and loyalty. It was considered an extreme offence for any other person to bear a cloth in his shade. A punishable offence that would often result in public ridicule and the removal of the criminal's dominant hand. Some have even claimed that the accused may be haunted from night terrors for the crime until the passing of their natural human life. So who would be bold enough to flaunt around in public in such dark robes? 

He must be a foolish man. Or at least an arrogant one. And as though he could hear your thoughts the corner of his mouth quirks in just the faintest hint of a smile. So delicate that it could be mistaken for a trick of the light. But you could see it in his otherworldly eyes too. It looked as though that it did not suit him, but he also wore the expression beautifully. It was an odd juxtaposition, and you did not know what to make of it. He looks like no one you had never seen before but is also painfully familiar, like an old memory. 

Oddly enough no one else seems to notice his presence at all. A phenomenon that could be blamed on the alcohol and high spirits but what couldn't be wrote away by reason was the way that a drunk seemed to stumble through the strange man, causing him to vanish like a plume of smoke and the pale shimmer of his eyes was the last to fade, piercing some buried part of you before disappearing entirely and with it something clicks into place. 

The sensation that had spilled over you leaves with him, releasing you from its hold and allowing you take a deep breath that you had not known you needed. That awful wonderful stare. . . Could that have truly been the nightmare masquerading as a man? They have been known to do such a thing before. Using the guises of people and loved ones to lure vulnerable victims out for slaughter. Then another thought trickles down to the forefront and it has a cold shiver skipping down the notches of your spine. What if it had been the nightmare king himself? Come to see you, his intended bride? 

Surely you were hallucinating. It has never been mentioned before that the deity has ever made appearances before the ritual. None of the other past offerings have spoken of it. If it has happened, then none have ever cared to mention it. 

It had a troubled sinking feeling plummeting in your gut and it stayed with you throughout the night until the priestesses had collected you from your place and ushered you back to your temporary quarters where the servants prepared you for sleep. Insisting that you bathe, pouring luxuries oils into the steaming water and combing your hair before bed. They fret about like ghost. Silent and always moving so they are often little more than glimpses in your peripheral vision. They hardly speak. Only enough to offer commands that are loosely guised as suggestions or to whisper softly amongst themselves. 

They do not like you; you could easily tell. If the unabashed away that they gossip quietly while in your presence is any indication. But one of the women in particular does nothing to hide her distaste. Watching you with scorn in her eyes and a scowl on her lips. Neither of you had made any efforts to verbally communicate your hatred for the other, instead opting to passive aggressively telegraph the fact with petty gestures. Such as when she had decided to harshly pick through your hair while preparing you for the first feast. Clawing at your scalp with the teeth of the comb harshly enough to sting and throb for the entire night. The apology that she had given you was pathetically fake, contempt framed around a smile and feigned concern. She did not do it again when you had accidentally spilt hot tea across her hip when she was selecting your jewelry. 

But even now you could feel the heat of her glare against the crown of your skull and the grip that she had on your hair was harsher than necessary, but you simply did not have the energy to reprimand the action. Not after being paraded around the feast all night like a prized brood mare, sluggish under the weight of silks and pearls that decorated you. 

You feel her leaning over your shoulder before she speaks, the heat of her body irritates your skin and you find yourself tensing and trying to lean from her presence, but she is gripping your hair in a tight grip that keeps you from shifting. "You do not deserve to be touched by a god." She hisses, venom tainting her words. 

"Clearly you do not either," you snap just as harshly, gripping the sides of the basin so that you do not twist out of her hold and lash out. The other maids do not so much as glance over at the altercation, simply going on about their duties as though the both of you do not exist. "Or else you would be the one bathing in oils and dining on fruits and wine. " The hold on the back of your scalp goes slack somewhat, allowing you enough leeway to peer over your shoulder and meet the heated gray of her eyes. "How does it feel to know that your god has no desire for you?" 

She does not respond even though you can tell that she is actively biting her tongue to hold down her barbed words. It irritated you. The way they all acted as though they truly loved him. It was not affection they felt, but fear. You loathed the lying and the pretending all in the sake of appeasing the horrid god, and yet you could not find the courage to voice your opinions. It was a fruitless endeavor you knew to try and speak to these people. As tortured and hopeless as they were. And as much as you wanted to ridicule them their actions were not unfounded. You had seen firsthand what the Endless was capable of when he was denied of promises. You had watched you own mother be dragged away by venomous claws and terrible simpering fangs. There was no room for argument. At least not a sensical one. 

And so, you had remined silent for the remainder of your bath and until the servants had retired for the night, settling underneath the soft linens, but you were unable to relax. Not when you could still feel that man's eyes searing into your skin. Not from the fear of falling danger to the night terrors and horrible dreams, even though you have been quite fortunate, having not experience a single nightmare in quite some time. But that dark figures presence felt like a bad omen. An awful warning for the things to come. What if he sends his demons to come and haunt you and drag you away in the dark? What if he means to punish you? You wrack your brain to try and remember if you could have ever possibly scorned the dark god but come up empty. Granted you have never particularly harbored pleasant feelings towards the deity but not a single soul in the village has since the day that he chose to curse it, tainting it with beasts and painful dreams. Sometimes tormenting the people with dreams so intense and horrid that some have passed away in their sleep, suffering from weak hearts or fragile lungs. Other have been driven mad from the vividness and the persistence of the nightmares to the point that they have lost all sense of self and reality, some noy just taking their own lives but even the lives of others in the midst their distress and agony.

He was a dreadful god whose love was built with conditions and lies. Boasting the promise of prosperity and protection but the only thing you need protection from is him. 

An airy coo breaks you from your troubling thoughts, drawing your attention to the corner of the room where a familiar black shape trots out of the shadows, almost as though he had materialized from them. 

"What are you doing here you silly thing?" You could not hold in the short disbelieving laugh that escapes you in a huff, affection growing within your chest. You are not even sure how he could have possibly gotten inside the Sisters' commune and found your quarters, especially considering that the trek from your cottage to the village was a decent walk. He must have found an open window or slipped inside when no one was looking. You would not put the feat past him, he always seemed to be skulking about. 

You prop yourself up on your elbow to welcome the cat as he leaps onto your mattress, leaning into your hand with the tilt of his head. And you are thankful for the familiarity and the calm that washes over you at the feel of his long fur against your palm. It is a great comfort to have your companion back with again after being away from home for so long. But when your affection became too much, he slipped out from underneath your hold and retreated to the foot of your bed with a petulant flick of his tail, deciding to watch you with the piercing blue of his eyes instead. 

"Oh, my dearest apologies, " you jest, pulling your blanket up higher around your shoulder and try not to take it personally as he moves from you. "I did not mean to offend you." 

He blinks slowly, a very simple gesture but it always felt like it was done with an air of judgement. But then again, the animal always seemed to carry himself an imperious sort of way, even though he is but a cat, he manages to be rather expressive when he wants to be. 

"Have you been taking care of yourself?" You ask as though you would get an answer. You hate the thought of him being out so late with the possibility of those dreadful creatures roaming the ground and skies, ready to snatch and gouge with deadly claws. You know that he could fend for himself. He is a feral cat at best, coming and going as he pleases. Often vanishing for concerning periods of time before reappearing at your doorstep as though he had never left at all. But not even the beasts - the regular forest dwelling kind or the godly ones are the only threats that roam the dark. People could be just as awful. You honestly do not how he has managed to survive as long as he has with all the dangers lurking about. It was the same thing that you had wondered about on the first day that you saw him wandering around the tall grass that surrounded your home while you were out tending to your stubborn garden. But the second thought and the most startling was the realization that you were even looking at a cat at all. There had not been a single feline spotted on the village since the morning after the failed ritual all those years ago. All of the cats had but vanished from the island without a trace. Gone as though they had not been here at all, like they had all piled onto a boat and paddled to the mainland or a giant hand had descended from the sky and plucked them from their homes and alleyways. But now there was one there, slinking through the tall grass, a whisp of black against the dead golden reeds. 

It had you pausing from your task of searching for an unblemished vegetable that had not been tainted by worm bites or disease (which was proving to be a pointless endeavor) to watch the cat on its little journey. But despite your awe you had noticed the lethargy that seemed to slow its movements considerably. The usual feline grace that the animals typically carry themselves with was replaced by sluggish and jerky movements. The cat was all but stumbling between the tall stalks of grass. And in your worried study of the animal, you noticed a series of angry red slivers peeking through the thickness of his fur along its side. Four angry red wounds that would have been difficult for a human to endure, but for a cat you could not imagine the tole it was taking on its body to remain conscious. Especially through the pain no doubt. 

It had been entirely upon reflex to jerk up from your place on the ground, concern overshadowing your tact and making you forget that it may be a feral and undomesticated creature. And your worry did not prove to be unfounded when the cats head swung over in your direction, freezing in its walk to assess you. The both of you held a long exchange of stares and you had wondered if you should try to approach it, but then it had bolted. Lurching forward on wobbly feet and your heart had jumped in your throat, entirely frightened that he would flee to the cover of the forest and succumb to his wounds. But the cat had only made it a few paces before it was crumbling to the dirt and collapses on its side. 

You had barged through the gate of your garden leaving it to creak on its hinges while you approached the cat's body, hoping that he had not given into the trauma of the lacerations. But a glance over with your eyes confirmed that it was thankfully still breathing. You had whispered your apologies when you had noticed that he was watching you as well with a tired glassy stare, scooping him up as gently as you could and carrying him into your house to provide as much care as you could. 

The cat's body was already making efforts to build scabbing, the thick red having coagulated along the edges of its wounds. But the blood was still flowing too much for your liking, staining the linens that you had folded near the hearth for the animal to rest on. You were going to have to sew. Unfortunately, due to the infertility of the soil and the bad luck with yielding a healthy garden you had little herbs or flowers for medicine. And truthfully you did not know much of cats and which plants and medicines that should be avoided or would help him recover from his ailments, but with no one to confide in you did your best. Making sure to cleanse the slashes with fresh water before you began to stitch. Having no choice but to settle for the needle and thread that you used to make repairs on your clothing. 

"I'm afraid you aren't going to like me much after this, but I don't think we have much of a choice. " You had said, as you knelt down on the floor of your kitchen, settling in front of the animal with your thread in one hand and the needle in the other. It had peered at you from the corners of its eyes, too weak to move its head, but you had seen something flashed in its weary gaze that seemed a lot like irritation. 

You had tried to be as nimble and delicate as possible, doing to your best to focus past your anxiety to steady the mild quiver of your fingers, especially when they had become slick with blood. You tried to softly sooth the cat as gently as you could muster whenever he would jerk from pain. And thankfully you were finished before you realized, and you wrapped a strip of clean cloth around his middle to keep it clean from dirt and possible infection. 

He had laid there for several days, only moving when you had to change his dressings. And in the beginning, he had hardly eaten or drank, and you had feared for the worst. That despite your best-efforts illness had gotten ahold of him and stripped him of his appetite. But on the second day of you trying to persuade him to at least drink it seemed he had grown tired of you tapping your fingertips along the edge of the bowl or the way that you would defeatedly try to spoon-feed him water from the divot of a spoon and had lapped at the water from the edge of his linens before looking up you with a pointed glare. It took even longer to get him to eat, sharing with him pieces of rabbit that you had managed to trap. 

And since his presence in your home the beasts outside had been more active than usual, as though they could smell the blood of his wounds and had taken to clawing at your door. And on some nights, you could hear the muffled thump of footsteps skulking along your roof. They had never been so eager before. So persistent. Typically, the thing that mimics was the only one that stayed so close to your home, often screaming throughout the night like an animal. It even cried like a distressed woman or an anguished child. Sometimes it's true voice slips through the glamour.  The sound of thousands speaking in unison, of men, women and children. Stolen souls forced to speak through the maw that devoured them whole.

As terrible as it sounds a part of you has grown used to its presence. It had become routine almost, hearing the awful imitations pouring from its mouth from behind your front door. And you have spent many a night underneath the latch that you had made in the floor of your house, sleeping in burrow dug underneath the wooden planks with a dagger clutched to your chest. But when you had the cat in your home the activity seemed to increase, and you had spent every night spent underneath your floor with the cat delicately placed in the corner on his own bundle of blankets where he would lay without moving, too weak to shift or turn.

