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sserajeans · 7 months

Text

mine

kim minji x fem! reader

synopsis: you both knew love came with downhills, but neither of you thought it'd get that bad. you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter, and she's the best thing you could ever call 'mine'.

genre + others: non-idol reader x idol minji, goes over the ups and downs of their relationship, semi angst but fluff end TRUST ME

notes: (TW: implied suicide of minor character) , y/n has been through so much pls give her a break, idk if either of them were toxic, but they work around it bc love >>>, not requested, i was just listening to the album and got an idea that made my soul go WHOOSH hehe, THIS IS A VERY LONG ONE

WORD COUNT: 6.9k

you were in college, working part-time, waiting tables. left a small town, never looked back. i was a flight risk, with a fear of fallin', wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts.

you and minji were your friend group's favorite couple. almost anyone would agree, actually.

you met in high school when you transferred from a smaller, almost unknown town under a merit scholarship sponsored by the school. you were your family's pride and joy, the eldest daughter and older sister to two siblings. your parents weren't born with the same comfort they provided you and your siblings, or any comfort at all. it took a lot of work for them to get to where they were, and even then they still work day and night to give a life better than theirs for their children.

being born first, you witnessed everything. the blood, sweat, and tears your parents poured into everything; their failed start-up business, their multiple part-time jobs, and the low-paying wages they'd get in return. but above all this, you also saw how your parents did it all for love. love for you, love for their kids, love for the family they made. and so you swore, as an adorable 8-year-old, that you'd work your hardest and earn enough money to get your parents to rest comfortably once they were of age. you were raised in a struggling house, but a loving home. you knew love. you weren't a stranger to it. you loved love and the power it held.

minji, on the other hand, didn't. when you met her in your first year of high school, her parents had just signed divorce papers after her dad caught her mother cheating. she was only 16 at the time, and her parents were her role models of love. to her, they represented what love would, could, and should be. she believed in love, until she grew to hate it. she hated the way it hurt her father, she hated the way it hurt her, but most of all she hated the way it pulled her mother away from her. minji knew love. she wasn't a stranger to it. but she hated love and the power it held.

because of the stark difference you two had with your outlooks on love, it was a shock to everyone when the kim minji agreed to not just being your prom date, but to you courting her during your junior year of high school as well.

“kim minji is this really you?” her best friend at the time, seol yoona, waved her hand in front of the raven-haired girl’s face. she was trying to finish an essay in english, one of their final requirements for the semester. “what’s different about park y/n?”

minji sighed and closed her notebook, finally facing the rest of her friends who sat crowded around her.

“look. she was nice to me at prom and she’s…” her friends’ eyes widened in anticipation. “cute, i guess.”

“oh come on minji that can’t be just it…”

“yeah you rejected like a quarter of the student population! i’m sure there were a few nice and cute ones!”

“they all…” minji started as she stood up from her desk and began packing her things in her backpack. “i’m just more comfortable with her, okay? we’ve been friends a while, and she’s patient about everything right now because she knows about…”

the rest of the table nodded their heads in understanding. there was no need for her to expound on that.

meanwhile, in the complete opposite side of the school campus, was where you and your two closest friends ate lunch. under the shade of the courtyard’s largest tree.

"you're fucking playing with me..."

"i'm not! she said yes! she really did!" you exclaimed, mouth full of the school's spam and kimchi kimbap.

"you better not mess this up y/n... you're like the first person i know of that she's ever said yes to." your other friend commented, playfully shoving your upper arm.

"do you guys not have like... the teeny-tiniest bit of faith in me?"

they looked at you for a solid minute before nodding and shrugging. jokes aside, you were a selfless and caring person, and every one that has ever gotten to know you was sure of that.

and fair enough, by your first year of college which was also minji's first year as newjeans' leader, after almost 2 years of courting her, you asked her to have things official, and she said yes.

do you remember, we were sitting there by the water? you put your arm around me for the first time. you made a rebel of a careless man’s careful daughter. you are the best thing, that’s ever been mine.

it had been just over a year since you two started officially dating, and nothing much changed since you put a label on it. you were now in your second year of university, simultaneously maintaining a part-time job at a local restaurant.

it didn’t take an idiot to know that dating an idol was hard. and it also didn’t help that your schedule wasn’t the most flexible either. there were even some days where minji had more time in the week to spend than you did. the both of you hated that, and it frustrated you two to the point where there were times you’d take it out on each other.so when you and minji had your first big argument, it was a shock to none of the peers who knew of your relationship.

you sighed deeply as you unlocked the door to your apartment. it was the middle of midterms week, and you had just finished an evening shift. you didn’t even want to think about studying for your calculus exam tomorrow, but you knew you had to if you wanted to keep your gpa up to the scholarship’s requirements.

“park y/n.” minji’s voice interrupted your brain’s train of thought. you were so busy trying to figure out the most efficient way to spend the rest of the time between the present and your exam.

usually, minji’s voice calling your name would be warm and sweet. you talked about it to your friends one time, describing it as melted chocolate, and she gagged at how cheesy you were being. but god forbid you speak the truth.

but now, her voice was neither warm nor sweet. it was cold. it was cold and sharp. if you had the time to process it you’d probably describe it as ice shards, rather than melted chocolate.

you hesitated to face her, because you knew exactly why she was here in your apartment at 11pm in the evening instead of her dorms, fast asleep. you couldn't count how many times you cancelled a date last minute within the last month, and minji was tired of you not explaining properly.

you heard her stand up from the living room couch and walk towards you in the dining table.

“what is it, minji?” you spoke, leaning your forehead against your palm as you brought out school textbooks and worksheets.

“what do you mean ‘what is it, minji’? you know why i’m here, y/n.”

she wasn’t lying. again, you knew why she was here with you, which is why you dreaded the conversation that was about to come.

“this is the 4th date you’ve cancelled this month without telling me why. if you wanted to break up i’d much rather you tell me directly…” the last sentence felt like a stab to your chest. the cold and sharp dagger that was her words, taking one large hit.

“what the fuck? no, okay! no i don’t!”

“then for the love of god would you at least tell me why you’re being so fucking distant?!”

you kept silent. eyes avoiding hers as you internally debated on whether you wanted to burden her with your struggles or not.

“see? you can’t even say it.”

“fucking hell. my sister is sick, minji.”

you let out a shaky exhale as you spoke, finally gathering the courage to face her.

“she has pneumonia. she’s sick. she’s in the hospital. and i-“ you cut yourself off as tears made its way down your face. the cold exterior on minji’s face dropped almost immediately at the sound of your voice breaking. your breathing remained shaky as you tried your best to verbalize everything that has been piling up over the past few weeks.

“medical insurance isn’t enough to cover it. my parents are working endlessly, but they’re getting older and i don’t want them to overwork themselves or they could get sick too, so i asked if i could pick up more shifts at the restaurant because that’s really all i can do right now. it just breaks my heart whenever i visit her because she’s always telling me that she’s sorry for causing trouble when none of it was her fault. and fuck, as if it doesn’t get any worse it’s midterms week, and if i fail just one exam it’s enough to bring my gpa down for the school to drop me.”

you gasped for air.

the girl sat beside you and rubbed your back, reaching over for your water bottle and offering it to you. you muttered a thanks as you gulped down half of the water inside and gave yourself a few seconds to speak again.

“and i know what you’re thinking. ‘why didn’t you tell me? i could’ve helped.’ but minji please. you’re an idol. you’re a celebrity. fuck, you’re the leader of one of the biggest group’s right now. you have enough on your plate. i don’t want to add to that.”

minji nodded to show you she was listening despite not saying anything since you started letting it out.

"let's take a walk."

you were shocked by the suggestion, and minji could tell. she would be too.

“but won’t people recogn-“

"more air to breathe, more space to think. come on." she got your coat for your and brought your most comfortable pair of shoes over.

you weren't agreeing, but you also weren't objecting the idea. from what could've been a fight to this, you were just glad you had the warm minji with you right now.

she dragged you along by the hand, just a few steps ahead of you. it didn't take too long until you two found yourselves sitting on the park bench facing a small river. it wasn't too far away, just a couple meters from your apartment building.

“can i ask you something, y/n?” there it was. the warmth, the sweetness in her voice.

she turned to face you. “do i bother you when i tell you about my problems? when i talk to you about how i worry for haerin not opening up, or when i tell you about how hanni might’ve bothered me on a certain day. does that burden you?”

you looked up at her shaking your head, your eyes still red and puffy.

“w-what? no. never. i like that you let me know. i like knowing you have some type of output for it."

"well if it doesn't burden you then what makes you think you'd burden me?"

you slowly looked away, eyes busy gazing the clear water and the rocks that laid under.

she moved to wrap her right arm over your shoulders, and slowly reached for your left hand to hold if you'd let her. after all, she didn't expect to be comforting you when she planned on seeing you.

"i may be an idol. i may be a celebrity. i may be newjeans' minji a lot of the time. but i'm also your girlfriend, park y/n. the one you met in high school whose life you changed forever the day you asked me to prom." you leaned against her when she pulled you closer as she spoke.

"i stopped believing in love when my parents split. remember when i told you that? but you were there every step of the way. you understood, and you were fine with waiting." minji took a pause to make sure you were still with her, listening.

your eyes were heavy, but your brain couldn’t be more alive.

“y/n, i don't want to be the person that makes their partner feel like they can't talk to them. let me be there for you too, okay? i may not be able to do a lot to fix it, but i'll be there because you shouldn't be facing things alone. not when you have me."

you nodded, letting out the last of your tears on her shoulder while she ran her fingers through your hair.

“so next time, please, please tell me what bothers you.”

you never gave a clear response, just your sobs slowing down as she held you. minji would later on regret not noticing this.

a few minutes later, after you calmed down, you pulled away to finally fix your eyes on hers.

"thank you. and i still owe you an apology. for how i was the past couple of weeks.”

“you really don’t have to y/n.”

“well, you say that now after i told you. but what i did was still such… an ass move, and i should’ve told you what was going on because you deserved to know with the way it affected you too.”

minji gave you a smile. a small smile that held the largest emotions a human could ever feel. she leaned against your side, head on your left shoulder with her arm around your waist.

“it’s okay…”

“i love you.”

three words. eight letters. the first time it was ever said between the two of you.

on the inside, you were a little shocked. if your relationship was a sports game, no one would bet on minji saying it first. but she did. and that just made those special words mean a little more than they already did.

you wrapped your left arm around her shoulders and rested your head on hers, giving the top of her head a kiss before saying it back.

“i love you too.”

flash forward and we’re taking on the world together. and there’s a drawer of my things at your place.

a couple months later, you felt on top of the world, and so did minji. you found a higher paying stay-at-home job, your sister got better miraculously quick, and your grades were stellar. for minji, newjeans had just released another hit mini album, and it was played everywhere you went. in the store, at the mall, on tiktok, on the radio. everywhere.

eventually, you two found a free spot on both of your schedules, and used it to have sleepovers at your apartment or her dorm. she’d always prefer staying at yours though. one of the few times you stayed at hers, the second you left, hanni and hyein were teasing her endlessly about… well, usual couple stuff.

this night was one of those sleepover nights. the two of you just finished dinner and were cuddling on the sofa, trying to decide on a movie to watch.

“mean girls?”

“didn’t we watch that last week?” minji reasoned out, looking at you with a questioning face.

“uhm… horror?”

“i don’t mind.”

you hummed and browsed through the horror collection your streaming site had. it took you a while to find a movie, you and minji each always had a minor problem with whatever came up.

“oh hey this one looks fun. zom-“

“did i ever tell you the full story of my parents?”

“ha?”

you looked at her with a rather surprised expression on your face. sure, she’s told you all about being a child of divorced parents and how it affected her. but you never bothered to ask more about it in fear of her discomfort.

“well… no. i wanted you to bring things up at your own pace.”

it felt like a silent agreement that maybe you two were going to drop the movie for a little “deep talk” moment.

“my dad went m.i.a., well, sort of did, on my mom.” she began, you sat cross-legged beside her, reaching for her hand to play with while she muttered a quick ‘thanks’. it was your little show of comfort.

her parents was a subject that you two didn’t bring up very often. she’d mention them once in a while, like when you were preparing a dish that reminded her of her mom’s cooking, or when you came over to help fix hyein’s bike like her dad used to do for her. but it was never in the subject of the divorce. you two always had more to talk about when you were together anyways.

“he lost a lot of the money in their savings, and he’d never talk to my mom about it thinking he could cover it up soon enough. mom was convinced he was cheating and was sending money to another girl. even after my dad explained everything she just… went and did what she did. until he caught her and… well, you know the rest.”

minji was surprisingly calm throughout the whole storytelling. you figured it must’ve been from keeping it in for so long, finally letting the old wounds heal.

“wow…”

“yeah, ‘wow’.”

“i’m sorry, i just…” you paused and grabbed her other hand, holding them both closely within your palms. “do you think if your dad was honest from the beginning things would’ve been different?”

“i-… well…”

“nevermind, sorry that was int-“ you dropped her hands and ran yours through your hair, the other covering your mouth in disbelief.

“no no, it’s okay.” she reached for your hands and they were intertwined once again. “i think things would’ve turned out the same. it probably would’ve just… took a longer time.”

“i guess… since your mom practically ignored your dad after he explained…”

“yup. i believe things happen for a reason.”

“really? i’m 50/50 on that.” you looked up at her with a questioning look.

“well, for one, it led me to you.” she gazed in your eyes, her hands soft and gently cradling yours side to side. you looked at her with amazement. since when was she making the moves with all the cheesy lines?

“okay… so i’m not 50/50… maybe 70/30.” “dork.” “your dork?” “…” “sayyy it…” “…” “you know you wanna…”

“my dork.”

“hehehe…”

with a victorious grin on your face, you pinched her right cheek, something she both hated and loved. rolling her eyes, she positioned herself to lay her head on your crossed legs while your hands automatically fixed her hair to keep her face clear.

“god you’re so-“

“lovable? i know… it’s crazy.”

“well…”

“oh, we were serious?”

“yes, seriously, y/n. there are times i think about that night by the river.”

“that night by the river…”

“when i told you i believed in love again, after my parents. because of you.” she opened her eyes and looked up at you like you were a constellation in the night sky. eyes wide and full of wonder.

“i know what you’re talking about, i didn’t forget, don’t worry.” you smiled, tucking a strand of hair that went astray behind her ear.

“when things get hard i think of that night, and how… i don’t know. you know that feeling when something means so much, and it’s so good, feels so right, almost too perfect, you’re just scared it’ll slip away?”

“mmhm. of course. that’s how i felt about this book i was reading. things were going so well at the beginning, like it wa-… continue though.”

“sometimes i’m scared we’ll slip away.”

“what?!”

“i mean like! it’s just a tiny… irrational fear in the back of my head.”

“ell… good thing that won’t happen!”

“how are you always so sure about things?”

i tell my secrets and you figure out why i’m guarded. you say,

“i get why you’re worried, okay? but we’ll never make your parents’ mistakes.”

she sat up straight to give you a proper hug, or, well, she more or less just threw herself on you. not that you were complaining, you loved her bear hugs.

“you and i… we talk things out. we work well that way, right?”

“yeah.”

“i love you. and thank you for letting me love you.”

“i love you too. so so much.”

and we got bills to pay. we got nothing figured out, when it was hard to take, this is what i thought about.

throughout your relationship, you two came across a couple, or well, several bumps along the road. but it was always something you two had dealt with before. even if it wasn’t, you were beginning to feel comfortable sharing the weight you carried on your shoulders with minji; talking about the usual late night shifts, a terror professor, etc.

communication was one of the last things your relationship with minji lacked.

until one fateful evening, you received a phone call from your brother. one you wished you never had to hear. one no one ever deserved to hear.

before he spoke, something about it already felt wrong. the combination of muffled sirens, crying from who you surely knew was from your sister, and conversation between who you assumed were adults, was straight eery. a shiver ran down your spine, realizing the nature of the news.

and you were right.

you could feel your hand shake as he spoke with a stutter,

“noona… it’s about… about d-dad… h-he… he… did it to hims-himself… he-he w-went out… and to-told us not to follow. a-and, and then we- we heard… we heard a r-really… r-really loud noise… n-noona… wh-when… when are you coming b-back?”

what?

who?

how?

your father. he shot himself in your neighborhood’s park.

and you’ve yet to understand why. why he’d choose to abandon his family. why he suddenly switched from the hardworking man who’d endure hell for his family, to a man who chose to escape his troubles.

after consoling your brother and the rest of your family on the phone, you packed your bags and took a taxi the next day. heading straight back to your hometown, a much smaller and rural area compared to the skyscraping city of seoul.

you ran straight to your parents’ room as soon as you arrived, your bags dropped and forgotten by the conjoined living room and kitchen. there was no time to reminisce the warmth, comfort, and love that came with the childhood home you haven’t seen in years.

as soon as you stepped foot in your parents’ room, your younger sister, who was much taller than the last time you saw her, ran straight into your arms, almost knocking you over. it didn’t take long for your younger brother to follow, his added weight finally pushing you to fall butt first to the fortunately, carpeted floor.

you rubbed their backs as soothingly as you possibly could while they started dampening your shirt with tears. in a way, having them in your embrace comforted you the same way you comforted them. you shed your own fair share of tears, hugging them even tighter when they’d take deep breaths and wail.

you also needed to process whatever the hell just happened.

a few minutes later, once your siblings had calmed down, you slowly stood up from the floor and approached your mother who was sorting out papers on what used to be your parents’ shared bed. the mattress dipped as you sat beside her. you wrapped your arms around her frame, giving her a warm hug.

her pain was silent, and you wished it wasn’t so you’d at least know she had an output, but at the same time, you both knew she held it together for your siblings’ sake. she gave your forehead a kiss and ruffled your hair, muttering a soft “you’ve been eating well.”

she was just happy to see her baby home.

the next couple of days were dull and grey. it was the only word you could use to describe it. your mother would head out to deal with government papers, your siblings stayed at home with modular work as permitted by the school after what had happened, and you picked up a small full-time job at a bakery as a cashier.

in a private conversation with your mother, late at night when your siblings were fast asleep, she explained to you the law of debt and inheritance in simple terms. it was difficult, but most definitely much needed for you to at least grasp understanding on why your father did what he did.

“i know what your first thoughts were going to be. and he wasn’t being a selfish person, y/n. he never was and he never will be. in this province specifically, debt isn’t passed down to your heirs. your father… he… he borrowed a lot of money, y/n. and we thought we could pay it back over the agreed 3 years. it was taking longer than expected, and they began looking for your dad with threats that… i’d rather not share with you.”

“wait what? what about the money i’ve been sending? did it help? did you use it?”

“of course we did, y/n. we don’t want your hard work going to waste. we used it for yoonseo and junseo’s tuition. there was an increase that wasn’t in our… scope.”

“fucking school…”

“hey… listen. do you understand things a little better now?”

“…yes.”

“repeat to me what you understand.”

“dad… didn’t want them coming after me… us.”

“yes.”

“i… i don’t understand how you’re so… calm about it right now, ma. did you know? did he tell you he would?”

“he didn’t. we fought about it, actually. i couldn’t believe all that… nonsense he was saying.”

“oh… i’m sorry. i’m sorry i thought he-“

“it’s okay, y/n. and i know you. i know you, yoonseo, and junseo. it’s okay to not be okay right now. i want you to feel that. let it out. cry, scream, take a walk, do anything. let the pain pass through. i’ll be here to make sure you’ll be alright.”

“but we want to be here for you too ma…”

“you will be there for me when you feel better. but right now, you’re my children, and i’m your mom. i want to make sure you’re okay first.”

and for the rest of the night, you silently wept against your mother’s shoulder as she held you tight against her chest, the same way she did the day you were born. you were always your mother's child at the end of the day.

since the day you left til that night, your focus was on yourself and your family. comforting your siblings when your mom couldn’t, helping around the house, and searching for more jobs dirt-paying jobs you could take, for you didn’t care as long as it’d help fill the gap your father left.

your focus was solely on the grief held over yourself and your family, that somehow, you had completely forgotten about your life in the city.

the life with kim minji in it.

on her side of the world, minji was struggling. newjeans was still a popular and well-received group with global success, but their growth was exceeding expectations, and that meant that the hate wave had only gotten stronger.

as their leader, minji was the supporting pillar, the foundation of sanity for the rest of the girls. when one of them had the need to cry or rant, they’d go to her, and she’d hold that responsibility willingly out of love and care for them.

but newjeans’ leader minji, is human.

newjeans’ leader minji, is kim minji.

a 20-year-old girl facing the world’s backlash and carrying the weight of her members’ hurt alongside her own on her back.

she wasn’t meant to deal with all of that alone.

where was kim minji’s supporting pillar? where was her foundation of sanity?

where were you?

where were you when she needed you the most?

and i remember that fight, 2:30 am, ‘cause everything was slipping right out of our hands. i ran out, crying, and you followed me out into the street.

things have calmed down a bit. you and your family decided it was best for you to go back to the city as it was where you’d earn the most for your work. you hated saying goodbye to them, especially at a time where it was best where you were all together. but you and your family didn’t have the luxury of choice. you and your family couldn’t afford to lose the opportunity.

on the 2-hour long taxi ride home, you finally decided to charge your phone. you hadn’t realized how you completely deserted it the moment you arrived at your childhood home. leaving it on the car seat, you decided to take a nap to get rid of the headache that was building up. whether it was from the anxiety of being away from your family after what happened, or the pressure of having your family’s financial support come mostly from you, you needed an escape, even if it was just for 2 hours.

you weren’t sure how or what you felt. you knew most would be sad. grief-struck and lost. and you did feel that in a way, when your family held a small ceremony at the memorial center because it was all you could afford. it was just you, your mom, your siblings, and a few neighbors who knew your parents.

that was the hardest you ever let yourself mourn, the loudest you ever let yourself cry, and after that, you felt empty. your chest and your stomach ached, but there was nothing else to feel. your head, on the other hand, felt heavy. like it was rammed against a cement wall and forced to carry the weight of hardbound books.

the moment you picked yourself up from your wallowing in sorrow, the weight of responsibility crashed into you all at once. like being thrown anvils to carry on your back, every step you took wherever you went. your father wasn’t just one of your family’s sources of income, he also stood as a figure of support for your siblings and your mom while you were away. you were angry at him for leaving you, but you beat yourself around into understanding that it wasn’t an escape.

it was about 2am by the time you arrived at the small apartment complex. an inconvenient decision that may have seemed senseless, but before you insisted in spending as much time as you could with your family before you were required to report to work the next day.

and so here you were, backpack in hand, unlocking the door to your apartment late at night.

seeing the living room and kitchen lights on alarmed you. you were sure you turned everything off before you left. your electricity bills were going to be horrendous that month.

you settle your bag down on the floor and bent over to untie your shoes.

