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mononijikayu · 24 days

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cantarella — gojo satoru.

“Satoru.” you called softly, holding up the flower crown you had made. It was a simple creation, woven from a mix of daisies, buttercups, and clover. The flowers were arranged in a delicate, colorful circle, their petals still fresh and dewy from the morning sun. He looked up from his sketchpad, his expression as indifferent as ever, but a hint of curiosity sparkled in his eyes. “What’s that?” he asked, his tone more inquisitive than dismissive. You knelt beside him, holding the flower crown out. “It’s a gift for you.” you said cheerfully. “I made it just for you. I thought you might like to wear it.”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Nobility;

WARNING/s: Angst, Not Safe For Work (NSFW), Dark Fic, Yandere! Gojo, Toxic One-Sided Romance, One-Sided Incest, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Incest, Hurt/ No Comfort, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Please Save Reader;

WORDS: 11k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was inspired by this version of cantarella by kaito and miku i watched a long long time ago. i remembered about this notes i had about it while sitting and studying for uni. and i wrote it sitting down instead of reading more because inspiration came to me. i hope you enjoy it, even though its a dark fic!!! i love you all <3

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YOU WERE FREE, YOU THINK. As the heavy iron gates of the convent swung open, the world outside flooded your senses, a stark contrast to the cloistered life you’d led for years.

The scent of damp earth and blooming flowers replaced the cold, sterile air of the convent, while the distant hum of life—a world you had been shielded from—pressed in on you. Your eyes blinked against the sudden brightness, the light almost painful after so many years of darkness.

The distant memories of your parents’ tragic deaths haunted you, lingering like a dark cloud over your soul. Their faces were blurred now, softened by time but not forgotten.

The whispers of their absence were loudest in your heart, a constant reminder of the life that had been ripped away from you. Grief had been your only companion, even more than the nuns who had raised you, and now it threatened to drown you as you took your first steps into the world beyond those gates.

Now, as the newly orphaned Duchess, the title weighed heavily on your shoulders, burdened with expectations you weren’t sure you could fulfill. The responsibilities that came with it loomed over you, a shadow of the future that awaited. You had been a child when the world had last known you, but now, the world demanded more—a woman, a Duchess, a leader.

You stepped out into the open, the gravel crunching beneath your feet as the cold wind whispered through the barren trees. The carriage waited in silence, an imposing reminder of the life you were about to inherit—a life you had never asked for. The estate loomed in the distance, its shadowy silhouette framed against a darkening sky.

It was supposed to be home, a sanctuary, yet it felt nothing like it. The sprawling lands, the echoing halls, and the faceless people who would serve you—they were yours now, or so everyone insisted. But as you stood there, shivering in the twilight, you couldn't help but wonder what "yours" truly meant.

Was it the title bestowed upon you, heavy and hollow, that now defined your existence? Or was it the legacy that clung to your name, a legacy built on the sacrifices and sorrows of those who came before?

Perhaps it was the past, a mosaic of memories and losses that had shaped you, leaving cracks in your heart that would never fully heal. And now, as you faced the uncertain road ahead, you realized that your future, too, was bound by these invisible chains. A future where each step would be weighed down by duty, expectation, and the inescapable fear of the unknown.

But despite the fear gnawing at your resolve, despite the weight of the unknown pressing down on your shoulders, you knew there was no turning back. The world outside the convent walls, a world you had once seen only in fleeting dreams, had now become your reality.

A reality where your choices—or lack thereof—would define not just your life, but the lives of those who depended on you. And so, with a heart heavy with dread and determination, you took a deep breath and stepped forward. Ready or not, you had to face it.

The carriage stood before you like a silent sentinel, its dark velvet interior offering little in the way of comfort. The family crest, meticulously embossed on its side, glinted ominously in the fading light, a stark reminder of the bloodline that bound you to this life.

As you approached, the driver, a man of few words and fewer expressions, gave a brief nod, his face as unreadable as the future that awaited you. There was no comfort to be found in his gaze, only the cold efficiency of someone accustomed to serving the powerful.

Climbing into the carriage, you felt the chill of the autumn air seep into your bones, mingling with the dread that clung to your skin. The unfamiliar path ahead stretched out before you, winding through forests and fields that you barely remembered.

Every jolt of the carriage wheels against the rough terrain seemed to echo the uncertainty within you, the sense of being unmoored from everything you once knew. Yet, despite the fear that tightened your chest, a quiet resolve began to build within you. The path was dark, and the journey would be long, but it was yours to take.

As the carriage began to move, you allowed yourself one last glance at the world you were leaving behind. The convent, with its high walls and serene silence, had been a place of refuge, but it was also a cage—one that you had outgrown. The life ahead, with all its unknowns, was daunting, but it was also a chance to carve out a new destiny, one that was truly your own.

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YOU WERE FINALLY HERE. Days had passed before the carriage finally came to a halt. The endless journey had given you time to think, to imagine what awaited you, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality.

The estate loomed large and imposing before you, a testament to the power and wealth that now rested on your shoulders. But it was not the grandeur of the estate that caught your attention as you stepped down from the carriage—it was the man who stood waiting.

Gojo Satoru. Your cousin. The only family you had left.

You had heard of him in whispers and letters, the distant cousin who had managed your affairs while you grew up behind convent walls. The cousin who had wanted to raise you himself but had been overruled by those who deemed it more proper for a young duchess to be sheltered and shaped by the church. A cousin who had become a stranger over the years.

But now, standing before him, you saw just how much he had changed. He had grown handsome, undeniably so. Tall and broad-shouldered, his presence was commanding, his silver hair catching the last rays of the setting sun, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

The dark glasses he wore only added to the air of mystery, concealing his eyes and leaving you to wonder what lay behind them. His lips curled into a smile that was anything but comforting. It was a smile that promised more than a simple welcome; it promised possession.

You were drawn to him, as you had been as a child. The way he moved, the way he spoke—it was as if the world bent to his will. But now, as a woman, you saw the darkness in his gaze, the twisted hunger that had taken root in his heart over the years.

"Cousin." he murmured, his voice smooth and sickly sweet, as if every word was coated in honey, "it’s been too long."

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself in his overwhelming presence. "It has, Satoru. I... hardly recognized you."

His smile widened, a flash of white teeth that made your heart skip a beat. "And I, you. But then, how could I recognize someone I’ve only known through letters and rumors? Yet here you are, in the flesh, finally free from those cold walls."

There was something in his tone that made you uneasy, a sharp edge beneath the politeness. "Yes, finally," you replied, your voice quieter than you intended. "Thank you for... taking care of everything while I was away. It must have been a burden."

"Burden?" He chuckled softly, the sound rich and unsettling. "Not at all, my dear. It was a pleasure, truly. I did what any family would do—protect what is ours, and ensure it would be ready for your return.”

“Then…Then, I thank you, cousin.”

Though…." he paused, his gaze lingering on you, "I must admit, I didn’t expect you to have grown into such a… lovely woman."

The way he said it made your skin prickle. There was no mistaking the intent in his words, the way his eyes, hidden though they were, seemed to strip you bare. You took a small step back, trying to reclaim some sense of control.

"I suppose we’ve both changed," you said, keeping your voice as steady as possible. "But we’re still family, Satoru. I hope we can... get to know each other again."

"Indeed," he replied, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone. "Family is everything, after all. And now that you’re here, we can finally be together, as we were always meant to be."

The way he said it sent a chill down your spine. There was something more in his words, something that hinted at a deeper, more dangerous desire. You forced a smile, hoping to mask your unease. "Yes, together. It’s been so long, after all."

He stepped closer, closing the small distance you had created. "Too long, cousin. But now that you’re back, I intend to make up for all the lost time. You and I… we have so much to catch up on."

The finality in his tone left little room for argument, and as he offered his arm to lead you inside, you had no choice but to take it, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his sleeve. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as he guided you through the grand doors of the estate that would now be your home.

But as you crossed the threshold, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into something far more dangerous than you had ever imagined. And that the cousin who walked beside you was not just your protector, but something far darker, something you were not sure you could escape.

The estate he led you to was vast, cold, and eerily silent. Each step echoed through the corridors, the sound bouncing off the stone walls that seemed to close in on you with every passing moment. It was a place meant to impress, to awe with its sheer size and grandeur, but all it inspired in you was a deep sense of unease. The shadows seemed longer here, the light dimmer, as if the house itself had secrets it was unwilling to reveal.

Gojo’s hand hovered just above your lower back, never quite touching, but close enough to make you acutely aware of his presence. It was a silent assertion of control, a reminder that he was guiding you, that you were under his protection—or perhaps his possession. The gesture felt more like a threat than a comfort, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine.

As you walked, you noticed the servants—silent, spectral figures who moved quickly to avoid your gaze. Their eyes darted away whenever they saw the two of you, averted as if they knew something you did not, as if they feared something you were only beginning to sense. They kept their distance, and when they spoke, it was in hushed tones, their whispers carried away by the drafty corridors, lost in the vastness of the estate.

The grand halls, adorned with portraits of ancestors long gone, felt more like a mausoleum than a home. The faces in the paintings seemed to watch you with disapproval, their cold eyes following your every move, judging you, questioning your right to be here.

The air was thick with history, but it was a history that felt oppressive, as though the very stones of the house were weighed down by the sins and secrets of those who had lived here before.

Gojo’s voice broke the silence, low and almost conspiratorial. “It’s been a long time since these halls have seen life,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of something unspoken. “I’m afraid the estate has grown as cold as its master in your absence.”

You forced a smile, trying to shake off the unease that clung to you like a second skin. “It’s... it’s very grand,” you replied, struggling to find the right words. “I suppose it will take some getting used to.”

He chuckled softly, the sound devoid of real warmth. “Grand, yes. But it is a lonely place, cousin. One grows accustomed to the silence, to the emptiness, but I’ve always thought it would be different with you here.”

The way he said it made your skin crawl. There was something too intimate in his words, something that suggested his desire for you went far beyond familial affection. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, but his expression was unreadable behind those dark glasses, his lips curled into that same unsettling smile.

“You’ve taken such good care of everything,” you said, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground. “I’m grateful, truly. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

His smile widened, but there was no joy in it, only something dark and possessive. “There’s no need for repayment,” he murmured, his voice dipping into a more dangerous register. “You’re here now, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. We’re family, after all.”

Family. The word echoed in your mind, but it felt hollow, like a cage closing in around you. The estate, the title, the wealth—it was all yours, but at what cost? And as Gojo led you deeper into the heart of the mansion, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being led into something far darker, something that would be much harder to escape.

At last, you reached what appeared to be a sitting room, the heavy doors creaking as Gojo pushed them open. The room was dimly lit, a fire crackling weakly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The furniture was old but well-kept, the upholstery dark and rich, but it did little to warm the cold atmosphere of the room.

“This will be your sanctuary,” Gojo said, guiding you inside. “A place to rest, to think, to remember that this is your home now.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. As you looked around, the reality of your situation began to sink in. This was your home, your life now. But the estate that should have been a sanctuary felt more like a prison, and the man who should have been your protector felt more like a captor.

“I’ll leave you to get settled, cousin.” Gojo said, finally stepping back, though his presence lingered in the room long after he had left. “But don’t be a stranger, cousin. We have much to discuss, and I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

As the door closed behind him, the silence of the room enveloped you, cold and suffocating. You were alone now, but the shadow of Gojo’s presence lingered, and you knew that this was only the beginning.

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YOU WERE THE CENTER OF THE WORLD. Or at least that’s what Satoru had said when he told you that society celebrated your return with much joy. A ball was to take place in your honor, a grand affair meant to celebrate your return to the echelons of noble society.

The thought of it filled you with a mix of excitement and dread. After years of isolation, the idea of stepping into a room filled with the most powerful and influential members of the ton was daunting. You could already hear the whispers, feel the weight of their expectations.

Your reflection in the mirror stared back at you, a stranger dressed in silks and jewels. The gown you wore was exquisite, a deep sapphire that brought out the color of your eyes, the neckline adorned with pearls that once belonged to your mother. But despite the finery, you couldn’t help but feel exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t since leaving the convent.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, and before you could respond, Satoru entered the room. He moved with an easy grace, his presence commanding and almost overwhelming. Dressed in a tailored black suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and tall frame, he was every bit the image of a duke, a man who could have anything and anyone he desired.

His eyes, hidden behind those dark glasses, seemed to pierce through you as he approached. “Nervous, cousin?” he asked, his voice smooth and laced with amusement.

You tried to smile, but it felt forced. But you could not help it, to be this nervous. To feel like you were going to vomit and find yourself in fright. This was your social debut, after being far away from your kind for so long.

“A little.” you admitted, your hands twisting together in your lap. “I haven’t been to a ball since I was a child. I don’t even know how to behave anymore.”

Satoru’s smile was gentle, but there was that ever-present edge to it, a darkness that lingered just beneath the surface. He stepped closer, taking one of your hands in his. His touch was warm, firm, and it steadied you, even as your heart raced beneath your chest.

“Don’t be.” he murmured, lifting your hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the back of it, the gesture both tender and possessive. “None can rival your beauty, or your existence. You will be the brightest star in the room tonight, and they will all fall at your feet.”

The way he spoke sent a shiver down your spine. His words were meant to reassure you, but there was something almost predatory in them, as if he was not merely presenting you to society, but staking his claim on you before them all.

“I just… I want to make a good impression.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I am a duchess of the realm. I must do well. For our family."

“You will, cousin. Do not worry much.” Satoru replied, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “But remember, you have nothing to prove to them. You are the Duchess, the true heir to this estate. They should be the ones worrying about impressing you.”

You looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was confidence, a certainty that made you feel both comforted and trapped. There was no escaping the life you had returned to, and Satoru was a constant reminder of that.

“I’m here, by your side,” he continued, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “No one will dare speak ill of you. Not with me watching over you.”

His words wrapped around you like a protective veil, and despite the unease that still lingered, you felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps this night wouldn’t be as terrifying as you feared. Perhaps, with Satoru by your side, you could navigate the treacherous waters of noble society.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your fingers curling slightly around his as you let yourself lean into his presence, if only for a moment.

“Think nothing of it,” he replied, his smile growing wider, more possessive. “Tonight is just the beginning. And I’ll make sure they all know that you belong to me.”

With that, he offered you his arm, guiding you out of the room and toward the grand hall where the ball was to take place. The music had already started, the sound of violins and piano filling the air with an elegant melody.

As you stepped into the room, all eyes turned to you, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. You could feel the weight of their gazes, the scrutiny, the admiration. But Satoru’s hand on yours was a constant anchor, a reminder that no matter what, you were not alone.

And as the night unfolded, with dance after dance, with whispered conversations and stolen glances, you realized that Satoru’s words had not been an empty promise. You were indeed the brightest star in the room, and every person who approached you did so with a mix of awe and reverence. But beneath it all, you could feel the shadow of Satoru’s presence, always there, always watching.

And though you smiled and played your part, there was a part of you that wondered just how deep that shadow, and how much of yourself you would lose to the man who claimed to protect you.

As the evening progressed and the ballroom filled with the sounds of laughter and music, the time for dancing arrived. You had been introduced to countless faces, each more eager than the last to make a connection with the newly returned Duchess. But all the introductions and small talk had left you feeling exhausted, your nerves frayed by the constant attention.

Then, as if sensing your unease, a man approached you. He was tall, with a calm demeanor that immediately set him apart from the others. His hair was blond, neatly combed, and his sharp features were softened by the warm, sincere expression on his face. He bowed gracefully before you, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity that made your breath catch.

"Your Grace," he said, his voice steady and kind, "may I have the honor of this dance?"

You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand in his, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. There was something about him—something genuine, something safe—that made you feel at ease in a way you hadn’t all night.

"Of course," you replied, allowing him to lead you to the center of the dance floor.

The music swelled as the two of you began to dance, moving in perfect harmony with the waltz. Unlike the others who had tried to impress you with their skills or status, this man—Count Nanami Kento, as you had been told—was different.

He was careful with you, his touch gentle as he guided you through the steps. His eyes never left yours, and in them, you saw not the hunger or ambition you had grown accustomed to, but something else entirely—kindness, understanding, and a quiet admiration that made your heart flutter.

With each turn, each graceful movement across the polished floor, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. The laughter and chatter of the ballroom, once so overwhelming, now faded into a distant hum, a backdrop to the moment unfolding between you and Nanami.

The lights softened, the grand chandeliers casting a warm glow over the sea of dancers, yet all you could focus on was the man guiding you effortlessly through the crowd. His touch was gentle yet firm, his presence steady, grounding you in the here and now.

As you glided together, Nanami spoke in a voice so soft it felt like a secret shared between the two of you. He asked about your life, your thoughts, your dreams—questions that were simple, yet carried a depth that surprised you.

His gaze never wavered, and the way he listened made you feel as if every word you spoke was of utmost importance. There was no rush, no need to impress; just a quiet, sincere interest that drew you in.

Nanami was a world apart from the overwhelming force of Satoru, who often swept into your life like a whirlwind, leaving you breathless and off-kilter. Satoru’s presence was impossible to ignore, a vibrant, chaotic energy that demanded attention.

But here, with Nanami, everything was different. His calmness soothed the edges of your anxiety, his steady demeanor a balm to the storm that often raged within you. There was a reliability to him, a sense of safety that you hadn’t realized you craved until this very moment.

You found yourself drawn to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t just the contrast to Satoru’s intensity, though that was part of it. There was something about Nanami’s quiet strength, his thoughtful nature, that spoke to a deeper part of you.

As you danced, the rest of the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of shared understanding and unspoken connection. It was unexpected, this pull you felt toward him, yet it was undeniable.

Your graceful dance continued and little by little, you allowed yourself to get lost in the rhythm, in the soft cadence of his voice, in the comforting warmth of his presence. The worries that had plagued you moments before melted away, replaced by a sense of peace that was rare and precious.

In that fleeting moment, it felt as though time had slowed, and all that mattered was the steady beat of your hearts moving in sync, the unspoken promise of something more that lingered in the air between you.

As the dance came to an end, he held you a moment longer than necessary, his hand lingering on yours. His eyes, warm and sincere, held yours, and you felt a rush of something you hadn’t felt in years—something like hope, like the promise of something good. When he finally released you, he bowed again, his voice low and sincere.

"Thank you, Your Grace," he said softly. "It was truly a pleasure."

The words were simple, but the sincerity in them made your heart swell. You offered him a genuine smile, the first you had felt all night. "The pleasure was mine, Count Nanami."

As he stepped back into the crowd, you found yourself watching him go, your heart still racing from the unexpected connection. There was a warmth in your chest, a sense of peace that you hadn’t felt since you’d arrived at the estate. By the end of the night, you couldn’t deny it—you had fallen for him, the quiet, steady count who had treated you with such care.

But then, as you turned your gaze away from where Nanami had disappeared into the crowd, your eyes were drawn to a figure standing in the shadows at the edge of the ballroom. Satoru. His dark glasses glinted in the low light, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze, piercing through the distance between you. His expression was unreadable, his lips curved into a faint smile that sent a chill down your spine.

You knew that he had seen everything—the way you had smiled at Nanami, the way your guard had dropped in his presence. Satoru’s eyes bore into you, and the warmth that had filled you moments before was replaced by a cold dread.

No matter how much comfort you found in Nanami’s gaze, you couldn’t escape the shadow that Satoru cast over your life. And as the night drew to a close, you realized with a sinking heart that the feelings you had developed tonight would not go unnoticed or unchallenged.

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IT WAS OBVIOUS, THAT YOU WERE SMITTEN. In the weeks following the ball, the once overwhelming silence of the estate became bearable, softened by the anticipation of receiving each new letter from Count Nanami Kento.

The grand halls, with their cold marble floors and towering ceilings, no longer felt as lonely when you held his carefully penned words in your hands. His letters arrived with a sense of regularity, as if he knew precisely when you needed them most, each one a lifeline connecting you to something warmer, more genuine.

As you unfolded the delicate parchment, the world outside your window seemed to fade away. His handwriting, neat and precise, reflected the man himself—thoughtful, deliberate, with each word chosen with care.

His letters were not just a form of polite correspondence; they were conversations, deep and meaningful, where his interest in your life and well-being shone through. He asked about the small details, the little things that most overlooked, making you feel seen in a way you had not experienced before.

Nanami’s words were a balm to your troubled heart, each sentence carrying a sense of calm and reassurance that eased the tension that often gripped you in the estate’s oppressive atmosphere.

His kindness wasn’t ostentatious or overwhelming, but quiet and steady, like a gentle stream that slowly erodes the hardest stone. Through his letters, he offered you a refuge, a place where you could express your thoughts and feelings without fear of judgment or dismissal.

As the weeks passed, you found yourself eagerly awaiting each new letter, cherishing the moments when you could escape into the world he created with his words. His thoughts and feelings were laid bare, revealing a depth of emotion and understanding that resonated with you on a level you hadn’t expected. In a place where everything felt rigid and predetermined, his letters brought warmth and a sense of possibility, reminding you that there was more to life than the cold formality that surrounded you.

In his words, you felt understood and valued in a way that was rare and precious. The letters became a bridge between your two worlds, drawing you closer to him with each exchange. What had started as a simple correspondence had grown into something more, something that brought light into the darkest corners of your life.

And as you carefully folded each letter and tucked it away, you couldn’t help but feel that this connection with Nanami was something special, something that had the power to change everything.

However, not everyone was pleased with this growing connection. One evening, as you sat in the dimly lit parlor, absorbed in the latest letter from Nanami, the quiet solitude was suddenly disrupted by the sound of footsteps.

You looked up to see Satoru standing in the doorway, his presence filling the room with a tension that hadn’t been there moments before. His usual carefree demeanor was nowhere to be found; instead, his expression was stern, his blue eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite place.

Satoru had been quieter than usual lately, his playful banter and easy smiles replaced by an uncharacteristic stillness. The change in his demeanor was subtle at first, but now, as he stood before you, the weight of it was undeniable.

His normally relaxed posture was rigid, his shoulders squared as if he were bracing himself for a confrontation. The way his eyes narrowed as they flicked to the letter in your hands sent a chill down your spine, making your stomach tighten with unease.

He didn’t say anything at first, but the silence between you was heavy, charged with unspoken words. You could feel his gaze, intense and searching, as if he were trying to unravel the connection you had been so carefully building with Nanami through your letters. The air in the room seemed to thicken, the warmth of Nanami’s words in your mind now clashing with the coldness radiating from Satoru.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and controlled, but there was an edge to it that made your heart skip a beat. “You’ve been spending a lot of time writing letters.” he remarked, his tone betraying the undercurrent of disapproval he was trying to mask. The implication was clear, though he didn’t directly mention Nanami’s name.

You felt a surge of defensiveness rise within you, but it was tempered by the confusion and hurt that came with seeing Satoru like this. The man who had always been a whirlwind of energy and confidence now stood before you, guarded and almost vulnerable in his own way. The tension between the two of you crackled in the air, a silent battle of wills as you both struggled with what was left unsaid.

Satoru’s gaze bore into yours, and for a moment, it felt as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you in that room, locked in a standoff where neither wanted to be the first to back down. The letter in your hands, once a source of comfort, now felt like a weight, a reminder of the widening chasm between you and the man who had always been a constant in your life.

“And I have heard from whispers, dearest cousin. You’ve been spending a lot of time with count Nanami.” Satoru remarked, his voice edged with an irritation that was difficult to ignore. “I see he’s become quite the confidant.”