And they had returned the next night too with the number greater than the last, stalking around the perimeter of your house. Hissing and chortling in the night like a pack of demonic rabid wolves. It had been most cruel when a familiar voice had spoken from the other side of the front door, too distorted and inhuman to truly be your loved one, but similar enough to taunt you. A mockery of your father's voice begging you to let him inside. And even within your room underneath the floorboards you could still hear it. It talked for hours and spoke as both your mother and father until tears were prickling at your lash line and threatened to fall, and you had done what you could to distract yourself. Staring at the floor above you, finding shapes and faces in the patterns and shifting shades of the wood. 

It was the first time that the cat had even attempted to seek out any sort of contact. Weakly perking up from his corner and settling on the length of your legs from above your blanket and he had stared up at the floorboards above you with a startling air of intent. The voices crooned out and the rasp of talons scratched along the walls of your house. Then mercifully the voices had stopped. Seemingly all at once a peaceful hush had fallen over the atmosphere and you finally felt as though you could breathe again. The monsters had not returned that night. Or on any other night. It was as though they had vanished entirely which you knew could not be true because you could still find evidence of their existence in the forest while you hunted or washed your linens in the nearby stream. 

His health had steadily risen over the next few days. The wounds on his side had healed up nicely and he had quickly grown more restless. And he had taken to occupying himself by investigating you home and snooping around the rooms until one day he had slipped out from the front door when you were not paying attention and vanished into the tall grass. You did not heal him with the intent to keep him. A part of you assuming that he may have had a family eagerly awaiting his arrival somewhere on the island, but you could not lie to yourself that it had been nice to have company even if it was just a cat. 

You had not seen him for several weeks after that and a part of you had feared that he may have fallen to one of the beasts in the wood. And the more optimistic side of you had hoped and imagined that he had found his family. Life had returned to its monotony without him at your side and you were once again alone while attending your chores. But there had been some promise, such as the abrupt but not unwelcomed revival of your garden, which had now begun to sprout bits of life again. You had been shocked when you had seen a green hue returning to the withered remains of the mint and thyme and beginnings of a humble pods growing along your fig tree, promising the growth of fruit. And then one day he surprised you with his return, trotting from the golden meadow while you were beating a rug of the dust and grime that it had been collecting and you had smiled and greeted him like an old friend. And he would begin accompanying you as you went about your chores, always sticking by you closely and observing, even if you ventured all the way around the other side of the island to hunt for oysters and scallops, though the harvest you returned with was always slim. 

And you tried your best to name the creature, but he would not accept any of them. Not Akakikos or Thales or Arye. They were all promptly ignored when you had even tried to address him as such, and you were met with looks that could only be described as unimpressed. Of course, you could not find it in yourself to blame him. You did agree that none of them seemed to suit him all that much. But you could not call him nothing and so you had aptly christened him as 'Cat' which had been even less enthusiastically received as the others. But he would follow you everywhere despite the displeased looks that he would give you every time you addressed him as so, accompanying you when you washed your laundry in the nearby stream, and when you visit your parents' empty graves (you had never found their bodies) to tell them of your day. But he had especially surprised you whenever he would trot alongside you on your strolls down the shoreline of the ocean. It had shocked you to say the least, when Cat had wadded in the gentle waves after you, unaffected by the way that the water lapped at his paws.

A strange cat indeed. 

It struck you suddenly, the realization that you would never see your home again. As empty and cold as it could be. Forced to live on the outskirts as a pariah, assuming that you would fall to your death underneath the claws of a nightmare. Many had perished living so close to the wood, and they surely had no intention of you surviving the forest on your lonesome.  But you did and you made your vacant house your own, even with the bad blood-stained memories haunting the walls. You accepted your life alone rather early on and have even learned to love it in all of its solitude and freedoms. But they have once again bent you to their wills, selling you off like a lamb for slaughter to appease a selfish god. 

You cannot fight of the stinging lump that has risen and lodged itself in your throat. Not this time. And it burns and pushed up tears that spill down your cheeks and stain the bedding. You could not stop yourself from mourning everything. The loss of your life, the waning humanity of the townspeople, the bloody deaths of your loved ones. You tried to clamp your teeth shut to conceal your sobbing, worried that the guards posted outside of the door may hear you. And even more crippling was the sudden painful awareness that tomorrow was the night of the ritual. You had been ignoring the date, too distressed to acknowledge it. But it was coming. It was coming at there is nothing that you can do to stop it. 

There is the brush of something soft against your face, and it is not until your opening your eyes that you realize that you had even squeezed them shut. You look past the blur of your tears to see register two vivid blue irises watching you. 

Your heart ached at the sight. Torn between a flicker of affection and your unignorable grief. But you smiled regardless of your tears and stroked his chin with your fingertips. It always surprises you when he chooses to crouch down against your chest, snuggling into your body. He was not always one to seek out affection, often preferring to lie somewhere near by while watching you finish up your routine chores and tasks. His favorite spot was the window seal of your kitchen where he would perch and observe you while you would knead dough or slice the vegetables for stews. But whenever your sleep was fitful, and you would wake with a layer of cold sweat dampening your clammy skin and the anguished cries of your parents still echoing in your ears he would scurry into your bedroom if he was not already there and curl up with you as he is now until you were able to fall sleep once again. 

It troubled you to think of how he would fair for himself in your absence. You had been taking care of him for many moons now and you could only hope that in your effort to keep him from starvation that he had not grown to become too dependent of you. You could not bear the thought, that in your attempt to help and offer companionship that you had unwittingly ushered him closer to death. Would he go back to being alone after the Priestesses had sent your soul off to the nightmare god and all, but your lifeless body remained? 

Would he once again wonder aimlessly with no one to care for him? 

You could only hope that he would find someone else. 

"I'm sorry." You whispered into his soft fur and clutched him closer to you and you remained that way until your grip of time had slipped and the only thing that told you that it was still the same night was the darkness that encompassed the room, most of the candles having long since burnt out of their wicks apart from one that was little more than a pinprick of light. Even with the pull of sleep turning your limps into heavy, useless extensions and the weariness burning at your drooping eyes you could not allow yourself to fall unconscious. You were desperate to keep as much time between yourself at the ritual as possible, even though it was a fool's errand of course, as the moon was still drifting along its path in the sky and the sun was still on its way to rise over the horizon. Tomorrow would come regardless of your distress and fate. Time was cruel and it stopped for no one. But still you could not let yourself sleep even with Cat embraced in your arms, and his body thrummed with a rare bout of purring. . . It was loud. Oddly so and you opened your eyes that you were not aware that you had even shut. And when you looked down, Cat was absent from his place against your chest even though he had just been there a second ago. 

Worry broke through the exhaustion that sapped your bones and you were up in an instant, sitting up in the bed with the linens pooling around your waist while your gaze roves around the room and it does not pause until it finds a familiar shape in the darkness, watching you from a shaded corner. His eyes reflect the light from the dimming candle, and they bore into you with that pale shimmer. An unsettling chill trickles down your neck and raises the hair at your nape. The gleam of them disturbs some part of you, but you cannot place why. It is a look you recognize but it feels wrong and alien. 

Its eyes. There is something wrong with its eyes. 

"What are you doing over there?" You ask, and your voice is little more than a whisper, low from sleep and unease. But he does not so much as blink, continuing to stare steadily and the candlelight wobbles on its wick and the cats shadow flickers. It is a strange shadow, much too big for a creature so small.  

Then without any warning he shoots up from his place, trotting across the expanse of the floor and slipping from the door that had been left ajar.

Had it always been open? No

You hardly question it before you are scrambling from the bed to take after him, harshly whispering for him to come back as you pick up what little bit remains of the candle to light your way before hesitantly peek your head between the open gap of the threshold and door, scanning the hallway. But there is not a single guard in sight. The hierodules that had been stationed outside of your quarters were absent. Another peculiarity that is brushed aside when you catch the tip of Cat's tail vanishing amongst the heavy shadows that blot out the hallway and you chase after him regardless, shielding the tiny flame with your hand lest it blow out from the hasty speed of your walking. 

You are being watched you can tell, and your mind distantly supplies that it must be the murals observing you. The painted eyes of the old priestesses and spirits that adorn the walls in robes and vines made from strokes of scarlet and hunter and cerulean. But you could not let yourself look to their judgmental and buoyant faces. 

"Come here!" You hiss lowly through gritted teeth and cast a wary glance across your shoulder to briefly study the black void behind you, hoping that there is nothing lurking within it. 

And you walk for what felt like forever, chasing after the cats wavering tail that turns around twisting halls that do not seem to end, never catching up no matter how quickly you shift your pace. And it is not until you come across another bend in the corridor that the suffocating walls finally seem to open up into a massive room of dust and stones, and the light from the candle casts a glow across the space that was much too abundant considering the modest size of the flame. But he is nowhere to be seen, almost as though he has vanished from thin air. 

The air is damp here, clinging to your skin like the spray of the ocean's waves but much less pleasant. It is much more akin to the sweat that covers you when under the influence of a sickness, you decide. And the aged earthy aroma that permeates the air is even more troubling. Musty and cloying like rancid grapes. It has your nose wrinkling, and you suppress the urge to gag while you investigate the room. It takes a moment for you to make sense of what you are seeing, making out the details of the great room from underneath the oily yellow glow of the candlelight. 

There are large rectangular divots that had been crudely chiseled or dug into the stone near the base of the floor and the many burrows line above each other and descend up along the wall and towards the high tenebrous ceiling. But nestled delicately within each one is some sort of lump, gently wrapped in a rich red clothe. 

That nasty sense of unease washed over you again, prickling at your skin and your heart skips a beat at the sudden burst of fear. But there is curiosity too. It emerges from the recesses of your mind and seems to take a hold of your body, nudging you towards one of the burrows, and with each step you forget why you are even here. The search for your wayward cat completely discarded. Your focus is completely arrested one the form hidden underneath the vibrant silks, and that apprehensive part of you dislike how large the hidden shape seems. 

You mouth has gone dry and your tongue sticks uselessly to the roof of your mouth and a part of you wonders if you would be able scream should you need to. You feel helplessly trapped within your body, like a reluctant passenger, once again forced to be paraded around in a vessel that you did not want to sit upon. And all you could do was watch and feel as your shaky had rose over the red silhouette. You felt the silk underneath your fingertips, too soft and too smooth. Like water. Like blood.  And your mind ceaselessly chants no, no, no even as your body refuses to yield to its commands and your fingers pinch the cloth in a hold and pull it back from the shape. And the blood in your veins seems to freeze despite the way that it races, and the pit of your stomach drops like a stone. 

You want to look away, but your head is locked in place and every muscle has coiled inside of your body tightly. You are paralyzed and pinned where you stand, forced to stare down at the gaunt remains. The sunken eyes and withered, leathered skin pulled taught around its bones like the skeleton is trying to break free from its own body. And brittle hairs still collect around the skull, that once probably shimmered yellow like the rays of the sun but was no lackluster and dry, frayed in its braids. Pinned in place underneath the wring of a ceremonial crown. Vine leaves and olive branches that is embellished with the bright blossoms of poppies. The crown you would be forced to wear tomorrow to symbolize your union with the Endless.  

A shaky exhale rattles out, a dry rasping sound that you would have easily blamed on yourself and the fear squeezing your body in a harsh grip if not for the way that you see the mummified bride's chest quiver unsteadily. She is still alive with her body forced into some sort of permanent sleep. You cannot help but wonder how long she has been held captive here. A hostage in this awful, animated state. And all of these other shapes swaddled in red silks are other sacrifices. And they too are all still awake you realize once you hear the dry whispers of their breath echo across the chamber. 

You want to scream. You can feel it rising and clawing at your throat, but it never escapes, balling up harshly in your chest and just sitting there. But whatever spell had been casted over you finally slips and you stumble back from the burrow and the mummified bride, and your knees shake and give, and you fall onto the chilled floor, dropping the tiny candlestick on your decent. Your knees scrape the rough granite, erupting with streaks of red but you can't be bothered to care, too focused on crawling away from the looming walls, towards the center of the room while your eyes search from the entrance, but it is nowhere to be found. You spin on your knees ignoring the sting, expecting to find the threshold, but all you see are the cold painted walls, adorned with stars and poppy fields and strange beasts with wings and horns and some have the faces of men and the bodies of beasts. But even worse are the open tombs carved into the walls, and they suddenly seem like gapping, hungry mouths and the red silks that adorn the bodies seem more like lashing tongues. 

The candle flickers unsteadily, melted wax pouring around the weak flame, threatening to drown it and douse you in darkness. You make to crawl towards it before it before it can be snuffed out, but your stopped short by a pair of gleaming eyes watching you. The dark fur tells you who it is but your gut lurches at the sight of the cat. And some buried instinct tells you that something is not right. 

