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lovifie · 4 months

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Her Royal Highness Pt.4

Masterlist

Prologue — Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4

“Mornin’ Princess.” Soap is the first one to see you arrive at the courtyard. He looks at you with a cheeky smile as always.

“Good morning, Johnny.” You greet him smiling as you jog a bit to stand next to him close to the light torch next to the door.

The sun is still not meant to be out for another couple of hours, but because the castle is so far away from the next town, the king decided to leave so early to make it there by nightfall. Last night you packed all your most liked clothes for the travel, leaving out the warmest dress with the warmest cape you owned. But still, being used to being sheltered inside of the castle, the chilling cold of the early hours was enough to make you shake. Soap is quick to take notice of this because he adjusts your cape closing it around you and stroking your arms up and down to warm you up.

“Ar’ ye shaking cause ye cold or cause ye excited to finally be leaving the castle?” He asks smiling, his breath being visible but he remains apparently unaffected by the temperature.

“Both, but mostly the cold.” You admit with a shaky breath. “Where is the Prince?”

“Aw, lovebird dyin’ to see her man.” Soap jokes faking a pout and earning a slap to the arm. “C’mon, I'll take you with him. Take my hand, o’ ye'll fly away.”

You stare confused for a second, wondering if he is joking again. That is, until he opens the door and you feel the cold wind. You quickly hold his hand and stand close to his back so he can shield you from the wind.

If you thought it was cold inside of the castle, you were wrong. And the frozen wind reminds you, feeling like a thousand needles make their way inside your bone. Soap and you soon arrive at the carriage you assume you will be travelling with Ghost, and you pop your head over Soap's shoulder to check who’s there.

Gaz, Price, Ghost and Laswell look back at you. You notice Ghost looking at you up and down from behind the helmet he is wearing, but before you can say anything Laswell speaks.

“Good morning, Princess. Glad I could see you before you left, I was just explaining to Kyle some of the care required for your wound.” She says as she walks up to you and places her hands on your cheeks. “God gracious, child. You are freezing, get inside quickly. I'll see you when you get back.”

She gives you a quick hug with a smile before going back inside the castle, to keep sleeping most likely. You try to turn to the carriage when the cape gets stuck on something opening and leaving you exposed to the cold. When you turn to check it, you realize that is a who and not a thing on what the cape got stuck.

“What kind of shitty cape is this?” Ask Ghost as he plays with the material in his hand. “No wonder you are shaking like a leaf.”

The tone of his voice is of annoyance, making you feel ashamed of having a completely natural reaction to the weather. But when you are going to complain that you can’t help it, he lets go of your cape and moves his hand to undo the clasp keeping his on.

He takes it off himself and smoothly drapes it over your shoulder putting the hood over your head as well. The click of the clasp makes you look down at his hands, noticing they are so close to your face, almost touching you.

You look up from under the hood and make eye contact with him. The words suddenly die in your throat and blood rushes to your cheeks as he quickly adverts your gaze clearing his throat. “Get inside.” He says putting a hand on your lower back and opening the door. He lowers the hand a bit more and pushes you inside with a single hand on your butt.

You are met with a closed door when you try to protest and redeem yourself sitting down close to the door. You play with your hands as you wait for something else to happen trying to listen to anything outside. Keeping the cape close to your body you bend yourself to try and get your ear closer to the door. Almost touching it with your cheek, finally being able to hear the footsteps going away and the voices getting more and more silent.

“What are you doing?” A deep voice grumbles behind you and the surprise makes you stumble forward almost falling from your seat.

“Nothing.” You say quickly as you play with the fur on the cape trying to act completely relaxed with the fact he just caught you being nosy.

A low chuckle can be heard erupt from the Prince as he sits next to you shaking the carriage with his size. Even though you are sitting next to the door, his sheer size makes it impossible to not brush against your knees with his. He knocks twice on the door and almost instantly the horses begin to walk moving the carriage. Next, he sits even more relaxed on his side of the carriage, takes off his mask and crosses his arms getting ready to sleep.

Him taking off the mask mere seconds after beginning the travel was not the first thing you were expecting. So you can't help it but to look at his face, especially since he has his eyes closed and can see that you are looking at him. Surrounding his eyes is some kind of grease or black paint that blends up to his eyebrow. Blonde curls, long enough only to be able to tell they are curls, frame his face in contrast to the rest of him.

He is handsome.

Your soon-to-be husband is handsome.

“Is rude to stare.” A brown eye opens and looks at you, making you whip your head to face the front of the carriage.

“Sorry.” You answer quickly. “Was just surprised.”

“Why?” He said closing his eyes again.

“Because you look good… I mean, you look fine, like, I don't know, I thought you had something you wanted to hide, but everything about your face is fine. Like, you are fine. You look good.” You start mumbling without knowing where to look and end up looking out the window. “How much longer until the next stop?”

A chuckle from the Prince makes you look back at him and when you turn your face you come face to face with him, being a lot more close to your face and keeping eye contact with you as feel one of his arms rest over your shoulder.

“You think I look good, Princess?” He said with his face almost touching yours, so close you feel his breath over your lips. His other hand comes to your neck and undoes the clasp on his cape, you stay making eye contact as you feel the fur fall off your shoulder. With a smooth motion, he manages to take the cape away from you, barely moving you. Then, as easy as he got on your face he gets away taking his cape back. He lays back again and pulls the cape over himself as a blanket.

“There are still at least 8 hours until the next stop, you should rest.” He says smirking and goes back to the position he was before.

You turn back to the door and hug yourself trying to keep warm, but you only feel the heat of your embarrassment.

————————————————————————

There is shouting outside of the carriage when you wake up, so many voices but still unable to figure out what they are saying. Simon must have left the carriage before you woke up, and only his cape draped over you remains.

The unmistakable sound of blades being drawn bolts you awake and you open the door stepping outside. All the men that came with the carriage, ready to attack whoever was brave enough to stop the convoy.

“I have already said that you cannot get through the border, they are closed until there are explicit orders from the next in line. The King is dead, and the kingdom is mourning. So get back to wherever the fuck you are coming, and wait. What is so hard to understand?” The voice from someone you don't know says.

“And I, have already said that we are the next in line. So get out of the way, we need to make it to Auntry City before midday and we are going behind.” The King Price argues back. “So unless you want to get hurt, move!”

“If you want to get through, it will be inside of a coffin, Sir.” The guard says.

You can see the blade being drawn over the heads and it makes you gasp, surprising Ghost who whips his head back (covered with the mask again) and you see the shock in his eyes when he sees you.

“Get back inside!” Ghost barks looking at you over his shoulder just for a second before looking back at the front, but you stay put, curiosity for knowing who is on the other side being too tempting. “Princess, get the fuck inside!”

At the mention of your royal title, begins a round of whispers and mumbles. You are finally able to see who the other people are, and you realize they are your late father's guards, positioned at the border of the town where the castle is located to make sure he knew who entered.

You manage to make your way through the wall of men, and just when you are almost through a hand you recognise as the Prince’s, grabs your arm ready to throw you back inside the carriage. But before he can, you make eye contact with who, if you don't remember wrong, is the captain of the guards.

His eyes widen in shock upon seeing you, and he quickly kneels before you, the rest of the guards following shortly. “My most sincerest apologies, your Royal Highness. We didn't know you were travelling with them, I ask in the name of my men for your forgiveness.”

The same face of absolute incredulity is plastered on you and on the men around you. You quickly smile back at the king over your shoulder, almost like trying to say: “Look how much they like me! Look how different they are treating us now! Look how much I just helped you! Look how much they prefer me over you!”

You turn your head back to the captain kneeling before you, still looking down almost afraid to make eye contact with you again. You lay your hand on his shoulder and when he timidly looks up, you give him your most sincere smile. “Everything is forgiven, captain. You were just following orders.”

“Thank you, princess.” He answers fast, surprisingly relieved to have been forgiven. There is a voice of alarm in your head, that makes you remember what Laswell told you about your father being a bad king.

The guard shouldn't have been so scared of you, you remember him. From so many years ago, you would hide behind your mother's skirt when he would come to update your parents on the new visitors. He would always give you a small smile.

So it wouldn't make sense for that man to be scared of the little girl hiding behind his mon, and he should be scared of you now.

The guard picks up your hand for his shoulder and kisses it on the knuckles. He stands to his full height, the size difference making you feel uneasy about his fear of you. “Princess, allow some of my men and I to escort you into town. As an apology. In case you came into trouble of the remain of the travel.”

“There really is no need, Sir.” You say and you can see the guilt behind his eyes. “But I will accept your offer. Should we keep going, then?”

You turn around to look at the King, and for a second, you see something on his expression that you are not able to read, but the moment he realizes you are looking at him, his expression changes. It softens.

“I will get my men ready, your Royal Highness.” The guard says, kneeling quickly before standing again and turning back to his team.

You turn back to the king, walking a couple of steps that separate you. You notice his gaze following you, and you keep eye contact until you are face-to-face with him. You motion him to bend down so you can actually be at the same height, and he obliges, curiosity taking the best of him. You move closer to the side of his head and whisper in his ear smiling: “Aren't you glad that I tagged along, your majesty?”

Before he can answer, you begin to move back to the carriage; taking a quick last glance, you notice Gaz laughing softly just in time to see the King slapping his arm with a cheeky smile on his face.

You sit on the carriage, closing the door and taking a deep breath.

What the fuck just happened?!

Having to act as an actual monarch is not something you are used to, you have been trained to do so, but never really needed to do it. Mainly resorting to being your father's shadow and echo, always present but never in sight.

And the braveness to talk like that to the king? Of course, you talk back to him in the castle, but that's different! In the castle, you can always run to Laswell or Farah, or basically anyone. But here? You are basically alone, with the King John Price, the Prince Simon, the knight Gaz and Soap and the rest of Price's guard. They don't owe you loyalty, they don't owe you anything.

If the King told them, you will be dead in minutes, no second thought.

“You ‘right?” The Prince asks when he sits next to you, again, too late to hear him coming and only noticing him when he is already seated and removing his mask.

“Yeah! I'm peachy.” You answer letting a sight escape your lips.

“Seems like it.” The Prince laughs softly but without pushing more. “We are a little less than an hour away from Auntry City. You may want to undo some knots.”

You frown at his word and follow his gaze, noticing that he is looking at your hair. You raise your hand to reach the top of your head and notice the unflattering way it is sitting. And slowly it downs on you.

“What must have that guard think of the Princess? Coming out of the carriage she is sharing with a man, hair looking a mess, wearing said man cape…” The Prince chastises his tongue shaking his head in a disapproving manner. “What an improper Princess.”

“Oh, shut up!” You say feeling the heat get to your face as you hear the Prince chuckle. “It's obvious I was just sleeping.”

“You sure about that, luv?” He says resting his chin on his hand, index finger extended to hide his smile behind as he raises an eyebrow.

You whip your head around ignoring him, looking into the pockets inside of your own cape, you pick up the comb and start easing it through your hair. Once satisfied, you braid a couple of locks away from your face; as you braid them, you hold them with your lips to keep them from un-braiding themselves.

Until…

You feel a pair of fingertips graze your lips, caressing your top lip slowly.

“I can hold it for you, Princess.” The Prince asks when you turn to look at him. Your jaw goes slack, mostly from the shock but still effective to let go of the braid letting it fall on Simon's hand. “Atta girl.”

If he says anything else after that, only he will know. Because the only thing you are able to hear anymore, is your blood rushing through your ears. Feeling your heartbeat on your throat, and warm simmer down your body to the bottom of your stomach.

Moving your focus to your hair, you braid quickly the rest of the little braids, leaving them on Simon's hand as you go trying to not touch him directly. Once satisfied with the amount of braids, you pick them back up and join them at the back of your head on a braid-like conjuncture, combing one last time the rest of your hair out of the braids.

Looking down, you try to put the comb away, but once again, Simon's hand find its way around your neck. This time, grabbing your jaw to make you look away from you.

He hums as he draws circles on your jaw with his thumb and looks at your hair. “Quite pretty.” He admits and move your hair again to look back at him. “Quite pretty indeed.”

There is a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes you feel trapped like a mouse in front of a cat. The air in the carriage begins to feel heavy, and the carriage itself feels smaller with each passing second.

And almost like it was meant to be, the coachman stops the horses and the second the carriage stops moving, you jump off trying to take in the very much-needed air.

“Damn, lassie, Ghostie here has ye losing yer breath?” Soap asks as he walks up to the carriage and sticks his head inside sending a wink to the Prince. “Cheeky bastard, can't wait for the honeymoon.”

“That’ll do.” The Prince says behind you smiling at Soap.

You huff a breath looking around and that's when you notice the King looking at you and calling you closer. You walk up to him and look at his face, not seeing any of the anger and displeasure you have grown used to.

“Yes, your Majesty?” You ask, more curious than scared for the first time you talk to him.

“The owner of the local inn has heard about you coming and has offered us enough rooms for everyone. Simon and you in different rooms, we don't want any scandals do we?” He asks smiling softly.

“I would very much like my own room, thanks.” You answer ignoring his innuendos.

“Lovely, they are getting ready a feast for everyone. It seems like they are very excited to meet you, that's why we are spending the night here. Anything you want… ask anyone, I'm pretty sure they will be gladly to help.” He says pointing to the inn with his head. “Oh, and Princess… I wanted to remind you, that we are more powerful together than against each other, all right? Keep it in mind.”

He picks up your hand, giving you a quick kiss on your knuckle without breaking eye contact and without another word, makes his way inside the inn.

The first stop of the travel, and you are ready to go back home.

Hi, lovies!! 💗

How are you? I finally figure it out how to add the Keep Reading thingy and the link for the other chapters, I hope it'll be more comfortable now.

I'm finally letting reader interact with Ghostie, let me know you guys opinions.

Thanks for reading! Have a nice weekend!

Tag List: @kristalhi @strawberrygato @ghostlythots @dumybitch

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matttgirlies · 9 days

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Matt & Me Final🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - get some tissues..

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 24

In time, it became evident that he was letting his health go. His behavior at times was deliberately self-destructive. On a few occasions he’d say, “I’ll never make it much beyond forty.” We’ve all made such statements, but with Matt the thought was deep-seated and chronic. Mary Lou had died at forty-two and, like Mary Lou, he wanted to go before his father, sensing that he himself couldn’t bear another loss.

From time to time, I’d hear that he had checked into the hospital. Concerned, I’d call, asking, “Are you all right?”

“Sure,” he’d say, laughing a little to show me it was all a big joke. “I just need a little rest, Sattnin.” Then I realized he’d gone to the hospital for the same reason he had during his Army days. It was his way of taking a little rest; he needed to get out of Graceland and away from all the pressures.

By 1976 everyone was becoming alarmed over his mental state as well as his physical appearance. His face was bloated, his body unnaturally heavy. The more people tried to talk to him about this, the more insistent he became that everything was all right.

The Colonel was even concerned about Matt’s actions while onstage. Matt started forgetting lyrics and resorting to sheet music. He was acting erratic by ignoring the audience and playing to the band. A few shows were canceled and no one could predict whether or not he’d appear onstage.

In the absence of any significant professional challenge, Matt created his own real-life dramas. His fascination with guns was now an obsession. He became paranoid over death threats, and from his association with the Boston local police, he had access to lists of local drug pushers. He felt he personally should get them off the streets. Phoning me late one evening, he said, “y/nn, you have anyone you want taken care of? Strictly top secret.”

The style, grace, and pride that for the past eight years had been the hallmark of a Sturniolo live performance now bordered on self-parody. Frustrated with the lack of challenge of each passing show, Matt resorted to sheer flamboyance, symbolized by his costumes, each more elaborate than the one before, loaded with an overabundance of fake stones, studs, and fringes. There were voluminous capes and cumbersome belts to match. He was performing in garb that added thirty-five pounds to his weight. It was as if he were determined to upstage himself instead of relying on his raw talent.

There were times in his final year that he would be criticized on how he related to his audience. Some people observed that he joked around with his band too much and left his songs unfinished. Once Matt even complained from the stage about “bad management” at the hotel, citing a certain employee at the Hilton who was being fired. The following day Colonel William asked Matt to stick to his own business—entertaining—and let the hotel handle its help. James tended to take Matt’s side on this as on every issue, but the Colonel had a right to be concerned.

One of the guys actually told Matt he was beginning to look more like a Liberace act in the hope that Matt would take the hint and come to his senses and rely on just his talent. But from the beginning Matt had insisted: “I just want to read positive reviews. I don’t want to hear any negativity.” As a teenager he’d been shielded by Mary Lou from criticism. When she’d filled her albums and scrapbooks, she’d used only the favorable clippings. If he hadn’t been so sheltered, he might have had a better perspective on his career. At least he’d have been aware of what was being written about him and possibly used some of the comments constructively.

No matter what he did, his fans still cheered him on. They were faithful to him through good performances and bad, and eventually their love was the only real gratification he received. They endorsed everything he did. Maybe as long as he was getting their cheers, he thought he was doing fine. But in fact Colonel William was right when he told Matt that he’d better get himself straightened out or his whole career would go down the drain.

His personal life was not helping the situation. He was seeing Ginger Alden, who was twenty years his junior, and the difference in their ages was becoming more and more of a problem. He’d say, “I’m tired of raising kids. I don’t have the patience to go through it all over again.” There were conflicts—many. Ginger did not like touring, one-night stands. She was close to her family and didn’t want to leave them. Matt tried bringing half her family with them, but that only created other problems. “She spends more time with her sister and mother than she does with me,” he complained.

In discussing his dilemma, I asked, “Do you think you can really live with just one woman?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Now more than ever. I know I’ve done some stupid things, but the stupidest was not realizing what I had until I lost it. I want my family back.”

I wondered if there was some way we could make it work. “Maybe it was just too early in life for us, Sattnin,” I said. “Maybe one day there will be a time for us.”

“Yeah,” Matt laughed. “When I’m seventy and you’re sixty. We’ll both be so old we’ll look really silly, racing around in golf carts.”

In April 1977 Matt fell ill and had to cancel his tour and return home to Graceland. Charlotte and I were there visiting Dodger. He called me up to his room. He did not look himself; his face and body were bloated. He was wearing pajamas, which he seemed to prefer these days when at home. He held Cheiro’s Book of Numbers and told me there was something he wanted me to read. His curiosity for answers had not abated. He was still searching for his purpose in life, still feeling he had not found his calling. If he had found a cause to espouse, whether a drugless society or world peace, he would have had the role he sought in life. His generosity was evidence of this part of his nature—his legendary penchant for giving, even to the countless people he didn’t know.

But he never found a crusade to pull him out of his cloistered world, a discipline strong enough to counter his escape into drugs. That night he read to me, searching for answers, just as he had done the year before and the year before that and the years before that.

It was August 16, 1977, overcast and dreary, not a typical Southern California day. When I walked outside, there was a stillness, an unnatural calm in the air that I have not experienced since. I almost went back into the house, unable to shake my uneasiness. I had a meeting that morning and by noon I was racing to meet my sister Michelle. On my way into Hollywood I noticed the atmosphere had not changed. It still seemed unusually silent and depressing and it had begun to drizzle. As I drove down Melrose Avenue, I saw Michelle standing on the corner, a look of concern on her face. “y/nn, I just got a call from Dad,” she said as I pulled up. “Nate’s been trying to reach you. It’s something about Matt in the hospital.” Nate Doe was Matt’s road manager and right-hand man. I froze. If he was trying to reach me, something must be terribly wrong. I told Michelle to take her car and quickly follow me home. the hospital all year; there were times when he wasn’t even sick that he’d check in for a rest, to get away from pressures, or just out of boredom. It had never been anything too serious.

I thought about our daughter, Charlotte, who was visiting Matt at Graceland and was supposed to come home that very day. Oh God, I prayed. Please let everything be all right. Don’t let anything happen, please, dear God.

I ran every red light and nearly hit a dozen cars. At last, I reached home, and as I swerved down the driveway, I could hear the phone ringing from inside the house. Please don’t hang up, I prayed, jumping out of the car and running toward the door. “I’m coming,” I yelled. I tried to get my key in the lock, but my hand wouldn’t stop shaking. Finally I got into the house, grabbed the receiver, and yelled, “Hello, hello?”

All I could hear was the hum of a longdistance line, then a stricken, faint voice, “y/nn. It’s Nate.”

“What’s happened, Nate?”

“It’s Matt.”

“Oh, my God. Don’t tell me.”

“y/nn, he’s dead.”

“Nate, don’t tell me that. Please!”

“We’ve lost him.”

“No. NO!” I begged him to take back his words. Instead, he was silent. “We’ve lost him—” His voice broke and we both began to cry. “Nate, where’s Charlotte?” I asked.

“She’s okay. She’s with Grandma.”

“Thank God. Nate, send a plane for me, please. And hurry. I want to come home.”

As I hung up, Michelle and Mother, who had just arrived, embraced me and we cried in each other’s arms. Within minutes the phone rang again. For a moment I hoped for a miracle; they were calling me back to tell me that Matt was still alive, that it was all right, that it had all been a bad dream.

But there were no miracles. “Mommy, Mommy,” Charlotte was saying. “Something’s happened to Daddy.” “I know, Baby,” I whispered. “I’ll be there soon. I’m waiting for the plane now.”

“Everybody’s crying, Mommy.”

I felt helpless. What could I say to her? I couldn’t even find words to comfort myself. I feared what she would be hearing. She didn’t yet know that he had died. All I kept saying over and over was, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Try to stay in Grandma’s room, away from everyone.” In the background I could hear a grief-stricken James moaning in agony. “My son’s gone. Dear God, I’ve lost my son.”