You looked up from the letter, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. “He’s been kind to me, Satoru. He’s welcomed me back into the ton with kindness.” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “We’ve exchanged letters, but it’s just a way to stay connected, to find some comfort in this unfamiliar world.”

Satoru’s smile was thin and cold. “You’re aware, I’m sure, that count Nanami’s intentions aren’t as noble as they seem. He’s a man of ambition, just as any man is and you’re merely a means for him to elevate his own status. He’s using you, and yet you seem to take his words to heart.”

The accusation stung, and you felt a surge of defensiveness rise within you. “That’s not fair, Satoru. Count Nanami has always been genuine with me. He’s been nothing but respectful and kind. I don’t believe he’s using me for his own gain.”

Satoru’s expression hardened, his gaze growing colder. “You’re naïve if you think he has no ulterior motives. He may seem kind now, but he’s a count—an ambitious one at that. He sees an opportunity in you, and it’s only a matter of time before he tries to exploit it.”

“I don’t think you understand him at all.” you said, your voice rising with frustration. “Nanami is not like that. He cares about me, and I care about him. Why can’t you accept that?”

Satoru’s eyes flashed with anger, the dark glasses doing little to mask his irritation. “Careful, cousin. It’s one thing to indulge in a fleeting fancy, but it’s another to be so blinded by it that you risk your own position and safety. I’m only trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” you demanded, rising from your seat. “From finding someone who treats me with respect and kindness? Nanami is not a threat—he’s a friend, someone who has shown me a different side of life.”

Satoru stepped closer, his demeanor imposing. “A friend who will inevitably use you to further his own ambitions. I’ve seen this game before, and it’s not one you want to be a part of. If you can’t see that, then I’ll have to make you understand.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and you could feel the walls closing in as Satoru’s anger boiled over. His words were like daggers, each one aimed at driving a wedge between you and Nanami. But despite the fear and the rising sense of dread, you stood firm.

“I won’t let you dictate who I can and cannot befriend,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “Nanami is more than his title, and if you can’t see that, then perhaps it’s you who doesn’t understand what’s truly important.”

Satoru’s face darkened, and for a moment, the room was filled with a tense silence. The air was heavy with unspoken words, with the weight of conflicting loyalties and emotions. Finally, he turned on his heel, his frustration evident in his stride.

“Do as you wish, cousin.” he said coldly. “But remember, I warned you. And if you find yourself disappointed, don’t come seeking my sympathy.”

With that, he left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. You stood there, heart racing, the echoes of his harsh words still ringing in your ears. The letter from Nanami lay on the table, a reminder of the solace and understanding you had found in him. Despite Satoru’s anger and warnings, you knew that you couldn’t turn away from the connection you had begun to cherish.

The world outside the estate might be filled with ambition and deceit, but in Nanami’s letters, you had found a glimpse of something real—something worth holding onto, no matter the cost.

A few weeks later, as the seasons shifted and the public gardens came alive with the colors of spring, you found yourself meeting Nanami Kento in a secluded corner of the park. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of bees. The vibrant landscape provided a stark contrast to the somber confines of the estate, and as you walked along the winding paths, your heart felt lighter, freed from the constraints of your daily life.

Nanami awaited you beneath a canopy of flowering trees, their petals drifting down like confetti around him. His eyes lit up with warmth as he saw you approach, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. He offered you a soft smile, his gaze filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

“Your grace,” he said, taking your hand in his as you reached him. His touch was gentle, and he guided you to a nearby bench, where you both sat, the blooming flowers forming a natural backdrop to your intimate conversation.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you remarked, looking around at the garden’s vibrant colors.

“It is, my lady.” Nanami agreed, but his attention was solely on you. He reached for your other hand, holding both of them on his own. “But not as beautiful as you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your cheeks flush, and you glanced down, unable to hide the smile that curved your lips. “You always know how to make me feel special.”

Nanami took a deep breath, his gaze locking onto yours with a seriousness that made your heart race. “There’s something I need to tell you, my lady. I hope I may be so prude as to ask you for your kindness.”

You smiled at him tenderly. “I give you leave, my lord. You need not ask my permission.”

“I….I must be honest with you, my lady.” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “From the moment we first danced together, I knew that you were someone extraordinary. Over the weeks, as we’ve exchanged letters and shared our thoughts, my feelings have only deepened.”

He paused, his fingers tightening around yours. “I am in love with you, more than I’ve ever thought possible. And I intend to marry you, if you’ll have me.”

The words hung in the air, their weight both exhilarating and overwhelming. You stared at him, the truth of his confession sinking in. The garden, the flowers, the world seemed to fall away as you looked into his eyes, seeing the depth of his affection reflected back at you.

“Yes, my lord.” you said breathlessly, your voice filled with emotion. “Yes, I will marry you. I’ve been waiting for someone who sees me for who I am, and who makes me feel truly alive. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Nanami’s eyes softened, and a relieved, joyful smile spread across his face. He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close as he whispered, “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”

You nestled against him, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the promise of a future together. The garden around you seemed to celebrate with you, the flowers blooming even more brightly, the air filled with a sweet, intoxicating scent. For the first time since your return to the estate, you felt a sense of genuine happiness and hope.

As you looked up at Nanami, the man who had shown you a different side of the world, you knew that this was the beginning of a new chapter—one filled with love, joy, and the promise of a future where you could finally be yourself.

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

YOU HAD NEVER BEEN HAPPIER. The news of your engagement to Nanami Kento spread like wildfire, and by the time of the next grand ball, it was the talk of every guest in the room. The ballroom, usually filled with the hum of polite conversation and the clinking of glasses, was now charged with an air of curiosity and excitement.

Everywhere you looked, people were whispering behind gloved hands, their eyes alight with speculation about the upcoming union between the Duchess and the influential Count. The event, ostensibly a celebration of the merging of two prominent families, felt more like a stage for the spectacle of your new life—a life that had changed so swiftly, it sometimes felt as if you were watching it unfold from a distance.

As you moved through the room, graciously accepting congratulations and well-wishes, you couldn’t help but notice the eyes that followed your every move. Some gazes were filled with admiration, others with envy or curiosity, but all of them were fixated on you, the woman at the center of this momentous occasion.

The weight of their expectations settled on your shoulders, making the air feel heavier, the music louder, the lights brighter. Despite the celebratory atmosphere, a part of you felt detached, as if this wasn’t your life at all, but a role you were playing in a story written by someone else.

Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces and forced smiles, your eyes were drawn to one figure that stood out from the rest. Satoru. He was present at the ball, his imposing figure a stark contrast to the lively crowd around him.

He cut an imposing figure in his formal attire, his white hair catching the light as he moved with the grace of someone who had long been accustomed to being the center of attention.

Yet, tonight, there was a distance about him, a coldness that had not been there before. He was surrounded by admirers and well-wishers, as always, but even in the midst of the crowd, he remained aloof, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for something—or someone—he could not find.

Your heart ached as you watched him, the memory of your last confrontation still fresh in your mind. The distance between you had grown wider in the weeks since then, an unspoken tension hanging between you like a storm cloud that refused to break.

You longed to mend things, to reach out and bridge the chasm that had formed between you and your cousin, but every time you caught his eye, he looked away, his expression unreadable.

The ball continued around you, the music swelling, the dancers twirling, but your thoughts were with Satoru. The joy that should have accompanied your engagement was tainted by the unresolved tension between you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something precious was slipping through your fingers. Nanami’s presence beside you was steady, his hand warm on yours, but it was Satoru’s absence—his emotional distance—that gnawed at your heart.

As the night wore on, you found yourself searching for moments when you could catch Satoru’s gaze, hoping to see some sign that he was still the cousin you had grown up with, the one who had always been by your side.

But each time, he remained distant, his walls firmly in place. The chasm between you seemed insurmountable, and as the ball continued, the realization that you might never bridge that gap settled heavily within you.

Yet, despite the ache in your chest, you knew that this night was a turning point, a moment that would define the course of your future. The ball was not just a celebration of your engagement; it was the beginning of a new chapter in your life.

But as you danced with Nanami, his presence comforting and reassuring, your thoughts kept drifting back to Satoru, the one person who should have been standing by your side, sharing in your happiness. Instead, he stood apart, a distant figure on the fringes of your new life, and the pain of that realization was almost more than you could bear.

With a deep breath and a determination to confront the situation, you made your way across the ballroom toward Satoru. The crowd parted slightly, and his gaze met yours as you approached, his dark glasses hiding his true emotions but his posture unmistakably stiff.

“Satoru, dearest cousin.” you began, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I’m sorry for how things went the last time we spoke. I didn’t mean to defy you or hurt you.”

He regarded you for a moment, and then his expression softened slightly, though he remained guarded. “I’m sorry too, my lovely cousin.” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I let my frustrations get the better of me. It wasn’t fair to you. I only wanted what I thought was best.”

Before you could respond, Nanami approached, his presence a calming contrast to the tension between you and Satoru. He offered a warm smile to both of you and extended a hand in greeting. Nanami then shifts his face, looking towards your own cousin.

“Is everything alright?” Nanami asked, his tone gentle and concerned.

Satoru glanced at Nanami, then back at you, and after a brief pause, he nodded. “Yes, everything is fine, my lord. I was just about to make a toast in honor of the engagement.”

He signaled to the servants, who quickly moved to bring in bottles of wine and glasses. The murmur of the crowd grew as they sensed something significant was about to happen.

With a gracious nod, Satoru raised his glass, and the room fell into expectant silence. His gaze shifted between you and Nanami, and though he spoke with his usual composure, there was a sincerity in his tone that was hard to ignore.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my gracious lords and ladies.” Satoru began, his voice carrying through the ballroom. “Tonight, we celebrate not only the union of two distinguished families but also the beginning of a new chapter in the lives of these two wonderful people. To my cousin, the duchess, and to my lord count Nanami Kento, I offer my heartfelt congratulations.”

He turned to you and Nanami, his smile warm but tinged with an underlying complexity. “May your life together be filled with happiness and prosperity. May you find joy and support in one another through all the challenges and triumphs that lie ahead.”

The room erupted in applause, a cascade of sound that seemed to envelop you from all sides. The clinking of glasses followed, a symphony of celebration that filled the grand hall, yet in the midst of it all, your heart was racing with a blend of emotions you could barely contain.

Relief washed over you like a cool breeze, cutting through the tension that had been knotted in your chest for what felt like an eternity. The applause wasn’t just for the announcement of your engagement—it was for the moment of reconciliation that had just played out before everyone’s eyes.

Satoru’s gesture, though unexpected, had sent a ripple through the gathered guests. His choice to stand and raise his glass in a toast, his expression carefully composed but unmistakably sincere, was more than just a public acknowledgment of your engagement.

It was a sign—a signal that he was willing to accept your choice, even if it pained him to do so. For so long, the distance between you had been a source of quiet anguish, an unspoken rift that neither of you had known how to bridge. But in that moment, with everyone watching, Satoru had taken the first step toward closing that gap, and the weight of that gesture settled over you with a mix of gratitude and sadness.

You felt Nanami’s hand tighten around yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you amidst the swirl of emotions. When you looked up at him, his expression was calm, yet there was a depth in his eyes that spoke of an unspoken understanding.

He didn’t need to ask what you were feeling; he knew. He had always known. Nanami’s quiet strength, the steadiness that had drawn you to him in the first place, was your anchor in this moment. His support was unwavering, his presence a silent promise that he would stand by you through whatever came next.

The applause continued, but the world around you seemed to blur, the faces and voices fading into the background as you focused on the two men who meant the most to you—one by your side, offering you a future, and the other across the room, finally offering you his acceptance. There was a bittersweet quality to the moment, a recognition that while you were stepping into a new life with Nanami, something else was being left behind.

As you smiled and nodded in response to the well-wishes of the guests, the gratitude you felt wasn’t just for the applause or the approval of those around you. It was for the unexpected turn of events that had allowed a measure of peace to be restored between you and Satoru, even if things would never be quite the same as they once were.

The mix of relief and gratitude in your heart was tinged with a quiet resolve—to honor the connections that had brought you to this point and to move forward with grace, knowing that you were not alone in this journey.

In that moment, with Nanami’s hand in yours and Satoru’s gaze finally softened by acceptance, you allowed yourself to breathe, to feel the weight of the past lift just enough to let you take the next step forward. The path ahead was still uncertain, but with Nanami by your side and the lingering warmth of Satoru’s gesture in your heart, you felt ready to face whatever lay ahead.

“Thank you, Satoru." you said softly, raising your own glass in acknowledgment. “Your words mean a great deal to us.”

Satoru inclined his head slightly, acknowledging your gratitude, and then turned to mingle with other guests, leaving you and Nanami to share a moment of quiet reflection.

The evening continued with renewed energy, and as you danced with Nanami, you felt a sense of peace, knowing that despite the challenges, you were surrounded by people who cared for you and were willing to bridge the gaps that had formed.

As the night continued, the ball's festivities seemed to intensify, with guests dancing and chatting in high spirits. But amidst the celebration, you noticed that Nanami appeared increasingly pale and uncomfortable. His hand, which had been warm and reassuring in yours, grew cold, and he occasionally grimaced, as if battling an unseen pain.

Concerned, you guided him to a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the crowd. “Kento, my love.....are you alright?” you asked, your voice filled with worry.

He tried to smile, but the effort was clearly painful. “It’s nothing, my darling.” he said, though his voice was strained. “I’ve just been feeling a bit unwell lately. It’s probably nothing.”

You helped him to a nearby chair, your hands trembling as you guided him down. But as soon as he sat, you noticed something terribly wrong. His face contorted with discomfort, his brows knitting together as a pained gasp escaped his lips.

His breathing grew shallow and labored, each breath a struggle that sent a jolt of fear through you. His hand moved to clutch his stomach, his fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as if trying to ward off an invisible agony. His skin glistened with sweat, and his once calm and steady demeanor was replaced by something raw and unsettling.

Before you could even react, his body suddenly slumped, going limp in the chair. The color drained from his face, his eyes fluttering shut as if the strength had been completely sapped from him. Panic surged through you like a bolt of lightning, your heart racing as you dropped to your knees beside him. “Kento!” you cried, your voice thick with fear, hands shaking as you desperately tried to rouse him. But he didn’t respond—his eyes remained closed, his body frighteningly still.

Frantically, you called out for help, your voice breaking as terror gripped you. The noise of the ballroom, once lively with chatter and laughter, fell into a stunned silence. The sudden shift in the atmosphere was palpable, as if the entire room had collectively held its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Satoru was among the first to arrive, his tall figure cutting through the crowd with an urgency that matched your own. His usual easygoing demeanor was nowhere to be seen; instead, his expression shifted from confusion to alarm as he took in the scene before him. His gaze darted between you and Nanami, the gravity of the situation sinking in as he knelt beside you, his own hands hovering over Nanami’s still form, unsure of what to do.

A doctor, who had been attending the event, quickly rushed over, pushing through the gathering crowd with a determined expression. You watched in desperate anticipation as the doctor knelt on Nanami’s other side, his fingers moving quickly to check for a pulse, to feel for any sign of life. His face grew increasingly grave as the seconds ticked by, his lips pressing into a thin line.

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity as the doctor worked, his movements precise yet tinged with a growing sense of urgency. The room’s tension mirrored the heartache building within you, a crushing weight that threatened to overwhelm you. Every second that passed without a sign of improvement, every quiet murmur from the doctor that you couldn’t quite hear, only deepened the pit of dread in your stomach.

The once festive atmosphere of the ball had been completely shattered, replaced by a chilling silence that seemed to echo your worst fears. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the cold, terrifying reality that the man you loved was slipping away, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Finally, the doctor straightened, his expression sorrowful. “I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do, your grace.” he said quietly. “Count Nanami is dead.”

The words struck you like a physical blow, leaving you momentarily paralyzed as their meaning sank in. It was as if the ground beneath your feet had been pulled out from under you, and you were left to freefall into a void of disbelief and despair.

You stared at Nanami’s lifeless form, his face pale and still, the strong and steady man you had known reduced to this fragile, unresponsive shell. It didn’t seem real—couldn’t be real. The vibrant world around you blurred, the colors bleeding into one another as your vision wavered. The music that had once filled the ballroom, the laughter that had echoed off the walls, now seemed like a distant, haunting memory from another life.

The sounds around you dulled, as if you were underwater, the cacophony of voices and gasps of disbelief fading into a muffled, indistinct hum. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if it were pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

The reality of the situation was too much to comprehend, too overwhelming to process. Nanami, who had been so full of life just moments ago, was now gone. The finality of it was like a weight crushing your heart, and you felt as if you were being dragged into a darkness from which there was no escape.

Satoru placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, a gesture meant to offer solace, but it only deepened the emptiness that had settled in your chest. His touch, usually so warm and reassuring, felt hollow and distant, as if even he couldn’t bridge the chasm that had opened up between the life you had known and the unbearable reality you now faced.

You didn’t look up at him, couldn’t bear to see the reflection of your own grief in his eyes. Instead, you remained fixated on Nanami, your mind desperately trying to reject the truth, to find some way to undo what had just happened.

The guests, who had been caught up in the joy and excitement of the evening, were now stunned into silence. Their expressions of shock and somber concern mirrored the confusion and heartache you felt. The whispers began to spread through the room, a low murmur that grew in intensity as people tried to make sense of the tragedy that had unfolded before them.

The once celebratory atmosphere had been shattered, replaced by a palpable sense of unease and sorrow. The collective joy that had filled the ballroom had evaporated, leaving behind only the cold, stark reality of loss.

As you stood there, your mind spinning and your heart breaking, the world around you continued to move forward, indifferent to the pain you were experiencing. The echoes of the music and laughter that had once filled the room now seemed like cruel reminders of a happiness that had been irrevocably taken from you.

The life you had imagined with Nanami Kento, the future you had so carefully envisioned, was gone in an instant, leaving you adrift in a sea of grief and uncertainty. Nothing was left behind.

You clutched Nanami’s hand, tears streaming down your face. “No, cousin....I....I cannot....” you whispered to him. “This can’t be happening. He was just here. We were about to start our life together.”

Satoru’s voice was gentle but firm. “We need to get you out of here, you cannot stay here.” he said, guiding you away from the scene with a sense of urgency. “Come with me.”

As you were led out of the ballroom, your mind was a whirlwind of grief and disbelief. The promise of a future with Nanami had been abruptly stolen from you, leaving you with nothing but the crushing weight of loss. The vibrant night that had once held so much promise now felt like a cruel mockery, its joy eclipsed by the shadow of tragedy.

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

YOU COULD NOT COPE WELL. Months had passed since Nanami’s tragic death, and despite the time that had elapsed, the ache in your heart remained as fresh as ever. The estate, once filled with the excitement of the engagement and the promise of a future, now seemed like a silent, mournful shell. Each day felt like an endless repetition of grief, with memories of Nanami lingering painfully in every corner.

Satoru, your cousin and now your closest family, had tried to coax you back to some semblance of normalcy. He encouraged you to attend social events, to engage with the world beyond the estate’s walls. But each time, you found yourself unable to muster the strength or the will. The world outside felt alien and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the warmth and hope you had once known with Nanami.

One evening, after yet another failed attempt to persuade you to join him for a dinner gathering, Satoru’s patience finally wore thin. His frustration, masked for so long, burst forth in an outburst that left you reeling.

“Why can’t you just move on?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “It’s been months. You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding away in this grief-stricken state.”

The words stung, and you felt a surge of anger and sadness collide within you. “You don’t understand,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “You didn’t lose him. You don’t know what it’s like to have everything ripped away like that.”

Satoru’s expression softened, a flicker of regret in his eyes as he saw the depth of your pain. The harshness in his voice faded as he approached you, his demeanor shifting to one of concern and gentleness.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice now filled with an earnestness that cut through the earlier anger. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I’ve been trying to help, but I know I can’t truly understand your pain.”

He reached out, gently taking your hand and guiding you to a nearby armchair. His touch was soothing, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil you were feeling. “Let me help you,” he said softly, kneeling beside you. “I know this is hard, but you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Satoru’s presence was a grounding force, his usual aloofness replaced by a sincere attempt to offer comfort. He poured a drink from a decanter on a nearby table, holding it out to you with a reassuring smile. “Here,” he said, “a little something to help calm your nerves.”

You accepted the drink, your hands trembling slightly. As you took a sip, the warmth of the liquor began to ease the tight knot of grief in your chest. Satoru settled beside you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, the gesture tender and supportive. “I know it’s not the same as having Nanami here,” he said quietly, “but I’m here for you. We can get through this together, even if it takes time.”

You leaned into him, finding solace in his steady presence. The tears continued to flow, but amidst the sorrow, there was a small flicker of hope—hope that perhaps, with time and the support of those who cared for you, the heavy burden of grief might one day become a little lighter.

Satoru stayed with you, his hand resting gently on your back as you cried. In that moment, his support and understanding offered a sliver of comfort, a reminder that even in the depths of loss, there could be moments of compassion and connection.

The truth began to unravel slowly, almost imperceptibly. You had been grieving, struggling to find any semblance of normalcy, and trying to rebuild a life that seemed forever altered by Nanami’s death. Satoru, in his way, had been both a source of comfort and a persistent presence, urging you toward recovery. His support, once reassuring, began to feel increasingly intrusive, as though his concern masked something darker.

One evening, as you were going through some old letters and personal effects, a hidden compartment in one of Nanami’s personal belongings caught your attention. Inside, you found a stack of letters and documents that seemed out of place. As you sifted through them, a particular letter stood out—a letter from Nanami to you, written shortly before his death. Its contents were cryptic and filled with a sense of unease that made your heart race.

The letter spoke of suspicions of being watched, of a growing sense of danger, and a mention of a mysterious figure who had been lingering in the shadows. That evil forces were coming, investigated by the Crown. That he was a blue shadow, a dark shadow. You put the letter down, your chest tightening.

The pieces of the puzzle began to click together in your mind, and a chilling realization dawned on you. Satoru, he...he was called the Queen's Blue Ghost. That was what he does for the Crown. You bit the lower edges of your lip. You could feel your legs losing strength as you grabbed the table to balance yourself.

You shake your head, almost as though you were in denial. It can't be. Your cousin....He would not. He promised, that he would always be good to you. To everyone. He, he can't be.

Desperate for answers, you confronted Satoru, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and anger. You cornered him in his private study, your voice trembling as you demanded the truth. He raised his head and smiled at you. But quickly, that retreated the moment he saw that look on your face.

"Cousin, is something wrong? Dearest one, you are agitated. You must—"

“Satoru, please.” you said, trying to keep your composure. “I require your honesty. Please. I need to know the truth."

"Whatever about? I have always been honest with you."

"Not on everything. And you know this. I know this."

"Dearest cousin, calm down—"

"What really happened to Nanami Kento? About the others. How many? How many others did you hurt?"

Satoru’s face, usually so controlled, betrayed a flicker of something dark and unsettling. He stepped closer to you, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. The moment you said his name, the moment it all snapped. You could feel your heart pound as he corners you, traps you, in his vicinity. You swallow the bile down your throat.

“The truth, you say?” he replied, his voice smooth but laced with a dangerous edge. “I’m afraid you might not like it, cousin. I fear I might upset you. And....that is out of the question."

You took a step back, the fear overwhelming you. “What did you do? I know you had something to do with it. Did you poison him?”