The eyes you realize, are tinged with a faint scarlet around the edges, staining the pale silver glow. And it was wrong. That was not the right color. This was not your cat. How did you not notice before?

It was an imposter. The face too narrow, its shadow too big. Too sharp. 

Your heart flutters like a startled bird and your breath seizes in your lungs when the red silks bound around the brides starts to drip and flow down from the stones like liquid. Blood. Their garb has shifted into blood and is pouring and merging into a massive pool around the edge of the wall and it steadily grows. 

The brides labored breathing whistles across the air, raising in volume until it hurts, harshly grating in your ears in a shrill pitch. And the sound mutates into a chorus of screams that you swear you can feel dragging over your skin like claws. You cover your ears with your hands to muffle the impact of the tortured shrieking, but it offers you no solace from the pain. And all the while the cat - the thing - stares at you from its place on the bloody floor, stained by the very red that is closing in on you from all corners, but you cannot find it in yourself to look past the agony to find strength and collect yourself from the cold granite. 

The red pours around the remaining bit of the candle and the small flame at the end of the wick hisses and sputters at the liquids touch. The light emitting from it dims considerably, threatening to enclose the catacomb in a void. And the cats shadow seems to expand underneath the waning fire, stretching in a jagged way that looks like arms trying to tear free from cloth or skin.

And the cat - a mere extension of the true monster - steps forward while its eyes burn brighter. And the blood is upon you, threatening to touch you. Nausea churns in your stomach and all of the muscles in your body draw taught. You are forced to watch as the creature grows closer, and all you can do is try your best to prepare to fight it, as pathetic as your odds no doubt are. And the brides screaming warbles and shifts into a painful mocking laughter as though they could sense your thoughts. And it makes you feel like an animal caught in a cage. A bird pinned between jagged teeth and the jaws are closing in. The walls and shadows move in closer and their joyous howling and giggling rises in a crescendo, celebrating your anticipated death. You brace as best as you can, balling your hands into fists so tightly that your nails break the skin, watching as the monstrous shadow builds up and prepares to lash out with obsidian talons. 

But the killing blow never comes. Instead, a pair of steady arms wrap around your body, encasing you against the comfort of a chest. And a rush of scents washed over you with its presence, and you struggle to place what it reminds you of. The musk of the soil after fresh rain, the salt of the sea, a calm breeze on a summer night; light and floral and earthy, but those descriptions also do no service to the fragrance that engulfs you. And with it something magnetic dances across your skin and it steals your breath away and your body threatens to melt against theirs. 

Your mind can hardly catch up with what you are seeing. The bloody floor of the burial chamber dematerializes from underneath you, but you do not fall but your body tenses in preparation regardless. The walls shake with a tremendous groan, splitting under the seize and giving under spills of sand and the murals bleed with the fractures. And the air is electric with something heavy and alive and angry, and it courses across your skin and siphons the air from your lungs from the gravity of it. Even the beast made from shadows lurches back as if it was struck and hisses underneath the heat of the rage permeating the atmosphere, clawing against the wall that was rapidly disintegrating and losing tangibility. And the beast screams along with the brides as they vanish from existence. One final baleful cry that rattles your bones and shudders over you before it drowns out completely and with it the catacomb all but vanishes and instead of the blood-soaked stones you are looking down at the expanse of the night sky with stars spread out underneath your feet. 

You brain fails to register that you appear to be hovering over a cluster of distant galaxies and you are left to stare down dumbly at the dark mass of the sky, taking in the stretch of the rich splashes of blues and stellar remnants and stardust gathered like clusters of diamonds and the scale of it nearly makes you forget about the press of someone's body along your back. Their arms around your waist in a tight hold, but there is also a sort of reluctance in their grip made known by the rigidity from the muscles of their arms and the narrow gap left between your bodies. But even between the space you can feel the low heat of them radiating against you. A part of you wanted to look over your shoulder, to discover the face of your savior but some pull in your gut warned you not. That you would not like what you would see. And so, you keep still underneath their embrace, staring off into the quiet breadth of the cosmos where comets drop across the darkness like crystalline tears. Seconds pass without either of you moving, as still as statues. As though if either of you so much as breathed the delicate emanation that cocooned the both of you would shatter. But despite your hesitation there was a prickle of curiosity tugging at you, and you could not deny the pull and you made to slowly turn your head in an attempt to sneak a glance over your shoulder. 

You barely manage to twitch a muscle of movement before they seem to shed their initial diffidence and nestle their face near the nape of your neck, and you can feel the tip of their nose brush against your ear like they mean to hide their identity from you. Their chest expands against the flat of your back, and it takes a moment for your overstimulated brain to realize that they are drawing in a breath, taking your scent into their lungs and holding it there like its oxygen. For some reason it sends of thrum of heat over your body, and combined with the steady, pulsating hum of otherworldly power that courses through the air, it makes you feel as though you may collapse. That you might come apart and burst into flames. There is no chill of fear and disgust does not rise in your stomach like nausea instead their presence feels welcomed. And despite the foreign sensation of their touch, there is also a sense of familiarity to it. Like finally falling into the arms of an old lover. 

They move their head from your by just a few scant inches, and a strange part of you mourns the loss. You wished that the hover of their lips would land on your skin, but they do not. The circle of their arms seems to press you in closer, like they cannot bear even the possibility of you parting.

For a moment the cosmos seems to halt, the intersperse collection of individual galaxies and stars pausing in their rotations and the night holds its breath and so do you. Then a sound purrs out, a heavy baritone that pours across the silence of the universe and fills you with honey and warmth. A deep, smoky cadence that you can feel curling inside the cavern of your chest and running deep across your bones and the nerves and sinew of your entire being. 

"This dream is over." 

You wake with a start. Sucking air into your lungs with a strained gasp while your hands reach around the bedding in a mindless scramble, struggling to orient yourself, but eventually you are able to at least prop your body up on shaky arms. Your eyes rove across your surroundings, no longer taking in the breathless view of stardust and nebulas but the dull clay walls of your vacant quarters and apart from yourself the bed is empty. A quick press of your hand against the stuffed mattress confirms that Cat - you're Cat had been there at some point in the night, the heat still trapped within the fabric from where he sat next to you. And you had shakily removed from yourself from the bed and searched the room for him. You had even approached the door, pressing your head against the wood and contemplated opening it but you could hear one of the guards shuffling behind it, trying to find some reprieve for their aching feet. And so, you returned to the bed with that dark voice still echoing in your ears. You could not sleep. Not even if you wanted. Not with that shadowed creature lurking and that familiar stranger invading your mind. The Nightmare Ruler, your brain supplied without forgiveness, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine. 

And you lay there for hours, now awaiting the sunrise despite the threat that it posed, clinging to your own body with shaking arms as you stare into the darkness, waiting to find something looking back. But soon the maids are pouring into your room and scattering around the foot of your bed, and they must have noticed the panic on your face as a hint of curiosity bleeds through their blase expressions, apart from that single one who always seems to be plotting your demise. 

"Is something the matter? You look troubled." And even in your tired haze you know that it is the voice of the one who openly dislikes you. The one with the sable hair and venomous words. Euthymia, you had learned her name to be. She makes no effort to hide the delight in her tone and in turn you do not even try to school the scowl that takes over your features, pinning her with an open glower, but it does nothing to extinguish the joyful gleam in her eyes. The other servants are ushering you out of bed, already cooing and gushing over the prospect of preparing you for the day ahead and you suddenly feel as though you have been tossed into a lake of ice. The five-day long celebration is coming to a close. The ritual is tonight. 

They ignore your distress, urging you to shed your slip and climb into the bath full of steaming water and oils to prepare you for the ritual. And they had patted you dry when you had gotten out of the tub so that they could dap at your skin with lotions and perfumes. Running marjoram in your hair and something faintly sweet but heady and spicy beneath your jaw. Even spreading fragrances across your inner thighs and palm oil around your breasts. It had an embarrassed heat prickling across your face, and you nearly scoffed at their presumptuousness. And then they were guiding you to kneel on the cushions placed before the large, polished bit of bronze propped along the wall, using the reflection so that you may observe the process as they worked. You were in a fog as they combed your hair and set it and pinned it in a way that they deemed worthy, but you cannot stop thinking of that velvet timber and the feeling of being watched by concealed eyes prickles along your body. And you try to ignore the sensation, telling yourself that it is just paranoia. 

But you could not dwell on your troubles for long before you had taken notice of the strip of fabric from the corner of your eye. And a better look had confirmed it was indeed that dreadful gown that had been laid out along the cushions. You stared from your peripheral vision and each time your head moved even the slightest degree out of their disliking one of the maids would jerk it back into place, scolding you underneath their breath, but your eyes did not stray from the pieces of clothing once. It would have been a gorgeous thing if not for the horror that is comes with it. A vibrant scarlet and intricate gold and black stitching and embroidery. But you could not marvel over its beauty, instead you eyed it warily as though it was poisonous. And perhaps it was.

It truly disturbed you. That horrid red thing that signaled the final chapter of your life, and you could hear the anguished cries and manic laughter of the brides from your nightmare echoing out from the depths of your mind. You could not suppress the way you shuddered. Was that meant to be your fate? A captive in her own body, suppressed underneath a spell of eternal slumber while her body wasted away in a forgotten tomb? You had heard rumors of what happened to the nightmare king's brides after the ritual. Presumptions truly, fabricated speculation that had no true foundation as the priestesses are very private about the affairs of the ceremony that do not require the presence of the villagers. And the townspeople are typically guided out of the temple after the connection between the Chosen and the Endless has been successfully tethered.

Most speculations were good natured enough. Painting the role of becoming one of the Dream King's brides in a lavish light. Something to be envious of, with many saying that to be one of his Chosen was to spend eternity of nights in endless pleasure, with the world at your fingertips. 

But there had been other more sinister whispers, idle gossip that the unconscious brides were taken to a subterranean set of tunnels built underneath the temple. Dug to house the women as they slept on, not killed so as not to sever the link between them and the dream god but kept animated and sleeping within the icy tombs of the catacombs. Kept that way so that the deity could torment them in the halls of kingdom for all eternity. Feasting on their souls and flesh. But many refuse to believe the rumor, even your own father had rebutted the very possibility, as he was a firm believer that the Chosen were simply killed off after the ritual and their bodies were burned so that the ashes could be released upon the winds and lifted to the gods along with the plume incents and smoldering herbs. 

But neither option fared well for you. 

"You had seemed quite distressed when we came in. Did you have a nightmare, my lady?" Euthymia asks, voice sickly sweet with false sincerity. "How strange that the Dream King would allow his Chosen to be harassed by his spirits." And she pats the juice of crushed mulberries onto the rise of your cheeks to add color to your skin, but the push of her fingertips was much too harsh. You were tempted to lunge at her but restrained yourself. 

"Not at all. In fact, I had a rather pleasant dream. " You reply cooly, not allowing her to see you shaken and you tilt your head, pretending to admire the way that they had dressed your hair and decorated it with flowers and pieces of jewels. " It was a rather pleasurable one." 

"Pleasurable?" Comes her nonplussed response and her hand pauses, simply hovering. 

"Oh, yes." You speak lowly, like you are sharing a scandalous story, and your tone is all smooth and honeyed. " It was not a nightmare that visited me, but the Dream King himself. " And you cannot help but internally gloat at the way that some part of her seems to waver, visibly deflating underneath your lie. " He had crawled between my thighs you see and ravished me with his tongue in ways that no mortal man ever could." Even the other ladies had halted in their routine, stopping to listen to your hastily spun fib. And you casted your gaze downward to your hands demurely, like you were shy or embarrassed that you had lost your manners. Scandalized, the other maids had bent towards each other and exchange giggling whispers, but Euthymia was less than enthused. And for the remainder of your time together she had been tightlipped and scowling, and you were surprised that a storm cloud had not been following her every move with how bothered she seemed to be. 

But you could not deny that she made a good point. Why had you suffered from a nightmare at all? It had been sometime since you had. You could hardly recall when it had been last. Perhaps you truly had done something to anger the god. But that had been him, had it not? The one who had come to your aid and taken you in his arms and spoke to you with that smoky cadence. It must have been if the way that he had ended your dream so easily was any indication. And that primordial vibration that had surrounded you both; it was the same that you had felt at the pyre when that strange man was watching. 

And perhaps tonight you would get the answers that you seek, but then you might not want them. 