Fortunately a child’s innocence provides its own protection. Death was not yet a reality to her. She said she’d go out and play with Laura, her friend.

I hung up and walked around in a daze, still numb with shock. The news hit the media instantly. My phones did not stop ringing, with friends trying to cope with the shock, members of the family grasping for explanations, and the press demanding statements. I locked myself in the bedroom and left instructions that I would not speak to anyone, that I wanted to be alone. In fact, I wanted to die. Love is very deceiving. Though we were divorced, Matt was still an essential part of my life. Over the last years we’d become good friends, admitting the mistakes we’d made in the past and just beginning to laugh at our shortcomings. I could not face the reality that I would never see him alive again. He had always been there for me. I depended on him, just as he depended on me. We had a bond: We’d become closer and had more understanding and patience for each other than in our married life. We had even talked of one day . . . And now he was gone. I remembered our last phone conversation, just a few days before. His mood had been good as he talked about the twelve-day tour he was about to begin. He even laughed when he told me that, as usual, the Colonel had papered the first city they were scheduled to hit with his posters and that his records were being played constantly in advance of his arrival.

“Good old Colonel,” Matt had said. “We’ve come a long way. He’s still puttin’ out that same old stuff. It’s a wonder people are still buying it.”

I loved hearing Matt laugh, something he had been doing less and less. Just days before that last call, I’d heard that his spirits were down and he was contemplating breaking up with Ginger Alden, his girlfriend. I knew him well enough to realize that this was not an easy move for him to make. If only I’d known that would be the last time I’d talk to him, I’d have said so much more: things I wanted to say and never had, things I’d held inside me for so many years because the timing was always wrong.

He had been a part of my life for eighteen years. When we met, I had just turned fourteen. The first six months I spent with him were filled with tenderness and affection. Blinded by love, I saw none of his faults or weaknesses. He was to become the passion of my life.

He taught me everything: how to dress, how to walk, how to apply makeup and wear my hair, how to behave, how to return love his way. Over the years he became my father, husband, and very nearly God. Now he was gone and I felt more alone and afraid than ever in my life.

The hours went by slowly before Matt’s private plane, the Charlotte Grace, arrived. Behind closed doors I sat and waited, remembering our life together—the joy, the pain, the sadness, and the triumphs—from the very first time I heard his name.

We boarded the Charlotte Grace around nine o’clock that evening, just my parents, Michelle, Jerry Schilling, Amber Doe, and a few close friends. At first, I just sat alone, in despair. Then I went to the back of the plane, to Matt’s bedroom. I lay there, unable to believe that Matt was really dead.

I remembered the jokes Matt used to make about dying. He’d say, “It’d really take something for me to leave this earth.” Yet he wore a chain around his neck that had both a cross and a Star of David on it. He would joke about it, saying he wanted to be covered in all areas, just in case.

He’d had a fear of flying, but he never showed it. Matt never showed any of his fears. He felt he had a responsibility to make everyone else feel secure. So he gave the impression he was self-assured, because he didn’t want to let any of us down.

I thought of a time when we were on a flight home from Los Angeles. There was a lot of turbulence, and the plane was shaking badly. Everyone on board was frightened. Everyone but Matt. When I looked at him, he was smiling, and then he took my hand.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re gonna make it.” Suddenly, I felt safe. There was a certainty about Matt. If he said it was going to be, then it was going to be that way.

The trip seemed endless. By the time we reached Boston, I was numb. We were ushered into a waiting limousine, to avoid the crush of photographers. Then we sped off to Graceland, where we were met by frantic, disbelieving faces: relatives and close friends, the maids—the same people who had been around us for so many years. I had spent most of my life with these people and seeing them now was devastating.

Most of Matt’s close family—James, Grandma, her daughters, Delta and Nash, and others—congregated in Grandma’s room, while his friends, and the guys who worked for him, were mostly gathered in the den. Everyone else seemed to just be walking in and out of the rooms, silent and solemn, glancing around in disbelief.

Charlotte was outside on the lawn, with a friend, riding around on the golf cart that her father had given her. At first I was amazed that she was able to play at a time like this, but when I talked to her, I realized that the full impact of what happened hadn’t hit her yet. She’d seen the paramedics rushing Matt away, and he was still at the hospital when I’d arrived, so Charlotte was confused.

“Is it true?” she asked. “Is my daddy really gone?”

Again, I was really at a loss for words. She was our child. It was difficult enough for me to believe and confront Matt’s death myself. I just didn’t know how to tell her that she would never see her daddy again.

I nodded, then took her into my arms. We hugged and then she ran out and started riding around in her golf cart again. But now I was glad she could play. I knew it was her way of avoiding reality.

The night seemed endless. Several of us sat around the dining room table talking, and it was then that I learned the circumstances of Matt’s death. I was told that Matt had played racquetball with his cousin, Billy Smith, until four o’clock that morning, while Billy’s wife, Jo, and Matt’s girlfriend, Ginger, watched them. Then they all presumably retired for the night. But as Ginger slept, Matt stayed up to read. He called down to his Aunt Delta for some ice water and said he was having a hard time sleeping.

Matt was still reading when Ginger woke up at nine o’clock that morning, and then she went back to sleep until about 1 p.m. When she awoke, Matt was not in bed. She found him lying face down on his bathroom floor.

Ginger called downstairs, and Al Strada and Nate Doe came running up. After calling the paramedics, Nate gave Matt CPR until they arrived. As the paramedics were leaving to rush Matt to the hospital, his personal physician, “Dr. Joe,” arrived and rode in the ambulance, working on Matt all the way to Baptist Memorial. There the staff tried for another half an hour to revive Matt, but it was all futile. He was pronounced dead on arrival of heart failure. James then requested an autopsy. The body was taken to the Boston Funeral Home to be prepared for viewing in Graceland the following day.

As I sat listening to the events leading up to Matt’s last hours, I became more and more disturbed. There were so many questions. Matt was seldom left alone for any length of time.

Suddenly I knew I had to be alone. I went upstairs to Matt’s private suite, where we had spent so much of our life together. The rooms were more orderly than I’d expected. Many of his personal belongings were gone; his nightstand was bare of books.

I went into his dressing room and it was as if I could sense his living presence—his own unique scent filled the room. It was an eerie sensation.

From the dining room window I could see thousands of people out on Matt Sturniolo Boulevard waiting for the hearse that would bring his body back to Graceland. His music filled the air as radio stations throughout the nation paid tribute to the King.

Soon the casket was placed in the entrance hall and opened for viewing. I sat in Grandma’s room most of that afternoon as thousands of mourners from all over the world passed by, paying their last respects. Many wept; some men and women even fainted. Others lingered at the casket, refusing to believe it was him. He was truly loved, admired, and respected.

I waited for the right moment for Lisa and me to say goodbye. It was late that evening, and Matt had already been moved to the living room where the funeral was to be held. It was quiet; everyone had left. Together we stood over him, emotional. “You look so peaceful, Sattnin, so rested. I know you’ll find happiness and all the answers there.” Then I joked, “Just don’t cause any trouble at the Pearly Gates.” Charlotte took my hand and we placed a sterling silver bracelet depicting a mother and child’s clasped hands on his right wrist. “We’ll miss you.” I knew my life would never be the same.

Colonel came to the funeral wearing his usual baseball hat, shirt, and slacks. He disguised his emotions as best he could. Matt had been like his own son. From the old school, the Colonel was considered a coldhearted businessman, but in truth he had stayed faithful and loyal to Matt, even when his career began to slip. This day he asked James to sign a contract extending his position as Matt’s manager. He was already planning ways to keep Matt’s name before the public. He acted quickly, fearful that with Matt gone, James would be too distraught to handle correctly the many proposals and propositions that would be in the offing. James signed.

At the service, Charlotte and I sat with James and his new fiancée, Sandy Miller, Dodger, Delta, Patsy, my parents, Michelle, and the rest of the family. George Hamilton was there. Julia Ernst attended with her husband, Roger Smith. Julia expressed her sympathy so sincerely I felt a genuine bond with her.

J.D. and the Stamps Quartet sang Matt’s favorite gospel songs. James had chosen the preacher, a man who hardly knew Matt and spoke mostly of his generosity. Matt would probably have laughed and told his dad, “Couldn’t you have got a comedian or something?” Matt would not have wanted us to grieve.

After the service we drove to the cemetery, Charlotte and I riding with James and Sandy. It was three miles away and for the whole three miles both sides of the street were lined with mourners, and at the cemetery there were thousands more. The pallbearers—Jerry Schilling, Nate Doe, George Klein, Steven Wright, Billy Smith, Charlie Hodge, Dr. Joe, and Gene Smith—carried the casket to the marble mausoleum where Matt was finally laid to rest. There we held a short ceremony and, one by one, walked to the coffin, kissed or touched it, and spoke a few words of farewell. Shortly after, for security reasons, he was moved to Graceland in the meditation garden, his final resting place.

Before Charlotte and I returned to L.A., James called me to his office. He was overwhelmed with grief. Did I know anything that would help him to understand why his son had died? He never fully accepted it, and I believed his pain led to his own death, just as Grandma later never recovered from James’s death.

When Charlotte and I returned home I was torn, trying to decide what was best for her. Many conflicting stories were coming out in the national publications and I knew these could have a lasting negative effect on her memory of her father. I decided to send her to summer camp. There she could be protected from radio, TV, and newspapers and could be with her many friends, including Debbie and Cindy, Nate and Amber’s children.

By the time she returned, I’d already made plans with Michelle for a long trip to Europe. Anything to get away from the constant reminders that filled the media.

Matt’s death made me much more aware of my own mortality and that of the people I loved. I realized I’d better start sharing a lot more with the people that I cared about, and every moment that I had with my child or my parents became more precious.

I learned from Matt, often—sadly—from his mistakes. I learned that having too many people around can sap your energies. I learned the price of trying to make everyone happy. Matt would bestow gifts on some, making others jealous, often creating rivalries and anxieties within the group. I learned to confront people, and to face issues—two steps Matt had avoided.

I learned to take charge of my life. Matt had been so young when he became a star that he was never able to handle the power and money that accompanied his fame. In many ways, he was a victim, destroyed by the very people who catered to his every want and need. He was a victim, too, of his image. His public wanted him to be perfect while the press mercilessly exaggerated his faults. He never had the chance to be human, to grow up to be a mature adult, to experience the world outside his artificial cocoon.

When Matt Sturniolo died, a little of our own lives was taken from each of us who knew and loved Matt Sturniolo, who shared in his music, his films, who followed his career. His passion was entertaining his friends and fans. His audience was his true love. And the love Matt and I shared was a deep and abiding one.

He was, and remains, the greatest influence in my life.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - sad endings actually kill me. i cried multiple times. thank you so much for all the love & support on this story i really enjoyed it. let me know what kind of writing you would like to see next🎀

#matthew sturn #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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targcrazies · 9 months

Text

Moonless, Dark Night. Pt. 1

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC!Strong (half Targaryen) Words: 3.2k+ Warnings: Violence and Graphic Descriptions, Emotional Distress, Mature (ish) themes, Mentions of Self-Harm and Su*cide, Adult Language, Incest.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

NOTE: I have written parts of this story before. However, I faced difficulty with linear storytelling. So, I'm trying something different. It will be shorter than I had originally planned, but better, perhaps. Hope you enjoy this. Let me know of any criticism you may or may not have, and I will surely appreciate knowing if you enjoy it. My Master's degree starts in less than a month, so I'd love to be done with this before that, lmao.

Have fun reading and thanks if you are!!

"Drip, drop, drip, drop.

Sansa listened carefully to ensure that no one had been following her. Her limbs trembled beneath her cape, her fingers frantic in the gloves. She knew well that her hair posed no threat, for it was not the silver of her husband’s. Yet, she had picked up the habit from her cousins, who shielded their silver manes whenever they desired concealment. In her eighteen years, she had never felt more like a Targaryen than she did then.

Drip, drip, drop, drip, drip, drop.

Part of her was relieved that only the droplets of water made the noises. She knew that Aemond kept her under relative scrutiny, especially since she refused him intimacy following the death of Lucerys Velaryon. “If you won’t let me near you, one of my white knights shall be here at all times.” However, he had forgotten her skills with crushed herbs and sedatives. Criston Cole had fallen gently to the ground beneath him. He was curled into a peaceful slumber, his chest heaved against the white that shielded him.

Verasys, her dragon, was kind. He was not impulsive, hot-blooded, or rash. He fed on what was given to him and only blew fire only on command. The beautiful dragon, with scales as violet as Sansa's eyes, breathed heavily in sleep when Sansa found him. Her lip trembled as she took out the keys to his steel chains. When she was done unlocking the beast, quite large for his age of only fifty-nine, she cooed him awake. He put his beak-like mouth under her chin, nuzzling gently.

“Verasys, my dear, you have to leave me behind,” she muttered in High Valyrian, tears making their way down her face like sweat. The dragon roared gently, but she shushed him. “If you stay back, they will make us commit the most heinous of crimes. They will make us kill our kin, our blood.” The dragon breathed out in anger through his nose, turning his face away, refusing to look at her. She walked to the other side, holding his face to hers. “You were born from the same clutch of eggs Syrax had sprouted from. Do you really want to fight your own sister, my dear?”

The dragon groaned in exasperation as Sansa began to weep. She used to rarely weep. “They killed my nephew,” she cried, uttering the word in relation to Lucerys- for what could have been well recognized- for the first time since the boy was born. She and Rhaenyra had made insinuations; her older half-brother, Harwin, would beam in glee whenever she played with Jace, looked after Luke, and tried to lull Joffrey to sleep.

She remembered the one time Jace addressed the abominable rumors of their bastardy to his mother, “I am a Targaryen through and through, like Sansa. Sansa also has black hair; no one calls her a bastard!” Rhaenyra laughed as she realized the concept of illegitimacy was lost on her young sons. She had explained eloquently that the black hair of the brothers was due to their grandmother, Rhaenys, whose mother was a Baratheon. “Sansa,” she gently pulled the girl closer to her, gripping her shoulders, “Has the black hair of the Strongs. She, just like the three of you, did not inherit the silver hair of the Targaryens from her mother.” Sansa’s heart leaped with joy. Many refused to acknowledge her mother’s Targaryen status due to her being a mere accident, something Prince Baelon regretted until his passing. Her grandmother, Viserra Targaryen, had intoxicated the Prince and done her deed when prancing around naked in his bedchamber did not work. Soon enough, she gave birth to their bastard, a pale-haired little girl she affectionately named Visenya as she passed. Visenya grew up in court, her older half-brothers being her only company.

When little Visenya turned seventeen, Widower Lyonel Strong joined the Red Keep with his sons. The man was fifteen years her senior, yet she was besotted by him. On her eighteenth birthday, she threw herself at her brother, the King’s feet, begging him to allow their union. Lord Strong, despite much hesitation, acquiesced, and the two were wed in a homely ceremony. Sansa was born after a stillborn, in 110 AD, a day after the birth of her husband, Aemond. It is said that Lady Strong had held onto her belly with one hand and supported the then Queen with the other as her Grace screamed and cried during her third labor. The moment the little boy’s cries were heard and he was laid onto his mother’s bosom, Lady Strong’s water gave way, and Sansa was born after a long, strenuous labor herself.

Lyonel was overjoyed, to say the least. His dear wife had named the child Sansa, a true name taken from the First Men. The King’s joy, however, was only second to his Hand’s. He held both the children in his arms. “They have the same eyes; it is uncanny,” he mused. “Aemond and Sansa. Must we betroth them, Lyonel?”

“If you insist, your Grace.” If it were some other time, Lyonel would have argued the futility of the said betrothal, how it built no new connections and produced no allies. However, at that moment, he was overcome with joy.

“They will make me kill my dearest Jace and my loveliest Joff, too, if we do not part. One day, perhaps, you will find your way to me again. Only when this has been dealt with. Until then, Verasys, you must be away. Fly, my boy, fly away.”

Verasys was not only her dragon; he also belonged to her mother. Her mother had passed shortly after the burning of Harrenhal, her frail health unable to bear the loss of her stepson, who was a dear friend, and her husband. Verasys was also one of the few belongings of her mother that had found their way to her.

She walked backward from the dragon. “Leave, my boy, fly away. This is your chance. Aegon has lost Riverlands entirely. What will follow next is the dance of the dragons. I want no part in it, and neither do you.”

The dragon looked at Sansa, his eyes glossing over her form. She shushed him again as he walked toward her, his mouth against her cheek. Verasys wiped away her tears, backed away from her, and gently flapped his wings. He was so gentle, so quiet, so sweet. Sansa knew that there would never be a dragon so calm, so very docile. Verasys isn’t one for war anyway, she told herself as she broke the chains with the dragonbone dagger that she received as a present on her wedding day from Aemond, despite knowing that Verasys could be resourceful upon need, could decimate anyone who could pose a threat to him or his Sansa. His protectiveness of even Aemond drew short, fluttered fires from Vhagar. It was Sansa who was not built for war.

THE NEXT MORNING was torturous. Aemond’s voice blasted through the entire Red Keep, his anger having scared away even the faultless birds. She stayed rooted in her chair, refusing to respond to his outburst. She refused to dignify his anger, she had done it enough before and had tired of it then.

“WHERE IS VERASYS? WHERE IS MY WIFE’S DRAGON? WHAT KIND OF TREACHERY IS THIS?” He refused to believe that the dragon left on his own accord, convinced that someone wilfully let him escape. “Why ask me? I am heartbroken by Verasys’s absence. How am I to know where he’s gone without me?” She spoke whenever inquired about the dragon’s absence. The Dowager Queen’s eyes shone like steel as she stared Sansa down. “Sansa, my sweet child, you mustn’t do anything that may put us at grave risk.”

“Your Grace, I do not know what you mean. Rather, I believe that what happened was for the best. Verasys wasn’t one for war. He’d have forfeited the moment Syrax would have flown near him. It is for the best, your Grace, that he left on his own accord.”

Aemond waited for his mother to depart before locking the gate of the chamber from the inside. “I do not know where your loyalties lie, my dear.”

“You accuse me of treason, my dear husband. That is unseemly and harsh of you.” Sansa trained her eyes on his, refusing to yield for fear of showing some weakness.

“I shan’t use that word, for what I assume to be treason is what you might consider loyalty.” He said, “I know of your regular consumption, Sansa. Or, I knew, I suppose.”

She knew what he meant, “I have never made a point for it to be discreet, dear husband. I am not giving birth to a child until this war has been dealt with.”

“War,” he spat, “This isn’t war; this is a defense against treason.” He sat down, facing her, knowing that another debate would ensue.

Her lips lifted in what he often called a “bitter smile.” Her anger and her sardonicism reflected in her gaze at once. “What’s defense and what’s treason here varies on perspective.”

“Aegon is the first-born son of my Father, your own uncle; he is the rightful heir.”

“The boy Uncle never once even mentioned as his heir? I won’t argue with you on who the rightful heir is. I just want you to remember that no “faction” is truly in the right here. None.” She hated herself for the partial lie she told, but she had to stay safe. Rhaenyra was her rightful Queen; she will always be. Her nephews, acknowledged by Laenor Velaryon, are her trueborn sons and her rightful successors. Her heart broke at the memory of Lucerys, at the thought of his beautiful face eaten in half.

“Why must you speak like a…” he lowered his voice and leaned closer to her face, “…a traitor?”

“You accuse me of treason again, my husband.”

“I only note the precarious implication of your rebuttals. This is no game, Sansa; this is-”

“Oh, yes, this is war. What do I, a woman, know of war? What an irony, given it is a woman you all are fighting against!”

Aemond sat back, his lips sealed tight. “I never said that dirty thing; you know it was Cole who said so.”

“And you associate yourself so closely with him, disregarding the harmful notions he poses.” She posited, “Being a freethinker, as you claim to be–”

“Oh dear wife, I believe we both can agree that you and I do not see eye to eye on something this grave. Yet, we choose to stay together, love each other. He is only a servant, as his duty is to serve.” His hand on the table had closed in a tight fist, “Let’s not argue the futility of unmatched opinions when you and I have plenty.” He mentioned 'love' in hopes of seeing her eyes soften, in hopes of irking something in her heart that once held his gaze in utmost adoration. The warmth had gone, the love was nowhere. When he looked into her eyes, he only felt cold, so unloved that it scared him.

“We do not.” Sansa was gritting her teeth by then, “You had once told me that were you to become King, you would want your eldest child to inherit the throne, be it a girl or a boy. That is a belief that could threaten Aegon and his lackeys against your support toward the throne, against me. We were never as shortsighted as our family here.”

“Sansa, my dear, do you not realize that Rhaenyra is not one of us?”

“She was never meant to be the enemy,” Sansa spoke quietly, almost under her breath, her hand covering her mouth coyly, “This is pure conspiracy succeeding over conciliation.”

There was a time, Aemond thought, when debates would lead them to bed and they’d make love. Things had changed. Lucerys’s death had left her incapacitated to feel any love toward him, even though he had emphatically repeated– like a prayer– that he never meant to kill him.

Every time he recalled having, tearfully and apologetically, informed her of the accident at the Rook's Nest; his body broke down to his knees.