A cold smile spread across Satoru’s lips. “You’ve been more perceptive than I gave you credit for,” he said softly. “Yes, I was responsible. But it was all for you, my dear cousin.”

The words struck you like a blow. “For me? What are you talking about?”

Satoru’s gaze softened, but the malice beneath it was unmistakable. “I’ve always been in love with you. Even when we were children, I was captivated by you. Everything I did, every action I took, was driven by my desire to have you for myself. And I do not care, how many suffers for it. That lowly count, those pesky tattletales. I do not care, cousin. As long as I have you. ”

The enormity of his confession hit you with a force that left you reeling. “You killed my Kento… just to have me? Do you....do you know how derange that is? How could you? How could you do this to me?”

He stepped closer, his voice a whisper that was both chilling and intimate. “No one else could ever be right for you but me. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else taking you away from me. Nanami was an obstacle, and I removed him to clear the path for us.”

Horrified and desperate, you tried to flee, but Satoru’s reflexes were swift. He grabbed your arm with a strength that was both frightening and unyielding. You struggled against him, but his grip only tightened as he pulled you close. Your heart pounded, and tears streamed down your face as you realized the extent of his obsession.

“Let me go!” you cried, your voice breaking with desperation. “I can’t be with you. Not after this.”

Satoru held you tightly, his arms encircling you in a possessive embrace. “No,” he said firmly, his voice unyielding. “You belong with me. I’ve waited too long for this moment, and I won’t let anyone—least of all you—deny what’s meant to be.”

His words, though tender in their own twisted way, were laced with a darkness that left you feeling trapped and helpless. You could see the unshakable resolve in his eyes, the certainty that he was the only one who could provide the life he believed you deserved.

“I did it all for you, dearest one.” Satoru continued, his tone a mix of reverence and obsession. “Everything I did, every sacrifice, was to ensure that we could be together. You’ll see, in time, that no one else can care for you the way I do.”

It was as though for a moment, your memories echoed. That boy Satoru was, the distant and aloof boy you had looked up to, chased after — he was not there anymore. All that’s left is a monster. A monster who believed that loving you meant hurting you. Tears fell as you remember the boy he was.

The large, sunlit gardens were a backdrop to a series of memories, each one highlighting the contrast between your vibrant, spirited nature and Satoru’s reserved, emotionless disposition.

You were only six years old when you first encountered Satoru’s indifference. He was sitting alone in a secluded corner of the garden, surrounded by books and sketches, seemingly lost in a world of his own. His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, but his eyes, hidden behind dark glasses even then, were as cold and distant as the surrounding shadows.

Despite his aloofness, you were determined to reach out to him. You approached him with a bright smile, holding a daisy you had picked from the garden. “Satoru,” you called out, “would you like to play with me?”

He glanced up briefly, his expression unreadable. “I’m busy,” he replied curtly, his voice lacking warmth.

Undeterred, you sat down next to him, placing the daisy on his sketchpad. “But it’s such a nice day! Don’t you want to come outside and enjoy it?”

He stared at the daisy, then at you, a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity or irritation—crossing his face. “I don’t see the point in playing,” he said, turning his attention back to his sketches.

You persisted, your enthusiasm unwavering. “It’s not just about playing. It’s about having fun and being together. We can make up a story about the garden and pretend we’re explorers!”

“I don’t want to.” He whispered.

You pout. “But that’s no fun!”

As a young girl, you were determined to break through Satoru’s emotional barriers. One sunny afternoon in the grand estate’s garden, you devised a simple, yet heartfelt plan. You had spent the morning picking a variety of wildflowers, their vibrant colors brightening your small wicker basket. You were excited to surprise Satoru, who was once again immersed in his books and sketches in his usual secluded spot.

The garden was alive with the hum of bees and the soft rustling of leaves, and the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting playful shadows on the ground. You spotted Satoru sitting against a large oak tree, his focus intensely fixed on his work. With a smile, you approached him quietly, careful not to disturb his concentration.

“Satoru,” you called softly, holding up the flower crown you had made. It was a simple creation, woven from a mix of daisies, buttercups, and clover. The flowers were arranged in a delicate, colorful circle, their petals still fresh and dewy from the morning sun.

He looked up from his sketchpad, his expression as indifferent as ever, but a hint of curiosity sparkled in his eyes. “What’s that?” he asked, his tone more inquisitive than dismissive.

You knelt beside him, holding the flower crown out. “It’s a gift for you.” you said cheerfully. “I made it just for you. I thought you might like to wear it.”

Satoru’s usual aloofness seemed to falter as he took in the sight of the flower crown. There was a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, a momentary break in his emotional armor. He looked at the crown, then back at you, clearly unsure of how to react.

Without waiting for his response, you gently placed the flower crown on his head, adjusting it carefully so that it sat comfortably. Your fingers brushed against his hair, and you beamed at him with an innocent, genuine smile.

“There!” you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “Now you have a crown fit for a king.”

Satoru’s initial reaction was one of shock, his mouth slightly agape as he touched the delicate flowers with hesitant fingers. The corners of his mouth twitched, and for a brief moment, you saw a rare, genuine smile break through his usually stoic expression. It was a fleeting, but unmistakable, expression of delight.

He looked up at you, his eyes softer than they had ever been. “You made this for me?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of warmth that was seldom present.

“Yes, cousin!” you replied, your eyes sparkling with happiness. “I wanted to do something nice for you. I thought it might brighten your day.”

Satoru’s gaze lingered on you, and you could see the conflicted emotions playing across his face. The flower crown, so simple and yet so heartfelt, seemed to have touched him in a way you hadn’t anticipated. He looked away, his expression growing contemplative.

“It’s… nice.” he said quietly, a hint of genuine appreciation in his tone. “Thank you.”

You smiled, pleased with his reaction. “I’m glad you like it, cousin!” you said, reaching out to gently touch the crown. “I hope it makes you smile.”

As you walked away, you felt a sense of accomplishment. You had managed to break through Satoru’s emotional wall, if only for a moment, and the sight of him wearing the flower crown was a memory you would cherish. Little did you know that this simple act of kindness would become a significant, albeit bittersweet, part of your lives.

The contrast between the boy who had once been so distant and the man who now held you captive was stark and painful. The memories of your childhood—the times you had tried so hard to reach out to him, to bridge the gap that had always seemed to exist between you—now echoed in your mind like a cruel mockery.

Those moments, once filled with innocent hope and longing, now served as a haunting reminder of how drastically things had deteriorated. The boy who had seemed unreachable, who you had thought might one day come around, had instead grown into someone who was both terrifyingly close and dangerously unrecognizable.

As you struggled in his arms, the harsh reality of your situation became all too clear. Satoru’s love, which had once been a source of warmth and comfort, had twisted into something dark and all-consuming. The affection that had once made you feel safe was now a prison, its walls closing in around you with every passing second.

The realization that his love had warped into an obsession sent chills down your spine, and the fear that gripped your heart was unlike anything you had ever known. You had always known Satoru was different, that there was something in him that set him apart, but never had you imagined that his feelings for you could turn into something so possessive, so terrifying.

His grip on you was unrelenting, his arms a cage that you knew you could not break free from. No matter how hard you struggled, how desperately you tried to push him away, his hold only tightened. There was no trace of the gentle boy you had known in his eyes now—only the cold, determined gaze of a man who would not be denied.

As he held you close, you could feel the weight of his obsession pressing down on you, suffocating you with its intensity. The warmth that had once drawn you to him had been replaced by a chilling darkness, and the love that had once been your sanctuary had become the source of your greatest fear.

A profound sense of betrayal and loss settled over you, heavy and unyielding. The man who had once been your closest confidant, your protector, had now become the architect of your greatest sorrow.

The trust you had placed in him, the bond you had thought unbreakable, had been shattered beyond repair. The future you had dreamed of, filled with hope and happiness, was now overshadowed by the bleak reality of his possessive love.

In that moment, as you were held captive in his arms, you understood with a heartbreaking clarity that the Satoru you had known was gone, replaced by someone you could no longer recognize.

The boy who had once been distant, yet filled with potential, had become a man whose love had turned into a dark obsession, and the life you had once envisioned was now lost to the shadows of his twisted affection.

“I waited so long for this day, to have you free from the nuns, from the watchful eyes of the church, from anyone who would keep you from me." He whispered. “And I had to deal with that pest, that lowly pathetic count. All of those who wanted to steal you from me!”

The air in the room thickened as he stepped closer, his breath brushing against your skin. You knew what he wanted, what he had always wanted. It was written in the way he looked at you, the way his fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to reach out and claim you right then and there.

But you were no longer a child, no longer the naive girl who would blindly follow where he led. You were a Duchess now, with power of your own, and you would not be so easily consumed by the flames of his obsession.

Yet, as his hand finally found its way to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze, you couldn’t help but feel the pull. The twisted, sick desire that mirrored his own, the yearning to give in to the darkness that had always lurked beneath the surface of your soul.

"You will be mine, cousin." Gojo whispered, his lips hovering above yours. "Whether you like it or not."

You were drawn to him, as you had been as a child. The way he moved, the way he spoke—it He reached for you, his hands rough yet strangely tender as they cupped your face, his grip firm and unyielding.

Before you could react, his lips crashed against yours with a force that stole your breath. You struggled, tried to push him away, but he was stronger—much stronger. Your fists pounded weakly against his chest, a futile attempt to break free from the iron hold he had on you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you felt the helplessness of the situation, the weight of his obsession bearing down on you. But even as your mind screamed in protest, there was a part of you that responded to his touch, a dark, twisted part that had long been buried beneath years of repression.

His hands roamed over your body with a fervor that mirrored the storm brewing inside you, fingers tracing the curves of your form as if memorizing every inch. He pulled you closer, his embrace tightening until there was no space left between your bodies, the heat of his desire searing through your clothes, igniting a fire deep within you.

You hated yourself for the way your body betrayed you, for the way your heart raced not only with fear but with a sick anticipation. You could feel the hunger in his touch, the same hunger that had lurked within you, hidden and denied for so long.

Gojo’s lips trailed down your neck, leaving a burning path in their wake, his breath hot against your skin. His words were a whispered promise, laced with a dark possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

"You can’t escape me, cousin." he murmured against your throat, his voice thick with desire. "I’ve waited too long, dreamed of this moment for too many nights. You’re mine now, and I’ll never let you go."

His hands slipped beneath the fabric of your dress, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin beneath as he explored with an urgency that left no room for doubt. You gasped, the sound caught between a sob and something else, something far more dangerous.

As his touch grew bolder, you realized with a sickening clarity that no matter how hard you fought, no matter how many tears you shed, you were losing yourself to him. The line between love and hate, between desire and fear, blurred until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Gojo pulled back just enough to look into your tear-streaked face, his eyes darkened with a twisted satisfaction. His thumb brushed away the tears that still fell, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Don’t cry, my dearest." he whispered, his voice laced with mockery and something softer, something almost tender. "You’ll learn to love this, to love me, just as I’ve always loved you."

And as his lips claimed yours once more, the last vestiges of your resistance crumbled, swallowed whole by the darkness that he had nurtured within you, until all that was left was the Duchess who belonged to the Duke—no matter the cost.

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inklore · 3 months

Text

if it's one thing your girl is great at it's making a million different google docs full of lists full of resources, ideas, etc that will help future me when it comes to posting fics.

fic titles are literally one of the biggest lists i have and not even in a perfect world where i write ten fics a day would i ever be able to use all of these, and i don't like to see things go to waste, and i know there's people out there that struggle with titles as much as i do. so i hope this list comes in handy for someone!

i don't think i need to say this but just in case: no one owns fic titles, anyone can use these, a dozen people or one or none. these are literally just words and letters. no one owns them. sharing is caring, enjoy lovies!

★ — ONE WORD.

overboard

runaway

repercussions

sledgehammer

stargazing

symmetry

deathless

honey

retrograde

stitches

gravity

helpline

hollow

suffer

pushing

warrant

want

wonder

emotions

nonchalant

lavender

daydream

nosebleed

jigsaw

static

float

limbs

hologram

careless

lush

rotting

phonograph

hypnotic

splinters

magnetic

wasted

lithium

dealer

she

candles

sabotage

secrets

better

crescendo

deny

phenomenon

nights

guilty

move

criminal

blue

rise

thirsty

strangers

clockwork

closer

hectic

change

somebody

misery

sour

lowkey

peaches

she

nervous

sympathy

scars

disappear

melody

gemini

cruel

persona

supernatural

nectar

obsessed

casual

tryant

dare

honestly

yummy

out

paradise

nuts

groin

heaven

lost

stardust

tangerine

monolith

lunch

pov

perfume

dealer

tough

arson

★ — TWO WORDS.

hush hush

night away

heart stop

stone heart

waiting for

black rose

sad kids

spine breaker

look here

autumn leaves

for you

spring day

love maze

bad decisions

take two

wild flower

blue side

rainy days

face off

slow dancing

polar night

like crazy

club heaven

deeper water

romantic devil

hold me

angel eyes

picture you

after midnight

twilight zone

drain me

sorry sorry

pretty please

how sweet

bubble gum

empty box

love therapy

play me

red velvet

cherry bullet

midnight guest

cherry wish

code words

ghost walk

bad intentions

atlas hands

broken crown

crystallized words

filthy pride

fresh eyes

heavy feet

hungry ghosts

imaginary paintings

neon jungle

perfect storm

slow hands

stop signs

sad farewells

untranslated stars

after hours

bad liar

bonfire heart

bruised lips

cherry bomb

damaged goods

dead end

fire away

gunpowder hourglass

lonely together

lost language

old moons

one dance

paper knees

sleepy eyes

stolen dance

vice city

artificial heart

cry baby

daylight fading

dream awake

empty bottle

exit wounds

ghost orchards

moving stones

paper walls

oceans away

playing fiction

something wild

wild thoughts

everybody’s fool

eyes closed

storms incarnate

writing tragedies

stereo driver

soul searching

party’s over

backseat driving

fearful heart

backwards directions

nosebleed seats

high hopes

lovers rock

wet dream

selfish soul

washed away

rose rogue

midnight sun

teenage fantasy

wandering romance

sure thing

wildest dreams

rock candy

losing momentum

ruin you

heart holiday

sink her

cut splinters

hot mess

frozen devotion

little star

blind faith

favorite crime

romantic homicide

those eyes

play pretend

plot line

pretty poison

intimidate you

pretty face

strawberry kisses

lovers rock

worlds apart

desperate/separate ways

those eyes

the blonde

loving machine

spill blood

someone’s someone

★ — THREE WORDS.

got my number

happy without me

not over you

crazy for you

back to you

flame of love

just one day

let me know

hold me tight

make it right

closer than this

love me again

still with you

out of love

never let go

love in space

ready to bleed

bleed for love

between the bars

can’t be still

cold morning mist

in cold blood

matter of time

piece by piece

ship to wreck

taut with love

waste a moment

can’t see straight

down and out

in a blackout

just like fire

notes on tenderness

across the room

fire with fire

going half-mad

loving to ruins

rust to gold

send my love

talking in code

cradling a dream

cut to black

dear to me

run me dry

dancing with demons

kiss and tell

if you care

the cry out

steal this night

just for now

heart on fire

hold my head

nobody but you

simple and plain

a familiar sound

fool for you

drown your memory

falling into you

just like heaven

warm like beaches

love that stings

rotting in places

moves on you

save your tears

a single tear

light my cigarette

long nights, daydreams

boys like you

love me forever

hands on me

like a phonograph

taking over me

dug so deep

touch the ground

heart shaped box

where’s my love

tears of gold

lover of mine

love me wrong

kiss or kill

exes and why’s

love is easy

stupid in love

easy to love

lost with you

glimpse of us

keep you safe

death with dignity

just like heaven

heart of glass

baby i’m yours

pull my strings

★ — FOUR+ WORDS.

love me a little

happy without me

you can't hold my heart

wishing on a star

give it to me

around the world in a day

waste it on me

this mess is yours

feeling like i do

on a war path

blood on the surface

corner of the sky

do the divine love

drinking the corinthian sun

everything is laced in (add word)

lost in the moment

in the nick of time

mouth like a pomegranate

the bones you’re made of

when the mania speaks

all desire & no thought

blue in the face

collapsing and relapsing

middle of the night

sail to the sun

lay down your arms

falling into the sky

take me where your heart is

she’s like the bad weather

kill for your love

the cigarette and the smoker

the match and the fuse

saint, i’m a sinner

when the sky comes falling

pretty little hand in mine

even when the sun don’t shine

staring at the sun / sunset

tangled up with you all night

paper airplanes flying

maybe i’m a fool

tastes like rock candy

blood in a lemon

(a) heart ready to die

fate is losing its patience

at least we feel alive

death for your secrets

someone’s gonna ruin you

dancing in a crowded room

smell you on my clothes

always taste like you

leave me wanting more

hunger for (insert here)

swim before you drown

put your hands on me

drink my (these) tears and cry

i’d sleep all day just to dream of you

so high we never stood a chance

i’d break down anytime for you

maybe i’m wrong, or maybe it’s true

i only breathe so that i breathe with you

a worn out cassette

lips on my cold neck

talking in my sleep

make me feel like someone else

locked inside your heart

hooked on her flesh

it’s bloody and raw

the angel of small death

just a couple sinners

smiles cover your heart

charmer and the snake

stuck on your thumb

if i killed someone for you

dancing with your ghost

i miss you, i’m sorry

woman of the hour

shut up and look pretty

queen of the night

devil in a dress

the thought of you

to be your lover

falling over you

just like a movie

love on the line

#also no one has to give me credit like pls steal these and use them lol #fic titles #fic help #fic resources #story help #fic reference #tips and tricks #story titles #titles #if there’s double words or titles on here ignore that i’m too lazy to read through everything lol

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smolvenger · 8 months

Note

Also, I can't say no to blurbs and especially not to something extraordinarily fluffy like "Touch her and you die", tehehe... Perhaps with Henry V? 🤭

Hiiii bestie! I'm going to make the blurbs shorter and simpler if you don't mind!

His Queen (Henry V x fem! Reader blurb)

Your boat docked right on the shores of France. So while your husband, the king, was determined to fight there- you had to see him.

Henry had waited with his whole army on the shore of a cliff. Then he dismounted his horse and ran up. It was a reminder of his youth- the young, firey, springy king. He easily bounded through the little beach and the plank right as you stepped up to get off the boat. Before his army and the guards, he embraced you passionately and you back.

"How are you, my sweet wife?"

"Weary from the journey though it was smooth," you confessed.

"For such a lady as you, even the seas and winds themselves would still and become gentle for you to cross," he said.

He hugged you again, peppering a kiss onto your cheek as you laughed, feeling the tickle of his facial hair and re-acquainting yourself with his lips.

He gestured to one of the lords. The Lord of York brought forth a beautiful white mare and you gasped.

"A gift for you, my lady," he offered.

You thanked him and he helped you to mount her. She accepted you- gentle was her demeanor and what a good companion she would make here in France.

"Why, the seas were quite misty- I should call her Mist, for she reminds me a little of it," you cooed, petting her mane.

"A noble, strong, yet sweet and beautiful thing, much like my dearest queen and lady," Henry said.

"My, what words roll off your tongue now! They shall call you a poet, not a ruler," you teased.

"Then it means I am an artist, and you are the muse then for such words. And if I must continue my pen, then my muse shouldn't be kept too long from me," he bantered back lightly.

He got up on his own horse- a white stallion quoting yours. You felt like a fairy queen, not a mortal one, as she trotted over the grass.

And you were led to ride and sit on your horse before the army. Dressed in their greys and blacks and scraps of leather, their eyes were big.

"This here, is Her Majesty, the Queen of England," announced Henry.

You smiled, though part of you went stiff. A few looks seemed to be borderline leers. How long have these men been deprived of a woman's presence?

Henry noticed, and his voice turned a darker tone, a fiercer one.

"She is both your ruler and a lady, and you must respect her as you do both. She is also my wife, I must remind you..."

His eyes darkened. The army stiffened, turning pale and attentive like naughty schoolboys caught by their teacher.

"You must guard her and listen to and follow her as you do Harry of England. She is England's Woman and it's most precious jewel. And should any miscreant or bully among you dare lay a finger on that precious jewel, I shall condemn you at once to hang. Remember the fate of Bardolph- one of your own who greedily robbed a poor church of its dearest sacraments- and she here is the greatest sacrament of England. And if none of you want to share worse than his fate, then cool your lust elsewhere...or I shall execute you myself." Henry threatened all of them.

The soldiers bowed their heads and complied. You gave him a smile. Though the only woman there, you were unafraid.

You were ready to join your husband and support him without fear.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

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jaethaone · 1 month

Text

Coming For Whats Mine

Part 2

Pairings: Roman Reigns x black female reader, mentions of Carmelo Hayes x black female reader

Rating: 18+

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: None really. Slight angst? maybe? Hint of toxic at the end. That’s all really.

Summary: Set at SummerSlam, Four Months after Wrestle Mania, Yn is set to defend her WWE Women’s Championship Title after her win at Wrestle Mania. It’s also been four months since she’s last seen, or heard from Roman despite their “relationship” at the time. How will things go for the Champion when the rumors of his return prove true.

A/n: So this is the first fic I’ve written in like 4 years, SummerSlam kind of gave me a sliver of inspiration so bear with me. I’m always up for feedback so reblog, comment, let me know what you guys think. I also left it open for a possible part two.. maybe. This Is Also Considered An AU since the events in the story don’t exactly follow real life.

GIF: @jeysuso

The bustling energy at SummerSlam 2024 pulsated through the air backstage as sound technicians, lighting crews, and wrestlers flitted about like frenetic fireflies. Excitement brimmed over in every corner; tonight was pivotal, not just for the promotion but for wrestlers both in and out of the ring.

Yn took a moment for herself, the chill of the backstage environment a welcome contrast to the crowded chaos outside. She stood before a mirror, The glint of the title belt rested on her shoulder like a crown she’d fought hard to earn, the gold reflecting her determination. The echo of cheers from the audience seeped through the walls, only intensifying her focus. Yet, despite the momentous occasion, a lingering heaviness sat in the pit of her stomach.

It had been four months since she had claimed the WWE Women’s Championship, and it felt like only yesterday when she had tasted victory after a grueling match against IYO SKY the same night Roman Reigns had lost his title to Cody Rhodes.

“Yn, you ready champ?”

Bianca’s voice broke through her thoughts bright and buoyant. She appeared at Yn’s side, her own hair styled to perfection, radiating confidence as she and Jade entered her dressing room after knocking.

Bianca, her fiery spirit contrasting with Yn’s calm demeanor, wore a dazzling outfit that shimmered under the harsh lights. Jade followed, her presence like a grounding force, her eyes full of both mischief and wisdom.

“I’ll be fine,” Yn replied, forcing a smile as she turned to face her friend. “Just another match, right?”

“Just another? It feels monumental to me,” Jade said thoughtfully, nudging her friend playfully. “Especially with the rumors swirling about Roman returning tonight. You two used to be… close?”

“Yeah.. close,” Yn replied, her tone fluctuating between nonchalance and suppressed emotion. “That feels like forever ago.”

“Or a different era,” Bianca added, eyebrow raised.

