#finally made one. it’s today. and i can’t find my crown | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

epinebleue · 8 months

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for the rest of our lives | jung jaehyun

not every little girl dreams of being Queen one day.

pairing: prince!jung jaehyun x princess!reader (female)

genre: royalty!au, angst, fluff (but you’ll miss it if you blink).

warnings: heavy depiction of anxiety.

author’s note: for the rest of our lives was one of the fics that marked my beginning as a tumblr writer, so starting this new but familiar journey with it feels just right.

listen to: hush by everglow (you’ll see that i’ve introduced quotes (in pink) from the song in the story).

The red roses are growing.

Spring has arrived earlier this year. The garden is splashed with pink, peach, and orange flowers that can be observed from the terrace of your room. The air is chilly, but not cruel like that of winter. It’s refreshing, it smells like a new start. Maybe that’s the reason why your mother insisted on celebrating the wedding in April.

Standing on the terrace, you follow your father’s figure. He’s walking down the pebble path; his crown, made of gold and rubies, shines under the sun. Even from the heights, you catch the smile hidden under his big, black beard. His eyes shine even more than his crown. He’s happy, how couldn’t he? His daughter, his only child, is finally getting married. One step closer to becoming Queen.

Behind him, your mother talks to one of the maids, pointing a graceful finger towards the garden. Two men carry a table, placing it exactly where your mum has asked. She nods, ordering them to go grab the chairs. Jae, your husband-to-be, wanted an outdoor banquet, and it's hard to tell him when he gives you that charming smile.

Your heart starts to pound faster in your ribcage. Husband-to-be. That’s a serious title. You press your palm against your chest, feeling the silky texture of your nightgown under it. You close your eyes and take a big breath in. Your life doesn’t feel yours anymore, yet, somehow, you’re living it. It’s like a dream you aren’t able to wake up from.

A light knock on your door startles you, but every worry that clouds your mind disappears the moment you hear your favorite voice coming from outside.

“It’s open, you can come in.”

Jaehyun is holding a bouquet as if it were his newborn child. It consists of roses, tulips, and baby's breath: a mix of your favorite flowers. You accept it, even if you think you don’t deserve it. You force yourself to look into his eyes, ever so soft. They make you feel better. Jaehyun always makes you feel better.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Your tone is playful and so is his smile. “Isn’t it too early for flowers?”

“Any time is good to give my future wife flowers.” He leans forward to steal a kiss from you. You don’t fight it. “I’m going back home in a few minutes; I’ve got to pick up my grandma for tonight’s dinner.”

“So, you’re abandoning me.”

He doesn’t laugh, because you’re not joking. He has a younger brother who could bring Queen Haneul, but Jaehyun is the favorite grandchild, the one who will become King. You understand, in a way, but you wish he had said no for once. He knows how much you hate organizing big events.

“Don’t be like that.”

All in all, he knows you can’t stay angry at him, so his smile doesn’t disappear. Even his eyes are smiling, forming half-moons. Forget your father’s crown, Jaehyun’s smile is the shiniest thing you’ve seen today. “I'll be here in no time. You won’t even notice my absence.”

“I take that as a promise.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again. It’s not a little peck this time, but a proper kiss. Your lips capture his and you get lost in his arms, which hold your waist. Now, this is a dream you'd like to live in. You wish you could turn it into liquid and pour it into a bottle to take a sip whenever you need to. Here, in Jaehyun’s embrace, you feel safe, you feel happy, you feel free. Or, at least, the illusion of all of it.

Someone clears their throat, making you break apart with a jump. Jaehyun turns around with a straight back to find your maid. She looks down, avoiding eye contact and trying to hide her rosy cheeks.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You turn to Jaehyun. “I’ll see you tonight then.”

Jaehyun says his goodbyes, pressing his lips to avoid a laugh coming out, and the maid bows to him when he passes by.

“I’m sorry, princess, really sorry.” She repeats, getting in the room.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Lami. We should’ve closed the door.”

Lami is still young, a bit inexperienced, and clumsy. But she’s also genuine and funny. It reminds you of when you were a child.

Lami makes your bed while you have breakfast, then walks to your closet to choose a dress for you.

“Would you like to wear yellow today, princess?”

You like yellow, so you agree. Leaving the flowers carefully on the couch, you get up and hop into the bathroom to brush your teeth and have a shower. The yellow dress makes you feel fresh, just like the flowers Jaehyun has gifted you. You sit in front of the dresser, noticing that a sleepless night has taken its toll: the bags under your eyes are huge.

You grab your hairbrush from the drawer. It's a gift from your late grandfather, who bought it during one of his trips. It’s made of gold and your initials are engraved on it. It’s so old that it’s all scratched, and several sows have fallen.

“Are you excited?” Lami asks, watching you brush your hair. It’s your favorite moment of the day. The sows against your scalp relax you, and God knows you need it today. “I can’t believe the wedding's tomorrow.”

Something inside you screams, but you remain silent. The moment has finally come.

You're getting married tomorrow.

Everything ends tomorrow.

“Should we move this table a bit to the left?” Your mother asks, authority disguised as a friendly request. The servants nod and move the table under your mother’s hawk gaze. “There, perfect. What do you think, sweetheart?”

“I think it looks perfect, mother. Everything’s perfect.”

You walk behind the Queen with arms crossed, pretending you care greatly about the position of the tables and the color of the tablecloths when, in fact, you couldn’t care less. You wish Jaehyun was here. Everything’s easier when he's by your side.

“I can’t believe it.” Your mother claps. “It feels like yesterday when you met Jae for the first time, doesn't it?”

The fond memory makes you smile. “I never imagined that I'd marry the boy who spilled his lemonade all over my dress, then tried to make the stain go away with water.”

“Isn’t it crazy?”

You can’t stand the proud look that your mother gives you. The fact that you'd be Queen one day was never a secret. A big grin appeared on your face anytime your parents brought up the subject, a grin that hid your true emotions. It was your destiny, and you had learned to accept the life that came with it.

A life trapped inside an iridescent crystal cage, always able to look out but never allowed to leave.

Jaehyun always keeps his promises.

He shows up earlier than you thought, so he’s the one in charge of welcoming the guests as you get ready.

Jaehyun’s at the bottom of the stairs as you go down. He doesn’t notice you at first, looking away and bouncing his leg. When his eyes finally find you, the face he puts is priceless. The dress you’re wearing tonight is pale pink, a gift from Jae. You love how it fits you, but you love how Jaehyun looks at you when you wear it more: as if you were the most precious thing in his life, if not the only; as if he would fight wars for you.

“You look beautiful tonight.” He mutters once you're by his side.

“Just tonight?”

Two guards stand in front of the door that leads to the garden, where everything’s ready for your grand entrance.

Jaehyun offers you his arm, and you don’t hesitate to grab it. You’re so nervous that you think your legs will fail and you’ll fall in front of everyone. As if he read your mind, he whispers so that only you can hear him.

“I’ve got you.”

You know he does.

Jaehyun nods at the guards and they open the doors, the clapping of the guests deafening. Both of you wave your hands at them as you make your way towards the main table, where Jaehyun moves the chair for you to sit, and then occupies the seat beside you.

The dinner goes smoothly. Jaehyun kisses your hand at every opportunity, but you don’t complain. It makes your heart flutter, it makes you forget.

Your father stands up before dessert comes, softly hitting a glass to announce he’s about to talk. He tells a joke that makes everyone laugh before giving a speech that makes your mother cry. You blow him a kiss from your seat, mouthing that you love him. He tells you that he loves you, too. You wonder, would he still love you if you ran away?

Jaehyun rises to his feet with a hand extended in your direction, which you accept. He leads you to the center of the garden, standing in front of you. There's a bow with his hand on his chest that makes you giggle, then you're placing your hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder, looking into his eyes. He grabs your waist, and the orchestra starts to play. The pair of you move around swiftly as if your movements were natural and not the result of months of training with the world's best dancer.

“Tomorrow by this time we'll be married.”

Your jaw clenches, and your heart stops for a second.

“I know.” You manage to answer. “It doesn't feel real.”

“I can’t wait,” Jaehyun whispers. “I can’t wait to make you my wife and form a family. I’ll tell our kids magical stories, stories in which fairies will save princesses and monsters will become good things.”

Only Jaehyun would make you feel like you deserve something as precious as a family with him. Does wanting to run away make you a bad person? Of course, it does. The only thing you love from this life is him, but it’s not like you can choose. It’s all or nothing, it has always been. Tears that you think he mistakes for those of happiness slide down your cheeks, ruining your makeup.

“You’re like the twinkle star I imagined every day since I was five." You press your face against his chest. He allows your tears to wet his shirt. “I love you, Jaehyun. I love you more than I love myself. You believe me, right?”

“Of course I do. And I love you, too. I'll always love you, even when I'm grey and wrinkly.” He kisses the top of your head, then hides his face away to whisper in your ear. “No matter what you decide. I promise.”

Jaehyun always keeps his promises.

Your aunt tries to console your weeping mother only to fail miserably because she can’t stop laughing at her crying face. They start bickering, and you’re grateful for not being the main focus.

You’re standing on top of a big, white stool. Fluttering around you, the maids make sure that everything’s seamless, that nothing’s out of place. The wedding dress is the perfect size, yet you feel trapped in it. You inhale, then exhale. Once, twice, three times, but it doesn’t work. The pressure against your chest doesn’t disappear.

There’s a mirror in front of you, but you can’t bring yourself to look at your reflection. You wouldn’t recognize the person there.

“Princess?” Lami calls. She seems to be the only one in the room who sees you, who really sees you. “Are you okay?”

You nod, forcing a smile. “I’m just nervous.”

Someone comes in to inform that all the guests are in the church and that the prince has arrived, too.

It’s time.

Lami helps you get off the stool. You hold onto her hands as if they were a lifebuoy in the middle of the sea, and you, a shipwreck. Every step you take out of the house and towards the carriage is heavy and hesitant. You get in, glancing at Lami through the window. You press the palm of your hand against the glass, eyes slowly filling up with tears.

This is a goodbye, but not to Lami. Not to any other than yourself.

The young maid presses her hand right where yours is and nods.

“It’ll be okay.”

That’s the last thing you hear before the carriage starts moving.

The way to the church feels endless. The weight in your chest grows and grows, until you think you’ll stop breathing.

You know you shouldn’t feel this way. You’re marrying the love of your life. That should be enough to ease you, shouldn’t it? The woods advance as the carriage moves. You fantasize about the idea of jumping out of the vehicle and diving into the forest, getting lost in its depths, forever.

Your dad, dressed in uniform, helps you get out of the car when you arrive. A red carpet covers the way from the carriage to the church’s entrance. You stand at the beginning of it, holding onto your father’s arm with one hand, your white bouquet on the other.

“You look beautiful.” He says, teary-eyed. “I’m proud of you.”

The doors open all of a sudden. The wedding march starts to play, so you walk. Better said, your father drags you because there’s no way you feel in control of your body anymore.

The pews are full of family, friends, and strangers with their eyes fixed on you. Yours can only focus on Jaehyun. He’s wearing his uniform as well, and that smile you love so much. But there’s something wrong. Something in his face looks off. You reach the aisle, where your father hugs you and kisses your forehead. He’s crying. You rarely see your father cry.

You stand next to Jaehyun. The priest talks but you don’t hear a thing. You can’t do this. You thought you could, but you can’t. Jaehyun holds your hand; the murmurs are instant. What a lovely bride, she’s so nervous. What a lovely groom, look how he’s comforting her.

The memorized vows come out of your mouth easily. You glance at Jaehyun’s shaky hands before looking into his eyes, overflowing with fear. He isn’t scared of forgetting his vows, he’s scared of losing you.

“Do you, Jaehyun, take this woman to be your wedded wife?”

Jaehyun responds right away. “I do.”

“Do you, Y/N, take this man to be your wedded husband?”

The question feels like a death sentence.

You love him, you love him so much that it breaks your heart. You want to beg him to run away with you, but he'd never do that. It would mean leaving his kingdom behind, and he loves his kingdom as much as he loves you. Forcing him to choose would be a selfish move.

But again, condemning yourself to a life that won’t make you happy would also be selfish. Leaving Jaehyun will break your heart, but you're not sure if you can die from a broken heart. Being Queen, however, will certainly kill you.

This isn’t the life you want. You’ve always known. Jaehyun has always known.

Adults want a quick answer, their voices wondering why you’re taking so much time to answer. You try to ignore them, but they’ve already made their way through your brain. You’ve already made up your mind, though, their words can’t change your mind.

“I love you, Jae.” You grab his hands with tears in your eyes and kiss them. “Please, please, forgive me.”

You turn around and run away. People get up, gasps ricocheting against the walls of this sacred place. There’s a scream that comes from your father's throat, and you swear he’s chasing you. Jaehyun begs him to stop.

You look back once you reach the door, hesitating. Is this a good idea? A teary-eyed Jaehyun nods, handing you your confidence back. You open the door and make your way towards the woods.

The dress hooks on the branches that you have to fight against to make your way through the forest, they scratch your skin. Taking off your heels and throwing them aside, you continue your race.

You arrive at a clearing, deciding that it’s time to stop now.

You let your hair loose and check your exposed skin, now red and bloody.

If you are free then why are you crying? Running away is what you wanted, right? But at what price? Losing your family, losing Jaehyun, losing everything you have ever had.

The clearing is covered in soft grass and sunlight. Birds chirp in the distance. There’s calm surrounding you but in the ocean that is your soul, you're fighting turmoil. Maybe you should’ve stayed to know how things would've worked out. Maybe Jaehyun would’ve been your rock through it all like he has been all these years.

You can’t help but wonder.

Now, with a small collection of wounds, is it too late to turn back?

No reposting or translations allowed.

#nct #nct fic #nct jaehyun #jaehyun fic #jaehyun angst #nct angst #jaehyun fluff #nct fluff #jaehyun imagine #nct jaehyun fic

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nerdpoe · 1 year

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Of Kindness and Empathy Part 7

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, AO3

The angry English guy hadn’t stopped ranting at Danny for, like, an hour.

And he was still going strong .

The man had never once stopped scolding him for allowing some sort of royalty or something to wander around the Mortal Plane unsupervised.

Which Danny hadn’t known was his job at all, thanks, what a way to find that out.

All the while, with the prickly English accented voice droning on and on and on , the man kept feeding Ectoplasm into Danny, healing him and stabilizing him.

“ Ancients I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Danny finally exploded, slapping his hands over his ears.

Hands larger than his pried his hands away from his ears, and Danny’s field of vision was filled with an angry face attached to blond hair and ice blue eyes.

“What,” the man hissed, squeezing Danny’s hands, “The absolute bloody fuck did you just say?”

“I don’t know the royal prince or whoever I was supposed to protect, okay? No one told me!”

Danny’s hands were dropped and the English man stalked away, yanking out a cigarette and lighting it.

Danny didn’t dare make any noise, and was honestly grateful for the silence.

And incredibly impressed by how quickly that man was sucking down that cig.

He didn’t know where he was, but he could only assume that Batman had come through and saved him somehow.