“It matters little what you intended. What does matter here is what you have caused. Husband, you have waged war against Rhaenyra, against Uncle Daemon. May the Seven protect us all.” She spoke through venomous, angry tears, spitting all over him, “Uncle will never forgive this.” She had shaken her head with untenable vigour, walking away from him in pure dread, “And why should he? Would YOU have forgiven this? We deserve to burn. Poor Luke, oh poor, poor Luke. My dear ne- my Luke!”

When Aemond stepped closer to her, despite her backing away, wringing his hands, “I did not kill any of his children; they’re untouched, unharmed.” Her laughter echoed as a shriek, “You know him so little, it is dangerous to not know the man you have waged war against. You foolish, foolish man.”

He tried to hold her, fall to her feet, cry his apologies if that could calm her. She refused to even touch him, almost throwing herself out the window to evade him. He had a feeling, an instinctual irk, that she would deal with the news worse than anybody at the Red Keep. The Dowager Queen and the Hand chastised him for having murdered kin; Aegon had little to say but how conflicts such as these- almost always and without fail- produced corpses, and Helaena had blamed Aemond for procuring the most ominous out of thin air. Sansa, however, was ardently, hopelessly, fiercely grieving.

She, unlike her husband, remembered their days during childhood as happier times. Joffrey was too little and Helaena was always consumed in her own interests. The five of them used to play, practice sword-fighting, and have lessons together. After Rhaenyra left for Dragonstone, Sansa visited them on dragonback, every once in a while. She attended tourneys and had been beside Rhaenyra in all her birthings, except for the one where she had lost her little girl, her little Visenya. Sansa had grieved the death of a child not even half alive, crying and praying for the wellbeing of the soul in silence. Luke was so real; he was fourteen, a boy with his own likes and dislikes, his own quirks.

Before he knew it, she had begun to yell out the window, “Verasys, Verasys, come to me, Verasys. Take me away from this warmongering, foolish beast!” Aemond could have ripped his heart open, and it would have hurt less.

“Sansa, my love, what are you doing-” he could hear the dragon flapping his wings hard against the air; the dragon had broken the chains off himself to fly to Sansa, to respond to her cries.

“If you step any closer, I will JUMP from here, I will.” The Dowager Queen and the Hand were banging on their gate, pleading Aemond and Sansa to let them in. “I want to see none of you. I want to apologize to Rhaenyra, if my DEATH shall appease her, I will let her have it. Don’t you dare come closer, for I WILL JUMP!” Aemond did not dare stop her when she mounted the dragon and took off, barely secured in her place. The thought of her jumping to her death at his touch made his skin crawl, he found himself within he could hurt himself so bad that she'd love him again.

She returned two days later, having calmed down significantly. She handed them a treaty Rhaenyra had sent with her. They had the following demands:

Aemond the Kinslayer shall be excommunicated to Essos. Whether his wife, Lady Sansa Strong, decides to stay at the Red Keep or leave with him is up to her.

Ser Otto Hightower, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower, Prince Aegon, and Princess Helaena, alongside Lord Jaehaerys, Lord Maelor, and Lady Jaehaera, shall depart for Oldtown within a fortnight.

The Red Keep, the Crown of Iron and Rubies of Aegon the Conqueror, and Blackfyre should all be returned to the rightful Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.

Refusing any of these claims, the scroll dictated, would lead to war. Aegon laughed, instructing that the scroll be thrown in the hearth.

The Dowager Queen had turned red upon reading the clauses, the Hand looked betrayed. “Have they reduced you to a raven?” Aegon asked, staring at his sisters-in-law, his cousin, in sheer disbelief.

“I did what I could for a mother who has lost her son. This is the least I could do. I have not agreed to these clauses, I only brought the scroll here.”

“Were you aware of the content of the scroll?” The Hand enquired, his voice and face both frightfully calm and cold.

“No, I was not. I was merely requested to hand this scroll to the Hand of the King.” Her eyes were transfixed straight ahead, staring nowhere, yet focused.

“How did you spend the last two days on Dragonstone?” Aemond was sitting on one of the steps to the Iron Throne, closer to the ground. Aegon now sat on the throne, Sansa grimaced at the thought of it alone. Aemond, on the other hand, had worried himself to death, having been advised against flying to Dragonstone himself, especially after word arrived right away that she was alright and needed time to sort out the demise of Lucerys Velaryon. That his arrival at Dragonstone will be equivalent to his waging direct warfare. Thus, when he finally spoke, his question sounded more like concern than an interrogation, so unlike the rest.

“We grieved, your Grace.” Her lilac eyes stared dead into his, her face contorting, ever so slightly, in disgust. Anyone who doesn’t know her well would not even notice. He was not one of them, unfortunately. He could have wept; he almost did. He felt like he had lost her forever. However much love, respect, and admiration she once had for him was gone.

It had been a week since, and she had somehow regained normalcy. While she was still cold, biting, uninviting; she was calmer, considerate even. She allowed no intimacy– something he hadn’t let his mother and grandsire know– because if it weren’t for the origin of her birth and her status as his wife, she’d have long been beheaded as a traitor. Her dragon having left did little to acquit her to his family. It was odd that she barely attempted to clear herself of any suspicion. It was almost as if she took the special treatment for granted. He’d have to remind himself every time he felt angry at her indifference that she was only half a Strong. Her grandparents were children of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, and she was just as much a Targaryen as he was, if only not for her hair. The futility of such comparison was jarring, for she looked like a Targaryen through and through. She and Rhaenys Targaryen were similar in that sense; both fiery dragonriders with hair as dark as a cloudy, moonless night and eyes startlingly lilac.

He snapped himself out of his derailed trail of thoughts to find his wife by the window, watering the plant that she had brought back with her from Dragonstone. “Will you never admit, out loud, that I accidentally killed your nephew?”

She did not pause, did not look back, “You will not entrap me in your web of deceits, husband.” She could have scratched his other eye out, to avenge her nephew, but she chose not to. Oftentimes, those days, she’d have the urge to tell him that he was a petty, shallow half-man for never having gotten over the loss of an eye. People get through so much worse. But, she stopped herself. Every single time.

#game of thrones #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x cousin!reader #aemond targaryen x strong!reader #aemond x reader

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blaiddydbrokeit · 11 months

Note

top 5 fe3h lore fun facts mayb?

Let's go!

1. Garreg Mach Uniform designs come in pairs.

Marianne <- -> Linhardt (cape design)

Dorothea <- -> Sylvain (open collar shaping)

Hilda <- -> Caspar (length differences)

Petra <- -> Felix (summer with standard color)

Ingrid <- -> Dedue (generic full uniform)

Bernadetta <- -> Ashe (hoodie and sport bottoms)

Annette <- -> Ignatz (satchel and modified shoe choices)

2. Rufus is very likely pay-to-win with the women, because of his high status and wealth. He could throw money at women despite looking like a wet mop and they would jump at him, explaining why Sylvain seems to believe the rumors of Rufus' philanderous ways.

3. One of the likely reasons that the Tragedy of Duscur had such a fatal outcome was because they were attacked shortly after crossing the Sacred Gwenhwyvar, leaving them cornered with little means of backing out to regain footing, especially in a relatively unfamiliar territory of the Duscur forests.

4. Garreg Mach seems to operate on a uniform policy that allows students to mix and match pieces, and for wealthier students to have more customization. However, the blazer is the most expensive piece of the uniform, which likely leads a fair bit of the cast to leave it off - especially the commoners, like Ignatz, Leonie, Raphael, Mercedes and the such, who may not be able to afford it (and often also wearing their own shoes, socks and so on), or characters who do not like to dress so formally (Felix, Caspar, Hilda). However, considering likely costs, the honor of the most expensive uniform at Garreg Mach belongs to Dimitri thanks to the unique silver heraldry and armor. Dedue likely also only owns the full uniform because Dimitri paid - chances are, he would have otherwise been dressed more like Raphael. Petra is a unique comparison in this case, likely being "sponsored" her uniforms by the Empire, and opting to go without the blazer to avoid overheating.

4. Flayn's dress appears to be made out of pieces of Garreg Mach uniforms refashioned for a more girlish, less stern and uniform-like silhouette. It involves the use of a lot of gathering, which hides piecing seams well, but retains some of the aesthetics of the uniform.

5. While in the Dimitri-Sylvain-Felix trio Dimitri is the most openly... um. Prone to throwing away his life, between Lambert, Rodrigue and Matthias, Lambert is the least prone. However, Matthias is able to keep it in check much better than Rodrigue, who would likely not think twice about impulsively charging in with Lambert just to stick close as a literal shield despite being more suited as a middling range support troop casting magic as a defense than as front-line raw power. Ironically, Matthias lags behind, as the anchor holding the backlines - even if you get past Lambert, Matthias is twice as serious about holding the last line of defense and he WILL lash out.

#fire emblem three houses #ask #fire emblem warriors three hopes #lambert egitte blaiddyd #rodrigue achille fraldarius #matthias raoul gautier #rufus thierry blaiddyd #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #flayn #garreg mach

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the-lonelybarricade · 1 year

Text

My Kingdom Come Undone - (2/3)

Summary: There weren’t many ways Elain was allowed to want. Most things were decided for her, every path laid down before she’d even been born, where she was simply expected to follow. Lucien, with his cunning eyes and smart mouth, was something that no one had chosen for her. And even if she could never have him, that couldn’t stop Elain from wanting him. Desperately.

An Elucien Royal Guard x Princess AU

CW: Explicit content, non-graphic violence

Part I・Read on AO3

Elain stood at the dais of the throne room with Lucien’s sword clutched firmly in her hands. The metal, once cool, had gone clammy beneath her grasp, and she tightened her fingers in fear the golden hilt might slip.

Her mother’s court was gathered, expressions betraying their general lack of enthusiasm. It wasn’t a particularly exciting ceremony—at least, not to them. To Elain, it was life changing.

Dim light filtered in through the stained glass windows at her back, which depicted the Mother Goddess and her Cauldron. With Lucien knelt on the white marble floor, he was in perfect position for the rosy light to paint his rich features, burnishing the copper in his hair, warming his skin in complementary hues of red and orange. He looked so painfully lovely, Elain would have believed the Mother was expressing her personal approval of this ceremony.

The knight-to-be had, admittedly, caught her eye several months ago when he first began training with the royal guard. She’d heard he was a squire from the northern parts of their kingdom, with distant relations to one of the lords in the Queen’s court. Allegedly, he’d advanced quickly in his training and had mastered the seven points of agility long before he’d met the age requirement for knighthood. Impressive seemed to be the description of choice for any whisperings involving Lucien. Even Elain’s mother, as a woman who was ill-practiced in praise, seemed to think highly of his valor. So much so, that she decided that on his 21st birthday, he would not only be conferred the status of knighthood, but he would also be assigned as the personal guard of the crown princess.

Though Elain did think his achievements impressive, that certainly wouldn’t be the first word to come to mind when regarding the accolade knelt before her. Handsome, she thought. She liked the color of his hair. Red, but not like the cape on his back. More like a fox’s coat, or the color of the sky just as the sun touched the horizon. It was braided off his face in several sections, collecting in a knot at the back of his head, and she thought it made him look even more rugged than usual. He was dressed in the ceremonial white and royal blue uniform of the royal guard, with a cardinal cape draped over one of his silver pauldrons, stretching proudly behind him. It was the same color of the carnations she had planted the other day, which had conveniently been just across from the barracks

Elain was grateful his head was bowed towards the floor, because she was certain she would have forgotten how to speak, how to stand, if she was subjected to the dark russet and satin gold eyes that had made her breath catch the first time she’d made eye contact with him. This man was going to be her personal guard. Mother help her. She felt tongue tied and he wasn’t even looking at her.

Thankfully, she didn’t need to speak. That was Lucien’s job.

All she needed to do was stop her hand from shaking as she extended the blade to the curve of his shoulder. Lucien didn’t so much as flinch at its touch. He knelt with one arm propped against his raised knee, the other placed on the empty scabbard at his hip. She held her breath as he parted his lips, and the rich timbre of his voice resonated through the hall as he spoke his sacred vow.

Princess Elain, to the Mother Goddess I swear:

I am the shield that will ward off any threat against you.

I am the sword that will fell your enemy’s hand.

I am the justice for those who have harmed you.

And I am, forever, yours to command.

Present Day

Lucien had betrayed her.

The most honorable man she knew.

It defied every understanding Elain had of the world. She shut her eyes, for a moment certain that this couldn’t possibly be real. But when she opened them, those leather boots remained. Her mother’s most loyal knight, the man sworn to protect her with his life. Kneeling to Prince Koschei.

Just last night, he had knelt before her. Had—had—

Elain sealed her lips with her palm, raging against the sob rising in her throat. She could do nothing about the tears, but at least they were silent, dribbling down her cheeks in fat droplets that burst against the kitchen tile.

She had trusted him so implicitly. Had loved him—for years. And when she had given her body to him, she had been assured that he at least felt something in regards to her. That he’d cared for her, even if it was just the platonic devotion of a guard.

She did not even have that much.

That sword had cut through more than dirt. He’d pushed it through her heart, pierced that lovely, blossoming feeling in her chest. The memory of their night together shattered, until it was nothing more than scattered fractals of a man using her, discarding her.

Betraying her.

Elain sucked in a harsh breath, struggling for air in this new, smothering reality. The maid squeezed Elain’s arm, moreso in warning than comfort. Now was not the time to unravel, though Elain felt she had little say in the matter. She was a loose thread, unspooling as Lucien raised back to his feet. She stared at those black boots, the color of charcoal. Of a sinking abyss. Of a hollow, empty girl who’d been robbed of all her light.

And then he left. Towards the village, where he believed she was heading. Where she would have headed, because he knew her. Had been learning everything about her for years. How long ago had this been planned? How long had she watched him in adoration, while he was helping plot her downfall?

Eventually, the second pair of boots wandered off as well. Back inside the castle, where her mother and the rest of her court was… dead? Taken prisoner?

“You must go now, your highness,” urged the maid, pushing at her shoulder.

“Where?” Elain cried, voice splitting.

“As far away from the castle you can get. Somewhere they would never look for you.”

Elain still didn’t know where that would be. She would have asked, but she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the servant’s quarter on the other side of the scullery.

“Go,” the maid hissed.

She gave a hearty shove, forcing Elain to stumble out of the table cloth, onto her hands.

The maid rushed out behind her, scrambling to her feet a moment before Elain, who felt she was doing everything much too slowly as she watched the maid break into a sprint—not towards the door.

Towards the sounds of leering men.

Elain wanted to beg her to stop, to come with, but she didn’t know how to throw her voice so that it reached the maid without alerting the men on the other side. Not that it mattered. The maid reached towards the handle. Elain panicked, reaching blindly towards the table for something to defend herself. An iron skillet, a rolling pin, a—

She yelped, retracting her hand from the sharp object that had sliced her palm. A knife.

It was loud enough for the men to hear, because the maid immediately threw herself against the door, determined to buy her princess time. She looked over her shoulder, eyes wide and, despite her courage, full of fear.

Run, she mouthed.

Blood welled from Elain’s hand, dripping to the floor. It made her feel like a hopeless, wretched coward. But she used her uninjured hand to grab the hilt of the knife and darted out the doors, feeling the sunlight warm her face just as the maid let out a scream so loud, so piercing that it leached into the air Elain swallowed. She choked on it, feeling that pain lodge against the strangling sob that was already building in her throat, constricting her airflow. There wasn’t time to stop. If she did, then the maid would have thrown herself at that door for nothing. And Elain didn’t even know her name. Had been so—so blinded.

And now she had nowhere to go, besides away from the village.

It was too much. It was all too much. And as much as she gasped, not a single breath made it to her lungs. Elain forced herself to keep running instead of clawing at her neckline, trying to force her body to take in the air she was gulping. But soon her lungs started shrieking, desperate for air, and Elain stopped, worried she would suffocate before she even made it past the castle grounds.

Breathe, she could hear a steady voice chide in the back of her mind. But that voice sounded like Lucien, and it only made her want to scream until her throat was raw. Which, by the way each shallow, rapid breath ravaged her throat, would not take very long.

He was the only steadying presence she’d known. And if he was here—and weren’t a liar—he would probably have far too much to say about the way she was hyperventilating in the open.

Why are you panicking? She could hear him ask in that infuriatingly mocking tone. You have plenty of practice hiding from me.

Elain forced herself to raise her head, scanning for better coverage.

That’s it, Lucien would say. The one who hadn’t betrayed her. You’ll be less overwhelmed if you take one step at a time. What’s the first thing you need to do?

Find cover. She could do that. There was the woods, which would present its own set of dangers, but Lucien would certainly never think to look for her inside them. They were in the opposite direction of the village, mostly used for fox hunting. She headed that direction, summoning the memory of the time she’d ranted to Lucien about the annual fox hunt. The wry smile he’d worn, always listening without revealing anything of himself.

It’s cruel, she’d said to him. What’s there to enjoy, when the men aren’t even the ones doing the hunting? Is it simply that they have the power to inflict suffering?

Lucien had sighed. Foxes tend to be a nuisance, and men often have little sympathy for the things that inconvenience them.

Do you?

Your life’s mission is to inconvenience me, princess. And yet here I am, continually at your service.

She remembered smiling at him. Mother forbid the day you run out of sympathy.

Had she unwittingly been the fox all along? Being chased into the woods certainly hadn’t warmed her opinion of the sport, but at least the forest was dense. And dark enough that once the shadow of the canopy fell over her head, Elain needed to push back the hood of her cloak in order to see, turning her head to scan the miles and miles of timber and foliage.

With no bearings on where it led, she picked a direction and started walking.

Wind rustled through the leaves, her only companion. Soothing her with soft whispers that, too, sounded like Lucien’s voice.

Get as far away as you can from the castle. Then worry about what comes next.

Is that what Lucien would advise? Elain knew nothing about surviving in a forest, but she thought it sounded sensible, and that Lucien would say something sensible if he were here.

And something unhelpful, like—maybe you should have considered better footwear for trekking hours through the woods.

“Well maybe you should have warned me that you’d be chasing me from my home,” she snapped, aware her grumbles were heard only by the loose stone that kicked up beneath her ill-fitting shoes.

The wound on her hand throbbed, still spilling blood where she cradled it against her dress. The thought of foxhounds reminded her that she ought to be careful of leaving a scent trail. Though Elain didn’t know the first thing about doing so, preventing herself from bleeding onto the forest floor seemed like a good start. She used the kitchen knife to rip a long strip from her skirts—which she hoped would be cleaner than the cloak. Elain had watched Lucien wrap wounds more times than she could count, and she supposed she should be grateful at least something had come in handy for all those wasted hours spent watching him train when she should have been focusing on her lessons.

Maybe she would have been better prepared for a political invasion if her mind wasn’t addled by thoughts of Lucien shirtless—a memory that was very difficult not to recall, especially when there was little else to distract from her pulsing hand and aching feet. Walking through the woods for hours, it turned out, was a miserable affair. It was the middle of summer, and though the trees offered shade, her mouth had gone dry. She deliberated removing her cloak, knowing she risked overheating just as much as being identified as the princess.

The Lucien in her head scoffed. Do you really think a cloak would stop me from recognising you?

He was irritating, but he had a point. She unfastened the cloak and nearly chucked it to the floor before she considered it was best not to leave any sign she was there. Even if it was cumbersome to hold the cloak and lift her skirts.

Elain didn’t feel any cooler. Her skin was still clammy and the hot air was still trapped between the layers and layers of fabric she wore.

Princesses weren’t made for the forest.

She would remove it all—but there were worse things she could encounter than Lucien. Men that she was certain would be delighted to find her in a state of undress, whether they were looking for the princess or not.

Better not risk it, the Lucien in her head advised. Good thinking.

Elain needed to remind herself that there would be no impressing the real Lucien, whom she would be directly inconveniencing by making good decisions. It was an awful thought to chew on.

Lucien would find her.

She knew that he would. He had pledged as much, drove his prized sword into the ground in a great show of dedication and meaning.

But… but maybe he could find her with a sword in her hand and an army of men at her back. Not that she knew, precisely, where to find one. Maybe if she could get on a boat, she could convince a crew to sail her to Tarquin’s kingdom. And maybe if she promised to marry him, he would send an army to reclaim her throne. Granted, she would need to find passage to Tarquin’s kingdom in the first place. Which meant she would need to get out of these woods, find a boat, and convince its captain to charter her across the channel.

That would, of course, rely on her finding a way out of the woods. Which seemed increasingly unlikely for every hour that slunk past. The low light of sundown filtered through the trees, elongating the shadows. As Elain passed a large, mossy rock she was certain she’d seen before, she wondered if she would simply die of exhaustion and starvation before she ever met a sword.

She was preparing to lay down and simply spend the night on the forest floor when she heard a branch snap. Elain stilled. The knife slipped against her damp hand, but she tightened her fists until the leather-wrapped handle imprinted in her skin. Scanning the forest, she saw no sign of men or hounds. Surely, she would have heard them sooner? They’d been loud in the castle, and in the woods, every step would have been met with crunching leaves and loose gravel and the clink of their heavy armor.

Elain held her breath, listening. Whispering wind. Chittering birds. Another crack. She jerked her head in its direction, but still, there was nothing in plain sight. An animal, maybe? One of the foxes that survived this year’s hunt.

Crack.

Elain’s heart stuttered. It didn’t matter if it was just an animal. It was coming towards her.

Moving felt like forcing rusted gears to turn. Her body was heavy, thoroughly wrung out from the day of running. She grit her teeth in response to her groaning muscles, and as her heart rate spiked, she found it was easier to match its accelerated rhythm. One step for every thunderous beat, until the forest blurred.