The rest of the day pours in a distorted stream, and you hardly register slipping into you into that disturbing red garb and you barely notice when the priestesses and temple guards arrive to collect you from the maids and guide you to the dinning haul of the commune where you are assisted down to the sunken floor in the center of the room as some sort of center piece, once again forcing you to sit underneath the eyes of hundreds. You feel exposed, as though you were not wearing clothes at all. Stripped for them to criticize and leer at. You were sure that every person in the village was here to enjoy the banquet. Even the servants were allotted freedom from their duties for the final night of the ritual and were free do dine alongside their masters as equals. 

And once again they had provided you with the best meats and fruits and wine available. The finest of the bounty collected over the farms and orchards for you to gorge yourself on like a swine before its slaughter and because of that you could not bring yourself to eat despite the hollow pit in your gut that begged you to do so.  And you could feel the Priestesses dozen eyes boring into from their place from above, no doubt taking your refusal to eat as not just an insult to themselves but to their god as well. Good. 

But the townspeople did not seem to care, laughing freely and enjoying the festivities without pause and you had been forced to sit as time waned and the sun drifted closer and closer towards the edge of the earth, no matter how much you wished and willed for it not to. And once the townspeople had finished indulging on mead and wine and satiated their hunger, the shrine had collected you once more to climb upon the palanquin that awaited outside, surrounded by servants who prepared to march you across the town from the strength of their shoulders to the Temple of Morpheus where death awaited you. You had tried to struggle against the shackles of the hierodules hands that had seized your arms and shoulders like bands of steel. But you could not shake yourself from their grip and they were mercilessly placing you upon the extravagant cushions of the human-powered vehicle to be suspended high in the air. 

And the townspeople congregated around you as you were carried from the walls of the commune and into the streets, lighting the way with burning torches. And many people had once again adorned themselves in the beastly costumes and danced and cavorted around the palanquin and through the crowd. The Sisters' lead the collective. And you had noticed in the head priestesses' hands, she cradled an obsidian bowl covered by a lid decorated by strokes of gold. A harmless item that on its own would have done nothing to inspire fear in you, but you had heard hushed conversation of its contents before. Some sort of vapor that smoldered from the extract of the poppy flower, and it would serve to tether you to the gods. Or in this occasion one god in particular. 

And once again blossoms and seeds were being tossed over the procession in a celebratory display. In the hands of men and women and children alike people carried votive offerings for the Endless, such as figurines of animals and carvings of a humanoid figure.  And in the cavalcade, musicians were present, playing from a kithara and an aulos, and a lyra. But even over the cheering and commotion and music you could hear a soft repetitive ruffle along the low breeze. You had jerked your head up to search the sky, nearly straining a muscle in the process but the pain had faded into the background at the sight of a dark bird coasting along the current. And a faint iridescent sheen had gleamed on its feathers from underneath the dimming sunlight and the Priestesses - and in turn the crowd had all rejoiced at the bird's appearance, as it no doubt heralded good fortune. 

But you did not share their positive reactions. You heard all the stories, that the ravens were the dark god's familiars, serving as his eyes and ears when he himself could not be present. Your anxiety had not time to settle no matter how much you tried to swallow it down and the presence of the circling bird did nothing to quell the bubbling fear in your gut and bones. 

And soon the procession ventured from the village and the pale marble of the temple seemed to rise from the hill behind the security of its protective wall. It was the only building that had been spared in the initial siege from the Oneiroi when the Nightmare King had abandoned the village in his scorn. It is just the same as when you had last saw it as a child. The ghostly white columns that reminded you of the remains of a skeleton, and the sculpted pediment that depicted beastly creatures in various poses; lashing out and snarling while some seemed to be frozen in the motion of dance. But in the center was a more human figure. No doubt the Endless himself. And the scene was painted in blues and black, with hints of red and gold embellishments.  

And the closer you got to the temple the more your anxiety climbed, until you trembled where you sat, staring into the vacant eyes of the god's sculptured image. And even those they were not real they seemed to bore into you and flay you open until all of your emotions and shaky breaths poured out. Even the sheer fabric of your veil did little to lessen the feeling. 

It was not until you felt hands circling the shape of your arms that you came to and were able to discern that you had been lowered to the ground of the courtyard and were being pulled from your knees, and you were wordlessly guided up the temple. But you did not feel the stairs underneath your feet and the music and laughter sounded as though it were coming from miles away, carried in on a foreign wind. And even when you stepped upon the landing and two of the sisters spun you around to face the crowd down below that had not felt real either. It was like looking at a tapestry of faded figures and blurred colors. 

Then the head priestess stepped in front of you in a flash of black, blotting out your vision of the crowd like the moon obstructing the sun in an eclipse, but you were thankful for it. Then her voice broke out in a shrill bellow, the passion expelling from her cracking it around the edges. " Tonight marks the emergence of our return to grace and glory from underneath the compassion of our god! " She cried and the crowd cried along with her, waving their torches animatedly to show their elation. " No longer will we be shunned by His Sovereignty for we have been given a chance to correct a wrong that should never have happened! To bow our heads in humble plea and return to him which was stolen all those years ago!" 

It made you nauseous the way they spoke of you. As though you were some frivolous token to be bartered. How they did not see you or any of the women before you as human beings with lives and wants and futures but as a cow to be slaughtered. A coin to be exchanged for lavish fabrics and abundant crops. And you could feel the stinging heat of anger filling your chest and pushing out heavy breaths from your lungs. But when the Head Priestess had shifted and moved from out of your vision it left you to make eye contact with the cheering masses; her voice had faded into a low, distant drone. And inside their crazed sort of jubilation, you could see every other emotion that you had felt since the Endless had descended his hoard upon the village in incessant torment: Loss, pain, fear, hunger, sorrow, confusion. 

Many lives have been lost since the day that he had seemed you all unworthy of his gratitude and sanctuary. He had turned the land barren and dry and the animals that had once flourished here have all been culled by his nightmares and their numbers have suffered and dwindled greatly. But as much as you sympathized with these people, understood their plight, you did not owe them anything. Certainly not your life. Especially since they had casted you from your home without so much as a backward glance, forcing you live along the forest all because you were not a kept woman. 

And in five years' time there would be another there would be another girl here, standing just as you do now, willing or unwilling to bear the collectives sins, to pacify the Endless for the good fortune. It would be a ceaseless loop. History repeating itself one poor soul at a time. 

A part of you considered fighting free from the sisters' hold. Of running down the steps and out of the temple grounds without looking back. But even if you happened to make it past the massive crowd of desperate villagers and to the sea, there were no ships, no small rowboats left for fishing. All of the seafaring vessels had been all but demolished by his spirits to keep all of the locals who wronged him trapped on the island to endure the full brunt of his punishment. And even those who have managed to hide the construction boats - avoiding the Ruler of Nightmares many scrutinizing eyes and pushed their watercraft into the dark waves while underneath the shine of the sun, when his influence was claimed to be at its weakest had all disappeared into the heavy wall of fog that surrounds the coast. Only the remains of their boats would float back to shore, sometimes with blood staining the waves.

You truly were left to the fate that these people and their god spared you to. 

Then the head priestess was spinning around in a flurry of robes, and you could not evade the fervor of her gaze, could not flee from, still immobilized by her sisters and their rigid hold of their hands. The gleam in her eyes was detached and wild; the darkness of her pupils swelling, eating up the colored rings around their borders until they were nearly gone. It was the expression of someone who could not be reasoned with. Poisoned by power and hope. But you did not waver underneath the weight of her fixed stare. 

Then one of the sisters was gripping you by the nape of your neck, the movement unexpected enough to pull a startled cry from your lips. It did not give you time to register the obsidian bowl being lifted to your face, the lid being removed to release plumes of smoke. Even through the veil you could feel the warmth of the vapors caressing the skin of your cheeks. It is all so abrupt that you inhale a large lungful in the midst of your struggle, and the scent of it overwhelms you. Stuffing your mouth and nostrils full of something sweet and floral, tinged with the musk of the earth. It reminds you of flowers, of incents but also not at all. And your lungs are too busy heaving around the unexpected rush of smoke and your mind too confused and scrambled to feel or focus on the world around you, and the Priestesses voice was the last coherent thing to break through the fog: "Do not fight this, my dear. " Her voice crooned. Too sweet, to gentle for her cruelty. "To you we give thanks for your sacrifice for our prosperity." 

And in your distress, you tried to think of anything to keep yourself grounded and present. Anything to keep you here in your body, terrified of crossing over and falling into the Nightmare King's gnashing teeth. So you think of your list of chores awaiting you at home; tending to the garden now that life was coming back to the soil, setting more traps in the forest, plucking wild strawberries from the small cluster that you had discovered growing in a small grove, seeing Cat again - the little beast refuses to eat unless you prompt him to (there is no one else to take care of him) - and walking along the beach during the sunrise. Feeling the sand and water underneath your toes and watching the sunlight reflect and dapple the surface. But soon the thoughts were drowning out underneath the impression of the fuzz and haze that blanked your mind. You felt as though your soul was rising from the casing of your body and floating up to the sky above the temple, but you could still feel your knees making contact with the cold marble floors, though the feeling was far off and dull. But there was still anger simmering through your veins. Hurt and betrayal. What were you mad about? 

And the world around you is a rush of colors and blurred shapes and muffled sounds. But you do not want to focus on it regardless. You can't when the weightlessness is pulling at your fingertips and threatening to take you away with it (but you can't leave, what about him?) and deposit you among the stars, and the only thing that gives you even a scrap of connection to your own body is the repetitive pulse of your heartbeat coursing in your ears. The floral sugar and salt of the smoke still coats your tongue, and you can feel it in your lungs, heavy and syrupy. And the drag of your relaxed limbs seems to pull you down now instead of up, with the thrum of your heart doing little to center you anymore. But its less of a pulse now and more of pound -an angry crash. That's not right, is it? 

You try to blink. To get some scope of reality, but it's difficult to keep your eyes past the blurred sting. Are you crying? No, that is not right either. It is no longer a steady beat, but a deafening layered rumble, muffled but also painfully loud. You can faintly see past the red sheer of your veil glimpses of black and blue streak across your vision, with peeks of flashes of tiny pale dots.

It is all to distorted and airy. Too muddled for your mind to make something tangible but then your body is being tossed by some unforeseen force. A sharp, unrelenting pull that moves your entire being like it weighs nothing and the air is snatched from your lungs, and you choke on something. Some deeply imbedded survival instinct awakens and your body flails, limbs dragging and reaching through the thick atmosphere in attempt to grab ahold of something. Anything to orient yourself and make sense of what is happening to you, but your hands come up empty. Your lungs twitch, trying to draw in a breath but instead they burn, and the sting is so potent that it licks a trail up your throat and the pungent taste of salt blankets you tongue.

Water, some faint thought breaches the cotton that stuffs your skull. You're in water. 

And your body moves on its own, arms and legs kicking to propel in what you hope is the direction of the surface. In a glance upward you notice the distorted expanse of what must be the waves, and through the commotion above you see that glimpse of those burning pinpricks of light again and with no other alternative, fueled by an animalistic sort of fear you swim towards it. You can only hope that you make it up in time, with your lungs aching and burning like smoldering embers within your chest. You can already feel your limbs growing sluggish from the lack of oxygen and the heavy tow of your ceremonial robes, but you try your best to keep moving, dragging yourself forward with weak arms and legs. But death still hangs heavy in the back of your mind. And for the second time tonight you're terrified that this may be your final moments, with your legs flailing uselessly and the darkness clouding at the base of your senses like a layer of winter ice. It makes it difficult, but it is sheer instinct and panic and hope that burns at your muscles, reviving them of their vigor and pressing you onwards. 

It is your hands that break through the surf first, quickly followed by your head and you could have sobbed with relief if you were not busy trying not to remain afloat and actively choking on the water in your throat. And you push yourself forward, even as the waves toss you in their angry roll against the shore. But blessedly under the current that threatens to drag you under and drown you it also serves to propel you forward towards the beach, jostling your body with their great power and you feel like a child's toy that had been lost over the side of a boat. It is on the pale crest of an angry wave that you meet the shore, being carelessly discarded on the sand and the rush of water pelts across your back, soaking you one final time before retreating back into the ocean behind you. 

You gather as much as strength as you have left to prop yourself up on your hands and knees, carrying yourself across the beach with wobbling limbs while your abdomen and chest shiver and heave in a violent fit. The muscles of your body squeezing you tightly to expel the sea water from your lungs in a shaky grip that has you gasping and wheezing. And even though your lungs sting like a raw wound as you suck in a ragged inhale, the dim feel of oxygen filling your lungs is wonderful, like a healing ointment smoothed over a fresh burn. You allow yourself to collapse onto your stomach once you escape the reach of the sea, but it is difficult to see, to hear and even still hard to breathe with the thin fabric of your veil clinging to the shape of your face from the weight of the water pulling the material down, pressing it against the divots of your nostrils nearly waterboarding you with each breath. 