“oh… you decided to come back?”

that voice.

kim minji.

hearing her voice again felt fresh. but it felt fresh for only one reason.

you ignored her the whole time you were away. you didn’t tell anyone anything, not even you friends in the city.

minji’s tone was firm. it wasn’t sharp and cold like the time she came over to confront you about missing your dates.

it was firm, but it was also vulnerable. the night she confronted you her voice lacked all the emotion in the world. tonight, it was full of it. you couldn’t tell if she was worried, angry, disappointed, sad, maybe everything and in between.

“where were you?”

there it was. the burning question of the night.

unlike last time, minji didn’t bother approaching you. she stayed seated on the living room couch, her head turned to face you at the front door.

“minji, listen. i-“ you walked towards her, approaching the living room couch with caution from what you could pick up in her voice.

“y/n i was in pain… did you know that? the past few weeks have been horrible… and before i can even begin to talk about why, i have to worry about whether you were even alive or not!”

“i’m sorry! okay, i’m sorry!”

you were defensive, and it came out like you were throwing around apologies for a band-aid solution, when that really wasn’t the case. you just didn’t have it in your heart to tell her what happened.

“we had to cancel 2 fansigns because of threats we were getting, did you even know that, y/n?”

no, you didn’t. you weren’t aware of how far your girlfriend’s career had gone for the group to be receiving that kind of treatment. even before your dad passed.

“…no.”

“and that’s just… the tip of the fucking iceberg… so i ran here thinking i’d find you. because, y/n, i know for a fact you’re my safe place. but you weren’t even fucking there…”

“i’m sorry…” you muttered, your hands clasped together as you stood in front of her.

“you weren’t answering calls, you weren’t responding to texts. from me or any of the girls! i asked my manager to get in contact with your coworkers! fuck, i even asked some of our high school friends… but none of them knew where you were! do you know how sick my stomach felt?” she looked up at you with tears in her eyes. one of the few times you’ve ever seen her cry, and somehow, it always had something to do with you.

it made you feel sick.

“i’m so sorry…”

“and before you fucking arrived, for a moment i really thought you were going to just leave everything like my dad.”

after all the pain she’s shared with you?

“minji i-“

“but a part of me knew, or wanted to know you’d never do that. like you said, ‘we’d never make my parents’ mistakes’. but in that moment it felt like you did. like we did.”

“i’m sorry… i wasn’t thinking…”

“i think we need a fucking break y/n.”

she stood up.

what?

“w-what? minji what do you mean w-why a-“

“this isn’t the first time you just disappeared on me, don’t you get it? the first time it happened i had to confront you because otherwise you’d just let it slide and it’d probably happen again within the next few months.”

she walked to the dining room, away from the living room. it was closer to the apartment entrance.

“that’s not true.”

“when i told you about my parents, it was because i thought i had finally found something different with you.”

“and we did! we are! we’re not like them…”

she stood by the door, hand on the knob.

“you keep disappearing on me, y/n. i don’t know what to believe anymore.”

and just like that, she dropped the spare keys to your apartment on your kitchen counter, and left your apartment unit.

you knew better than to let her go. you knew better to let the love of your life go. you knew better than to let her, a celebrity, run out in the middle of the night, with no security, and god knows who or what out in the streets of the area you stayed in.

braced myself for the goodbye, ‘cause that’s all i’ve ever known.

for minji, she had no idea what she was doing, but she knew couldn’t take another second in your damned apartment. the apartment she stayed in the weeks she was waiting for you to come back. it reminded her of the times she felt like her mom, desperately waiting for her dad to come back to her. it reminded her of how she felt like her dad during the first month of the divorce, and how he kept his hopes high telling her and her brother that things would get better because their mom would always come back, when she didn’t. she hated that apartment because it reminded her of why she hated love. why she stopped believing in love.

she hated that apartment because it was yours, and you showed her how to believe in love again, and you made her believe you two would be different.

if that was so, then why did you leave her feeling like things were going to end the same way her parents did?

she couldn’t take it anymore. how could she fully commit to someone who’d leave her out of the loop. someone who can’t at least try to share part of their world with her. someone who, after seeing all the sides and versions of her, could still get up and leave without a word.

you cursed under your breath for minji being so long-legged. it didn’t take long for her to get to your apartment building’s lobby, but timing was by your side. for once, it felt like maybe the world wasn’t against you.

the scene was cinematic. you grabbed her wrist from behind her, and pulled her by the arm, back towards you. back to you where you knew she belonged.

“i’m sorry, and i promise i’ll tell you everything. and i know i left with no warning, no sign. i know that it was best to tell you. but i promise i wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t something as serious as that.”

you gently reached over to hold her other hand in yours. hopefully it was enough to not have her run away again.

“i don’t know how many sorry’s i have left in me, but whatever that amount is, i know, won’t be enough. but please, minji, i’m begging you now, please don’t leave. i know it’s been hard, it’s been difficult for me too. fuck, it’s been hell the past few weeks and not a single second of it has felt real, but i need you. i need you to stay.”

you took a deep inhale. you hadn’t realized you weren’t breathing throughout your mini speech.

“because right now it feels like i’ve lost everything, and i can’t take it if i lost you. and i know… i know, i sound like a guilt-tripping asshole right now but that’s really... you mean a lot. you mean so much… you mean so fucking much to me, minji, and i know that’s not what you felt when i disappeared, but it’s the truth, and i-“

your legs gave in. you were exhausted, but you weren’t going to stop until you knew she’d stay.

you knelt on the floor, in front of her, holding her hands above your head.

god, you looked so ridiculously desperate. but you didn’t care. not an inch of your body felt a bit of shame. you knew minji was worth everything you had.

“i love you. i love you. i love you so much. and i don’t know how else to say this without sounding like a fucking asshole, but i know you love me too, and i just need you to hear me out, before you decide to leave. and if you still want to go after, then i-. i wouldn’t blame you, and i’d let you, but please… please.” you whispered out the last of your words, your sobs echoing through the empty, dim-lit lobby.

she’d never seen you like this before.

not once in the several years of being your friend or your girlfriend.

and you were right, she loved you so much. just as much as you did her.

and that was enough for her to listen.

“get up.” she spoke so softly, you could’ve missed it if you weren’t listening for any response.

you scrambled, shuffled onto your feet, and finally came face-to-face with the girl you loved.

it took everything in you to not hold her, kiss her, and comfort her, when you knew you were the cause of her pain and suffering.

but if god made angels roam earth, you were convinced minji was one of them.

she almost catapulted towards you, causing you to stumble backwards until your back met a wall. your arms automatically wrapped around her waist, like it was second nature, or maybe because it was.

you heard her sobs, and you ran your fingers through her hair like she’d do for you. rub her back comfortingly like when you held your siblings in your arms, her tears dampening your clothes the same way theirs did.

you let her be, and waited patiently until she decided to speak. her face rested against your shoulder so her voice was slightly muffled,

“i thought you’d leave.”

you felt your chest tighten in guilt.

“i thought i did something wrong, or that you were tired of me. tired of dating someone with a job like mine, packed up, and left.”

then, you took me by surprise. you said,

“i’m sorry i made you feel that way.”

you kissed the top of her head and rested your cheek against it.

“never again. i promise, and i say it out loud this time. i’ll never leave you alone.”

#newjeans x reader #newjeans imagines #minji x reader #kim minji x reader #kim minji imagines #minji imagines #kim minji

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gglitch1dd · 1 month

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Blood of my House Pt1

Kirishima Eijiro x Fem!Reader

Context: Eijiro's plan to claim back his family's throne is put on hold when you appear, as the rightful heir. You get on his nerves but you both need to work together in order to get the usurper off your throne. Lets just hope you both don't fall into the stereotype of your house.

Game of thrones inspired- The Kirishimas are basically the Targeryens. Credit given to George R Martin and the mastermind that he is.

Warning: this story deals with topics of cousin incest and referenced incest ( I don't condone this IRL), violence, taboo lust, blood, fire, time period specific misogyny and dragons. So be prepared. No smut... yet.

“If we advance our forces forward and take them from atop the valley, we can exterminate at least two thousand of their forces.” Bakugou Katsuki spoke as he moved the figures of black painted dragons that represented the Kirishima army. The blond man stood up straight as he motioned to the large map that was on the table that was in the shape of the continent that was the realm. He looked up from the table at the men that were around the table. “That way we can kill all those fuckers before the moon reaches it’s peak.”

Lord Taishiro Toyomitsu looked to the head of the table. His golden eyes on the man who was the centre of their cause. “Your grace.”

Kirishima Eijiro looked up from where he sat at the head of the table. His ruby eyes looking at the man who had unwaveringly and unquestionably joined his cause before looking around the table. Suffocating ruby eyes that gleamed with a fire so hot behind them. He looked back down at the table. He nodded his head. “Let it be done.” He stated as he stood up from his chair. Immediately everyone stood up, allowing him to leave the room with Katsuki following after him.

Eijiro exited out of the room, moving down the hallway, servants and lords bowing their heads to him as he moved towards his personal chambers. The stone walls of the castle were made out of dark black stone that was said to be burnt from an old dragon that melded the rocks together. Eijiro entered his room, placing down the heavy Valyrian steel sword against a table as he fell back down on a cushioned chair. He let out a sigh as he draped a hand over his eyes. Today was a long day of meetings and strategy.

Katsuki chuckled as he stood at the door. “Should I send dinner to your room?” He asked.

��Please.” Eijiro groaned. “And send for a Meyster.” He stated as he rubbed the side of his head. His eyebrows furrowed as he sat up. “I have a headache.”

Katsuki’s eyebrows twitched but he let out a grunt and closed the door.

Now alone, Eijiro put his head back with a sigh, glad to finally be alone. He didn’t think that leading a war against the Todoroki’s would be so difficult but he couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised. He opened his eyes again as he looked back at the view from the mountain top. The Sunvaile manor was built into the mountains with its village surrounding it. Eijiro never thought he’d ever be here in his ancestral home, at least not leading it as Prince and rightful heir to the throne.

Eijiro barely remember his parents, he only knew of the tragedy that befell on their house. It was a great gathering here to celebrate the birth of King Kirishima Ryosuke the second’s second born, a son, after having had his eldest daughter a few years before. It was a tradition that the Kirishima family had whenever a baby was to be born. Having the babe born in their ancestral home where dragons were said to have first been discovered in this world, was said to be good luck. The parties were extravagant and with such a big house with so many members, Eijiro could only remember faces of people that looked so similar to one another.

However Todoroki Enji, Lord of Turnes, had plotted in secret and assassinated nearly every member of the Kirishima family to ensure that there was not a single person to claim the throne. Fortunately, Eijiro’s mother and father, Lord and Lady of Summersvale, managed to hide him away with a loyal sword that would send him far away so that when the time came he would ascend the throne. The last thing Eijiro remembered of his mother, her hair being the deep red of her house Toyomitsu and not the inherit trait of Kirishima black, and the whispered spell she had cast over his hair.

One of the most noticeable features of Kirishima lineage was the inky black hair and ruby eyes, a pair of traits that never separated from one another. Many of his elder siblings, his father, aunts and uncles had the same trait. A dominant gene that never left. However, the next time Eijiro looked at his reflection in cold water while on the run away from Summersvale, his hair was a crimson red, similar to that of his mother.

Unfortunately the loyal sword that had managed to get him out of Summersvale had fallen at the ends of smugglers and Eijiro found himself sold into slavery at the age of five. He was fortunately bought by the Bakugous, the family that led the BakuLands. He was young and was quickly taught the ropes, making sure to do what he was told as a little errand boy in exchange for food and a place to sleep. However, Eijiro always had an interest in the sword, and that’s how he met his best friend and brother at arms, Bakugou Katsuki.

Katsuki was an annoying little shit, but he was loyal and a good friend. He easily befriended Eijiro mostly because Eijiro was the only boy willing to befriend him other than the son of Katsuki’s former wetnurse, Midoriya Izuku, the bastard. Lady Mitsuki rather disliked Eijiro, not liking the fact that her son had made friends with a servant but it was the most she was ever going to get out of him. Eijiro trained beside Katsuki in secret and served him.

That was until Katsuki’s parents had taken Katsuki and consequently Eijiro as Katsuki’s personal servant, to Summersvale. It happened purely by chance that their hunting party had stumbled upon the caves that the dragons nested in. With a flash of fire, Eijiro trying to save Katsuki’s life, Eijiro was left unburnt and unscathed, however, like a phoenix’s burnt wings, his red a flame hair turned black like ashes. And ever since then, the whispers moved around the realm saying how one Kirishima had survived that night.

Prince Kirishima Eijiro.

Or at least, that’s how Eijiro remembered it.

Eijiro wondered what life would had been like did his parents survive, if that fateful night had not happened. He wondered if right now he’d be surrounded by his sisters, if he would be sitting down having dinner in a hall that was filled with laughter and bright smiles. If he would learn under his father to become the next Lord of Summersvale or whether his eldest sister would have taken the title (unlikely but a thought regardless). He wondered if he’d still be the same man as he was now.

He was taken out of his thoughts at the sound of racing footsteps out in the halls. Eijiro’s eyes flicked to the door before it opened. Katsuki stood there with heavy breaths as he kept the door opened standing in the doorway. “Eijiro, you must come and see this.”

Eijiro’s eyebrows furrowed as he stood up from his chair, grabbing his sword as he did so and heading with haste out of his chambers. Katsuki escorted him out of the room and down the hall. “What is the matter? Is it the Todorokis?”

Katsuki shook his head as he headed towards a window that faced the front of the castle. “No. They bare a different banner.”

“Whose?”

Katsuki motioned for Eijiro to look outside. The setting sun had bathed the tops of the mountains in orange but otherwise darkness was quickly overtaking the land. But that did not stop Eijiro from seeing the banners that were being carried by a hoard of men, soldiers that were heading towards them, close enough to be concerning. At the sight of the black banners that bore the red sigil of a dragon curled up with flames surrounding it like the sun, Eijiro stiffened.

Katsuki sighed as he nodded. “They bare your banners.” He stated.

It didn’t take long before both men made it outside, Eijiro grabbing his clock and throwing it over his shoulders, a black furred mantel resting on his shoulders. It was once his fathers and he had always been shy of wearing it, but he prayed that it would give him strength right now. Both Katsuki and him headed down the outside stairs into the courtyard as the gates were opened to allow the visitors through.

Entering on horseback on a white stallion was a man neither Eijiro nor Katsuki thought they would see again. Katsuki’s eyes widened. “Deku?!” He let out surprised. “You bastard! You’re still alive?”

Sitting atop the stallion was a green haired man with freckles that littered his skin, his green eyes looked down at the blond with an amused glint but a deep dangerous poison brewing underneath. He scoffed as he got off of his horse. “I see you haven’t changed, Kacchan.” He stated as he landed on the ground with a thud as he walked over to the two men. Izuku’s eyes went to Eijiro, his eyes assessing him. It had been years since he last saw the other man. He bowed his head. “Your grace.”

“Izuku, it’s been a while.” He let out offering his hand.

At the sign of friendship Izuku took it with a smile of his own. “It has. Last time I saw you, your grace, your hair was red, not black.”

Eijiro chuckled. “A lot has happened.”

“Indeed.”

“Deku,” Katsuki folded his arms over his chest with a frown. “How are you alive and why on earth are you and your forty thousand men baring up Kirishima banners? Have you finally come to help our cause?”

Izuku hesitated before an amused chuckle came from his lips. “I am here to fight a Kirishima cause yes, just not yours.” He revealed before motioning up to the sky. “Hers.”

Eijiro looked up to the sky, clouds seemingly undisturbed however as he kept looking he noticed something strange moving closer, rippling through the clouds. An odd sound went through the air, a loud roar that sounded different from his own dragon. His eyes widened as a large dark dragon came flying in the air over the caslte. The force of the wind, nearly knocking many back but Eijiro stood his ground.

He noticed a person was riding a top of the dragon as it circled around, gradually getting lower to the ground. Finally, the large dragon settled on one of the thick walls of the castle, made to be that thick due to the dragon claws and weight. The large beast let out a loud roar, snaking its head up to the sky almost in victory at being back home. It ruffled its wings before lowering its head to pear down at the men that were staring up at it in fear.

Eijiro’s men had sort of gotten used to his own dragon, Riot, but that was mostly because she was the only one left. Or so they thought.

Sitting perched on the dragons body was a woman, who’s eyes bore into Eijiro’s like a mirror. Something twisted inside of him, wondering who on earth you were. The dragon lowered his head with a scuttle as you unseated yourself, using his wing to slide down and land on your feet. You were dressed in black, in a jacket and suit that suit you well as you walked forward to stand before Eijiro and Katsuki.

Izuku stiffened and bowed his head. “You stand in the presence of Y/N of House Kirishima, first of her name, eldest daughter of King Ryosuke Kirishima, second of his name, rightful heir to the throne, the princess of skies and speaker for the broken, the unscorched lady of the night.” Izuku introduced as you stood looking at Eijiro unwaveringly.

Eijiro blinked at the introduction. He turned to look at Katsuki. Katsuki looked at him then quickly got the jist. “This is Eijiro.” He stated plainly. Eijiro punched his side. “OF House Kirishima.” He continued with a glare at his best friend. He cleared his throat and motioned back to Eijiro. “He’s Lord of Summersvale.”

You raised a slight eyebrow at the short introduction but it was more in amusement than anything. You chuckled as you looked over at the man in front of you. He was undoubtedly a Kirishima male. The long thick black hair that cascaded down his back like a mane and the burning intense ruby eyes that he had were enough to tell you. “Cousin.” You greeted with a smile.

Eijiro’s eyebrow twitched as he recognised you. Despite having spent years apart, the sight of one of his kin was enough to assure him of your identity. Blood could recognise blood. “Cousin.” He acknowledged. At his acknowledgement, Katsuki looked at him shocked, but Eijiro couldn’t didn’t take his eyes off of you.

“It has been far too long.” You started, your eyes moving over his figure once more. Despite seeing him and seeing what was once your little cousin Eijiro, his size surprised you. He had grown to fill the large disposition that was infamous of the men in your family. Large broad shoulders and a tall thick muscled demeanour. He was taller than any man you had ever seen and carried himself with such prowess. “Last time I saw you, you were but a boy still young enough to be attached to your mother’s tits.” You let out snidely, earning a humeroued smirk from Izuku and stifled chuckles from his men.

Eijiro’s eyebrows twitched. “Last time I saw you, you were but a girl who didn’t have any.” He shot back earning some laughs from his own men behind him.

You stood your ground, your smile not faltering as you looked at him. “We have grown.”

“Yes...” His eyes moved down your figure, your stomach tightening in knots as you watched him. His eyes flicked back up to his face. “Yes, we have.” He joined his hands in front of himself as he glared down at you. “What are you doing here Y/N?” He asked with a furrowed gaze.

You let out a breath. “How about we discuss this inside? It is getting late and cold and I’d rather give my men some rest.” You stated.

Eijiro was silent for a moment but nodded his head. Katsuki gave him a pointed look that Eijiro ignored. “Katsuki arrange for her rooms to be ready. We are heading inside.” He ordered as he turned around and headed inside.

You followed after him, motioning for Izuku to tell your men to set up camp for the time being in case you would have to leave the following day. You and the rest of your advisors headed into the castle. You looked up at the formidable entrance, stone dragons perched near the entrance, the size of young dragons barely able to be ridden yet. You turned to look at your own dragon. He was getting herded away by dragon chamberlains, them speaking to the large beast in High Valeryian. You trusted that he would behave himself and so walked in after Eijiro.

Eijiro did not speak as you followed after him. But you didn’t want him to speak as you looked around the castle halls. It had been so long since you had been back home here, back to your ancestral home. A part of you felt as though you could feel your family’s embrace even though shrouded in the darkness of their demise. You saw a family portrait hanging formidably.

Your uncle Takeo and his wife Yua with four little girls surrounding them and a little baby boy in Yua’s arms. You knew it was Eijiro and a part of you wanted to scoff at the little thing. He seemed like such a brat.

You continued to follow him into a room you were never allowed in as a child. A room where all the men of your family sat, often talking plans when it came to governing the seven kingdoms or when it came to the family. Your eyes looked at the table, the map of all the kingdoms set before you. Your fingers slid on the obsidian marble that was the table in front of you. Your eyes moved to the head of the table where your father used to sit.

Eijiro watched you, how you silently reminisced as you slowly walked through the room. It was quiet as you did so, everyone spectating you. Your eyes moved up to him, noticing how he had moved to sit at the Head of the table. You gave him a tense smile as you sat the opposite end. Izuku took his place beside you and Katsuki stood beside Eijiro.

Eijiro’s hands were joined together in front of him as he watched you with a analytical gleam. “I assume that this visit isn’t a familial one amongst kin.” He started, now that everyone whose ears needed to be in the room, were there.

You hummed as you leaned against the chair you sat in. “Indeed.” You nodded your head agreeing with him. “I heard about your cause all the way in Chalrogo. After some thoughts and talks amongst me and my councilmen, it was decided that the best course of action was to find you and join our causes so that I shall take my rightful place on the throne.”