She thought she heard someone swear, followed by a heavy thud that turned her head.

And there he was.

Long red hair pulled off his face, dressed in the royal blue of her kingdom, golden pommel jutting out at his hip. Sprinting straight towards her.

Elain hated that the sight of him still made her breath catch. Not because he was gaining on her with alarming pace, or because he’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere. But because, even now, she couldn’t help feeling giddy to be the sole focus of his attention. Even if her objective mind was aware of his ill-intentions, Elain couldn’t help feeling pulled to him, like a powerful current surged around her.

Even so, Elain raged against it. Because the Lucien she still loved was in her head, urging her, run. Run as fast and as far as you can.

He would catch up to her, which she had always known. But at least she would be hauled back knowing that she had fought him to the very last moment.

Blood roared in her ears, so loud she almost couldn’t hear her own crashing footsteps, or every shuddering breath. Elain couldn’t count the number of trees she nearly collided with, moving too quickly to evade them with any amount of skill. Bark scraped her arms, clawing and ripping at her dress, but soon Elain broke through the treeline entirely.

She didn’t slow down, even when cool air rushed against her face, soothing the moisture collected on her skin. Elain had thought she would be able to see better without the canopy blocking out the silver moonlight, but as she stared ahead, all she saw was darkness.

“Elain!”

His voice was right at her ear, utterly panicked.

A strong arm banded around her waist, hoisting her back from an edge she hadn’t even realized she’d been careening towards, until she’d taken a step forward and her foot met empty air. She screamed as Lucien pulled her backwards, likely intending to keep them upright if she hadn’t thrashed, kicking her leg beneath his so that he fell onto his back with a soft oomph. Her knife clattered to the ground.

Elain immediately grabbed it and scrambled off of him, edging toward the cliff both to put distance between herself and Lucien, but also to gauge just how far of a drop it was. The roaring in her ears, it turned out, had not just been her rushing pulse. The ocean crashed over rock far beneath them, spraying sea water high enough that if she laid on her stomach and reached, she’d be able to touch it.

“I didn’t even know we were this close to the ocean,” she admitted, only to feel foolish for speaking her thoughts when there were vastly more important things to occupy her.

“Of course not,” Lucien said, brushing himself off. “There’s not many handsome lords in this direction.”

Elain glared. Not that he could see it very well, in the dark. “You’re not a very good spy, if you thought I was truly interested in them.”

“I’m not a spy.”

“You just chased me through the woods!”

Lucien balked. “You were running towards a cliff!”

“I heard you!” Elain cried. Her voice was more shrill than she would have liked. She had wanted to be angry—to sound angry—when she finally confronted him, and yet tears were welling in her eyes. And her voice cracked as she said, “I watched you bow to Prince Koschei.”

He took a step towards her, then froze when he watched her raise the knife and stumble back. Too close to the edge for both their likings.

Lucien held up his palms, saying calmly, “I am loyal to you, princess. Only you.”

“Liar.”

“What did you hear me say to him? That I’d find you?” His eyes gleamed. “I did. I promised you that I would.”

“You helped them attack the castle,” she whispered.

“I had no hand in that—none.” He took another step. Elain was running out of room to retreat. “And the moment I found out what was happening, I did all I could to delay Koschei’s men from going to your room. I sent a maid—”

“More lies.” Elain’s hand started shaking, sending moonlight dancing across its surface. “It’s all you’ve been doing for years.”

He swallowed. “I have been lying. But not about this, not about protecting you. I swore to the Mother Goddess I would always keep you safe and that is all I have been doing.”

She clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering. “Why did you bow to him?”

“If I had known—”

“Why did you bow to him?”

Lucien flinched. “Years ago, I was sent to your Kingdom as a Raskan spy. I—”

“You betrayed me,” Elain interrupted, shaking her head because she knew she couldn’t bear to hear any more of his explanation. Years.

“I have never betrayed a word,” he protested. “I was sent to become the Queen’s most trusted guard, and instead, I was assigned to protect the prized princess, who was more interested in flipping her hair at confectioners than providing me with any valuable intel.”

Elain blinked. “Is this supposed to persuade my forgiveness?”

“You don’t need to forgive me,” he said, gaining an edge of desperation. “But I need you to understand. I took one look at you, and all my loyalty swayed.”

More lies. More lies. More—

“I never betrayed you, because I am in love with you.”

A sob built in her throat. Lucien took another step, fingers gentle as they circled her wrist and carefully pried the knife away. Then he pressed a hand to her cheek, and she knew she should have pulled away, but instead she leaned into the warmth of his touch.

Lucien continued, thumb swiping away her tears, “I have been trying for years to convince Prince Koschei that there is nothing of interest in this kingdom. But your beauty precedes you, and your mother circumvented me. And I thought perhaps, with her compliance, he would merge your territories peacefully.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “If I had known about the attack, I would have run away with you last night.”

His expression was so earnest. But then again, she had always thought him earnest, and he had been keeping secrets the entire time she’d known him.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Her voice warbled when she asked, and he frowned. Like it pained him, the doubt, or her sorrow, or maybe all of it. Lucien dropped his hand from her face to draw his sword. Slowly. So as not to startle her, though she still risked stepping to the ledge of the cliff to lean away from the sharp metal. He extended the golden hilt towards her and bowed his head.

“Throw it in the sea, if you must. The knife, too. I have no intention of taking you anywhere besides where you wish to be.”

Then, when she still hesitated, he dropped to his knees, raised his chin to meet her eyes.

“Or kill me, if that’s the only thing that could set your heart at ease.”

Their eyes held. Beneath them, a wave crashed against the unmoving rock. If she looked down, she’d find the ocean as dark and glistening as the pools of russet and gold that beheld her. But where the water below would have been frigid, his eyes promised warmth. Love, if she could suspend her belief past the years of deceit. He could be bluffing. Lucien knew her more thoroughly, more intimately, than anyone else. And perhaps he knew that she loved him too, and believed she did not have the capacity to kill him.

Elain wrapped her fingers around the golden handle, testing the weight. It was lighter than she’d imagined.

“You loved me when you first saw me?” she asked.

“No,” Lucien said. “But you’d earned my loyalty. Love came later.”

“Why.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Because on the first day I met you, you invited me to the table for tea, and when your mother scolded you for it, you snuck a cup to me on my post.”

Elain remembered well. It was the first time she’d seen Lucien’s smile, and the memory had caused butterflies to haunt her stomach for weeks.

“I was flirting with you,” she admitted.

“Guards are expected to take orders and otherwise stay unnoticed. You were the only person who saw me. Every day, you saw me. And I knew I could never betray you, that I’d sooner die by Koschei’s sword. When I took my vow to the Mother Goddess, I meant every word.”

I am, forever, yours to command.

She lowered the sword to his shoulder in a twisted impression of that ceremony. The metal trembled in her hands just as it had all those years before. And just like he had then, Lucien didn’t flinch at its touch, even as the sharp edge pressed into his neck.

“And—you love me?” she asked

“Yes,” he said. Not at all like he was bartering for life, spilling honey into her ear as a means of convincing her to drop the sword. No, he said it like the prayer of a man already dying. Like that simple fact was his salvation, a comfort he would take with him into the next life.

“I love you,” he said again, “despite knowing that I shouldn’t. I knew that I was yours and you would never be mine, and I fell in love with you anyway. I flew into your sun like a man bent on hellfire, I betrayed everyone but you to do it, and now I am prepared to live or die at your service.”

“What if I want to leave?” She asked. “What if I got on a boat tomorrow?”

“Then I’d go with you.”

“What if I didn’t want you to?”

Lucien met her eyes, searching for her meaning. If it was truly what she desired. “Assuming you don’t kill me, I’d return to Prince Koschei and spend my life ensuring he never finds you.”

“And what if—” Now it wasn’t just the sword shaking. It was her hand, her shoulders, her lower lip. “What if I love you, too?”

He went so still, then. And it hadn’t occurred to her that he didn’t know. When to Elain, it had been so obvious.

“You do?”

The sword dropped first. Then her knees. She crashed over him, the water against the rocks below, her arms the sea mist tangling around his neck. He gasped, like he expected it was his last breath. Or like it was his first. Air, a precious commodity as her lips found his and then all they were breathing was each other.

His arms enveloped her instantly, banding over her back to tug her closer. It was strange, how his body tightened and relaxed at her touch. Something in him unwinding despite how tightly he held her.

Even so, his kiss was gentle. Sweet.

And unending.

He kissed her again and again, almost feverish. She could taste the salt of her tears and sweat and she wondered if he minded, but he kept kissing her like she tasted of sugar or wine or something equally intoxicating. He just tasted of Lucien—the most intoxicating thing of all.

Elain tugged at the leather tie on his hair so she could plunge her fingers into the loose strands. Her other hand pressed into his back and she gasped into his mouth at the resulting pain, so consumed in his touch she had forgotten about the wound entirely.

He pulled away. “You’re hurt.”

No. No, she wasn’t. Because if she thought of the weeping cut on her hand, then she would think of the maid and the kitchen and the kingdom that had crumbled in less than a day. She would need to face the uncertainty of knowing if her mother was alive and the downfall of their crown and their people. So Elain wasn’t hurt, because none of that had happened. There was only Lucien, who was in love with her, and the stars, which looked so pretty reflected in his eyes.

“Keep kissing me,” she said, resisting him as he tried to turn to look at her injured hand.

“Elain—”

“Please.”

Lucien looked pained. He leaned down to brush another compliant kiss against her lips. “There,” he murmured, like it was a job finished. She fisted her hand into his tunic, stopping him from pulling away. She felt, more than heard, him sigh. “What do you need, princess?”

So many things, of which the Mother Goddess had clearly decided not to grant her. But there were some things still within reach. There was this.

“Make love to me beneath the stars,” she whispered. Pleaded, the way a princess was never meant to, but she had never felt much like a princess around him, anyway. “Promise me that when I wake up in the morning, you’ll still be here.”

She couldn’t bear it, if he wasn’t. He was the only thing she had left.

Lucien stared at her for a long minute. Taking in whatever was betrayed by her expression and her rumpled clothes and the fist she had buried in his tunic. He started with that, loving hand closing over hers, gently prying her fingers away. She let him, moved to silence by her curiosity. Her anticipation.

He removed the golden pin from his cape and swept it off his shoulders, laying the fabric over the ground in one fluid motion. Then he picked up his sword and slid it back into his scabbard, sheathed the knife in a spare slot in his weapons belt, and unbuckled it from his waist entirely.

“Come here,” he murmured, opening his arms to her.

An open invitation to touch him. Elain couldn’t help thinking that was all that she’d wanted for years, and how like the Mother it was to grant her that wish in the most twisted of ways. And how Elain wasn’t certain if she would have chosen differently, if the choice would always arrive between Lucien or her crown. At least this way, she wouldn’t endure the guilt of making the decision herself.

Elain fell against him easily, further proof this was always the Mother’s intention. Even with the aching heartbeat in her palm, and the more excruciating one in her chest, touching him seemed to banish it all. As if the state of her world couldn’t truly be so dire, if she was in his arms and his plush lips were against her mouth, then her cheeks, her collarbones.

He laid her on the cape with a caution she knew was partway devoted to her injury, afraid of jostling her. But despite the gentle way he held her, there was a wildness in his eyes that she was certain must be reflected in her own. A shared disbelief—that they loved each other, and that these were the circumstances that led to this moment.

“I love you so much,” Lucien confessed as he hovered his body over hers. He studied her eyes, her face, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. His knuckles skimmed her cheekbone, brushing a stray piece of hair away from her forehead. “It has been my greatest source of torment.”

Elain knew precisely what he meant. Because he kissed her, then, and she could still feel a sliver of that pain. Her cutting desperation, each slice lethal. Precise. Laid in every place he touched her. Wounds that would never mend.

She whimpered into his mouth and Lucien’s kiss became firmer. He groaned when she arched her back to press closer, responding by crushing her body against his. She could feel his hammering heart and his overwhelming heat and his—

“Elain,” he gasped when she brushed her hand over the affronting bulge in his trousers.

Last time, it had all been so new, so overwhelming. She had simply followed his lead, terrified he would gain his sense and change his mind at any moment. Now, though. There was nowhere else to be, no risk of being caught and scolded. She had the time to explore.

Elain repeated the motion, fascinated by the way Lucien groaned and bucked his hips into her touch. He kissed her again, increasingly less gentle. But she could tell, by the tension in his body and the shaking arm he propped himself up on, that he was still exacting a great deal of restraint. She didn’t want that. She wanted all of him, no more masks, no more lies.

“Tell me again,” she whispered between urgent kisses.

“I love you.”

She laughed, breathless. “Tell me your vows.”

Lucien stilled. Clearly surprised by her request. He watched her, swallowing hard.

Her confidence wavered, suddenly worried it was too odd of a request. But then Lucien leaned over, skimming his nose and lips across her jaw. Until he arrived at her ear where he could whisper, voice roughened in a way that made her stomach knot.

“Princess.”

Elain gasped, feeling her skin pimple as the rich sound skirted over her skin, a rock skipping over water, rippling heat through her body. His hand caressed her thigh, calluses scraping ever-so-softly as he pushed up her skirts.

He murmured, “I swear to you.”

Fingers, feather-soft, skimmed over the dampened lace between her thighs. His breath shuddered at the same moment hers did.

“I am your shield.”

A kiss over her thundering pulse.

“I am your sword.”

A swipe against that sensitive bud, sending a burst of stars behind her eyes.

“I am your justice.”

Lower. His mouth skimmed over her clothes, lavishing heat through the valley of her chest, down her stomach. He stopped between her legs, eyes still on hers as he hooked a thumb into her underthings and pulled the fabric off. Cool air brushed against the most intimate part of her body and Elain stretched her arm out, burying her fingers into his soft cape.

Finally, Lucien whispered, “I am yours.”

He didn’t do anything else for a moment, only stared, wanting those words to hold gravity.

I am yours.

She could see it repeated in his eyes, gold and copper glowing like an ancient forge. Elain turned molten beneath their heat. She wanted to let him reshape her with his touch. Turn her into something that wasn’t a princess, nor a exile, nor a refugee.

Something that was his.

Elain met his eyes, wondering if hers were burning with equal fervor.

“And to the mother I swear: Lucien Vanserra, I am yours.”

That felt, somehow, more sacred than any vow of marriage or oath of knighthood.

Lucien made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Then, he bowed his head and kissed her so sweetly between her legs that her mind scrambled, wondering how something so obscene as his circling tongue could feel like the most ardent declaration of love. And it was the way he groaned, crushing her body to his face like he could smother himself and still not get enough, that sent every inch of Elain burning. He wasn’t like this last night, so abandoned with desire that he lifted her beneath the thighs and slung her legs over his shoulders. The cool sting of his pauldrons made her gasp—or maybe it was his tongue, licking upwards against her clit over and over.

“Lucien,” she whispered, because it was the only word she could still scrap together. She murmured it over and over again in her building delirium, its meaning changing each time it expelled from her lungs in sobbing gasp.

“Lucien—” I love you.

“Lucien—” I am yours.

“Lucien—” You are the only thing I have to hold onto.

He couldn’t speak either, too consumed in his own passion, but she felt his response in every slide of his tongue. In this way his fingers pressed into her skin, hard enough that she hoped their imprint would remain. He kindled her like a fire, building that intense pleasure to its peak, until her entire body tightened and shuddered around him.

Elain cried out as bright light seared behind her eyes. He continued licking her even after each pass began seizing her entire body and she whimpered, overwrought, pushing at his forehead while she gasped, “Lucien—” Stop.

Ever obedient, he lowered her to the ground and sat back on his knees. His chest was heaving, red lips glistening, and when their eyes met it was like looking into a mirror of her own ruination.

Far away, the ocean still crashed against the rocks, a distant roar drowned out by everything else in the forefront. Like Lucien, falling towards her like she was the shore pulling the tide back in, desperate to feel his kiss after so long apart—because every second not touching him had felt like hours. Already, the breeze had pressed in, and she needed him to banish its chill with the comforting weight and heat of his body.

He settled over her, legs wedged between her own, elbow propped beside her shoulder, hair falling around her face like a satin curtain. And though he was careful not to crush her beneath his weight, there was nothing controlled about his descent, near desperate to outline her mouth with his own. Meanwhile Elain returned her attention to his trousers, pulling at the laces to set him free.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “My princess—my Elain.”

Elain felt her eyes burn. Knowing she could finally admit it, she fought the pressure of tears and said, “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. I have loved you for years—”

“Years?” He interrupted, stunned.

She blinked, feeling her wet lashes brush her cheekbones. “Surely you must have put it together.” At his blank look, she elaborated, “All those men I flirted with, it was to get your attention. Get you alone.”

He clearly had not put that together, and she watched the realization dawn on him, watch his lips spread into a smile. And then he surged forward, capturing her in a kiss as he angled his hips so that she could feel his erection slide against her arousal.

“And to think,” he said, pressing a hot kiss to her throat while the head of his cock bumped against her clit. “In the end, I’m the lordling who has the honor of fucking you in the dirt.”

She could hear the satisfaction in his voice and now it was Elain realizing belatedly that he’d been jealous when he’d said that. And maybe she was the fool to not have seen it sooner.

“What do you say, princess?” Lucien asked with a playful nip at her collarbone. “Is that what you want?”

She should never have stroked his ego.

“Lucien,” she said, exasperated.

“Come now,” he coaxed, slipping a hand between their bodies to readjust himself at her entrance, offering the barest hint of pressure. “You sounded so pretty begging for it.”

“A princess shouldn’t beg.” A statement that was not very convincing, given the whine that built in the back of her throat. “Besides, you are meant to obey my command.”

His fingers slipped upwards, circling tightly over her clit in a way that made her hips buck, which in turn pressed his cock the slightest bit deeper. They both groaned.

“Then command me,” Lucien said, partly choked.

Elain bit back a moan as his fingers continued teasing her oversensitive bud. “Give me your cock,” she said, well aware that her hoarse whisper made it sound far from a command.

And because Lucien would never pass up a chance to vex her, he ducked his head close and murmured in a low, scraping voice, “Where, Princess? Here?” He illustrated his point by grinding his cock against her. “Or would you like it somewhere else, like that pretty mouth?”

“Lucien!”

He chuckled, satisfied with her scandal. “Another time, then,” he said, before pressing a kiss to her jaw at the same moment he pushed inside her.

Elain immediately forgave his antics—she couldn’t have held a grudge if she wanted to, from the way every thought abandoned her. She threw her head back, allowing her to witness all of Lucien’s male arrogance crumble into reverence. His head fell forward against her shoulder, sucking in several sharp breaths.

“Oh, Elain,” he said on an exhale, hips flush and stilled against her.

She hooked her legs around his waist, needing to feel him closer, wanting to urge him to move the way her body yearned. He continued catching his breath, each warm puff of air caressing her collarbone. His hands clutched her so firmly, one at the joint of her hip and thigh, the other a tangled knot in her hair.

Just as she opened her mouth to ask if he was okay, Lucien pulled himself out and began whispering, “Through any trial that rises against me.”

His lips brushed over her skin as he spoke, inscribing the words on her body like they were a love letter—words that had never intended to act as one, but now felt more befitting as a declaration of love than the second verse of a knight’s oath. Hearing the words, hearing their meaning applied in such opposition to how they were intended, how she’d always closed her eyes and imagined, made her heart race blindly, made every thrust feel all the more like they were rewriting the rules of this world together. Ignoring even the Mother Goddess and her divine intentions.

“Ice or fire—“ Elain buried her fingers in his hair, cutting him off with a warbled moan as her body tightened against him. Lucien grunted, “or steel.”

And Elain knew it was only an oath for a knight, but still she pushed her lips up to his ear and whispered, “Across any distance your service demands me.”

She barely made it through the line before Lucien’s mouth was on her, open and heated and groaning unabashedly into her mouth as his pacing sped up.

He broke away only long enough to meet her eyes and pant, “I will carry your royal seal.”

Elain fisted a hand over that seal now, still crumpled but proud over his heart, just beneath the clipped-on armor he still wore.

“Lucien,” she gasped, a wet sound between their lips and tongues as his cock scraped against a cluster of nerves that built white-hot pressure in stomach, her chest, until she was drowning it.

He slowed his thrusts to grind deliberately against that spot, saying roughly, “In your name, I wield my strength and valor, an eternal vessel of your will.”

It sounded so filthy, punctuated by her whines.

“Lu—Lu—“ Elain tried desperately to say his name, to tell him that it was all building up too much, too fast, and she didn’t know what to do with the warm, glowing chord knitting tighter and tighter around her spine.

Too tight, too—

“In your name, I bid my loyal service.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, and it could have been the middle of day for the bright, blinding light she saw behind her eyelids. She tightened her thighs around his waist, buried her face into his neck, gasping, pleading, Lucien, Lucien, Lucien.

“That’s it, Elain,” he whispered, fingers returning to that sensitive bud, intent on forcing more desperate, incoherent sounds from her. “And to you—“

The last word tapered off into a groan as she tightened and shattered around him. His own pace faltered, and he was gasping to keep himself above that lethal current. In the distance, waves crashed like cymbals, another instrument accompanying the great song of their colliding bodies and the soft pluck of that golden string she swore tethered them together.

“And to you,” he repeated, each word ragged. He took another breath, then rasped, “To you, Princess, I will always kneel.”