You blindly yank at the veil, tearing it and your Stefana from your head with an angry huff, carelessly tossing it. You do not see where it falls but you can hear it land with an unattractive wet plap. You blink freely now able to take in your surroundings now that, that cursed thing is no longer tainting your vision. You deduce quickly that you are on a beach. Obviously. But it does not appear to be the one that you often find yourself strolling down on your free time, fantasizing about distant lands or the Isles of the Blessed, or the islands where the sirens live and lure sailors to their deaths. The sand was far too pale. Too soft. And when you moved it seemed to glitter like snow underneath sunlight. But it was a glance upward that confirmed your awful reality. The sky above was not yours. The scattering of stars not sparing enough and the expanse of it was not simply a dark backdrop but splashed with vibrant rich nebulas of azure and silver and pale golds against the black velvet of space. The stardust seemed to shift as though the heavens were a living breathing thing. And the constellations above you are unrecognizable. There is no Orion, lunging forward to strike or brace against the blow of a foe, and the scattered knot of the Pleiades is absent from the sky.  

Your heart sinks to the base of your gut and a heated rock seems to lodge itself in your throat, rising with the threat of tears all from the bruising reality that you are no longer home. Not just the island, or your house, but the entire plain of your existence. Plucked from everything you have ever known by the hands of your people to appease a monster. Heartlessly thrown into the deity's domain. Forgotten and used. 

You remembered the tales told by your mother and the words that had been passed down from priestess to priestess across the centuries that spoke of the Nightmare Ruler's world: The Dreaming, it was called. The place that served as the cradle of the universe's collective unconsciousness, housing the minds a mortal, beast and god alike while they slept. An extension of the Endless himself. The entire realm was a dream in its own right. That means that you must be able to wake from it. Perhaps you could will yourself awake if you concentrated enough. You have been never much of a lucid dreamer. Only able to do small feats of altering landscapes or changing the color of your dress. You had never been aware enough to wake yourself. But maybe here in the Dreaming you would be able to conjuror some sort of exit. 

You centered your attention down to a single thought: Waking up. Of feeling the drag of consciousness slipping back into your physical body and opening your eyes. And you pushed that thought until your body responded with the ferocity of it, your muscles tensing under the strain of it, and you are left gasping, the same as you had when you crawled ashore. You think of your body, still and induced in that horrific stasis, being purified underneath the smoke of incense and wrapped in the red silk and voile fabric by the Priestesses to be carried and stuffed down in the catacombs like a forgotten relic. You thought of waking suddenly. Of tearing yourself from the cloth and fleeing home and dropping to your knees to burry your fingers in the soil there and crying with the relief that would swell within your chest and blossom with the joy of being home. 

And you had found that in your desperation you had actually crumbled to your knees, but you did not feel the gentle earth beneath your hands but sand.

You take to pinching at your arm in a pathetic attempt to try and escape the Dreaming, twisting the flesh between your fingertips until it stung but to no avail. 

And a low, heavy wind rumbled across the beach, howling over the waves and the field of crimson blossoms and golden wheat, punctuating the silence and the loneliness that hung over you like the aftermath of a tempest. Defeat weighed down your shoulders as you watched the thrashing ocean with a sense of detachedness. Then something in the air seemed to shift, pulsing with something alive. That distantly familiar alien thrum and you could feel it against your skin; a magnetic pressure that reminded you of a brief night in the cosmos, held in a tight embrace. You did not have to turn to confirm who the presence was. You did not know if you had the strength to. The fear and gravity of the beings pull nearly seized your lungs, and you clenched your hands into fist to bear the feeling of it. And then that velveteen rasp speaks out, moving down your body like a flow of water and smoke and you can feel the hum of it in your bones.  

"I had no intention of your arrival being so distressful. Had you not struggled your coming would not have been so violent. " His tone is a placid timbre, but you swear you can detect sympathy - perhaps a sort of regret - tinged into the edges of his words. But it does little to placate you. His detached surprise at your anguish only serves to mutate your sorrow and defeat and it gives way into anger, searing at you like a burning fire that needs something to burn, and chars any remaining pieces of your self-preservation and wit, making you forget that you were in front of deity that has seen eons come and go in its lifetime and was currently holding your mind and possibly your soul hostage. But you did not care. Not now, with your entire life in an upheaval. And even then, you still can't bring yourself to look at it - the source of that primordial electric pulse. To confirm all of your fears, that home was truly out of reach, that you were entirely out of depth and in a plain that you did not belong in. There was a safety in your delusions, your self-imposed ignorance. And so you stared at the angry, rolling waves and pretended that they were your own, not daring to turn yet. "What was your intention? " You inquired, not even bothering to hide the scorn in your broken voice. Not caring of the consequences. " That you'd just steal me away from everything I've ever known, and I'd be content with it?" 

"Look at me. " 

It is a simple set of words, but the conviction of it beats across the very fabric that binds and creates the Dreaming, rippling over the sand, shifting stars and stirring the already tumulus waves to threatening heights and the power of it runs through your unconsciousness as well, tingling across your body and it commands you to move. An unwelcome reminder of your mortality and the scope of the deity and his domain. You turn slowly, helpless to ignore the order even while you dread looking upon him. Wondering if he would wear the skin of a monster to punish you for your ire. Perhaps contorted limbs and bloody jagged teeth or stretched flesh and the lifeless abysmal gaze of that otherworldly helm.

There is none of that. No cloak made of nightmares or terror. Just a man. But that is not right either. 

Regardless of the glamour he had casted this was no man. Ignoring the information as told by the naked eye all of the minute tells became glaringly obvious, such as the way his skin was too soft and free from blemish or flaw, like the statues crafted in his commemoration; the messy tresses of his hair that appeared as though they were spun from the night sky itself and the impossible blue of his eyes that mimicked the shade of a crystalline sea, or perhaps they were a reflection of the very nebulas above you now. He is so beautiful that it is almost cruel. You have to wonder why he chose you specifically. That he has been watching over you since the night at the pyre. Long before that even. That, that same voice had spoken to you during your sleep and commanded you to wake, and once again you are unable to ignore it, standing from your place on the sand. 

The brunt of his gaze is too much- scrutinizing. You felt like you were stripped bare. Every nerve, every want or worry or promise that you had ever made was laid out across the shore for him examine. You quailed underneath the breadth of it, the sheer intensity was maddening - that there seemed to be no secret that you could hide from him. The entirety of your mind held within the webbing of his domain for him study and toy with.  

"Why do you fear me?" He asked, and you could laugh or cry at the question but neither would do proper service to express the severity of your emotions. The turmoil and confusion. He sounded so sincere. Just as perplexed as you even though his stance was devoid of any body language. Rigid and exact, with an almost clinical posture. But you could see it in his eyes. A small, fleeting glimpse of his own confusion, a slight furrow of an eyebrow, but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, erased and blotted out by that aloof expression. 

You were not even sure how to respond, and for a moment your mouth hangs open silently while you collect yourself and find your voice: " I - just - all of the death. " You finally answer lamely, trying to swallow around the dryness of your throat. " The slaughter and starvation. The disease. The suffering." 

"They broke their promise. " It was said so simply. As though it was enough to justify the atrocities and it made nausea bubble in your gut, and hatred too. 

"All because of a woman." You cannot contain the way you scoff, shifting on your feet like you do not know whether to approach him or step away and create more space, your body prickling underneath weight of his aura and his unwavering observation. "You had hundreds slaughtered because you were not given one woman." 

"That is the price for bargaining with an Endless and taking back your word." He replied easily. A simple matter of fact for him, like it was a natural law, a part of his nature that should be expected and understood without consequence, that all failures to comply could not be faulted on him. It was just another tough reminder that this was no mortal that you stood before and that he could not be expected to obey or sympathize with the jurisdictions of your human morality.  

And there was a shift in his expression, something steely and resolute, and the distance between your bodies seemed to close in even though neither of you had placed a single step until there was only a scant space left between you. " I will do the same for you. " 

There was no past tense used. And perhaps under different circumstances you could have seen it as an intimate declaration of love, but it was uttered with a conviction that you could feel and the threat - the promise was hauntingly clear. That he would lay waste to the remaining people of your village if you refused. And although his body remained unmoved, the pressure of his influence hummed and molded against you and robbed you of your breath. It felt like you were standing within the deluge of a summer storm, caught within spires of stardust and the heat of a nova. 

"Their crime is no longer yours to bear. " He said calmly - soothingly like he was trying to placate you. " You will not be harmed. " 

"Is that really true? " You ask, still full of disbelief and contempt and this time you do venture to take a step back and blessedly he allows you, and you cannot help but be thankful that he does not shift the sands to draw you in closer.  "They tell stories of what you do to your tributes once you have them, I'm sure you've heard. That you mold yourself into the likeness of a beast and hunt them, chasing them down the halls of your palace and tearing them limb from limb for eternity: A cycle of death and pain." 

And that pale animal gleam from the bonfire burns alight in his eyes and it does little to quell your steady stream of anxiety, but his indignation does not seem to be aimed at you specifically. " Is that truly what you believe?" And there is a gentleness to him, the annoyance receding as though he was more perturbed than angry, and a part of you nearly regrets having told him, but you squash that scrap of emotion before anything can come of it. "That I am some heartless monster than means to torture you for my entertainment."  

"Well, what else am I supposed to be led to think?" Surely a being of his scope, of his age and power must realize the severity of his actions. The violence and heartache that has bleed across the island and tainted the soil at his command. The senseless slaughter and starvation, forced to helplessly watch as your loved ones succumbed to it. The horrid, twisted sleepless nights and soiled dreams, and then you can hear it again, that twisted vacant laughter, rushing blood and mutilated shadows. " Especially after you sent your nightmares out to trouble me." 

"I promise that I have done no such thing" He assured, but it did little to soothe your frazzled state. " I gave them all specific instruction not to harm you, but they are not without their own free will, and I have delt with it accordingly." He spoke of his creatures as though they were misbehaving children. Simply spoiled and wayward, and not cruel, sadistic beasts. And perhaps he truly did not mean for one of his Oneiroi to haunt you in the night. After all, he did arrive to banish the spirit from your unconsciousness, to wrap his arms around your body in a secure embrace before ending the dream. But regardless of the fact, you could not forgive him.  

"I don't care. I want to go home." 

"Is that truly what you are clinging to? Those empty cold walls, vacant of family or companionship?  Or is it them? The very people that so freely discarded you. Abandoned and out casted you as though you were a leper." 

He was right of course. You were already well aware of the fact, but it did not make it sting any less to hear, and the old memories that rose up were less than welcome. A painful reminder that even your own father and mother had rejected you, not physically but the emotional disconnect had been there. A rift had torn between your dynamic like a gaping, festering wound that had never truly healed.  They had never looked at you the same, the both of them loathing you for marring the family name and social standing. And the other villagers would all murmur and stare in disdain whenever you had ventured into town to collect fruits or fresh meats at the local market, all because you had slept with a man as an unmarried woman. And your alienation was palpable. But you did not want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it and caving in. 

"No- they didn't-" 

"But they did, didn't they?" You could not stand his confidence. How he held his head high with that resolute air of certitude and kingly ego, how the air pulsed over you and tingled at your flesh like a balm. "Leaving you all in alone in that quiet little house, hoping that you'd fall prey to one of my nightmares." 

He steps forward crowding into your space with that pale wicked gleam in his eyes and the stars hanging in the sky behind him seem to warp towards his person, as though they were trying to leave their heavenly cradle to follow him. You heart speeds from apprehension surely, but you don't find yourself leaning away from his body or trying to flee. You are stock still, hardly able to spare any pieces of your attention on anything other than him. And then he is lifting a hand to brush against your cheek, featherlight but somehow still reverent in its glide and you can feel the life radiating from it. Ice and heat simultaneously, cosmos and earth. 

"I can give you everything you crave. The life you've always dreamed of having." His voice that dark velvet purr, draping around you temptingly.  "You will want for nothing." But you are hardly hearing his words anymore too preoccupied with the tender trail of his curled fingers; his knuckles tracing a blaze of warmth down your throat, slipping down dangerously close to the bit of your chest exposed by the low hang of the garment. But his hand pauses in its descent, stopping just a few inches from the valley between your breasts, and you cannot hide the way that your body shivers at the contact, a heat stirring within you. "But it is a decision that must be made of your own accord." 