Despite Yns indifferent tone she couldn’t mask the tightness creeping into her chest. Days blurred together into months since that fateful night at WrestleMania, where Roman lost the title to Cody Rhodes, and Yn was crowned champion. It was supposed to be a moment of mutual joy, but the victory had felt hollow. Roman had ghosted her, leaving a void where triumph should have blossomed. Despite their burgeoning friendship, one that had hinted at something deeper, he had vanished, and with him, her hope.

“Four months is an eternity in WWE time. You really don’t feel anything now that he’s back?” Bianca asked breaking through Yns thoughts

Yn shook her head, pushing strands of hair out of her face. “No. I mean, we all have our lives to live, right? Roman ghosted me after ‘Mania. I saw it for what it was.” Despite her words, she felt a flicker of uncertainty. She had believed in something that night, something she wished wouldn’t fade with his silence.

“Uh-huh! Sure,” Jade challenged, eyeing Yn with skepticism. “You’re telling me you don’t care at all? You two had something special, and now he’s just…gone?”

“Seriously, Yn,” Bianca added. “You can’t deny it. You liked him.”

Yn inhaled sharply, steeling her heart against the memories of laughter shared and conversations that crawled past midnight.

Yn brushed off their concern with a laugh, but it felt hollow. “I’m all good. I don’t think about Roman. I have a match tonight, and I need to focus on that. It doesn’t matter what he does or doesn’t do anymore. Besides I’ve got Carmelo. We’re not serious, but he’s here.”

“Carmelo? Really, that’s your takeaway?” Bianca Deadpanned. “Just be careful; he’s not exactly your usual type.”

“Great!” Yn grinned, but it was a little forced now. “Your concerns about Carmelo are adorable, but I can handle myself.”

She could hear the raucous cheers outside growing louder, a reminder of the pressure that lay ahead. Tonight was about her, her title, her reign. To maintain that, she needed to block out everything else. But as the show rolled on, Yn couldn’t escape the gnawing apprehension filling her thoughts. It surrounded her like a fog, thickening with each moment that passed leading to her title defense.

Time passed in a blur. The moments leading up to her entrance felt drawn out, yet time seemed to tick away invisibly. When it was her turn, the lights dimmed, and the arena erupted. The audience roared, adrenaline coursed through her veins, but the shadows of the past clung stubbornly.

Despite this she stepped out to face her challenger, she was an embodiment of strength and resilience. The adrenaline fueled her, and nothing was going to stand in her way. Each cheer, every shout of her name, ignited the fire within, and her determination flared to life.

The match unfolded with a punctuated rhythm of hard-hitting action, each move resonating with the audience who cheered her on. Yn felt powerful, confident, her expressions dropping into fierce concentration.

It was brutal yet exhilarating. Yn gave everything she had, countering her opponent’s moves with the skill she had honed over countless hours in the ring. The crowd rallied behind her, and she thrived off their energy, pushing herself beyond limits, chasing victory as she’d always done.

Time melted away, and at last, the bell rang. Yn stood victorious, breathless and basking in the exhilaration of the win. She raised her championship high, the bright lights illuminating her triumph. Cheers erupted, but all the while, there was a nagging sensation in her gut, the victory felt hollow.

As she exited the ring, the crush of bodies shifted, and the atmosphere in the locker room transformed. It was electric, reminiscent of old times tinged with uncertainty.

Yn sat in her locker room as the rest of the night cruised by, watching the remaining matches unfold. Unknowingly holding her breath as she watched the match between Solo And Cody For The Universe Championship.

Watching as every “member” of the Bloodline came out to assist Solo in trying to secure his win over Cody You stood to your feet as the familiar music hit your ears and the pop of the crowd could be heard from your room. The rumors were true.

The Tribal Chief was back

After watching Roman superman punch and spear Solo allowing Cody to retain his title, and also watching Roman tell Cody that said title belonged to him, you felt that it was time to head to your hotel. Granted you could have left a long time ago, not watching to face the real reason you decided to stay behind.

She steeled her racing heart and grabbed her bags, stepping out into the quiet of the halls, the noise of the crowd now a distant crescendo.

As she rounded the corner there he stood. Roman Reigns, backlit by the leering lights of the arena, as if he had stepped out of a dream.

He looked different yet the same—strong, confident, and undeniably captivating.

“Yn!”

“Roman,” she replied, her heart hammering. She hadn’t anticipated this confrontation, nor was she prepared for the swirl of conflicting emotions erupting in her chest.

“Congratulations,” he offered, an easy smile playing on his lips, yet something felt rehearsed.

“Thanks,” she replied curtly, crossing her arms in subconscious defense. “Interesting timing, coming back after all this.”

“I’m back for good,” he clarified, an edge in his tone indicating the seriousness of his intention. “But I wanted to say—”

“Say what?” Yn interrupted. “Say you’re sorry for ghosting? For pretending we meant something?”

“You ghosted me, Roman. Four months. All this time, and not a word.”

He winced, an ache dancing in his eyes.

The air between them was thick with unresolved tension.

“I missed you.”

She laughed at that. “You have a funny way of showing it”

“It wasn’t just that night, Yn. that lost. It felt as if I lost everything. I had to rebuild.” His gaze softened, making her heart flip against her will. “You… you were a part of that journey I thought I needed to let go of.”

“And what? You think just appearing will change anything?” Yn shot back, her frustration rising. “You put me through hell—and yet, I fought to be the champion! To earn this belt!”

He stepped closer, reducing the distance with every heartbeat thrumming in her ears. “You’ve always been a champion babygirl. I’m just glad the rest of the world gets to see what I’ve already known”

Yn’s chest tightened, anger and nostalgia battling for dominance at the nickname. “You think it’s that simple? You don’t just disappear and then show up like a knight in shining armor because you feel like it."

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he said, his voice steady. “But I want to earn it. I need to try. For you.”

“I also see you.. with him—” he gestured vaguely, as if Carmelo were an afterthought.

“Carmelo treats me right,” Yn insisted, but doubts flickered like shadows behind her bravado.

“Does he?” Roman's intensity was disarming. “I never wanted to let you go; I was scared. But I know what you’re worth now.”

Yn’s heart raced, torn between the spark ignited by Roman’s words and the steady, purposeful connection she had built with Carmelo. “It’s not about you anymore, Roman. You chose yourself. You didn’t want what we had. If you want to play the game, you’ll have to accept that I’m moving forward.”

His expression faltered, and for a moment, she found herself yearning for their shared past, pushing against the memories of laughter and warmth. Yet, it was all too easy to fall back into the gravitational pull of his world—a world filled with echoes of promises and guilt.

“I’m here, Yn,” he said quietly, as if hoping his words could reshape her very understanding of their reality. “What I did was wrong, but I’m not here only for redemption. I’m here for you, if you’ll let me.”

The moment stretched like elastic, both thrilling and frightening. Yn remembered the spark she felt when they were together, the laughter, the whispered dreams. But she also recalled the shattering silence that followed his departure.

“I—” she started, taking a deep breath, heart racing as she grappled with the looming decision.

For what felt like an eternity, Yn stood silent as the shadows of doubt and desire melded and twisted within her. She thought of Carmelo, the person who had been there for her. Their relationship was light and airy, a painful attempt to distract herself from the past. Yet here Roman stood—the embodiment of unresolved emotions she had tried to bury deep.

“Roman—” she began, but he interrupted, stepping closer, the distance closing.

“Just give me a chance to explain. I was scared, Yn. Scared of what I felt for you, scared of the title loss, and scared—I know I didn’t handle it well. But I’m back now, and I want to make things right.”

“Things can’t just go back to the way they were,” she countered, a part of her wrestling with the truth of his words. She could fall back into this, but the other side—the need to protect herself—screamed loudly.

“You’re right. They can’t,” he agreed, his gaze unwavering. “But we can create something new. If you’ll let me.”

Yn felt the weight of indecision settle heavily. A part of her craved the safety of the stable friendship she had begun building with Carmelo, but her heart ached at the possibility of all she’d sought and lost with Roman.

Ultimately, she would have to choose. Would she risk the familiarity and comfort of her connection with Carmelo, or would she allow the flame that had once flickered so brightly with Roman to reignite?

“Tonight, I am the champion,” she whispered, steadying her resolve. “But I don’t know if I can be your...whatever it is you want from me.”

“I— I just don’t know if I can trust you again. I have to protect what I have built alone, Roman, even if it isn’t what you think it should be.”

A smile ghosted Roman’s lips, bittersweet but hopeful. “No rush. I’m not going anywhere this time. Just know that I’ll be waiting—should you choose to return.”

And as the air thickened with possibilities and remnants of the past hung like a thin veil, Yn found herself standing at the crossroads of longing and familiarity.

Meanwhile Roman was back not only for his spot as Tribal Chief and Head of the Table, or His Championship.. those will all come in due time trust. He was back for what was his, and that included Yn.

#roman reigns fanfiction #imagines #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black reader #wwe smackdown #wwe fanfiction #black reader #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns

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bluelikebruises · 7 months

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whispers of summer fervor || aegon ii targaryen

Aegon II Targaryen/TargaryenF!Reader summary: Fire and Blood—you were etched out of those great words. Born covered in a veil of maroon with the stench of death. A hollow child with sunken eyes kissed by the very fire that gave your family their power. When the dragon egg in your crib never hatched you were thrown into the dragon’s den. Ignited by a dragon who was not yours to claim, your skin holding the memories of your failure. The Cursed Targaryen Princess—without a mother, without a dragon, and maimed. Your misfortunes were a stain upon the tapestry of the Targaryen legacy. or Being the disgraced child of King Viserys and abandoned by your eldest sister pushes you into the arms of her opposition, leading to your support of Aegon’s claim. wc: 5.1k tw: slight ooc aegon, angst, rhaenyra is usurped, rhaenyra slander, daddy issues, mommy issues, viserys is a shity dad, burn scars, reader is born from aemma but skintone & physical features are never discussed, canon divergence, incest cause yknow targaryens, bastard slander, hints of misogyny

a/n: i usually write (or try to) a reader who is neutral to the whole blacks vs green, but not today! rhaenyra is the rightful heir—always—but for the sake of this fic she is not. also i’ve been neglecting completing my uni assignments to finish this lol, enjoy!!! p.s. not proofread

☆━━━━☆━━━━☆

Fire and Blood—the words of your House.

Fire and Blood—a warning to those who would ever think of opposing the Targaryen dynasty.

Fire and Blood—a declaration of war met with threats disguised as promises.

You were etched out of those great words. Born covered in a veil of maroon with the stench of death. A hollow child with sunken eyes kissed by the very fire that gave your family their power. When the dragon egg in your crib never hatched you were thrown into the dragon’s den. Ignited by a dragon who was not yours to claim, your skin holding the memories of your failure. The Cursed Targaryen Princess—without a mother, without a dragon, and maimed. Your misfortunes were a stain upon the tapestry of the Targaryen legacy.

A fate you were lucky enough to not shoulder alone, Aegon like you was born of your mothers blood. Born out of a desperate need to uphold old customs and beliefs. While his birth was celebrated it also split the Realm, whispers of his right as future king followed him throughout his life. The notions of king left heavy expectations for him to shoulder, expectations he never met, always falling short in one way or another. Resulting in his feverish drinking and promiscuity.

You are both young when you realize the shortcomings of your livelihoods. The drop in your father’s voice whenever he spoke of you. The frigid overcast that glazed over his eyes when his eyes set on you. The blatant favoritism he showed towards your much older sister—the tenderness in his eyes was a warmth you had never felt. His disdain leaked into your interactions; an uncomfortable shadow fell upon his brow whenever you were in his presence. As if your very being pained him, and how could it not? You were the walking reminder of his wife’s death, of his failure as not just a husband but a King.

Aegon knows the resentment his mother harbors towards him despite her denial. Her first born conceived of a loveless marriage. She had been a girl and made a monarch overnight and some months later a mother. She was robbed of her girlhood and tied to the crown forever and Aegon had been the first nail in her coffin. Aegon represented every sacrifice she had made and his constant rebellion felt like an insult to everything Alicent lost.

You understood one another, in ways many could not. Cut from the same cloth amalgamations of Targaryen indulgence, stubbornness, and passion. The least favored children of the King and Queen, bonded over neglect and resentment.

Years forged your attachment into blind fidelity, a sickly devotion that was rooted in your hearts like oaths. The world hardly existed outside the two of you and it didn’t stop for anyone without the Targaryen name. While many believed there were no exceptions to your coterie, they would find themselves proven wrong. For nearest and dearest to you was Helaena and Aemond, both as intertwined with one another as you and Aegon.

Though the four of you were close none of you shared an inkling of a relationship with your eldest sister. Rhaenyra had left for Dragonstone and never turned back, no word or ravens ever arrived in her stead.

When she had resided in the Keep she made no effort to hide her aversion towards you. She was a specter in your memory and marked as a heathen by the Queen. The Queen marked Rhaenyra a great many things and left a bitter child you swallowed her words like water.

It came to no surprise to anyone when the Queen announced that Vaemond Velaryon was bringing into question the validity of your nephew’s claim to Driftmark. After all Rhaenyra had done a very poor job of hiding her indiscretions.

━━☆━━

On the day of the trial you sit in front of the hearth dreading the affair that was to come. As the hours passed you prepared to become a part of the circus, another spectacle for the Lord and Ladies of the Kingdom to gawk at. Prying eyes were always trying to glimpse at your injury, trying to validate the whispers of gossip they had heard. They were children and you, a parable came to life—a reminder of how cruel the Gods could be. The Cursed Targaryen Princess who could not hatch or claim a dragon. A clear demonstration that even the Targaryens were exempt from their own fire.

Eyes followed you even when not a single body was around. They haunted you mercilessly. The constant feeling never allows you to inhabit your body comfortably. It was the reason many of your dresses had been tailored towards your lesions. Tailored towards the concealment of the damaged skin of your shoulder and upper arm.

Your dresses always had long sleeves even during the hot summers. The scars that could not be hidden with fabric were hidden by your hair. Never was your hair tied up or styled in extravagant fashion. It was only ever neatly placed out of your face in a simple manner.

With the sound of your chambers doors opening you surface from thought. Aegon steps into view, freshly bathed with his hair combed and wearing an exasperated look.

“The Keep is a mess” he says slumping down next to you. He throws his head back leaning uncomfortably on the divan

“Your sisters arrival warrants pageantry”

“Your sister” he clarifies

You scoff, Rhaenyra had not been your sister in years. She had always tried to marry you off to a Lannister or whatever Lord presented himself as willing. She thought you incompetent and arrogant, endowments she believed were smears of her mothers memory.

She was one to cast judgment, you’re sure Aemma would not have been keen on having illegitimate grandsons. What was the saying of House Arryn… As High as Honor. Bastards were anything but.

“Has she not summoned you?” he looks at you curiously

“She has,” you respond boredly. A servant had entered your chambers the day prior, her head tilted towards the floor as she spoke. Her timidness struck you as odd and instantly you knew she was one of Rhaenyra’s. With a smile you sent her back to her mistress, refusing to tangle yourself in her web.

Aegon smirks, “She is to be Queen and you deny her”

“She pedals falsehoods and you forget she is not Queen yet”

He laughs shifting in his seat, his eyes never leaving you. While you hated being watched, Aegon's gaze was different. He was never trying to pry you open or overzealous with morbid curiosity. He always regarded you with esteemed affection and tenderness.

After a long pause you say, “Is there something on my face?”

His stare doesn’t waiver and he doesn’t respond. It is rare when he forgets how bewitching you could be but when it strikes him, he is at a loss for words—overwhelmed by the realization. His eyes shine with novelty as if it is the first time he has ever laid eyes on you. As if you were the grand encompass of the ocean and he was ready to dive in.

You utter his name and he’s awoken from the spell he had been under.

He stands offering his hand, “We should take our leave now”

“You’ve never been one for punctuality” you tease and he smiles

“No, but I have been informed to behave. To present an image of regalness and grace” a laugh escapes his lips, “As if I am Aemond”

Now you laugh taking his hand, “He is much more regal than you”

Aegon clutches his chest just over his heart, feigning hurt, “You injure me”

With your arms laced together you set off to find Aemond and Helaena. It would have been improper for Aegon to enter without his wife and for you to show up in the arms of a married man—regardless if he was your brother. It was a rule the four of you rarely followed but today was not the day to deter away from customs.

Helaena is the first to spot you in the halls, Aemond is with her. A bright smile displayed on her face as she said your name. You can’t help but admire her, always effortlessly beautiful and far more intelligent than anyone gave her credit for. The picture of what women of your house were to be, beautiful, intelligent, and dragon riders. Everything you were not and though she did not hatch an egg she had claimed Dreamfyre. You should have been mad with envy but no such ill feeling ever came.

You loved her, perhaps no envy was born due to your ever present feeling of having to protect her. Of shielding her from the claws that embedded themselves into Keep. Destroying any sight of light or innocence. Fearing she would be treated like you had been.

You depart from Aegon to greet Helaena with a kiss on the cheek. Moving towards Aemond to do the same, he greets you with a compliment before extending his arm for you to take.

“Always so chivalrous” you say loud enough for Aegon to hear

━━☆━━

The hearing had gone to shit. Your father made a surprising appearance, Vaemond had died, Lucerys was still heir to Driftmark, and everything was as it had been the day before.

You stand beside Aegon and Aemond in the dining hall, the room is lit by candle light as chatter fills the air.

“What a waste of time” Aegon huffs

“Dinner or the hearing?”

“Both. Lucerys is still heir and Daemon suffers no consequences.”

Aemond chimes in, “Their breaths are an insult to everything we stand for”

You nod about to speak when the sound of the wooden door opening announces the arrival of the King. Quickly everyone settles to stand before their seats, seating only after the King is seated.

Your father greets everyone with a hoarse voice. He wears a golden mask on the rotten side of his face and he breathes as though it pains him.

“Prayer before we begin?” The Queen asks and he nods

Instantly your head is bowed, your hands are in your lap, and your eyes are closed. Prayer had become a daily ritual before dinner and it was always led by the Queen.

Before the prayer is over you feel the sensation of eyes on your skin. You think it to be one of your nephews but when the prayer is over you see it is Rhaenyra.

Her eyes are casted with an emotion you cannot read and they soon drop to your shoulder. Eyeing the scars that edged just above your shoulder and the base of your neck.

Feeling the scrutiny of her gaze, your hands find your hair moving it to disrupt her viewing. You had been judged by the vultures of the Seven Kingdoms, you would not allow Rhaenyra to do the same.

The expression on your face is clear, Rhaenyra has gotten to you.

Aegon notices your discomfort, notices how your hair now falls over your chest, and how your eyes are focused on the empty plate before you. Instantly he knows someone is to blame. He first assumes it to be Daemon, his uncle was crude and unceremonious. Having little regard for the people around him, not bothering with niceties.

But when he sees Rhaenyra attentively watching you—casting judgment—he knows it was her. Aegon almost laughs at her hypocrisy, as if she out of anyone had any right to look down upon others.

If his sister wanted something to look at, then he as a gracious brother would oblige in the only way he knew how, by causing a scene. The one thing Aegon was adept at was getting under people's skin, poking and prodding until they burst.

He leans towards Jacaerys spewing his obnoxious rambling. When his nephew bites back Aegon leans back in his chair reveling in the beginning of his antics.

The sound of wood scraping against stone makes you cringe, your father is standing removing his mask displaying the rot that has taken over the left side of his face. Eye’s are averted at the bare sight of the King’s face, but you are accustomed to seeing rotten skin. His teeth can be seen through his cheek, the muscle stretching and contracting as he speaks—it's a morbid sight.

He speaks of reconciliation and forgiveness but you pay him no mind. Besides you, Aemond keeps his eyes forward, Helaena has her eyes on the wooden table, and Aegon’s jaw is tight as he stares at his wine cup.

You spent the next couple of moments with your head in the clouds. Surfacing from thought when Rhaenyra toasts to the Queen, thanking her for looking after the King. You’re surprised when the Queen follows after, her kind words confound you. But you have no time to think them over as Aegon stands from his seat. Stepping between Jacaerys and Baela pouring wine into his cup.

Aemond looks suspiciously towards you but you had no answers to give him. When his eye leaves you the table shakes and Jacaerys stands as Aegon sits. With furrowed brows you look at Aegon who sips on his wine with ease.

The room falls silent and Aegon is reviling in the tension, trying not to smile triumphantly as he uses his cup as a shield.

The tension in the room grows thicker when Aemond stands. He’s looking at Jacaerys with the marksmanship of a hunter who had spotted their prey.

Eyes shift and concern is painted on the faces of almost everyone.

Jacaerys playfully hits his uncle on the shoulder, raising his cup as he smiles at Aemond, “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth” Jacaerys pauses looking between his uncles, “And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles”

Across the table you see the snarky smiles of Jacaerys’ betrothed and Lucerys. Their smugness lights a flame in the furnace of your heart. You have half a mind to stand with Aemond, to show that their disrespect would not be tolerated.

“To you as well,” Aegon says

When Aemond sits you lean towards him, “Fucking miscreants”

“Vermin” he responds as Helaena stands.

She smiles excitedly holding her cup of wine, “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon” she turns to them, “It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you, except sometimes when he’s drunk” she smiles

You let out a small laugh at her words. Aegon was rather whinny when drunk, he became a rambling needy mess who desperately wanted attention. And you were always there to give it to him in any shape or form that he needed it in.

Smiling, you raise your cup towards Helaena, “Hear, Hear”. The scarlet wine falls down your throat with ease and your moment of enjoyment is shortly ruined by an approaching Jacaerys.

His eyes are set on Helaena as he extends his hand asking her to dance. To your dismay she takes his hand without hesitation. You’re staring daggers at the Prince, indignation replaces the taste of wine in your mouth. Helaena was far too kind for the world.

Aegon’s eyes catch yours before he looks at Jacaerys dancing with his wife, disbelief and annoyance clear in his face.

In one swift motion you move to stand beside Aegon, “The apple does not fall from the tree” you glare at the hazel haired prince, expecting a response from Aegon but you get none. Confused, you turn towards Aegon only to find him gazing across the table. He’s quiet as he sips from the cup in his hand watching Rhaenyra laugh and talk with their father. Viserys is smiling and coughing through his laughter and it is the most alive he has been in years.

“She arrives and suddenly he can will himself to walk and attend supper” he says only for you to hear

You look up towards the sight of his words—your father and Rhaenyra and you understand. His jab was not said out of anger but out of a feeling of lacking. All the traits and characteristics Rhaenyra had that he did not, the love of their father she had that he did not.

“You’re jealous”

He turns towards you, “Are you not?”

“No”, you lie

“She’s father’s favorite”, he’s looking up at you through his lashes, “I’m the son he killed for and it is not enough”

You avert your gaze, his words struck like an arrow. A part of you had always felt responsible for the birth of Aegon. At fault for the death of your mother, the death of your brother, and the birth of Aegon. If you had not been a butcher, if you had been a boy his burden would be yours.

“You didn’t kill anyone Aegon” you sip wine solemnly, your posture falters, and your head is half hung.

Aegon notices your somber spirit and his eyes soften realizing the error in his words, “I’m sorry, I meant no offense”

“I know”, is all you say returning to your seat

As the night passes you eat and make conversation with Aemond. For most of the night his eye is set on the dancing prince and princess. Occasionally when he looks at you his lips pull upwards in a smile.

After your father retires for the night, servants enter with more food. A cooked pig is laid out before you and before you can think Aemond’s fist hits the table as he stands.