Then he kissed her, sealing the vow so that it was seared, forever, against her lips. Duty and love and devotion, all intertwining with their tongues and the last, wild thrusts that led to his body shuddering and trembling with release. He cried out against her lips, before he slackened against her. She could feel his cock still twitching inside her as they parted to catch their breath.

His eyes were wild, so dilated they were nearly black in the moonlight. Elain pressed her hand to his chest, feeling it rise and fall, unsteady. She felt dazed. Like they’d been on a ship that had lost a battle against the rocks below, and they were the lone survivors who had pulled themselves to land. They had no bearings, no concept of what awaited them in this strange new world. Elain was uncertain what tomorrow would bring, but simply knowing that Lucien would be beside her, and that she wouldn’t be alone, made facing it more bearable.

Lucien cupped her face, brushing away her tears. “Are you alright, Elain?”

She could read the weariness in his expression. He’d given her what she’d asked for, had let her pretend for a prolonged moment that everything was alright, but aside from their reunion and their vows, nothing had changed. Koschei would still be looking for Elain, her kingdom had still fallen, her hand was still wounded. There was no answer that could soothe him.

“Just stay with me,” she said. “Like you promised.”

Take one step at a time.

He nodded. “Of course, your highness.”

“Don’t call me that anymore.”

“Elain,” he corrected with a small smile that made her heart flutter. He kissed her, so gently that it sparked a new round of tears. “I will never leave your side again, if that is what you wish. Wherever it leads me—wherever you lead me.”

There was an unspoken question in that statement, one Elain felt ill-equipped to answer. Where would she lead them, what happened next?

Take one step at a time.

She exhaled, trying to calm herself before she let the thought overwhelm her. It helped that Lucien’s weight was still draped comfortingly over her, like a heavy woodsmoke-scented blanket.

“For now, we sleep,” she said. That was an easy answer. “And then…”

He watched her, and she thought he might supply an idea, but he only waited patiently. Prepared to carry out her will, whatever she decided, even if he knew it would be to their doom. She simultaneously loved and loathed that about him.

Elain bit her lip. “And then… we take it back.”

He blinked. “We do?”

“We do,” she said. Even if it would have been easier to run away, even if she knew that was what Lucien had expected her to choose. She could not abandon her people, her crown. “We take back the Kingdom, and we make Prince Koschei pay for what he’s done.”

#Elucien #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fanfiction #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain

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m-jelly · 2 years

Text

Love's thorny grip - Chapter 1

Incredible banner by @ladycheesington <3 I adore it so much. She's so incredibly talented. Go follow her! I wonder what he's thinking...

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Genre and tags: Royal AU, romance, falling in love, soft yandere Levi, plot development, fluff, rough Levi.

Story concept: After a chance meeting with you, Levi starts becoming obsessed with you. As time goes on, Levi scares off all potential husbands and keeps a very close eye on you. He follows you without you knowing and shapes your life and world. One man refuses to leave you or retract his marriage proposal. Levi doesn't give up either. Levi pushes the man to leave you so he can have you all to himself. You have been slowly falling for Levi and eventually confess to him. Levi admits his possessive love and you and you both start a secret relationship behind your parent's backs and the stubborn man who wants to marry you. You eventually get your parent's permission to marry Levi. Once married, Levi becomes even more possessive of you and confesses his yandere ways to you. You try to tame your husband as you both become King and Queen with many people causing problems for you both. Can you tame your love-drunk husband before someone takes advantage?

AO3 Link

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 The end

Tension filled the carriage as it moved to its destination. The creaking of the wood seemed louder than normal due to the awkward silence. A strong unpleasant stench of strong cologne rolled off of the gentleman in the carriage, your unfortunate companion. His leering eyes dragged over your form making you feel disgusting. Your gaze stayed strong and true to the outside of the carriage. Your gloved hands tugged your cape over your corseted breasts to shield them from his wanting stares.

You flinched as he called your name. “Lady. Please use my title.”

He slid across his cushioned seat and grinned at you. “Well, when we get married, I won’t need to.”

You glared at your companion. “We won’t be marrying. I’m simply going to this ball with you because my parents are determined to marry me off to some rich asshole. You’re nothing but a bag of gold to them.”

He chuckled and fixed his cheap suit. “They’ll accept my proposal. We’ll be together and then I’ll get to see what you look like under those pretty dresses.”

You clenched your jaw tightly as you felt irritated. “As soon as we get back to my home, I will reject you in front of my parents.” You turned to your carriage door as it opened.

You climbed out and stepped onto the long red carpet lined out for guests. You glanced up at the imposing palace. The palace had been empty for so long and now a prince was living there who would soon be King once parliament was in order. The large building was dark and imposing, it was like it had absorbed the Prince’s personality. Rumours were already spreading that he was strict, cold and ruthless. You thought it might be good for this country to have someone like him ruling over the land.

You lifted your dress and little and ascended the stairs to the grand doors with your date hurrying after you. You dropped your dress and huffed a sigh. You handed over your invite to the attendant and watched him check the list they had. You groaned a little as they glanced at your date.

You pouted and looked away. “He’s with me. He’s my date.” You spat the word date.

The man bowed. “Enjoy the ball.” He watched you walk away before slipping into the palace and hurrying down the hall. “Prince Levi?”

Levi turned to Jean. “Yes?”

Jean bowed. “He is here and he has a date.” He showed Levi the register and pointed to your name. “This is her name. She came with him.”

Levi stared at your name and frowned a little. “I’ve heard of them. Her father is a big trader of sugar.” He hummed in thought. “I’ll talk to both of them.” He adjusted his black suit and tight cravat. He shifted in his high-waisted trousers and walked out into the hall. “Let’s get this ball over and done with.”

He stomped down the hall, his heels on his smart boots echoing on the marble floor. He clenched his fist tightly, his black leather gloves groaning at the power in his hands. He ignored his announcement of his presence along with the longing stares. People knew he was single and powerful, so people either wanted to marry him, marry a daughter to him or make trades. He didn’t want any of that. Levi wanted to clean out the trash in his country.

Levi moved around the room and spied his target. “Tch, there you are.”

Levi nodded to his guards before approaching his target. As Levi moved closer he could finally see you. You were in your 20s and pretty. He watched you fan yourself but not because you were hot, but merely due to your companion. He liked the way you crinkled your cute nose in disgust at whatever smell was coming off your irritating and needy companion. You were rather beautiful to Levi, your face was cute and yet regal. His eyes moved down your body and felt a little spark of excitement inside him. Your breasts were plump and heaving in your corseted dress. Your figure was divine.

Levi never cared much for lovers and only had one ex. He was too focused on his work and he didn’t fall for anyone quickly. Levi’s love, affection and attraction took time, but he had to admit there was a little tingle inside him as he looked at you. He accepted that there was some minor attraction to you, but he had work to do and you were linked to a man he hated.

Levi stood before your date. “Evening both, I do hope you are enjoying my ball.”

Your date held his head high. “Your ball is wonderful, but my date is being stuck up.”

Levi glanced at you. “Oh dear Sir Robert, that isn’t good.” He moved closer to you. “My Lady? Is something wrong?”

You locked eyes with Levi and blushed a little as you studied him. He had a princely suit on that made him look incredible. His high-waisted black trousers were tucked into long tight black boots with little heels. A black waistcoat gripped his body tightly and under was a white shirt with a high neck cravat. On top was a black blazer with silver buttons and a few medals.

You flicked your fan open and hid part of your face. “Many things are wrong.”

Levi hummed at your response. “Is there a way I could fix them?”

You blushed a little. “I dunno. Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

You closed your fan and sighed. “What you want in return.”

Levi stared at you as you stared back. He was locked into a battle of dominance with you and enjoyed it a little. He knew he could easily overpower you, but he liked the little fight you had in you. He decided to break the moment by tilting his head just a little and giving you a small smile. He enjoyed watching you blush in response.

He offered his hand to you. “Come with me, both of you. We’ll talk in private. It’s for too loud out here.”

You gripped the back of Levi’s elbow. “Thank you, your highness.”

Levi tugged you closer and enjoyed your sweet scent. “Sir Robert? Let’s get moving.” He led you and Robert out of the main hall and into a dim hallway. “Not long now.”

You looked back at Robert when he cried out. You gasped as he was grabbed by the royal guards. “What’s going on?”

Levi grabbed your upper arm making you yelp. “Sir Robert has been a pain in my backside for a while.” He dragged you to a door. “I don’t know what you are to him, but he’s under arrest for fraud.” He slammed open the door to a waiting room. “You are with him so I’m just being careful.” He threw you into the room and watched you slam against the floor with a yelp. “I’ll be back for you later.”

You screamed and charged at the door, but Levi slammed it shut before you could get out. You pounded your fists against the door. “Let me out!” You walked back and kicked the door. “Let me out!”

You backed up and looked around the room. The fire was lit for you and the lights were turned on. There was a nice sitting area for you to rest and a few books on the wall bookshelf. You looked at a few books and selected one. You sat down on the sofa and huffed a sigh. You were hoping that the attendant who took your gloves and cloak would return them to you once the Prince released you. You were a little worried about what your parents were going to think that you weren’t coming home so soon.

You read your book as you waited. Time went by and there was no sign of the Prince or anyone coming to see you. You yawned a little and curled up on the sofa. You kept reading, but the sofa lighting and warm fire soon put you into a nice sleep.

Levi unlocked your door and moved inside. He locked it behind him and scanned the room for you. He shifted towards the fireplace to see you sleeping on the sofa. His heart skipped a beat as he gazed at your sweet resting face. He felt captivated by you. He crouched down and reached for you. He lightly caressed your cheek as you hummed in your sleep.

You moaned a little. “That feels nice.”

Levi held back a smile. “I’m glad.”

Your eyes flew open at the voice. You sat up and gasped. “You’re back!”

Levi rose to his feet. “I am and I want a word with you.”

You pouted only making yourself look more appealing to Levi. “I’m not talking to you!”

He watched you get off the sofa and walk to the middle of the room. “The sooner you talk the quicker I can get you sent on your way home.”

You glared at him and tried to ignore his chubby kissable cheeks, his cute button nose, his defined jawline, his blue steel gaze and his soft raven locks. “I’m telling you nothing because I don’t know anything!”

“You came here with Sir Robert, you must know something.”

You folded your arms and stood your ground as Levi walked up to you and tried to intimidate you. “I was forced to come here with him! My parents are trying to marry me off to some guy and that sleaze bag has been cosying up to my father! I don’t know what he’s been doing.”

Levi’s eyes bore into you. “You have to know something. He told me you were going to be his wife, that you’re already fucking, that you let him plough your pretty little cunt as often as possible because you’re a greedy whore.”

You slapped Levi hard across his face. “How dare you! I don’t care who you are, but no one talks to me like that.”

Levi held his jaw and clicked it. “You have a strong hand.” He flicked his gaze to you and saw you were hurt and confused. “So he’s lying?”

“He’s lying to you and you’re falling for it.” You laughed. “You must be a gullible idiot to fall for it. He’s using you. He’s going to fuck you over and take everything from you and your kingdom!”

Levi’s leather hand wrapped around your neck before he slammed you against the wall. “Tell me what you know, now!”

You moaned a little as Levi’s body pressed against yours. You gripped Levi’s blazer and looked up at him through your lashes. Levi felt something in him click, something big. As he looked down at you with his hand wrapped around your pretty neck and your stunning body pressed against him and the wall, he felt something within him. Something told him you were his, that you belonged to him. He panted a little as you shifted and moaned under his touch. He felt alive at hearing your soft sexy moans. Levi wanted to hear you make more.

You whimpered a little. “Your highness, I really don’t know anything. I met him for the first time tonight. I swear to you. My parents introduced me and then shoved me in the carriage and sent me here.” You gulped hard. “If I had more, I’d tell you. I hate that slimeball. He’s disgusting, crude, egotistical, selfish and a jackass. I despise him and honestly you having an issue with him is doing me a great favour.” You smirked. “I hope you torture him good.”

Levi moaned a little at your words. He was losing his mind with desire. You were making him go crazy. He’d never met a woman like you. You were smart, fierce, wild, clean, pretty, sexy and strong. He wanted to keep you around. He wanted to keep you. He wanted you. He released your neck and dragged his gloved hand down your neck and onto your heaving chest. He watched his hand go down before he looked at you.

Levi hummed before pulling away. “Forgive me for being so rude. Sir Robert has been an issue for this Kingdom. I thought maybe I had a lead with you, but it seems I was mistaken.”

You lightly touched your neck as your heart fluttered. “You’re forgiven if you make him pay.”

“I will.” He held your hand and pulled you closer. “Perhaps we should start again. I’m Prince Levi Ackerman.”

You introduced yourself. “Pleasure to meet you.” You let out a long sigh. “I am sorry for slapping you.”

“I deserved it.”

You hummed a sweet laugh that sounded like music to Levi’s ears. “What a way to meet the new Prince, huh?”

Levi reached over and cupped your cheek as his thumb rubbed under your eye. “It’s late and you seem tired. I can grant you a room here so you may rest.”

You pulled from his touch. “I shouldn’t.”

Levi gripped his fist making the leather glove groan. He wanted to touch you more. He didn’t want you walking away from him. “Just one night. I will provide you with a room and clothes. I will even set you up with a nice breakfast before sending you home.”

You gazed at Levi. “My parents-.”

“I will go with you. I will speak to them.” He moved closer to you. He reached out and held your hand. “I will take care of everything.”

You hummed as you thought about Levi’s proposal. Part of you felt like you were making a deal with the devil himself. You knew Levi was doing this as a sorry for his actions and words. You didn’t want to run off and leave a sour taste in the Prince’s mouth. You could see in Levi’s eyes he meant well with his offer.

You sighed and gave in. “Very well. I’ll take you up on your offer and stay. Thank you so much.”

Levi held your upper arms. “It’s the least I could do after everything you’ve been through. I made a mistake and I want to correct it.” He put one hand on your upper back and moved you out into the hallway. “I do hope you enjoy your stay. If you like it a lot, you should come back.”

You looked up at him. “You want me to come back?”

“I would like that.”

You laughed at him. “You want the woman who slapped you to come back to you?”

He knew you didn’t understand and that was okay. All he knew was he liked having you around and you did something to him. You made him feel in a way that he liked. “Yes. I like people who stand up for what they believe in.”

You hugged yourself as you tried to process what was going on. You were a little embarrassed that you moaned at Levi choking you a little and dominating you. You didn’t want him to think you were kinky, but you kind of were. You shivered a little as dirty thoughts filled your head. You gulped hard as Levi’s divine scent filled your senses. You felt a little dizzy with desire.

Levi gripped your side and felt a fire burning inside him. You smelt so sweet, like a field of flowers and honey. He felt a need to bite you and suck your skin, but he resisted. He looked over at you and saw you shiver a little. He saw your chest rising and falling a little fast, which meant you were thinking about naughty things. Levi only liked you more that you were thinking naughty things about him.

“Are you cold?” Levi peered at your face. “You’re shivering.”

You blushed as you gazed at the man. “I’m f-fine. I’m j-just tired.”

He opened a grand bedroom for you. “Rest here.”

You wandered into the room and looked around. “This is massive. I’ve never seen a bedroom so big.”

Levi waved a maid outside into the room. “This is the room for the princess.”

You gasped and turned to Levi. “Oh! I shouldn’t be here if your princess and soon-to-be wife are living here.”

The maid giggled. “He has no one miss. This room is free.”

Levi turned to you as the maid hurried around the room. “She is correct. I have no one. So, enjoy this bedroom, okay? Luna will take care of you.”

You waved shyly at the maid Luna. “Thank you, this is just too much.”

Levi kissed your cheek making your cheeks burn red. “Any time. I just want to say how deeply sorry I am for my words and actions. Now, sleep well.”

Levi couldn’t sleep because his mind kept going to you. He released a long and frustrated sigh before slipping out of his bed and wrapping his long robe around him. He ventured out into the hall and saw no life. He hurried down the hall and made his way to your room. He slipped inside to see your form in the grand bed.

He moved over to you and finally saw you in the glow of the moonlight. He blushed at how peaceful and beautiful you looked to him. He crouched down and rested his cheek on his hand as he watched you sleep. He let out a long sigh as his heart throbbed in his chest. He wasn’t sure what was going on inside him, but he wanted to keep you. He almost felt like a child who’d found their favourite thing and they wanted to keep it forever and let no one else touch it.

He reached over and carefully moved your hair from your face. He smiled softly at seeing your hair down instead of up. He also adored that you had no makeup on. He thought you were like an angel sent down to be with him. His cheeks burned when you shifted onto your side and moaned a little. He held his breath at your nightdress being low on your body, so your plump breasts being pressed together were almost falling out. He gulped hard at almost seeing your nipples.

Levi grabbed your duvet and pulled it up further and tucked you in. He kept an eye on you until the sun started rising. He left you to rest and moved to the kitchen. He busied himself making you breakfast, which surprised his chefs. He glanced at them as they watched him closely.

Levi smiled a little. “I’m simply making a nice breakfast for our guest.”

Niccolo looked at his wife Sasha before looking back at the Prince. “Your highness, do you maybe like your guest? As in, romantically?”

Levi put your food on a try. “I know I want to keep her forever.”

“So?”

Levi lifted the tray. “I want to keep her, as in I don’t want anyone to touch her or have her but me.”

Niccolo watched his Prince leave. “Ah…hmm…that’s a bit?”

Sasha giggled. “My goodness, he’s a little possessive and obsessive of her. Let’s hope she likes him back.”

Levi walked up the grand stairs and made his way to your room. He slipped inside as you stood in a corset and small bloomers. “Good morning.”

You gasped. “Your highness!”

Luna ushered you behind the changing screen as she giggled. “Behind here, my lady.”

Levi placed your tray on your table and sat at the other seat. “I am sorry for seeing you barely dressed.”

You placed your hand on your stomach. “It’s all right. This is your palace.”

Levi remembered how you filled out your corsets, how divine your breasts and thighs were. He smiled a little and covered his smile with his hand as he thought about your beautiful ass. He cleared his throat. “I made you breakfast.”

Luna tied your dress on at the back. “He’s never cooked for anyone before.”

You blushed. “Thank you, your highness.” You walked out and smiled at him. “I will join you once I sort my hair out.”

Levi stared at you. “Keep it down.”

You bowed to Levi before joining him. You sat and started eating. “Mm, this is delicious.”

Levi sipped his tea. “I’m glad you like my cooking.”

You wiped your mouth. “You have a talent for it.” You sipped your tea and gulped. “Do you do this with all your guests?”

He paused a moment. “No.”

You watched him drink his tea and stare at you. You blushed and looked away from him. “You’re a strange man, your highness.”

“Calling your crowned prince strange? You are brave.”

You stood up and smiled. “I did slap you last night, so calling you strange is nothing.” You walked to the bathroom to brush your teeth. “You choked me!”

Luna gasped. “Your highness!”

Levi downed the last of his tea and slammed his cup down. “Lightly. She liked it anyway.”

Luna giggled. “My Lady.”

You walked out of the bathroom. “It was an accidental moan.”

Levi walked right up to you and played with your hair. “Sure.”

You whined a little and turned from him. “Luna? Could you help me with my hair?”

Levi moved over to you as soon as you sat at the makeup table. He combed your hair. “Allow me. I’ve helped my mother with her hair.”

You locked eyes with Levi through the mirror. “All right.”

He combed your hair slowly before putting little braids through it and putting it up. He placed his gloved hands on your shoulders and leaned forwards to speak against your ear. “You look like a princess.” He ran his lips over the edge of your ear and spoke in a whisper that you barely heard. “My princess.”

You shivered. “Huh?”

Levi eyed you allowing you to see how blown his pupils were and his wonderful steel blue irises were almost gone. He pulled away from you. “Let’s return you home.”

You followed Levi out of the bedroom. “Yes, your highness.”

He led you through the halls with his small boot heels tapping on the marble floor. He moved through the halls until he led you outside. He glanced back at you as Luna helped you into your cloak. He turned to you and pulled your gloves on. He fixed your cloak for you before guiding you to his carriage.

You sat inside the black royal carriage and felt your cheeks burning as you looked around. The carriage was filled with black velvet cushioned walls and seats. Two covered lights were on the walls for when it got late and those inside could have some light. You flinched when Levi plopped himself down next to you. You shuffled away from him a bit and looked out the window as he banged on the roof for the driver to go.

Levi glanced over at you. “Have I offended you?”

You blushed and looked over at Levi. “No?”

He eyed the gap between you and him. “Then why is there such a big gap between me and you? I can’t imagine it’s very nice being pressed against the door.”

You shuffled closer to Levi. “I didn’t know if I’d get into trouble for sitting so close to the crowned prince.” You gulped hard under his gaze. “Maybe I should sit on the other side.”

Levi grabbed your upper arm. “Do that and I’ll make you sit on my lap.”

You bit your lip and stayed sat next to Levi. You fiddled with your cloak as a deafening silence filled the carriage. You felt nervous next to Levi, but a good kind of nervous. The side of your body next to him tingled in delight. You released a long sigh, but you still felt the tension within your body.

You looked at Levi to see he was already gazing at you. You blushed a little. “S-So…”

He let out a deep hum. “So?”

You gulped hard. “Sir Robert? What happened to him?”

Levi stared at you as he remembered his knuckles smashing against Sir Robert’s face. He remembered how Sir Robert’s teeth fell out when he coughed up blood. He remembered how Sir Robert pissed himself and cried hard and stopped blaming you for everything and admitted his fraud, his abuse of women, the assault allegations were true and he killed a servant for fun by torturing them. He broke Sir Robert and left him in a cold cell. Levi knew he couldn’t tell you all this. He wanted to spare you from the wicked ways of the world.