And then he is backing away from you, allowing the atmosphere to clear of its electrical charge and for oxygen fill your lungs, but your body mourns the loss of his touch regardless of your returned breath. And it is then that you are able to realize what he had said, and some bit of hope blossoms, and now it is you who makes after him, following his path as he glides through the field of red and gold. 

"Wait? I can go home if choose to?" 

"No." 

"But you just sai-"

He turns to you so quickly that it is surprising, whipping around in a stream of darkness, and in the distant stars held within the fabric of his chlamys adjust with the movement. "You are a part of the Dreaming now. There is no place for you in the mortal realm - not anymore." 

The revelation has the same effect as a pail of ice water being doused over you. Unforgiving, paralyzing. And this time you do not have the ability to respond, far too busy grappling all of the emotions that are clamoring for the forefront.  

"Your home is here now. " He insists, lips pursed in a petulant sort of way. " Regardless of if you decide to take your place alongside me, this is where you must stay. Even if you were to leave this instant, time within the Dreaming does not abide by the same laws of your world. You would return to a point not of your own. Lost in a time entirely unfamiliar." 

And the chasm that has been threatening to break seems to grow deeper, fissures and cracks breaking at the foundations. And you vehemently want to deny him. To call him out for lying. Surely, he must be, how good can the Nightmare Ruler's word truly be? Is he a being that can possibly be trusted? But if he is correct, telling the complete truth and you were able to return to your realm would you be able to survive it? The sight of your home now years, if not decades old crumpled and dilapidated from the unforgiving pressure of time might break you. He must notice that vulnerability wearing down on you, because something in his gaze softens and you wished that he didn't look like he cared because some horrid part of you - the same one that had preened underneath his touch - is comforted by his attention, left wanting for it even and you are finding it difficult to be revolted or angry anymore. You would like to blame it on remnants of that perfumed smoke being still in your system, but truthfully you have not felt its influence since you had been dunked into the ocean. The brackish water and chaotic waves seeming to have strained it from your system. Or perhaps it had been the Dreaming itself that had done so, assisted with the fact that you may not even be tethered to your body at all anymore, the effects of the smoke too distant to reach your spirit that has drifted too far from its body. Maybe you truly do belong to his realm now. And you wait for that coal of anger to burn again, but it never comes, leaving you feeling hollow and broken. Exhausted even while you stand in a world fashioned from dreams. "I'm just tired . . . " You mourn weakly, watching the reeds and blossoms sway in the soft wind. 

"Then let me ease your burden. " His voice is much closer than it had been before, and when you jerk your head up, startled from the proximity of it, the point of your nose nearly brushed against his. You are immediately drawn into the all-consuming center of his gaze, and it feels like you are being held within it, called to the edge of something yawning and consuming, beckoning you to jump and you do not think that you have the strength to pull back from it. And you found that you did not want to. 

He has not made any means to move, leaving it to you to close the distance and you do, the hesitation thawing. He tracts you as you draw near, seeming to hold a breath that he did not need, and he appears tense, rigid like he was physically restraining himself with a practiced sort of patience. And it might have frightened you earlier, but the fervor in them does nothing to dissuade you now if anything it only serves to motivate you. Inside those pale irises you see cyan and indigo and sapphire flaring like nebulas drawing you in like a flower leaning towards the sun, and for a moment you swear you caught a glimpse of something else lurking inside of them, a glimmer of his true self perhaps; something vast and entirely beyond you. It felt ancient and ever-expanding, ignited and twisting and looming. And you felt like you were on the horizon of making sense of it and both entirely too far, slipping through your muddled understanding like sand and smoke, scorching like a harsh ice. 

It is the whisper of his nose brushing against yours that draws you from your fixation, a delicate sensation but it was blessedly enough to bring you back to the present, assisted by the rich rumble of his voice. "Come back to me. " 

"I nearly fell in, " you murmur back. And it was not a lie, you had nearly lost yourself in the paradox and cosmos that created him but it was also said in an attempt to jest. And you succeeded it seemed if the light, barely there rise at the corner of his mouth way any indication. It all feels fragile, unsure but not unwelcome. Like life returning to the earth after a harsh winter, blossoms breaking through sheets of snow, guided by the tender thaw of sunlight. 

"May I touch you?" He asks, tilting his head to just barely skim the fulness of his lips against yours, not kissing you but just enough to leave your skin tingling in their wake. It is a simple question, but it is enough to have that burning ache coming alive again, taking root deep in the base of your abdomen and you find yourself nodding. Frustratingly enough he does not move, ever a pillar of restraint and he leans his head back when you tilt to close the distance between you. And you catch the smug air that surround him, and you would have snapped at him if you had the gall to, if you did not want him to just kiss you already.

"Use your words. " That dark honeyed resonance tramples any semblance of a barb that you had even fleetingly entertained. The Dreaming has long since gone quiet, seeming to betray its creator's appearance of undisturbed control with the febrile energy that tangled around the both of you, fueling your own growing need with its charge. And you were unable to withhold the plead that leaves you, a floaty sigh: "Please touch me." 

You do not compute him nearing, eliminating the remaining space that divided you to press his lips against your own, suddenly they just are. It is soft, explorative but not without longing. And the sheer need behind it has your knees going weak, and if not for the appearance of an arm around your waist you feared that you might have actually fallen. Your body thrums with a sort of unsuppressed elation, a syrupy heat spreading across your limbs and dripping down your spine, settling between the cradle of your hips from the swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip, silently asking for your permission. You thread your finger through the silken tresses of his hair and lightly scratch across his scalp. You can only feel the groan rumbling against your lips when you allow him to lick into your mouth and you immediately decide that you need to actually hear it. You are sure that the sound of that husky timbre breathing out in a rapturous moan will haunt you for the rest of eternity, and you could not wait to hear it. 

He cups your face in a single hand, securing your head with the curl of his fingers, allowing him to slant the plush of his mouth against you in an angle that let him to pull you in closer, enfolding you into the warmth of his chest. And the remaining doubt and restraint that had seemed to hold you two back was quickly beginning to melt, giving way to carnal sort of urgency. And already you are left panting, sweeping your hands across any part of him that you can, gripping the watery flow of his robes to center yourself through it all. 

You had not felt yourself tipping but your back is now pressed against the textured terrain of the Dreaming, the crushed stalks of reeds and flowers lightly digging at your skin, though it does little to take precedence over your current focus. And he is pulling away from your mouth to duck his head neath your chin, nipping and sucking at the skin there until its tender and you can tell by the way that he tucks your flesh between his teeth and licks that he is leaving marks in his wake, staking his claim upon your body and the mere idea of it has you lowly keening into the night; your body going lax underneath his. All things considered; he has not done much but your brain is already clouding with want, eyes glazing over. And then the heat of his mouth is sealing over your breast, the silk texture of your robe only adding to the pleasure as his tongue circles around your taut nipple. You can't help the way that you arch into it, seeking out more mindlessly but it is not enough. It is does little more than tease you, even with the way that he has draped himself over you he has himself suspended in a way that keeps you from being able to achieve the friction that you desire, stoking that heat inside you with eat nip and suck from his teeth and mouth. 

You can hear him chuckling from above you, the vibrations of his low smug amusement tingling across your chest, adding to your pleasure. If you were not so preoccupied with thoughtlessly trying to grind against his abdomen like a whore, you might have snapped at him for it, but instead you are removing your hands from the rich earth to sweep through his unruly hair, holding him against you instead, melting underneath the feel of his tongue. 

He does not let you have that for long either, releasing the swell of your breast and ducking from your grip, nuzzling a path down the plain of your abdomen and taking your thighs into the smooth glide of his hands, ignoring your protesting cry as he licks at your stomach from over the barrier of the silk. And once again you find yourself cursing that dreadful fabric, swearing into the night while you squirm in his hands. 

"Easy, sweet thing. " He coos, the image of patience. And if not for the wild, glow twinkling in both of his eyes like a beast you would not even think he was affected in the way that you are. That burning light serves as a reminder that he is not normal man, that you are rabbit ensnared within the jaws of a wolf, a mortal lying with a god. But it does not frighten you anymore. Instead, it douses fuel over an already steady flame. And you find yourself hoping to be consumed, taken between the teeth of this dark, cosmic deity and eaten alive. 

His descent does not stop, the point of his nose dragging down until it stops over your mons pubis and your whole body tenses in anticipation, waiting for him to move just a bit lower, to bundle your skirts in his hands and take you into his mouth. But he does not do any of that. He simply hovers there. His clutch on your thighs tightens, threatening to turn your flesh tender and you swear that you can feel the points of talons pricking at you, but it is too dark from the cover of the moonless night to see if he truly has grown claws in his passion - if they have drawn blood. Not that you would have minded if they had. You wanted it. Wanted his claim visible on your body, open to be seen by anyone who may gaze upon you. A trickle of concern does make it through the honeyed smoke of your want, as fleeting as it is, and it is quickly forgotten. Casted aside at the sound of a soft repetitive panting filling the silence. It does not take you long to realize that it is coming from him. He is breathing in your scent, hovering over the heat of you to take lungful's of your arousal. 

It is completely debased. Dirty. But the sight of a this primordial being kneeling between your legs and drawing in the scent of you in this perverted display that you would expect from man and not a god has you moaning into the air. Your cunt throbs, clenching around nothing while you rock your hips near his mouth. His grip tightens once again, smarting your skin while he tries to pin your body even while he chases the shift of your hips. And for one moment you think that he may finally ease both of your discomfort, feed the hunger ravaging your bodies but then horribly, he is pulling from you, leaving you to pant into the open air in a confused daze. "Why did you stop? "

"Let me taste you. " He said thickly, and his eyes shimmer again like the stars suspended in the heavens behind him. "Let me drink from you- worship you." 

His words have your mouth going dry and that aching heat pooling between your thighs. Never in your life have you ever known a man so desperate to pleasure you. To practically beg for it with a barely concealed avidity. That an Endless would ask for your permission. But he is no man after all. And you are nodding once again, but he does not move until the echo of that old sentence chimes in your head, use your words, you remember, and you manage to utter a rushed, "please" out from a shaky huff.  

He rumbles in a pleased way, the Dreaming trembling lightly with the resonance of his satisfaction. You hardly have time to blink before your ceremonial garb all but vanishes, baring you to the soft breeze and then a soft warmth enveloping your wet cunt, leaving you to jerk in surprise and scramble to grab something, anything to tether you. You claw at the field, the soil, before combing them into his hair while you gasp. All the while he is completely immovable, fixed to you throughout your writhing, lapping at your slit to collect the taste of you on his tongue and drink it down with a content purr, before licking up so that he can suckle your clit into the clutch of his mouth. Prompting that heady warmth to drizzle up on top of itself within the base of your abdomen. 

He alternates between that for a few moments, completely unhurried as he switches between lapping at your slit and sucking at your engorged bundles of nerves. And then his tongue is slipping inside of you, working along the walls of your cunt in a way that has your eyes rolling and your back bowing in a taut seize. But it does not stop. Extending into an inhuman length. It is thick and textured near its base, working so deep inside that you have to cry out. The repetitive drag and pull of it ushering you to roll your hips to match its delicious rhythm, building up a rising tide, dangling you over the precipice of something debilitating. 

"Oh gods - I - " 

But he is jerking away from you leaving your cunt to squeeze around the absence of his tongue, biting into the meat of your thigh like he has to preoccupy himself or else he will bury his face back into your heat like you so desperately want him to. You clumsily prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him and the intensity of his gaze would have been intimidating if you were not in your current position. 

"Why did you stop?!" 

"When you come in will be with my name on your lips, " and something possessive layers the rich rumble of his tone. It is heavy and bears no room for argument, but you have no wish to do so. "Say it." 

"My Lor- " But his pointed glare is enough to cut you off, but you find yourself yelping from the reprimanding nip at your sensitive skin. It did not hurt but it took you by surprise regardless. 

"My name." He repeats carefully, and laves his tongue over the dull sting to soothe it, all without breaking eye contact, keeping you within the scope of his watch. And it takes you a moment to sift through his abundance of monikers and titles, trying to think past the sensation of his teeth and lips on you, but you finally manage to settle the same one that the Priestesses would often whisper with reverence. 