“Final tribute”

All eyes fall on Aemond and the room goes quiet.

“To the health of my nephews. Jace…Luke and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” he pauses and it is as if all the air in the room has been cast out, “strong”

Your eyes widen in shock as the Queen pleads with Aemond.

“Come let us drain our cups to these three…strong boys”

“I dare you to say that again”

Aemond turns towards Jacaerys, “Why? ‘Twas only a compliment”, they both walk towards one another, “Do you not think yourself strong?”

Lucerys rises from his seat as Jacaerys strikes Aemond, Aegon is not far behind grabbing his nephew and slamming him against the table.

Bolting upwards you grab Helaena pulling her away from the chaos. She grips your hand tightly frightened by the scene.

“Are you alright?” you ask

She nods, “Yes but Aemond” her hand points at the exiting prince. Understanding, you pull Helaena, following Aemond.

Once you’re in the halls you follow the sounds of Aemond’s steps, Helaena runs towards him. She latches onto the side of his arm soothing the riled prince. You’re about to do the same when laughter echoes from beyond the hallway—Aegon.

Grabbing the side of your dresses you hold it up allowing yourself quicker movements. With your approach the shadow of Aegon grows smaller and his laughter grows louder.

You say his name as you grab his arm. When he lays his eyes on you they widen excitedly, your name falls from his lips, “You are a vision. Have I told you that? Come, come, let us retreat into our burrow”. He gives you no time to respond as he throws an arm around you and leads you away.

The burrow was a small unfinished room at the far end of the Keep that had been hidden by a suit of armor; it had been discovered by Aegon when he was ten and two. Immediately he ran to inform you about it, dragging you into the room. It is not large like either of your chambers but it’s spacious enough that both of you can move without bumping into one another. Rugs and sheets hung throughout the floor and walls hiding the decaying walls. Bottles of wine littered the room, both empty and full.

Aegon is drunkenly rambling, as you make sure there is no one around to see you gently push past the suit, “”Twas only a compliment” he mimics Aemond’s voice.

Sitting near the corner of the room you grab a bottle and Aegon moves towards you. He rests his head against your lap spilling wine into your dress, not that you cared. He’s laughing recalling the events of the night.

With a laugh you respond, “Jacaerys’ stance was laughable, he looked like a child throwing a tantrum”

“He is to be King”, his laugh dies as the sentence leaves his lips, “He is to be King”

You both grow quiet, the words weigh heavy over the both of you. The realities of a future that is so close to becoming reality. If you were believed to be a stain on the Targaryen legacy, Rhaenyra's children were desecrations to the Targaryen dynasty.

“Perhaps your mother is right,” you sip from the bottle of wine not fully thinking about the words as you speak, “Perhaps you should be King”

Aegon half laughs, pushing himself into a sitting position, “You speak of treachery”

“Your mother says—”

“My mother is crazed on a notion that we will be slain”

You wish you could believe him, but the image of your sister's husband swinging his sword without mercy does not leave your mind. How easy it would be for Rhaenyra to rid herself of you once she is Queen; there were fates far worse than death.

“Enough talk of foreboding futures. Let us drink ourselves blind”

“Hear! Hear!” you eagerly agree

True to Aegon’s words you both drink until your visions are blurred and the room spins. You both dance and drink carelessly, laughing as though the events of the night had no effect on you. It comes as no surprise when Aegon leans towards you and presses his lip on yours. The kiss is sloppy and full of hunger, your teeth clash and tongues swipe over one another. There’s a desperation in his hands—in the way he holds your face obstructing any movement. In the heat of passion you bite his bottom lip earning a yelp from Aegon.

He pulls away with a smile, “Ow”

Your hand rest on his chest playfully, “Don’t be a child, I didn’t draw blood”

The rest of the night blurs into a giant mirage of jubilation.

━━☆━━

As the sun rose you wake with a yawn, your body aching from the uncomfortable position it had been in all night. Your head had been on Aegon’s lap and his arm had been thrown over your body. Maneuvering from his embrace you press your back firmly on the brick wall, your head throbbing feeling as though it had been repeatedly bashed.

The sun’s rays kiss your cheeks, it's warm and gentle and for a brief moment the world around you falls into obscurity. Nothing else matters beside the sun’s golden touch and the beating of your own heart.

The body besides you grumbles and your moment of serenity shatters as Aegon slowly stirs into consciousness. You’re brought back into the arms of reality.

“Wine,” he says, “More wine”

You don’t waste your breath, instead you make your way to your chambers. Stumbling the first few steps out of the room. Peeking your head out of the door way you make sure there is no one around before exiting.

Walking down the corridors there is an air of urgency within the Keep. There were twice as many Knights as you were accustomed to seeing and servants hurried into the direction of the Great Hall. Regardless you carry on, not bothering to greet any of the people who greeted or called after you.

Approaching the hallway to your chambers you’re unexpectedly faced with the sight of your wooden doors wide open. Stepping closer you see three figures standing at the center of your room; Aemond, Ser Criston, and the Queen.

Puzzlement rests on your brow, what had transpired in the hours you and Aegon had disappeared. As you continue your approach you can see the faces of your visitors all displaying an array of emotions.

“Your Grace,” Ser Criston states as you walk through the threshold, “The Princess”

The Queen turns towards you instantly, wasting no time in embracing you, “Oh sweet girl”

Her embrace wasn’t foreign but the sudden action confuses you further.

“Where have you been? Where is Aegon?” she pulls away but keeps her hands on your arms

You looked towards Aemond trying to find any answers on his face but there were none.

“I’ve just left Aegon. Has something happened?”

“Where is he?” The Queen’s grip on your arm tightens. Desperation is in her eyes and it frightens you, enough that you decided to keep Aegon's whereabouts to yourself for the time being.

“We snuck out of the Keep last night. Upon returning to the castle Aegon left my side”

She turns towards her sworn Knight an unsaid order ushering him quickly from your chambers, Aemond follows suit.

When they’re gone you repeat your question, “Has something happened?”

“Your father is dead, he died in his sleep”

Her voice was grave and her words echo in your mind but you can’t decipher them. It’s as if you have lost the ability to comprehend the common tongue.

A moment passes and you realize what your step mother had said. Silently you wait for grief but it never arrives, there is no sadness in your heart, no invading sorrow. Your father is dead and you shed no tears for his memory.

“I–I need a moment,” you pull away but before you can leave the Queen pulls you towards her. Her hand is under your chin lifting your head just enough to meet her gaze.

Her eyes are round and full of distress, “You know where Aegon is, I beg of you, bring him to me. It was the King’s dying wish. Do not let my father get his hands on him first”

You nod and hurriedly walk out of your chambers, returning to your burrow. The throbbing in your head returns but you try to disregard the discomfort, there were far more pressing matters.

The closer you got towards Aegon the faster your move, breaths of air forcibly escape as enter through the hidden door. You thank the Gods when you see Aegon in the same position he had been when you left. You rush to his side, dropping to your knees shaking him.

“Aegon, Aegon. Wake up, Wake up”

He groans and his speech is slurs. Letting his arms go, he slouches into a half sitting position half laying. His eyes flutter open for a moment and your name falls from his lips.

“‘Tis me,” you cup the cheeks of his face almost painfully. He tries to move away from you but you do not yield, “Aegon, father is dead”

You watch your words register in his mind. He blinks his eyes open and takes a breath, pushing you aside.

“Your jest are not appreciated, my head is murderous”

“It is no jest, the King died in his sleep”

Like you had with the Queen, Aegon takes a moment, his eyes are wide looking through you making sense of your words.

“Father is dead” he repeats. His hand passes through his hair, a look of distress clear on his sunken face

“Yes and your mother and grand feather are searching for you”

“For me? What could they want—”

Realization hits you both like a strong gust of wind, knocking all the air out of the room. The line of succession crosses your mind for the first time. You had thought nothing of the Queen’s words about your fathers dying wish but you understood them now. Of course, the Keep was in disarray because the Hand was trying to sit Aegon on the throne before news of the King’s death spread.

“They mean to crown you”

Crowning Aegon would be treason and all those who participated would be punished with death. The idea does not frighten you as much as the idea of Rhaenyra on the throne. You’d surely be sent away, sold off to be the pretty little Targaryen wife of Lord who’d defile you. And the realm would fall to pieces with a spiteful malicious woman at its helm.

Aegon looks at you horrified, “No. They can’t. I am not heir”

“That does not matter, it was the King’s dying wish to have you succeed him”

“On whose word?”

“Your mother’s”

Aegon scoffs, “She is crazed, fuelled by her hatred for Rhaenyra”

“You may think her crazed, but your mother is a woman of the Gods, she would not lie about a matter of this caliber”

He opens his mouth to speak but closes it quickly. His back is against the wall, he looks disheveled, dirty, and disarranged. Tears swell in his eyes and he swipes them away with his sleeve.

“A dying wish he had years to fulfill”

“I know not the whims of old Kings, but I know regret. It is clear in the words he spoke to your mother that he wanted you on the throne, his first born son”

“What kind of brother would I be to take the throne from Rhaenyra?”

“By the law of Gods and Men the throne is yours. You cannot steal what is rightfully yours”

“I do not want the throne” he argues

“Aegon” you plead

“No! I will not take it,” swiftly his hand grab yours, “Let us climb on board a ship escape to Essos or on dragonback—”

You interrupt his crazed thoughts squeezing his hands, “Listen, Rhaenyra only cares for her own, she has never cared for us. If you let her ascend the throne what will come of your mother? Of Aemond? Of Helaena and your children? ” you pause, “Of me? She sees my existence as blasphemous and yours as opposition. If we leave we are leaving those we love to die. Ascend the throne Aegon, protect us”

Silence encompassed the room, Aegon ran his eyes over your face searching for answers, trying to understand what was being asked of him and if he could undertake such a task. You return his gaze with soft eyes and gentle hands.

He had never thought himself a leader let alone a King. He did not want the pressures and responsibilities of leading an entire land. Aegon would no longer be able to hide under his title of prince, as King. He would have to be the picture of Targaryen greatness and regalness—heavy is the head that wears the crown. He wants to laugh at the notion but his chest is heavy with your words.

“Do you understand?” there’s a desperate edge in your voice and he doesn’t respond, “Aegon, do you understand?”

“Yes,” he nods

#targaryen reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader fic #aegon ii targaryen/reader #hotd x reader #hotd fic #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen fic

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yaoigf · 2 months

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᧔o᧓ comfort .ᐟ

xavier love and deepspace fluff/slight angst! x female reader. comfort fic. reader is in a deep depression. ong this is js based on me. she feels so empty but keeps going like a robot. xavier helps her feel better. i just wrote this for comfort to myself because i havent been feeling well at all.

Xavier didn’t question why today you seemed to crave his touch and attention more than usual. Normally, affection flowed freely between you and your boyfriend, but lately, an unshakable heaviness had settled in your heart, dimming your once vibrant spirit. Despite your unwavering love for Xavier, nurtured and deepened through time, the weight of depression had become an unwelcome companion.

You lounged in the bedroom of your shared apartment, having not left bed since the previous afternoon. Xavier noticed the deterioration, how you stayed awake till morning, slept through the day, and needed reminders to eat. When he checked on you, concern etched in his features, you waved him off with a feeble excuse about needing a break from hunting, urging him to focus on work.

How was he to continue his day knowing the woman he cherished was in pain? He knew better than to pry when you weren’t ready to open up, fearing it might worsen your state. Yet today, when he returned home, you greeted him at the doorway in one of his hoodies and shorts, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “Miss you,” you whispered, seeking solace in Xavier’s embrace. He held you tightly, his voice a comforting balm as he asked, “How are you today, my love?” Tears welled in your eyes at his tenderness, and as they spilled over, Xavier gently lifted you into his arms and carried you back to bed.

His murmured reassurances were soft as he laid you down, his hand soothingly rubbing your back. “I’m here. I won’t leave,” he promised, his caring gaze a lifeline in the storm of your emotions. Gratefulness swelled within you for a boyfriend as attentive and loving as Xavier.

Quickly shedding his work clothes for comfort, Xavier slid under the covers beside you. His skilled hands encircled your waist as he drew you close, pressing kisses to the crown of your head. You clung to his scent, fingers tightening on his shirt as if afraid he might vanish. Tears continued to streak your cheeks, each one a testament to the ache in Xavier’s heart. He leaned closer, kissing away your tears, silently urging you to speak.

“Sorry for pushing you away lately,” you finally began, your voice cracking with emotion. Xavier shook his head gently, his thumb brushing away the remnants of tears. “You don’t need to apologise, angel.”

“I feel so lost, Xavi... I don’t understand what I’m feeling... I love you, that hasn’t changed, but I feel drained, empty. I feel like I’m just going through the motions, like a hollow shell. I push you away because I’m terrified of dragging you into this void with me. I feel selfish that you take care of me like this, like some sort of burden.”

Xavier listened quietly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your skin, his eyes never leaving yours. When you finished, he caressed your hips tenderly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Never feel terrified about ‘dragging’ me anywhere. Whatever you’re going through, I want to be there with you. I love you deeply, and I’ll be patient. If you need space, I’ll give it. If you want me close, I’ll stay. If you want to stay in bed, wear my clothes, I’ll support you every step.”

His eyes held yours with unwavering sincerity, offering you his heart and strength. You hiccupped through a smile, feeling a weight lift as Xavier’s words enveloped you in warmth and security. “I love you,” he whispered again, his touch tender against your tear-streaked face.

“I love you too,” you replied softly, leaning into his touch. Xavier kissed you lovingly, pouring his heart into the moment, promising silently to be your anchor in the storm until the darkness lifted.

“If you feel like a void, let me fill it with everything I have to give,” he murmured against your lips, sealing the vow with a kiss.

#xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace #xavier x mc #xavier lnd #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #sorry for being depressing #comfort #fluff #yaoigf

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five-miles-over · 1 year

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Tom Hiddleston Characters: How They Would Propose (To You)

(Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or images. This is just a fun listicle, not designed to offend anyone. As always, please feel free to leave comments and/or constructive criticism below. Thank you, and without any further ado, please enjoy!)

Characters in this list: Will Ransome, King Henry V, Prince Loki Odinson, Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim, Bill Hazeldine, Coriolanus, Jonathan Pine, Robert Laing, Magnus Martinsson, Oakley, Thomas Sharpe, James Conrad, and Jaguar Villain! Tom Hiddleston.

Also, my sincerest apologies - they all turned into mini-fics.

Will Ransome from The Essex Serpent

Reverend Will would propose to you after a Sunday roast dinner, after your family invited him to your home. You were helping to clear the table with the rest of the ladies in your family when Will coughed to announce his presence. At once, everyone cleared the dining room, leaving you alone with the vicar.

"A word please?" He politely called you by name, his hands clasped in front of him. Will sat you down in one of the empty chairs. Gods how he wanted to reach out and tuck one of your stray hairs behind your ear in that very moment, one of the intimate things that he longed to do with you. Intimate things that would be proper in the eyes of God if you were his lawfully wedded wife. He did not sit down, and gently began talking to you. "For some time, I have been charmed by you. Not just your looks, that is not to say that you are not a lovely woman. You are most lovely, but I have also been charmed by your kindness, your humility, and your…virtue."

Will knelt before you, looking up with the most earnest gaze. "If you will bestow upon me the fortune of being your husband, then in return I shall do everything to keep you safe and comfortable. I shall speak to your father, and we will be wedded in holy matrimony. You and I shall walk together upon this path of life, and I have no doubt that a virtuous woman like you will aid me in carrying out what the Lord decrees of us. My sweetest, please say that you will marry me."

Henry V from The Hollow Crown

With Henry, there was not much of a proposal to begin with. The marriage between you and the King of England was arranged by your father and his men, along with the king and his men. Still, Henry coaxed your father into having at least one private audience with you before the wedding ceremonies, so that he may properly court you as any suitor would.

'My dearest lady," Henry began as soon as he was alone with you in his study while your father and his men stood vigil outside. "Lower thy veil, and let me behold your face." He reached forward and removed the hood of your cloak, smiling as he beheld your beauty for the first time. "Cheeks rosier than the flowers that bloom in springtime. Your lips and eyes are so enticing, they call to me like sirens. Yours is a face that I shall never tire of seeing.

I confess to you, my lady, that words are not my greatest strength. Were it so easy that I could simply strap on armor or fire an arrow into a target or vault into my saddle for a wife, I should quickly vault for a wife. Alas, tis not so. For a woman's heart is truly one of the most difficult conquests to embark upon. Nevertheless, tis a conquest that I shall duly pursue if you can deign to love me.

If you can love such a man as me, someone whose words are not their strongest suit and someone whose fidelity to you is true, then take me. Take a soldier, and in taking a soldier, you will take a king." Henry knelt before you and offered you his hand. "Sweetest of all maidens, canst thou love me?"

Prince Loki Odinson of Asgard

"I have called you to discuss a matter of great importance, my lady." Loki enunciated the formal title at the end in an attempt to conceal the butterflies in his stomach. He summoned you to the palace gardens at the house before twilight, when the sky would be decorated with streaks of orange and pink. You walked alongside him through the bushes and the groves of flowers. Loki clasped his hands behind her back, walking as if he ruled every inch of earth on which he stepped.

He continued, "Yes, tis true that Thor, my brother, is the one whom my father has decreed to ascend the throne of Asgard," The younger prince of Asgard looked forward with a solemn expression while you listened with intrigue. "But he is incompetent." Loki turned to you. "He is idiotic and brash. You know as well as I do that he does not encompass the values of a king.

"Was he not the one who wished to invade Jotunheim alone, my prince?" You stopped in your tracks, just as the sun began setting into the horizon behind you.

"Yes, he was. It was all his idea, my lady." Loki did not bother to include his role in instigating Thor, it would not help him in this moment whatsoever. If he delayed this moment any further, he was convinced the words would be stuck in his throat, forever unable to escape. "You are one of the few people with whom I can share these thoughts, my lady." He sighed, his gaze fixated upon you and your beauty. "It is why I have called you here. In the coming future, I will need to protect Asgard from my brother's foolishness. And for that I should like to have a worthy companion by my side."

Loki conjured a shining dagger with a gold hilt out of thin air and promptly fell to one knee before you. The hilt of the dagger was engraved with the words, 'Min hærr, duonningen av mitt hjerte' (My beloved, Queen of my heart) Still on bended knee, Loki looked up at you with an expression of innocence that you never knew existed within him - wide eyes, baited breath, a meek expression. As if all his life were being wagered on a single thing right now.

"I wish to make you my wife," Loki declared, his lips trembling. "Should you accept, I will bring my proposal to your family, and then we will be wed with due ceremony. And if you decide otherwise, then I shall…" he swallowed, "I shall respect your choice."

Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim from the Marvel Cinematic Universe

"This looks like something stolen from the Graham Norton Show." You raised an eyebrow when Loki handed you an orange and purple card.

"It's a scavenger hunt." Loki said with a twinkle in his eye. "Every clue leads you to the next one."

"I know how a scavenger hunt works, Loki." You rolled your eyes and flipped over the card. "Was this your idea, or is this some ridiculous team-bonding activity put together by Steve Rogers?"

"No. You see,…I have some errands to do, but at the same time, I have an obligatory excursion with the Lady Valkyrie."

You crossed your arms. "So why the scavenger hunt?"

Loki brightly answered. "Well, it makes the errands all the more fun!"

"Alright, but you owe me, Loki."

"Good girl." The God of Mischief kissed you not the cheek and disappeared into thin air.

You glanced down and saw that the first card, which told you to pick up six cupcakes ordered under Loki's name. The cupcakes were from a specific café….that just so happened to be the place where you and Loki had your first date, which was set up by a far-too-enthusiastic Thor. The moment you got there, a waiter brought you a "complimentary" cupcake of your favorite flavor…along with another orange and purple card.

The second card took you to the library, on the pretext of picking up a book that was on hold for Loki. There, the librarian handed you the book - Divine Comedy by Dante - and another book that you recognized. It was Pride and Prejudice, one of the first pieces of "Midgardian literature" that you introduced to Loki, a book that you were all too happy to fangirl over. But inside the book was - yes- another orange and purple card.

The third card sent you to pick up Loki's dry-cleaning. (Really, Loki? Dry cleaning?) At the dry-cleaners, the person at the register handed you a transparent garment bag containing a black tuxedo with a ruffled white shirt. And then you were given a second garment bag with an emerald green gown embellished with diamonds. You couldn't help but stare a few moments at the pretty, expensive-looking gown. Before the person at the register could hand you another card, you made a mental note to ask Loki about the gown and whom it was for. You guessed it was probably for himself for the times he was feeling fabulous. Actually, Loki also liked to wear absolutely nothing when he was feeling his most fabulous…but that didn't matter right now.

The fourth card took you to the park where Loki confessed his love for you for the first time, on the pretext of picking up Loki's forgotten jacket and buying a bouquet of white flowers.

The fifth card took you across the city just to get a particular bottle of liquor that Loki had liked. Okay, now this guy was having a little too much fun with you right now.

You were relieved when the sixth card, given to you by the liquor store clerk, led you back to the Avengers compound, to the same room where you began this entire scavenger hunt. You huffed a little, setting the box of cupcakes, the books, the two garment bags, Loki's jacket, the flowers, and liquor gently on a table. "Loki? Loki, where are you?"

Loki stood in the middle of the Avengers' common room, wearing polished gold armor over a black and green leather tunic with long, dark trousers. His hair was combed perfectly in place, and his hands clasped behind his back. He stood surrounded by a few candles and fairy lights hanging against the curtains.

"Okay, I need answers…" You sighed, already tired from running around all afternoon. "Loki, I got your things, just tell me what the gown is for and the…the liquor and the…Are you throwing a party or something?"

"I'm getting married."

"What?!" You gulped, reaching for the nearest couch. "I…what? You're getting married, why didn't you tell me? And…" You felt your head start to spin, preparing yourself for the worst. Whatever happened to all the times he said he loved you? Was he just using you to put together some kind of romantic gesture for someone else, just a tool?! Perhaps this is what you get for letting the God of Mischief into your life. Betrayal. "Well, I hope they make you happy, Loki." You relented, putting your head in your hands.

"She does."

"Good." You murmured, trying your best not to cry in this moment. That was the last thing you wanted him to see. "Is that gown for her too?"

"Hm-hm. Of course, it'll probably end up on the floor after the engagement party, hehe."

"Loki, I am in no mood for your jokes right now." After a few moments, you looked up.

"Come on,…have a sense of humor."

"NO!" You yelled, getting up from the couch. "No, I will not have a sense of humor right now! You used me! You used me, and lied to me. You told me to do all of these errands, like picking up dry cleaning, and buying liquor, without telling me that you were going to propose to someone else! You could have at least told me, just so I'd have some kind of closure. But no, you couldn't even think to do that. You told me it was a scavenger hunt, like I wasn't worth knowing the truth.

I...I did this because I care about you, Loki! I care about you like some kind of idiot who actually thought that you might like me the same way that I liked you. That right there, making me like you might just be the worst thing you have ever done me." You took a moment to breathe, and ran your hands through your hair.

"Ugh…And you made me even pick up her engagement dress! What kind of person makes someone do that?!" You couldn't even think about the words you were spitting out, too busy with the hot tears clouding your vision.

"The kind of person who knows how good it'll look when you wear it."

"What?!" You were taken aback all of a sudden.