“ You , you wanker. You’re the Ghost King, not the prince.”

Danny blinked.

“No,” he automatically denied, waving the notion off, “I can’t…I mean, I’m not. I’m. Pfffft. I’m clearly not King material here, and I think I would know-”

“Yeah, well, clearly you did not.” The man sighed, grinding the cigarette stub on the wall.

“No, see the Ghost King is Pariah Dark, and he’s asleep-”

“And who made him sleep, I wonder. Was it single combat? Did he formally accept the challenge? Were there knights and other ancients to observe his defeat? Because that sounds a lot like the Traditional Method of Trial by Combat, which is the legitimate method to inherit that title in the Infinite Realms.”

Danny could feel the color draining from his face with every qualification.

Oh no.

Oh no .

Then the man held up a mirror, slightly angled, and uh. Yeah. Yeah that was definitely a crown, floating three inches above his head.

“ Oh no ,” Danny hissed, grabbing the mirror and moving around his head to get a better look.

“Oh, yes . Congratulations, it’s an entire bloody realm . Now we need to find out how you’re going to stop your subjects from avenging you-”

“No,” Danny whispered, putting down the mirror and staring into a set of confused eyes, “You don’t understand. I think I lied to Batman.”

The other man sucked in air through his teeth.

“Oh shite , mate.”

~~~~~~

Paulina knew how to get answers.

Paulina knew how to make people realize the very important fact that she deserved answers.

Which was why, with Samantha Manson and Red Huntress at her back, she was staring down Fright Knight, perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly on her arm.

“Repeat that,” she ordered, back ramrod straight, “But without the disrespect.”

She heard Red Huntress unholster one of her guns, felt Manson’s glare as it burned hot over her shoulder.

Fright Knight let out a deep, echoing snarl in return, his hand grasping the pommel of his sword.

Paulina knew what that sword could do.

Paulina was past caring.

“No, you do not get to take that tone with me,” she snarled right back, stalking towards him at a brisk pace, high heels clicking in the eerily silent street, “My family did not go through hell to get where they are today for me to just allow that level of Disrespect. Do it again, and I release my girls.”

Said girls were right behind her, allowing her to lead.

Normally they weren’t her scene, but she’d needed backup and they had weapons training. So as long as she was doing this, they were Hers .

Dash and Kwan were leading the resistance against the GIW doing something stupid .

Foley was working with the other nerds to get a signal out of the Ghost Zone. So he said.

So she had decided to get answers directly from the source.

She had a theory.

He’d stood around looking scary, but he hadn’t really done anything.

“Why are we here, and where is Phantom?”

“You insolent mortal, you dare to challenge Me?” Fright Knight’s voice was gravelly and melodic, and tugged at her spine just as surely as it deafened her ears.

A deep, primal fear began to crawl its way up her throat.

She shoved it down.

She was done.

She was done with the stupid afterlife border patrol ruining her town, she was done with the ghosts who greeted each other with fists, she was done hiding in a shelter wondering if she was going to join the ghosts that plagued the town, and she was done being afraid .

“Kneecaps,” Paulina kept her voice brisk and to the point, and two shots rang out at the same time.

Fright Knight blocked them, of course he did, but he did not block the shots from behind.

The ghosts she’d convinced to help, Kitty and Ember or whatever, flickered out of invisibility. They looked nervous, but that was fine.

Paulina was the face of the operation, not them. They could be as scared as they wanted to, just so long as they did their jobs.

She strode up to Fright Knight, on his knees and attempting to turn to presumably attack Her people, and snapped her fingers in his face with one hand while another slapped a specter collar around his neck.

If he wanted to behave like a rabid dog, he got to get treated like one.

“You aren’t attacking us, why?”

Fright Knight glared at her, but at least he was looking at her now, instead of down on her.

He said nothing.

“So you can learn,” Paulina crooned, reaching into her purse and pulling out some lipstick, “What a good boy you are.”

He growled.

Paulina, wholly unimpressed, flipped the safety off the lipstick and released a small, accurate laser beam.

One that could, had, and would hurt ghosts.

The Fentons wouldn’t mind some missing tech.

The growling stopped.

“So earlier I thought you said this was Phantom’s haunt,” she started, staring directly into the ghost’s eyes, “What, exactly, does that have to do with dragging the whole town into this place?”

She moved the lipstick so that it was resting light next to his helmeted head, the laser creating a small pillar of smoke as it began to cut through the armor.

Fright Knight held very, very still.

“I’m not a hero like Phantom, though, so you should hurry up and explain.”

~~~~~~

Kon stared at the weird little girl that was arguing with his little brother/nephew/son sort of probably.

She was floating a full three feet above her chair, face stuffed with pie, and trying to prove to Jon that chocolate cake was disgusting and strawberry was the best kind.

Kon looked away from her and towards Clark.

Kon raised an eyebrow and jerked his head slightly towards her.

Clark immediately looked away and started insisting he help Ma Kent.

Kon snorted and took out his phone instead.

Kon:

Tim ur dad’s adoption virus

is contagious

Tim:

What

Kon:

Clark just brought home

some super girl without

a pulse

Kon:

I think he’s gonna keep

her

Tim:

Wait Kon if ur dad brought

home a corpse that’s

a whole different problem

Tim:

Do we need to get BC?

Kon:

Nah, she’s alive just a

little bit dead

Kon:

Schrodingers kid or

whatever

Tim:

Schrodinger’s*

Kon didn’t even deign that with a response, opting to instead shove the phone back in his pocket.

Jon was now floating at the girl’s same level, animatedly defending the qualities of a good chocolate cake.

Clark was still deliberately ignoring the knowing looks Kon and Kon’s grandparents (parents? His family tree was so fucked up) kept sending him.

“Hey kid,” Kon drawled, looking out the window at the Kansas sky.

Thunder Clouds were gathering, and a green tint fogged over the rain he could see in the distance. It wasn’t near any towns, it was heading away from the farm, and it looked like a smaller one, but hey. Family bonding.

The girl had her full attention on him, one hand halfway to her mouth with another delivery of pie for her belly.

“You ever go flying in a tornado before?”

She grinned maniacally.

“Do you wanna?”

~~~~~~

Bruce slammed open the door to the operating room that Daniel and Constantine still hadn’t left , the need to ensure the teen was okay overriding common sense, and paused.

There was a floating person who had an eyeball for a head in the center of the room, gesturing animatedly as Daniel argued with it.

His eyes slid over to Constantine, who had his pack of cigarettes upside down and looked absolutely desolate that it was empty.

“Look, if it’s decided by combat then Dash should be King!”

“My Liege, if that person is a Living Being then they are not eligible-”

“He’ll die someday! Probably!”

“And if he defeats you upon his death then yes, he will be King-”

“But he’s ecto-contaminated!”

The eyeball stopped speaking, it’s… head tilting slightly to the side.

“...How contaminated?”

Constantine threw his cigarette pack at the Eyeball Being and rounded on Daniel, ignoring the Eyeball’s outraged spluttering.

“No, you bloody are not going to make your bleeding wanker of a school bully the High King of the Infinite Realms !”

“But I don’t want to be King!”

“My Liege, I understand your concerns-”

“No you don’t! No you don’t ! I lied to Batman, do you have any idea how much trouble I’m going to be in?!”

“He may not,” Bruce rumbled, Batman finally coming to the front, and all participants in the room froze , “But I may have a pretty good idea.”

Constantine held up his hands and backed away slowly.

Daniel appeared to attempt to shrink on himself.

The Eyeball, however, turned to face him completely, haughtiness etched in their posture.

Good.

Batman felt like taking his frustration out of something.

Better this strange Being than the scared kid behind them.

~~~~~~

Tucker was having a Time.

It was not a good Time, it was not a bad Time.

It was somewhere firmly between those two differentiations.

On one side, he was in the Infinite Realms and every computer he’d managed to commandeer from the computer lab was downloading everybit of data he could grab from other dimensions.

Sustained Space travel? Check. Artificial Gravity? Check. Technology not yet invented in their own dimension? Double Check. Multiple Patents for said designs running in tandem with downloading said tech blueprints and instructions?

Hell. Yes.

Tucker was not going to walk out of this weird doomsday thing without being richer than Sam.

He’d offer to share the wealth with Danny, but he was pretty sure with his other Best Friend being King of the Infinite Realms, Danny was probably way richer than Sam already.

He wasn’t sure Danny knew that yet, but like, he could just tell him later.

As it stood, he and the other techies that were feverishly working the computers (with others set to their side projects, he wasn’t the only one with the idea of patenting stuff) had finally, finally broken into the security feed for the GIW headquarters.

The uh…single camera that was left.

His Techies behind him fell silent as they took in the black and blue GIW agents strewn throughout the room, their tech obliterated and scorch marks on the walls.

Tucker wordlessly moved to take screenshots before rewinding the footage to watch The Superman beat the tar out of said agents.

An uncontrolled laugh started up somewhere behind him.

It spread.

Tucker couldn’t even stop himself from joining in.

The video got recorded and Tucker’s worries about his friend were eased.

If Superman had gotten involved, Danny would be fine.

@spooky-fm@markus209@osnii@samgirl98@skulld3mort-1fan@gabrielandjackthenephilim @suppengott@glow-worms-are-believers@zeldomnyo@everest-nightshade@learning-to-fly-on-my-own@spoopyspoony @deatlive@hnymp @latheevening226@roseinbloom02@tsukihimeyfan@arsonpotato@wanderingrutabaga @nanepet@bjurnberg@mentalcarebear@amuseofminds@fire-glass@thewondersoflebanon@ascetic-orange@botwadtict@notforyoucloudheads@idfk-man10@leftmiraclechaos@midnightenigma

@dannyisababyking@oliocelottafanfics@redafi@distractedducky@aconitewolfsbane@onyxlightdragon@blankliferain@theywontletmeusetheoneiwant@thedragonqueen1998@bitchydragonninja@u-a-wizard-jamie@dodekakophonie@ashenfairytale@reach-for-the-horizon@quirky-gardener@thegatorsgoose@sknerd101@stargirl1331@andreaissy @leap-ing@plotwholls

I'm sorry, there's too many of you to tag without the post breaking. Or my brain. This was the only real list I could find, and it's old. I'm gonna have to insist on y'all checking AO3 for updates.

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ryus3i · 11 months

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Micheal Kaiser x fem reader

Royal Au

Crowned with Love Masterlist

Cw; reader is a maid, Kaiser is the prince of Germany, reader is not from Germany, no specific pronouns but kaiser says princess and queen.

A/n; This idea has been stuck in my head for weeks, so happy I finally finished this. Also, should I make this a series? I can imagine so many different scenarios for this AU, lmk what you think!

“You wanted to see me your highness”

“I did, you may enter”

You are not sure what you’re doing in the bedroom of the heir to the throne, Prince Micheal Kaiser. The head maid had forced you to immediately leave your duties and turn to the requests of the Prince.

You know very well where the Prince currently is, it was a quarter to midnight, where else would he be but his bedroom. The guards escort you to the bedroom and stand guard outside the room.

The bedroom, if you could even call it that, was littered with luxury, all the riches of the world you could only imagine were right in front of your eyes.

“Here, have a seat” the prince himself says, pointing to the seat next to his own. Quickly you do as you're told not wanting to cause any trouble with the German Prince.

“Do you know why I requested for you to come here, at this hour”.

“No, your majesty, I am unsure”.

“I’m sure you would have figured it out already, I missed you today libeling”. The fake pout that appears on the face of the prince is one you can’t say you’ve never seen before, you’ve seen it countless of times and have foolishly fallen for it without failure.

“Shush, and wipe that look off your face, god knows what made you think it was a good idea to call me here, especially at this hour. What if the guards hear you”. You can only push the Prince or should you say your annoying boyfriend to the side as you move away from him.

“Aww, don’t be like that, the guards won’t dare disturb me especially at this hour”. Your boyfriend says pulling you into his arms, you try to push away but Kaiser's grip on you is tighter than you think.

“I missed you, you know” he says, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before pushing back a strand of hair that fell over your face.

As much as you wanted to disagree you missed him too, both of you had been very busy these past days, him with his princely duties and you with your duties as a maid.

Normally you would have chewed Kaiser's ear off for being so irresponsible but you wanted to be here with him as much as he wanted you here.

With Kaiser being a prince it was hard for the two of you to find a quiet place to spend time with each other, if the king and queen were to find out about your secret relationship, who knows what would happen to the two of you.

“Missed you too Micha” You say, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“Hmm, getting a bit too comfortable are we? May I remind you that I am Prince Michael Kaiser”. You don’t have to lift your face to know that he has that devilish smirk on his face.

“I am going to leave if you’re going to be annoying” you say, lifting your head up so that your eyes meet Kaisers.

“Okay, okay I’m sorry, stay” he says pushing your head back to its previous position.

“ I wish we could spend time together without having to worry about anything”.

“Don’t worry darling, I’m gonna make you Meine Prinzessin, no my Meine Königin. Just be patient for me , okay?”

Kaiser brings your forehead to his lips, cementing his promise to you.

“ich liebe dich Liebling”

(I love you, darling)

“Ich liebe dich auch, Micha” you say nuzzling into him.

(I love you too,Micha)

“You’re German is getting much better, I’ve taught you well”.

“Mhm, German is hard” you say pouting.

“With an amazing teacher like me you’ll be fluent in no time”.

“Sure”, you say sarcastically. Not knowing German, in a land that primarily speaks German, had its disadvantages. You could really only speak a limited amount of German but Kaiser does try to teach you as much as he can in your limited time together.

“I should get going now, love. It’s late and you should head to bed as well”.

“Goodnight Liebling, I love you”.

“I love you too”, you say, closing the gap between you two for the last time that night.

#☾mai works #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock x female reader #micheal kaiser x reader #kaiser x you #kaiser x reader #kaiser x y/n #kaiser fluff #micheal kaiser #micheal kaiser fluff #Micheal Kaiser x reader #♚ crowned with love

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 5 months

Text

The Love of a Princess - Rooster

Pairing: Rooster / Simpson!OC (Princess Alexandra)

Word Count: 2.3k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Series Warnings: (Modern-ish) Royal AU; Meant to Be Set in 1920s/1930s; AU Country/World; Inspired by History; Royal Protocol; Bodyguard AU; Implied Very Much Legal Age Gap; Mentions of Arranged Marriage; Mentions of Social Construct of Virginity; Sexism; Angst; War and Politics; Eventual Non-Descript and/or Implied Sexual Content; OCs

Series Summary: When Princess Alexandra is sent to the countryside to allow her father, King Beau, to deal with pressing state issues, she views it as a banishment. But with Lieutenant Bradshaw of the Royal Navy accompanying her, perhaps she can finally find the freedom she's been searching for her whole life.

A.N. Very lightly inspired by the first two seasons of the Crown, but it's not meant to reflect that or take on a distinctly British tone.

Master List

Part 2

There was always a silent freedom of the early morning, when the sun was just starting to rise and drops of dew were still forming on the blades of grass. It was her father, the King, that taught her that it was the early hours of the morning where she would always find the most peace in the day.