“Your rightful place on the throne?” Eijiro asked with a scoff as he looked at you up and down. A humoured chuckle left his throat as he did so.

Your eyebrows twitched in annoyance as you sat up. “Do you find something humorous?”

Eijiro nodded his head with a smile. “The fact that you think you belong on the throne, is humorous.”

“And why is that?”

“Why?” Eijiro asked with a scoff. He motioned to you before leaning to the side with his hand supporting him. “No woman has ever sat upon the throne.”

You knew he would say that, every man has said that. “I am the eldest born and only child left of King Ryosuke.” You reminded him. “I have a greater right to sit on that throne more than you.”

“Ah, but you forget, cousin.” Eijiro let out with a tsk as he shook his head. “I am the oldest male of the Kirishima House left, which automatically makes me Head of the family and King by default.”

“Your father, swore an oath to his older brother, my father, that he would be loyal and dedicated to our reign.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you kept your eyes on Eijiro. “Your father owes me that vow and you, as his son, are the only one left to uphold that.”

Eijiro frowned at your excuses. He found them pathetic and rather humerous. He couldn’t ignore the matter at hand that was your new found existence in his life, but this all seemed a bit much for him. Katsuki stepped forward. “Excuse me, Y/N-”

“Princess Y/N.” Izuku corrected with a glare.

Katsuki rolled his eyes at Izuku’s interruption. “Yes, yes, your grace,” He said dripping in sarcasm. “But last time I checked, your brother was born and named heir on the night of the Burnout flame.”

You rolled your own eyes. “Oh please. My younger brother had barely lived longer than an hour before his life came to an end due to the usurper that is Todoroki Enji.”

“At least there is one thing we agree on.” Eijiro pointed out. “You want to join our forces.”

You let out a breath, trying to regain control of yourself and a sound mind. You nodded your head. “The blood of our house is stronger together, is it not?” You asked. “I have 45 000 men and fifty ships ready and waiting at my disposal, as well as enough gold to burn.”

Sero Hanta’s eyebrows twitched as he tilted his head. “How much gold?” He asked.

You glanced to Izuku. He nodded as he turned to the door and opened it, allowing two of your armed men to carry in a chest filled with gold. The chest was brought down on the floor with a heavy thud, coins already spilling out of it. Eijiro and his men had wide eyes at the sight of it.

“I have fifty of those.” You revealed bluntly.

Eijiro was silent as he looked from the chest over to you. He wondered what on earth you had been through and what you had done in order to have such power at your back and call.

“Your grace,” Both him and you had turned your heads to look Toyomitsu Taishiro. He looked to Eijiro with an earnest look. “Joining your forces under one banner would give us the advantage. A hundred thousand men strong would be enough to defeat the Todorokis with the right plan.” He acknowledged. Eijiro’s eyebrows furrowed but he listened. He owed this man, his uncle, his life and a lot more. He trusted him. Taishiro turned to look at you. “Besides, your house must be united now more than ever. And forgive me for saying, my princess,” You smiled. “But you look just like your mother. Even now.”

You smiled gently at the complement. You nodded your head in gratitude. “Thank you, Lord Toyomitsu. My house will always be grateful for the loyalty and fealty to us.”

“Yes, my nephew has told me.” He acknowledged as he motioned to Eijiro.

Eijiro frowned as he looked over at you. Here you were, sitting in front of him almost as if you dropped out of the sky. Eijiro was not sure what to do. He let out a grunt. “I think it is obvious that together we are stronger than divided.” You nodded at the obvious. “Then I agree. We will work together to unseat King Enji from the throne.”

“Then who will sit on the throne?” One of your advisors, Lord Aizawa Shota asked as he leaned back in his chair tiredly.

You turned to look at Eijiro and he stared at you right back. You forced a smile to your face. “I think we can determine that like adults, can’t we, Eijiro?” You asked with a smile that Eijiro wanted to pull off of your face.

He nodded curtly. “Of course. But please, we shall show you to your rooms and we can eat dinner together, as one.” You nodded your head as you stood up from opposite him. All of your men stood up and followed you out of the room, followed by a servant that was summoned by Katsuki. Once you finally left Eijiro let out a groan as he leaned back and dragged a hand down his face.

“So…” Kaminari Denki started lowly as he tapped his fingers on the table. “Are we just going to ignore the fact that she looks like every man’s best dream?” He asked openly.

Eijiro glanced at the blond man with a glare which quickly shut Denki up. He wasn’t wrong, you had grown a lot since he had last saw you. You were a woman now. In every shape of the word and it haunted him. Suffocatingly so. You were smart, he could tell by the arsenal you had behind you but you were also beautiful and deeply aware of it too. He could tell by the way every single man in the room was unable to look away from you.

“This could be a trick.” He let out lowly as he thought about every possible scenario.

“If so, she’s a very needed trick.” Sato acknowledged, his arms folded over his chest. “She comes with men, ships and a hefty sum to her name.”

Commander Hounddog nodded his head with a low grunt. “She’s perfect to your cause, your grace.”

“But then comes the real question…” Taishiro started as he adjusted his seating, minding his large belly as he did so. His golden eyes moved to Eijiro and the younger man knew that he was going to say something that would make the entire room uncomfortable. “Are you going to wed her?”

Eijiro let out a loud laugh at the thought. “Wed her?!” He asked motioning to the door. “She’s my cousin!”

“Yes but… It’s kind of what your family does.” Sero let out with an awkward smile. “You’re a Kirishima, she’s a Kirishima, you both have blood that stems from a time of old magic and dragons.”

“It would solidify your claim to the throne.” Tetsutetsu recognized earning hums from around the room.

Eijiro scoffed as he stood up from his chair. “Oh please! That’s appalling. I don’t have to marry her in order to stake my claim. My mother was not a Kirishima and I have the same claim as she does!”

“But that is because your grandfather, King Shinyo first of his name, wanted to cement the ties between our two families.” Taishiro reminded his nephew with a pointed look. “But your grandparents were both from House Kirishima, her parents were both Kirishimas.”

Katsuki nodded with a hum. “Siblings in fact.”

Eijiro glared up at the blond. “You are not helping!” He told his best friend. “If marrying a woman is so important, fine I will do so, but it damn well will not be her! My blood is thick enough to not need her for anything other than her assistance to the throne. By the end of the season cycle, I will be seated as the next king of the realm, whether she likes it or not.”

-Glitch1d

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wmarximoff · 1 year

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𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: you return home after being kicked out of college - your father is not happy, but your stepmother certainly is.

warnings (18+): smut, very light somnophilia hints, strap-on sex (Wanda receiving), stepcest, unspecified legal age-gap, mommy kink, heavy mommy issues, sizable daddy issues, drinking, smoking, praise kink, certain amounts of angst, bad parenting, breastfeeding. MINORS DNI.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 4k

A/N: and the whole writing about stepmom!Wanda thing is getting worse…

masterlist.|

༺ᱬ༻

It was a sunny late afternoon, warm on the skin underneath your clothes, when you took the lighter close to the cigarette that appeared between your parted lips and ran the surface of your thumb across the spark wheel, creating the necessary ignition for the ember to flicker and ignite the tip of that little white cylinder, which blinked like a firefly down your nose tip.

Your sense of smell captured an emanation of wholesome, sour, idle odor – an act of teenage rebellion turned into a noxious addiction. A puff of thick white smoke rose from your nostrils. Someone gave you a crooked look when you sighed in heavy smoke.

You were sitting on a wooden bench under the shade of a long-standing oak tree in the middle of the small green square of the city, which sheltered you in the shadows of its ancient branches, in the surroundings of the structure of the white wooden gazebo that could well have been there since the fifties; the small convenience stores spread all around, the people staring at you because they all knew your fate – what your return to Westview represented, the flaw in the perfect family picture.

Everyone in town knew your parents, your father and stepmother, Jarvis (Vis for those neighbors who were more superficially intimate) and Wanda, and so your name was thrown to the wind with totally disconnected intonations to the public admiration assigned to that couple, typical small-town good samaritans – you spray-painted a billboard or got caught by the sheriff drinking in front of the gas station convenience at just sixteen years old, even though you never bothered to hide your petty misdeeds in none of these cases.

It had been a week since your return, seven days had passed that very morning. The short drive back had been as quiet as it could be – a few hours, no more, objectively and adamantly quiet to the core; the well-trained ear would just catch the sound of the asphalt sliding under the well-heeled car's tires, vibrating and petulant, icy air being expelled from the air-conditioning in cold puffs against the warm skin of your face, in a swath soon under your chin.

You followed, solemnly, your tired eyes behind your heavy lids, as the melancholy houses passed by the gloomy panorama presented in that small suburban town, sweet little houses with buttery walls and windows with wide open light cotton curtains, all surrounded by meters of pointed low wooden fences standing close together in lavish, sweeping rows in front of well-trimmed green lawns and behind neat sidewalks and vibrant trees.

You weren't born in Westview , in the heart of New Jersey, but outside in the neighborhoods of that city where all the smallest details had throughout your early life were derived – at the height of your simple ten or eleven years of age, overwhelming in an air of rebellion for an orphaned child of a resigned mother and lacking the affection of a disinterested father, that was the location chosen by that man as a starting point of the unusual life of him as a newlywed, at the time, with your stepmother Wanda Maximoff, pushing for suburban life patterned within the traditionalist mold of a square box, as socially anachronistic as it gets.

Jarvis Stark was a reserved and rather austere man, after all, an old-fashioned thinker, a classic political liberal and an unyielding conservative – abandoned by his first wife with the eldest daughter he didn't know how to raise, a father of three, the breadwinner, a proud Republican voter. And you were, then, the twenty-year-old daughter, the eldest failure, who was asked to withdraw from college because your grades were worthy of nothing but shame and stoning in the public square.

So you believed that only conformism could soothe you out of your succinct attachment to the reality which you found yourself, deeply enraged and dangerously bored, somewhere on the fine line that separated these two opposite poles of mood from ego. The car swerved around a corner, your childhood home looming into view at the end of the street. Westview, always the same, never different. So you sighed, a heavy, icy sigh, lifting and lowering your chest inside the baggy shirt you'd pulled over your head hours earlier.

Sighing was the little you could do, but perhaps it could be a prudent way of expressing your discontent with the current situation around you when Jarvis parked the car in front of the family home, Wanda's well-tended rose bushes rising into the front yard in a polychromatic vortex of blood red color.

The window of your old room upstairs looked at you gloomily as if it didn't want to welcome you back – nobody did, after all. And you looked at it as if you could stone it, with all the hatred worthy of a child that no one ever wanted to harbor wrapped up inside an adult body barely rigid to the touch.

“Y/n,” your father's dictatorial voice echoed into the silence that filled the vehicle, his pale cerulean eyes behind the lenses of his thin-rimmed glasses staring only at the leather steering wheel, irises hard with fury, never turning back to your figure sitting on the bench next to him.

“Before we go in I want one thing to be clear here, Y/n. I’m not kidding. You're not a child anymore, though you're still behaving like one, and I'm not going to treat you like one. I'm going to treat you like an adult, because that's what you are now. The playtime is over. I will no longer tolerate this type of behavior on your part.”

There was a silent pause, not long enough to give you the go-ahead to come up with a response to that man in the cashmere blazer and dark turtleneck blouse, a philosophy teacher who was dissatisfied with the denial of his academic career that had confined him eternally to the position of high school teacher.

“You're going to have to grow up. Do you even understand what that means, at least? Nothing is free anymore, the world is not going to be kind to you, and neither am I. Tomorrow you will look for a job and while you are living under my roof until you can support yourself, you will have to contribute to the household expenses and follow my rules. No more drinking, smoking, being up late or loud music, all of that is over now. If you want to have a bed and food on your plate inside my house, you will do it my way. Did I made myself clear, Y/n?”

And then Jarvis looked at you with the recognition of a father thundering in the circle of his blue irises, but the kind of father who doesn't much like to acknowledge that you are the kind of child he made, that his strict upbringing backfired and culminated in an as unserviceable adult as you could be, a reactionary time bomb in all the splendor of your young-coming-of-age as irresponsible and immature as you could be.

“Did I made myself clear, Y/n?!” he repeated, because his answer was silence. Eyes staring back at him as a result of the upbringing he gave you, your icy breath misting inside the car.

“Crystal clear, Dad,” cynicism crept under your tongue, spitting bitterness between your teeth. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of taming your fury like an angry dog gagged at a muzzle – you never have before, after all.

That man stared at you for a single broken second as if he was going to stuff his tight nostrils to say anything, but he didn't, not in the way he could have said it. He just unfastened the seat belt across his broad chest and looked straight ahead again, stoic, ever so categorical and impassive.

“Fine,” said Jarvis, then already leading his long, bony right fingers to the doorknob, “And while you're here you're going to obey your mom and help her with the housework. This is an order, Y/n. I don't expect less than that.”

There was no opening for an answer as he then got out of the car and closed the door behind him with a hollow thud. Your eyes burned the back of the café-au-lait-colored blazer your father wore on his tall, skinny body with a vaguely British bearing, and a whisper that only your ears caught was said in the icy air inside the car.

“She’s not my mom...”

Stepping out of the car into the sweltering heat of a small town was an act at least fueled by the humiliation that weighed on the muscles just above your shoulder blades, your head hanging down with gravity in a vague impression of cowardice – on the contrary, however, since the poison running through your veins was of pure yellowing fury that compelled you to crease your brow. It's been a week, and you still haven't found a job, and your dad still doesn't lock eyes with you. Not that it mattered. It didn't matter, he never did before.

The afternoon sun hid behind the hills in the distance, and night fell like a veil over the small-town square. Conveniences closed their doors and you started walking. Going back to your childhood home depressed you, but you knew that in time it would stop bothering you. Going back to the childhood home where your father lived with his wife and his other children was what made an unpleasant impression on your nerves.

Especially when going up the three measly white painted wooden steps of the porch that led to the main entrance door of that family residence, with the night also coming the sloppiness worthy of a soul so enraged that only a young girl kicked from the university could contain within herself.

Your father's car wasn't in the driveway, and your younger half-brothers, the twins, were nowhere to be found or to be seen – not on the sofa in front of the television, not a single whiff of two ten-year-olds coming from upstairs. Only she was there, gracefully seated on the dark linen sofa, sipping expensive wine, as red as the roses and her fingernails and her long, glossy locks, in front of the television that was flashing some old program she liked.

Wanda Maximoff, your father's wife, your brothers' mother. A pair of eyes with emerald irises that blinked green in the low lights of the room and crossed their path with your figure standing in the doorway. There was the hint of a tentative smile that was stopped halfway when Wanda looked at you.

“Oh, hello dear, are you–” you looked at her when she did too, “Y/n?”

And something intrinsic to the red core of her soul just unraveled the complex puzzle expressed in the muscles of your face (call it maternal instinct or just taking the time to really pay attention to you), as she promptly discarded the glass of half-drunk wine onto the coffee table in front of the sofa and then leap to her feet, only to cross the living room towards you, like an angel coming to your rescue when all the world around you seems to be in pieces, crumbling and falling. Wanda always noticed you. Wanda was always there for you when no one else in the world was.

“Y/n,” her low voice called out to you, so imbued with warmth and affection, the only person to ever say your name in such a cordial and specious way that it just made you want to hear that word slip past her pearly lips again and again.

“Y/n, honey, is everything okay?” green eyes peered into you before twitching her dark brows, such a sweet expression on such a handsome face, such prominent cheekbones.

“Did you go out for a smoke? It's been a while since you left. And you didn't even let me know before... you only act like that when you're upset, honey. Is everything okay?” a complacent hand of hers reached for your fingers, holding them in a warm, gentle touch, “You know you can talk to me about anything you have in mind, Y/n.”

“I know,” you pursed your lips into a contrite line, Wanda looking into your sleepy eyes and your smell of cigarette smoke, her left thumb stroking the skin on the back of your right hand, “I know, I– I'm just... sorry, I'm... I'm just tired. I'm tired as fuck… Mama.”

“Oh, my baby,” Wanda whimpered, “It's okay, it's okay... my poor baby, Mama is here. Mama is here for you. Come here, honey.”

And then Wanda pulled you into a hug. A long hug, protecting your stepmother's body, her arms encircled around your shoulders, crimson-dyed nails caressing in soft touches the nape of your neck. Your right cheek rested against her left collarbone that poked beneath the thin white wool sweater Wanda wore across her torso. She was warm and comfortable, as only a mother could be – she smelled like a mother.

“It's fine, baby, it's fine, your dad and the boys are out. It's alright, Mama will take care of you my sweet, beautiful girl. Come on, let's go to bed. You need to relieve your stress, honey. Let Mama take care of you.”

And you were feeling her, her figure lifted against your cold body again as it always should be, roaming your nose through the warm strands of orange in a shade of red hair half auburn, the tousled strands exuding an exotic and distinctive dry shampoo scent on an invisible background of freshly applied hair dye. You in your stepmother’s arms, with a hint of cigarettes and the purest melancholy you were sinking into.

She held you as she had that first time, even a few years before that, when you staggered drunkenly down the driveway right after your high school prom night – the inside of your mouth tasted stale, wrinkled, the insides of your cheeks numb, a rudimentary bitter taste flooding the length of your pink tongue, oozing through your teeth the heat of the sly alcohol that chained you in a catatonic state of chronic sickness, numbing down your feelings.

And Wanda, like a good, worried mother never being able to bring herself to fall asleep next to her husband who was snoring in their bed upstairs, not letting her spirits cool down knowing that her eldest child was out and the clock was already past three o'clock in the morning at that point, was there waiting for you. As she had already done so much and so much more she would have to do, Wanda looked at you from the sofa when you opened the door, dragging your heels in soft steps into the house.

“Where were you?” was the first thing the low tone of voice across the room did reach your drunken ears, a pair of verdant irises burning holes in your forehead, “The deal was until midnight at the latest, Y/n. It's almost four o'clock in the morning! I was worried sick about you!”

The world around you was like being on the deck of a fishing vessel in a storm on the high seas, confused and treacherous, ready to engulf you in an eternal sullen, salty darkness. From beneath heavy lids, you glared at Wanda with brazen scorn leaking from your irises.

“Fuck you.”

“…What did you just said to me?”

There was a second of silence. You had to place a sinuous hand on the wall near the left side of your body to force yourself to continue standing during the afterglow of dawn, since, drunk as a skunk, cheeks as red as two ripe apples, eyes lost – you didn't even had an idea what you were talking about.

“Fuck you,” you repeated under your breath, the words as bitter as the alcohol pooled in the corners of your mouth cavity, “You’re not my mom.”

And you couldn't even tell why you said it, words so disloyal and tormenting, raw and piercing, that the woman older than you just didn't need to hear that night – after all, Wanda was your mother in a way, the closest you've been to one since the woman who conceived, bore, and gave birth to you decided to pack her suitcases in the car and disappear one afternoon when your father was away.

But Wanda has always been there for you from the moment her figure became a constant presence in your life. Wanda was the woman who raised you, who gave you the first taste of a sweet maternal love, so discordant and confusing for your cognition worthy of an abused animal. Wanda was the first woman you loved because she was the only person who loved you back.

“I'm sorry,” you wailed in a limp lisp, becoming aware of the sharp pain in your stepmother's vexed brows, the disappointed hesitation in the wavering green of her gaze, “I'm sorry, Wanda, it wasn't my – it wasn't my… my intention–”

“It's okay,” her voice was low, carrying a grief-stricken weight, “You're drunk and I…I overreacted– I know it's not my job, I'm just your stepmo–”

“No,” you whimpered, shaking your head, your eyes filled with tears of confusion, “No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I– I'm sorry–”

“Y/n, it’s okay–”

“No, Wanda–”

And so you crossed the room quickly on your shifted ankles, your lack of motor coordination even reminiscent of a hesitant child staggering still learning to walk – your balance was internal, vulnerable.

“Wanda...”

You cried out for her, stepping across that plush rug to under the coffee table. Your arms raised, probed by the maternal touch that you were denied so early on, everything that you were deprived of and that you only sought to drink from Wanda until the last drop. She looked at you with affection, such an unfamiliar affection, her face too close. But your drunken brain couldn't even prepare you for the soft feel of the commission of your stepmom's peach lips, still tasting faintly of minty mouthwash, against your rough mouth that tasted like cheap beer and rancid blues.

You had kissed Wanda, because your body needed to have her close on an intrinsic level, to her core, as if you wanted to hide from the world within the amenities of her womb. And she kissed you back because she loved you, she always had, absorbing you with strong arms into her motherly warmth, giving you a security that alone you could never reach.

“M-Mama...” your lips connected again, in the living room of that house where only one family lived. And you laid her back on the sofa cushions where your brothers, her children, birthed by her, spend most of their day playing video games.

“Shh, it's okay, it's okay, baby,” Wanda whispered in a love sigh, one hand stroking the alcohol-warm skin of your cheek, you on top of her on those pillows, your heart pounding in your chest, the pride of a mother looking at you through green eyes.

“Mama is here for you, my little girl.”

Wanda pulled you down for another kiss, your knee vaguely brushing the hollow of her inner thighs, skimming against the thin pajama bottoms she was wearing. You apologized softly, stroking her where you could, where your touch reached, on her tummy rolls and in every graceful stretch mark that appeared in your stepmother's bulky silhouette on top of that sofa, with the family portraits hanging on the wall next to the stairs bearing witness to what you had to do. Calling her, reaching for her, for Wanda, for Mama, one being synonymous with the other.

What you did all summer of that year when your dad was away and your brothers were at some other friend's house, on the living room couch biting a pillow and at the kitchen table with her red nails dug into the crown of your head, on your bed of freshly laundered sheets and hers too, crammed with feminine perfume and the sweet red scent of her pomegranate moisturizer – Wanda on top, you on the bottom, she all on all fours, you behind her clamoring with your hips for what was yours, with an adulterine urge to be physically inside her innards at all times.