Loki approached you with a hint of nervousness. "Darling, you are one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I know I'm not easy to be with, that I drive you mad sometimes, and I make you put up with a lot. I...I should've practiced this more." He laughed under his breath. "Why didn't I?" Blinking, he pushed his hair back before continuing.

"What I'm trying to say is,...my life has never been the same since I met you. You're the most steadfast ally, a wonderful friend, and best of all, you are the most passionate and loyal person I have ever known. I could never imagine my life without you, and I never want to. That's how much I love you."

The God of Mischief fell to one knee, and held up a small emerald ring with a gold band.

"Will you marry me?"

Bil Hazeldine from Suburban Shootout

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise, sweetheart." Bill pulled his father's car into a driveway, and took your hand. "Just close your eyes, alright?"

"Alright…" After a few steps, you could hear Bill opening a door and the sound of a shopkeeper's bell, along with the muted conversations of various patrons. The scents of vanilla and grease reached you almost immediately.

Bill held you close and whispered that you could open your eyes now.

When you opened your eyes, you laughed a little. "We haven't been here in a while…"

"You remember it?"

"How could I ever forget?" You kissed him on the cheek, and let him find a table for you.

Bill's proposal began with him taking you to the milkshake diner where the two of you had your first date. After a bit of small talk over a banana split, Bill not-so-discretely excused himself. While you sat at the table with your spoon and checked your phone, Bill made his way to the jukebox with his hands in his jeans' pockets, feeling the small box inside. He'd almost thought about wearing a suit for this occasion, but his mum said it would make you suspicious. And his father suggested hiding the ring inside your ice cream to be more romantic , but Bill was terrified by the idea of you accidentally choking. Yes, keeping the ring with him was a better idea.

Bill took a deep breath and slipped a coin into the jukebox, flipping through the various tracks to find one of the songs you enjoyed. When he found one, he pressed play and called your name. Bill extended his hand out, offering to dance with you. He twirled you, and the two of you swayed in time with the music, smiling all the while. At the end of the song, Bill proudly kissed you on the lips.

He gently said your name, and pushed a bit of hair out of your face. "You're the one I want to dance with to every song…There's just no one like you, no one I could ever dream of that's just as wonderful as you are." Bill reached in his pocket for the small box, and fell to one knee, not caring who might be watching you in the diner. Inside the small box was a 0.3-carat diamond ring with a silver band. "Would you make me the happiest man in the whole world, and marry me?"

Caius Martius Coriolanus from Coriolanus

Coriolanus invited your family to dine with him and his mother one night on the pretext of an important matter concerning two important families of Roman nobility. It was not the first time he'd done such a thing, inviting your family to break bread with him and his mother. He had even visited your father's home before, sharing wine with your father and your brothers from time to time. It was through those meetings that Coriolanus fell more in love with your smile, the way you bit your lip when you were thinking,…and even the way your laugh infected him like a plague. And if there was anything more deadly to him than your simple, unadulterated laughter, then it was your beauty which had him fighting the urge to smile whenever you walked into a room or whenever he heard your voice.

But despite his best efforts, it became quickly aware to everyone in your family how besotted the general was with you. The way his head unintentionally bowed whenever he was in your presence, as if you were the sun and he would go blind if he looked you straight in the eye, never went unnoticed. The fact that you were the only person who could make him laugh, and that the simple mention of your name was enough to make the powerful General and conqueror of Corioles lower his usual barking voice made your family - and anyone else in the general's presence - giggle under their breath.

So when everyone had finished the prima mensa, Coriolanus stood up and raised his cup. "I have called you here tonight, to make a proposition," he declares with the same voice that he would use to speak to the Senate. "An alliance between our families…" The general turned his gaze to you for a moment, and exhaled to calm his racing heart, which only quickened when you looked back up at him. "If you will bestow upon me this honor, I wish to make your daughter…my wife. She is virtuous, and kind,…endowed with a noble background."

He waved for two of the servants of his household to present your mother and father with gifts of imported silk and valuable coins. And for you, the general had his servant gift place a set of golden jewelry - a girdle, five bracelets, and a layered necklace with rubies - in your lap. Underneath the girdle was a small piece of parchment with the words,

"I long to see you wearing these on our wedding night, my lady. Only these."

You turned red, and looked up and the general, politely expressing your thanks.

"Should you accept," Coriolanus gave you a nod and turned to your family. "We shall make our alliance official in the presence of the gods. Your daughter shall be my wife, and I her husband. I will defend her from harm and protect her, as I have defended Rome time and time again. Your daughter will be cared for, and all I ask for in return, is your fidelity. Pledge to me your allegiance, for I shall need your influence when the time comes for the elections in the Senate.

Instead of a dowry give me your loyalty, and I swear that your priceless gem of a daughter will want for nothing for as long as I live. Do I have your word?"

Oakley from Unrelated

"Let's get married." Oakley off-handedly said while the two of you stood outside, leaning against the wall while he smoked a cigarette.

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding?"

"No." He took another drag of his cigarette and turned to you with his ocean blue eyes and tousled, dirty blond curls. "We should get married."

"Who are you and what have you done with Oakley?"

"What, you don't think I'm good enough to marry you?" He protested.

Shaking your head, you laughed. "No, it's not that…"

"Well, then what is it?" Oakley crossed his arms and furrowed his brow at the sight of you laughing. "We have fun together, we make each other laugh,…we look good together, especially when naked-"

That was enough for you to playfully hit him on the shoulder, causing him to chuckle. He continued, "We like each other. We have this great relationship."

"But are you sure this is what you want?" You asked. "Don't you want to explore, try things? Do stuff before you're tied down?"

"Why would I do that? When there's this…beautiful, funny, smart, and sexy girl right there with me, I'm not even looking at anyone else." Oakley simply countered. "I like what we have, and i don't want to let it go. We can travel, explore the world, and I'll do it all with you." There was no sign of hesitation in his voice, but maybe it was just the cigarette fueling his courage. He came closer to you, and looked dead serious. "I don't want what we have to be just something we try for as long as we can, something we leave up to chance. I want forever with you."

"Forever?"

"Forever." Oakley knelt before you, his eyes going from a vivid cyan to a soft, almost pale bag blue. "I don't have a ring but…" He removed his necklace and presented it to you like an offering at an altar, calling your name. "Marry me."

Jonathan Pine from The Night Manager

Jonathan had been working with MI-6 for almost two years, embarking on various mission for them after he gained acclamation for helping to carry out Operation Limpet. He, along with officer Angela Burr, took down the infamous arms dealer Richard Roper once and for all.

Since then, Jonathan found himself a new home in London and got back in touch with you, the one who stole his heart back when he was still working as a night manager. He didn't know how much he truly missed you until you answered his letter, telling him about the twists and turns your life had taken since your last encounter with Pine. After about three weeks of exchanging handwritten letters - simply because they reminded you both of a simpler time and felt more personal - with Jonathan using a pseudonym to protect you, he invited you to visit London for a holiday.

And those five days you spent in London were some of the best five days of Jonathan's life. He delighted in your innocence, the way you happily took his arm and strolled through the city, randomly surprising him with kisses. Arm in arm, without a care in the world except for each other, enjoying all that life would have to offer…This is how it should be, Jonathan thought to himself as he gazed at the sparkle in your eyes, the color in your cheeks. He listened as you talked about everything you liked about London, everything that disgusted you, and everything you hoped for in the future, simply taking in the opportunity to just be with you.

After a few moments, you asked him about what he wanted in the future, and all Jonathan had to say was one word.

"You."

You looked up from your cup of tea. "Me?"

He took a breath. "Yes." Jonathan affectionately said your name, and reached for your hand. "I never grew up in a house with both parents, doting on me." He told you about how his life up until joining MI-6 was an abominable quest for order. How his time in the military and working in the hotel business was part of an aim to find a direction in his life, and how little happiness it truly brought him. How alone he felt whenever his life wasn't being threatened.

Jonathan sighed, not used to telling so much about himself in a single conversation, laying his heart out on the table to be cut into and devoured. "I promised myself that I would find the one person that I could care deeply for, and love them. I promised myself that I would make friends, find a home…a place to belong. Maybe someday become a parent."

You looked upon him lovingly. "That's beautiful, Jonathan."

He raised your hand to his lips and kissed it. "I want all of those things, and I want them with you." Jonathan declared, quiet enough for the two of you to hear. "These past days with you have been…incredible. When I look at you, I see everything that I have wanted, the life that I want to be living five years from now, ten years from now."

He continued, "You make me believe in a future that's worth building. The way you smile…, the way you look upon me and everyone with stars in your eyes…I want to be the one who keeps that smile on your face, the one who makes you laugh. I want to be the one who kisses you good night, and the first one you see in the morning. I want to be the one you come home to every evening, the shoulder you lean on."

Jonathan stroked the back of your hand with his calloused thumb. "I know it's soon, but if there is anything that I've learned, it's that when you see something worth keeping in your life, you do everything you can not to let her go. You just do it." He looked into your eyes. "Marry me?"

James Conrad from Kong: Skull Island

It was the third time this week James had a nightmare. After thrashing and groaning, fighting an invisible beast, James found it in himself to call you - his neighbor whom he'd been dating for two years - on the telephone. His forehead and his chest were dripping with sweat, his expression one of agony, when you approached his bed. It was obvious that he had been in a lot of pain.

James wasn't the type of person who wanted to expound upon the terrors he was feeling; he was a man of action who preferred expressing his emotions nonverbally. So, you respected that and simply talked about mundane things, things about civilian life that would temporarily distract James. As you both fell asleep, you made a mental note to remind James setting another appointment with his therapist, the one MONARCH had prescribed for him.

You woke up to an empty bed. It wasn't unusual for James to go out on an early morning walk to be alone with his thoughts. It was one of the things he'd learned from his therapist when he asked about how to be a better sweetheart to you while recovering from his trauma. You washed your face and brushed your teeth with a heavy heart, hoping it wouldn't be too long before you saw James again.

While you styled your hair, you heard the door unlock. James walked inside, carrying a bag of breakfast pastries. "Good morning." He greeted you in a low, casual voice.

"Good morning…" You would've asked if he slept well, but given the events of last night, that question made no sense. "I'm sorry I stayed over."

"No need to apologize." James set the pastries down and placed a kettle on the stove. While the water rose to a boil, James unwrapped the two chocolate croissants he bought, and glanced up to find you standing in the kitchen. You walked up to him slowly, and without missing a beat, James gently kissed you with an arm gently holding your waist. He murmured your name again, his breath warm against your lips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

James gave you a chaste kiss on your forehead before going into his bedroom. "I brought breakfast for us both. Should I make us some eggs?"

"No need…" You watched James open one of his drawers. "Before I forget, do you want to make an appointment with your therapist?"

"Uh, I will." James returned to the kitchen with a small box in his right hand. "Thanks for reminding me."

"What is that?"

James took a deep breath. "Just something to thank you for last night,…and for everything you've done."

"James, you really didn't have to-"

"No. I've been wanting to do this for a year, it's time."

Your breath caught in your throat as James opened the box to reveal a small, simple sapphire ring. He began, "I should've done this sooner, and I'm a fool for not doing so." James fell to one knee, and you gasped. "Darling,…Over the years I've known you, you have helped me…become a man again. You've remained by my side as I've made attempts to return to civilian life. You've comforted me during my worst hours, and you have given me something worth living for."

"James…"

"You're someone worth fighting for." He laughs a little. "I love you. And if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life making you feel loved and caring for you in the ways that you have cared for me.

Darling, will you marry me?"

Magnus Martinsson from Wallander

"Marry me." Magnus groaned with relief when you brought him a plate of eggs, some coffee, and an aspirin. He was laying on your couch, hungover after a night out with you and some of his mates from the police station.

You simply rolled your eyes and laughed a little. "Eat your eggs, you'll feel better with some food inside you."

Magnus kept his eyes on you while you both drank coffee, his headache slowly diminishing. "That a yes?"

"No, Magnus." You flatly said. "You had a lot to drink last night. Just…eat your eggs and finish your coffee. I'm not saying yes to a guy that passed out on my couch after throwing up into the bushes outside."

He grimaced. "I did that?…Sorry." Magnus looked down and shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "Whatever, it was just a question, not like I meant it or anything." He pretended to brush off the matter. "You doing anything else today?"

"Tidying the house. You?"

Magnus closed his eyes for a moment to taste the savory flavor of the eggs. "i have a few things to do at the station for Kurt. Won't take long."

You and Magnus finished breakfast in silence before Magnus thanked you for letting him crash on your couch. "I'll see you soon." He said, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You almost found it funny, the way he groaned for you to marry him, and chuckled to yourself. For all of his sarcastic quips and his cold exterior, there were times Magnus was an unintentional sweetheart. You'd known him for about seven months, how endearing he was whenever he tried to show off at darts or pool. You thought about the time he brought you soup every night when you had a flu that lasted for a week. And during that one time he showed up late to one of your date nights because of a case, he spent the rest of the evening simply snuggling with you until you fell asleep in each others' arms. It was one of the first times you'd ever seen him smiling so blissfully like a newborn baby.

About a few hours later, you could hear it rain outside, a bolt of thunder rumbling across the sky. While caught up in some trashy television, you heard a knock on the door.

There was Magnus, standing outside drenched from head to toe.

"Magnus, what are you-"

"I meant it." He confessed while the raindrops rolled down the sides of his face. "Marry me." He repeated when you asked him what he was talking about. Magnus reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small gold ring with three tiny diamonds. "You're the most perfect person in this entire world. And it's not just because you make the best eggs." He said, making you laugh. "You're stunning, even when you've just woken up. You put up with a lot, and…I can't really say what it is you do to me, but I can't help it. I…I…"

"I love you too, you crazy detective!" You finished.

"So, is that a yes?" Magnus asked again, with a big grin on his face as he presented the ring to you.

Robert Laing from High-Rise

"We need to talk." Robert broke the silence while the two of you shared a candlelit dinner in your flat.

All traces of a smile disappeared from your face instantly. Usually nothing good ever followed those four words.

You put your fork down. "What did you want to talk about?"

Robert looked you in the eye. "I moved to this high-rise to be alone, to be away from people. This…a relationship was the last thing that I wanted." He blinked, looking down at his plate for a moment. Then, he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

You tensed in your seat, preparing for the worst. God, Robert. If he was trying to break up with you, then he just picked the worst time possible.

The doctor stood up. "I thought I wasn't built for love…So I tried to be alone as much as I could, avoiding every chance to be attached to someone." He swallowed. "And then you came."

You let out a sigh, assuming that Robert was going to say something awful about your relationship.

"It was like I couldn't even recognize myself anymore. What you did to me…" Robert called your name and walked over to you. "I cannot go a day without hearing your quippy words…, without seeing you when I come home,…without kissing you. It's more than anything I have felt in years." He confessed, his fingers tracing the back of your chair. "If you were to disappear from my life, it would feel like losing everything I've ever known. And…truthfully, the idea of that terrifies me. Maybe I could live without you,…but I don't know if I would be able to call it living.

"So what are you trying to say?" You murmured.

Robert sighed. "Forgive me, I'm not used to having these conversations."

"It's okay."

"You did it again." The doctor remarked. "You're making me fall in love with you, sweetheart." Robert went to the coat closet where he kept his blazer, and pulled a small box from one of the pockets. He returned to your side. "What I'm trying to say is,…that I'm in love with you. I'm in love not only with you, but with the way that you make me…feel things. The way that you remind me that there's a future ahead of us both. A future that can be much more than just dreary parties and squabbles between the upper floors and lower floors. You make me very happy, darling, and I think that you should know that."

Robert took a deep breath and fell to one knee, next to your chair with the box opened to reveal a silver ring with a diamond heart. "Would you marry me, and make me an even happier man?"

Thomas Sharpe from Crimson Peak

You were sitting on the swing set in the garden of your family estate, enjoying the mid-morning sun and the gentle breeze. Idly moving your legs back and forth, you played with a small cluster of Baby's Breath in your lap. It was nice to be away from the bustling drama and the incessant gossip, and instead be surrounded by fresh air.

"My lady." You were awoken from your reverie by a smooth, vaguely familiar baritone that belonged to none other than Thomas Sharpe. He was a guest who'd been staying at an inn near your family's home, having joined your family for supper at least ten times in the past two weeks. In your eyes, he seemed mysterious and yet full of stories to tell, always having an anecdote about a place he'd visited or a trick to show you and your siblings. There was something about him that made you drawn to him as soon as he walked into a room, you were unable to articulate what it was.

"Good morning. What brings you here, Baronet?"

The baronet gave you a smile, and leaned against a tree, watching you enjoy yourself on the swings. "I was speaking to your father and his, erm, associates about a business venture."

"About clay, right? Mining it?"

Thomas nodded. "Precisely, my lady. And you, have you been enjoying your morning?"

You blushed as he took a step closer. "Yes, Baronet."

"No need for such formal titles now, my lady. We're not at a ball, nor are we at supper. ''Thomas' will do." He gently said. "May I share your company for a while, my lady, if it would not be much of a bother for you?"

You allowed him, giving the Baby's Breath to him as a token of affection. No, not a token of affection. Simply a nice gesture that would hopefully give you a place in Thomas's good books. Maybe he might even ask you for a dance at the next ball.

"Will you be attending the ball this Saturday, Bar- I mean, Thomas?"

He nodded, taking a moment to smell the flowers. "You?"

"I will."

"And have you chosen a gown, my lady?" Thomas decided to humor you a little. He smiled while you sheepishly described the dress that you had your eye on for that special occasion. "Well, I'm sure you will look divine wearing it, my lady. Do you often spend time here in the gardens, all by yourself."

"Yes. I enjoy the flowers, and the breeze. It's beautiful when the weather is pleasant."

"I can imagine, my lady. It's been a long time since I have relaxed in a garden." Thomas places the Baby's breath in his front pocket. "My lady, there is something I wish to know of you."

You stopped swinging, and asked him what it was.

"I would like to know if you would be interested in marrying me." Thomas knelt by your side, looking up at you with eyes that bore the same hue as a cloudless sky. "For some time, my lady, I have admired your numerous charms from afar. And with each passing day, my affections for you have grown stronger. I find myself thinking about you at the most unpropitious times of day." He sighs, "While I may not be a man of great fame or great brawn or of great wealth, I am a man of dignity." Thomas promised you, despite knowing it was a blatant lie. "I will make sure that you lack nothing as my wife. And to treat you with nothing but the compassion and the love that you deserve. All I ask in return, is that you try to find it in your heart to give me even an iota of your affections.

Would you be willing to do that, my lady?"

Jaguar Villain!Tom Hiddleston

Ever since you moved into the flat Mr. Hiddleston bought for you, the most powerful man in London always had a designated town car sent to pick you up from work or school every day. His favorite chauffeur would show up at the same time every weekday, give you a friendly greeting, and drop you off at your flat. And once you got there, you'd be greeted by a doorman that Mr. Hiddleston personally hired to make sure that you reached safely.

Today, however, the chauffeur did not drop you off at your flat. At least, not right away. "Monsieur Hiddleston had something different in mind for today," he said with a small grin, like he knew something was going on. The chauffeur dropped you off at the nail salon for a manicure paid for by your powerful beau.

After being pampered by the nail technician for about forty-five minutes, you returned to the town car to find a bag in the backseat with the word 'Harrods' on it. "You went shopping?" You asked the chauffeur while he drove you to your flat.

"Non, it was all Monsieur Hiddleston. He was keeping this dress on hold, and asked me to pick it up for you. He would like you to wear it tonight."

You thanked the chauffeur with a smile. Inside the bag was a beautiful Carolina Herrera gown in your favorite color. And right on cue, your phone buzzed with a text from your beau, asking if you liked his gift. As always, you texted back saying that it was perfect.

The chauffeur dropped you off at your flat, and asked you to be ready by seven-thirty…but not before taking a good look at your manicured nails and saying an early 'congratulations'.

"Gordon owes me a favor," Mr. Hiddleston bragged a little when he arrived in front of your building at seven-thirty sharp. He opened the door of his favorite black Jaguar, and helped you inside the front passenger seat. "You look stunning tonight, darling."

"You look amazing too," you couldn't help but say. It was the truth after all. "When you said Gordon, did you mean…?"

"We're going to the River Restaurant in the Savoy Hotel, darling." He kept one hand on the steering wheel, placing the other one on your knee. "Hungry?"

"Nervous," you sheepishly said.

"I'm here, nothing can harm you." He turned his eyes to the road. "Your fears are far behind you."

The moment you arrived, the host of the restaurant immediately led you both to one of the outdoor terraces, where there was a table for two set up. Mr. Hiddleston pulled the chair for you before sitting down, and a waiter poured both of you some Dom Pérignon.

"This is beautiful." You gushed, watching the most powerful man in London raise an invisible toast. You clinked your glass against his.

He replied with a dramatic flair. "Nothing compared to you."

"So…what did you to get this favor?" You leaned in and asked him while the waiter placed a charcuterie board for the two of you to share. "This is a seafood place, charcuterie isn't on the menu."

A twinkle in his cerulean eyes, Mr, Hiddleston fed you a piece of cheese. "That's confidential, darling. Just enjoy the night."

"I will."

The two of you made small talk about your day, and about Mr. Hiddleston's upcoming business trip to Paris. You would be going with him of course, Mr. Hiddleston would make sure of that. The waiter refilled your champagne, and your beau discretely gave him a twenty-pound note, whispering that it was time for the main course.

The waiter took about fifteen minutes to bring your elegantly-arranged entrees out onto the terrace. And as he came out, you could hear an orchestra from inside the hotel begin to play "All I Ask of You" from Phantom of the Opera.

"Enjoying yourself?" Mr. Hiddleston leaned forward with a smirk as he noticed you listening to the music.

You admitted this was one of the songs you enjoyed, and said it reminded you of the first time you'd ever heard of the musical. How much you wanted to be Christine in that moment, serenaded with the promise of a life with no more darkness.

"Well there's one more thing I have for you tonight, darling." With a smirk, Mr. Hiddleston reached into the pocket of his blazer, retrieving a small box labeled 'Harry Winston'. He slowly got out of his chair and made his way towards you.

You gasped, covering your mouth almost immediately. You swore you could feel your heart stop just for a moment when his eyes met yours. It all made sense now: the manicure, the accidental 'congratulations', the gown,…

"Oh my god…"

Mr. Hiddleston fell to one knee and opened the box, which contained a 1-carat diamond ring with a platinum band. "Love me. It's all I ask of you."

Tag list: @thatdummy-girl @icytrickster17 @mischievoushiddleston,@lokischambermaid , @lady-rose-moon , @lokisgoodgirl , @lokisninerealms @jennyggggrrr ,, @tom-hiddleston-imagines , @lokiismineforever @smolvenger @winterfrostlovetriangle , @the-haven-of-fiction , @turniptitaness @cakesandtom ,@sallymagnoliaposts @leahs-reading-nook @holdmytesseract @muddyorbsblr @evelyn-kingsley @anukulee @acidcasualties @lotsoflokilove23 @caffiend-queen

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c-e-d-dreamer · 2 months

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Barbarian Bat: Part Four

A/N: Omg we're back again! I would like to apologize for this taking so long. I genuinely forgot about this fic. That's the lesson here. Don't be like me and have so many WIPs you accidentally forget your own fics.... anyways! Happy Lover day of @cassianappreciationweek! Hope everyone enjoys some blue alien man Cassian and some NSFW goodies!