He reached over and softly touched your cheek. “You don’t need to worry about him anymore. He was my problem. I will talk to your parents about it.”

You hummed a little. “I can’t believe as an adult I have to have my parents blessing for things.”

“We live in a cruel world.” He opened the door and climbed out of the carriage. He gazed up at your home and hummed. “Nice home.” He offered his hand to you. “Come.”

You took Levi’s hand and stepped out of the carriage as your parents rushed out of the house with two guards. “Oh, dear.”

Levi squeezed your hand. “I will deal with them. Go inside.” He kissed the back of your hand. “I will see you soon.”

You smiled at Levi. “I hope so.”

Levi watched you go inside your manor before turning to your parents shouting and threatening. He held his hand up making them stop talking. “I arrested your daughter because she was with Sir Robert. Sir Robert is a criminal.”

Your father stormed closer to Levi. “I don’t give a shit that you are the new Prince! No one locks up my little girl!”

“She’s not little, she’s an adult woman in her twenties. And anyway, I wasn’t the one who sent my precious daughter to a ball with a sex offender.”

Your father went white. “What did you say?”

Levi folded his arms. “Didn’t you know? Tch, what kind of parents are you?” Levi listed all of Sir Robert’s crimes. “He was playing you both so he could get money from you both. Everyone knows you have the most successful sugar trading company. You will have all sorts of scum trying to get her to marry them.” Levi walked closer to your father. “I barely touched her when I tried to get information from her.”

Your father gritted his teeth. “I have heard the rumours about you! I know you did something wicked to her!” He wafted his hand. “Get out of my sight! I don’t want to see you anywhere near my manor!”

Your mother pulled your father back. “Harold, stop this. He will be our King.”

Harold turned to his wife. “Do you love our daughter?” He grabbed his wife’s upper arms. “Do you love our daughter, Tia?”

Tia nodded. “I do, but-.”

“Then she stays away from that monster there.” Harold looked over at Levi. “I know his type. He beats and kills men he thinks are bad. When he likes a woman, he becomes psychotic and obsessed. He’s dangerous.” He pocked Levi’s chest. “Your connection with my daughter ends now. Stay. Away.”

Levi stared at your father with a cold look in his eyes. He slowly dragged his eyes up to the manor and saw you gazing out at the arguing. “Well.”

Harold grabbed Levi’s lapels. “Don’t you look at her!”

Levi stared at you. “I am Prince.” He slowly looked at Harold. “I have a lot of power.”

Harold panted and released Levi. “Killing me to get her will make her hate you.”

Levi fixed his suit. “I have no intention of killing you. Why would I want the parents of the woman I want dead? It would make no sense.” He sighed. “I will win you over.” He walked to his carriage and placed his foot on the step. “I am deeply sorry for my actions. I was merely trying to stop a bad man. No harm came to your daughter. I didn’t hurt a pretty hair on her head.”

Harold relaxed a little. “I…I understand…but…you must understand me as a father. You are linked to death. I don’t want my daughter around that.”

Levi bowed his head. “I respect that and I will change my ways to win you over.” He looked over at you again. “In the meantime, be more mindful of whom you set your daughter up with. If I feel they are lacking, they will be moved on.”

Harold watched Levi climb into the carriage and slam the door. He gulped hard as the carriage rolled away and out of view. “That man…”

Tia rubbed her husband’s back. “He is devilishly handsome.”

“He is. I worry about our daughter.” He gave his wife a tired smile. “Sorry for getting angry.”

Tia kissed the end of her husband’s nose. “Don’t be sorry. You care about our daughter.”

He let out a long sigh before walking with her into the manor. He looked up at your maid. “Ola? Change our daughter out of the palace things. I want to send them all back as soon as possible.”

Ola bowed. “Yes, my lord.” She hurried to your room and bowed to you. “I’m here to change your clothes.”

You hummed in response. “Father upset?”

“He just wants you out of the palace things.”

You approached her and let her slowly take off your dress, corset and bloomers before replacing it all with new things. “Thank you.”

She gathered your clothes up. “It’s my job.”

You watched her reach the door. “Why do you hate me so?”

She paused before looking back at you. “I do not hate you. I get jealous of you sometimes.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

She stared at you. “You don’t know how much attention is on you from men and now you have the Prince.”

You hugged yourself. “I don’t want the attention of men.”

“And that’s why I get upset. You’re too nice. You don’t try to gain their attention, and yet they want you. You’re just a nice person.”

You let out a long sigh. “Sorry, I’m holding you up.”

Ola bowed. “I will get to work.” She paused a moment. “I…I look up to you…sometimes.”

You smiled as she hurried away with pink cheeks. You walked across your room and sat at your desk. You gazed out to see the palace in the distance below the mountains and on the edge of the woods. The palace was dark and imposing, but you couldn’t help but smile. You picked up your papers and began doing some paperwork for your father.

Ola showed the clothes to your father. “Who shall I give these to?”

Harold studied them. “Send them back to the Prince. Deliver them to him and report back on his response.”

She bowed. “Yes, my lord.” Ola climbed into the carriage and held your clothes as she made the trip to the palace. She leaned out the door when the guards stopped her. “I have something to return to the Prince.” She said your name. “She stayed here.”

Mikasa hummed. “She did. Come on in.”

Ola sat back and sighed as the carriage pulled up to the palace. She slipped out and moved inside where Jean was waiting. “I need to see the Prince.”

Jean looked a bit nervous. “Sure. I will go get him.”

Ola looked around the grand entrance hall and saw how dark it seemed. She shivered as worry filled her. She was hoping the Prince wouldn’t lose his mind over getting your clothes returned to him. She held her breath when two voices got louder. She looked up at the grand stairs as the Prince descended them with Jean. She bowed deeply to Levi and felt a little scared, but also aroused by the darkly handsome man.

Levi stopped in front of Ola. “I was told you have something for me?”

Ola stood up. “My Lady was here at your palace and you allowed her to wear nice things.” She raised her arms and presented your dress, corset and bloomers. “My Lord has asked that I return them to you in order to cut all ties.”

Levi stared at your clothes and remembered how well they fitted you. “That so?”

Jean moved closer. “I’ll take them, your highness.”

Levi lifted his leather-gloved hand. “I’ll take them.” He gathered up the clothes. “Return to your Lord. Thank you for bringing these to me.” He turned and walked up the stairs with Jean following. “I’ll sort these out, don’t worry.”

Jean sighed. “Yes, your highness. Oh, I have had word that Lord Erwin, Lord Mike and Lady Hange will be arriving over the next few days to talk to you. I have made a room up for Lord Erwin, but I believe the other two will be living elsewhere.”

Levi hummed in response. “Mike will be with the guards to train them and Hange has a laboratory. Tch, so busy.” He stopped by a door. “Go take a break, Jean. I don’t need you for a while.”

Jean bowed. “Thank you, your highness.”

Levi moved into the room and sighed when he saw the bed was slightly made after you had left. He locked the bedroom door and moved over to the bed. He lay your clothes down next to the nightdress you had used. He let out a long sigh and knew what he was about to do might be seen as wrong, but he was compelled to do so.

He pulled his blazer off and hooked it on the back of the chair. He next removed his waistcoat. He stretched as he stood in his white shirt, high-waisted black trousers and cravat. He slipped his long boots off and walked towards the bed. He crawled up it and lay down face first into your clothes. He inhaled deeply and felt intoxicated by your scent. He let out a long moan and nuzzled your clothes more.

Levi wasn’t sure what was going on with him, but he knew for certain he needed you. He needed to have you. He needed to be with you. He was going to do everything he could to stop you from marrying other men, to get your father’s approval and to be with you. He knew he had to keep a close eye on you and become your friend. He’d get close to you while doing things behind the scenes. He adored you and felt captivated by you. You were like this enticing enchantress that he was caught by and was happy to worship you.

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futureplayboibunnie · 1 year

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Can i please request a stephen strange x villainous!reader? It’s one of my favorite tropes ngl. So y/n is a hot villain and throughout the entire mission or fight, stephen was horny all the time. After he won the fight and y/n is weak & defeated already, he starts to fuck her. ANOTHER HATE SEX WOWOOSKSJWNWNWN (and maybe this time with more hate 👀)

‘Mind Reader’

Dr Strange x villainous! fem! reader

I FKN LOVE WRITING BADASS SEXY VILLAINS, UR A GEM ILY <3 smut so minors gtfo x

Saying that Stephen wasn't up for the mission was a vast understatement-he physically couldn't go. He was opting to slither his way out through the 'i'm sick' treatment, but being the Master of the Mystic Arts wasn't like a normal job. Being sick wasn't going to get you out of jack shit-only if you were knocking on death's door they would spend a mimimum amount of time considering it.

But he really couldn't risk going.

He was so fucking horny, all he could think about was sex, sex, sex. He hadn't had the chance of bedding a woman since all of his time was occupied with mystical threats and foes; it wasn't really an ideal thing to appeal to a woman. Stephen hadn't been this desperate since college.

But he had to grin and bear it, he just had to try his best to handle himself with care. He could feel his day cloud with misery yet again, the dull ache pulling at his insides once more- it all felt inescapable.

Stephen's mission seemed fairly easy, getting rid of a witch up to no good You weren't an Avengers level threat, you hadn't made a move in this dance with world domination yet- you were just plotting in some random warehouse in the middle of God knows where. Stephen found himself in your sacred space, perceiving his surroundings- mirrors were on every wall, it felt cool and metallic. Lifeless and cold. He was envisioning a widowed hag, he'll get his hands free of this in no time.

With every step he took, Stephen felt a fleeting feeling of an unjust fear course through him- he had to look over his shoulder as swift and jarring metallic industrial noises pierced through the silence. He looked to the floor and saw multiple spellboooks strewn on the floor with cracking spines.

‘’Who are you?!’’ A booming voice echoed against every wall, a heavy rich cadence defeaning the silence

He sensed an overwhelming presence looking up, you were hovering being lifted up by the magic that was flowing through your blackened fingertips.

Stephen wasn't expecting someone like you to be this havoc wreaking witch, you were definitely not the old bat he was envisioning. Your hair was afloat and airy, thick and curled with darkened eyes to accompany your vastly intimidating features. Piercing eyes, black cape, thigh highed boots but there was a thin stip of skin between your suit and your boots.

Your suit was a very tightly fitted corset and he cocked his head scanning you up and down, he felt his cock twitch in his pants. Jesus Christ.

He needed to focus, he absolutely couldn't risk feeling this way. Especially when it was from an enemy he needed to defeat.

‘’I said who are you!?’’ You yelled and he could feel the sheer power radiating off of you even when you talked. Stephen conjured up his classic Eldreitch shield in both of his fists .

‘’Dr Stephen Strange and you're plotting ends now.’’ He warned, attempting to shake these inane thoughts out of his mind and focus at the daunting task at hand- getting rid of you.

‘’Under your own juristicion? Doctor, you'll find that it'll be difficult stopping me. Leave. Now. My humanity can only extend so far.’’ Your voice was low and authoritative- eyes darker than your tone. You lowered yourself to the ground as if you were sure Stephen would do nothing, so confident that he wasn't a threat you turned around and grabbed a few stray spellbooks that was scattered on the floor. He quirked a brow at how comfortable and easygoing you were- he'd change that.

Stephen launched an orange blast of fire at you, it was quick and fast and he was sure with your back turned he'd hurt you to some extent.

But he didn't. You held your fist out to the side of you and the blast that was supposed to hit you, disippated into thin air.

Stephen's eyes widened as you slowly rotated your head to stare at him, your face was hard and frowning and anything but forgiving. You let out a shaky cool breath and your eyes went black when your teeth gritted. Your scream rumbled the warehouse as your fingers hardened to conjure up a black ball of fog and lightning and aimed it straight at him.

Thankfully he dodged such a thing thanks to his trusty cloak, but as he was levitating he found that you weren't anywhere to be seen. Stephen darted his eyes from corner to corner but he couldn't find you, you were unmissible. Until he heard little shrieks and giggles echoing against the cool walls as a means to taunt him. He clocked the back whisps of your cloak in the mirrors, fucking hell you were using the mirrors as an escape- a hatch of some sorts.

You were done being kind- done shedding light on the humanity you thought you lost in the black abyss of this unrelenting cruel life. Silently, you found yourself behind him and he couldn't feel that you were, so delicate in your movements as if you were an invisible veil.

‘’Where are you? Show yourself!’’ He yelled, his echo bouncing off every wall

You felt your heart go limp a little when you felt a strong unmissible scent of cologne against his collar. Your face was far too close to his neck, enough to feel the heat radiating off of him- you were glad he couldn't feel you near him, one of the perks of being a witch. You took your time to study him while he was levitating like an idiot waiting for your fated appearance.

You circled him, floating like the breezy air surrounding you both, immersing yourself in the oxygen. You knew something about his energy and aura was different when he first stepped into your space, you let him wander around while watching his every move. He seemed confident and way in over his head. As your eyes squinted, his blue eyes seemed more beguiling than ever. He was hot.

He was. You couldn’t deny it.

You hadn't had any since you relinquished all your goodness- but this was the path that you were destined for. It pained you, though. The lack of sex made your brain feel foggy.

Speaking of feeling foggy, you knew Stephen clocked your presence. Before you could get away he grabbed at your cloak and pulled you back.

He dragged you down to the floor, your spine slightly cracking as your back broke the concrete from under you. Stephen's forearm digging into your neck as the pressure of falling from such a height began to dawn on you.

‘’Unhand me!’’ You grunted, slightly choking as his arm was closing down in on your neck, subsequently squeezing your airways. You can't believe you were going down due to your own inane thoughts.

Not yet anyway.

Stephen gazed down on you with a harsh expression, almost as if he was…checking you out. You were really hot, and it was paining him. Thoughts running rampant with the excessive help of his never ending sexual desire, he was actually conjuring up all the ways he could make you feel good. He had you under him and your dark eyes lightened and he could see the true colour of them, light with a sinister sparkle. Lips parted and exhaling softly, hair strewn out and wild. Stephen's eyes softened in realization.

Your fingers twirled at the opportunity of his grip on you softening, you blasted him off you with just a twitch and lifted yourself up with ease.

The electricity that pinged off of him twinged at his nerve endings, clutching himself in pain momentarily. It was short lived though by the way he zoomed at you.

You were counting on it. As his hand reached for your throat, your hands clamped between his head as a means to literally fry his brain. Stephen's eyes were glazed in terrified surprise.

What you tried to do was make his brain turn to mush and make him the definition of brain dead, what you saw was something else. Surprising and unexpected to say the least.

You found yourself in the depths of his mind, Stephen was thinking of you. You and him. In some very dirty scenarios. Him kissing you, taking you on the floor. Stripping you of your clothes and feeling every inch of your skin. What the fuck.

Your mouth went dry, you let go of him immediately and in your vulnerable state he immediately conjured up an Eldreitch canon and shot it at you. In a single moment, you toppled to the floor. Twitching in pain. As if your ego and body wasn't already bruised, he hit you with another blast. You've never experienced this sort of power before, you've enever fought someone this powerful.

Lying there defeated, Stephen floated down to you, his footsteps soft as he made his way over to you. You blinked up at him, a bitter scowl etched on your face as you perched yourself up.

‘’You here to finish the job? Go ahead.’’ You spat, already accepting your fate.

‘’Before I do, what did you see?’’ Stephen said deadpan and serious, no humour playing at his features.

‘’What are you talking about?’’ You were so fucking done, why can't he just kill you and get it over and done with.

‘’Don't play stupid. You're smarter than that. What did you see?’' He stared down at you as if to rub salt into the wound.

‘’You. Wanting to fuck me.’’

‘’Is that right?’’ Stephen knew, normally every other day it would be a vast embarrassment, but he was too horny to even care. The way you looked up at him, eyes full of hatred as you were on the floor- he couldn't help but wonder if this was the way you would look at him as you fucked him with your tongue.

‘’Now you want me to suck you off.’’ Your eyes creased slightly as you tilted your head, as if you were scrutinising him.

To be honest, while you were in this compromising position with you on the floor and him fawning over you, the delicious thought did cross your mind. You did want him, even though it was a death wish and even though he needed you dead- he looked like he'd satiate that dull need inside of you, that need that you spent years desperate to quell.

‘’How woud you know?’m Stephen blurted out absentmindedly, too blurred by his need to fuck you. God, he wasn't thinking straight. It was insanity fucking an enemy, but you were so surreal. He just couldn't help wanting you.

‘’Everytime I go into someone's head, a piece of me latches onto them. So I know everything.’’ You explained breathless.

‘’Everything?’’ Stephen quirked an eyebrow.

‘’ Everything.’’ You repeated coldly.

‘’So you know how badly I want you.’’ It wasn't really a question or a statement.

You nodded your head slowly.

‘’I know how much of a fucking pussy you are. You won’t kill me. You don’t have the balls for that you little fucking bitch.’’

Stephen took another step towards you. Your eyes darted to his dick and to his eyes, he smirked before letting out a sharp exhale. He placed his hands on your cheek, his thumb soothing the skin. All you could do was stare up at him like an idiot, your lips parted and Stephen's thumb brushed the soft flesh until he slowly put them in your mouth. You moaned softly as your lips clamped around them, swirling your tongue around his digits.

Stephen thought he was dreaming, he could finish right then and there from that sinisterly sexy look alone. You finally let go of his fingers with a pop and a low exhale.

‘’Such a dirty mouth on a such a pretty girl.’’ He tutted before slapping you across the face. Hard. You gasped.

Stephen grasped at your chin and jutted it upwards to gaaze at him, your eyes were unwavering in the process of you tugging his pants and boxers down. He smiled breezily at your reaction of his very well endowed manhood. Shit.

This is exactly what you needed. He let go of you as your eyes flitted from his eyes to his thick veiny cock.

‘’Sweetheart..don’t be dumb...’’ He mumbled, he couldn't finish his sentence as your tongue licked his leaking red tip. Your hands stroked what couldn't fit as your mouth began to fuck him dizzy.

Your mouth was greedy, sucking him and stroking him with a jerk of your wrist, a sensational technique he grew to want more of. You felt so warm and wet around him, your lithe muscle working it's unique sort of magic as your eyes were fixed on him. Stephen's head was hung back as he groaned, he fisted your hair and began pulling you up and down on him. He needed this more than anything, to be treated this way- a beautiful and complicated woman on her knees giving him the most incredible blowjob he'd ever experienced.

‘’I'll finish if you keep going on like that.’m He grumbled.

In an act of defiance you moaned around him, sending vibrations coursing through his body and shooting straight back down to his dick. Stephen felt himself spurt inside of your mouth, it was uncontrollable and he felt like a teenager who finished way to fast- he'd give you a full fucking once you got up from your knees. You thought he tasted really fucking good, your underwear was slick with arousal- you weren't sure of the last time you were desperate to suck someone off.

Lips sliding off him, you gaped up to be met with such discening eyes. Stephen gripped your jaw in an ironlike hold.

‘’Swallow.’’ He gritted lowly, it was an order- you can't remember the last time you were ordered and it made you impossibly wet.

To your surprise, you followed through. You swallowed and darted your tongue out as evidence. He grinned. Suddenly, filled with chivalry, he grabbed your hand and helped you up to your feet, your knees felt wobbly with the bruises of the concrete. That chivalry was short lived however as he pinned you up against the wall, his mouth attacking yours.

You moaned as his big scarred hands were travelling all the way down your body and to the fat of your ass. Stephen could taste himself on your lips and it was sending his mind reeling- it felt so filthy, too filthy for his mind to imagine. Dear God he needed this, he needed. more of you. You were so bad yet so good, like an addict to a drug and he could see you becoming his specific type in no time.

‘’Good girl.’’ He whispered against your lips, fanning the flame to your already heated insides.

‘’Fuck me.’’ You exhaled and whined, begging him to just get you naked, the poke against your thigh was becoming incredibly urgent.

‘’Kiss me with those pretty lips.’’ He breathed, your tongue delved into the depths of his mouth, tongues tangling in a play of dominance.

Stephen kissed and bit harshly at the slender curve of your unblemished neck, strong hands ripping off the fabric of your suit, every rip was a new feeling of skin. You were becoming increasingly more needy as he finally ripped off the last piece, you were only left in your thigh high heels.

Stephen spared a moment just to scan at your naked body, it was better than he could ever imagined. It was like God spent a lifetime creating you. A devious idea formed in his head; he took the fabric at the end of your cloak and ripped it.

‘’Hey! Fucking prick.’’ You protested.

‘’Shut the fuck up.’’

Stephen twisted it and held it against your mouth and forced your teeth to clamp around it. Holy fuck, he was gagging you. As you leaned up against the wall, you arched your back to melt into him, desperate expression meeting his aggressive one. You whined against the fabric, hoping he would get the message.

His palms wandered around your body; to the curve of your ass, the dip of your waist and the fat of your tits. You gasped as his fingers twisted your nipples and flicked at them before his mouth enclosed around them.

The sensation was brutal, your fingers threading between his hair and tugging relentlessly only proved that. Stephen left dark purple bruises in his wake and you were desperate to be claimed.

‘’Inside!’’ You cried out in a vain attempt. He heard your cried and all he could do was look at you with heavy lidded lust clouded eyes.

‘’Oh is that how you like it? Hard and fast?’’ Stephen teased, obviously trying to drag this out. ‘’Brutal?’’