Even back home from the first semester of college that you already knew you would not finish, during the night when Wanda snuck out of her bedroom shared with Jarvis only to ride your thigh like an animal in heat, because she had missed you so much that her body ached.

“My little girl,” she said, “Mama has missed you so, so much, I can't bear the thought of being away from you, Y/n, please don't leave me again,” and the feeling was as mutual as it could be, because you also couldn't stand spending so much time away from an affection like no other ever felt by your empty and abandoned chest. You would always seek the motherly comfort Wanda had to offer to ward off your ills and soothe your spirits.

Even returning home after the failure of a dead academic life, your stepmother would always welcome you with open arms and legs – the sharpened ridge of red-painted fingernails digging into the thin skin above your shoulder blades, crescent-shaped marks piercing your flesh, marking you as hers, the headboard bumping in impassive rhythm against the wall, you rutting into Wanda's cunt with a silicone toy she had bought solely for your amusement.

“Mama,” you spit against the gleaming sweat from Wanda's throat, your hips bumping in wet slaps that echoed off the four walls of the room, your skin sliding against each other, “Mama, I love you, I love you, Mama...”

“Mama loves you too, baby,” Wanda moaned in a broken voice, “Mama loves you too. Mama loves absolutely everything about you, my little girl.”

You thrust that fake dick down her hole with a yelp of lustful satisfaction, a deafening delight, giving your stepmother's womb a rushing sense of pleasure. It was the height of belonging – being inside her, being embraced by her walls, feeling her loosen up internally to receive you all. It didn't matter that her wedding ring, placed on that finger by your father, felt so cold behind your back.

“Mama, Mama I– I’m gonna–” you growled, your brow furrowed, your hips crashing into hers in waves, your breaths ragged and shabby, your thrusts hard and sloppy, “I'm gonna come, Mama, p-please, please, Mama, Mama– M-Mommy! Mommy, I'm gonna come in you!”

“Do it baby, do it,” she smiled, so sweet and complacent beneath you, “Let Mama see your pretty face while you come, sweetheart. Come in Mama, give me all of you.”

Your clit was sliding frantically against the harness that circled your hips, and smelling her, feeling her heat, hearing her moans, was like an explosion inside your belly. You came – hot, strong, a red electric current inside your veins, running down between your thighs.

“Mama!” a squeaky little scream broke out of you, and from that open crack in your soul, the tears flowed down your face. Hot tears that dripped all over Wanda's sternum, mixing with the beads of sweat that exuded from her pores.

“Shh, honey, it's okay, it's okay,” a hand cupping your head brought you to snuggle against her chest, Wanda's heartbeat could be heard from the position you were in, your ear pressed to her skin.

“You did a great job, baby. You've let all your stress out. Mama is so proud of you, honey,” Wanda hummed, fingertips bent stroking your hair humid with warm sweat, “Do you want Mama's milk now, my sweet girl?”

You looked up from under your lids glistening from a silent cry, into her inviting eyes, “Can I…?”

Wanda smiled, “You know you don't have to ask me, sweetheart.”

You blinked once between lashes heavy with lust and tears before looking down at your stepmother's rosy nipple, which you brought to your mouth to close your lips on the circumvallation of it, earning a satisfied groan from Wanda.

With the twins approaching ten years old, there was no longer a single drop of sweet milk to be actually sipped, but something in the comfort imbued in that very intimate action, facing two naked bodies fresh out of the animalistic mist of such a carnal act, was enough for you to do it again and again, whenever you could, whenever she let you.

“That's right baby, that's right,” Wanda's melodious voice crooned, her fingers stroking a lock of hair close to the tip of your ear.

“Mama loves you, did you know that? Mama loves you so much, Y/n. No matter what others say about you, Mama is very proud of you, baby. You are my special girl.”

It was the movement that reconnected the two of you, bringing together two fragments of a shattered whole that, when put together again, made up a complete whole within Wanda. Consuming the human instinctual act, you both merged with a momentary perfection, a holdover of lustful nature during countless lapses of comfortable affability. A new hot tear trickled from the corner of your eye.

“Mama loves you,” Wanda repeated, one hand stroking the length of your back, “Mama loves you very much, my perfect girl.”

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samatheia229 · 2 years

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Rise Ponderings:

The Turtles With Japanese Names

I've seen a lot of headcanons lately that support the "Rise boys' given names ARE their colours and they only got the artist names later on" narrative so I'd like to share my own.

Rise Splinter is undoubtedly very Americanised but I think that despite him forsaking his familial duties and old life, he’s still Japanese, is still a Hamato. So, subconsciously, he gave the boys Japanese names (of their corresponding colours, of course).

On that note, for all that Splinter has Celebrity-Who-Gives-Their-Kids-Unique-Names energy, I believe that he would still have enough decency to give them somewhat proper Japanese names not just 'Aka', 'Ao', 'Murasaki' and 'Orenji'.

However, for a period of time, the English-colour-names Splinter uses in the show would have been how addressed each other because they are, for the most part, an English-speaking household. Until an eight-year-old April came along insisting that those weren't 'real names', the turtles English names were 'Red', 'Blue' etc.

After adopting 'proper' English names, those became the common form of address, though Splinter still calls them by the English colours because it's a habit for him. They don't mind.

They don’t use their Japanese names often. It’d mostly be during serious-talk time, in official stuff, calling someone by their full name or teasing.

Ironically, in Splinter's (read: my) effort to not be a basic bitch, most of the boys' Japanese names are female. You can bet they tease the shit out of each other about it. The only one that actually takes offense to the teasing is Donnie whose name is very common and recognisable, so he always gets asked why he has it and/or if he realises that it's a girly name.

The Names

*NOTE: I'm using Kanji here. Fair warning, they could be written wrong, so if there are any Japanese speakers out there, do correct me.

Hamato 'Raphael' Shuiro

Shuiro 朱色 = vermilion

Raph’s name is the only one that isn’t a real given name but I thought it suited him.

Colour Symbolism:

Besides being one of the most dominant colors in Japanese culture, red is associated strongly with authority, strength, sacrifice, passion, joy, and happiness. It's also regarded as an auspicious color in Japan.

Frequently said to have Eldest Daughter Syndrome by the fandom, Raph is the ultimate authority among the brothers. He self-appoints as leader not because he necessarily wants to be, but because as the oldest and the biggest, he feels like it's his responsibility to look after the others. Which often takes great strength and sacrifice. Surface Pressure from Encanto, anyone?

Furthermore, red, specifically vermilion, is very symbolic in Japanese architecture:

Red is the color of torii – Shinto shrine gates – temples, and traditional daruma dolls. Red is said to scare away evil spirits and represent protection, strength, peace, and power.

All in all, very fitting for the big brother and family protector, if you ask me.

Hamato 'Leonardo' Aoi

Aoi 青い = blue

Aoi is a unisex name; meaning hollyhock flower when used for girls and blue for boys. I'm using the male meaning for Leo.

Colour Symbolism:

Blue commonly represents the sea and the sky (for which Japan is surrounded) and symbolizes purity, dignity, calmness, stability, security, and fidelity. Blue is also regarded as a lucky colour.

In this case, blue is rather in juxtaposition with Leo's personality, but looking at it from a franchise perspective, blue is indeed a leader's colour.

Back then, Japanese society was strictly hierarchical and displayed through the colour of their robes. Of the colors that were allowed for common folk, the color blue was work by higher ranking people. It symbolized wealth and prestige, while also remaining a color of the common folk.

That being said, Leo's a little different from his predecessors. Eventually, he will grow into the role of the leader we know and love. But even when he was unburdened from being leader, he was still the strategist. Leo's leadership in fights is a balance between what is uniquely Rise and the mission-mindset of the leaders in blue who came before him, strategies that are fun, wacky and maybe a little unorthodox yet still as effective for the team.

Hamato 'Donatello' Sumire

Sumire 菫 = violet

Sumire is usually a girl's name but I don’t think Splinter would’ve cared all that much about gender.

Donnie doesn't either and even likes his name, though it has caused him a lot of grief over the years. A lot of people think it's strange for a guy with his personality to have such a feminine name, and he's really sick of having to defend his name after introducing himself. Part of why he wanted 'Donnie'.

Colour Symbolism:

Like in the West, purple in Japanese culture is associated with royalty, as purple dye was rare and only available to those of a higher status. It can also reflect on nobility, spirituality, and wisdom.

Out of everyone, Donnie embraces his colour about the most. His clothes are purple, his tech is purple, his lab is bathed in purple lighting. Purple is Donnie's thing. This, in a way, ties in with the colour's exclusivity back then.

Flower Symbolism:

In Hanakotoba (flower language), the meaning of violet is sincerity, a small love, and a small bliss. Violets are a common gift, as they are an ideal way to show appreciation for a family member or friend and to express sincerity or love.

I think this is very Donnie. What he lacks in the emotional department, he makes up for through his tech. He creates things for his family, making them all kinds of personalised gizmo. Sometimes it results in disaster but the intention to help is there. Gift-giving is his love language.

Hamato 'Michelangelo' Mikan

Mikan 蜜柑 = tangerine

Mikan is a common Japanese girl name. Baby girls named "Mikan" are usually joyful, positive-thinkers, smiley and generally happy people.

Mikey loves his name and doesn't care that it's girly and cute, no matter how the others tease him about it. (SIDE NOTE: I swear the near-matching names wasn't intentional. I was just looking for a name that means mandarin orange for a bit I'm writing).

Colour Symbolism:

Orange is symbolic of love, happiness and the sun.

The youngest of the family, Mikey is optimistic and cheerful. He brings joy and colour to the household through his art. He encourages everyone to be express their love openly and always tries to be supportive.

Fruit Symbolism:

Besides good fortune, wealth and longevity, the fruit mikan can be tied to family because of its role in Japanese traditions. In Japan, there is a word “Kotatsu de Mikan”, which means:

A family sits around a kotatsu (a traditional Japanese table with an electric heater attached to the underside), watching TV and eating mikan — the traditional picture of a harmonious family seen in the wintertime.

TLDR; I really love how each turtle has a role to play in the family, how their respective colours are so appropriate for who they are as people, and I wanted their Japanese name to reflect that.

Mikey is all about family. He's the heart, always the peacemaker, always bringing everyone together.

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#the pics aren't mine #So many iterations of TMNT and no Japanese names?#A travesty #rottmnt #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #japanese names #rottmnt headcanons

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flowerandblood · 7 months

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The Vanity and Variability

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • female ]

[ warnings: angst, mention of trauma, violence ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother's debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Vhagar Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

The Targaryen family name was one of the most famous and respected in London. His father's great-grandfather had been a duke, so royal blood flowed in them, and their family estate had been part of the kingdom for centuries.

He grew up with a sense of his own uniqueness, which his grandfather, his mother's father, Otto, constantly reminded him and his siblings of, remarking on their upbringing, their gait, the way they spoke. From an early age, everything they did was to testify to their origins and properly represent them to the world.

They were not allowed to run or shout, they were not allowed to eat with their hands, keep their elbows on the table, swear or laugh loudly. He was not allowed to play with other children, instead he was expected to keep reading and expanding his knowledge, and at the age of twelve he could already speak French and Italian as well.

And then, during one of the fencing training sessions with his nephew that his grandfather had forced him to do, he lost his left eye. Luke, enraged at his loss swung his sword as he managed to pull off his protection and the blade sliced his left cheek in half.

Having learned that he was not allowed to cry or scream, he howled and sobbed into his pillow all night, praying that his grandfather would not hear him.

Neither his position nor his wealth could change his appearance.

Although his father had a first-born son, his elder brother Aegon, everyone knew that he would have preferred the family estate to pass to his eldest daughter after his death, his only child, whom he had fathered with his first wife, who had died.

They had spent their entire lives in the shadow of his affections for her, simply existing in large palatial spaces, unsure if they were of any use to anyone at all. Knowing that he would inherit nothing, that he had only his name and his disfigured, ugly face, he hid in the world of literature, disappearing for hours in the library thus forgetting the woes of his life.

He knew that eventually he would be forced to marry a woman of similar status to himself.

When he first met the Countess Rivers, a wealthy widow much older than him, he thought she could become his wife, he even suggested it to his grandfather. He, however, laughed at his suggestion, saying that this woman had only married the Count for money and had tricked her way into his bed and then deprived him of his life for sure.

That didn't stop him, after a few grand balls in London, from locking himself away with her in seclusion and enjoying all that was female flesh and female fulfilment, feeling for the first time that he was not a repulsive child, but a man.

Life, however, made a mockery of him again when it turned out that Aegon had lost such large sums of money at cards over the years that, despite the fact that his brother was now a grown man who had a wife, Otto had beaten him before his eyes with a cane as if he were a small child again.

Aegon wailed and whimpered as he laid on the ground, writhing in pain, still drunk, and his grandfather hissed between hits that he was their ruin, their greatest misfortune.

Then his grandfather presented everyone at the evening meal with the solution to the problem they faced.

"Borros Baratheon is an extremely wealthy general with as many as five daughters ready to marry, he is known for his immense love for them, so I am confident that their dowries will be appropriate and also, if we play it right, he will give us a loan so that we can pay our immediate debts. Aemond, you will travel to Chelsfield to rest a little and choose your future spouse during this time." He said lightly, and everyone around him froze.

He heard Aegon's loud, amused laughter as he clapped his hands, the sound echoing throughout the room in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

"An excellent thought, grandfather. Right, brother? There's nothing better than to fuck a country wench." He said taking a glass of wine and raising it to his lips, their mother slammed her fist on the table, silencing him with a hiss, his wife lowered her gaze, embarrassed and ashamed.

Aemond did not listen to him or his mother. He stared at his grandfather wide-eyed, his jaw clenched, his fingers outstretched on the table rubbing against each other intensely in a nervous gesture.

"Is this supposed to be a joke?" He choked out finally, deadly serious, unable to believe what he was hearing.

His whole life, everything he'd denied himself, everything he'd learned was to serve who he was, his heritage, he hadn't been allowed to marry Alys despite her surpassing them all in stature, and now he was to choose from five simpering daughters of some village general?

His grandfather raised an eyebrow in displeasure.

"Ask your brother about that. Thanks to him we have no liquidity, we are finished. We need money, and Borros Baratheon has it. Marry one of his daughters and be happy you have plenty to choose from." He said impatiently, and Aemond got up from the table, leaving the room with a loud slam of the door against the walls.

He rushed into his room like a storm, ordering his servants not to let anyone in, and circled around his bed one way and the other, feeling like shouting, feeling like throwing something or destroying something, but he knew he couldn't do it, that it wasn't proper.

He finally knelt down in the middle of his room catching himself by his hair, burying his face in his arms and crying helplessly like a baby.

How many more humiliations did he have to endure in his life for God to decide that enough was enough?

How much more could he pray?

Why didn't God listen to him even though he went to church with his mother every Sunday, prayed in the morning and before bed with attention and focus?

Why was he not a good enough son either in the eyes of his father or God himself?

He knew there was no going back from his grandfather's decision. He knew that his mother would never defy him and his father would not take any interest in the matter even if he married a strange woman from the fair.

After a week he sat in the carriage that was to take him to Chelsfield and looked out of the window at the busy streets of London, inside sat with him Vhagar, his dog whom he had received as a gift from his mother for his tenth birthday.

She was beautiful, looking like a giant snow fox with white soft fur and a long snout. She was the only one he confided in, the only one he cried with, the only one with whom he could be weak, plaintive, whimsical, cheerful or happy.

Chelsfield was not far from London and they covered that distance in a few hours. Aemond pressed his lips together as he saw through the window a quite grand, country manor house of white brick, overgrown on all sides with ivy.

He saw a man in their army uniform step out, followed by a young boy and a whole bunch of girls in long high-waisted gowns.

He felt like throwing up at the sight of them.

When the door opened Vhagar was the first to fly out and despite him calling her she ran ahead, curious about the new smells and spaces. He felt rage when one of Lord Baratheon's daughters, who also looked to be the youngest, not yet pinning her hair into a bun, but having it partly loose, partly braided at the back of her head, ran towards her, reaching out to her.

He feared that Vhagar would bite her, unused to the sudden presence of strangers, her father thought the same, for he immediately moved towards her, rebuking her, but Vhagar only barked loudly and jumped at her, almost knocking her over.

The girl laughed out loud, catching her around the waist as if she was dancing and they both continued in such an embrace, Vhagar started sniffing her and licking her face.

He had never felt so embarrassed in his life.

Lord Baratheon greeted him with a few meaningless sentences, mentioning what an honour it was for him and that his room was ready, that he hoped he would find peace here and a bit of a break from the hustle and bustle of the city.

He figured the last thing he'd find in this place was rest.

He nodded at his words, pulling his cylinder off his head and following him through the main door to his house, escorted by the curious stares of his daughters.

When he finally locked himself into the room that was to belong to him for now, he sat down on the bed and grabbed his head, feeling like he was about to pass out. He couldn't imagine spending every evening with them, forced to talk to each of his daughters in turn.

He hated talking to strangers, he didn't have the gift to converse easily and he put his thoughts together with difficulty into full sentences, and the more he stressed about it, the worse it got.

He figured they'd tire him to death here, and he'd still have to choose which one of these silly girls to take with him and, horror of horrors, marry her, share his bed and his life with her. He shook his head at the thought, sighing heavily.

He didn't leave until the evening, terrified and discouraged, unpacking in his room, which was small by his standards. He looked out of the window and saw a rather pleasant view of the park, trees and hills.

He heard barking and noticed how the same girl who had let Vhagar lick her face in his presence ran across the grass with her, acting almost as if she were a second dog, laughing loudly, throwing her a long stick again and again.

He had never seen Vhagar in such euphoria before.

What kind of house was this?

When it was time for dinner he dressed himself in proper attire, adjusted the black ribbon in which his hair was tied, made sure his eye patch was fastened tightly enough, and went down the stairs feeling as if he was going to beheading.

As he entered the room, which he understood was the dining room, he noticed a beautifully decorated long table, a large fireplace at the end of the hall, lots of portraits and landscapes on the walls , tables and chairs all around.

Everyone stood up at the sight of him and nodded at him, and he reciprocated the gesture, walking unhurriedly to his seat, which was to the left of Mr Baratheon, and which should have been occupied by his eldest son. He saw with surprise that his son was seated opposite him, and only then realised that he had not seen Mrs Baratheon anywhere.

"Let's eat." Ordered Mr Baratheon in his booming, low, throaty voice and nodded to his servants, who one by one began to put food on their plates. As he expected, Mr Baratheon immediately addressed him.

"I hope you find your room comfortable and lacking in nothing, Mr Targaryen." He said lightly, without overbearing or teasing, it was more a statement than a question. Aemond nodded without looking at him.

"Yes, thank you very much. I'm not missing anything." He replied indifferently, grabbing his spoon, wanting to immediately start eating to prevent further conversation. The girl next to him couldn't resist, after a few minutes she tried to initiate light conversation with him.

"How do you find the landscapes of Chelsfield, Mr Targaryen?" She asked softly, and he turned his cool gaze on her, thinking in his head that it was the cheesiest question he had ever heard.

She was the only one with fair hair and seemed to him to be the oldest, her breasts were large and full as were her other shapes, and she had a pretty, common face, but not enough to tempt him.

"They are pleasant." He replied coolly, putting down his spoon so that the servant knew to take his plate from him. The girl beside him fell silent, discouraged.

"The day after tomorrow we will all go to church. Will you accompany us, Mr Targaryen?" Another of his daughters sitting across the table asked him, looking at him curiously, her lips slightly parted, as if defiantly, which he found displeasing.

She was trying to coquette him, to show him physically that she was attracted to him.

"Of course." He replied just as dispassionately, immediately getting down to his second dish as soon as it was served in front of him, wanting to finish the meal as quickly as possible.

As soon as he had succeeded in doing so he stood up and calmly announced that he wished to rest after his journey and retire to his room. Mr Baratheon agreed to this without much concern, watching him closely as he bowed and left without another word.

As he locked himself in his room he felt relieved. He pulled off his tailcoat, staying in just his chemise and trousers, and sat down at the cabinet, which he opened and was relieved to find stationery, quills, inkwell and ink there.

He started to write a letter to his mother, but crossed it out quickly and crumpled the piece of paper, throwing it down with rage.

Why should he lie, reassure her that he was content, that he liked it here, when it wasn't true?

He felt like he was locked in a cage with no way out, he knew he couldn't poke his nose out of his room if he wanted peace and quiet and the thought filled him with despair.

Resigned, he reached into his trunk and pulled out the books he had brought with him to somehow sweeten this awful time, these weeks he was to spend in this feral house full of simpletons.

Only after a while did he realise that Vhagar was not in his room.

He cursed loudly, running his hand over his face, devastated at the thought that surely she was still with that girl rolling around in the grass with her.

He fought with himself wondering if he should just let them stay together since they wanted to, but he felt anger because this was his dog, his closest friend, and she was taking her away from him.

As if his life had taken too little from him.

He stood up driven by rage and opened the door, looking around with a pounding heart. He heard Vhagar growling and barking in one of the rooms and knocked on it quietly, hoping to settle the matter quickly.

He heard someone run up to the door and open it quickly, Vhagar flew out and jumped on him, which had never happened before and he rebuked her immediately.

"Vhagar! Calm down! Sit." He commanded her, trying to be quiet and don't wake anyone. She sat down, breathing heavily, her tongue dangled on the left side of her mouth bobbing from her rapid breaths, her tail scrubbing the floor with joy, euphoria in her eyes.

What was happening to her?

"I was just teaching her a new trick." He heard the whisper of a girl who preferred to greet his dog first rather than him despite the fact that he could be her future husband.

He looked at her coldly, frustrated and bitter, a smile and gentle contentment on her face, she was standing in front of him in only a nightgown and a shawl thrown over her shoulders, her hair already completely loose.

He felt ashamed, it was the first time he had seen a woman in such a negligee. Even during his close-ups with Alys, he had never undressed her, simply not having the time to do so. He looked away, tightening his lips.