It was when she was allowed to be herself, and not the Princess, Heir Apparent to the Throne. When the weight of the day had not yet fallen on her shoulders, and she could still breathe freely. And when for just a moment, she could enjoy complete serenity.

As such, there was rarely a morning that Princess Alexandra was not out in the gardens or even a ride when she was out in the country. And this morning was no different.

Sitting on a stone bench in the middle of the gardens—as far away from the walls of the palace as she could get without a chaperone—Princess Alexanda quietly read her book, humming to herself as she reached to take a small sip of her coffee. She just needed a few moments to herself before her country called for her and she was forced to become Princess Alexandra.

From her conversation with her private secretary the night before, she understood that today involved more meetings with stuffy statesmen. Ones that viewed her as a silly little girl playing dress up in the role of the future queen, yet none of them could actually say it or even think it too loudly. And Alexandra was tired of it.

“You should be getting ready for your meetings,” a voice called from her left, causing her to look up suddenly from her book.

“You know how I feel about those meetings,” Alexandra sighed, turning away from her father and back to her book. “Besides, my outfit is already selected for me, down to the earrings and even the stockings. My schedule has been picked for me. And even the words that should travel from my brain to my mouth have already been decided without me.”

“I thought you normally had coffee when you came out here to read?” King Beau mused, resting his hands on his knees.

“I do.”

“Then why are you still so crabby?” he teased his eldest daughter, nudging her with his elbow. Alexandra shot her father a look but it quickly dissolved into an amused smile. “It will get easier with time. I promise, my dear.”

“More automatic, you mean,” she sighed, marking her book before shutting it.

“Perhaps,” he replied softly. “But you’ll find your way, Alexandra. Your own way.”

“I will certainly try.”

“I know that you will. But right now, you should get back to your room and get ready for today before you scare your maid. There are military men coming today. And military men are always on time. You can’t be late.”

“Alright,” Alexandra replied, getting up from her seat. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she bid her father goodbye. She made it a few steps before turning on her heel and asking her father, “Who’s coming today that’s so important?”

~~~~~

“Remind me again why the princesses need additional security? And from a man like me, no less?” Bradley asked, walking a step behind his uncle into the palace.

“Tensions are rising across the globe. The King quietly wants the princesses to be shuttled out to the countryside while he’s in intense meetings all day.”

“He doesn’t want to alarm them?”

“I would think so. He doesn’t need distractions. It’s a very delicate situation everywhere and the princesses are young.”

“The future queen is very much an adult,” Bradley pointed out to Maverick.

“In age, certainly. But in the eyes of the country and of the government, not entirely,” Maverick replied, taking the steps in front of him quickly.

“But why not?”

“It’s complicated.”

“That’s a bullshit answer.”

“Do not swear when in the palace,” Maverick hissed, nudging Bradley with his hand. “And be careful here. There are ears in the walls.” Maverick quickly adjusted Bradley's medals and straightened out his collar before shooting Bradley another look. “Just get through today and then you can act like a normal human being again.”

Bradley nodded and followed his uncle’s lead. They walked into a grand room where several gentlemen were mingling. Most of them were in military uniforms, but there were still a fair number of aristocrats running around the place. Probably annoyed at all the commoners running around, if Bradley had to guess. But he stood silently as Maverick led him over to Ice.

“Prime Minister Kazansky,” Maverick greeted, causing Ice to turn.

“Captain Mitchell,” he returned, shaking Maverick’s hand as if they were meeting for the first time. But the smiles shared between them clearly showed a level of familiarity that Ice didn’t share with the other high-ranking officials in the room. Ice turned to Bradley and extended his hand again, as if he was not at Bradley’s military academy graduation, “And Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

“Prime Minister,” Bradley stated, struggling a bit to hide the familiarity in his tone.

“Are you prepared for your next mission, Lieutenant?” Ice asked, folding his arms behind his back.

“Yes, sir. I have studied the mission extensively, as I would any military operation,” Bradley replied, sharing a look with Maverick. “Though, I must admit that I don’t know why this mission has become mine in the first place.”

“There were several factors at play,” Ice explained quietly, keeping his voice low. “The King served in the Royal Navy and therefore trusts a Navy man more than he would another. Your record is exemplary, and your personal recommendations are pristine. You are young and agile. And you don’t have any record of being a fanatic concerned with the Royal Family.”

“Fanatic?” Bradley repeated, confused.

“Fanatic, yes. The Princess is still unmarried, of course, and as she is of marrying age, the King does not want any fanatics or obsessive social climbers anywhere near her.”

“Then why did he invite them?” Maverick asked dryly, gesturing to a group of nobles on the other side of the room. At Ice’s expression, Bradley turned to Maverick with a small smirk. “Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t know proper decorum at these events, Mav.”

“If you would all please get into your order,” a voice boomed from the entryway.

Bradley followed Maverick and stood at the very end of the line. Straightening up, he stared ahead, waiting for the King and Princess to finally arrive. He had seen photos of them, of course, but meeting them in person was different. The black and white of the photos still hid details that Bradley felt like he needed to know if he was going to act as a guard to the three princesses.

The doors opened as Bradley turned his head to watch the King step into the room and greet Ice at the head of the line. Maverick told Bradley that the King was a bit stuffy and a stickler for the rules, but when one truly got to know him outside of his duties, he was a man of exceptional character with a strong, caring nature.

Turning his head again, Bradley paused when he saw the Princess Alexandra step into the room.

Her hair was curled and pinned back into place in a bun that Bradley was sure could probably survive a bomb. She wore a simple gray dress and coat with matching heels, looking a bit like an accountant as she followed a few steps behind her father. And the necklace around her neck was quite simple for the future Queen.

But when she looked down the line and briefly locked eyes with him, there was no mistaking her for an ordinary woman. Her gaze was sharp, calculating, analyzing every minute detail put in front of her, down to the shine of each medal on each man’s chest and the quality of the thread below it. Her quietness that the papers liked to discuss was not timidness, but simply a pause.

Like a lioness waiting in the grass for the right moment to strike.

~~~~~

Princess Alexandra had been through about a thousand lineups in her life and every single one was as boring as the last. There were never people that she wanted to meet—scholars, artists, individuals who did not treat her like a dainty doll that they could manipulate as they pleased, but rather a strong woman with her own thoughts.

No, it was just a lineup of stuffy statesmen and nobles that all thought she was an idiot waiting for her chance to burn it all down through her own delusion.

But she didn’t mind Prime Minister Kazansky.

“Your Royal Highness,” Ice greeted her with a nod of his head, “it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Prime Minister,” she returned, shaking his hand briefly. “And please tell me that I have the continued mercy of having you at my side at lunch.”

“Indeed, miss.”

“Good,” she stated with a genuine smile before she was ushered on.

Going down the line of statesmen and nobles, she had to bite back a grimace when she saw the next man in the lineup. Michael Warrington, the next Earl of Avon. And the man who seemed so intent on seducing her that it was honestly laughable. She had about as much interest in his serpentine smile, bad breath, and small mind as she had interest in getting shot in the face.

“Lord Warrington,” she greeted him politely.

“Your Royal Highness, it is a pleasure to see your beautiful face again,” he drawled, shaking her hand for a bit longer. Thank goodness she was wearing gloves, or she would have to thoroughly sanitize her hands after this encounter. “We missed your presence at the races. I believe you are a good luck charm for our horses.”

“You are too kind, Lord Warrington.” As she turned to the next man in the line, she muttered under her breath, “Really too kind.”

Making her way down the rest of the way, Alexandra came to the last two men in line. They were both dressed in naval uniforms that were freshly pressed and medals that were recently heavily shined. But she could tell that they were both not used to these events. And that automatically made them more interesting to her.

“The Captain Peter Mitchell of the Royal Navy,” her attendant introduced Maverick to her.

“Captain Mitchell,” she stated, extending her hand for him to shake. “My father has told me a great many stories of your valiance in the Royal Navy.”

“I do hope only the stories that paint me in a good light, Your Highness.”

“Only those that paint him in a good light, I’m afraid,” she replied with a note a humor in her tone. “What brings you to our fine palace today, Captain Mitchell?”

“Military matters, miss.”

“Of course.”

“And the matter of your security, as well.”

“My security?” Alexandra repeated, trying to not show her confusion.

“Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw of the Royal Navy,” her attendant continued, pushing her along.

With her usual stately mask slipping, Alexandra stepped to the side, turning to the man standing beside Maverick, whom her father had been talking to for a few moments longer than the other guests. Looking up at the lieutenant, she felt her cheeks instantly warm with girlish embarrassment that she swore she had outgrown.

He was tall, but not gangly. Nowhere near gangly. The white fabric of his naval uniform was absolutely pristine and outlined the size of his strong frame. His face was tanned, showing that he spent much time out in the sun, and he wore a finely trimmed mustache on his upper lip that framed his plump lips.

She wouldn’t mind statesmen who looked more like him.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw,” she greeted him, offering him her hand.

“Your Highness,” he returned politely, nodding his head to her before shaking her hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is all mine, Lieutenant,” she stated softly.

“Alexandra,” her father called, causing her to turn to him, “Lieutenant Bradshaw will be joining you and your sisters in the country.”

“Wonderful,” was all she managed, shooting Bradley a small smile. “Well, I look forward to spending more time with you, Lieutenant.”

“I as well, Your Highness.”

Alexandra nodded back to Bradley before following her father towards the dining room where the state lunch would be taking place. When they were a few steps away, her stately expression slipped, and she turned to her father with a look that her mother used to shoot him when she knew that details were being kept from her.

“I’m supposed to go to the country with Ellie and Sophie next week?” she asked quietly, but with a strong measure of force behind her words. “And with a guard?”

“Something has come up,” Beau replied just as quietly as they approached the table. “We will discuss it later tonight.”

“Or never at all?” Alexandra needled, pursing her lips together.

She shot her father one last look before walking around to her side of the table. Beau took a breath before moving to do the same. He was never concerned that his eldest daughter would be able to keep herself composed at these state events. But he was concerned for the sharpness of her words afterwards.

Bradley found himself at the end of the table, but yet he could still see the Princess standing in the middle, beside Ice. She kept her composed expression, but the daggers in her eyes only seemed to have sharpened.

The lioness was getting ready to pounce.

Part 2

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jaimeslanisters · 1 year

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the pawn in every lover’s game (part twelve)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you’re ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 8.2k notes: i live!!!! so sorry this chapter took so long - i got a new job, had relatives visit, my college friend visited, i saw taylor swift omg omg omg - but i’m still here working on it!! trust that it will be finished bc i have big plans for our little pack of greenies (: enjoy part one of the helaena/aegon wedding day!

Your hunger pangs wake you long before the sunrise ever does. For a few moments, you lie there, listening to the quiet sound of Helaena’s breathing. After the dinner that was more a test in restraint than anything else, you had dutifully followed the princess up to her room and, just like the pair of you had so many times as children, you had curled under the covers together, not touching but just close enough to feel each other’s heat radiating through the thick covers. As little girls, the two of you would always whisper and giggle throughout the night and you would fall asleep to Helaena eagerly lecturing you about whatever insect had caught her attention, your mind spinning with her passionate words and all the little facts and details she had learned from her books.

There had been none of that last night. Instead, the two of you had crawled into bed and, after a final prayer that you didn’t think either of you believed, had fallen asleep.

A part of you wishes you had kept her awake, that you could have made her laugh with jokes about the septas that had trailed the two of you all day or about all the ceremonies the pair of you had to perform. Maybe you could have asked her about Aemond and his unerring desire to push boundaries and your own willingness to let him, let her tease you in that kind way she always did where there was no bite to her words, no hidden meanings for you to puzzle out. Maybe you could have comforted her, maybe you could have lied and said everything would be alright.

But you hadn’t. You had slept instead.

You feel a flash of relief that you didn’t eat anything last night. That means there’s nothing to throw up.

As quietly as you can, you creep out of the bed, careful not to make any noise or shift the bed too much. Helaena has always been a heavy sleeper though and, aside from a whine of displeasure, she doesn’t stir, simply turning on her side and curling into herself.

You look at her for a moment, taking in her white curls poking out from underneath the blankets, her pale hand lying limp on the side of the bed. She looks so terribly young like this, more the girl she used to be rather than the woman she was and had been for some time now. You wonder when the switch had happened, when the girlish features of Princess Helaena Targaryen had faded away and been replaced with the ones of the woman who would turn into Queen Helaena, sister-wife to King Aegon, second of his name.

Try as you might, you can’t find that version of herself in her sleeping form, can’t make a crown on her seem like anything more than when you had played pretend as children. She’s a girl. You can’t make her anything but - can’t pretend you have any desire to.

Yet this is the final day when you will have that girl. Tonight, she will be married to a brother that she only loves as a brother. She will be wedded and bedded and that girl will only exist in your memories. Maybe sometimes you’ll see her in echoes in the future, in the children Helaena will bear or even in Helaena herself, but you will never see her, not truly, again.

Today was a funeral as much as it was a wedding and you want to scream and scream until your throat rubs raw and no more noise can escape you.

Today should be happy you remind yourself, forcing yourself to remember the songs you had sung only yesterday underneath the watchful eyes of the septas and the Maiden statue, the beautiful songs about the grace and strength that came inherent in marriage. You even try to remember the songs that the singers sung, the ones that promised that marriage was beautiful and kind and good. It isn’t the end of anything. Nothing will change.

Nothing would change, not physically so. Helaena’s chambers would move to border Aegon’s, of course, but the two of you spent your time in her mother’s sitting room or the gardens anyways. She would remain in the Red Keep, just like you would, and things would be like they were. You would still have tea together, you would still read your books and go riding and dig with her in the dirt to find whatever shiny bug had caught her attention. Nothing would change.

Maybe if you repeat it to yourself enough, you’ll eventually start to believe it.

With a quiet sigh, you pull yourself away from the side of the bed, heading towards the plush chaise that bordered the massive window in her room. You clear off the cushions, gently placing Helaena’s glass terrariums on the ground. Inside of them, insects slither and writhe, clearly upset by you disturbing them, flailing wildly in protest, but once you move them, you promptly settle on the chaise, curling up so you can stare out at Blackwater Bay.

This early in the morning, the sun hasn’t even risen yet but you know that much of the castle must be awake. By now, servants must be running through the halls, hastening to finish whatever tasks they had to complete before the ceremony today. Perhaps even the Queen was up by now, already managing the preparations, no doubt worrying herself to excess with all the little details that made up a royal wedding.

You already know, without a doubt, that Aemond is awake. He’s always been an early riser - a fact that you had often bemoaned to your uncle in your first years in the capital. Before Driftmark, he would always use the early morning hours to study in the library and you would usually accompany him, hiding your exhaustion behind copious amounts of tea. After Driftmark, however, he had used that time to train in the yards, dragging Ser Criston along with him before the sun ever got a chance to rise in the sky. He never told you why he changed his schedule, merely informing you that the pair of you would need to meet at a different time, but he hadn’t needed to. It hadn’t been too difficult to figure out.