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part

When Nesta blinks her eyes open, she feels more rested than she has in days, in much longer if she dares to admit it. The fog in her mind has finally cleared, the hollow ache in her chest finally dissipated, and for once, all Nesta feels is warm and content. It has her burrowing deeper into her furs, has her basking, if just for a moment longer, in the heat of the fire in front of her.

And the fire along her back.

Perhaps, she can blame the way she’s not fully awake yet, the way her mind is still trying to shake those final twisting vines of sleep. But it takes her a moment too long to register the weight across her waist, the warm hand splayed across her stomach and holding her close.

It all comes back to her in a rush fast enough to knock her off her feet, threatening to pull her under and drown her beneath dark waves. The Elder Cave. The metlaks. Cassian.

Almost instinctively, Nesta’s entire body tenses, a hand flying to her chest to press where her khui lives beneath her skin. She waits for the inevitable purring to fill the cave, for Cassian to make some comment and that awkward air that had cloyed against her skin like nails last night to return. Waits for the inevitable conversation about what will happen next, what they will do next.

But it never comes.

Cassian doesn’t even stir behind her, his breaths still slow and steady. Each one has his chest brushing along her spine, has warm air skittering across the crown of her head where he has his face buried in her hair. It shouldn’t be as relaxing as it is, but it’s a soothing balm over each and every one of Nesta’s frayed nerves, her muscles unwinding with each counted breath of his.

She’s not sure that she deserves it, this comfort. She certainly doesn’t deserve the male still sleeping so peacefully behind her as if he somehow finds comfort in her. How could anyone ever find comfort amongst the prickling thorns of her soul? If she gives in to the quiet of the cave enough, she can still hear Tomas’s words echoing and clamoring for attention in the back of her mind, can still feel his grimy hands on her body.

Even worse is the way she can still hear her mother’s voice too. Nesta is sure that back on Earth, her mother is rolling in her grave at Nesta being mated of all things to a big, blue alien man. It’s nowhere near the high-powered family name and riches her mother prepared her for, molded her for, expected of her. Another failure to add to Nesta’s lengthy list.

That familiar ache starts to solidify in Nesta’s chest, curling and piercing like claws around her heart. It sends ice flooding through her veins, has heat beginning to press behind her eyes, and Nesta takes a deep, stuttering breath against the way it gnaws and numbs at her insides.

A soft mumble of words sounds from behind her, and then Cassian’s arm curls tighter around her, tugging her back even closer against him. With his large size, it leaves his body practically curled fully around hers now, like his own sort of protective shield and cocoon. She hates that it works, that it has the voices in her mind quieting, Cassian somehow comforting her even when he’s fast asleep.

“Stupid alien,” Nesta mutters under her breath.

Despite her words, Nesta allows herself to give in to the comfort, allows herself to count each of Cassian’s breaths and match her own to them. Until her muscles finally unwind and relax, until all she can hear is no voices but just the quiet of the cave. With a soft sigh, her eyes flutter closed again, sleep curling back around her limbs as surely as the warmth between the furs, as the male wrapped around her.

When Nesta next opens her eyes again, she finds herself alone in the furs. She frowns, scrubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes until the cave comes into full focus. The fire has been stoked back to life, flickering flames filling the cave with light and warmth. Cassian sits just beside it, hunched over slightly. He has a stone in one hand and what looks to be some sort of bone in the other.

For a moment, Nesta just watches him. Watches the way his hands work, knocking and sliding the stone against the bone. Watches the way his forearms flex, muscles working with the movements. Watches the way his mouth twists while he concentrates, his lips shifting until the left side tugs up into an all too familiar smirk.

“I have burned you some quill-beast meat.”

Cassian doesn’t look up from the task he’s doing, and Nesta is glad. She can feel heat creeping up her neck and threatening to spill across her cheeks at being caught staring. With a huff, she sits up, pushing the furs off her legs and shifting closer to the fire.

“Thanks,” she mutters, taking some of the quill-beast meat and nibbling on it. “What are you making?”

Cassian holds his hand up, and Nesta realizes it’s a knife that he’s been carving. “It is for you. I have used a small bone, so you will be able to grip it comfortably.”

Nesta can do nothing but blink dumbly at him, her mind reeling and trying desperately to wrap around his words, what they mean. Her silence doesn’t seem to deter Cassian. He reaches forward, warm fingers curling around the wrist of Nesta’s right hand. He draws it closer to him and turns her hand until it’s palm up, gently placing the handle of the knife against it.

“You will want to keep a firm grip with all fingers,” Cassian explains, guiding her fingers to curl around the handle, her thumb pressed over her forefinger and middle finger.

“Why?” Nesta whispers, finally finding her voice.

“If your grip is too loose, your hand will slide when you strike. Keeping any fingers off the handle will risk cutting on the blade.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Cassian sighs softly, pulling his hand away from hers. “I told you that I would train you. I want to help you feel safe, Nes.”

Nesta looks down at the knife in her hand, carved so carefully with care. Her fingers flex and tighten around the handle. It’s certainly the perfect size, the perfect weight for her. A lump presses painfully against her throat, threatening to choke her, and she has to swallow hard around it.

“What will you do?” Nesta asks, desperate for a change in topic. “When we go back to the main cave?”

Cassian’s brows pinch, his lips dipping down into a small frown, as though he’s really thinking about it. “I will return to my hunting duties. I am sure they will need me back on the trails. Perhaps, I will volunteer to take one of the trails that is a farther journey. Many males have not wanted to take such journeys, especially since the humans have arrived.”

“You won’t want to stay at the cave and find someone new? I’m sure plenty of the women would be more than happy to share your furs.”

Even as she tries to force the teasing words, the joke falls flat even to Nesta’s own ears. It doesn’t change the fact behind them, though. She’s certainly seen the way some of the other women look at Cassian, at his broad shoulders and large hands, at his easy smiles and kind disposition. She’s seen the way they offer flirty smiles of their own. And she hates the way the thought has a sour emotion suspiciously close to jealousy churning in her gut.

“I do not wish for anyone else to share my furs,” Cassian tells her quietly. “There will never be anyone else for me, Nes. I would always choose you. Even if you do not choose me.”

The confession has Nesta’s breath catching in her lungs. Of course, it’s that moment that her khui decides to voice its own thoughts on the matter, thrumming to life. Cassian’s own khui begins to hum in response, the cave quickly filling with the purring sound. His gaze drops down at the response, his hand rubbing at his chest.

“But I hope you will still allow me to train you,” Cassian continues, meeting her eyes again. “So you can feel strong. Feel safe.”

“I feel safe with you.”

The words are out before Nesta can stop them, but it’s the truth. She knows that Cassian would never hurt her, that he'd never let anything hurt her. She knows that he’ll always protect her and have her back, even when she keeps pushing him away. Because he wants to. Because he cares.

When was the last time anyone truly cared about her?

Nesta's been fighting tooth and nail for what feels like her whole life. Fighting against the pressures and expectations placed upon her by her grandmother and mother. Fighting against Tomas and his words and his hands scraping against her skin. Fighting for her sisters. Fighting against her own failures and demons trying to drag her down under the raging waves.

And if Nesta is being completely honest with herself, she's tired.

“I will always keep you safe, Nes,” Cassian tells her, hesitating for just a moment before his hand reaches out and closes around hers. “No matter what. You leave, and I will follow. Always.”

“Why?” Nesta whispers, the pressure in her chest threatening to swallow her whole.

“You are my mate.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like it’s as easy as breathing. “You were mine from the moment you landed here, the moment I saw you. And I am yours.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that. You shouldn’t be kind to me.”

“Am I supposed to be cruel to you?”

“Yes.” Cassian frowns at her answer, his hand shifting to cradle her face. His thumb slides across the apple of her cheek, swiping away a tear she hadn’t even realized slipped free. “I’ve been cruel to you.”

“I told you that I like our game, our back and forth. I wish for more of it.”

Nesta rolls her eyes before she can stop it, the laugh that tumbles free from her throat so at odds with their current conversation. But judging by the grin that tugs across Cassian’s face, drawing the reaction was his exact intention all along.

She doesn’t know how he keeps doing that, making her feel better, putting her at ease. How he keeps seeing her, truly seeing her past every cut and bruise and mask. How he keeps holding every jagged and broken piece of her and holding them like they’re precious rather than something that needs to be sanded down or fixed.

How he keeps being everything she needs, everything she wants.

She glances back down at the knife still in her hand, and it all hits her with a stark sort of clarity she doesn’t think she’s ever had, that she certainly didn’t think was possible these past few days. It settles with surety in her chest, around her heart like a golden thread, and determination straightens her spine. Setting the knife aside, Nesta pushes up to her feet, Cassian making a confused sound as he watches her.

“Do you not like it?”

“Who cares about the knife?” Nesta fires back, stepping closer and into Cassian’s space.

Cassian’s brow furrows in confusion, even as his hands come up to rest on her hips almost instinctively. “Are you well, Nes?”

“Stupid alien,” Nesta mutters under her breath.

She settles her own hands on either side of Cassian’s jaw, tilting his head up to where she wants him and pressing her mouth against his. She remembers a moment too late that the sa-khui don’t kiss, Cassian all but freezing against her. But then he’s responding with fervor, lips moving in tandem with hers. His fingers tighten around her hips, hauling her closer still until their chests are pressed together.

She lets him lead, lets him get a feel for mouth-mating as the sa-khui have been calling it. His tongue presses past the seam of her lips, sliding into her mouth, and Nesta has to hold back a whimper. The other women back at the cave had certainly spoken about the… differences when it came to the sa-khui compared to the men back on Earth, but no one had warned her that their tongues had ridges.

His tongue slides and drags against her own, flicks along the roof of her mouth, and Nesta is all but putty in his hands. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she’s surprised how good at kissing he is for a beginner, but she also can’t find it within herself to care. She dares to bury a hand in Cassian’s hair, tugging at the dark strands, and Cassian groans into her mouth, his tail flicking forward to curl around her thigh as though holding her in place. As if she has any intention of stopping now that she’s had a taste.

“I now understand why the other males enjoy mouth-mating,” Cassian pulls back enough to say. He reaches a hand up to Nesta’s face, his large palm spanning her whole jaw and down to her neck, dragging his thumb along her bottom lip that she’s sure is kiss bitten and pink.

“So then why’d you stop kissing me?” Nesta asks, leaning back down to steal another kiss.

Cassian groans again against her lips, his fangs teasing at her bottom lip before he pulls away again. “Perhaps, I wish to kiss other parts of you, my mate.”

Nesta swallows hard, her voice breathless even to her own ears when she asks, “like where?”

The smirk that pulls its way across Cassian’s face is slow and all male bravado. One of those large hands slides along her back and curls back around to her waist, cradling her against his body. He keeps his grip on her, even as he pushes up and to his feet, as he shifts them both. The cave is small enough that Nesta barely has time to react to the movement before her back is pressed into the furs.

Cassian dips his head again, but this time, his lips latch onto her neck. His mouth is hot as it slides across her skin, fangs scraping right against her pulse point until Nesta is shuddering against him. She tilts her head back, presenting him with more access and keening when Cassian moves his attention to that spot just behind her ear.

“Cassian,” Nesta moans softly, arching her body up, desperate to get even closer to him.

“I like the sound of my name from your sweet mouth,” Cassian murmurs against her skin.

His hands slip beneath the leather fabric of her shirt, sliding up over her waist and leaving heat seeping beneath her skin. His fingers flex, squeezing the flesh, and Cassian groans where his face is still buried at her neck. His khui practically echoes the sound, his whole chest all but vibrating where it presses against Nesta’s own.

“You’re so soft.”

The words are enough to give Nesta pause, to pull a genuine laugh out of her. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yes,” Cassian answers easily in that same matter of fact tone of his. His hands continue sliding up, lifting her shirt up completely and tugging it off. “I like it. You are not hard like the sa-khui.”

With her arms newly freed from her shirt, Cassian’s fingers circle around her wrist. He guides her own hand to his chest, sliding it down over his pectorals, over the muscles of his abdomen. Despite the almost suede softness of his skin, despite the warmth that exudes from him, there’s no denying the hard planes just beneath. Her fingers curl of their own accord, a shiver skittering down her spine that has nothing to do with her chest now being exposed to the cool air of the cave.

“We might need to start some sort of flirting lessons on this planet,” Nesta teases, desperate to regain some sort of control.

“Are you not impressed with me, Nes?” Cassian teases right back.

He pulls back enough that he can push to his feet, his hands reaching for the laces of his pants. It’s with slow, careful movements that he unties the knot, his eyes never leaving Nesta’s face. But Nesta’s own gaze dips to where he finishes loosening the laces, to where his pants drop away and to the ground. Her mouth goes dry as he tears away his loincloth and tosses it aside, his already hard cock bobbing free.

He’s large, certainly larger than any man Nesta ever saw back on Earth, and his cock is thick. She can see the vein running along the underside of it, the set of ridges along the top, the horn-type piece protruding that Nesta assumes must be the spur she’s heard the other women in the cave mention. The head of his cock is thicker than the rest, a darker blue than his whole body, and already it glistens with his own arousal.

“Are you impressed with me now?”

Nesta’s attention dances back to Cassian’s face, and she supposes she shouldn’t be surprised to find that cocksure smirk of his firmly in place, glowing eyes practically sparking with male pride.

She intends to wipe that look clean off his face.

It takes some shifting against the furs, but Nesta is able to shimmy out of her leggings, leaving her fully bare. She leans back on her hands, bending her knees and spreading her thighs. It’s well worth it for the reaction she garners, satisfaction burning bright in her chest at Cassian’s expression, at the way he literally drops to his knees before her.

“Nesta,” Cassian whispers, his voice reverent. His hands skate over her ankles, up her calves and thighs. “I must be the luckiest of males for my khui to resonate for you.”

Nesta surges forward, crashing her mouth against his before he can say anything else. He responds immediately, capturing her lower lip in his mouth and sucking. He’s clearly gotten too good at kissing already, but Nesta can’t find it within herself to care, especially when Cassian tears his mouth away to press hot kisses down her throat and across her collarbones.

His mouth closes around one of her breasts, and Nesta all but arches up against his face. With her khui vibrating in her chest, it only adds to the sensation licking like flames down her spine. She feels needier than she ever thought possible, the inside of her thighs already sticky and wet with it. She knows it’s her khui to blame for how keyed-up she feels, but it’s hard to care when all she can focus on is the heat of Cassian’s body pressed against her skin, the feel of his tongue swirling over her nipple, the ache in her cunt that she knows can only be filled by the male above her.

“Cassian,” Nesta pleads, bucking her hips up against him.

“Is there something that you need, sweetheart?” Cassian teases, shifting his mouth’s attention to her other breast.

Nesta moans again, grasping onto one of Cassian’s horns desperately. “Please. Cassian, please.”

“I enjoy the sound of you begging even more.”

Cassian’s mouth never leaves her skin, but he begins to trace a path down, along her sternum, over her stomach, across her hip bones. His hands slip up and tighten around her thighs, prying them far apart to make room for his big, alien body. It’s a simply obscene sight, her legs thrown over a set of blue shoulders, a head of dark curly hair and horns between her thighs. His warm breath fans across her cunt, and already, she can feel herself clenching in anticipation.

“Already so wet for me,” Cassian groans softly. “They say there is no sweeter taste than that of a resonance mate, and I cannot wait to find out.”

Before Nesta can fully register Cassian’s words, before she can say anything back, Cassian presses his mouth against her. Just the first lick has her gasping, her thighs squeezing instinctively around his head, but the reaction only seems to encourage Cassian. He devours her with a ferocity that has her seeing stars.

Suddenly, she feels like she understands why he was so good at kissing because the way he uses his mouth is practically unfair. She can feel every bumpy ridge along his tongue as it slides and swirls against her clit, and her toes curl at the sensation. And then he spears that tongue into her. It reaches deeper than any human could, those ridges dragging along the walls of her cunt.

Nesta cries out, it all too much and not enough at the same time. It feels too good, and she tries to rock her hips, tries to ride Cassian’s face, but his grip tightens on her thighs, holding her in place exactly how he wants her. Too fast heat pools low in Nesta’s gut, threatening to send her tumbling over the edge already, but she can’t find it within herself to care so long as Cassian doesn’t stop doing what he’s doing.

She whines at the loss when he pulls away, but at least, it gives herself a chance to catch her breath. She tilts her head enough that she can look down, but it’s instantly a mistake. His lips and chin are coated in her arousal, and he licks his lips with a groan, smirk still out in full force as his fingers flex against her skin.

“As sweet as I expected.”

That’s Nesta’s only warning before Cassian dives right back in. He focuses his tongue’s attention back on her clit, slipping one of his hands down so that he can sink a finger into her cunt. It’s all that Nesta needs, all that it takes for her orgasm to tear through her like a tidal wave. Her back bows off the furs, but Cassian doesn’t stop. He continues to lick at her and rock his finger, his ferocity and eagerness only seeming to grow with her release.

“Cass… Cassian…” Nesta chokes out between gasps, trying to squirm away from his ministrations and the overstimulation.

Cassian growls, gripping her hips and yanking her right back over his mouth. “Mine.”

For a moment, Nesta isn’t sure where one orgasm ends and the next one begins. Her entire body feels like it’s ablaze, head dizzy with the pleasure of it all. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she’s aware that she might be screaming Cassian’s name.

At least, Cassian finally relents, his tongue swiping one last time through the mess of her two orgasms before his mouth pulls away. Nesta slumps back against the furs, her chest heaving and aftershocks still skittering down her spine. She can feel Cassian’s hands slide down from her hips and over her thighs, humming at the warmth of his touch. Her eyes flutter open, and she finds Cassian still on his knees before her, his own glowing eyes half lidded and watching her.

“The next time we do this,” Nesta begins, still catching her breath. “Remind me to teach you about blowjobs.”

Cassian blinks a few times, his head tilting to the side, and Nesta wonders how that translates for him, what sort of imagery the word draws forth. But she doesn’t expect him to smile. It’s a slow thing, the way it pulls across his face, and it’s lopsided. Just the sight of it has Nesta’s heart skipping a beat between her ribs, and she has to swallow hard before she finds her voice again.

“What’s that look for?”

“You said next time,” Cassian explains, leaning over her until his face hovers above her own, that same dopey smile still firmly in place.

Nesta can feel a blush creeping up her neck and threatening to spill across her cheeks, but she refuses to look away from his gaze. “Well, yeah. We’re mates, right?”

“We must accept resonance first to make it official.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Nesta challenges, lifting her legs enough that she can hook them around Cassian’s hips.

“I would like to kiss you again.”

The earnestness of his voice is enough to give Nesta pause. Enough for her heart to trip over itself and warmth to flood between her ribs. This stupid alien. Stupid alien with his warmth and kindness and tender care. Stupid alien with his heart so proudly on his sleeve, handing over that heart to Nesta without a second thought, without an ounce of fear or worry. Who cradled Nesta’s own heart so carefully before she even realized she’d placed it in his awaiting palms.

And he’s all hers.

“You don’t have to ask. You can just–”

Before Nesta can even finish speaking, Cassian leans down and seals their lips together. The kiss is surprisingly gentle. It’s at odds with the way Cassian’s hands slide under her ass, lifting and tilting her hips up. At odds with the way the head of his cock slides across her cunt and the arousal pooled there.

His tongue presses into her mouth at the same moment he thrusts his hips forward, sinking his cock into her. Nesta gasps against his lips, her head falling back against the furs. It’s indescribable, the way he presses so deep, the way he stretches and fills her. She swears she can feel every ridge along his cock, that vein that runs along the underside. And gods, the spur. It somehow glides perfectly along her clit like another finger, only adding to the intensity of it all.

“Look at how you take me,” Cassian breathes, his attention locked on where they’re joined. “You were made to take my cock, weren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Fuck,” Nesta whimpers, clenching down around him.

“That’s it,” Cassian praises, dragging his mouth over her neck and finding that spot that has her clenching again. “That’s a good girl.”

Nesta tries to buck her hips up against Cassian’s hold. “Please. Cassian, please.”

Cassian groans, but he pulls his hips back just to snap them back forward again. Nesta thought the stretch of his cock was one thing, but the drag of those ridges along the walls of her cunt with each hard thrust has her every nerve ending flaring with pleasure and heat. She lets out a loud moan, fingers slipping against Cassian’s skin as she digs her nails into his shoulders.

“We will need a cave far from the others if these are the sweet sounds you will make each time your cunt welcomes my cock.”

Cassian continues to rock his hips, setting a brutal pace. His cock somehow sinks deeper still with every thrust, his spur pressing tantalizingly against her clit. It’s all that Nesta can focus on, that burning pleasure, the way it threatens to swallow her whole. She can think of no better way to go, lost into those flames with the male above her.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta gasps out between moans. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Do not worry, Nes. I do not intend to,” Cassian pushes out between gritted teeth, clearly just as affected as she is. “I intend to have your delicious cunt wrapped around me every night until you are carrying my kit and then every night after that still.”

The imagery and the future it paints tugs a fresh litany of moans from Nesta’s chest and past her lips. She’s not sure she’s ever been this turned on in her life. She can feel the absolute mess she’s making between her thighs, can hear the wet slap of skin echoing off the walls of the cave around her, but it’s hard to care when Cassian continues to play her body like his own personal instrument.

“Do you like that, my sweet mate? I can feel the way you’re squeezing me.”

“Yes! Please. I need…”

Nesta doesn’t even have time to finish speaking, another choked off moan tearing through her. Cassian picks up the pace, slamming his hips against her own. Each hard drive of his cock sends her cresting higher still, release glimmering just within reach.

“Then come for me, Nes. Come all over my cock.”

One of Cassian’s hands slides up to her breast, thumb dragging against her nipple and palm kneading at the flesh. It’s all it takes to push Nesta over the edge. She all but screams Cassian’s name, spots dancing behind her eyelids as she arches up off the furs. Cassian groans against her ear, only snapping his hips a few more times before he stills above her. His cock twitches deep within her, flooding her cunt with warmth and his own release. It has her moaning again, has her cunt fluttering still and milking his cock.

She slumps back against the furs, taking a moment to catch her breath. Her heart continues to pound in her chest, but there’s silence otherwise in the cave, her and Cassian’s khuis finally quieting. It’s jarring, but there’s a peace to it too, wrapped up in this cave with Cassian’s warm body pressed against hers.

He pulls out of her, but he doesn’t go far, settling beside her in the furs. Nesta barely has time to shiver at the loss, at the cool air of the cave settling over her, before Cassian rearranges the furs to cover them both. His arms wrap back around her waist, tugging her to close to lay across his chest.

“Now we are mates,” Cassian declares proudly, burying one of his hands amongst the strands of Nesta’s hair.

Nesta snorts softly, but she curls tighter into Cassian’s embrace. “Guess you’re well and truly stuck with me now.”

“Stuck? I am not stuck.”

“It’s just a joke,” Nesta consoles him, patting his chest soothingly.

“I do not like this joke. I told you, Nes. I am the luckiest male to resonate with you,” Cassian tells her, his tone fierce.

“I know,” Nesta whispers. She shifts and turns her head up enough that she can meet Cassian’s gaze. “I’m lucky too, you know.”

Cassian smiles softly, the expression taking over his face in the most beautiful way. His hand moves from her hair to her cheek, his fingers carefully tracing over her features. Nesta’s eyes flutter closed at the gentle touch, and she leans fully into him, leans into the comfortable warmth this male gives her.