"Don't come near my dog again." He hissed, whistling at Vhagar, and she moved after him, stopping once in a while, turning towards her.

He felt furious and grabbed her suddenly by the fur on her neck, wanting to drag her forcibly to his room, like a small child who wants to snatch a toy from another child, and she began to squeal in pain and pull herself out of his grasp.

"− no! − please! − wait −" She begged and he let go of her, suddenly realising that he was causing her pain and watched, panting heavily, as Vhagar ran back to her room.

The girl looked at him apologetically and went back there, he heard her whisper to Vhagar to follow her, not to be afraid.

He stared ahead dully realising that he had just hurt the only being in the world who truly loved him.

That Vhagar would now be afraid of him too.

He felt like crying.

Miss Baratheon finally came out of her room holding something in her hand, evidently a piece of meat from the roast that she must have taken to her room after dinner and using it to train her.

Vhagar came up behind her, sniffing what she had in her hand, but when she saw him she lowered her ears and stepped back, afraid he would do to her again what he had done a moment before.

The girl approached him quickly, handing him the piece of meat she was holding.

"Hand it to her and call her out, just don't get angry." She said to him quietly as if they were acquaintances, but he decided he would not think of that, too distraught that Vhagar hated him so he knelt before her, extending his hand to her, and Miss Baratheon knelt beside him.

"− come, Vhagar − I'm sorry − it's all right −" He whispered and saw his dog begin to wag his tail again, she approached him slowly, uncertainly and sniffed his fingers, then licked them and ate what he held between them.

She pressed her white head against his chest, rubbing against him, and he felt a burning sensation under his eyelids, his lower lip trembling slightly.

"− I'm so sorry −" She said softly in a voice filled with guilt.

He heard her rise and looked at Vhagar, entering his room, and she ran after her at once. He moved behind them and watched in disbelief as she sat down on his floor and Vhagar lay down right next to her, placing her paw on her thigh, letting her know that she wanted to continue playing with her.

She had never behaved like this towards him and he had no idea what he should do with a girl sitting on the floor of his room in the middle of the night.

After a moment, however, Miss Baratheon stood up and looked at him, swallowing loudly, clearly realising herself that she shouldn't be there.

"− I'm sorry for the intrusion, I just wanted her to come in here − good night −" She mumbled almost running out and closing the door behind her, Vhagar wanted to run after her but didn't make it.

He lay down on his bed, distraught, and Vhagar ran up to him, having already forgotten the unpleasant event of a few minutes before, licking him devotedly and tenderly on the face.

"Traitor." He hissed angrily and regretfully, stroking her soft fur.

For the first time in his life, he let her jump on his bed and sleep with him.

Here, there were no his grandfather or servants to report this behaviour to him, which was completely unthinkable.

He fell asleep snuggled into her soft fur, ignoring the fact that she ended up taking up most of the bedding, pushing him to the side.

He thought it was an exceptionally pleasant feeling.

When he woke up in the morning he again felt the stress overpowering him at the thought of breakfast, the fact that this girl had probably blabbed everything to her sisters, saying that he was a violent, cold and aggressive man who hurt his own dog.

However, when he came downstairs with Vhagar his dog immediately ran to her to greet her, also coming up later to her father and brother, who called out to her, eventually making the rounds around the table, getting acquainted with each in turn.

"She's beautiful." Said the second of their sisters, slightly melancholy and hearty.

At breakfast, Mr Baratheon finally introduced his daughters properly to him taking advantage of the lighter atmosphere. He nodded pretending to try to remember their names, thinking with relief only that his youngest child had apparently not mentioned to him the commotion that had taken place during the night.

"I heard loud barking yesterday in your room. Why are you taking Mr Targaryen's dog for yourself?" Asked the girl who had tried to coquette him the day before, and from what he had just learned her name was Floris.

Her younger sister gave him a quick, apologetic glance full of guilt, her gown creamy and buff, pleasantly accentuating the shape of her breasts, some of her curls pinned back, some falling over her shoulders.

"I'm not taking her away, we've just become very friendly." She mumbled, and her sister snorted at her words.

"It's not appropriate." Said another sister, Cassandra, a blonde-haired girl who tried unsuccessfully to make light conversation with him.

He watched Mr Baratheon's youngest child collapse under more and more criticism, and thought with surprise that he felt no satisfaction from it.

"That's enough." Ordered Mr Baratheon, seeing that his daughter was on the verge of crying. "My dear, apologise to Mr Targaryen for your behaviour and for taking his dog for yourself."

He saw her lift her gaze to him, her eyebrows arched in pain, her chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

"I am deeply sorry for my behaviour and all the unpleasantness that came with it." She choked out finally and he swallowed loudly, clenching his hand into a fist knowing that only he and she understood the context of that sentence.

He thought with shame that he had reacted too impulsively and aggressively in front of her, even though her opinion didn't matter to him, he couldn't get the expression on her face out of his head, her cry full of pain when Vhagar started squealing.

"I also apologise, miss Baratheon." He said lowly, looking at his fingers moving in an uncertain gesture across the table top, wanting her to know that he regretted what had happened, what she had seen. Floris sitting next to him moved restlessly.

"Mr Targaryen, do not apologise to her. She is like an animal herself." She said with amusement, and her younger sister pressed her trembling lips together, fighting for a moment against whatever was rising in her throat, but finally gave up and got up from the table, leaving the room before the tears had time to leave the corners of her eyes.

Her older brother followed her out, saying he would check how she was feeling, and there was an uncomfortable silence broken by their father.

"That was unnecessary, Floris." He said impatiently, his daughter snorting at his words.

"She's embarrassing us all, I just gave her something to think about."

"What a pathetic thing to say." He growled, taking a sip of tea from his cup, setting it down on the saucer with a clatter of porcelain, and only after a moment did he realise that he had said aloud what he had thought.

He didn't dare raise his eyes, feeling the pounding of his heart, feeling that all gazes were directed towards him.

"With your permission." He muttered, rising from his seat, bowing and leaving the dining room, feeling like he was going to burn from embarrassment.

How could he say something like that?

He felt that he needed air and walked outside onto the dirt road, whistling at Vhagar who ran after him, deciding to take a walk to clear his head.

He walked for a long time, going through the forest paths and then strolling around the lake, amazed at the overpowering stillness that reigned all around, the birdsong, the rustling of the leaves, the freshness of the air.

In London, everything was fast, sudden, loud.

Tiring.

He sat down on the sand by the edge of the lake and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the water, to the sounds of nature, feeling Vhagar lay down beside him, sighing heavily. He continued like this for what seemed like an eternity, and decided that he could spend hours here, simply calming and soothing himself, hiding from the world.

He shuddered as he heard someone's footsteps in the distance, Vhagar instantly rising and literally darting towards the girl he would have recognised from a mile away.

He sighed heavily, turning his face towards the surface of the water, figuring he wouldn't pay any attention to her. Just as he thought, she sat down beside him on the sand, as he did, leaning her head against a long, old tree trunk.

She didn't say a word to him, however, letting Vhagar settle down between them, stroking her head, which she laid on her thighs. When he glanced at her he saw that her eyes were closed, that she was doing exactly the same thing he was doing.

She was running away.

He relaxed at the thought that she wasn't looking for a discussion or a intimacy with him and did the same as she did.

He shuddered, looking around, unsure of where he was or what was happening, running his hand over his face. He'd never fallen asleep outside before, much less in the middle of nowhere. He looked around and saw Vhagar lying on her back, sleeping soundly, embraced by Miss Baratheon, who was asleep snuggled against her fur.

He did not know what he thought of this sight, endlessly innocent and harmless. He was afraid someone had seen or would see them, but he didn't want to touch her, so he grunted loudly. She moved suddenly, blinking her eyelids rapidly, and rose to sit down, rubbing her eyes, as confused as he was.

Feeling that what had happened was uncomfortable to say the least, he stood up and whistled at Vhagar, heading back the same way he had come, leaving her alone.

She did not follow him and he felt relieved at the thought.

Halfway through, however, he stopped, feeling anxious, wondering if he should leave her alone in the forest. He fought the thought convincing himself that since she had gone there herself, she would return on her own, knowing the area better than he did, but on the other hand, he would never let Helaena venture this far, and she was still very young.

What if something happened to her?

He cursed in frustration and turned back, coming across her after a few minutes. She looked at him surprised, clearly not expecting him to come back for her.

"Did you forget something, sir?" She asked him uncertainly, and he rolled his eyes impatiently, turning his back on her.

"Come, for God's sake."

They walked side by side in silence, simply admiring the pleasant summer views of meadows and forests, not a living soul around them.

He had to admit that these views filled him with some strange sense of warmth, landscapes that he usually only saw in paintings now appeared before his eyes, even more beautiful, teeming with life and intense, strong colours.

They returned to the mansion together, which did not escape the attention of the household, he saw that Maris and Floris literally threw themselves at her as soon as he moved on, thinking he could not hear.

"What are you thinking? What have you done?"

"Nothing." She said impatient and resentful, fatigue and despair in her voice.

"Stop. I asked you a question. You forced yourself on Mr Targaryen again, didn't you?" He heard Floris's voice and stopped in mid-step, tightening his lips.

The youngest Miss Baratheon wanted to say something in her defence, devastated by the accusations, but it was he who spoke up first.

"How are you not ashamed?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at her, all three of them suddenly silent. "It's better to be silent sometimes than to confirm one's stupidity."

Floris probably didn't believe for a moment that he had said that, but when it finally dawned on her that he was deadly serious, she burst into sobs, running into the house, hitting him with her shoulder, Maris ran in after her.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she looked at him in disbelief, not knowing herself what she thought of his cruel words. He whistled at Vhagar and walked up the stairs to the inside of their mansion, leaving her alone with her thoughts about what kind of man he actually was.

_____

Taglist 1 @its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

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sisterofsomeone · 2 months

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Till Death Do Us Part

Chapter 1/?

Summary: On a wedding day in Baldur’s Gate, a marriage is sealed with a sanctified bond. A powerful magic that allows your minds to meld and cannot ever be undone. It is also required to share your darkest secret for the bond to be bestowed. There is a common myth passed around that once, a very long time ago, a woman was tricked into marriage by a demon of sorts and only found out when they wed. Every wedding at that moment the room falls silent, waiting for another scream, another myth making secret to be revealed. You just never thought you would be witness to it.

Series Warnings: Wonwoo x fem!reader, slight Seokmin x fem!reader (because I can't help myself), established relationship/situationship, angst, fluff, swearing, drinking, smoking, there are references to end game BG3 and spoilers for the whole game so please proceed with caution! smut MDNI 18+, unprotected sex, pet names (baby girl, pretty girl, princess), oral sex (male and female receiving), breeding kink, slight daddy kink, size kink, reader has a vagina that gets described as a pussy/cunt, slight dub-con for a second then clear consent, (more will be added as the series goes on!)

Word count: 3.5K

Author's note: Hello again! I was originally going to write this as a oneshot, but I just kept writing and writing and felt that I really wanted to try and flesh this world out. So, it's becoming a series! I cannot promise regular updates as I am in my final year of university, and start back up at my graduate job in september, but I am really enjoying writing this so I'm aiming for at least once a month, but maybe more. I do also have another series in the works which I want to post soon as well, so keep on the lookout for that one! I’ve never written anything like this before so bear with me if it’s not very good! Please enjoy, I really do hope this is entertaining for you, and have a wonderful day/afternoon/evening! Lots of love, Caitlin <3

This is a work of fiction and in no way is meant to represent the actions, ideals, or attitude of the idol Jeon Wonwoo.

Baldur’s Gate. The jewel of the Sword Coast. Granted, you never knew there was supposedly a dragon sleeping under the city before the invasion, but still. A wonderful place to live. Life here was easier for someone like you, the eldest daughter of the Apothecary Merchant. Father had spent most of the money he made to dress you in the finest of clothes, hire chefs to teach you to make the finest of meals, and ensure you were surrounded by the best trained ladies in waiting possible. Status meant everything to him, and you knew you had to marry up to please him. Being the eldest of three girls, you were schooled in house making, cooking, mathematics, business, politics- anything and everything that would endear you to one of the knowledgeable and wealthy bachelors your father was hoping to wed you to. Your younger sisters however were afforded the luxury to follow their throws of passion and learn dance, music, or geography to teach and travel. You didn’t much care for home making, your fascination with the foul words in other languages usually left your tutor giggling after you begged her to teach you them. You were smart, quick with numbers and well versed in politics and business. It was something your father loved about you. The daughter that would lift them even higher in status. You were his political pawn.

You were with your mathematics tutor when she burst through the door. Your mother, her face flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly with her heavy breaths.

“The- The King wants you to attend the ball.” She spoke. “The ball for the princes to choose their brides. He has called for you specifically.”

“Oh?” You didn’t so much as look away from your work, still toying away with the problems in front of you.

“Yes! Oh Gods girl, what are we to do with you?” Your tutor excused himself as your mother swanned towards the large windows. She was as dramatic a woman as you had ever met, and you loved her for it. Turning to face you, her dress billowed, and it struck you yet again how beautiful she was. You knew she used to be the catch; the young daughter of a cattle farmer swept into the Sword Coast by her wild fancies and taking Baldur’s Gate by storm. She married your father in a rather quickly arranged match, both being only 21 and your bump already starting to show through her clothes. She had always held a special place in your life, and the closeness in age only solidified your bond.

“You’re to help me avoid it. You know I want nothing to do with the royal family.” You raised an eyebrow, smirk playing on your lips as you turned another page in your book.

“It’s such a shame. You should go, if not for yourself but for me. It says and family and you know how much your sisters and I would love it!” Her fingers danced across the edge of the paper, twirling the red silk ribbon that used to hold the envelope closed as she read and reread the words.

“You know, there must be a specific reason they invited you. I heard only four girls and their families were invited specifically by name.” He voiced wavered, tone light, eyes meeting yours with that twinkle you knew meant trouble. Sometimes it felt like you were the parent in this.

“Will I need a new dress?” With that she squealed and swept you into her arms.

“Oh darling! You are going to love this!” Untangling her arms from around you she ran from the room and to the staircase.

“Girls! Darling! Come downstairs, your sister has an announcement!”

It was dark outside when you were finally allowed to rest. Your mother had dragged you and your sisters around every tailor in the city, eventually settling on a beautiful, glittered gown from the Facemaker’s that made it look like you were dripping in starlight. Your sisters marvelled at you, them seemingly more excited for your prospects than you were. As you stood before the full-length mirror, watching the way light danced across the dress you caught your own breath. You stood tall, the shimmering fabric laying against your body as if made solely for you. Your face now seemingly had the allure you always attributed to your mother, the colour of your eyes mirroring her own beautiful hue. It was the first time you felt a fraction as beautiful as her. That’s why you let your mother buy the dress, but you’d never tell her that.

The evening was warm as you took a book from the library and made your way to the balcony. Lighting the lamp on the table you slipped yourself onto the velvet covered seat and pulled the small blanket around your legs, hiking them up to your chest. It was here you sat, absorbed in the words of scholars until a small cough caught your attention. This was routine at this point, so you put your book down and pulled yourself from the seat, dangling a hand over the railing in front of you before leaning your head over. The man clasped your hand and smiled up at you.

It had all been an accident, you meeting Seokmin and Wonwoo. You weren’t supposed to be walking unescorted to Sorcerers’ Sundries, well technically you weren’t supposed to be walking there at all, but what Father didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. You had stopped but for a moment to watch the magic show at the front entrance when you felt a hand dip into your pockets. You grasped their wrist and turned, only to be met with a small child.

“I’m-I’m so sorry miss, please let me go.” The tiny tiefling looked terrified, eyes wide and lower lip trembling. Immediately you dropped your guard, gaze softening and grip on their arm loosening.

“Child, no need to be scared I won’t call the Fists. But let’s not go picking anymore pockets hm?” They nodded, thanking you as they scurried away. Thats when you heard the laughter. Two tall men, eyes dark and trained directly on you and the scurrying child.

“What are you two laughing at huh?” The slightly broader one cocked an eyebrow at you, and the other pointed behind you. There you saw the scared tiefling, not so scared anymore as them and their friend – who you hadn’t noticed until now – were poking their tongues out at you as they waved a purse above their heads.

“That’s mine!” You shouted as they hurried off, tails wagging and giggles filling the dark streets.

“You fell for that hook line and sinker.” One of the hooded men let a plume of smoke escape his lips and curled them into a smile. “Are you new here or something?”

“No, no. Look at her, she’s a sheltered little princess I bet.” The other said, closing the distance between you and him. You finally got a good look at him. Dark eyes, golden tanned skin, a smile spread across his face that lit a fire in your stomach. He leaned down, face now only inches from yours. “Such a sheltered little princess, aren’t you?” There was an earthiness to him, a woody smell that danced under a zesty citrus. This was no commoner’s perfume.

“Who are you?”

Wonwoo’s eyes shone from below you on the balcony, that same smile lighting that spark deep in your soul. He was intelligent, worldly, but most of all, he was kind. He climbed up the balcony as usual, pulling you into his embrace and kissing you. It was hot, fiery and passionate. It always felt like he was swallowing you whole, devouring every part of you. He pushed you backwards, lowering you into the plush of the loveseat as his body covered your own. His mouth never left yours, tongue playing against your bottom lip as you gave him entrance. He moaned, fingers running through your hair and pulling, revealing the length of your neck to him. He kissed down it, careful not to leave any marks as he did so.

“My beautiful girl, my pretty girl.” His lips left a searing trail down to your chest, his hands trailing down your sides, bunching up your dress to reach your core.

“Wonwoo, baby, we can’t. Not tonight.” It was almost useless, his lips never stopped working against your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse point. “Wonwoo, baby.” A whine left him that had a throb course through your body and set that flame burning.

“Don’t tell me to stop baby please.” He kissed you again, hands never stopping their assault on you. “Please don’t tell me I can’t play with my pretty girl’s pretty pussy.” His eyes darkened, teeth bit down harder, and you could almost feel the punctures from his canines.

“This pretty pussy has been invited to the King’s ball. This pretty pussy might have just been sold off by her ever-scheming father.” He stalled at this, hands stopping their assault and mouth leaving your skin.

“What?” His eyes were trained on yours as you swallowed thickly.

“We got the invitation today. Gods know how he did it. But he did.” Wonwoo moved off you, settling into the space beside you.

“Are you happy? With the idea I mean?” You let out a short laugh, cold and harsh.

“Happy? Why would I be happy? No one has ever seen them, been allowed near them, and what? I’m supposed to marry one of them. Be used as breeding stock. Finally put all this stupid training to use.” He laughed softly from beside you.

“You think this is funny? My life being sold off to the highest bidder and you laugh?”

“No! No, it’s not like that I promise.” His arms were around you again, pulling you into his chest. “I think there’s more to this than you know. Go to the party. You might be pleasantly surprised that’s all.” His lips were on yours again. “And no matter what happens, I’ll never let anyone else touch you the way I do.”

The morning broke through your curtains and the man beside you stirred. His chest was warm beneath your cheek as you kissed the arm draped around you.

“Darling, you must go before we get caught. Again.” He groaned, rolling the pair of you over, trapping you beneath him. That smile was back, softly lit by the warm glow of the sun pouring in through the windows. “Wonwoo, baby please.” His lips were soft against yours, pouring love into you like there was no tomorrow. His fingertips danced across your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He rolled his hips into you, want evident at the broken gasp that left his lips. “Wonwoo baby.” You moaned out, fingers moving to his shoulder blades. He rolled his hips again, the slickness of your cunt allowing for him to rock smoothly and bump his cockhead into your clit. “Wonwoo, we can’t.” But your body gives you away, the roll of your hips as you shake beneath him has him lining up instantly.

“Princess, say no right now and I won’t do it. But say yes and I’ll give you a baby. I’ll fuck you so full it has no option but to stick. You’ll be mine.” Your lips chased his as you nodded frantically against him.

“Yes Wonwoo, yes yes yes.” He pushed in, cock stretching you as you raked your nails down his back. His thrusts were deep, angling his hips to hit that spot inside of you.

“My princess wants a baby yeah? Wants me to fuck her full?” He growled into your ear, hips smashing into yours.

“Please, wanna make you a daddy.” You purred back. His hand snaked between your bodies, fingers rubbing circle after circle into your swollen clit as you arched up into him. He never stopped kissing you, never stopped whispering praise into your mouth as you came around him.

“Please Wonwoo, want you to fill me up. Please.” You dug your nails into his skin, drawing a hiss from him. He’s panting, sweat lining his forehead as he thrust into you again and again, bringing you to orgasm over and over until you couldn't take it anymore. He pushes you over the edge again and again, having you crying his name into his mouth over and over as you beg for him to finish in you, mark you as his.

But he doesn’t. He pulls out as he always does and finishes onto your thigh. It’s over then, the light shifting to a cold blue as the sun shifts behind a cloud. He moves away from you, gathering his clothes and dressing.

“When will I see you again?” He pauses, eyes meeting your own.

“You won’t see me like this for a while. At least, not this version of me.” You don’t know what that means, but he doesn’t give you any time to ask as he kisses you again so softly. His hand caresses your face, thumb rubbing your cheek as a tear falls from his face and onto yours. “But you will see me again, I promise.” As he pulls away, he places a final kiss on your forehead before stepping back towards your balcony. You let him go like you always do, but not without that horrible hole ripping through your chest.

The night of the ball drew closer, and there was no sign of Wonwoo or his brother. You were alone. The lessons ramped up, your father wanting there to be no chance of failure. You were his pawn, and he was so ready to make that final check. Your mother tried to get through the walls you put up, your sisters gushed every day about how lucky you were, how you were going to have the life of your dreams. But you weren’t. You wouldn’t be with Wonwoo. Wouldn’t be able to kiss him again, wouldn’t be able to hold him. You’d never be able to make him a dad.