He trained as early as he could so people wouldn’t see him fumble with the loss of his eye. The injury had taken away all the skill he had worked for years to attain, leaving him no better than a green boy who had never touched a sword in his life, and his pride would not allow him to suffer the pitying stares from everyone else in the yard, not when he already had to deal with them as he walked through the hallways of the Red Keep.

You know for a fact that it had taken a better part of a decade for Aemond to rejoin the typical hours that the knights occupied the yards, having preferred his early habits so he could continue training with only Ser Criston as an instructor. Occasionally, other members of the Kingsguard had joined, in order to keep his training from getting repetitive against only one opponent even if the opponent was widely considered to be the greatest knight living.

His years of training, however, had paid off - when Aemond had finally deemed himself ready to reenter the training yards with the other men, he had famously knocked even some of the most seasoned knights into the dirt, something that he had never bragged about to you but you had heard from the gossip that spread like wildfire throughout the castle. His victory did not mean his habits changed, however. Even now, having long since made up for the lack of an eye, Aemond kept to the same schedule, rarely, if ever, straying from it.

Somehow, you can’t picture him in the training yards right now, though, not when the entire city was preparing for his siblings’ wedding. You’d be surprised if the yards were even open for usage - no doubt some form of wedding preparation had taken advantage of that large and relatively empty space. No, if anything, you imagine Alicent has placed him and Daeron on Aegon duty, to both ensure he ended up where he needed to go and to ensure that he was sober - A difficult task that you’re not sure even the most experienced Kingsguard nor the most grizzly man of the Night’s Watch could handle.

Kingsguard swore oaths to protect the king against all of his enemies and the men of the Night’s Watch were supposed to be the shield that guarded the realms of men and, somehow, you doubt that either could handle Aegon at his worst.

This past week, poor Daeron has been tasked with serving as his brother’s keeper, trailing behind him to prevent him from becoming too embarrassing in public. Aemond, no doubt, would have been tasked with the same impossible demand if only his attention hadn’t been stolen away by the tourney.

You can only imagine how exhausted the two princes had to be if they spent the night with their wayward brother. Aegon had left the dinner looking distinctly queasy, even more sway in his steps than when he had first arrived even though Alicent had purposely kept the wine carafes out of his reach. Daeron had immediately followed behind him but Aemond had only moved when his mother had shot him a glare, sharply jerking her head in command. Aemond hadn’t complained or even said anything in return, merely getting up to trail behind his brothers, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else than there.

With any amount of luck, hopefully, the two princes would have reined in Aegon’s indiscretions. Aegon tended to steamroll Daeron, typically able to get away with more than he ought to, but with Aemond, the dynamic always seemed to flip. Out of everyone, save maybe the Lord Hand, Aemond alone seemed to be most capable of forcing Aegon to bend to his will for the sheer fact that he was unafraid to physically manhandle his older brother, uncaring of his brother’s position as the presumptive heir in the eyes of most in Westeros. In turn, Aegon tended to follow his brother’s commands even if he usually did it while arguing fiercely or causing as much trouble as he could.

If there was anyone who could ensure that Aegon would turn up to the wedding in a state at least resembling sobriety, it was Aemond.

You settle into the corner of the chaise, staring out at the Blackwater. The sun still hasn’t risen but soon - the sky is lightening more and more by the minute and already, pink and yellow clouds soften and blur the horizon like paints on a freshly finished portrait that someone had run their hands through.

It will be a beautiful day - more than the wedding deserves.

Taking deep breaths to steady your nerves, you watch the shifting sky, thinking about watching Vhagar feed with Aemond only two nights earlier. In the daylight, with no dark skies and empty waters to hide her, she would look even more monstrous, even more like an impossible spectacle that could engulf all of King’s Landing in her shadow.

You wonder where she is right now. Whether or not she’s resting or if she’s hunting in some other part of the world.

Maybe the sunrise will summon her.

You keep staring out of the window, a part of you hoping that Vhagar will fly back from wherever it is if only so you can see her in the morning light, when the doors to the chambers fly open and you twist your upper body towards the source, slightly frowning at the loud interruption.

Immediately, a stream of handmaids enter the room, each of them laden down with something that they’re carrying whether it be all the silks and lace Helaena will be dressed up in or trays and trays of food for the pair of you to snack on while they prepared you for the day. In the middle of all of the almost militant movement, Queen Alicent stands, deep in conversation with her handmaid Talya.

The Queen is already dressed, an absolute marvel in emerald green with her red hair nearly glowing in the warm sunlight streaming in from the windows, and you wonder what time she would have needed to get up at in order to prepare herself.

Did she even sleep? You think, completely baffled by how put together she already looks. You were in your nightgown still and Helaena was still in bed, completely covered by blankets, and here she was, already ready to ride down to the Dragonpit for the ceremony.

Before you get the chance to say something or even stand to greet her, she gestures for the handmaids to put down the food where they can, taking over a good solid half of the bedchamber. On the other side of the room, the other handmaids clear space, laying out Helaena’s wedding gown on a table, her maiden cloak neatly folded next to it. From here, you can see glimpses of the red thread that you and Helaena had used to painstakingly embroider her House’s sigil and something in your chest squeezes tight and fierce at the sight of it.

Alicent gives you a small smile and nod before she sits on the side of the bed, staring down at her daughter for a moment, her hand reaching out for her daughter’s curls. Helaena shifts in the bed, rolling over on her side, staring up at her mother.

You watch them, heart in your throat, and the only thing you can think is that you shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here to see this moment. This should just be for Alicent and Helaena. A mother and her only daughter.

I want my mother.

You look away sharply, staring down at your lap, twisting your hands up in the white fabric of your nightgown.

If Lady Johanna were here, nothing would change. Helaena would still be marrying Aegon. Her girlhood would end to the cheers of a watching King’s Landing. The night would end in blood-stained sheets. There’s nothing your mother could do to stop it nor would she.

But she would be here, with you. She would be sitting by your side just as Alicent was sitting with Helaena. She would be brushing her hand over your hair and she would tell you that even if everything changed around the pair of you, that didn’t mean that the two of you had to change with it.

You’re the blood of the old kings, a lion of the Rock, Your mother’s voice echoes in your head. The world bends to your will, not you to it.

Taking deep breaths, you calm your pounding heart and lock away your longing deep inside of you, where it couldn’t hurt you. When you look up, Helaena is sitting up in the bed, her hand curled around her mother’s.

Alicent isn’t crying but her eyes are shining in the light.

“Are you ready, my sweet girl?” Alicent asks. Behind her, a handmaid steps forward as another one carefully lays out brushes and oils and strips of ribbons onto the vanity.

Her question hangs heavy in the air.

After a moment, Helaena nods. She doesn’t shake or tremble. She doesn’t tear up or frown. She simply nods.

Helaena has always been stronger than anyone has ever given her credit for.

Alicent doesn't say anything. She merely raises Helaena’s hand up to her lips and presses a kiss on her knuckles, closing her eyes as she does.

You did this, a part of you wants to accuse. You and no one else.

But then again, who were you to judge someone for marrying their family off? You sent Cerelle into the North, away from everything she’s ever known. At least here, Helaena would remain in her home, would remain surrounded by those who love and support her.

Alicent was marrying Helaena to Aegon to protect her, to protect their lineage. You married Cerelle off for your own ambition.

You swallow back your protests, all your complaints and accusations. They weren’t meant for the Queen anyways.

Alicent guides Helaena to the vanity where a handmaid immediately descends upon her to start rubbing oil in her hair as another begins to brush her thick hair back. Helaena flinches back, startled by their fast movement and their intimate touch, and Alicent swoops forward, gently pushing the handmaids back slightly so that they’re not pressed up against the princess’s back.

You watch for a moment longer, eyes trailing the way the handmaids are beginning to work together to braid elaborate patterns into the hair at the crown of her head, their hands moving nearly impossibly fast, before you turn to the spread of food that has been laid out. Most of it is light food - various loaves of bread and cheeses and hams - so that the pair of you could break your fast and not keel over in the middle of the ceremony.

None of it, however, feels particularly appetizing right now. The bread looks unbearably heavy, the meats look salty. You don’t want any of it - not now when your stomach is still rolling with anxiety and worry for not only the upcoming day but for all the days that would follow after.

Still, if you didn’t eat now, your next chance wouldn’t come until well into the evening, during the wedding feast. You’d be just as liable to gnaw off someone’s arm as you would be to pass out and disrupt the ceremonies.

With a small frown, you stand from the chaise to walk towards a small end table where servants had laid out small slices of bread with little jars of assorted jam placed carefully all around. You look down at the food with a sense of trepidation, trying to figure out which fruit would be less likely to upset your stomach, when someone clears their throat next to you, calling your attention.

You turn to face a short servant girl, one you’ve seen often trailing behind Talya and, in turn, Alicent. She smiles nervously at you, no doubt terrified to have called your attention towards her, and, after a beat, holds up a tray of lemon cakes in front of her.

“Prince Aemond asked me to save some from the feast for you, my lady,” she says, a small tremble in her voice telling you that she’s wholly unused to being the one to address the nobles she served.

You stare down at the tray, your cheeks feeling impossibly hot.

The absolute nerve of him…

“Thank you…” You flounder for her name, feeling a flush of embarrassment that you can’t recall it, but the girl only smiles, clearly desperate for any reason to leave your immediate vicinity. She moves the tray of bread and jams slightly to the side, placing the lemon cakes right next to them, before she gives you a quick curtsey, scurrying off to join the other handmaids waiting patiently by the door for any one of your commands.

You turn to face the lemon cakes, feeling your stomach turn for a completely different reason.

Aemond and you rarely toed the line of impropriety, the past few days aside. The most you had ever gotten to doing something decidedly improper with him was when you had snuck into his room at Driftmark. Your intentions had been entirely pure though, if someone had spotted you, you doubted that they would have accepted any explanation you could have put forward. In the years after, though, the two of you had kept your careful distance from one another, conscious of the rules of etiquette that ruled your every move.

Of course, that didn’t mean you obeyed all of them - neither of you had ever bothered to get a chaperon for your meetings in the library or even raise the question of it. Maester Dustin, the old man in charge of the library, was asleep half of the time and was deaf the other half. If ever questioned, you would have cited his presence but no one but the most lenient and generous would count him as a true chaperon and the court at King’s Landing was anything but.

Despite ample opportunity, however, the two of you had never tried anything improper. You hadn’t even tried anything proper. Aemond had never requested a meeting with your uncle, had never made a formal request for your presence that would indicate he was interested in a betrothal meeting. Things had been as they always had been.

Until the tourney. Until Victor Florent had tried to claim you, forcing Aemond’s hand in revealing his intentions or risk an attachment between you and another man in the eyes of all of King’s Landing.

Things were different now. You didn’t know where the line of acceptable transgressions was and, if Aemond’s words last night at the dinner that was not quite a dinner were any indication, he was very interested in pushing it as far as he could.

It wouldn’t be a problem if you knew where the line even began. Aemond’s ‘hint’ about the bud between your legs was the first time anyone had ever told you something concrete about your body and the pleasure that could be derived from it, the pleasure from which you were supposed to abstain. Your septas only ever spoke about the act of bedding in the most clinical of terms; he’s meant to get on you and his member will enter you. It will hurt. You must bear the pain. You must take it. This is your duty as a wife and as a mother.

None of it had ever sounded appealing to you, had never called your attention. It was easy to restrain yourself when the actual act sounded like a tortuous thing to suffer, something you would have to endure rather than enjoy.

Aemond promised pleasure though. He promised that the prize was something you would want, something that would be difficult to hold back from. Something that you would long for just as you had yearned for the lemon cakes last night.

You stare at the lemon cakes for a moment longer, your eyes lingering on the candied lemon slice placed delicately on top of the soft yellow sponge. The sugared delicacy gleams in the light, the glaze incitingly beautiful, and all you can think about is the way Aemond had licked the sugar off his fingers, the way his mouth had gleamed after.

You’ve never been one to pray to the Maiden but you pray to her now, asking for her forgiveness.

Perhaps if you met Aemond, you would understand, you tell her even as you reach for a lemon cake. Perhaps you didn’t know what you had to abstain from either.

——————————–

Somewhere in the middle of the handmaid weaving flowers into your hair, Helaena starts to scream.

You nearly knock the poor handmaid over in your attempt to rush to the princess’s side, tripping over your own feet slightly, but you right yourself quick enough, nearly blind in your panic to reach her. Alicent is already standing next to her but, when she tries to touch her daughter, Helaena jerks away, shaking her head and curling into herself, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

“Helaena,” you cry out as you slow to a stop in front of her, hands trembling from the restraint of stopping yourself from reaching for her. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

She shakes her head again, eyes gazing ahead without seeing. You’ve seen them go empty and glazed when she tells her strange riddles but this is something else. Her amethyst eyes are so dark you can no longer see the color as she stares at the table in front of her. She’s shaking so badly you would think it was freezing inside of the room if it wasn’t for the sun’s blazing heat coming through the windows.

“Shadows in the wall,” she sobs, sounding as if she’s gasping for air that just won’t enter her lungs. “Shadows in the flame. There will be no choice. No choice at all.”

Helaena lets out a loud keening cry, finally ducking her head down as she curls into herself even more.

“Clear the table,” Alicent hisses, waving her arms wildly, and immediately servants move forward, taking away the trays of jams and cheese and bread with even more speed than when they had put them down. The Queen is shaking, terrified and helpless, and you’ve seen this look in her before and it stings now just as it had at Driftmark.

She could do nothing then and she can do nothing now.

You kneel in front of the princess, close enough that you can reach out for her but far enough that there’s no danger that you’ll touch her by mistake. “Helaena,” you try again, a note of desperation entering your voice. You’ve never seen her like this, so out of control, so hysterical. “Helaena, I’m right here. Your mother is right here. You’re ok. You’re safe.”

You almost scream yourself when Helaena’s hands fly out, grasping your face. Her grip is tight, almost painfully so, but you bear it because it’s her. She stares into your eyes, searching and begging, and you wonder where she begins and where the prophet that replaces her does. You wonder if there’s even a difference. “A lioness,” she begins, her voice soft like a prayer. “Will burn blood to protect her pride.”

You nod, almost dumbly, and she leans again, nose nearly brushing yours.

“Feed well the land,” she insists. “Drown the stone. Burn the sea. Fell the sky.”

You nod again, your heart pounding so hard in your chest that it reverberates in your skull, a marching tune for no one to follow.

Helaena’s eyes bore into yours for a moment longer, a moment that reaches into eternity and traps you within it, until finally, she lets go of you, leaning back until she sits perfectly straight, a statue for all to see.

Helaena comes back.

And she begins to cry.

It’s soft and gentle cries as if she’s already exhausted herself and this is the only noise she can produce. Next to her, Alicent settles on the bench, hesitantly reaching for her daughter’s shoulder. When Helaena leans into her touch, the Queen lets out a shaky breath, pulling her daughter into a tight hug, cradling the back of her head as she rocks the two of them back and forth.

You sink to the ground completely, leaning forward to rest your head against Helaena’s knees as you take a deep, gasping breath. Your quick movements have completely unraveled all of the handmaid’s work and, even now, you can feel the delicate poppies she had braided in falling all around you, landing on the cool stone floor.