"Morpheus. " 

A pleased hum greats you and then blessedly he is spreading you open with his thumbs to subject you to the calculated, blissful lashing of his tongue. And you allow yourself to fall back onto the ground in a boneless heap, easily falling back underneath the sway of that fuzzy Elysian pleasure. Unrestrained moans now freely spilling from you, but you cannot find it in yourself to be the least bit embarrassed by the way you openly keen and whine in bliss. You head tips as you toss in reckless abandon, staring up almost sightlessly at the star cluttered sky. And in your drunken haze your mind oddly remarks that the twinkling stars remind you of peering eyes. But before the thought can take flight a strange sensation is enveloping you, like the brush of water rushing over you. Rolling textured waves, feathered touches and the brush of fingers. 

Hands, a distant thought supplies weakly. It does feel like hands. Thousands of them all scattered about your body. Running over your hips, your stomach, your chest, your throat. And then it feels as though a pair of mouths are taking your breasts into them, and you just barely manage to jerk your head up to confirm that Morpheus is still nestled between your thighs, slurping at your messy cunt even while those phantom hands and mouths stroke over your body, sucking at your nipples in a way that has a gutted moan tearing out of you. 

He is watching you from his place between your legs and the gleam of his eyes are nothing short of smug, taking absolute pride in the way that he is unraveling you at the seams. 

Your body moves as though it is possessed. Writhing like it can't decide which sensation it wants to arch into; the ghostly grasp of a thousand hands or the needy, warmth of his mouth. 

And the squelch of his tongue is sinful, noisily plunging into you. Its passage completely frictionless with the combination of his saliva and the way your cunt drips around the intrusion. He takes the meat of your ass into his physical hands, guiding the jerky rock of your hips into something deeper while he drinks you down, swallowing the obscene slick of your coupling down his throat. And you are babbling now, unable to recognize or understand the scattered way that you beg and cry. Lost to drift in the ceaseless ecstasy, a willing prisoner forced to take it. It feels as though your mind is breaking around the edges, fraying from the sheer scope of your pleasure, leaving you a weightless passenger, no longer held within the restraints of your own body. You soul is alight, burning and drowning in a rapture so sweet that you have no choice but to sob from it all. 

"Morpheus - " You choke around the raged heaving of your chest. And the hands on your body are joined by the phantom lapping of tongues, invisible teeth nipping at your skin and the mouths on your breasts pull and tweak at your nipples. The pleasure is too much, too great for you to fully comprehend and that wave is climbing once again, hurtling you towards that cliff. And now you are begging - pleading that he does not stop and leave you wanting. His name falls freely from you now, and endless mantra pleading for him to guide you into the sweep of fire and bliss. 

You barely feel it approaching. Suddenly your body is tensing, going rigid underneath the curl of his tongue and your thighs clamp around his head while you sob through the convulsions wracking through you. Completely swept up in a tide of heat and electricity. But he has not pulled away from your cunt, still nuzzled between the clutch of your thighs while he drinks your come with a satisfied sigh. The vibrations of it combined with the idle way that he continues to lap at you despite the sensitivity and it has your muscles twitching in response. 

"Morpheus, please. " You gasp underneath him, and he finally pulls back from you, albeit reluctantly before he is crawling over you, leaving gentle pecks across your body as he moves. And you can still feel those phantom touches across you, but they are feather light now, melting into the background as his lips meet yours in a hungry kiss. It has you moaning into his mouth, and even with your recent orgasm you can already feel a syrupy heat building up within you coaxing the gentle rock of your hips. You can taste yourself on his lips, earthy and somewhat sweet. The weight of his arousal presses against you from underneath his robes, heavy and hot and the Dreaming thrums with his want, the soil trembling beneath you both. 

You reach a hand down to paw at him through the dark fabric of his chlamys and the smoky, ragged groan that escapes him is a reward all in its own. And you were right. The sound of his breathless, rumbling satisfaction is something that you will never tire of hearing, and you are already desperate to drag more from him. But what truly has your attention is the length of him. You are unable to see it from the cover of his robes, but you can feel it, the thickness of it, the length. And you drag your thumb around its head, the cloth clinging to the shape of his cock from the precum leaking from the tip. He jerks in your hand, breaking your kiss to duck his face into the crook of your neck, sucking at the skin, prompting you to moan breathlessly. 

"I need you inside of me. " You whisper unsteadily. 

"Take what you need. " Comes his response as he mouths along your neck, taking your ear lobe into his mouth and pulling it between his teeth. Just as yours had, his robes vanish from his body, baring himself for you admire. And admire you do. Gazing upon the milky hue of his skin. The lithe muscle that ripple and flex and the added detail of blue vessels spidering underneath his flesh. Your eyes drop lower, settling on his cock, and the tip has flushed red from his arousal, and you briefly entertain the idea of taking him into your mouth, tasting him on your tongue as he had done to you. But the throbbing heat that has settled between your thighs is the only thing that keeps you from doing so. You need finally feel him and so you are gently pushing at his chest, guiding him to remove his head from your neck and to lie on his back. And he allows you to so - a god obeying your wishes. 

His gaze does not stray from you, even as he settles against the ground and allows you to climb astride his lap. Now that you are here atop him you find yourself wavering under the intimidation of your self-imposed task. It is a stupid thing to be fearful of. You have done this before. But those was a man, not an immortal deity that has seen centuries come and go, watched curiously as humanity's ancestors evolved and give way to empires the ultimately rose and fell. You are sure that he has lain with deities beyond your comprehension. Gods and goddesses, nymphs and spirits, pure divine beings from the heavens. How could you compare? How could you possibly please him? Would he want you even as a tainted woman? 

And as though he can sense your discomfort, he sweeps his hands along your hips, the action breaking through your internal struggle, and he is once sitting himself up enough to plant a kiss between the valley of your breasts. And then he is guiding you to look down on him with the gentle brush of his fingers, fixing your attention solely on him. 

"Take what you need. " He reiterates. But it is not said in a scathing or annoyed way, it is gentle, loving you want to believe, and you nearly melt against him. Those ghostly touches are back, no doubt an attempt to draw you out of your head. And it is working to stoke the fire, the fervor returning to your bones, but your mind still struggles to return you, still tangled within the confines of your insecurities. You could not manage to pin them down no matter how hard you tried to. 

"Speak to me, " he murmurs against your skin. "What troubles you?" 

"I - " you choke around the shakiness in your chest. You want to speak but it is difficult to do so around the rock in your throat, the disconnect between your head and your tongue stalling the words before they can even truly form. He begins to circle his thumbs against your hips. It is no longer sexual but completely tender, meant to coax your feelings from you rather than your desire and it does serve to ground you somewhat, offering you some clarity to articulate yourself. " I - you do know that I'm not . . . " You trail off and you attempt to meet his curious gaze, but you find your own quickly darting away, scanning the kaleidoscope fields that surrounds you like it might help you find your courage.  " . . . What if I'm not good enough?" 

His expression becomes stormy.  Something menacing and severe and it is a stark reminder of the darker side of his nature. He had been so gentle and giving with you that it had been easy to forget the depths of his anger, and for a moment you had feared that you somehow managed to offend him personally. His lips have pursed in that cross way, his eyebrows pinched, and you would have anticipated him molding himself into wicked shadows and talons, if not for the flash of something soft showing through the cosmic blue of his eyes. 

"Have I not worshiped you thoroughly enough?" He asks, but he does not necessarily sound affronted out of concern of his own pride but rather disappointed that he did not please you. The mere notion of that could make you scoff; you were certain that he ruined you for anyone else. No man would be able to touch you in the way that he had. And now you were opening your mouth to reassure him, but he is responding before you can utter a single word. " Then allow me to rectify my transgressions." 

And you whole heartedly expect him to once again knock you on your back and take you, but he does not. He keeps you secured on his lap, grip firm but not controlling and fixes you with a stare that seems to hold you open and reach inside, melting at your frayed vulnerabilities. "Now. Take what you need."  His voice has dipped into something deep and orotund, clearly enunciating to make sure that his intent is clearly broadcasted. And the intensity that he projects is enough to pull you back into the moment, his power coursing over the Dreaming and rippling at its seams. But it is more than that too. He has been nothing but gentle with you this entire night. Patient. Without judgement. And it is as though he has been plucking you apart piece by broken piece, stuffing you full of sunlight and helping you mend your shattered edges. Not fixed or magically repaired, but it is the closest you have felt to peace and adoration in a long time. And you feel like you are choking on the affection that he openly displays. The want and the need. 

You become startlingly aware of the way that your cunt drips, come smearing the insides of your thighs while that warm honeyed ache steadily thrums within your abdomen. And it is difficult to ignore it now. The sheer scope of your desire could smother you, threatening to take you under and drown you. Everything else after that is instinctual -needy. You take his face in your hands, smashing your lips to his in a bruising kiss trying your best to project your emotions into the exchange of tongue and teeth, stroking the sharp edges of his cheek bones with the same reverence that he had shown you. And you blindly reach down to take the rigid heat of him in your grip, throbbing and wet with a steady flow of precum, and he rewards you with a heady groan when you circle your thumb around the leaking slit of his cock. 

You are quick to line him up with your entrance, and without little fanfare sink down onto him. The relief that comes with the fulness of his girth tears ragged sighs from the both of you.  And you give yourself little time to adjust before your already working yourself down his length, toes curling when the blunt head of his cock brushes against that devastating spot inside of you that has you jerking from him to gasp into the night. And unable to ignore the all-consuming passion that takes you over, the pulsing, electrifying power that permeates around Morpheus you draw yourself up with the strength of your thighs, using the push you can achieve from planting your feet on the ground to bounce on his cock in a hedonistic display. 

It is debased and vulgar, fucking out in an open field, in the soil like animals. Completely lewd, but so right. 

Morpheus lies back against the ground on his own accord, reclining like spoiled royalty and allowing you to plant your hands on his chest to assist you to deepen each thrust, letting you take from him. And already his name is spilling from your lips like a hymn while you watch the Dream King with rapt attention, enthralled by every minute expression that flickers across his schooled features. The way that his eyebrows pinch together, how dim but eager pants puff past his open mouth, the dazed sort of pleasure that shows in his eyes while he gazes upon you like you're a deity that has descended down from Mount Olympus, a nymph fashioned from Aphrodite herself to encapsulate his every wish. 

And those delicious, invisible hands have returned to roam about your body in their sweet exploration, plucking at your body like it is an instrument that they have played for years. The sound of your coupling rings across the Dreaming, the smack skin against skin, your unrestrained moans. It all has that thick, deep-rooted ache spreading further throughout your body, reaching from your core and all the way to your fingertips and toes. But there is something missing, a nudge needed to push you over the edge. "Morpheus, " you cry weakly, thighs already beginning to sting from exertion, but you refuse to stop, continuing to drop yourself on his cock, working tight circles with your hips with each descent. 

You can see something smug bleeding into his features, your neediness nurturing his hubris, and his lips quirk in just the faintest hints of a barely there smile. 

"What is it, my love?" He asks, feigning ignorance and it irritates you how put together he sounds, voice having dropped into a low, rumbling cadence, but apart from that he sounds seemingly unaffected despite the glazed over quality to his gaze. You whimper around a particularly harsh thrust from him that has your back bowing, pushing your breasts into the palms of ghostly hands. Your eyes nearly go cross at the drag of his cock, but you manage to keep your concentration around the sweeping torrents of smoke and ecstasy. 

"Please!" you keen drunkenly. "Please, I need you! " 

A satisfied purr resonates underneath your palms and his pupils flash in that pale tantalizing, dangerous way and you cannot believe that the look of it had frightened you at some point. Now it only serves to pool more liquid heat down the base of your spine. A heaving mewl is all but punched out of you when he takes you by surprise, using his place along the ground to thrust up into you with wicked rolls from his hips. Fucking up into you with a ferocity that has you struggling to meet his pace, and you are hardly more than a passenger at this point. All coherence is stripped from you and your entire body feels like it has been doused in honey and fire, and the timbre of his raspy voice speaking out only serves to nudge you closer to your undoing. 

"You'll stay here with me, won't you?" 

"Yes!" You agreed in a slurred whine. 

"And you'll give yourself to me?"

"Yes!" You are near sobbing now, body jerking and writhing atop him while the phantom touches roll your nipples between soft fingertips, and his cock pumps into you with depraved, filthy squelches of your combined arousal. And that primordial energy is pulsating around the Dreaming. The same power that creates the ground you both lay upon, that fashions the field and the sky above you too, permeating from the deity that is currently fucking every shred of a possible thought from your brain. And the power feels charged now, like it is growing and expanding into something great, seeping into your skin and soaking your bones. Then a transparent grip is taking your jaw between its fingers, directing your gaze to the god underneath you, and another slips down your stomach, reaching down to drag tight circles around your neglected clit. 