“Your invitation madam?” Your mother was positively glowing with excitement, your sisters each hanging off one of your arms, you suspect to stop you from running. Your mother presents the invitation, and the guard cocks an eyebrow. “Please, this way for special guests.” You were escorted towards a separate entrance, a large pair of white wooden doors beset by giant boars on each side. The doors were parted for you, and the entrance was the most beautiful you’d ever seen. You were ushered inside, your sisters gasping and pointing at the artwork lining the walls. But your eyes were drawn to the three other girls.

“They’re your competition child.” Your father pulled you aside from your sisters and scanned you from head to toe. “But you’ve got a brain to best all of them. Be smart, be strong. Be the girl I raised you to be.” You glanced back over to them. Each one you knew to be a member of one of the aristocracies, as you were. You vaguely remember having a run in with the half-elf, but if she remembered you, she gave nothing away in the cold gaze she returned.

“If everyone is now here?” A voice sounded from the stairs above you. Your eyes followed where it was coming from, and the woman you saw standing there was the most beautiful you had ever seen. Dark eyes, with even darker hair cascading down her back that held soft curls that bounced as she began to walk towards you all. You had never seen this woman before, but something pulled at you from your stomach as if you recognised her.

“You are all chosen specifically by the princes themselves. My sister's sons wouldn’t allow for our intervention, so feel very lucky. Some of you would never have made it this far.” Her eyes fell on you at this, and your father bristled beside you. “Now, if you’ll follow me.” She sauntered towards the large doors across the marbled floors. You moved to follow the queen's sister, silently cursing yourself for not recognising her as your legs pulled you along before your brain could think of a reason to turn and run. She demanded that the girls line up, manhandling you all into a line with you left on the end. Your families were to follow along behind, and not say a word.

There was a commotion behind the doors, music filled whatever room you were about to be ushered into and laughter and conversations could barely be heard through these giant doors. You tried to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles of your dress, hands moving on their own as you chewed on your bottom lip.

There was a moment of silence before the doors swung open, and an even longer moment of silence when all the eyes in the ballroom fell upon you. Your gaze flitted from person to person, not a single face you couldn’t put a name to. Families with daughters much better suited for this match burned holes into your skull from jealousy. You were standing there, with the whole world at your fingertips and their daughter wasn’t.

You were ushered down the steps before you, the sea of people parting as the four of you made your ways forward. Your eyes were on the floor as you had been instructed to do so, never for a second daring to look upon the men sitting at the other end of the ballroom.

“This is the half-elf Carmae of the Boat Merchant.” You were right about recognising her then.

“This is the high elf Dauphine of the Gold Merchant.” You heard her light steps, the small “Hello sirs.” that sounded so beautiful falling from her lips as she greeted the men.

“This is the wood elf Avalynne of the Cloth Merchant.” You were next.

“This is the human Y/n of the Apothecary Merchant.” You stepped forward, curtseying as you were taught, eyes moving up to acknowledge the men before you.

“Hello sirs-“ Those eyes. That smile. Wonwoo sat before you, hand rested on his chin as he surveyed you. You felt a churning in your stomach as you let your eyes fall upon Seokmin beside him. His soft curls sat upon his head as he smiled ever so softly at you.

“We can now begin.” The music started up again as the crowd of people swallowed you up. Your sisters beamed at you as people swarmed you. They wanted to know where you got your dress “The Facemaker.” You politely replied. Who did your hair? “My mother wanted to.” You smiled at them. You were pulled from conversation to conversation. Every family wanted a piece of you. But your mind was back on Wonwoo. Your heart calling out to him across the floor.

His eyes followed you, dark and cold like you’d never seen them before.

“Wonwoo, calm down. She’s yours I’m not going to take her.” Seokmin leant over to his older brother, giggling slightly at the older man’s demeanour.

“I know you’re not. But they might.” He followed his brother’s gaze to the men being introduced to you by their fathers. “It seems like being the prince’s chosen gives a girl a certain…” His eyes scanned the crowd of men now surrounding you. Your father ever so keen to get you introduced to as many of them as possible. You were trying to be amicable, that soft smile on your face hiding the discomfort you felt. The burn of jealousy coursed through his veins as he watched you laugh and smile at these fools. If only they knew what he’d done to you, the noises he could pull from you with just his tongue or fingers. The way you beg him to cum in you, the tears in your eyes as he fucks you through another orgasm. You’d be too much for those idiots, they couldn’t make you feel how he did. Couldn’t make your body react the way he did.

“The princes will now have their first dance with each of the chosen.” Wonwoo and Seokmin stood, and the floor was cleared again. You finally found yourself walking back towards the man who held your heart in his hands and smiled. Wonwoo noticed that it finally reached your eyes.

“It is lovely to meet you Y/n.” He placed a soft kiss against the back of your hand.

“It is my honour sir.” You smiled even wider this time as he drew you closer as the music began.

“I hope you’re a good dancer.” He flashed you that dazzling smile once more as the music began up again.

“I hope you are too sir.” You felt the flush creep up your cheeks as the two of you started to dance. Your eyes glued to his as he led you across the floor, his never once leaving yours. You finally got what he meant that morning. While this was a surprise, you’d help him play the part for as long as it took to get your Wonwoo back.

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muiitoloko · 11 days

Note

If that’s okay for you if I may request

Colonel Brandon If that’s okay? Cause I read all your Alan rickman stories and I love them all so very much! ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you for writing those

Title: You are you

Summary: You are everything he needs, even if he doesn't realize it initially.

Pairing: Colonel Brandon × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Madness, Self-criticism, inferiority complex, unrequited love, anguish.

Author's notes: I've been wrestling with writer's block for a while, trying to figure out how to craft a one-shot with Brandon. Then, a spark of inspiration hit me while watching the Netflix series "Queen Charlotte." Drawing from her character and that of King George, I found the muse I needed to create this piece. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for your support!

Colonel Brandon stood on the sprawling grounds of his estate, his thoughts consumed by the recent turn of events. Marianne had chosen John over him, and though he felt a pang of sadness and disappointment, he knew he had to respect her decision. Seeing her happy with another man brought him a bittersweet sense of contentment, knowing that she had found the love and happiness she deserved.

But as the days passed, Brandon couldn't shake the lingering emptiness in his heart. He knew he needed to move on, to find a wife who could give him children and heirs to carry on his legacy. And so, he reluctantly resumed his search for a suitable match, his heart no longer seeking love, but rather a practical solution to his need for a family.

It was during one of his social engagements that Brandon encountered you, the eldest daughter of the duke and duchess, a woman living in seclusion on their vast estate. He had heard whispers of your eccentricities, but he paid them little heed, his focus solely on finding a wife who could fulfill his need for heirs.

As Brandon got to know you better, he discovered the truth behind the rumors surrounding your behavior. Your parents, the duke and duchess, confessed to him the challenges you faced, the periods of aggression and madness that plagued you intermittently. Despite their wealth and connections, they had been unable to find a solution, leaving them resigned to your fate.

But Brandon was undeterred by the revelation, his pragmatic nature guiding him forward. He saw in you the potential for a suitable match, a woman who, despite her flaws, could provide him with the children he so desperately desired. And for your parents, you represented a burden they were eager to unburden themselves of, a means to secure your future and their peace of mind.

For Brandon, it seemed like the perfect compromise—a marriage born out of duty rather than love, but one that could fulfill both his and your parents' needs. And so, he approached you with a proposal, his demeanor calm and composed as he laid out his intentions with unwavering clarity.

As Colonel stood before you, awaiting your response to his proposal, you couldn't help but feel a whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. Despite your eccentricities and the challenges you faced, you couldn't deny the practicality of his offer. It was a solution that could benefit both parties involved, easing the burden on your parents while providing Colonel Brandon with the heirs he desired.

Lost in thought, you retreated to the comfort of your study, surrounded by shelves filled with notebooks containing your innermost thoughts and musings. Dressed in your usual attire of men's clothing, a reflection of your unconventional nature, you pondered the implications of Colonel Brandon's proposal.

As you delved deep into contemplation, the weight of your decision pressed heavily upon you. You knew that accepting Colonel Brandon's offer meant relinquishing any hope of a love-filled marriage, resigning yourself to a union of duty and practicality. Yet, the thought of bringing relief to your parents, sparing them the burden of dealing with your unpredictable episodes, tugged at your heartstrings.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of introspection, you made your decision. Stepping out of your study, you faced Colonel Brandon with a mixture of determination and resignation in your eyes.

"I accept your proposal," you announced, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "But under one condition." Colonel Brandon regarded you with curiosity, awaiting your terms with an air of patience and understanding.

"I ask for a cabin of my own on the estate's land," you continued, your gaze unwavering. "Far from the mansion, where I can retreat during my periods of madness. It is my only request."

Brandon considered your condition carefully, weighing the implications of your plea. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded in agreement, a hint of understanding softening his features.

"I see no harm in granting your request," he replied, his voice calm and reassuring. "In fact, it may prove to be beneficial for both of us. A space of your own, away from the confines of the mansion, where you can find solace during difficult times."

A sense of relief washed over you at his understanding, grateful for his willingness to accommodate your needs. With a silent nod of gratitude, you accepted his offer, knowing that it was the best course of action for both you and your family.

Brandon didn't see anything wrong with granting your request for a cabin of your own on the estate's land. In fact, he saw it as a practical solution to ensure both of your well-being. If you were to experience periods of madness, it would be best for you to have a space where you could retreat and find solace without causing disruption to the household.

So, Brandon accepted your condition without hesitation, understanding the importance of accommodating your needs. However, he didn't anticipate just how distant you would be after the wedding. Days turned into weeks, and Brandon found himself growing increasingly impatient with your absence from the main house.

Despite his frustration, Brandon respected your need for space and independence, trusting that you would come to him when you were ready. However, as the days stretched on without any sign of your presence, Brandon's patience began to wear thin.

One night, overcome with loneliness and longing for your company, Brandon made his way to the cabin where you spent most of your time. He approached the door with a sense of trepidation, unsure of what he would find on the other side.

As he entered the cabin unannounced, Brandon was greeted by the sight of you standing by a telescope, your eyes fixed on the starry night sky above. Books and notebooks were scattered around the room, evidence of your scholarly pursuits and intellectual curiosity.

You turned to him with a smile as he walked in, your expression one of genuine warmth and affection. Your nightgown billowed around you, your hair cascading in loose waves down your back, and Brandon couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked in that moment.

But despite the tenderness in your smile, Brandon couldn't shake the frustration that simmered beneath the surface. He had missed you, missed the sound of your voice and the touch of your hand, and he couldn't understand why you chose to spend so much time away from him.

"Good evening, Colonel," you greeted him politely, your tone casual and unaffected by his unexpected visit. "What brings you to my humble abode tonight?"

Brandon struggled to contain his frustration as he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation. "I've come to see you, of course," he replied curtly, his eyes searching yours for any hint of emotion. "I've missed you, [Your Name]. It's been weeks since I last saw you, and I couldn't bear to spend another night alone in our bed."

Your smile faltered slightly at his words, a flash of guilt crossing your features when you met his gaze. You knew you had been neglecting him, consumed by your own thoughts and passions, but you hadn't realized just how much your absence had affected him. Pushing aside your feelings of guilt, you tried to divert the conversation, eager to steer clear of any discussion about your relationship.

"So, Colonel," you began, your voice light and cheerful as you gestured towards the telescope beside you. "Have you ever gazed upon the stars and wondered about the mysteries of the universe? It's truly fascinating how much we have yet to discover out there."

But Brandon wasn't so easily swayed by your attempt to change the subject. He could sense the underlying tension between you, the unspoken questions hanging in the air, and he knew they needed to be addressed.

"Indeed, the stars are a wonder to behold," Brandon replied diplomatically, his tone measured as he studied your expression. "But I believe there are matters closer to home that require our attention."

You paused at that, your smile fading as you met Brandon's earnest gaze. His words hung between you, heavy with unspoken implications, and you knew there was no avoiding the conversation any longer.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" you asked, your voice tinged with apprehension as you braced yourself for his response.

Brandon took a step closer to you, his expression serious as he met your eyes with unwavering determination. "I married you for one reason, and one reason only: to have heirs," he said bluntly, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "And how can we achieve that if the two of us barely see each other?"

You stopped at that, your gaze locking with his as you took in the gravity of his words. For a moment, you felt a pang of guilt at your own negligence, knowing that you had failed to uphold your end of the bargain. But then, a sense of determination washed over you as you realized what Brandon was implying.

Was he demanding that you fulfill your duty as a wife? Did he want... sex?

The thought made Brandon blush slightly, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment as he struggled to articulate his desires. But you weren't embarrassed; you were a 28-year-old woman, well aware of the implications of marital intimacy. Despite never having been intimate with a man before Brandon, you had spent enough time reading and learning from your already married sisters to understand the mechanics of such encounters.

And your first time with Brandon had been surprisingly pleasant. He had been kind and patient with you, guiding you through the experience with a gentle touch and reassuring words. In the aftermath, you had distanced yourself from him, convinced that it was for his own protection. But now, faced with his unspoken request, you realized that you couldn't continue to avoid him indefinitely.

With a resolute nod, you dropped the notebook in your hand and approached Brandon, closing the distance between you with determined steps. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as you reached out to touch his cheek, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw with a tender touch.

"Why not start today, then?" you suggested softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "After all, it is our duty as husband and wife to fulfill each other's needs, is it not?"

Brandon's blush deepened at your boldness, but he nodded in agreement, his eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and embarrassment. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to proceed.

You took the initiative, stepping closer to him until there was barely an inch of space between your bodies. Leaning in, you captured his lips in a gentle kiss, your heart racing with anticipation as you felt Brandon respond eagerly, his arms encircling you in a warm embrace.

And as you melted into his embrace, you knew that despite the unconventional nature of your marriage, you were determined to honor your side of the bargain. After all, you were both bound by duty and obligation, and it was time to fulfill the promises you had made to each other, no matter the cost.

As Brandon and you stood in the dimly lit cabin, the air thick with anticipation, he couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation mingled with desire. His heart still belonged to Marianne, his unrequited love for her a constant ache in his chest. But as he looked into your eyes, he saw more than just a means to an end; he saw a woman who deserved his respect and consideration, despite the circumstances of their marriage.

With gentle hands, Brandon began to undress you, his touch tender and reverent as he revealed your delicate form beneath the fabric. He couldn't help but admire the curve of your body, the softness of your skin, as he trailed kisses along your neck and collarbone, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You responded eagerly to his touch, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, urging him to explore every inch of your body. Brandon's heart raced with excitement as he felt your arousal building, his own desire growing with each soft moan that escaped your lips.

As Brandon guided you to the bed, he felt a surge of anticipation coursing through him, his body responding instinctively to the intimacy between you. He couldn't deny the pleasure he felt at being so close to you, the warmth of your skin against his own igniting a fire within him that he hadn't felt in years.

With practiced hands, Brandon explored your body with a gentle touch, his fingers tracing patterns of desire along your skin as he elicited soft gasps and moans from your lips. He marveled at the way you responded to his touch, the way your body arched and trembled beneath him, as if seeking more of his affection.

And when he finally entered you, it was with a reverence and tenderness that took your breath away. Brandon moved slowly, savoring each moment as he lost himself in the sensation of your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. He felt a sense of connection with you that he hadn't experienced in years, a bond forged in the heat of their shared passion.

But even as Brandon surrendered himself to the pleasure of their union, his thoughts strayed to Marianne, his beloved lost to him forever. He couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to make love to her, to hear her soft moans of pleasure as he brought her to the heights of ecstasy.

But Marianne didn't want him, that much was clear. Despite Brandon's unwavering love and devotion to her, she had chosen another, leaving him with a heart heavy with sorrow and longing. But Brandon was a man of honor, and he knew that he had to be content with what he had, which was you.

You, the woman whose mind was plagued by bouts of madness and unpredictability, yet whose heart was filled with kindness and compassion. And as Brandon lay beside you, his body still humming with the aftershocks of their lovemaking, he couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt wash over him. He knew that he should be focusing on fulfilling his duty as a husband, on siring heirs to carry on his legacy, but a part of him couldn't deny the pleasure he found in being with you.

But even as Brandon reveled in the intimacy between you, he couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that gnawed at him. He knew that his feelings for you were born out of necessity rather than passion, that he was simply using you to fulfill his own needs. And yet, a part of him couldn't help but enjoy the pleasure you brought him, the warmth of your body against his own.

As the days went by, Brandon found himself spending more and more time in your company, seeking solace and companionship in your presence. He tried to convince himself that it was all in service of their shared goal of starting a family, but deep down, he knew that he enjoyed being with you, in spite of everything.

He admired your resilience and admired your intelligence and creativity, seeing beyond the surface to the kind and compassionate woman beneath. You, in turn, found solace in Brandon's presence, grateful for his unwavering support and understanding. He treated you with kindness and respect, never once judging you for your eccentricities, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards him for accepting you as you were.

But as the saying goes, all good things are short-lived, and Brandon saw this firsthand when he witnessed one of your episodes of madness. One night, he woke up to the sound of whispers and found you in the bedroom, talking to yourself and drawing on the wall.

Brandon's heart clenched with concern as he approached you hesitantly, calling out your name in a gentle tone. But when you turned to him, your eyes unfocused and distant, he realized that you didn't recognize him.

"Are you Venus?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper as you regarded him with a mixture of awe and confusion.

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the realization dawning on him that you didn't recognize him as your husband. He took a step closer to you, his voice calm and reassuring as he reminded you of his true identity.

"No, my dear, I'm Colonel Christopher Brandon, your husband," he replied softly, his eyes pleading with you to see reason. "Please, come back to me."

But you shook your head stubbornly, dropping the chalk in your hand as you turned away from him, your mind set on a singular purpose. Ignoring Brandon's protests, you left the bedroom, navigating the dark hallways of the mansion with determined strides.

Brandon followed close behind you, his heart pounding with fear and anxiety as he called out to you, hoping to bring you back to your senses. But you paid him no heed, your mind consumed by delusions of Venus coming to take you away.

As you stepped out into the garden, your eyes fixed on the starry sky above, you spotted the bright gleam of Venus shining in the darkness. With a sense of urgency, you called out to the celestial body, your voice filled with longing and desperation.

"Venus, my love, please come get me," you pleaded, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night. "I'm ready to go with you."

Your screams alerted the mansion's employees, who came rushing outside to see what was causing the commotion. Brandon watched helplessly as you shed your nightgown, revealing your naked body to the world as you continued to call out for Venus.

Unable to stand idly by any longer, Brandon sprang into action, moving to cover you. But you pushed him away angrily, refusing to let anyone come between you and your imagined lover.

"Get away from me!" you cried, your voice tinged with frustration as you brushed him aside. "Venus will come for me, you'll see!"

Seeing that you were beyond reason, Brandon turned to the servants, instructing them to fetch a blanket to cover you. The maids obeyed without question, rushing to fulfill his command as Brandon's butler stepped forward to assist in calming you down.

But despite their efforts, you continued to scream and cry out for Venus, your mind lost to the grips of madness. It wasn't until Brandon made a bold declaration that you finally seemed to calm down, your eyes focusing on him with a newfound clarity.

"I am Venus," Brandon announced firmly, his voice filled with conviction as he met your gaze with unwavering determination.

For a moment, you stared at him in confusion, uncertainty flickering in your eyes. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, you seemed to accept his words, your body relaxing as you allowed the maids to cover you with a blanket.

Brandon wrapped the blanket around you protectively, his heart heavy with relief as he gazed down at you with a mix of sadness and concern. Taking your hand in his, he led you toward the cabin, his mind racing with thoughts of how best to care for you in the coming days.

As you walked beside him, your gaze fixed on him with newfound adoration and confusion, you couldn't help but question the reality of the situation. Was Brandon truly Venus, the god of love and desire, come to whisk you away to a world of eternal bliss? Or was he simply a mortal man, doing his best to care for you in your time of need?

"Are you really Venus?" you asked hesitantly, your voice tinged with uncertainty as you looked up at him for answers.

Brandon met your gaze with a gentle smile, his eyes filled with warmth and compassion as he squeezed your hand reassuringly. "Yes, my dear," he replied softly, his voice filled with tenderness. "I am Venus, and I'm here to take care of you."

And as you clung to him, expressing your belief that he was Venus and how you had waited so long for him to come for you, Brandon felt a pang of sadness tug at his heart. He did not like the hope he saw in your eyes, the desperate longing for happiness that seemed to radiate from your every word. While he was relieved that you finally seemed content, he could not help but feel conflicted about perpetuating the illusion that he was Venus.

Leading you gently to the cabin, Brandon guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you as you looked at him with such love and adoration, still addressing him as Venus. The realization that the duke and duchess hadn't mentioned this aspect of your condition left Brandon feeling unsettled. He had been led to believe that you were simply isolated in your cabin, dealing with your episodes of madness alone, but he hadn't expected this level of delusion.

Should he continue to play along with your delusions, maintaining the facade of being the god of love in order to keep you calm and prevent any further aggression? Or should he confront the reality of the situation, risking triggering another episode?

Sighing inwardly, Brandon decided to prioritize your well-being above all else. For now, it seemed best to go along with your belief that he was Venus, at least until he could figure out how to help you through this latest episode.

"Of course, my dear," Brandon replied softly, his voice filled with warmth and compassion as he took your hands in his. "I have waited for you just as eagerly. Now that we are together, I am here to take care of you, always."

Gently, Brandon helped you lay down on the bed, tucking the blankets around you to keep you warm. He listened quietly as you spoke, your words filled with a mixture of hope and desperation. You reached out to him, pleading for Venus to take you to the stars, to make you happy and relieve you of the burden you felt you were to others.

"Venus, my love, please take me away with you," you murmured, your voice soft and filled with longing. "I want to love you, and if you love me in return, I won't be a burden to anyone anymore."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your voice cutting him to the core. He wanted to reach out to you, to comfort you and reassure you that you were not a burden, but he knew that now was not the time for such revelations. Instead, he remained silent, his gaze filled with compassion and understanding as he listened to your pleas.