You can’t bring yourself to care, however, not when Helaena’s desperate words are running rampant through your mind. Two of them are her most repeated prophecies, ones that always send her into hysterics. You wake up in the middle of the night thinking about them, about what they could mean, what you could even do to prepare. Her last prophecy was a new one but no less nonsensical.

None of it meant anything yet it all meant everything.

An eye has been closed Helaena had promised that night in Driftmark and Aemond had been scarred forever and the war between the two branches of the Targaryen family had started in a crowded hall with a brawl between children.

You couldn’t decipher her words, not until it was too late. There was no one you could talk to, no one you beg for answers. Helaena herself never knew the meaning behind her riddles for all that they haunted her every movement.

There was no easy answer here, no solution to puzzle out, and it made you want to weep for the unfairness of it all.

You feel a hand touch the back of your head and, after a moment where you forcibly pull yourself together, you lean back, resting your chin on Helaena’s knee so you can look up at her. Helaena’s eyes are redrimmed and her face is impossibly pale. She doesn’t do anything like smile but something in her gaze is soft, comforting.

Tears rise in your eyes and you press your face against her knee, taking deep breaths to try and calm yourself. Her hand rubs down the back of your hair, gentle and kind, and soon another hand joins to touch your shoulder and you know that Queen Alicent is reaching for you as well. You press your face even harder into her knee, fighting the urge to sob.

None of you say a word.

You don’t have to.

——————————–

You’re late down to the courtyard because of course, you are. Even the handmaids’ top speed was not enough to prepare you and Helaena in time and Alicent had waved you down to the courtyard in a bid to at least start the ceremony slightly on time. It’s a verifiable hive of people, more crazed and hectic than you’ve ever seen it. A small army of servants is racing to prepare wheelhouses and horses while golden cloaks from the City Watch take up a good bit of the crowded space, all of them listening attentively as Ser Harrold belts out orders to them. Behind you, the same red cloaks your father had assigned to watch you at the tourney trail behind you, their hands on their swords as they carefully scan the only slightly organized chaos around you.

The tourney will seem almost like child’s play compared to the pageantry the Queen had planned for the wedding proper. Even arriving at the Dragonpit will be a chore - while the majority of the court will ride in their wheelhouses to reach the ceremony location, you and the other attendants will ride on white chargers, out in the open for all of the smallfolk to see you. The route would be heavily guarded, of course, but the idea was for the people of King’s Landing to witness the strength, the might, and the beauty of the royal family of Westeros.

These are people to be loved. These are people to be followed.

It was a show - a crucial one. The smallfolk would have little say in who would next sit the Iron Throne but having their devotion would certainly make things easier.

You scan the hordes of people and almost immediately, you spot Aemond and Otto Hightower, standing tall even next to the massive white horses that would serve as your ferry to the Dragonpit. As you approach them, weaving your way through the moving masses, you can start to make out Rhaenys and Daeron and Aegon, their silver hair a beacon in the crowd.

Surrounded by soldiers and servants, the extravagant luxury of their clothes stands out starkly, a marked difference from all the silver armor and the grey uniforms. Otto’s outfit is the most understated - it was a darker green than he normally wore, so green that it was nearly black, but the velvet was rich and it shone in the sunlight, the golden flame of House Hightower outlined in actual golden thread. Similarly, Rhaenys’ dress is a tribute to her family, paying respect to House Velaryon. It is a dark blue, the silk moving like the water that surrounded Driftmark whenever she shifted. In her hand, she casually swings the Crone’s lamp though the flame was not yet lit.

The Targaryen princes were a marvel to behold.

Daeron, standing between his two brothers, has some of his curly hair pulled up and away from his face, braids keeping the rest of his hair from falling into his eyes. His tunic was a rougher fabric than either of his brothers but it was hardly anything to scoff at with its golden trimming and brilliant sheen. Around his neck, a necklace of golden hammers hung and, whenever he moved, they would clink together like bells in the wind.

Someone, more likely than not his own brothers, had likely held Aegon down to be scrubbed at and cleaned since you haven’t seen Aegon look nearly this alert in years. His curls are neatly maintained rather than the stringy mess they normally were and an iron coronet was nestled neatly on top of them. It wasn’t a crown, no true crown by any means, but it was dangerously close to being one. There were no heavy arches, no bold jewelry, but it was a distinction that only few would make. No one but the Lord Hand could have been the one to decide for Aegon to wear it since you doubt the prince himself would make that bold of a decision and there were few that could force him to do it anyways. It was a reminder to the realms that this was the next King of Westeros, the only true heir that could be by all the laws and traditions that governed the kingdoms.

It’s a testament to how striking Aemond looks that you’re able to tear your attention away from the political moves Lord Otto is making to focus on him.

Unlike most depictions of the Warrior, he wasn’t in a suit of armor but whichever tailor had designed his outfit had clearly drawn inspiration from one nonetheless. He is dressed in a dark, velvety green, similar to his usual dark clothing, but, in ode to the Warrior, black chainmail has been laid over it. It was far too fine to be made out of actual metal, the twists in it too delicate and careful, but it shone in the sunlight, gleaming dangerously and swallowing the light. The mail was cinched at his wrists by black vambraces and around his waist by a heavy belt, pulled tight to showcase his slender build. Off of it hung a sword and, encrusted onto the pommel, the seven-pointed star formed out of dark rubies.

This is what the Warrior was meant to look like. This is who the songs were about.

You reach them soon enough and, when all their eyes turn to stare at you, you realize why the smallfolk whispered about the divinity of the Targaryens, how they were closer to gods than to men.

All of them, from Rhaenys to Aemond, are otherworldly, too beautiful and odd to be real.

If you were a lesser lady, you would be frightened to stand in front of them, too scared to draw their attention and mar their vision with your own imperfection.

As it is, you drop into a curtsey before rising up to stand tall and proud, tilting your head up to look them all in the eye.

Rhaenys smiles at you first. “You look lovely, my lady,” she says, her eyes crinkling at the corner from her smile, and you duck your head in acknowledgment, murmuring your thanks.

Unlike the rest of Seven, the Maiden didn’t have a symbol that denoted her holiness. She wasn’t like the Smith with his hammer or the Warrior with his sword. She wasn’t the Father or the Mother where her virtue was the service she had done for the world. Her beauty was her grace instead.

You’re dressed simply to accommodate that - a white linen dress that is tailored exactly to your figure, so perfectly starched that it’s nearly blinding in the sun. The handmaid had worked deliriously fast to weave red and yellow poppies into your hair, braiding your hair to keep them in place, and, unlike everyone else, you weren’t laden down with gold to showcase your wealth and power - your only accessory is a garland of parchment that annoyingly crinkles whenever you move.

You’re almost ridiculously plain next to all the Targaryens with their silver hair and amethyst eyes but you try your best not to let it get to you as you nod your thanks to the chorus of compliments that come your way from all gathered.

A chorus that one voice does not join and, when you look up, Aemond is already standing by your side, looking you over carefully.

You raise an eyebrow when he meets your eyes, suppressing the urge to laugh delightedly when Aemond refuses to be flustered, simply quirking his head instead and offering you a real smile.

“Please don’t commit an act of blasphemy through your compliment,” you say when he opens his mouth, grinning when he shakes his head.

“I was simply going to say that the Maiden herself would be envious of you.”

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire even as you mockingly frown. “That feels borderline.”

“You’ll have to forgive me then,” Aemond murmurs, his arm brushing yours. The chainmail feels cold even through the thin layer of linen and you fight the urge to shiver at its cool touch.

You smile then. “I may be dressed like the Maiden but I don’t think I’m qualified to forgive people for that. You’ll have to ask a septon.”

“Good thing there will be plenty of those at the Dragonpit,” he says. He picks his head up, having spotted someone in the crowd. “In fact, here comes one now.”

When you glance over, the first thing you see is the High Septon’s crystal crown gleaming in the sun. It’s almost blinding the way it shimmers and reflects the light but still, most people stop and gape at the rainbow streaming through the stones and how the colors dance on the cobblestone. It’s the most beautiful crown you’ve ever seen in your life, completely peerless and without compare.

What a shame that the man beneath the crown was not.

To be fair to him, you’ve never spent much time with the High Septon. You’ve only ever seen him at a distance during his weekly sermons that the royal family all attended. But the times you have been near him have been uncomfortable, to say the least.

The High Septon has these pale gray eyes, so pale they seem almost colorless up close. Those eyes always latched onto you, staring so deep into you that it seemed like he was searching for the smallest hint of sin and blasphemy within you. His eyes would trail any bit of skin you had on display and it didn’t feel like when men in the Red Keep would stare at you with lust in their gazes, when they were attempting to peel back your layers of clothing with their stares alone. His gaze felt burning, scornful.

Like with his look alone, he could damn you to one of the Seven Hells.

Even dressed as the Maiden, you feel sorely lacking as his pale eyes seek you out from underneath his rainbow crown. The dress feels too tight, the fabric too thin. All the beautiful poppies in your hair suddenly feel like vanity rather than a prayer for fertility.

You shift awkwardly, wishing you had insisted on a shawl or something to cover yourself with. It would have been more of a hassle than anything, especially considering the spring sun beating down on your back, but it would have been worth it just to have something to pull closer to yourself, to hide away even the smallest scrap of skin.

You only meet the High Septon’s pale, cold eyes for a moment before Aemond moves in front of you, casually and seemingly without purpose. His back is broad enough that he neatly covers you up and, when the High Septon looks over at him, he bows his head in acknowledgment even as he stands his ground, concealing you from sight.

Your heart pounds loud in your chest as you stare at his back for a moment, wishing you could reach out and grab him. Instead, you stay rooted to your spot, carefully sidestepping the High Septon as he walks past you to the carriage that will carry him to the Dragonpit. Behind him, a few septons trail behind, heads bowed as they murmur prayers under their breath, and, behind them, looking frazzled, Alicent speeds past her two youngest sons, heading directly for Aegon, stopping right in front of him.

She doesn’t say a word as she cups his face with her hands. She doesn’t say a single thing. Instead, she stares at her oldest son, her first child, and Aegon stares back.

The courtyard is crowded, people streaming past you, pushing and jostling to get to their spots quicker. All around, there are servants yelling and, even now, you can hear Ser Harrold’s booming voice speaking to the knights surrounding him.

But none of it matters. Not when Aegon looks like a little boy again, his eyes wide and vulnerable. You don’t even remember him looking like this when you had first come to the capitol - even at thirteen, he had never seemed like a child. There had always been this world-weariness to him, this anxiety that he wrapped around himself like a cloak. The worst thing to ever happen to Aegon Targaryen had been his own birth - with it, his fate had been sealed and the noose had been tied around his neck. Since the days when the First Men struck down the Children of the Forest and lifted themselves to power, there had only ever been one thing that the firstborn sons of Kings could become.

He had never been a boy.

But he is one now as he stares at his mother.

You want to look away, you want to give them their privacy but you can’t. You can only stare at them. Hesitantly, you move closer to Aemond, your hand coming up to grip the edge of his sleeve slightly. He rocks towards you but, in your periphery, you can tell that his eyes are also focused on his mother and brother.

Alicent opens her mouth, to say what you’ll never know, since Aegon shakes his head slightly, finally looking down, looking away from his mother. Even from here, you can see that he’s shaking.

The Queen pauses for a moment, staring at her son’s face in her hands. You wonder when’s the last time she’s held him - when’s the last time she tried and the last time he let her. You pray it wasn’t long.

After a moment, she presses up on her tiptoes slightly, pressing a kiss against Aegon’s brow, lingering for a breath.

Aegon doesn’t move, doesn’t react, but, when his mother pulls away and his eyes open, they’re glistening with tears.

Is it worth it? You want to ask even though you already know the answer you will surely receive.

Otto Hightower pauses for a moment by his daughter and grandson, gazing down at them with his usual stoic expression. Not for the first time in your life, you’re desperate to peer inside his mind, desperate to know what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t give you even the slightest opening, the slightest hint of what is running through his mind. “We must begin if we’re to finish anywhere near on schedule.”

Alicent tears her eyes away from her son, dropping her hands from his face. She nods, her own mask coming back onto her face. “Helaena is waiting for you inside. The rest of the attendants must leave with Aegon. Only you will ride with her.”

Otto looks at his daughter for a moment longer, clearly looking into her for something. The Queen stands steady as she looks at him, her brown eyes hard as steel as she stares into the eyes of her father. Whatever he was seeking he must find since he nods his head and begins to walk back into the Red Keep, some members of the Kingsguard trailing behind him.

The instant the Lord Hand moves, it seems like the chaos in the courtyard finally has a focal point: all of the attendants. Immediately, servants begin to bring the massive white horses to each of you, the grand beasts in question neighing loudly as their fragile peace is disturbed. The chargers move slowly, heavily, and you eye them as a pair of them slow to a stop next to you and Aemond. You’ve ridden horses before - every Westerosi noble worth anything was skilled in horsemanship - but never one close to this size. The horse looms over you, snorting air out through his nose aggressively as he stamps his feet, and you reel back slightly, stepping closer to Aemond and pulling the fabric of his sleeve closer to you.

“You control him,” Aemond reminds you, his voice low, as the servants swarm around the white chargers, securing the straps of the saddle soundly. “He’ll listen to your commands.”

“I should hope,” you respond, glancing up at him. “I feel like it's an awful omen if the Maiden gets carried away on a runaway horse.”

He shakes his head. “Surely no more bad luck than a Maiden being tempted during her fast.”

You smile despite yourself. “There’s no abstinence without temptation. I’m sure my sacrifice means more that way.”

“Perhaps the Seven will reward your faith. Surely they know that Aegon and Helaena will need it,” Aemond responds, shaking his head at a servant when he takes a meaningful step towards you. The servant in question falters slightly, looking at a loss for words, before he quickly steps back, nodding his head as he folds his hands behind his back.

You’ve done this song and dance before. You don’t ride often with Aemond but sometimes he would accompany you and Helaena whenever the fancy struck him. Sometimes servants would help the pair of you climb onto your horses. Sometimes he would. You’ve done this countless times before.

Somehow, this feels different. Maybe it’s that he’s dressed as the Warrior and you’re the Maiden. Maybe it’s that you can hear the gates slowly begin to open, hear the screams and cheers from the waiting audience of King’s Landing filter through the air. Maybe it’s how he grips your waist harder than he ever has before as he picks you up high in the air, your hands flying to steady yourself at his shoulders.

He places you on the horse, sitting you side straddle, and you stare down at him, letting go of his shoulders so you can twist one of your hands up the reins of the horse. He looks back and you know that he can see straight through you, can see the scream that is building up in your chest, buried so deep so that none of it can slip out.

Aemond lets go of your waist and you lean down, your hair falling all around you, as you lean over him, his face turning up towards yours. A poppy knocks itself loose from the breeze and he reaches up to grab it, catching it by its cut stem.

It’s golden.