"Then come." It is a command that your body cannot ignore, seizing up tight, trapping the strangled wail deep inside your lungs while your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull, stars exploding against the darkness there and you lose all sense of tangibility.  Your sense of time, place and self slip from perception like water pouring through spread fingers, and now you are just floating. Caught in bursting cosmos, pinned before the scalding light of the sun, caught in a torrent of arresting, unyielding rapture. And your cunt clamps down his cock like it means to milk him for all he is worth, your orgasm ushering him into his own and thankfully your coherence begins to return to you in time for you to admire him while he is subjected to the throes of his pleasure. And you are still gasping and moaning while his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated, observing as his eyelashes flutter and his mouth opens for a long husky moan to escape him as the warmth of his release pools inside of you. 

You all but collapse on top of him in a boneless heap and your cunt spasming weakly around his spent length but neither of you make any effort to move. Simply basking in the afterglow of your highs. It is your sense of touch and hearing that serve to orient you. The distant crash of waves rushing over the surf, the whisper of the breeze dancing across the grass and blossoms. And you can feel him underneath you. His chest is moving with a breath that you are certain is simulated for your own comfort, an attempt to appear more human. But he feels too heated and simultaneously too cold to be a person, like he has no idea which temperature to project. But you decide that it is not at all unpleasant, instead it feels good against your feverish skin. 

But you still wait for the sting of disappointment to strike you - for disgust to bleed and taint the satisfaction now that the lust has died, but it never rises to meet you. And so, you rest, satiated upon your god. Pliant like melted wax. But there is the insistent nudge of something burrowing at you. Concern, you quickly identify. And it has your sluggish mind wandering back to the root of the thought, trailing after it until it finds the conclusion which takes that shape of a memory. The memory of perhaps the only companion you have ever known, and it is bitter and sour reminder that they may not even be alive anymore. That centuries may have passed during your brief stay in the Dreaming, and that they may have succumbed to the passage of time. 

"What ails you now?" 

You want to say that it is nothing, sweep it aside and ignore it while it festers and grows. But you know now that he will not accept nothing as an answer, not when he can possibly feel your distress across the threads of the Dreaming. You feel foolish in your answer, but it is the only one that you can manage. " My cat. " 

"Your . . . cat. " He echoes slowly, and you are certain that amusement is lacing his tone. You bristle a bit preparing to defend yourself, your right for being worried, but he is nudging you from his chest so that you may see each other as you speak. 

"I can assure you that your companion is safe. He's quite content." He says. His gentle mirth still very much alive, but you do not return his light-hearted attitude, waiting with bated breath for him to answer the question that hangs heavy in the air. And a part of you fears that he may have somehow managed to converse with Death of the Endless, or that he was still connected to the passage of time that operates outside of the Dreaming and was able to deduce that the feline had long since passed, joining Teleute in the Sunless Lands. But then he is brushing a hand along his side, drawing your attention to his ribs where the skin there ripples like the surface of a disturbed lake, and a set of angry jagged scars emerge from the mirage, appearing across his pale skin, spanning from his armpit down to the notch of his hipbone. It is hauntingly familiar. The placement, the number of claw mark left in stretched healed tissue. One, two, three . . . four, you count. 

You understand what it is that he is implying. And betrayal sinks its enamel into your heart, but the bite is shockingly dull and not the unforgiving split that you were expecting. And you can tell that he is calculating something, surely waiting for you to lash out. To scream at him and demand that he take you home. Perhaps that is what you should do. But you do not. "How? Why did you- a cat?" Is all you manage, more perplexed than irate. 

"I had been injured by an old foe of mine, " he explains, allowing you to curl into his side, curiously running your fingertips over the marred flesh. And you have suppress a shudder, wondering what sort of being could be strong enough to injure an Endless. A god. "As for why I assumed that particular form, I needed to conserve energy. It was small. Familiar. It served to save much needed strength. " 

There has always been something strange about that cat and his watchful stare. Admittedly you had always swallowed down the suspicion that prickled at you whenever he had curled up within your house, but you had been too desperate for some sort of friendship to truly question anything. The barrage of emotions flooding you, making you a muddled unsure mess, but one thing that you do know for certain is that you are completely and undeniably relieved. And truthfully you are still far too tired, simply uncaring to have been tricked by the god. You are happy- actually well and truly happy to embrace the joy and serenity. 

"And then there was you, " he murmurs in your ear, devout and soft. 

The both of you remain there for an insurmountable length of time. Lounging in each other's embrace, delighting in your shared presence. Listening to the peaceful noise of the Dreaming and the warmth of your lover. And for the first time that icy gapping pit of loneliness no longer gnaws and tears at you. You finally feel at home, and the desire to flee and leave eludes you. Perhaps because you have finally found a place to belong.  

Here with him. 

[depressedraisin]

here's how armand can still be bengali

why do i think so? no other good reason than i am bengali myself and i want armand to be. (also assad zaman's family is from bangladesh. bengali solidarity!!!)

bengal: the region in south asia comprising present-day bangladesh and the indian states of west bengal, odisha, assam and parts of bihar.

armand said in the season one finale, that takes place in 2022, he is a 514 year old vampire. is it 514 years including or excluding his human years? let's go with including. that means armand would have been born in 1508.

now what was going on in india and bengal in 1508? well, the mughals hadn't come to india yet; it's still about two decades before babur makes his way here. delhi was under the rule of the lodi dynasty, the delhi sultanate was in its dying days. most of north india, mainly uttar pradesh and bihar was under the jaunpur sultanate. bengal was still it's own independent kingdom, called the bengal sultanate. alauddin hussain shah had just seized power and become the sultan of bengal in 1494, beginning the hussain shahi dynasty (they ruled in bengal till 1538 when the mughals captured the region).

india as a country did not exist yet. even it's conception would be a few centuries away still. the subcontinent was a collection of big and small kingdoms and sultanates, constantly warring amongst themselves, some ruled by hindu rulers others by muslims, each with their own distinct histories and cultures. bengal was one of the most prosperous and thriving among them. the bangla language and bengali culture was just beginning to develop.

vasco da gama had arrived in india in 1498, landing at kozhikode on the malabar coast. this began the arrival of the portugese in india, and soon other european colonialists followed. they soon set up their capital in goa, built forts all along the western coast and established trade through obtaining licenses and exclusive permits from local rulers. they first made their way to the bay of bengal region around 1516, with the first portugese representative- a guy called joao coelho- coming to chittagong (present day bangladesh). the first factory was set up in chittagong the next year.

the portugese traded in spices and cotton and fruits and muslin and also slaves. the european indian ocean slave trade began with the coming of the portugese in the early 16th century. slavery in south asian societies had obviously existed long before, and it was a deeply complex and diverse system of dependency and regimes of slavery. slavery of youth and children was also pretty prevalent: it would not be uncommon for poor, farming families to sell away themselves or their children to zamindars (landlords) and colonial overlords in desperation. there were many, many cases of young children being forced to get onboard ships where they'd be held agains their will and taken to europe, the americas or south-east asia. goa and lisbon were the two cities that linked the movement of goods and people between the indian and atlantic oceans, but goa wasn't the only place where enslaved children were traded in portugese india nor lisbon the only european they were taken to.

one of those kids might as well have been arun.

i know the brief glimpse at the talamasca files showed armand's origin to be in delhi but in this particular scene he clearly says that he was sent *to* delhi, thinking he was going to work on a merchant boat.

this is just a theory i have btw. armand could've been from maharastra or the deccan as well idk. anyway.

armand is a monster, a vicious, villanious creature of unfathomable powers and ferocity. but he is also so deeply tragic. he had been forcibly torn away from his people and his land. he has no memory of his family or his humanity. he has lived for over half a millenium. the india he might've known hasn't existed for centuries, and he never got to know the one that exists today. the bangla he might've spoken no one remembers anymore. he has nothing left of the human he was except that name.

further readings (STRONGLY SUGGESTED!!!):

[tartarusknight]

Steve froze as the mind flayer came flying downwards at their group. He could hear Hopper yell for everyone to get down. Joyce and Jonathan running for Will. Steve who had been by both Robin and El, threw himself in front of them. Covering them the best he could. The mindflayer hit them with its smoke form and it was like nothing Steve had ever felt before. As is a tidal wave and a strong gust of wind mixed together to make you feel like you were drowning on land.

It settles around their feet for a moment before it began to swirl around all of them. Tendrils ran up Steve's leg but he didn't focus on that when there was one on El. The girl was the best shot to killing this thing. If she was taken now, they were fucked. So he battered them away from her as she did her best to get free of it's grips.

Only when Steve feels a tug, not on his leg or arm but like something tugged inside of him. Like someone had gotten a good grip on his intestines and pulled. Steve stumbled back his body going taught as he felt what felt like electricity running through his veins. His hand spasms and he drops the nail bat before his knees give out. Robin shouts his name and the last thing he sees before falling forward onto the ground is her outreached arms.

Steve feels nothing and everything at the same time. It makes it difficult to open his eyes but when he does, it's to an empty landscape. Like the Upside Down but... Just nature. It wasnt the creepy hell version of Hawkins but floating rocks and yellow lightning. The vines looked more like veins than slimy killers. And there was a form, made out of black particles flickering around. Silently he wishes that they could just have normal human problems to worry about. Instead of this.

As Steve stared, frozen to his spot, he could see it solidify into a spider like form before becoming something closer to a swarm of bees. It was the mindflayer. But it wasn't attacking like it had just been, it was just watching him. "King, help," the word isn't said but Steve hears it clear as day.

His brow furrows, "what?"

"King," it responds like he should understand. But he doesn't. "Help us, my king."

That word lost all meaning to him hears ago. From Tommy starting the nickname to the distain Steve could feel when Robin teased him with it. "You are called a king." It says and the pressure from it's words is like a pressure to his skull.

He winces and takes a step back, "that- I'm no king." But it doesn't seem to understand repeating the word once more. He feels at a lost, wishing someone else was here. He barely understood Will and El when they explained it wasn't the mindflayer attacking them, it was just Henry. That technically the mindflayer was just another puppet. Yet no one else is here. Wherever here is.

He feels dread light up his limbs and sighs. "Look, I haven't been called that in a long time. It basically-"

But the mindflayer cuts him off, "you are a king without a kingdom.” It's almost like a question but said like a demand.

"Sure, I guess. But I don't- what the fuck-" he screams, starting back as the smoke spirals down in front of him, looking smaller... But like a more condensed form. It almost looked solid if not for the wisps floating around it

"We need a king." The form flickers and it's like a living shadow.

"I'm not a king," Steve presses but as it takes a step forward, he scrambles further back until he trips on one of the many vines. As it reaches out, its hand catches him from falling. The fingers wrapped around his wrist are solid, almost warm against him.

"We need a ruler, a mind to melt us." The form is growing firmer the longer they stand here and Steve is lost. "you already are changing us." And if it can, it sounds amused.

"But- it was just a nickname. I'm not special." Steve splutters and the blackness of the smoak is changing. "I don't even know how to help you."

The grip on his wrist is completely solid and when Steve glances down, long human fingers are around his wrist. "Oh, my king, you're already helping us. Henry wanted us to strike fear in his enemies, he wanted an ally in his war, he wanted a beast. You just want to be free, for your friends to be safe, for me to be human. You desire a normalcy that you've lost," and the voice isn't pounding into Steve's skull but spoken like someone is speaking to him.

But Steve can look away from the hand around his wrist. "You desire for your friends to have a normal childhood, to have friends and play their games. You desire Robin to have another friend to confide in. You desire love," the voice is smooth and it would be relaxing if it weren't for the fact that it had been the fucking mindflayer a second ago. "My king, we can give it all to you," another hand moves and cups his cheek. Tilting him to look at a man with sparkling eyes and curly brown hair. As a smile formed on the man's face, a dimple formed to wink at Steve. "I think that it could be fun for both of us," the man grinned and Steve wasn't really sure what was happening anymore.

So I was trying around with this king Steve plot thingy after reading In Over My Head by staymagical (a wonderful fic if anyone's interested💞) but I had another actual idea of something like Venom (yes from spiderman) but more of... Well it was like Eddie somehow becomes Steve's shadow as in Eddie wasn't human. But I haven't gotten around to writing it yet. I might write a small clip like this with that premise tho. Anyways I combined the two ideas because I could and you got this. Hopefully it's at least an entertaining thought for ya 💞