"I understand, my dear," Brandon said softly, his voice gentle as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "Venus loves you deeply, and he would never see you as a burden. You bring light and joy to his world, and he cherishes every moment he spends with you."

Your eyes shone with tears as you looked up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Despite the turmoil in your mind, you found solace in Brandon's words, finding comfort in the belief that Venus was there to guide you to happiness.

"Thank you, Venus," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude as you closed your eyes, surrendering to the warmth of sleep. "I love you."

Brandon watched over you as you drifted off to sleep, his heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was deceiving you, allowing you to believe in a fantasy that could never be true. But for now, all he could do was be there for you, to offer you comfort and support in whatever form you needed.

And as Brandon lay down next to you, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Despite his best efforts to reassure himself that everything would be alright, a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach, a silent prayer escaping his lips as he hoped you wouldn't have another episode of madness.

Closing his eyes, Brandon tried to push aside his worries, allowing exhaustion to finally overtake him as he drifted off into a fitful sleep. But even in slumber, his mind remained troubled, haunted by visions of you lost in the throes of delusion, calling out for a love that could never be.

The next morning, Brandon awoke to the soft light filtering through the windows of the cabin, his eyes lingering on your sleeping form beside him. For a moment, he allowed himself to revel in the tranquility of the moment, the gentle rise and fall of your chest a reassuring presence in the stillness of the room.

But as the events of the previous night came rushing back to him, Brandon's heart clenched with guilt and sorrow. He knew that he couldn't continue to ignore the reality of your condition, that he needed to take action to ensure your well-being and safety.

With a heavy sigh, Brandon rose from the bed, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber. Quietly, he dressed himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead.

Leaving you sleeping in the cabin, Brandon made his way to the main residence, his mind racing with thoughts of how to best care for you in the days to come. As he entered the familiar halls of the mansion, he was greeted by the sight of the butler, who had served his family faithfully for years.

Without preamble, Brandon approached the butler, his expression grave as he relayed the events of the previous night and his concerns about your condition. He instructed the butler to pass on the information to the other servants, emphasizing the importance of treating you with kindness and understanding.

But as Brandon spoke, he couldn't help but notice the disapproving look that crossed the butler's face, a hint of disdain lingering in his gaze. It was clear that the butler harbored reservations about you and your suitability as Brandon's wife, a fact that didn't sit well with Brandon.

"Is something the matter, Jenkins?" Brandon inquired, his voice tinged with a note of concern as he regarded the butler with furrowed brows.

The butler hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone hesitant yet tinged with thinly veiled disapproval. "Forgive me, sir, but I cannot help but express my concerns regarding your choice of wife," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes darting away from Brandon's gaze.

Brandon's jaw tightened at the butler's words, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to contain his frustration. He knew that the butler's opinion held weight among the household staff, and he couldn't afford to have any doubts cast upon your character or his decision to marry you.

"I understand your reservations, Jenkins, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from passing judgment on [Your Name]," Brandon replied evenly, his voice laced with a hint of steel. "She is my wife, and I expect her to be treated with the respect and dignity she deserves."

Jenkins bowed his head slightly, a contrite expression crossing his features as he acknowledged Brandon's reprimand. "Forgive me, sir," he murmured apologetically. "I spoke out of turn. It's just... I never imagined that you would choose to marry someone like her."

Brandon's jaw clenched at Jenkins's words, his anger flaring anew at the implication behind them. "And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice tinged with indignation.

Jenkins hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone hesitant yet tinged with thinly veiled disapproval. "I had heard rumors about her, sir, but I never thought they were true until last night," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes darting away from Brandon's gaze. "I cannot fathom why you would willingly take on such an unnecessary burden, sir. It would have been far wiser for you to marry Miss Dashwood."

As the butler's words hung in the air, Brandon felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him. How dare Jenkins question his choice of wife, especially in such a callous manner? Suppressing his anger, Brandon took a deep breath, his voice measured as he addressed the butler once more.

"Jenkins, I understand that you may have reservations, but it is not your place to pass judgment on my decisions," Brandon stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I married [Your Name] out of necessity, not out of choice. Miss Dashwood made her feelings clear to me, and I must respect her decision. As for [Your Name], she may be a burden, but she is a necessary one. I need a wife to conceive children, and she is the one I have chosen for that purpose."

There was a heavy silence in the room as Brandon's words sank in, his gaze never wavering from Jenkins's face. He could see the butler's discomfort, the conflict evident in his expression as he struggled to come to terms with Brandon's assertion.

But before Jenkins could respond, Brandon felt a shift in the atmosphere behind him. Turning around, he was met with the sight of you standing in the doorway, dressed in men's clothes, your expression unreadable as you listened to the conversation unfolding before you.

For a moment, Brandon's heart clenched with guilt at the thought of you overhearing the disparaging remarks about you. He opened his mouth to call out to you, to explain himself and reassure you of his commitment, but you brushed him off tiredly, expressing your need to retreat to your cabin for a few days.

"If the servants could bring me something to eat, I would be grateful," you added, your tone weary as you turned away from him and made your way towards the cabin. You were tired—tired of the constant struggles with your own mind, tired of being a burden to those around you, and tired of the expectations placed upon you as Colonel Brandon's wife.

Brandon followed closely behind you, his brow furrowed with worry as he tried to catch up to you. "Please, let me explain," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "I didn't mean for you to overhear that conversation. You're not a burden, [Your Name]. You're my wife, and I care about you deeply."

But you kept walking, your steps determined as you refused to meet his gaze. "It's okay, Colonel," you replied softly, your voice tinged with resignation. "We didn't marry for love, that much was always clear. You don't have to explain anything to me."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the weight of your resignation heavy on his shoulders. He reached out to you, his hand hovering over your shoulder, but you shrugged him off gently, your eyes filled with sadness.

"I know I've always been a burden to everyone," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I always will be. But I'll fulfill my role in our agreement, Colonel. And I'll try not to be such a big burden to you."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your tone piercing him to the core. He wanted to reach out to you, to tell you that you were more than just a burden to him, but he knew that now was not the time for such declarations.

Instead, he watched helplessly as you disappeared into the cabin, the door closing softly behind you with a finality that left him feeling hollow inside. For a moment, he stood there in silence, his mind racing with thoughts of what could have been and what still might be.

But as the days turned into weeks, Brandon found himself growing increasingly restless in your absence. He missed you, deeply, your presence a balm to his weary soul in the midst of life's uncertainties. And so, despite his reservations, he found himself seeking you out, longing to be near you once more.

Every night, he would wait for you to come to him, the anticipation building with each passing hour until he could no longer bear the silence of the empty bed. And when you finally arrived, he would hold you close, cherishing every moment of your fleeting embrace before the morning light came to steal you away once more.

Today was another one of those nights, and you arrived at the agreed time, wasting no time in starting to undress your male clothes, as you always did every night, while Brandon waited for you in bed, watching you undress, revealing your body to him. The routine had become familiar, almost comforting, in its predictability.

As you climbed into bed with him, Brandon couldn't help but notice the exhaustion etched into your features. He longed to hold you close, to lose himself in the warmth of your embrace, but he knew that tonight was different. Tonight, he needed to talk to you, to address the elephant in the room that had been looming over their marriage for far too long.

"Are you alright, [Your Name]?" Brandon asked softly, his voice filled with concern as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "You seem tired."

You sighed wearily, the weight of the day's events settling heavily on your shoulders. "I'm fine, Colonel," you replied, forcing a smile despite the fatigue evident in your voice. "Just a little tired, that's all."

Brandon studied you intently, his gaze searching your face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. He wanted you, desperately, but he could see the weariness in your eyes, the toll that their arrangement was taking on you.

"Perhaps we could talk before... before we... make babies," Brandon suggested tentatively, his words carefully chosen as he broached the delicate subject. "I know it wasn't what we originally agreed upon, but I can't help but feel like we should talk to get to know each other better."

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the opportunity to postpone the inevitable for a little while longer. Pulling the covers over yourself to protect yourself from the cold of the night, you settled into the bed beside Brandon, your mind racing with thoughts of what you were going to talk about.

Brandon turned to look at you, his expression softening with affection as he regarded you. "How did you... how did you start to like astronomy?" he asked, his tone gentle as he broached the topic of conversation.

You smiled at the question, a fondness evident in your eyes as you recalled your childhood fascination with the stars. "For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated by astronomy," you confessed, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "I found a telescope in my grandfather's things when I was a child, and ever since then, I've been hooked. There's just something about gazing up at the night sky that fills me with wonder and awe."

Brandon nodded, captivated by the passion in your voice as you spoke. He admired your thirst for knowledge, your willingness to pursue your interests despite the constraints placed upon you by society. In that moment, he felt a surge of affection for you, a newfound appreciation for the depth of your character.

"It sounds like you had quite the adventurous childhood," Brandon remarked, his tone laced with admiration. "Your parents must have been quite liberal in letting you learn whatever you wanted."

You nodded in agreement, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as you recalled the support and encouragement you had received from your parents throughout the years. "Yes, they were," you replied, a hint of pride evident in your voice. "They always encouraged me to follow my passions, no matter where they led me."

Brandon's heart swelled with affection as he listened to you speak, the warmth of your words washing over him like a soothing balm. He liked how you lit up, the sparkle in your eyes when you talked about astronomy. He found himself captivated by the passion and enthusiasm in your voice, admiring the way you spoke with such fervor about something that brought you joy. It was a side of you he hadn't seen before, a glimpse into the depths of your soul that left him feeling strangely drawn to you.

But as the conversation shifted, Brandon hesitated, his brow furrowing with concern as he broached a more sensitive topic. "When did your... episodes of madness start?" he asked tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper as he searched your eyes for answers.

The heat in your eyes disappeared as the tiredness returned, and you fell silent, your gaze drifting away from his as you struggled to find the words to explain. It was a painful subject, one that you had long tried to bury deep within yourself, but you knew that Brandon deserved to know the truth.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come as you recounted the events that had changed your life forever. "It all started when I was 15," you began softly, your voice tinged with sadness. "I was out riding with my father and brothers when my horse was startled by a snake. I fell off and... I hit my head on a rock."

You paused, the memories flooding back with painful clarity as you struggled to compose yourself. "I don't remember much after that," you continued, your voice trembling slightly. "But my brothers told me that I was in a coma for five days before I woke up."

Brandon listened intently, his heart aching with sympathy as he imagined the pain and confusion you must have felt during that traumatic time. "And then?" he prompted gently, his voice barely above a whisper as he waited for you to continue.

You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek as you recalled the horrors that followed. "Things were normal for a few days," you admitted reluctantly. "But then... the first episode of madness began."

Brandon's heart clenched with sorrow at your words, his mind racing with questions and concerns. "What... what kind of treatments did you undergo?" he asked softly, his voice filled with apprehension as he braced himself for your response.

But you shook your head, the pain evident in your eyes as you diverted the conversation. "I... I don't think you want to know," you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's not something I like to talk about."

Brandon's heart ached with frustration at your reluctance to share, but he knew that now was not the time to press you further. Instead, he reached out to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you tenderly.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with reassurance. "But know that I'm here for you, [Your Name]. Whatever you need, whatever you're going through, I'm here."

You melted into his embrace, the warmth of his words washing over you like a soothing balm. In that moment, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you, a glimmer of light in the darkness that surrounded you.

With a soft sigh of contentment, you pulled Brandon closer, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss as you whispered softly against his mouth. "Don't make me wait any longer, Colonel," you murmured, your voice filled with longing. "Let's just get this over with."

Brandon's heart skipped a beat at your words, his desire for you burning hotter than ever as he surrendered himself to the passion of your embrace. In that moment, there was only you and him, lost in the intensity of their shared desire as they sought solace in each other's arms.

Brandon pulled you closer, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he guided you onto his lap beneath the covers. You followed his lead, straddling him with your hands pressed against his chest, your lips meeting his in a hungry kiss that conveyed all the pent-up desire between you.

The kiss was intense, fueled by a longing that had been building between you for far too long. Your tongues danced together in a passionate tango, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your bodies as you lost yourselves in the heat of the moment.

Finally breaking away from the kiss, you reached between your bodies, your hand wrapping around Brandon's hard length as you positioned yourself above him. With a breathy sigh, you guided him to your entrance, the anticipation of being filled by him sending shivers of excitement down your spine.

Brandon groaned softly as he felt you take him in hand, his desire for you reaching a fever pitch as he watched you sink down onto him. He was big and you weren't quite wet enough to receive him fully. But the sensation of being stretched by him was exhilarating, and you couldn't help but moan in pleasure as you sank down onto his cock.

As you sat down completely on him, a low, guttural moan escaped Brandon's lips, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he relished the feeling of being buried deep inside you. And when you moaned his name in a breathy whisper—Christopher—Brandon's heart skipped a beat, his desire for you reaching new heights at the sound of his name on your lips.

"God, [Your Name]," Brandon breathed, his voice thick with desire as he savored the sensation of you surrounding him. "You feel so good, so tight around me."

You whimpered in response, the pleasure of having him inside you overwhelming as you began to move your hips in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body, the pleasure building with each passing moment as you surrendered yourself to the intensity of your union.

Brandon matched your movements with his own, his hands guiding you as you rode him with increasing urgency. He could feel the tension building within you, the need for release growing more urgent by the second as you chased the elusive peak of pleasure together.

And as you continued bouncing on Brandon's dick, you experimented with new movements, gyrating your hips and watching the pleasure written all over his face. It was a sight that books and stories of your married sisters' experiences could never fully describe—the indescribable pleasure of seeing Brandon lost in ecstasy, his features contorted with pleasure as you rode him with abandon.

He was absolutely beautiful, his handsome face twisted in pleasure as he surrendered himself to the pleasure you were providing him. But despite his beauty and kindness, you pushed aside any thoughts of unworthiness, focusing only on the here and now with Brandon, on the pleasure you both felt.

Taking his hands that were on your waist, you guided them closer together, intertwining your fingers with his as you held his hands above his head. The feeling of his strong hands in yours only fueled your desire further, adding an element of intimacy to your passionate encounter.

And as you continued to ride him, lost in the sensation of being filled by him, you couldn't help but let out a torrent of praise and moans, your voice echoing through the room in a symphony of pleasure. And Brandon loved every moment of it, reveling in the sound of your moans and the sweet compliments you bestowed upon him.

"You feel so good, Christopher," you gasped, your voice filled with longing as you rocked your hips against his. "I never want this to end."

Brandon's heart swelled with pride at your words, his desire for you burning hotter than ever as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your union. "You're amazing, [Your Name]," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he watched you move above him.

You smiled at his words, your heart overflowing with love for him as you continued to ride him with increasing urgency. You let go of Brandon's hands, your fingers curling into his chest as you rode him harder, your movements fueled by a desperate need for release. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, the tension building with each passing moment as you chased the elusive peak of ecstasy.

Brandon watched you with rapt attention, his eyes filled with desire as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your union. He groaned softly as he felt you tighten around him, the sensation driving him closer to the edge with each passing moment.

At the sight of you throwing your head back in ecstasy, Brandon felt his own climax approaching rapidly. With a guttural moan of pleasure, he let go of all restraint, surrendering himself completely to the overwhelming sensation of release. As you reached climax, your body shuddering with the intensity of your pleasure, Brandon held you close, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he supported your weight. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he rode out the waves of his orgasm with you.

And as he came deep inside you, filling you with his seed, you felt a surge of contentment wash over you, knowing that you had given him everything he desired. You melted into his embrace, your bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs as you basked in the afterglow of your passionate encounter.

As you both calmed down, Brandon pulled you to lie down next to him, his arms wrapped around you protectively as he held you close. You snuggled into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. But as Brandon fell asleep beside you, a wave of sadness washed over you, threatening to engulf you in its depths. You knew that your relationship with Brandon was built on a foundation of duty and obligation, not love. He had made it clear that you were here just to give him children, nothing more.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, leaving you feeling empty and hollow inside. You didn't deserve him, you didn't deserve Brandon's love. He was kind and compassionate, everything you could ever want in a partner, but you knew that he would never love you the way you longed to be loved.

And as you stood up to get dressed, ignoring the sticky remnants of his cum running down your thighs, you couldn't help but feel a sense of despair wash over you. You cast one last look at Brandon's sleeping form, the ache in your heart growing more unbearable with each passing moment.

But as you turned away, tears streaming down your cheeks, you made a silent vow to yourself. You would bury your feelings deep within yourself, locking them away where no one could find them. You would continue to fulfill your duty as Brandon's wife, even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness in the process.

With a heavy heart, you slipped into your clothes and made your way back to your cabin, back to your books, and your stars. It was the only solace you had left, the only thing that could distract you from the pain of knowing that you would never have the love you so desperately craved.

Brandon woke up the next morning with a satisfied sigh, his body still tingling with the lingering sensations of their passionate encounter from the night before. He reached out instinctively, his arm seeking the warmth of your body as he pulled you close, his heart swelling with affection at the thought of waking up beside you.

But to his dismay, Brandon's hand met only empty space, his fingers brushing against the cool fabric of the pillow beneath him. Confusion clouded his mind for a moment as he blinked away the remnants of sleep, his eyes scanning the room in search of you.

And then, with a sinking feeling in his chest, Brandon realized the truth—you were gone. Once again, you had left him alone in the marital bed, slipping away in the darkness of the night without so much as a goodbye.

Disappointment washed over Brandon like a tidal wave, his heart heavy with the weight of your absence. He had hoped that last night's passionate encounter would bring you closer together, that it would be a step towards building a deeper connection between you.

But as he lay there in the empty bed, Brandon couldn't shake the feeling of loneliness that settled over him like a shroud. He longed for your presence, for the warmth of your body pressed against his, but he knew that you were gone, leaving him to face another day alone.

With a heavy sigh, Brandon turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a sense of resignation. He was tired of this—tired of the constant cycle of intimacy followed by solitude, tired of feeling like he was always left wanting more.

Rubbing his face tiredly, Brandon knew that he couldn't continue like this. He had to talk to you, to address the underlying issues that were driving you apart. He couldn't keep ignoring the elephant in the room, pretending that everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.

And so, with a sense of determination, Brandon promised himself that he would broach the subject with you when you came over again that night. He couldn't let things continue like this, couldn't let the distance between you grow any further.

But for now, Brandon pushed aside his worries, forcing himself to focus on the tasks at hand. There were duties to attend to, responsibilities to fulfill, and he couldn't afford to let his personal struggles interfere with his professional life.

With a deep breath, Brandon pushed himself out of bed, steeling himself for the day ahead. He didn't know what the future held for him and you, but he knew that he couldn't keep living like this, trapped in a cycle of longing and disappointment.

Brandon longed for more than just stolen moments in the dead of night; he wanted to be with you, truly and completely, in every sense of the word. And so, he resolved to confront you, to lay bare his heart and soul in the hopes of finding solace in your arms once more.

And so, on that fateful night, as the hours stretched on without any sign of your arrival, Brandon found himself growing increasingly anxious. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that you needed him now more than ever.

With a sense of urgency, Brandon made his way to the cabin, his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared himself for what he might find inside. And when he entered, he was met with the sight of you lost in another one of your episodes, drawing intricate constellations on the wooden floor as you mumbled to yourself.

"[Your Name], it's me, Christopher," he called out softly, his voice filled with concern as he approached you cautiously. "Can you hear me? It's going to be alright, I'm here."

You looked at him and smiled, beckoning him closer. Brandon realized that you weren't in one of your manic episodes, at least it didn't seem like it. He approached cautiously, a mix of relief and confusion flooding his senses. "What are you doing?" he asked gently, his concern evident in his voice.

You glanced up at him, your eyes sparkling with genuine enthusiasm. "I'm drawing my favorite constellations," you replied, a hint of excitement in your tone. "The sky is beautiful tonight, don't you think?"

Brandon felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him, his worry dissipating into annoyance. "That's it?" he exclaimed, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "You didn't come to me because you were drawing constellations?"

You looked at him, confusion clouding your features as you processed his words. "I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to dishonor our agreement, but I just... I lost track of time."

But your words only seemed to frustrate Brandon even more, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to comprehend your actions. "Is that all this is to you?" he demanded, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Just a deal?"

You looked at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you struggled to find the right words. "How should I see it then?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper.

Brandon looked away, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. "Maybe... maybe I want something more," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with uncertainty. "I... I think I'm in love with you."

You interrupted him, shaking your head in disbelief as you backed away from him. "No," you whispered, your voice tinged with sadness. "You barely talk to me, Colonel. How could you possibly love me?"

But Brandon insisted, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes with determination. "I see you, [Your Name]," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "I see you helping the servants when you're not alone in the cabin. I see how you light up when you talk about astronomy, how passionate you are about the stars. And those nighttime conversations we have... they mean more to me than you'll ever know."

You remained skeptical, your gaze fixed on him with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. "You can't love me," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned away from him. "It would be better if you extinguished that love now, before it consumes you. Fall in love with another woman, but not with me."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your voice cutting him to the core. "No," he protested, reaching out to you desperately. "I don't want to be in love with anyone else. I want to be with you, [Your Name]. Please, let me show you how much you mean to me."

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to say. "I heard rumors that Marianne Dashwood will no longer marry John Willoughby," you explained, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Maybe you can ask for an annulment of our marriage, claiming that I am crazy, so you are free to go after Marianne."

Brandon's eyes widened in surprise at your suggestion, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. "How do you know about Marianne?" he questioned, his tone laced with disbelief. "And why would you suggest such a thing?"

You smiled sadly at him, the weight of your words heavy on your heart. "I heard Jenkins happily commenting on this with other employees," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "He seemed eager to see you away from me."

Brandon's expression darkened at the mention of Jenkins, his frustration mounting as he struggled to come to terms with the implications of your words. "Jenkins has no right to meddle in our affairs," he muttered, his voice tinged with anger. "And Marianne... Marianne is not the solution to our problems."