You nodded furiously.

And with that he pushed himself inside of you, your warm wet walls coating him completely- he was quite frankly pulsating inside of you, the ache was so fucking surreal. You jolted up against the wall as he began rutting inside of you, body convulsing as you wrapped your legs around his waist, him hoisting you up. You spat out your gag so you could bite at his earlobe- you bit hard as his mouth nesled in the crook of your neck. Every delectable stretch of your insides made your lower stomach tighten deliciously, Stephen was revelling in the stunning look on your face. So fucked out and beautiful.

‘’Right there, huh? That the spot? Fucking love it don’t you?’' He questioned condescendingly as a means to embarrass you.

‘’Yes! Right there! Fuck...’’ You gasped in between thrusts, the spot that made you see stars.

You were so wet for him, he felt spoiled because of it. Stephen's cock was so thick and long it was reaching depths you could only dream of. You were sure you were about to come undone at any minute. Your body was collidin against the wall with every jolt.

'I'm gonna...fuck..I'm gonna cum!' You screamed, feeling your throat grow raw as you bit your lip. He had to make sure you finished first.

‘’Give in to me. That's it, give in to me.’’ Stephen mumbled into your neck before ultimately finding your lips and smothering his on them.

The coil inside of you broke at an earth shattering pace, time was warped and felt unreal as if you dropped six tabs of acid, but this was a high you never wanted to come down from. Stephen swallowed your sweet moan, the sight of you gushing onto his cock was the best he'd ever seen. Your eyes creased in tense pleasure as a glint of relief coated them. A massive lift of pressure rolling off of you. The feeling of your body alone made him paint your insides a thick white, a sweat broke out from his brow as he spilled himself inside of you with a prolonged deep grunt. Stephen bit your lower lip and tugged it back as he finished. You struggled against him as he finally let you go so your feet found the ground.

Stephen was sure you were a sex God. Only in a black cloak and thigh highed heels.

‘’Are you still going to kill me?’’You panted, the ominious question still looming on your mind.

‘’I think I can arrange something else for us.’’

#dr stephen strange #dr strange angst #dr strange fluff #dr strange x fem!reader #dr strange x y/n #stephen strange smut #dr strange smut #stephen strange

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paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 · 5 months

Note

Thanks for the answers, you & spider-jay are the reasons why I created that small blog post about the young titans group; details about that and more are coming soon ;)

1: I think you said this already butt what is something they get extremely jealous of?

2: Chris, Jon, & Kons outfits are based on the original designs from the comics, what new & original outfits would you give them? I can see Chris wearing a purple & black version of Zods outfit since his lightsaber color is purple; the Z on the outfit stands for despair & Chris changes it to his own version of hope instead (in my Headcanon)

3: what’s the duos reaction to undertaker losing his wrestle mania streak? If they dislike Brock lesnar, who would they choose to end undertakers streak?

4: what’s your favorite alternative universes of the duo?

5: based on questions in the past from me & others, how do you come up with them? Is it based on your likes or is it you look at the characters & decide “this” is their character?

6: any “fluffy” headcanons of the duo? Like Chris using his shadow powers to cuddle & hug his brothers or Jake.

Apologies for the delays my friend @pin-crusher2000

That being said…..

1) While extreme jealousy is way too harsh to describe it overall as the two are quite accepting and courteous as much as kids their age can be; Chris would have an absolute tiny issue with Conner being the premier and most popular of the junior Supers between him, himself and Jon. Meanwhile, Jake would have a tiny bit of comprehension issues with the fact that his powers, whether he actually wanted them at first or not, came in much later in his life while Mar’i was basically and almost literally born with hers.

2) Conner: A White T Shirt with a Black and Red S Shield, a new leather trench coat with a red underside and a golden S Shield on the back, black pants with a two belts and finally brown workman’s boots. Also, he can keep his trademark shades

Chris: (Don’t get me wrong, your idea sounds great in an off itself. Major kudos. Here’s just my idea for a custom suit) A Light Purple and bright Blue Shirt sleeved shirt with gold trimmings around the collar and sleeve holes, at the center of it a Blue and Yellow version of S Shield only the outer part of it modified to resemble a dragon akin to his canon logo, a yellow cape with a blue underside, a light purple and blue pair of pants coupled with a gold belt plus golden boots which have dark blue soles and his S logo on them, and of course his gold headband.

Jon: A Long sleeved shirt that follows the pattern closely to his canonical suit only it’s an actual shirt and not a sweatshirt, a red cape with a blue underside, dark red fingerless gloves, blue pants with yellow trimmings around the belt area and pockets, and finally some extra high top Converse sneakers.

3) Well…..very similar if anything to that guy from that very Mania, the ‘Just Say Yes’ shirt fella. Once they’re able to actually comprehend their thoughts and emotions for their opinions….they both, while liking Lesnar enough as a performer, agree that it really should’ve been Cena or even better Cesaro who should’ve broke the Streak. And if there had been an older talent given those honors, they could probably vouched instead for Sting or even Goldberg to do it.

4) So far, there are some examples that I can think off the top of my head.

Firstly, there’s what @spider-jaysart and I formulated together based on her ideas for an AU featuring gothic monsters and creatures. Here Chris is a ghost while Jake is a vampire. We call it the ‘Dark Monster Adventure Universe’

One other would be based on Pacific Rim, a movie in which alien kaiju invading the Earth are actively fought back by humanity constructing gigantic Mechas that are piloted by two people who are bound and linked together by their thoughts and feelings for each other, platonic, familial or whichever. The better the pilots bond, the better they fight. In a Pacific Rim AU, it’s a no capes type, but Chris and Jake do pilot one of these mechs, a Jarger, together.

Finally and probably cliches for an comic fan but why not; an AU where Chris is firmly Lor Zod and not only aided his father to take over the Earth and terraform it as a New Krypton with the House of Zod at the helm but also the ruling house makes an alliance of sorts with the Earth based Court of Owls, offering their services for assassinating any human politicians and challengers to the Zods’ rule in exchange for that House to allow them to operate under their protection and with access to Kryptonian tech. It’s through the Court we meet up with their version of Jake as the entirety of the Grayson family are made part of the Owls. Kory and Mar’i are ambassadors of sorts to other alien races that comes across Earth while Dick is firmly in command of the Court’s Talons. Jake would be among the Talons, already having the electrum working in his bloodstream as for Tamaraneans, hybrid or purebred, has a tendency to activate immediately whether the person is still actually alive or undead. Jake in particular serves as Lor’s personal bodyguard, their own adventures usually centering on taking down any rival supervillains or alien warlords who wish to upset this status quo

Sooooo…ironically like that Sinister Sons book in a way….hopefully this is would be better than that one lol

5) I base the characterizations and interactions with these characters with what hopefully is a healthy blend of both their canonical appearances and personalities and admittedly also some of my own interests and tastes influencing them as well. If only really to fill in the gaps their canonical depictions otherwise left out or weren’t explored as much. For instance, given we mainly saw Chris as a six year old and later a teenager, how would a twelve year old version of him who adapted fully to life on Earth would be like or how would Jake’s behavior be like if he not only grew up in a world where his Dad didn’t use a device from Apokolips to end an all out war between metahumans, didn’t follow it up with being the face of an authoritarian regime that makes being meta human illegal and also didn’t have Kory leave the family to establish a resistance force against said regime. All that plus having an older sister.

Yeah as one can tell, wish fulfillment with these guys is a thing for me at least. Though I try my best being consistent with their characterizations within canonical depictions and even in this very AU itself. Keyword try though, I’m sure there’s times I messed it up. I’ll be more than happy if someone points them out. No problem

- When asleep, Jake is probably the second biggest cuddle bug of the entire family, only surpassed by his Mother. It’s almost completely involuntary and an act of pure instinct when it happens as it can be in nearly any place that’s cozy and safe, including but not limited to the couch and his bedroom. It especially kicks in if it’s next to family members but none of them mind it at all. It’s warms their mood up and it literally also warms them up as like with other Tamaraneans, Jake has a pretty warm body temperature even when he’s not directly cuddling anyone

- Also yes, Chris’ shadow constructs can be used to hug those closest to him, especially if they feel down but politely request for their personal space. Shadow constructs though don’t count as breaking that personal space so they allow it.

- Finally, the Duo regularly on some days if the time is right and doable, can visit local children’s hospitals and cancer wards throughout both Bludhaven and Metropolis. They’d spend a good amount of time talking to the many patients there, offering comfort to those who are scared and fearful of their illnesses and injuries, play around the place with those who want to do so whether the doctors are okay with it or not, taking small photos with those patients and their families, and generally just be an uplifting presence for the patients, a lot of them being around their age range or younger.

#chris kent #jake grayson #starburst duo #mari grayson #connor kent #jonathan samuel kent #wwe #undertaker #au #pacific rim #lor zod #court of owls #talon #dick grayson #koriand'r #general zod

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tanoraqui · 9 months

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Trope prompt: idril/tuor/maeglin, enemies to lovers, castle?

[please give me 2-3 characters + 1-3 tropes!]

(I'm just answering these with the superhero au every time I can't quickly think of a more canon idea. Also, I'm toying with new ideas for Idril's power)

"Verificia, please!" Tuor called, struggling against the cascading sonic blasts. "You have to stop!"

"False!" Idril snapped, and turned the sonic cannon up another notch. "I don't have to do anything! And my name is Light Queen!"

Truth. And she wasn't limited to just her petty power of knowing true statements from false. She'd spent her whole life with access to the research labs of a dozen of the most genius mad scientists on the planet, and when she'd finally decided that she'd had enough, he'd ransacked them on her way out. She stood now at the top of a tower made with Penlod 1's patent-pending Speed-Constructinator, the walls mounted with Saldor's infamous sonic canon, Ecthelion's Tidal Blaster v12.8, Rog's Hammer Gun, and a full basket of Glorfindel's latest explosive flowers.

She threw one of those down, now.

Maeglin threw his hands up, dragging shadow from beneath his feet into a shield above his and Tuor's heads.

"Fine!" her cousin shouted. "But why are are you doing this?"

"Because I'm sick of it!" Idril shouted back (truth), and pelted them with more explosive flowers. The shadows wobbled with each burst of light. "Why should you get to be the rebellious teen villain of our generation, just because you have freaky darkness powers? Why do I have to be the good girl, just because I have a boring, non-combat power? I can beat Frost King in chess!"

"Why does either of you have to be a supervillain?" Tuor demanded.

"You don't understand," Idril said witheringly (truth). "You're just an intern. You don't even have powers."

Maeglin's shadow-shield broke completely. He cried out in pain and squeezed his eyes shut, and raised his cape to generate more darkness.

Tuor pushed past his defensive position, another few feet up the jumbled cliff that Idril had turned into a terrible tower.

"I don't care if I'm just an intern!" he shouted (truth), as Idril got bored with the flowers and hauled the Tidal Blaster into position on her shoulder. "I don't care what powers you have, or I don't!" (Truth). "I love you!"

(Truth.)

Idril's finger hovered over the trigger, which, pulled, would slam anything she aimed at with roughly 900lbs of water.

"You- what?"

#jaz the bard #idril #tuor #maeglin #i think maeglin is albino in this 'verse #idk what his superhero name is. it's probably something like...Shadowlad rn #rip to all teen heroes for their names tbh #tuor is gonna be like. gull boy? maybe osprey boy or something. give him SOME dignity #ask meme #superheroes #my fic #silm super au

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muzzzzle · 8 months

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The Lord of the Shore

I have a bunch more gorgeous screens from @phinik and finally, the time has come for the graphorn scene in my Volatile Times fic, so I decided to upload the whole extract from the 20th chapter, hope you like it! Here are my personal favourites with the Lord of the Shore and Nancy :3

The smell of the ocean tickled her nostrils pleasantly. The waves licked the edge of the land, hissing and foaming, leaving smooth, shiny sand behind them, the rising crests of the waves splashed with the sun, which had almost sunk below the horizon, casting the rocky shore in a pre-dusk haze. It took a while to find the spot — Sebastian couldn't remember the exact location — and they circled the cape for quite a while, looking for signs of movement below. The wind was gusty and damp, making the broomstick slippery, so Montgomery, clutching at it with stiffened hands, almost shrieked with delight when the huge skeleton of a dragon loomed below, its white, semicircular ribs resembling the vaults of an archway. The Slytherin gestured to confirm her hunch and they landed a little further away, carefully making their way along the rocks.

“Most spells don't work against it — the graphorn's hide is thicker than the dragon's," Sallow continued to rattle off facts in a low voice, making Nancy feel like a complete dimwit. When did he become a magozoological expert? “We need to wear it out.”

Montgomery nodded and, taking a careless step, slipped, nearly hitting a sharp bone sticking out of the ground just around the corner. She shrieked more from surprise than fright and hurried to cover her mouth, but it was too late. Two amber eyes gleamed in the haze, trying to reveal the source of the noise. The creature's huge head came into view a second later, a graphorn with its broad forehead, topped by massive, golden-glowing horns and other smaller sharp outgrowths, thrust forward beginning to accelerate. Nancy froze, lost.

“I'll distract it!” Sebastian rushed in the other direction, showering the beast with a hail of flashes that didn't seem to cause it the slightest discomfort. “Get out of there, Montgomery!”

As if waking up, she darted sideways, dodging the tank as it came at her and barely managing to put up a block — the only thing that saved her head from being smashed against the rocks. The beast's blazing horn slammed into her shield like red-hot gold, sending sparks and discharges through its surface and throwing Nancy towards the shore. Her defence withstood the graphorn's onslaught but melted before she could land, causing her to drive painfully over the rocky growths, tearing her palms, elbows, and cheek to blood. The pain sobered her up a bit and made her pull herself together — Montgomery managed to avoid serious injuries, so she clutched her wand tightly and quickly jumped up to try and assess the situation.

The beast turned around slowly — with its body mass, it clearly lacked agility — which Nancy deduced meant she just had to be fast and unpredictable enough to keep it from catching up with her in a direct attack. Moving in short zigzags, she sprinted off towards the hissing waves, where she had less chance of being squeezed between the rocks. Sebastian was somewhere behind the beast, frantically trying to distract it by casting spells, but all was in vain, the graphorn chasing after her with its amber-gold eyes. For some reason, Nancy thought she could see incredible tiredness in them, though they couldn't have exhausted him in such a short time.

“Damn it!” Sallow swore, realising that his attacks were having no effect, and using his wand to force up a huge boulder, he brought it down on top of the giant and wailed desperately. “Montgomery, have you forgotten who you are? Tear him down with your ancient magic or whatever!”

The boulder, splintering into several pieces as it met the rugged spine, threw off the unfortunate creature's acceleration a little, causing its powerful paws to part on the sand. Nancy couldn't take her eyes off it — she'd seen many of the creatures already, and while she couldn't always get along easily with all of them, she was well able to understand the reasons for their aggression — most of them attacked out of fear of being attacked. It was unlikely that a beast like the graphorn was trusting of humans — there was a reason why there were so few of them left. He hadn't attacked her out of mere bloodthirst — the beast was simply defending its home. She couldn't bring herself to use ancient magic against such a creature, not when its eyes were so piercing, making everything inside her clench.

The Lord of the Shore shook his head and flexible tail inexorably, causing the stone chips that had lodged between the plates on his back and scruff to fly toward Sebastian, then raised his head up and let out a deafening half moan, half growl. Suddenly jumping to his feet, he noisily blew air out of his nostrils and came straight at Nancy again, the golden sparks from his horns travelling like discharges down his body. The hunch growing inside for some time now grew stronger. Following her inner instinct, Montgomery bowed her head and put her hands out in a conciliatory gesture, slowly kneeling down. The beast, whose entire body now seemed like a huge vessel of molten gold, kicking up rocks and the spray of the surging wave from under its clawed paws, began to slow down, approaching her at a trot and then stopping altogether. The Gryffindor raised her head uncertainly, feeling his hot and noisy breath. The graphorn watched her incredulously and carefully, the leathery tentacles near its mouth swaying in the breeze. Nancy, without sudden movement, rose and approached, slowly reaching her hand to the broad plated nose, touching gingerly. The beast closed its eyes peacefully and made a deep chest sound.

“I'm sorry I had to disturb you," she said softly as if cradling him, running her hand over the pointed growths on his muzzle. “I really need your help.”

The graphorn couldn't understand what she was saying to him, but tucked his paws under him and lowered himself to the sand, allowing her to climb on his back. Nancy stroked his plates again and turned round, her eyes searching for her companion, who was moving towards them, a little battered but still in one piece. The Gryffindor jumped onto the calmed beast's back and waved for Sebastian to speed up and join her. Picking up their abandoned brooms, he jumped onto her Ember Dash, using his wand to make the other broom fly beside him, and approached Montgomery, eyeing her steed warily as it started up the winding path.

“Are you all right?” The girl shouted to him, trying not to fall off the constantly bouncing ridge.

“It's okay. Tell me, what did you do to him to make him so docile?” Sallow asked, puzzled but not without admiration.

Nancy clung tighter, wrapping her legs around the beast's torso as they raced up the slope. She couldn't explain to Sebastian why she'd done what she'd done, just as she couldn't explain it to herself. She remembered her last conversation with Akello about connecting with nature and harmony.

“It was instinctive," the Gryffindor admitted, snuggling closer to the ridge of the Lord of the Shore, and raising her eyes to her friend, she added. “I'm glad you came with me, Sebastian, thank you.”

Sallow broke into a contented smile and said nothing. They spent the rest of the way in silence.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy screenshots #graphorn #volatile times #volatile times fanfic #nancy montgomery #the lord of the shore

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rosetyler42 · 10 months

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Ericka Pregnancy Dump Part 2!

1. Cute/funny idea I recently came up with of sleepy pregnant Ericka trying to get some work done (I'm sure both in WIR-Verse and in her regular one, she'd try to keep working as long as she can. Even if she gets taken off in-game duties. She's very much the cheerful enthusiastic passionate about her job workaholic like Joy is. And we all know about Joy's Stonetide faceplant.) Mavis of course is helpful, having been there once in a way. And Van Helsing...well, let's just say it's a little bit of payback for the times Ericka's been annoyed by his tendency to take impromptu naps. Not the best idea to be making those jokes next to the daughter of his former rival who's the one of the 3 who's actually BEEN there, but still. He would. XD

2/3. XD I drew Hungry pregnant Ericka. Along with a fun bit of fluff that spun out of it. Yes, I broke my craving rule but him calming her down/distracting her with a kiss is adorable. And it does have the spirit of the idea anyway.

4. Was in the mood for some new mom Ericka stuff. (Again, it's regular Ericka to make it workable for both universes.) When I drew the first one with Drac, I kinda figured Ericka would be wiped out from the end of a twin pregnancy and either birth or a c-cection. So she waited a bit to hold the twins so she could rest up. Thinking about that and the irony of Ericka worrying about being cold since she was raised by her strict, by-the-book Great-Grandfather with how I think she'd actually be (I do love Mama Ericka, whether it's with Mavis or the twins.), It inspired this.

Don't worry, she'll get to the "Look at these! I made these!" Showing the twins off to everybody point eventually. But everyone else had a chance while she was wiped, she wants her moment to bond and she's not letting go of her baby bats that easily.

5. Wanted to draw Ericka curled up asleep in the cape. Ended up being pregnant Ericka. Bonus sleepy Transylvanian and Ericka hugging her bump as she sleeps!

(And she was worried she might be a harsh cold mom, having beem raised by a strict, not-too-affectionate guardian herself.)

6. This one came to me while I was working on a previous idea. I liked the idea of Drac, despite actually being the one killable by sunlight, shielding/sheltering Ericka under his cape. Even better with her being pregnant since pregnancy DOES make your skin more sensitive AND can cause you to overheat since you feel warmer anyway with all the extra bloodflow. Hense this wholesome moment. (This may possibly be in Game Central Station. I've played with the idea that, like Bot Fighter, HT's time zones are flipped since most of the game happens at night.

Bonus:

" Nice hat...Isn't that your monster festival hat?"

"**blushing, looking away** Y-yez. I know it lookz zilly on me, but it'z ztill the mozt protective thing I have. Vell, I mean, bezidez the babushkaz, and-"

"Hmm, well you're hot to me, handsome vamp. **chuckle** ...Seriously, though. I like it. Sure, it's no ax. But...You look charming in ANYTHING."

7. This started out as a gag where Frank (being something of the calmer laid-back one of the group normally and almost the 2nd in command of the pack before Ericka came along. Especially in the first one. He's also kinda Ericka's "big brother" figure I think.) was trying to keep the guys from crowding Ericka trying to touch her bump and ended up being just general "family with a new/expectant mom" chaos of everybody around Ericka and her kind of giggling to herself about being surrounded by all this. I kinda like that, it shows how far my girl has come. Going from being largely on her own, doing for others more than herself, and actually at one point ignored or intimidated when she was upset to being fussed over and surrounded by family. It's sweet.

8. Drew this one a while back based on some fat Serleena screenshots XD (Since Ericka's pregnant with Twins and MIB 2 is also a Columbia Pictures film, I think the comparison is...kinda funny. Plus Ericka WOULD joke about eating people to those who point out how big she's gotten.)