In front of you, by the gates, you can see Alicent and Aegon begin to move forward, can hear the screams of the crowds reach a feverish pitch as they catch sight of the royal family, but you ignore them as you reach for the flower in Aemond’s hand. You brush his fingers as you pluck it from his grasp and for a moment, you hold it between the two of you.

It’s beautiful. More beautiful than anything has a right to be on this day.

Carefully, you lean down even more and you tuck the flower into the links of his chainmail, the yellow startling against the black. Your hand lingers for a moment and he captures it, pressing it to his mouth gently.

It’s a promise. It’s an apology. You want to laugh. You want to cry.

Finally, he lets you go, pulling away to his own silver charger, mounting it with an ease that only a warrior could have. In front of you, Daeron and Rhaenys begin to ride out and, as you turn your head slightly to watch them go, you can see the flame in Rhaenys’s lamp has been lit. As she rides through the gate, she lifts up the lamp in front of her, her arm steady and sure even as the flame flickers and sways from the canter of her horse. She’s a guiding light, wisdom and strength personified. You’re supposed to follow her.

But you can’t imagine wanting anything less.

Somewhere behind you, Helaena waits with her grandfather, her maiden cloak pinned around her neck. Somewhere ahead of you, Aegon rides with their mother, a crown that was not quite a crown placed in his silver curls.

This is it. This is where it all ends. This is where it begins.

Servants begin to gesture you to move forward and, after a moment, you shift your weight forward in the saddle and, without missing a beat, the massive charger moves forward with a shake of his mane. You glance to the side and meet Aemond’s amethyst eyes blazing in the light.

Together, you ride through the gates.

#aemond targaryen x reader #Aemond x Reader #aemond x you #i wrote this in my notes as no one has fun at a westerosi wedding #and the actual wedding hasnt even happened yet sdkflasdlfkasdf #hopefully the next chapter wont take as long im so sorry babes!!!

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cake-writes · 1 year

Text

A Dutiful Disaster (Part Seven)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Story Tags/Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Royalty, Pre-Thor (2011), Smut, Angst, Drama, Slow Burn, Odin’s A+ Parenting, Cis Female Reader (she/her), No Y/N Usage, Second Person POV, POC-inclusive descriptors, Toxic Relationship (lil bit of abuse from both parties - mostly screaming matches with the occasional physical thing but he never like slaps her or anything), Smut, Slut-Shaming, Mommy Issues, Reader has anxiety, 18+

Chapter Warnings: anxiety, reader is super bitchy in this chapter, and so is her letter, oh my gosh you guys they actually talk shit out like MATURE ADULTS

Word Count: 3.8k

Snippet: “I do not wish to be kissed. It’s too great an intimacy for our,” you pause to consider the word, tapping your finger to your chin, “unique situation, wouldn’t you say? We are the furthest thing from lovers.”

“Oh?” Loki sounds amused by your answer – and then he drops his feet back to the floor with purpose, taking advantage of your startled jump to pull you further into his lap where you can feel the hardening length of him against your clothed core. “If not lovers, then what are we?”

“Married,” you gasp, arms clutching around his neck for fear of being dropped – or so you tell yourself.

Master List / Spotify Playlist / Part Six

A/N: And we’re back! This chapter finally ties us in to the prequel one-shot, as well as the argument between Loki and his father in part two. You may need to read them again for a refresher because it’s been a fair few months (in real life) since those were posted. Enjoy :)

You study your husband from above the gold rim of your teacup. It’s suspicious, the certain ease to his demeanour as he discusses today’s breakfast offerings with his servant.

Loki is manipulating you. He must be. It's the only conclusion you can come to.

You haven’t forgotten the nasty things he said about you to his father the day after your wedding. Loki made it crystal clear that he can't stand you, that he finds this sham of a marriage as torturous as you do, to the point that he'd even referred to it as a life sentence – much like your own thoughts on the matter. Yet, it bothers you in a way you can’t quite explain.

What’s worse is that the Allfather thinks you disloyal to the Crown, and you still haven’t been able to figure out why. You’ve been nothing but loyal, the events of last night notwithstanding. It makes you feel uneasy, knowing that the King has tasked Loki with ensuring your loyalty to Asgard, like he actually expects you could ever be a traitor—a proper one, that is.

Even so, you find yourself begrudgingly admiring the way your husband’s dark, glossy hair perfectly accentuates his sharp cheekbones – during which he turns his attention to you.

“Is that acceptable?” Loki questions, just as you take another sip of chrysanthemum tea—your favourite, and all you can think is that it can't be just a coincidence.

You hate how infuriatingly attractive he is. Even now. Especially now, with his pretty green eyes so focused on you, like he actually cares what you have to say.

“That would be lovely,” you answer amicably as you set down your teacup, even though you have no idea what you’ve just agreed to. Something about smoked salmon and capers.

Loki seems to accept your answer, and when he engages once more with his servant, you lose yourself in your thoughts. Two ragged, albeit manicured fingernails tap an anxious rhythm against the side of the porcelain cup in its saucer, each fingertip sounding its own melody.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

It worries you how easily Loki plays the part the perfect husband. Sitting here in his chambers is unnerving; you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he seems perfectly content, like he isn’t at all bothered by the contents of your letter. Nor does he seem to hold any opinion of the events that transpired last night.

For now.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

The daylight streaming in through the open windows offers a glimpse of the fine lines near his eyes and the dark circles just beneath. While he always appears as though he’s never been able to get enough sleep, courtesy of his fair skin, you’re starting to think that Loki might have slept about as well as you did last night—in other words, scarcely at all.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

You conceal a yawn with your free hand as the servant bows and makes his way to the exit, and then you’re alone with your husband again. That knowledge should set you on edge, but you’re more focused on the rich accoutrements of his sitting room. It’s the first time you’ve been here since that awful argument following the attack; no sign of shattered glass in sight, but then, it has been a week since then.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

A vase full of fresh flowers sits upon the entry table. You’d bruised your hip against it that self-same night. How suspicious that the blooms are the colour of plum wine, a deep reddish-purple that makes your heart sing: your colour.

Tink, tink—

You stop tapping the instant you notice him watching you, and snatch up your teacup as if you meant to do so all along. Then you take a larger sip than you intend. The hot tea scalds your tongue, and his lips twitch in silent laughter as you try and fail to pretend it doesn’t.

“What?” you snap irritably.

“How did you sleep?”

“Why act as though you care?”

Visibly amused by your bristly demeanour, Loki retrieves his own tea, his slim fingers pinching the gilded handle with more finesse than you could ever hope to achieve. “I cannot help but wonder, petal, if you haven’t slept a wink. Were you worrying about how this conversation would go?”

You set your teacup down in its saucer with force, the loud clink of fine china resounding through the room. “Considering the events that transpired during our previous one, I’d be a fool not to worry. I expect that you will have me imprisoned the very moment you manage to lull me into a false sense of security.”

He doesn’t bat an eyelash at your vitriol, instead opting to take a sip of his tea. You can scarcely tell what kind of tea it is anymore, what with how he's drowned it in cream and sugar. Some things never change. It’s comforting, in a way.

Your husband savours the too-sweet taste for a moment before he speaks. “I will not have you imprisoned. You have my word.”

You scoff. “I threatened you.”

“Indeed.”

“With a knife.”

“A dagger, actually,” Loki corrects, and when you cut him a withering look, he gives you a shit-eating grin. You hate how stupidly reassuring it is that he’s just as insufferable as ever. Then his expression shifts to something a little more serious, his eyes softening at the corners. “You felt that I posed a threat to your safety, and you acted in self-defence. A sleepless night is punishment enough.”

You don’t buy it. “And my letter?”

“I suspect that you would never have sent it, had your fear not driven you to do so. No one in their right mind would call me—what was it, an animal?—among so many other insults that I cannot even begin to fathom them all, in a letter signed with one’s personal seal. That alone could have landed you in the dungeons, yet you did so with little regard for the consequences.” A puff of laughter escapes him. “You have always had an impulsive streak, darling, but never to that extent.”

He sees right through you. You despise it. “Yes, well—”

“If you truly think me an animal, then I can only imagine that you would indeed feel safer in another part of the palace.” He mentions the request you’d made in your letter so nonchalantly, like the two of you are merely discussing the weather. “Where did you have in mind?”

That does it.

“How—How can you be so calm about all of this?” you sputter. “Forgive me, husband, but I do not trust how willingly you would turn a blind eye to my transgressions!”

The precise manner in how Loki returns his teacup to its saucer betrays him. “Don’t you?”

You glare at him. Something is simmering beneath the surface of his suspiciously mellow exterior, but you can’t quite discern what it is. Not yet.

“If you think that I am calm, darling, then you couldn’t be more wrong—unless, of course, you honestly believe that I have any penchant for forgiveness.” His tone may be cordial, but every single one of his movements is calculated to the nth degree. The tactician.

No, he isn’t calm at all. He’s plotting. You should have known.

“Or is there another reason that you would arm me with more than enough ammunition to have you imprisoned?”

With that single question, the conversation becomes an interrogation. Your palms turn cold and clammy at the knowledge that he very well still could, and when you start to fidget with the white napkin in your lap, the cloth sticks unpleasantly to your skin.

“Is that what you want me to do? Arrest you for a rash, impulsive decision? A crime of passion?”

You can feel your blood pressure rise under his rapid fire, your anxiety and sleep deprivation giving way to anger. “No,” you bite out.

While part of you feels that a life in the dungeons would be infinitely better than one bound to him, your more reckless side likes to push boundaries – to your own detriment. And Loki knows it as well as you do. His mouth sets in a firm line, his expression unreadable.

“Then you do trust me,” he says, tone neutral. “And that, dear girl, is the worst transgression of all.”

You stare at him, disbelieving, before you let out a loud peal of laughter – like he’s just told the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. It just might be. “I trust you, do I? No, husband,” you spit the word like it’s a curse. “I loathe you. If you have mistaken that for trust, then I pity you.”

If your venomous tirade affects him at all, Loki does well to hide it. A prolonged silence falls over the room as he rests his elbows on the table and laces his fingers before him, no less patient with you than he has been for the rest of the morning. He studies you – studies your reaction – studies every single flaw you try so hard to hide, and he says nothing.

You look away first. You always do, when your temper gets the better of you.

Only then does he finally grace you with a response. “I am amenable to your request. Choose whichever chambers you’d like.”

Your eyes snap back to him in shock, only to watch as he procures a small envelope from beneath his place setting. Your letter.

Casually, he extends it out to you between two slim fingers. “I wish to return this to you as well. I refuse to hold something so incriminating over your head. It is neither fair to you, nor to our marriage.”

You stare at it, then at him, stunned into silence by his magnanimity. The Loki you know would never do such a thing. He’d hold onto it for leverage.

Your husband rolls his eyes, almost like he knows what you’re thinking. “If you do not take it, then I will destroy it in a similar manner to the gift you so graciously decided to bestow upon me, after…” he shifts uncomfortably in his chair, then, “after what I did to you that morning.”

He means his own letter – the one you’d returned to him, torn to shreds after he’d all but thrown you into the entry table. The very same entry table upon which those lovely flowers now rest.

You sit up straighter at the memory. It sets you on edge, and though you’re tempted to cower, instead you overcompensate. “Oh? Go on, then.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“It is incredibly cathartic, you know,” you drawl, delicately picking up a biscuit between your thumb and forefinger to examine its intricate design. The sugar granules glimmer in the light. “To destroy one’s heartfelt letter in a fit of anger. Though I must confess,” you hold your head high, smug as can be, “I did not read what you’d written before doing so.”

That doesn’t seem to faze him either. “You say that as if you expect it to surprise me.”

You scrunch your nose at him in annoyance. “Well? Go on. Or will you not follow through on your promises?”

His promise not to harm you. His promise not to touch you. His promise not to lock you away.

Maintaining eye contact, you use your teeth to break off a piece of the biscuit with a crunch.

Your challenge isn't lost on him. “Very well,” Loki sighs. He swiftly opens the letter to pull out the fine stationery upon which you’d so hastily scrawled all manner of insults, after which he makes a point to show it to you, front and back, to prove its authenticity. “I’ll not have you thinking I’ve stowed it away to use against you later on.”

You bat your eyelashes at him. “I see you’ve turned over a new leaf.”

“Charming,” Loki comments dryly, but you don’t miss the humour in his tone – nor in his eyes as he skims them down the page. “I must say, darling, you have quite the talent for castigation. It would be a waste not to read such a heartfelt letter aloud.” His eyes flick back up to yours, then, and you know for a fact that he’s taunting you. “For posterity. You understand.”

Posterity. There is no doubt in your mind that he knows you only wrote it yesterday. You’d even sealed the envelope with the ink still wet, as evidenced by the dark smudges littering the page.

“Stars above,” you grouse. “Get on with it, then, seeing as you are positively chomping at the bit to humiliate me.”

“Humiliate you? No.” Loki holds your gaze, resolute, and for once, you’re inclined to believe him. “I want you to acknowledge exactly what you’ve said of me before we put all of this to rest.”

Of course he does. Gracelessly, you wave a hand at him as if to say go ahead.

Loki clears his throat before he begins to read your letter verbatim, surprisingly in a manner that befits its serious nature. His voice holds not a single shred of mockery.

“To my dear, despicable husband,” he arches an eyebrow at you, “I fear I cannot stand this any longer. My chambers are in such close proximity to yours that I’d sooner return home than sleep here for another night, knowing that a wolf in sheep’s clothing rests his weary head so near to mine.”

Whether he intends it to be or not, it is humiliating to hear what you’ve written become spoken word. All too soon, you feel your face start to flush.

“I find myself ill with the knowledge that the Einherjar would allow such a predator to prowl these halls while I remain entirely defenceless. Nay, it is hardly reassuring to know that not a single soul shall protect me from the animal who would bring me harm, either in his own chambers or in our marital bed.”

When Loki pauses, you immediately recognise the real reason behind this exercise. Though you’d written the letter to be purposefully harsh in order to invoke a reaction, in the light of day, your spiteful words seem to imply something else.

You haven’t just told him of your fears in a general sense, using your marital bed as an example. You’ve alluded to a significantly more heinous act.

“You will not see me become your prey, thrilling though the chase may be to a brutish man with little regard for others. I refuse to become the spoils of a war you’ve so savagely waged upon me and my body for no other reason than your own entertainment.”

No wonder he’d been so angry with you last night. The implication that he would assault you in such a way is bad enough on its own, but there is another layer.

For centuries, the two of you have harboured a forever unspoken secret. Neither of you have acknowledged it outright, but it’s there. You’ve seen each other at the den – the covert, invitation-only club which caters to the niche sexual preferences that both you and Loki seem to share. Namely those that are, and have always been, less than socially acceptable.

“One cannot expect an animal to behave in any way but his basest nature. As a scholar of grey morals, you have always preferred books to people, but a snake, however erudite, is still a snake.”

There, on multiple occasions, your rooms have been next door to each other—through no fault of your own, though you suspect Loki has done it intentionally. After all, what he’s seen of you through the window in between are things that you’d never tell another soul, and you’re sure he relishes in holding that over your head, if not your letter.