You looked at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you processed his words. "But you love her, don't you?" you questioned softly, a hint of sadness in your tone.

Brandon's gaze softened as he met your eyes, his voice filled with sincerity. "I thought I did, once," he admitted quietly. "But that was before I met you."

You looked at him, disbelief written all over your face. "But how can that be?" you questioned, confusion evident in your voice. "I'm nothing like Marianne. I'm not beautiful, or charming, or witty."

Brandon reached out to you, gently cupping your face in his hands as he met your gaze with unwavering determination. "You may not be Marianne, but you are everything to me," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You are kind, compassionate, and brave. And who says you're not beautiful? You are simply stunning."

You push Brandon's hand away, your heart heavy with disbelief and self-doubt. "You don't know what you're talking about," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just a crazy woman, Colonel. You shouldn't waste your time on me."

But Brandon refuses to back down, his eyes filled with sincerity as he reaches out to you once more. "It doesn't matter if you're crazy or not," he insists, his voice unwavering. "You're my wife, don't you see? I want you, all of you."

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to comprehend his words. "But why?" you question, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "Why would you want someone like me?"

Brandon's expression softens as he looks at you, his gaze filled with warmth and affection. "Because you're you," he replies simply, his voice filled with conviction. "You're kind, and compassionate, and brave. And I... I think I'm falling in love with you."

You stare at him in shock, unable to believe what you're hearing. "But Marianne..." you begin, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words.

Brandon interrupts you gently, his voice filled with understanding. "Marianne sent me letters, asking me to visit her," he admits quietly. "But I refused, because... because of you. I want to explore this love, this connection that I feel with you. Marianne is not the solution to our problems. You are. Give me an occupation, [Your Name], or I shall run mad.”

Tears fill your eyes as you look at him, the weight of his words sinking in. "I don't deserve you," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you turn away from him.

But Brandon refuses to let you retreat into your self-doubt, reaching out to you and gently turning you back to face him. "It doesn't matter," he insists, his voice filled with determination. "It doesn't matter if you think you're not worthy of love. Because to me, you're everything."

You meet his gaze, your heart aching with longing and uncertainty. "But what if I have another episode?" you question hesitantly, your voice tinged with fear.

Brandon's expression softens, his hand reaching out to gently caress your cheek. "Then we'll face it together," he replies softly. "I'll be by your side, every step of the way. Because you're not alone, [Your Name]. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

You look away, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The weight of Brandon's words hangs heavy in the air, his vulnerability laid bare before you. You want to say something, to reassure him of your feelings, but the words catch in your throat, choked by the fear and uncertainty that have plagued you for so long.

Brandon waits patiently for you to speak, his gaze searching yours for any sign of understanding. But when you remain silent, a defeated look crosses his features, his shoulders slumping in resignation.

"Maybe... maybe it's you who doesn't love me," he murmurs softly, his voice filled with a hint of desperation.

You feel a pang of guilt at his words, a surge of emotion welling up inside you as you struggle to find the courage to speak. But then, before you can stop yourself, the words spill from your lips in a rush of emotion.

"No, Christopher, it's not that," you interject, your voice trembling with emotion. "I love you. How could I not, after all the kindness you've shown me? There aren't enough stars in the sky to quantify how deeply I've fallen for you."

You pause, taking a shaky breath as you gather your thoughts. Weeks ago, when you overheard Brandon referring to you as a necessary burden, it had shattered your heart. You had never wanted to be seen as a burden to him, but your madness seemed to make it unavoidable.

"But I know that I can't make you happy," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. "But Marianne... she's young and beautiful. She'll have a much better chance of giving you children and making you happy. And the employees will like her. It will be better that way. I will no longer be a burden to you."

Tears fill your eyes as you speak, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. You know that this is your destiny, to fade into the background, with only the stars for company.

Brandon listens to you in silence, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. When you finish speaking, he reaches out to you, gently wiping away your tears with his thumb.

"You are not a burden, [Your Name]," he whispers softly, his voice filled with conviction. "And I don't want anyone else. I want you, just as you are. Marianne may have her charms, but she's not you. And I love you."

You look up at him, disbelief written all over your face. "But why?" you question, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Brandon smiles tenderly at you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Because you're you," he replies simply, his voice filled with sincerity. "And that's all I need."

#colonel brandon #alan rickman #marianne dashwood #sense and sensibility #colonel brandon x reader #alan rickman x reader #oc

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marsprincess889 · 8 months

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Ketu placement and your most core self

So i want to talk about my personal experience about an artist I love, how she has been haunting me throughout my life and about how art imitates life.

I have ketu in jyeshta nakshatra,(and shoutout to all my 2002 babies with ketu in jyeshta, love u) and at age 10 i discovered an artist whose name i've heard of but never knew. I clicked on a song that youtube recommended called "Back to December" and i really do remember it so clearly, how natural it was and how i wasn't thinking as i branded Taylor Swift (sun in jyeshta) my favourite artist. I remember explaining passionately to my dad why I loved this song and how it differed from RED and how those songs were my safe space because while i had to try hard for anything else, this was natural and easy and just perfect.

Here i credit claire nakti, who you should know if you're interested in vedic astrology. She made a video about ketu and creativity and one's "daemon" that is really worth checking out.

Moving on, ketu is your creative, primal energy that is unaware. It's the headless body, the tail of the serpent, our past, where we come from, what is natural for us, past lives and untamed power. For example, as a ketu in jyeshta native I've always felt close to the hero archetype (I even wrote a song about that around that time), the poor orphan who rises into the world, the brave soldier who outsmarts everyone, the survivor, the winner against all odds, the grumpy independent individual, and even as a young girl, the archetype of the eldest daughter, which I actually am. I've always felt a little masculine at my core, and this explains why, as jyeshta is very masculine. All these archetypes I associate with jyeshta.

Jyeshta is known as "the best". You can only be the best if everyone else is worse, so we have the theme of competition. Jyeshta is located fully in Scorpio, and is very much about the occult side of life. It's shakti (power) is "to rise, conquer and gain courage in battle" (multiple sources). I know personally that jyeshta will never let you win an argument or back away from tension, the exception is only when there's no need to. My jyeshta moon cousin makes me so mad because he's always trying to lecture me to appear smart. That's definitely a more negative manifestation of its energy.

Anyways, in her video, claire nakti says that if you feel drawn to some art, it's been most likely created by someone with their primary placement in your ketu nakshatra. Now, this is not a rule, as I've definitely liked other artists, but Taylor's music felt too personal and custom-made for me, like she knew my taste and life from inside out.

Flash forward to summer 2019 and Taylor has released Lover, I'm sitting on a hill and cannot believe how Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince is so perfect, so me.

I went through my reputation era when she went through it, i went through a personal rebirth as she released Lover, I felt depressed and alone when I finished my school and she released folklore (tbh most of us did(SOLIDARITY TO CLASS OF 2020 MAKE SOME NOISE)) . Around that time I disovered Dickinson(a tv show) and here is my next point.(?)

Dickinson stars Hailee Steinfeld(jyeshta sun) as Emily Dickinson(also jyeshta sun), and it's about her life, yes, but mostly it's about Emily's creativity. There's a character called death that I believe relresents Emily's daemon(watch claire nakti's video for more clarity, but basically it's the opposite sex version of you, your creative self, and is represented by your ketu). Death appears whenever Emily feels different, like she needs time alone to herself and rides with him in his carriage, he also empowers her. Interestingly, Hailee Steinfeld's ketu is in Uttara Bhadrapada, which is Wiz Khalifa's(death) moon. That, in my eyes, solidifies the theory that he's representing her daemon.

I had discovered claire nakti recently at that time and also discovering this art that felt very personal to me was a little overwhelming, not to mention that i was going through a VERY stressful time in my life. As i grew so did my creative energy and I reached a certain block, but now I look at my art from that time and it's so... raw and pure and true. Tbh that time was extremely traumatic for me and it's traumatic to remember it but hey, I'm so much better now. I started my ketu antardasha at that time and it ended in february 2021. Still hard to remember yes, but I heard ketu dashas always are, you always come out more beautiful and true out of it tho 🙂.

So, be careful with ketu energies, they're not for us to misuse. There's always Venus after ketu so it's another reason to smile.

Please interact with me if any of this was interesting or felt familiar. Not all posts are going to be like this, in fact, I think they're gonna be more rare. This was a really serious post and brought up some stuff in me ngl. I really didn't deserve to go through the trauma, nobody does. But it's not all consuming, it was nothing really, it was just traumatic at the time. Anyways this is becoming a lot so wait for more aesthetic posts, I'm venusian after all 💖💖💖 love u guys, take care. 🤍

#jyeshta #nakshatras #jyeshta nakshatra #vedic astrology #astrology #ketu #ketu in jyeshta nakshatra #jyestha #jyeshtha

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warwickroyals · 22 days

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Sunderland's Royal Jewel Vault (18/∞) ♛

↬ Countess Wynn's Meander Tiara

The majority of the tiaras in the Sunderlandian collection were inherited through members of King Louis V's family, mainly previous queens Matilda Mary, Anne, and Katherine. This meander tiara however represents the current Wariwcks' French heritage, as it belonged to Queen Irene's mother, Marguerite Wynn. Countess Wynn was born in 1914 as Marguerite Delphine Lucie Chevrier. She was the eldest of four children born to industrialist Phillipe Édouard Chervrier (1880 - 1950) and his El Salvadoran wife, Consuelo Romana Gomez (1892 - 1979). Margurite's family claims ancestry from both French and Spanish nobility, although the bulk of their impressive fortune was derived from Phillipe's ceramics factory in the south of France. Much of Margurite's early life was disrupted by the First World War, during which the Chevriers settled in Mexico City with Consuelo's sister. Following the war, Marguerite flourished in high Parisian society, becoming well-versed in the arts and fluent in several languages, including English and Spanish. Expected to marry into the French aristocracy, Marguerite made waves by instead marrying John Wynn (1911 - 1973), a career soldier from Sunderland whose great family had fallen on hard times following the deaths of John's three older brothers in the war. When the couple met in 1931, John was on a mindless trek across Europe, in search of a wealthy bride. Despite their differing backgrounds, Marguerite was smitten by John's optimism and good humour. The pair married a year later, with John even converting to Catholicism to appease Marguerite's parents. Their wedding was held at the Chapel of the Palace of Versailles, one of the last grand society affairs of interwar Paris. The tiara, which featured a Greek key design punctuated by a central emerald-cut yellow diamond, was among Marguarite's wedding gifts. The jewel is ambiguous in origin but is agreed to be an early twentieth-century creation, likely from Cartier. It became a useful tool in Margurite's arsenal as she erupted in Sunderland as one of the country's wealthiest society ladies. Pearlie, as she became known, was noted to be arrogant, intelligent, and ravishing. Pearlie is more "royal" than the rest of us combined. She drenches herself in jewels as if she were the ghost of the last Tsarina. — Queen Katherine, 1970

The Countess owned the tiara until 1968, when she gave it to her youngest daughter, Lady Irene, also as a wedding present. Irene's marriage to the future King Louis V was Pearlie's greatest life achievement and she became increasingly boastful. Maman Wynn, as she was called by the press and public, was known to meddle in royal affairs, especially the personal lives of her daughter and son-in-law. By the early 1980s, she was on bad terms with both. Irene was never seen wearing her mother's tiara, but she kept it in her own personal possession for almost thirty years. In 1997, Irene continued the tradition by gifting the tiara to her only daughter, Princess Jacqueline, ahead of her wedding to Lawrence Belmont. The wedding was coincidently the last public appearance of the old Countess Wynn. She died peacefully at Chester Palace the same winter. Since then, Jacqueline has worn the tiara regularly at state functions and in official portraits. It's among the princess's most cherished pieces.

The Countess Wynn wears the tiara in a portrait, circa October 1943, eight years before the birth of her youngest daughter, Queen Irene

HRH Princess Jacqueline wears the tiara while attending a gala dinner & dance in July 2026

#warwick.jewels #✨#ch: irene #ch: jacqueline #ts4 #ts4 story #ts4 royal #ts4 storytelling #ts4 edit #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 legacy #ts4 royalty #ts4 monarchy #ts4 screenshots

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cupids-chamber · 1 year

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NOT ANOTHER CINDERELLA STORY, where y/n gets caught up with a unknown red-eyed fae, that leads them into the arms of the prince himself.

GENDER NEUTRAL READER

CONTENT TAGS: 2.1k words, Fluff, too much fluff for my taste, Sebek being overdramatic, Reader convinced that Lilia is a creep, Silver getting chased by bachelors (Totally not me), Reader has an actual good sibling relationship, Good step-mother, Reader kisses a man on the first meeting but it's Malleus so it's fine.

It was unexpected, for your mother to die so early on.. And then your father followed her path soon afterwards. To be quite honest you hadn’t expected anything from the death of your father, he had barely an inch of his time to spare for you. So of course you only relied on your mother at the very end of the day.

Sadly she was gone, and to your surprise within the short period of time when your father was alive, he wasted no time getting remarried to another. Your step mother was someone distant, cold, and quite closed off, but you paid no heed to her behaviourisms. To your sheer luck, she was nothing like those abusive step mothers you’ve read about in stories, it looked as if she pitied you more than anything else.

She didn’t bother filling in the role of your mother, however she didn’t fail in the aspect of a caretaker either. Things remained the same even after your fathers death. However, around this time she had brought back her two daughters from her previous marriage.

You didn’t mind them as long as they didn’t bother you, then you wouldn’t either. The pair of sisters would tease you as older siblings do, they warmed up to you rather quickly, they treated you well without fault, oftentimes you found yourself seeking out the pair.

As they warmed up to you, so did their mother.. Sure she never accepted you as her own, but she didn’t raise you carelessly either, you had received the same treatment as her very own children, she raised you in a careful manner, ‘raising you to be the noble you were born as’..

Your eldest sister, with shaky hands, poured you a cup of earl gray “How many sugarcubes would you like?” she asked in a sweet tone, it seemed as if she’s been practicing her etiquette as of recent. You softly mumbled out an amount, as she excitedly dropped the sugar cubes with her utensils.

Your other sister was busy getting dressed up and fit, she was sick the time the two of you went. So as of current times, the two of you were left alone… well that's if you excuse all the servants lurking within the manor, making sure the two of you were out of trouble.

Your other sister, the youngest of the pair arrived in a grandiose manner as usual, despite her rather annoying habit of flaunting, she was kind, and sweet.. She considered the best for the two of you, and always brought back candy or some sort of trinket for you two. This time around she brought home three bracelets, they were matching.. yet differing in color. She stated with a huge smile, that these matching bracelets represent friendships and a close bond, just like the three of us share.

The three of you got along, you were the youngest of the pair and they treated you no differently than a cherished younger sibling.. Sometimes you’d forget that the three of you were not related by blood, as you cherished this family beyond anything else. They were more of a family to you, then the one you previously had.

Years flew by and you couldn’t help but cherish your family even more, they filled the crooked gaps and holes that your father and mother had left with their rather unreasonable neglect. Overtime, your step-mother grew close to you as well.. You were allowed to address her as your own mother, even in private. It was no longer a front, this was your family and you cherished it.

The letter arrived on one of your typical days, the letter that would change your humble yet noble lifestyle forever. The royal prince of Briar Valley was looking for a partner, and the palace would be throwing a lively ball.. It was a place filled to the brim in suiters, and would be an area where many young noble children would be making their debut.. And your mother had all the more plans to send all three of you there.

Before you knew it, the three of you were getting fitted, dressed, and prepared for this ball. Your mother took it seriously. Way too seriously, there was a slim chance that the prince would actually be interested in any of you, even with your rather glamorous origins.

The three of you finally caught a break. As your mother was discussing with a business partner of sorts, the three of you ran off to the edge of your garden, in a rather hidden spot where the bushes overgrown and covered the three of you. It was well hidden to the eye, you’d have to really look to find such an area.

You recalled the incident as to how you three found the area, Daisy, your second eldest sister, was showing off a dance she had learnt and accidentally tripped crashing into the bush and forming a small hole passage into the hideout area, you let out a soft chuckle at the passing memory.

A loud sigh disrupted your thoughts, as you faced Eveleign, your eldest sister, she seemed stressed, “Why are we going to such a place anyways” she spoke her thoughts, your eldest sister had never been a closed off individual like her mother, “Well we have to make our debut somehow.. We can’t help mother if we have no connections” Daisy replied in an instant, ‘sadly she was right, if a debut wasn’t for marriage it was to form social connections, and sure mother had been doing extremely well in maintaining the great lineage of the household and even father’s many business chains, but if were unable to great more bonds then when mother grows older we’d fall into some serious trouble.’

The hour passed as Eveleign continued voicing her frustration and Daisy replying in a manner that did nothing but anger her more, you tried to ease the pair but things only worsened. Eveleigh even went as far as to claim that she never wanted to marry the prince anyway, her reasons were justifiable, but you could tell if mother heard of this, it would take 20 years out of her lifetime.

However, on the big day your mother had prepared so hard for, everything seemed to have gone wrong, the main carriage had broken down and your outfit for the day came out much poorer in quality then you had expected, not to mention Daisy’s main centerpiece, a beautiful studded necklace was messing.

Needless to say, the house was in pure shambles. Something that led you to running out the backdoor and into the depths of the guardian, you were annoyed and upset. You hadn’t expected much from today, however the most of its toll fell on you. Your outfit was entirely ruined, you couldn’t wear something like this unless you wanted to be shamed, and God forbid you wore the same outfits from previous banquets, that would bring more dishonor to your family.. Not to mention the scrutiny your mother would have to face publicly.

Somewhere along the lines you had slipped into a deep slumber, and when you opened your eyes there was a floaty.. person? He had black hair with streaks of bright pink, not to mention piercing red eyes… He also had fangs.. Was he a fae? I mean that should be a given but you were too tired and mentally hazy to process the minor details and important questions that you normally would have done.

“Hello!” he stated in a bubbly manner, “need some help? I heard your family’s in quite the position on this fine day.. aren't you planning on going to the prince's banquet?” he asked in a knowing tone, as if he knew what was going on at home. You laughed, ‘this must be a dream right?’ there was absolutely no way a random man would appear and offer you help, unless he was some weird creep, who had been stalking you.

Yet for some reason despite finding this entire situation laughable, you still accepted the man's offer, though in your own way. It was rather obvious you didn’t believe his words, and even then he had given you his word.

Then suddenly you woke up, and you realized you were actually dreaming.. Thank god, it would’ve been more creepy if you weren’t dreaming and a random man actually helped you, what could he have wanted in return, you would never know!

However, to your utter surprise, that mysterious man seemed to have kept his word, as your mother explained how everything was solved, apparently a carriage was sent to your household, and a man with striking silver hair had been waiting outside to pick you up.. As for your clothes.. By some miracle everything had been fixed and well… better than ever!

Your mother hurriedly urged you to get ready, and in a blur you were in the carriage on your way to the castle, everything was so confusing that you could barely comprehend what had happened all in the past one or two hours, you really hoped this was some weird dream that was playing with your mind and not something real, since if it was real, it would raise so many red flags and questions that would most definitely need answers.

By the time your thoughts had cooled off you were at the banquet hall, and all your worries were now replaced with a rush of anxiety, you hoped nothing would go wrong, you’d be under watchful eyes by many who desire to scorn someone slightly off track, so their flaws don’t blossom in the eyes of others. Sure it wasn’t a pleasant thing, but then again you’d have to do the same thing in this area, at least to garner more attention and respect from the crowd.. To be quite honest, Daisy excelled in this field the most, Eveleign hated going out and preferred being closed off, for no reason, other than the fact that she just didn’t want to.. As for Daisy, she would attend any sort of meeting she could and could, it’s not that she enjoyed the unpleasant glances from older men or the snarky remarks and comments you’d have to make to save face in this area, she simply enjoyed having the upper hand when conversing.

It didn’t take long for the three of you to grow apart and separate amidst the crowd, you backed up trying to find an empty corner, that’s when you heard a loud thump, turning around you saw the face of the person you knocked into. He had beautiful green eyes, like a gemstone of sorts and long vibrant black hair, that had a certain glow underneath the bright lights.

You apologized for knocking into him, you should’ve really paid attention to your surroundings. The tall man chuckled in response, “Well if you're sorry, how about you repay me with a dance?” he offered you a hand, and for some reason, despite wanting to rest you agreed to his offer.

The two of you waltzed around the ballroom, for some reason you found comfort in the arms of the black haired man, he was sweet and quite frankly forgiving and caring. The two of you had gone to the garden hand in hand, you weren’t quite sure if you were allowed in such a secluded area in the imperial gardens, but he seemed to ease your worries.

The two of you chatted about many things, he even brought up your siblings, you didn’t bother questioning how he knew you had sisters, as you rambled on and on about your siblings and how great they were to you, it wasn’t always that somebody other than your siblings themselves, cared for simple conversations like this. Nobles were snobby; they tried digging into you, and clawing the worst part of you so they could put it out for display.

Lilia tilted his binoculars slightly as Silver struggled holding Sebek down, it seemed as if he was about to burst out yelling Malleus’s name any moment from now, he obviously disliked the presence of an unknown person with his master. “Calm down Sebek” Silver mused, growing tired he had to run the grasps of the eligible ladies earlier, who seemed to have been smitten for his looks, if he recalled there was also a man voicing his love for the sleeping beauty, and now, after all that, he had to deal with an angry green haired half-fae.

“I didn’t get the chance to ask this before but.. "What's your name?” you asked the man, who you presumably spent the entire night with, “Tsunotarou.. My name is tsunotarou” he replied with ease, a smile embracing his features as he leaned down, and the two of your foreheads touched as he whispered something to you that you couldn’t yet comprehend, before leaning down for a kiss. And before you could enjoy the moment, you heard a distant scream coming from the balcony further away… You opted to ignore the psycho green haired madman screaming his lungs out.

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