9. I had to do the packs' reaction to finding out about Ericka having twins some point. while all of them ribbing him would be funny, I ended up going a little more with personality: Frank being the happy supportive guy, Murray's the excited one, Wayne's the experienced one trying to offer help, and of course Griffin is the smart-alec jokester. Drac's reaction to this is...well, what you'd expect. XD

Kinda fun to include Wayne in this considering he didn't really get a chance to react to Drac's crush on Ericka with the others (Aside from his comment in the Novelization which it's a shame it didn't happen in the film XD)

10. And the first drawing of the new year: Wanted to draw Dracula with his newborn twin babies. Ended up adding bonus post-labor Ericka. (Been whembling about if she actually does labor or a C-section.)

@gothicthundra @ebevkisk @neo-storm @that-obsessed-gay-girl @sine-qua-noon @chica-chuu @animatedpixie @erickadracula @ericka-van-helsing @erickaanddraculasblog @ericka4ever @elenadracula @drericka @drericka-prompts @drericka-is-lyfe-blog @drerickastan @thenerdynightprincess13 @thesecreatoroftrans @f-mhoteltransylvaniacomicseries @kittyball23 @lovelylivelyv

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phoeebsbuffay · 2 years

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Imagine you are Anakin’s Padawan who sacrifice for the Master you love in order to prevent his fall to darkness and become Lady Vader. Together with Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, the anguished Anakin is trying all he can in his power to bring you back to life. Part I.

Warnings: none exactly. It’s too long and there’ll be a part 2.

Warnings 2: based on “The Clone Wars” and “Episode III: Revenge of the Sith”, with alterations. Padmé plays the role of an ex flame to Anakin. 🤭

Warnings 3: loosely based on “This Love”, “I Did Something Bad”, “Look What You Made Me Do”, “Wildest Dreams”, all songs by Taylor Swift. 😏

***

Preface.

A cape slips over your body as the hood that falls upon your face hides your features. Your frame is barely perceptible: you are like a ghost, floating over the floor, invisible to some, erased from most people’s memories.

You follow your new master, observing his plans in destroying new planets all the while he’s architecting the destruction of innocents. You give the order 66. You are not yourself anymore.

You stare the emptiness. But when you fall asleep, you are haunted by his pain, his misery, his frustrations. You want to console him, your good side is willing to spare him of all of this.

Don’t. Don’t make this to yourself, Master. I did what I did to save you. So you wouldn’t suffer.

Then you are awake, bathed in salty tears. Drowned under a menace that not even the Emperor suspects to rise again.

Tentacles of darkness tighten the grip upon you. You suffocate. The image of Anakin on his knees, weeping over you, is terrifying. You want to love him. You’ve always loved him. You never expected him to love you in return… even though he did. But the dark force makes you forget the love that bounded you together.

This love only makes you feel bad. This love brings the good out of you. You are angry at yourself. You thought you were saving him, but when you jumped in these waters, you never came back to surface. A price you were more than willing to pay if it meant his safety.

You’ve lost yourself. And when you realize that, darkness eclipses the sun you once were. It’s when you dress your dark robes and throws the vine cape over your small frame, that you know. This love might come back to you.

But you are gone.

Or so you thought.

***

Years before your fall.

Anakin’s POV.•

When Anakin was told he’d get a Padawan after Ahsoka Tano went away, he didn’t receive the news well. He was still grieving the loss of the one who was like a daughter to him. Like the first time, he wasn’t receptive to the idea of instructing a Jedi-to-be.

But it wasn’t a youngling that would come to him, no. In spite of his resistance, a young woman that was close to be knighted was put under his care. She’d have to go through some trials and because her former master was killed under mysterious circumstances, Anakin was given the responsibility to guide her until the end.

However he wasn’t expecting that you would…uh, look the way you did. Your hair proved a stark contrast to how you presented yourself, calm like waters. Red as flame, it was tied in a very elaborated braid much in the same style Anakin saw in the hairs of the ladies of nobility. It was as if that deep shade red called out your personality.

However, your oval face was delicate with fine features; he noticed how your eyes were open, observing and somewhat shy. Your lips, full, slightly opened in a gentle smile when greeting your new master. But to Anakin’s horror, he came to perceive your handsomeness in other aspects too. When looking down at you, your Jedi robes seemed to reinforce your curves.

He had to shield his mind and suppress his inappropriate thoughts when greeting you.

“This is Y/N, Anakin.” Obi-Wan proudly introduced the two of you. “She was the Padawan of Master Dias before all that tragedy happened, which only recently we’ve come to discover his unfortunate whereabouts. You will be charged to educate her, better yet, to improve her education so she can go to her trials easily.”

Oh, Maker. Here we go again.

“Since I have little choice upon the matter…Greetings, Y/N. I’m Anakin Skywalker and I’ll be your new master.” He took you under his wing, redirecting you away from other Jedis. “I’m sorry about what happened to your former master. But since we are here, I need to know what you’ve learnt so far.”

You were quiet, introspective. So different from Ahsoka that a comparison was inevitable. Anakin didn’t like that. He struggled to understand your thoughts since you’ve learnt to shield them well.

Ugh.

But Anakin would not take long to know that quiet waters hid deadly menaces. Or, as often Obi-Wan told him, the quietest ones often thought too loud.

“You must give me all you have, come on!” He knew he pushed you to the edge. And he was pleased when by doing so your cooling mask didn’t resist anymore.

“I… am… trying!” You exclaimed, frustrated. “This isn’t how I operate, Master!”

“Well I am your Master now”, Anakin said arrogantly. “I know you can give me better than that.”

He smirked as you frowned at him. That day the two of you were fighting without sabers because, as Anakin instructed you, sometimes you could miss it in the heat of the battle or the enemy might steal it from you. So then what? He’d claim that, as important as your lightsaber was, one must never rely entirely one’s survival on it.

So there you were. Using the Force to attack your new Master, who had little difficulty to counterattack you. And that was how you fell. Again.

And again.

“ARGH!” You yell eventually, frustrated.

Anakin then decided to give you a break, seeing that frustration he knew so well in his own days as a Padawan to Obi-Wan. He stood out his hand for you and you took it, though having initially refused because you were proud.

“You are doing a good job, Y/N.” He saw tears running up to your eyes, and the struggle you were putting to hold them back. His heart would have softened his behavior, but… something stopped him. Ahsoka wouldn’t have cried. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Yet, you overhead your Master’s thoughts. And he realized a little too late that you did. You didn’t say nothing, rather nodding. Since Anakin ended the training that day, you went back to your quarters. He watched you go, defeated.

For fuck sake.

“Y/N.” Anakin called your name as he ran after you. “I’m sorry.”

“What for, Master?” Your voice came out gently, mirroring the sensitive soul that were often seen in your eyes. Anakin was forced to acknowledge that you were not Ahsoka. And thank the Maker for that. You looked at him confused. “I should be the one to apologize for not matching your…hum… expectations.”

Anakin didn’t see until now the bruises in your arms. He hasn’t notice your curves until recently either. Oh damn.

“No need to apologize for that. It’s just… I should have realized this was going to be difficult for you as it was for me”, said he. Now both of you were out of the red room, Anakin led you to your quarters. “I had difficulties when the Council went after my Padawan like that. You must know the story…”

“I have heard about it”, you said almost solemnly. “If It’s a comfort for you, I didn’t agree with the Council’s resolution when it came to my knowledge. We are all worthy of second chances, are we not?”

Anakin was positively surprised as he saw through the goodness you naturally projected in your manners that you could be compassionate and kind.

A small smirk twisted in the corner of his lips.

“I think we are more similar than I thought, Y/N.”

To which you smiled in response.

“I agree, Master.”

***

Current Days. Death Star.

Your POV.•

Your Master asks for you. Sensing conflict in you, the Emperor wants to test you. You have been occupied checking the clones and other bureaucracies that you detest.

When you find him in the usual spot, you know he’s not entirely pleased with your service and you don’t have to speculate too much.

I should have shielded my mind better.

“Lady Vader”, the voice comes out from the dark hood that prevents you to see his face even though there’s no need for that knowing who he is. “Do I detect a troubled conscience in you?”

You step forward and go down in one knee, your eyes on the floor. A position of subjugation. Some part of you shakes against the chains of the dark force. The disturbance has never felt so strong.

Like a prey, you fall right into the fangs of the snake. You suffocate. It’s unbearable. So you give in, because there’s little point to struggle. Because a part of you…enjoys it. To be drawn to darkness. To be… yourself.

“No, Master.”

“You better not. In fact, I sense you have been bored. Given the amount of power you have, it’s understandable. Surrounded by ants you are.” He laughs. A cold laughter deprived of joy. A sound that scratches your ears.

“They are useless.” It’s what you say. “But their skills can work well for us.”

“Indeed.” He makes a pause as if to decide whether you are worthy of his trust. He seems to think you do because Palpatine says: “Naboo is, much to our dismay, resisting our forces. I have only recently learned that Senator Amidala has been rescued. The rebels are planning a direct attack against us. We ought to stop their success in reclaiming our planet.”

You sense where this is going to take you. But prepared for what’s to be said, all you do is nod.

“It also came to my attention that Order 66 has not been as effective as I have hoped”, the Emperor continues. “You must destroy the remaining Jedis, Lady Vader. Do you think you could do that?”

You see a smirk beneath that dark hood. Hate is seen through Force, but somehow you manage to manipulate the Emperor that this sentiment is not addressed to him, but to your former companions.

“Good, good. I wouldn’t like to think that destroying Anakin Skywalker might constitute a problem to you.”

You knew this is what would come to eventually. But hearing his name almost cost your mental shield. You feel that chain again tighten your wrist, your neck… your soul.

“Is it going to be?”

You breathe. Almost mechanically, even though you are not a machine.

“No, Master. I will sweep the Jedis out of the Galaxy as it should have been done long time ago.” You say most convincingly.

“Excellent. Never forget, Vader, that I don’t tolerate failures.”

There’s no need to speak. You bow and prepare to leave. As you take the ship, coordinating the clones to two more ships, ready to command the Order 66, your mind drives you back to the old days. So unwelcoming, so… unwanted.

Flashback of your Padawan days.

You remember the first mission you went with Anakin the two of you struggled to adapt to each other’s modus operandi. He was always doing everything himself, not expecting to get any help from you.

“Master, I need to acquire experience in field so I can go to my trials without much trouble.” You told him, patient as ever. Even if he did test you sometimes.

“Y/N, you’ll be fine with the trials. I know that, believe me.” He chuckled. Always arrogant, always cocky.

You could only sigh. Sometimes you’d surprise him by not listening to his orders and playing the reckless one when you were instructed not to.

“What did I tell you not to do?” Anakin sighed exasperated.

“I did defeat the Ventress, though”, you smirked and surprised him when you pointed out to Dooku’s former pupil unconscious on the floor.

“Did you kill her?” He asked you with eyebrows raised. You felt so full of yourself because, finally, you had impressed your Master.

“Of course not, Master. That is not the Jedi way to resolve things.” You quoted him, which made him smirk in turn.

“Congratulations are in order, Padawan. You did manage to suprehend me.”

“You should not underestimate me, Master.” You told him gleefully.

That was the first day you noticed the deep blue that painted his eyes. They seemed so…inviting. You thought best not to look straight away. How fool you were making yourself.

If he had seen something about the way you looked at him, he’d not say a word. Nonetheless, Anakin pressed a hand over your shoulder and said:

“That was what I meant when I told you that the trials would be easy peasy.”

His confidence over you made you smile. Any insecurity about being his Padawan seemed to dissipate. There was trust between you two at long last.

And he was there when you went to your trials. Before you entered the rooms where your exam was expected to be performed, he said:

“Don’t trust your sentiments, but listen to your instincts.”

“Aren’t both the same?” You asked him confused.

“Sort of. With the difference that the instincts often prove to be more reasonable and thus correct. They are useful in deadly missions, you know that, having fought the Ventress.”

You felt encouraged by his words, how he recollected a great victory in your Padawan career so far. Anakin seemed to be pleased for providing you more confidence, aware that you needed that.

Master Windu was there to preside the trials. He swept the smile off your face when he said:

“This is not a mission, Y/N. You may have defeated the Ventress, but this is different. Overconfidence is not the Jedi way.”

That was the day you found out how arrogant you thought this Master was. And he called himself a Jedi? You scoffed.

But there was little time to overthink his words. The trials were difficult, mostly because they played tricks with your mind. To live your worst nightmares and battle them with the conscience that they could not overpower you… was uneasy. Nonetheless, it was all thanks to Anakin, whose methods and hard trainings shaped your fighting skills, that you were able to subdue the simulator.

“Y/N, a difficult year you went through”, master Yoda said. Lights turned on and exhausted you were, but happier for having it ended. You sought the eyes of your master. Anakin was there, eyes twinkling with pride, a sight that made your heart melt and nearly diverted you from Yoda’s speech. “…and here you are. Down to your knees must you go, Y/N. To welcome you amongst the fellow Jedis we are to knight you.”

You did so. However content you were for this moment, though, you were disappointed that Anakin wasn’t the one to bestow you the knighthood. And you could tell he was disappointed too. You were the only there present to sense his dissatisfaction.

Present Days.

“Lady Vader, what are your orders?”

You are brought back to the moment. Swallowing hard, you say:

“I want them alive. Bring the rebels to me and I’ll be the one to judge their fate.”

You finally land in Naboo. The beauty of the planet is not what once was and part of you laments that the war led that region to this point of destruction.

You leave your ship thus, dressed in a long black velvet gown with a hood over your head. You ought to inspire better fear when you remain unseen. It’s alluring, but every enchant seems amiss at the thought of seeing Anakin again.

You know he’s nearby. You close your eyes. You feel each other. The battle is inevitable.

Your heart breaks again.

***

Flashback.

Anakin’s POV.•

He hoped to dissipate his frustration once he took you out to celebrate. But Anakin could not distract you from himself.

“What’s the matter, Master?“ you asked him, worried. “Did I do something to upset you?”

For the very first time your hair was not tied, but fell loose behind your shoulders. It was like watching fire burn intently. A beautiful sight to behold. It did divert Anakin from his thoughts.

“Uh? Hm, no. Y/N, of course not.” Anakin sought to assure you. “Come now, we have to celebrate your success. If I remember correctly, you can’t drink alcohol, right?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Master, don’t change topics. I know something’s troubling you and I think I know what this is.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“If you think you know what that might be, why should I tell you?”

“Because you need to trust in me”, you told him. Your good heart always surprised him, often caught him out of guard. “I am not just your Padawan, but a friend you can rely on.”

Anakin chuckled at how mature you sound. He couldn’t believe it. And you were, what, seventeen?

As if you read his thoughts, you corrected him:

“I’m nineteen, Master. I’m hardly underage.” And you smirked. “This tells you that, yes, law allows me to drink alcohol.”

Anakin laughed. He could tell you were lighter when got him in a better mood. In fact, when looking at your demeanor, he was suspecting to see something rather different, even though he could not decipher what that was.

“You don’t have to keep things to yourself.” You insisted again. “Is it because the Council refuses to acknowledge your efforts as a Jedi?”

“What makes you think that?” Anakin wasn’t sure if he appreciated how well you proved to be a people reader. Or… a good reader about him, anyway.

As you entered in the restaurant dressed in Jedi robes, Anakin requested two drinks for both of you.

“I will not talk about this matter today, Y/N. I want to celebrate your conquest.”

He saw in your eyes the stubbornness. You are not dropping the matter.

“Fine, if you say so.” But you didn’t convince him about it. “What did you think about the trials?”

“Easy peasy”. He told you with a smirk on his lips. “You did go to worse battles when we were in the galaxy, no matter what Windu told you. Ventress was a difficult opponent that even Obi-Wan struggled to overpower.”

As drinks were served along food, the talks began to gradually become more casual.

“I appreciate that. Thank you, Master.”

It all began with a sip.

“It’s Anakin now, Y/N.”

Why was he locking eyes with you? When Anakin realized you didn’t break away from his gaze, he was forced to do so. But he didn’t like how it felt.

“If you say so.” Anakin detected a happier tone in your voice.

Anakin rose his eyes again. He had his reasons not to get involved with someone ever since Padmé broke up with him. He was still healing from the occasion, specially because he used to think she was the love of his life. It’s been thirteen months…but it doesn’t hurt like it used to.

“I do say so.” A second long sip followed the first one. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this. Did you have fun with your former Master?”

The next confession caught him off guard. Again.

“I never went outside the Jedi Temple.” You told him. “Had very few friends and preferred to occupy myself with books and trainings.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow at you. He leant forward on the table where he rested his elbows, staring right into your eyes. The Jedi never seemed to notice the grey that colored your irises.

“Am I corrupting you? By the Maker, what kind of Master am I?”

The two of you laughed, in a louder volume. When seeing the frown the owner of the restaurant addressed you two, Anakin asked for the check. It also came to his attention that you were going as red as your hair.

The stars were sparkling the night, ruling the dark skies uncontestedly by the time you left the restaurant, somewhat…drunk.

The two of you locked hands, intertwining your fingers as Anakin led you outdoors, which you didn’t seem to mind. Though you were nervous, there were butterflies in your stomach.

“Y/N…” Anakin was now more serious. He made you turn at him. The whole place fell silent. There were just the two of you. “This night is flawless.”

You thought you should part the gaze, remove his hand and prevent him from putting a lock of your hair behind your ear. But you didn’t. Anakin sensed your heart race. He knew he shouldn’t either.

But before either considered interrupt the moment concerning the non attachment rule of the Jedi Order, he pressed a kiss on your lips. It was slow. Hesitantly, suddenly sober. It was meant only to brush his lips against yours. However when he smelled your scent, his hands cupped your cheeks and he gave in. His tongue broke into your reluctant mouth and was positively surprised by the response yours gave him.

Before the kiss was meant to grow intense, giving path to your souls reclaim each other’s carnally, Anakin broke it. He parted from you and he could see disappointment in your eyes, though you smiled rather shyly.

Anakin took your hand to his lips and there pressed a kiss.

“Thank you, Y/N. For providing me peace.”

And the next words would never leave his heart.

“I would do anything in my power to make you feel this way… Ani. Your happiness lightens my world.”

A small smirk turned into a crooked grin when his eyes melt in yours.

“As yours brings balance to my universe, Y/N.”

That was when he finally fell for you.

The secretive relationship went quiet for the next two years. Because you both were occupied fighting the Clone Wars, there was little time to dwell in the real nature of the matters of your heart, as much as you wanted to take things to another level.

You thought you were fine with it, though, until the day you were assigned a mission to Naboo. There were matters that required the attention of its Senator, a beautiful woman named Padmé Amidala. You had no idea she was once romantically associated to Anakin until the day Obi-Wan casually mentioned:

“You see, Y/N, it’s funny how things can be… Ever since Padmé and him ended their romantic liaison, he refused to go to Naboo. Suddenly he’s been well resolved. I suppose our talk resolved whatever unfinished business he had there.”

There was little time to ask him about it, and you knew clones were with you when you took ship to Naboo. Anakin knew you were serious, more than usual. But he sensed something was wrong. He managed to talk to you away from the men and when he asked the reason you were grumpy, you shoot him a glare and said:

“Why didn’t you tell me Senator Padmé was once the object of your affections?”

Oh. So this is what it’s about. Shit. Should have seen that coming…

“I… to be honest, I forgot to tell you about it.”

“Forgot to tell me about it?” You hissed lowly so only he heard you. “How could you keep this away from me, Anakin?!”

“I don’t have feelings for her anymore! I swear!” He was genuinely preoccupied you’d not believe him and for now, you didn’t give in to the sudden rise of jealousy you’ve never felt until now.

“Well I hope so. For your sake.”

Anakin knew you were hurt. He could search for your feelings and find the truth. Wasn’t ironic how he was placed in the same shoes Padmé was when he was jealous about Clovis? Now, however, he couldn’t really care less about them.

But as cordialities were expected to a mission as diplomatic as this, you realized you were not strong enough to prevent jealousy fang its claws upon your chest when you saw how warmly Padmé received Anakin. And he ignored you all the way after a brief introduction.

You didn’t like that. To watch him touch her elbow and smile down at her. Your chest burnt with rage and you had to excuse yourself to walk outside, but it was right when Anakin called you to summarize the requests of the Jedis to the Senator.

“I thought you’d already given her, Master”, you tried to say cooly, but Anakin narrowed his eyes. He knew you.

“Come now, I forgot the instructions Obi-Wan gave you.” Turning to Padmé he added: “She’s his favorite now. Obi-Wan says he trusts her prudence more than me, can you believe that?”

You blushed.

“I can hardly tell you why, Anakin”, said the Senator, amused.

You ended up doing as you were told, feeling a small hint of regret for letting jealousy cloud your judgement. Padmé was kind and possessed a good heart, even if her eyes lingered a little too much in Anakin’s features.

After dinner, you were ready to go back to bed, when he came for you.

“Y/N… We must talk.”

You knew why he was coming after you, aware you were sulking and therefore not in the best mood. Hence why you’ve been avoiding him all afternoon. But it was the way he looked at you that operated a change in your mind as Anakin had hoped.

“I love you”, he said, leaning you against the door of your private bedchambers. “You live in my heart now, my lady on fire.”

You looked right into his eyes. Anakin knew too well what you were feeling and only now he understood the perils of jealousy. But, unlike him, you were more prompted to reason than to angst bursts. So you believed in his words instead of prolonging arguments.

You kissed him passionately in response before dragging him inside your private quarters. Anakin mostly gladly complied to your wishes…

(To be continue)

#star wars #Star Wars imagine #Anakin Skywalker #Darth Vader #lady Vader #Anakin Skywalker x you #Anakin Skywalker x reader #Anakin Skywalker x y/n #Anakin Skywalker fic #alternative universe

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