But then, you’ve also seen similar of him. His proclivity for consensual non-consent is just one of the great many things you’ve witnessed, time and time again, and you realise, now, that Loki thinks you’ve used that forbidden knowledge against him. He thinks you’ve used it to hurt him in a way that most others could never.

“No ruffian should ever be permitted to walk freely as you do. Until such a time that you do not, for my continued health and wellbeing I have made arrangements to return to my family’s manor.”

Of course he’s bothered by what you’ve implied – albeit unintentionally. And he has every right to be.

“I will only be persuaded to stay if you grant me a new set of chambers as far from yours as possible, for I have no desire to encounter any manner of beast in the wild.” Loki snorts derisively and drops the letter down onto the table between the two of you. “Disrespectfully yours, your dutiful wife.”

There is no laughter to be elicited, now, nor anger, but something else entirely. Loki hides it well, but the implication has clearly gotten under his skin. You can see it in his eyes, and in his posture, how guarded he is as he looks to you for a response.

Thoroughly humbled, you swallow the lump in your throat and focus upon your lap. “I… I did not mean what you’ve understood my words to mean.”

When you glance back up at him, you immediately have to look away again in shame when you find him watching you, jaw set, waiting for a proper apology.

“Of course, that does not matter when they have made such an impact,” you rush to add. “I sincerely apologise for my thoughtlessness. I did not mean to imply that you would do something terrible.”

Silence stretches uncomfortably between the two of you as you begin to pick at the skin around your nails. At the very least, you should have reread your own letter before you sent it. Perhaps then you wouldn’t feel so guilty.

After a prolonged few moments, he asks quietly, “What else could you have possibly meant?”

“I meant to paint a picture of my fears.” You accidentally draw blood from a hangnail, and it stings. “My intent in mentioning our marital bed was to offer an example of one such fear—not that sort of fear, mind, but I fully understand how it could have sounded like an accusation.”

“I see.”

Finally, you muster the courage to look at him again, impassioned because you would never, ever use what you know against him. “You’ve been nothing but a gentleman in that regard, Loki. You respected my wishes on our wedding night. You have asked for my consent during every one of our trysts. Please know that I would never accuse you of anything untoward.”

His eyes search yours for a long time, trying to discern the lie, but there isn’t one. Then he exhales a long, weary sigh and leans back in his chair, the tension visibly lifting from his shoulders. “Norns,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Yes, I suppose not even you would stoop so low.”

A jab.

You respond with the opposite: a jest. “Ah, but how could you know for certain? What with our—” you clear your throat, nearing ever closer to openly acknowledging the forbidden secret that you both share, “our history?”

It’s the closest either of you have come to doing so. You and Loki have been playing this game for centuries, trying to see who will cave first, but you continue to tiptoe around it.

Just as you predicted, the layered meaning instantly captures his attention. “Our history?” he repeats, as if he doesn't quite believe he's heard you properly, before his lips curl up into that same insufferable grin you so adore. “Oh, do go on, sweet. I’m all ears. What about our history?”

You try to give him a deadpan look, but find it impossible to keep the smile off of your face. “Only that we have never enjoyed each other’s company, you and I. You know that as well as I do.”

It isn't at all the history you’d originally mentioned, and you’re well-aware he recognises that when his voice takes on a note of smooth, persuasive silk. “In what way do you intend for me to take that, darling? Because I suspect that there are many things for a husband and wife to... enjoy.”

His insinuation is absolutely not what you meant, and he knows it, but your heartbeat quickens all the same.

Just in the knick of time, two rapid knocks resound on the door.

“Enter,” Loki calls out, never taking his eyes off of you. Something about the heat within them, however slight, makes you think he isn’t done with you just yet.

You find yourself silently thanking whoever has chosen to interrupt.

The door opens, and another servant pushes a small gold cart into the room, two shelves stacked high with breakfast delights. The spread is much more elaborate than your typical morning meal, and your mouth waters.

“Now, I believe you said I would find this cathartic?”

You glance back over at your husband, only to watch him deftly pluck your letter up from the table. Before you can get a word in edgewise, however, you watch as your stationery sets aflame in the palm of his hand.

It’s an impossible sort of fire, for it doesn't seem to burn his skin.

Magic.

You’ve always loved his magic, even now, loathe as you’d ever be to admit that you find Loki’s mastery of it in any way appealing. He wields his seidr like one might a paintbrush, creating masterful works of art from intricate spells and enchantments.

As the flames burn away your spiteful letter, your eyes follow the curling wisps of smoke as it drifts up, up, up towards the intricately-painted ceiling. Instead of the colourful collection of wildflowers you expect to see upon it, however, you find a field of white daffodils in their place.

A symbol of forgiveness.

In that moment, as you stare at the illusion he’s cast, you realise that your husband will forever be an enigma to you. Perhaps he’s changed in the great many years you've known him, or maybe you've never really known him at all.

Then Loki lazily waves his hand, and the illusion dissipates—as do the singed remains of your letter.

He’s manipulating you. He must be. It’s the only conclusion you can come to, but when you meet his eyes once more – when you see the mischief shining within them, and the softness hidden just beneath – you desperately wish that he wasn’t.

Part Eight

And because I’m a clown, here’s my ko-fi / patreon if you’ve got a buck or two to spare so I can buy a new laptop! Otherwise reblogs and keysmashing in my ask box are more than welcome 🤡🤡🤡 Thanks so much for reading!!!

#loki x reader #loki #loki imagine #loki smut #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson #loki odinson

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lysol1201 · 1 year

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Thirty, Flirty, and Thriving

Vendetta!Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader (mostly platonic but can be read romantically)

Summary: It’s your 30th birthday. Thirty, Flirty, and Thriving, right?

Word Count: 1845

Genre: Uhhhhhhhhhhh i guess can be seen as fluff

TW: Drinking, mentions of death, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of suicidal ideations, lmk if more, not beta read we die like luis

++++

Leon went to the bar alone. Again. Normal occurrence. Whenever he had the time, he was always at some type of bar.

He sat at the bar, ordering his whatever usual and sat in silence. This was normal for him. Just sitting in silence until he gets fucked up and then stumble his way on home.

You changed that tonight.

“I’ll have whatever this dude is having,” You huffed out pointing to Leon and took a seat one away from him. “Don’t feel like choosing and he looks like he probably has good taste.” You explained with a sad chuckle while looking at him for a slight second before you turned your attention back to the bartender.

You wore a stupid “birthday” crown and sash, dressed up in your best, and found yourself alone at the bar.

Leon snorted as the bartender gave him his usual and passed you the same. “Happy birthday,” he politely muttered.

You smiled at him, but you seemed so tired. “Thanks, pal,” you took a sip of the drink and made a small noise with a wince before nodding. “This hits the spot. Good choice.” You praised him.

Leon chuckled following your steps and taking a sip of the alcohol, but with no reaction. “I know,”

“Can I ask you how old you are?”

Leon scrunched his eyebrows a little taken aback by your random question. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just want to see if being 30 is worth it,”

“It isn’t,”

“Yeah, had a feeling,” You sighed, taking a big gulp of the drink in front of you and slamming it on the table. “Roaring 20’s my fucking ass,” you mumbled to yourself, but Leon heard.

You were going through something, and he somewhat understood. He never got his roaring 20’s either. “You turning 30 today?” You nodded in response. “You don’t look a day over 29 years and 364 days,” he smirks to himself before taking another drink.

You chuckle at his stupid joke. “Thanks, you’re such a charmer,” you messed with your hair a bit before leaning on your arm that was propped up on the bar counter to be able to steadily look at Leon. “I needed that. Thanks.”

Leon shrugged. “My 30th wasn’t great either. I’m 37,” He finally answered your question.

“Wow you don’t look a day over 36 years and 364 days!” You smirked with your quip.

He chuckled at this. Leon doesn’t necessarily like talking to strangers or even small talk, but he didn’t seem to find this. He almost found it… endearing. “What brings you to the bar for your 30th?”

“My life sucks, my friends are assholes, I hate my job, if I wasn’t too damn stubborn I would’ve ended my dumb old life a long time ago,” You groaned in annoyance, taking another swig of your drink downing the rest. “Another!”

Leon huffed with a small smile. He understood far too well. He felt and thought the same. “The power of being stubborn, huh?”

“Right,”

“What do you do for work?”

You opened your mouth, but then quickly shut it tight. You took a moment to think. “You know,” you began, fully turning your body to face him. “When I said I wanted to act when I grew up, I didn’t mean this.” You said, pulling a badge out of your pocket and putting it in front of Leon. It was a government badge stating you worked for the government of Santa Barbara, California. “I can’t say more than that,” You sighed in a defeated tone and put the badge back in your pocket, returning to your original position before you faced Leon head on.

Leon almost felt… relieved. Happy? It was a strange feeling, but it wasn’t negative. It almost felt positive. He’s not the only one in a shitty government position who felt this way. You did too. He wouldn’t wish that feeling upon anyone, the way he feels is much too dark to do so, but it was strange to know that he wasn’t the only one. As much as he hated that you felt the same, he was quite happy to find someone he knew would understand.

He kept a soft smile to himself as he reached into his pocket, sliding his badge over to you. “This is my reason for being in Washington D.C. What’s yours?”

You looked at the badge in a slight shock, seeing a similar looking government badge. His just seemed fancier. Once he took the badge back, the soft smile remained on his face while he looked at you waiting for your answer. “It’s issued in Santa Barbara but apparently I’m ‘so good’ at my job that I’m passed around cities and states. I’m rarely even in Santa Barbara anymore. It’s nothing but a place of employment to me. I don’t even live there.” You scoffed and ordered a refill for Leon. He tried to deny it, but you insisted saying that for your birthday you wanted to treat the one person that was making that day somewhat good.

You downed the drink, abruptly setting your glass down with a loud thud, you stood up and turned to Leon. “Wanna go to the park with me?” You asked. “It was my original plan after the bar. Kind of like hanging out with you, though,” You spoke honestly. You probably would’ve been more awkward about it if you weren’t mostly drunk.

Leon turned to his glass and tightened his grip. He wanted to say yes, genuinely, but it also felt wrong to do so. This wasn’t like him. But… maybe it was. Maybe this was like him. Like how he was before Raccoon City. The friendly police officer in training just wanted to make friends and make people happy. “Sure,” Leon decided, downing his drink and standing up.

After paying the tab, the both of you took a 5 minute walk to the park nearby. It was basically empty, it being late at night so the city slept.

You two sat in comfortable silence for a bit while you looked at the stars and enjoyed the cool breeze against your skin as it sobered you both up a bit. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh. “I’m bait,” You said without looking away from the sky. “And I’m good at being bait,”

Leon looked away from the sky and turned to face you with his eyebrows furrowed. Slightly confused, but he also had quite the assumption of what you meant. “What?”

“You asked what my job was,” You responded. “I’m bait,” You finally removed your gaze from the stars and turned to him with a defeated look on your face. “They send me to missions and I act as bait. I get captured by the bad guy and I get rescued. I get the things they need or the location, whatever. I act as whatever they tell me to act as. Apparently most people who take this line of work die fast. But I’ve been doing this for about 8 years now. Still alive,” You chuckled with disappointment. “I’ve seen… so many innocent people die and I just… had to watch. Wait until it was my turn and to be rescued. Watch people be experimented on, murdered, mutilated, eaten alive, I’ve had to just… watch…” You continued to speak and looked back at the sky to avoid Leon’s concerned look.

“Why are you telling me?” Leon asked genuinely. He wasn’t annoyed. He was concerned. Worried. He felt sympathy. “Are you even allowed to?”

“I’m not allowed to,” A sigh escaped your lips. “But you also work for the government, probably also doing some fucked up shit. What do I have to lose?” You smiled gently while you closed your eyes and leaned back into the bench you two sat at.

It was silent for a bit again. It wasn’t awkward. It was more refreshing than anything. Gave you time to breathe after finally being able to let out words you’ve never been able to say out loud, and gave Leon time to comprehend your words and figure out his next ones.

He decided on saying, “I guess that makes me the one that rescues,” his deep ragged voice rang through your ears. It was your turn to face him with furrowed brows. Leon chose not to look at you. He opted for the ground. “I travel the world stopping… the weirdest fucking shit that shouldn’t even exist,” He chuckled quite angrily. “And it’s death. More and more death, people I can’t save. And it’s just covering it up. I’ve dealt with-“

“Zombies? Mutants? Some of the most comic book-esque creatures you could think of?”

He turned to you in shock and almost fear. “How do you-“

“I had to see my teammate be eaten alive by a fucking zombie right in front of me as I played bait and I couldn’t do a goddamn fucking thing,” Tears fell down from your eyes as some angered bubbles inside of you, but you were able to calm yourself down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice,”

“It’s okay,” He assured you and left a small pause of quiet before saying his next words. “I’ve had to save the president’s daughter once in Spain,” Leon chuckled lightheartedly as he attempted to change the direction of the conversation.

You smiled lightly in return. “I had to pretend to be the Prime Minister's daughter once in Portugal,” You giggled. “Almost didn’t make it out of that one, actually,” Your giggle turned more into laughter. “Shit was insane,”

Leon joined in on the laughing. “Can’t believe your employment says Santa Barbara when you’re basically doing work for where I am,”

“I feel like it’s almost another ‘act’ or ‘part’ I need to play,” You shrugged. “They just never revealed to me my role. I think I could piece it together though.”

Instead of silence this time it was just comfortable smiling. You felt bonded to this person you had just met, and it couldn’t have made you any more happier.

“Hey, Leon?”

“Yeah?”

“That flask in your pocket,” You pointed at the pocket on the inside of his jacket. “Is it filled?” Leon scoffed with a smile and nodded. “Can I have some?” He shrugged and passed it to you. You opened the flask and raised it, looking at Leon in the eyes after.

“To being Thirty, Flirty, and Thriving!” You toasted, taking the flask to your lips for a swig. You offered the flask back to Leon and he took it with a smile.

“To being Thirty, Flirty, and Thriving.” He chuckled along and joined in by taking a drink out of the flask.

The two of you laughed for a bit at the toast, soon to turn into laughing for no reason. Once the laughter stopped, Leon just let out a content sigh and smiled at you. “Happy Birthday,” He gently said to you. “Genuinely,”

“Thank you,” You returned the smile. “Genuinely.”

You couldn’t have asked for a better 30th birthday.

#resident evil #resident evil leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil vendetta #resident evil vendetta leon kennedy

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absoluteaudacitywrites · 2 months

Text

Lake Time Loop

A little while ago I had a plan with some other writers to write a fic where Henry gets stuck in a time loop at The Lake and has to hear Alex confess he's in love over and over again, night after night, while he tries to figure out how to get out of the situation. We each wrote a section.

Unfortunately the project fell apart due to one reason or another. The thing is, I'd written my whole section and I really like it! It's very angsty, which is out of the norm for me. So, I thought I'd share it here as a throw-away piece of writing that otherwise wouldn't see the light of day.

Enjoy! (Oh and tw: heavy alcohol consumption, vomiting described in detail, dark/self-harming thoughts from Henry)

-----------------------------------------

Henry is losing his mind.