“My Nesta,” Cassian says, his own voice quiet, revenant. “My heart. My world.”

“Is that a declaration of love?”

“And if it is?”

Nesta opens her eyes again, unable to bite back the smile threatening to spill across her own face. “Then I’d say good. Because I love you too.”

—

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spectorcomplex · 2 years

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love and war ↝ aemond targaryen x reader

you treat marriage as if it is war. who’s to say it’s not?

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!velaryon!reader (she/her pronouns)

warnings: cursing, targcest, reader is rhaenyra and laenor’s daughter but there are no physical descriptions. my first hotd fic pls be kind

word count: 5k words

my masterlist

You should be mourning. Truth be told, you were— an aching sadness that left you hollow as the adults paced around the room, grief heavy in the air with the loss of your Grandfather, the King. But the fear swirling in your gut overpowered sadness.

You were not oblivious to the opinions of the court, even if you yourself were not involved in it as much. Your mother’s rule has been challenged enough even when the King was alive and now the long awaited storm brewing from before might finally arrive to blow your family over.

Your mother is a strong woman, a true protector of the realm, but as you glance over at where she is stood by a window next to Alicent Hightower as they engage in a hushed conversation, you know that everyone, even her, is nervous for how the kingdoms may react to a woman ascending the Iron Throne.

She sent you and your brothers to your chambers after the funeral, heavy lidded and shoulders drooped, unfit for a royal, but she was not the Queen in that moment, but rather a grieving daughter. You hugged her good night and kissed her cheek as you often did as a child in her arms.

Sleep did not come to you yet and a history book written in High Valyrian kept you company. Until a knock echoed.

“Princess? I’m sorry to wake you but the Prince Daemon requests your presence,” The voice came from the guard stationed outside your door.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It was too late in the night and what would your step-father want from you at this hour?

Thankfully you had not changed into your night dress yet, still clad in your funeral attire, a high-neck black dress that had faint embroideries of dragons on the hem of the floor length skirt. Your heart grew heavy as you remembered the tales from your childhood when Viserys had time to indulge your requests in knowing more about Balerion.

The guard escorted you to the council chamber and you finally had a sense that this was an emergency meeting regarding the Crown.

“Sister,” Jace greeted you by the door. You glanced behind him to see your mother seated at the head of the table with a glum expression.

The sight of Queen Alicent in the room was no surprise to you, she was constantly in the presence of your family after she and your mother had rekindled their friendship. What did catch you off guard was the presence of her son, your uncle, Aemond. He was the only one of Viserys’ other children present in the room.

You wondered if Aemond too was feeling grief for his father but there he was seated, proper posture and a stoic face, the candlelight casting a sharp shadow over his features. The complete opposite of your plump cheeked younger brother Lucerys, who was slouched and yawning in his seat.

Jacaerys helped you into your seat and looked equally unnerved as you, though you were not sure if the reasons are the same.

Daemon entered after a few minutes of silence. You noted that only family was present in this room.

“Daemon, what is this about?” Your mother asked with a sigh.

“The coronation is tomorrow,” Daemon began to explain but your older brother interrupted with a scowl on his face.

“Exactly, which is why the Queen needs to be well rested for the ceremony,” Jace had been standing up to your step-father a lot more recently and you admired his ferocity.

Daemon glared back, “There’s already whispers. Unsatisfied, doubtful, craven Lords who may not fully cooperate in this reign.”

You could only frown. This exact scenario was what plagued your thoughts ever since you learned of the King’s passing. No one expects the passing of succession to go smoothly, but to be interrupted so soon?

There was a purpose as to why Daemon called this meeting; why only family was present. You racked your brain as to think of a way to help but none came to mind. You were a second child whose influence came in the form of what your dresses looked like instead of what you have to say.

“We need allies.”

All eyes turned to look at Aemond. His voice made it clear that he was speaking a matter of fact.

Your step-father looked hesitant to address the younger prince but this was no time for revisiting petty prejudices of the past.

“Precisely,” Daemon nodded. “And if I recall correctly, you’re already in the talks of a marriage pact to Storm’s End. We would have sent dear Y/N but there are no sons there to vie for her hand.”

The first part of his sentence went over your head as your nose flared in offense. “Is this why I was summoned here? To be shipped off to spend the rest of my life being miserable with some stupid Lord?”

“Watch your mouth,” Your mother finally spoke, though her words were not what you hoped for. You looked at her in despair and you were met with pity.

“I get to have a say how my life goes,” You stand up, furious. “I am a princess of this realm!”

“This realm you speak of will descend into chaos if you refuse to help your mother.”

His words were carefully curated, constructed together to hit the tender spot in your heart reserved for your mother. You were already defeated in the matter of your liberty despite your stubbornness to pursue an argument.

“I can help in other ways,” You said.

“How? By the way of the sword?” Daemon’s nature was to always pick a fight and even his children were of no exception.

“No need for violence all the time,” You match his scoff. “Diplomacy is an option and—“

“And diplomacy is to secure good relations with others, like marriage,” His tone was nearing a growl and you did not want the already exhaustive night to take a turn for the worse.

“Alright,” You clenched your jaw. “For my mother—for my Queen.”

You looked at her, a glint of what you hoped was admiration shining in her eyes. She mouthed a thank you.

Curious eyes followed you as you approached a guard stationed by the door. He nodded at your request and quickly returned to you with the item at hand.

You unfurled the map of Westeros on the table.

“Only if I get to choose which Lord I will be betrothed to,” You said. “It must be a very strategic alliance that will greatly benefit the Crown if it will cost me whatever joy I have left in this life.”

As everyone peered at the inky outlines of the seven Kingdoms, a rogue stare strayed from the map and settled on you.

“You look ready for battle, my Princess.”

Your uncle’s whispered quip startled you so much that a breathy laughter escaped your lips. His sour relationship with your brothers had strained your own relationship with him. As children you would even play games of chasing each other when your respective lessons were done for the day. A few hearty laughs were shared if you saw Aegon stumble down a set of stairs, both too young and naive to know about the sensation of drunkenness.

But now, years after the incident that forever changed the dynamics within the family, he seemed like a stranger. The boy you knew was gone and in his place stood a man with the mind of a scholar and the skills of a knight. You swallowed as your gaze met his.

“Is marriage not war, my Prince?”

His lips raised imperceptibly but you caught it. Though, you wish you hadn’t as your heart defied logic and started to race.

“Well?” Daemon’s voice sliced through the tension and even if he was irritating you, you were relieved for the interruption.

Your nimble finger pointed south. “There is a Martell son. Though they would see right through us if I was offered up to him. But if they did choose to look past that, we may even have the chance of strengthening the bond with Sunspear.”

“Wait-wait,” Alicent spoke, her motherly gaze meeting yours. “No need to treat this as if it were the Stepstones, sweet girl. We can arrange a tour and maybe a love match may—“

“With all due respect, Your Grace, but a tour requires weeks of planning for travel on all parties,” You gave her a grateful smile. “We do not have the privilege of time on our side regarding this matter.”

You were not the closest to Queen Alicent after all these years of animosity, but you could tell she was trying and these were her true colors that your mother cared for when they were young.

“And a love match is—“ You frowned. Even if marriage had always been a distant thought in your mind, you had always hoped that you would marry the one you love. But having that in this world is much rarer than dragons who breathe blue fire.

“A love match is not possible,” You breathed out. You cast a glance at Daemon, who was nodding in approval. You were on the path of making right decisions until your eyes landed on Aemond across from you and the mistake was letting his already-there stare have feelings rise within you.

You only shook your head before pointing back at the map.

“This one also seems feasible,” You say as you circled the shape of an archipelago with your finger.

“The Iron Islands, sister?” Lucerys, who had been awfully quiet for quite some time, finally spoke.

“I’m a Velaryon,” You spoke with pride, though a distant sadness ached at the memory of your late father. “And you, dear brother, are heir to Driftmark. Our family can have control over the great fleets in both seas surrounding Westeros.”

Mumbles of approval filled the air and you thought that, this is it, you’ll officially be surrendering to the water in which you came from.

“A Greyjoy?”

Prince Aemond is awfully opinionated tonight, it seems, and your fatigue was morphing into irritation.

“Is there a problem with them, my son?” Alicent asked.

Aemond scoffed, “The only eligible one for the Princess Y/N to marry is skilled at sea but useless on land.”

“What seems to be the problem with that?” You asked, always having had admiration for the skills it requires to be great in ships. Traces of the fond memories of your father and grandfather’s lessons.

But even if you were the one that spoke, Aemond refused to look at you. His gaze even seemed directed at your parents.

“The Greyjoy son is even more bunglesome than the lowliest tourney knight,” Aemond explained, voice cool and turned your temper to flare. “How will he protect his wife? With a knotted rope perhaps.”

And the most unexpected happened, both your brothers laughed at the remark. It was a sight from your childhood years that you never thought you’d get to see again. You elbow Jacaery’s side.

“As much as I would hate to agree with him,” Jace whispers in your ear. “He does not lie, sister. I’ve sparred with the Greyjoy boy before.”

“Well,” Your mother spoke, voice commanding the attention of the room. “We keep our options open.”

You sigh quietly, eyes starting to droop and eager to get this meeting over with. But you were determined to secure a stable turnover from King Viserys to Queen Rhaenyra.

“Alright,” You cleared your throat, feeling warmth slowly flood your cheeks as your finger pointed upwards of the map. “The North.”

“Not just the North, I think,” Lucerys piped in, a familiar mirth in his eyes. “You want to be Lady of Winterfell.”

“I do not!” You really wish you had composed yourself instead of succumbing to your sibling’s teasing because now all attention is on you. Except one, as you see in your periphery.

“Cregan Stark,” Daemon hummed in contemplation. “Not an awful choice.”

That’s basically a seal of approval coming from him.

“There’s no sense to a marriage pact with them. Northerners are honorable people, they won’t break faith to Rhaenyra even in doubtful times,” Alicent offered.

The conversation was slipping from your control and you need to grasp it back for this was your freedom as a woman at stake.

“Still wouldn’t hurt to have the largest region in Westeros, your Grace,” You said. “Plus, he is Jacaerys’ friend and I’ve met Cregan on quite a few occasions. He is… a gentleman.”

“You think he’s handsome.”

Oh, you were definitely going to smother your brothers in their sleeps tonight.

“He is smart,” You backtracked, the same rogue stare from earlier now back on you and burrowing deeper under your skin. “Already groomed to rule over his lands.”

“Alright, we start with the Starks,” Your mother said, the back of her hand rubbing over an eye. “His father will be at the coronation and if we’re lucky, Cregan will also be. But for tonight, we will all get rest.”

That would probably be your favorite order from the Queen.

“I am to fly to Storm’s End the day after tomorrow,” Aemond’s deep voice was like the thunder in the place he was to visit. “Your Grace.”

To anybody else, they would not be able to catch the subtle look of surprise on your mother’s face, but you could tell because you were probably mirroring her right now. Your uncle Aemond’s disdain for your side of the family had never been in question. To address your mother like that even if he’s made it so perfectly clear that the inheritance should pass onto Viserys’ sons was worthy of suspicion.

“Alright…” You saw your mother hesitate, “Brother. Good night, my family.”

That last interaction was what made you so sleepy at the celebration after your mother’s coronation for it kept you up the night before. You were restless after the cordiality your family presented each other and every now and then you think you’re a fool for hoping it would last for a long time.

But you were lying to yourself. You knew damn well the presence of Prince Aemond was what had you twisting and turning in your sheets. Your annoyance towards his incessant need to tap his fingers on the table, smug smirks, and opinions on your future marriage was a way to cope with the wave of nostalgia you felt every time you cast a glance at him.

Aemond had always known how the royal family is above others, even back when he still had both eyes and a childish grin. His words tonight reminded you of the time when you were seven and Aemond nearly growled at the Baker’s son who gave you a plucked flower from outside the castle.

You however found sleep after a few tears dropped at the loss of those innocent days, letting go of the prospect of Valyrian Dragonglass and finding marriage in another House.

—+—

Some Lords were confused at the serious faces of House Targaryen. Most of them were rowdily whooping and clapping after the coronation. But being a royal of this realm meant you had to be smart in assessing a massive gathering of all the nobility in Westeros.

Daemon had reminded the family in the morning to be wary of the doubtful Lords he had mentioned the night before.

You all had a better look at the attendees at the celebratory feast Alicent insisted on having in order to ‘lighten spirits.’ To no one’s surprise, the Martell son was nowhere in sight.

You sighed from your place at the table that was raised on the dais, overlooking all the nobility starting the night with wine filled cups. You grimaced as you heard your Uncle Aegon’s slurred words start already.

The poor dress that was custom made for you is currently suffering from scratch marks from your anxious fingers. The Greyjoy table was full of men who looked older than your own parents and the aforementioned weakling in swordsmanship is nowhere to be seen.

“Good eve, Princess Y/N. You look beautiful tonight.”

You startle as you see the Greyjoy you were looking for by the other end of the table.

“Just tonight, Sir Rickon?” You jest like old friends even though you knew nothing but his name and status.

He didn’t seem to think you meant no harm as he started stuttering, “No-I- you look beautiful all the- I’m terribly sorry.”

“I only jest, my Lord,” You say through gritted teeth and muster a convincing smile. Though your snickering elder brother at your left was seeing right through it.

“Yes, alright,” Rickon clears his throat. “May I dance with you, Princess?”

You sigh, the sound thankfully lost in the noise of the hall, and nod. You grabbed his outstretched hand, calloused and littered with small cuts.

“Have you sailed recently, my Lord?” You asked as the two of you got into position.

Rickon’s face seemed to lighten at this and you put all your Velaryon knowledge to the forefront of your mind.

“It has been two moons since then, Princess, we traveled to King’s Landing by road,” He explained.

That was pretty much the meat of your conversation with Rickon Grayjoy. He was an average dancer and a worse conversationalist. Not good for diplomatic relations.

Dornish wine had never been as appealing to you as it is now. As soon as the music ended, you rushed back to the family table and grabbed a goblet for yourself with enough quickness to even surprise your drunkard Uncle Aegon.

Unbeknownst to you, another uncle was watching warily.

“Slow down, niece,” Aemond’s voice broke through the noise of the hall.

You only roll your eyes and stumble back to the dance floor. Though you do get a sense of deja vu at Aemond’s words.

These were the times in which a listener would find this memory hard to believe to be true. Too fictional to believe— as if it is meant to be a story immortalized on a tapestry. A speck of a memory that is so different from how the Targaryen family is with each other now. But you remember; girlish giggles and scuffs of shoes echoed throughout the stone walls of the Keep.

You were summoned to the Dragonpit to start learning how to command your young dragon. Love for books had nothing against your excitement when Ser Harwin called for your attention. Your Uncle Aemond was in the library with you, equally enamored with his book about dragons of Valyria and you asked him to accompany you as to see the real thing compared to illustrations on paper.

“Slow down, Princess!”

You only snickered at Aemond’s warning. He only had a few years ahead of you and thought his prepubescent voice could scare you into submission.

Despite being born and raised in the Keep, you have not yet developed muscle memory for every crevice in the castle and your foot slipped on a crack in the pavement.

You plummeted to the ground, though your hands reached out to stop your face from colliding with the floor. Tears immediately flooded your eyes as your palms skidded on the gravel, following a sting and warm wetness which was most likely blood, and an ache surged in your twisted ankle. Stubbornness ran thick in Velaryon blood and you refused to cry in front of any of the boys but the pain was too much to hold it back.

‘What did I tell you?’ You expected Aemond to say with a disappointed tut. But he only knelt next to you, brows furrowed as he helped you sit upright and inspecting your bloodied hands.

He had one arm tucked under yours as he patiently helped you walk back to the main grounds of the Red Keep in which he then barked at Ser Criston to fetch a maester to tend to you.

Aemond sat next to you and rested a gentle hand, still free of callouses from handling swords, on your forearm as the maester applied ointment to your scratched palms.

He never told you how much it stung when you didn’t do the same for him on that fateful day in Driftmark.

“Princess.”

The firm voice broke you out of your wine-induced memories.

“Lord Cregan Stark,” You curtsied.

The smile you greeted him with was genuine compared to Lord Greyjoy. Though the conversation from last night put a falter in your grin.

You wanted to see Cregan as a friend, build a relationship on a foundation free of ulterior motives. But the plans made are needed to be put into motion to truly secure Queen Rhaenyra’s reign.

“May I have the pleasure of dancing with you?” He asked and you wordlessly nodded as you felt the warmth flood your cheeks. Though your recollection of that day in your childhood added to the dizziness from the wine.

Cregan was an excellent conversationalist, complimenting your dress and hair and still managed to verge into topics deeper than surface level small talk as you twirled to the music. He would make a good husband, you think. Though your heart dropped for a split second that this would not be a true love match if a wedding was to happen. He would be a good ally.

“Have you caught up with Jacaerys yet?” You inquire, looking him in the eye to keep his attention.

He started to answer enthusiastically and despite how much you complimented him the night before in front of your closest family, you could not fully appreciate Lord Stark and despite trying not to, you found yourself comparing him to the one eyed prince.

“…Like a brother to me,” Cregan finished with a smile.

Your eyes flickered to his mouth before returning to his sparkling brown eyes. He would make a good husband, you repeat in your head. Dark features and lips chapped from the harsh winds of winter.

“That is good to hear,” You nod, switching to diplomatic mode immediately. You had to seal this partnership tonight. “That our families have a bond with each other.”

A look of knowing flickered in Cregan’s eyes, almost as if he knew what you were insinuating or about to propose.

Cregan leaned in, too bold a move for a public dance between a Lord and a Lady, “Yes. A bond.”

Your breath hitched at his actions.

Someone cleared their throat and you nearly jumped in place.

“Lord Stark, would you mind dancing with the Lady Floris Baratheon?”

You huff when you turned in Cregan’s hold and saw Aemond standing there next to the two of you, lips in a fine line. Said Lady Floris was next to him, almost looking defeated. You had to hold the urge of cursing Aemond out. What he said was not an offer but a demand.

Cregan did not look phased but still obeyed the Prince after bowing, “I’d be honored to.”

When the dark haired pair drifted into the rest of the dancing crowd, you scowled at Aemond.

He was not bothered by this and placed a firm hand on your waist. You gulp.

“What are you doing?” You hiss. A defense mechanism to emotions beyond irritation towards the Prince swaying with you.

“Flirting is beneath you, niece,” He says in that low voice of his.

“You know my intentions with Lord Stark and why,” You answer, the grip you have on Aemond’s leather clad shoulders turning tighter in aggression. “And you should be with the Lady Floris to finally get Storm’s End’s approval.”

Aemond only hummed as he spins you out and pulls you back in, “I’d rather pluck my other eye out than to have Borros Baratheon as my father-in-law.”

As if on cue, the raucous laughter of the Lord of Storm’s End echoed in the hall. You both grimace.

“Then who do you wish?” You chuckle, though not lightheartedly. “Daemon?”

You scoff after saying your step father’s name. It was evident how much Aemond idolizes him despite his denial. All from the hair down to the ego.

Your knees weakened when Aemond didn’t look phased by your jab, he even rather looked amused and that was a dangerous thing.

“What are you saying?” He smirks and your blood runs cold when realization crept in.

“I only meant Baela or-“ You stutter.

“Who are both already betrothed to your brothers.”

Damn it! That smug smirk only seemed to grow wider and you swear you growled under your breath. You redirected the conversation.

“You have a choice, I do not,” You start. “I do not understand why you would say yes to a marriage pact when you could just forge an alliance over a goblet of wine.”

That seemed to put Aemond back into his stoic self. Despite the silence, you know he was forming an answer in his head.

“I have to protect my mother.”

Your cold facade melted a little bit. You understood where he was coming from with this.

“I do too,” You answer, making sure your voice was not as confrontational as it was a few seconds ago.

“You do not understand to what extent,” And with this, Aemond completely lets go of you even though the music was still playing.

He leaves you on the dance floor and you hate how it left you with a tinge of sadness.

But like children, you follow after him to pester more about his thoughts. This was how it was back then, you knew Aemond had the tendency to conceal his words but with a little push, he’d spill. Hopefully it will still work.

You follow him to the dark corners of the hall, ignoring the inquisitive stares of the others.

“Then make me understand,” You say. “Aemond.”

He only stops at the soft whisper of his name. Though he keeps his back to you, this does not deter you from moving closer. You knew he felt you, a tenseness in his body that an untrained eye wouldn’t notice. But this was Aemond, you just knew.

“It is not their loyalty to the Crown that is in question. It is their worries that there will be a civil war.”

He let you sit on the words. Aemond never underestimated your intelligence; he may have thrown shallow insults ever since the rift between your side of the family and his but he never doubted your intellect.

You sighed as it hits you. The atmosphere has now changed, yet you both are still players in the big picture. Even as royals, you are pawns in this game and the name one carries assures your survival. The loyalty to Targaryens is undeniable so now, who knows what they will do to a Hightower?

“Viserys is no longer alive, she is not Queen anymore,” He continues.

The son who took up ensuring the family honor. The eldest was never to be relied on and Aemond had made sure to be the child that would protect his mother. Rhaenyra was lucky to get sons and a daughter that will put her honor in mind before they act but the former Queen was not afforded that luxury.

Alicent was never the warmest towards your family, but she was faithful to duty and did her best to ensure the family survives especially in the final days leading to her husband’s death. Even through conspiracies and whispers, she focused on keeping her children well without subconsciously excluding you and your brothers.

This is what Daemon was pushing you for. Duty. To do right by your house and protect it to the death. You understand now.

Aemond is not the type to believe in baseless rumors. He approaches the thoughts of those fellow politics with a clear head and if this is what he deems as important then you’ll defy your side’s expectations and stand with him.

“We are Hightower and Velaryon,” You say. “But most importantly we are both made of fire and blood.”

He turns to you then. Once again, torches illuminating intimidating features. Lilac eye glowers at you but you stand ground. Like you said, the same magic swirls in both your veins.

“I understand,” You continue in his silence. “I understand what we need to do whatever it takes for the blood of Old Valyria to endure.”

Alliances with other regions would be great, but if Aemond’s word was to be trusted you know that it is not enough. Banners will be raised behind two women who have no intention of fighting because of men’s beliefs. You will not let this tempest sink your family under.

In order to protect the most important people in your life, enemies must be slain. A marriage bound by love is a rare gift— but a marriage for duty is a weapon.

Aemond shakes his head at you and despite the pull, you resist from having your shoulders drop in defeat. Your mother may have been called the realm’s delight as a little girl but she now sits the Iron Throne and it is inevitable for her to be called a cunt by those who refuses her reign.

“I know what must be done,” You take a step forward toward Aemond. This is it, he could either make or break a pact that will ensure House Targaryen’s stability and hold on the realm. The tension between these stone walls could rattle a dragon. But never the two of you. “Do you?”

“You know damn well,” Aemond whispers. You’d be a fool to deny how he’d look at your lips just then.

You raise your chin, “Pār gūrogon issa naejot zaldrīzesdōron se mazverdagon issa aōha ābrazȳrys.”

Then take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife.

aaaa hope you enjoyed! reblogs and comments are appreciated :) i’m not the biggest expert on asoiaf lore but im really spiraling into learning about it lol but pls feel free to drop a message anytime!

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