He has to be. He can’t actually be stuck in a time loop. He must be in a little padded room somewhere, imagining all this. Repressing his gay urges has finally sent him spare.

If he is imagining, or even worse, if he’s not, there seems to be no consequences here. In that case, why does he have to keep behaving in a manner befitting the crown?

Maybe, Henry thinks, just maybe, if he gets drunk enough today he won’t have to comprehend the look in Alex’s eyes at the lake. He’ll simply get too sloshed to understand or care. It’s as good a plan as any, stuck as he is.

“Woah,” Alex says, as Henry pours a generous measure of brandy into his tea directly after breakfast. He’d sent a PPO off to a local town to buy him some supplies while everyone was still in bed. Buying brandy at seven in the morning; only in the USA. God bless America. “You okay there?”

“I feel like I’m getting a cold,” Henry lies, taking a large gulp of his beverage. It burns going down in exactly the way he was hoping it would. “This is a common home remedy in England.”

Alex raises an eyebrow at him, but Henry holds his gaze until he shrugs. “If you say so.”

Henry surreptitiously keeps up the cups of tea until lunch, switching to the sangria which has been made when the others start drinking with the meal. He has more than a buzz going already and he knows he is on his way to his goal of getting sloppy. He distantly wonders if the loop will re-set without him getting a hangover.

After lunch everyone heads to the lake, a cooler of beers being carried down by Alex and Oscar, and Henry sits on the edge of the short dock with his feet in the water, drinking cold lager with the determination of a man possessed. He doesn’t swim. He can’t really feel his arms and legs very well anymore and he doesn’t want to drown.

A morbid thought tells him that might be an effective end to his means. He drinks some more beer about it.

“Hey baby,” Alex says, swimming up and tugging on Henry’s leg. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Henry manages to slur. “I’m having a great time.”

Alex stares up at him, looking thoughtful and slightly concerned. “Okay,” he says eventually, and swims back to June and Nora. Henry can see them talking quietly, and catches the moment that June flicks a glance at him over her shoulder. He’s obviously worrying them, but he finds it hard to care - both because he’s very drunk and because he’s sure that all of this won’t matter tomorrow.

When the others get tired of swimming they all head back to the house, and Henry, having lost count of the number of drinks he’s had, finds that it is somewhat difficult to walk in a straight line. Almost immediately Alex is under his arm, gripping him around the waist and helping him walk the short distance to the house, where he dumps him in a chair on the porch.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, crouching down with his hands on his knees so he’s at Henry’s eye level.

“Nothing,” Henry manages to mumble.

“Henry, you’re completely hammered,” Alex says, and he sounds upset. “I know that’s not you.”

“No you don’t,” Henry slurs. “You don’t know me …. know me as well as you think.”

Alex’s eyes widen and he looks quite hurt, but it’s momentary and his face softens into sympathy. “I’m getting you some water,” he says, heading inside, and Henry wants to scream. Getting drunk wasn’t supposed to make Alex even more affectionate towards him. Why isn’t this working?

Slowly, on legs that won’t quite work, Henry stands. He still has half a bottle of brandy stashed in the room he’s sharing with Alex. If he can get that and down it, he hopes he’ll simply black out, removing any likelihood that Alex will confess.

When Henry walks into the house it’s clear he’s being talked about again. This time Nora, June and Alex are clustered around Oscar. They all look up as he enters, and concern is written across all their faces. Henry draws himself up to his full height and ignores them, staggering across the room and using furniture to keep himself upright, his sights set firmly on his goal.

Halfway across the room a strong hand clamps around his arm. “Son, where are you going?” Oscar asks, his expression deeply concerned. Alex is hovering just behind him.

“‘m gonna lie down,” Henry manages to lie. Oscar gives him a searching look, but then loosens his hold.

“That might be a good idea,” he says. “But we should get some water in you first.”

“Don’t need it,” Henry says, turning towards the bedrooms again. This time Oscar lets him go, and through his haze Henry hears him telling Alex they’ll keep an eye on him during the afternoon. He makes it to the bedroom and quickly finds the brandy, lying down on the bottom bunk and hiding the bottle next to him under the sheets.

Alex comes in the room with a glass of water. “Will you please drink this?” he asks softly, holding out the glass, and Henry’s heart gives a lurch in his chest. Why is he doing this again? He’s obviously hurting Alex, who he has never wanted to hurt even for a moment. He forces himself to sit up and takes the glass, draining the water without looking at Alex and passing it back.

Then, unable to look at the sad expression on Alex’s face, he turns and curls in on himself, hoping Alex will leave.

It hurts a lot when he does. Henry pulls the brandy out and drinks as much as he can in one breath, sick of the day and Alex’s hurt and this whole fucking loop he is stuck in. He pulls the bottle away from his mouth and pants for a moment, his hand slipping on the bottle and sloshing quite a bit of the brown liquid onto his chest, then finishes off the rest in a second pull.

The warmth of the brandy burns in his chest and Henry feels his stomach begin to roil against all the alcohol in his system, but as the spirit takes effect on him his vision begins to narrow to a point and his thoughts swim and then he feels nothing at all.

“Henry? Son, can you hear me? June, get a bowl. He’s breathing, I cleared his mouth out, he’s going to be okay, Alex. Mierda, why would he do this? Has he been under any sort of stress?”

Henry lets out a soft, involuntary groan. His face is sticky, especially around his mouth, and all he can taste is bile.

“Henry?! Henry, can you hear me?” It’s Alex’s voice, sounding strained and panicked. He feels hands on him, and then there’s some shuffling and they’re removed.

“Mijo, I know you’re worried, but you’re not helping. Just leave him for a moment, will you? Nora, can you -”

Henry hears Alex swearing and Nora cajoling and then there’s the sound of a door closing and their voices become more distant. He wants to stop them, to tell Alex to come back, and that he’s sorry and he knows he fucked up, but he can’t move. He tries to open his eyes but all his eyelids do is flutter. He groans again and feels the sensation of vomit surging up his throat.

Someone, Oscar he supposes, holds his head over the edge of the bed as he expunges the contents of his stomach. He vomits so hard it comes out his nose too, and by the time he finishes he’s letting out cracked sobs and his face is wet with sweat and tears. Oscar’s strong hands push him back onto the mattress and he feels a towel being wiped over his face. Slowly, he manages to squint his eyes open, and he finds Alex’s father on his knees next to the bottom bunk, looking at him with concern written across his features.

“Do you know where you are, Henry?” he asks.

“Lake,” Henry manages hoarsely.

“That’s right. What day is it?”

“S-Saturday?”

“Okay,” Oscar says. He watches Henry for a moment, a frown settling on his face. “I’m not going to ask why you purposely tried to drink yourself into a blackout,” he says in a low voice. “But I can tell you I am not impressed.” He sighs, looking Henry over. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my son is in love with you, and as his father I am now invested in making sure he’s not with someone who is going to make these kinds of selfish, self-destructive decisions.”

Henry shuts his eyes. Oscar keeps talking, but he doesn’t hear him. His plan has failed. He got drunk enough. He made himself sick.

But he still had to hear that Alex loves him.

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #firstprince #rwrb fanfic #fanfic #rwrb fic #writing #absoluteaudacitywrites #fanfiction

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sagesolsticewrites · 2 years

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Romance Will Reign Supreme | Austin Butler x Reader

Request from Anonymous: wondering if you could please write Austin Butler and his non-famous girlfriend shyreader are hanging around at the amusement park. Austin is so deeply in love with her & the two of them are just being an adorable couple and everyone is shipping them so hard, just hardcore fluff. Thx and I love your fics btw

a/n: posting this early as a HUUUGE thank you to y’all for 400 followers!! I honestly can’t believe it y’all are so sweet 🥺 to the dear nonnie who requested this: i hope it’s okay I made the reader gender neutral here! As a genderfluid person myself (though I lean more fem most days), I’m working on writing more gender neutral inclusive language in my fics! (in case you were wondering, the title is from a Tangled song! who knows which one it is 👀)

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: a couple swear words, inaccuracies about California & Disneyland, Austin being adorable, I think that's it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Thank you so much to my bestie @austin-butlers-gf for helping me with this!

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

“Babe, you ready to go?” Austin calls from the hall.

“Yeah!” You reply, grabbing your bag from where it sits on your bedside table. You step out into the hall, double-checking you have everything first— phone, sunscreen, wallet— before turning to your boyfriend, asking for about the twentieth time that day, “And you’re sure it’s okay I’m coming with you? I know you said it was a cast meetup, I don’t want to intrude on anything—“

“Y/N,” Austin places his hands on your shoulders, the sincere look in his eyes cutting off your nervous rambling, “I want you to be there. Besides, everyone loves you. They all practically begged me to bring you along.”

You nod, reassured for the moment. “Right, yeah. Thank you.” You give him a small smile, feeling a little bad that your anxiety keeps getting in the way of what’s supposed to be a fun day.

“Always, sweetheart.” Austin replies, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before pulling you along to the car waiting for you.

Dating a famous actor, especially as the painfully shy, decidedly not-famous person you were, wasn’t always the easiest thing. But Austin did his best to keep you out of the public eye, and the castmates and colleagues he introduced you to were always the sweetest people. Like, for example, Baz, Dacre, Luke, and Olivia, whom you were going to meet up with at Disneyland today for a celebratory “the press run is over!” hangout.

“Y/N!” Olivia squeals as you head over to meet everyone near the entrance inside the park. She rushes over to hug you, Luke and Dacre not far behind her.

“‘Wow, Austin, it’s great to see you, how are you?’ Oh I’m great, thanks for asking, guys,” your boyfriend complains jokingly as his colleagues shower you with attention.

Olivia turns to him with a playful smile, “Oh hush, I was stuck with you for two years, I hardly ever get to see them!” She punctuates her sentence with a final squeeze around your midsection, releasing you to rejoin Baz and his wife, Catherine. The two of them greet you, mischievous grins on their faces, and you soon realize why as they pass out Elvis-themed mouse ears. The pink and black ears are bedazzled and covered in pearls, with a giant gold “EP” on one ear and the iconic “TCB” lightning logo on the other.

The group gushes over them as they put them on, Austin taking the liberty of putting yours on as if he were placing a crown on your head.

“You look adorable, sweetheart,” he says with a smile, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. An “awwwwe” goes up from the group as they watch the interaction, and a heat entirely unrelated to the California sun floods your face. You’re quick to focus your attention on your shoes until the focus turns to the day’s activities, Austin pulling you close as Baz goes over the plan: find rides to go on together before the lines get too long, find food, walk around to take some pictures with characters, and there might be time for people to go off and do their own separate things before meeting back up to say goodbye at the end of the day.

You enjoy the slower paced rides: the teacups, It's A Small World, all the usual ones, but you start lagging behind a bit as the group heads towards a… very large rollercoaster. Apart from Olivia, who shoots you a slightly concerned look that you wave off with a small smile, most of the group doesn’t notice, too engrossed in the conversation they’re having. Austin, however, isn’t so easily convinced. He hangs behind to walk by your side, intertwining your fingers and saying softly, “I know you don’t really like these kinds of rides. If you want we can just hang out and go get some food or something while they go…”

You hesitate, glancing over at the rest of the group chatting excitedly. “I… I don’t want you to miss out on all this stuff just because of me—“

“If I get to spend more time with you, I’m not missing out on anything, I promise, sweetheart.” Austin assures you with a sweet smile. “Hey guys!” He calls to the group ahead of you two, “I’m kinda hungry, I’m stealing Y/N to go get some food with me. We’ll meet you guys after, okay?”

Warmth floods your chest as he draws all of the attention to him, the group waving him off with a “have fun you two!”

You squeeze his hand in thanks as the two of you turn to walk away, and he squeezes back, looking at you with a soft smile. The line at the ice cream stand he drags you over to is short enough that you’re able to enjoy the Mickey-shaped treat before it’s time to meet up with the others again.

You meet the others at the exit to the ride, Olivia yelling something about how Luke was “absolutely terrified the entire time!” — with Luke vehemently denying it — as you make your way to Café Orleans for “some real food,” as Baz had put it.

Austin is practically glued to your side throughout the meal and even afterwards as you’re making your way through the park to take pictures with characters. It’s sweet, but eventually you have to extricate yourself from him to rehydrate, going off in search of refreshments.

He sighs, slouching at a table as he awaits your return. Olivia slides into a chair near him with a smirk.

“They just went to get a drink, they’ll be back in a minute, Aus.”

Austin blushes, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, “I know, I just…” he trails off, unable to explain exactly how he’s feeling; he hasn’t felt this attached to someone in a while, but after getting to spend so much time with you since the press run ended, it’s hard for him to pull himself away.

Olivia gives him a soft, teasing smile. “Don’t worry, Aus, it’s cute how much you care about them. The two of you are honestly adorable.”

“Yeah, I…I really love them,” he says finally.

Whatever Olivia says in reply is just a buzz in Austin’s ears as he sees you rejoin the group with an armful of water bottles. You feel heat flood your face as Austin comes over to help you pass them out to everyone, telling him quietly, “You guys didn’t have to wait here for me, I would’ve caught up eventually.”

“Well where’s the fun in seeing Rapunzel without you?” he replies with a smile, pulling you along with the group towards where Rapunzel is indeed waiting, a line of adults and kids alike waiting for a picture.

After a fairly long day of rides, pictures (both with characters and group photos for social media), and plenty of money spent at gift shops, you all finally make your way to the exit, smiling faces tanned from the California sun. You say your goodbyes and lean against Austin as you slide into the car, the long day of socializing finally taking its toll. Austin wraps an arm around you comfortingly, taking note of your exhaustion.

“I know it was a long day, but I really can’t thank you enough for coming along, sweetheart.”

“It was fun,” you reassure him, “I think I just need to curl up on the couch and not talk to anyone for a week after today,” you joke, laughing softly as you turn and tuck your face into the crook of his neck, making yourself comfortable for the drive home.

“Even me?” he says, and you can hear in his voice that he’s doing that silly mock pout that he’s criminally good at.

“Never you, honey, you know you don’t count.” You smile. He knows that when you complain about not wanting to have any kind of social interaction, it’s him and maybe a couple of your close friends that remain the rare exceptions.

“I’ve got your favorite ice cream in the freezer, and we can just sit on the couch and read or something in silence when we get home,” he suggests, and you can practically feel your heart melt because he knows you so damn well.

“That sounds perfect,” is the last thing that slips out of your mouth before you’re asleep on his shoulder, Austin’s eyes on you like you’re the only thing on the planet that matters.

Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @anangelwhodidntfall @austin-butlers-gf @butlersluvbot @killerqueenfan @kittenlittle24 @beauvibaby @kingelviscreole @justjacesstuff @sweetheartlizzie07 @coldonexx @londonalozzy @kaycinema @annamarie16 @adoreyouusugar @djconde58 @mirandastuckinthe80s @luke-my-skywalker @tubble-wubble @yourselenite @eliseline

#austin butler x reader #austin butler #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fluff #elvis (2022)#elvis 2022 #elvis biopic #elvis baz luhrmann #my writing

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tomorrowxtogether · 26 days

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Tomorrow X Together are rebels with a cause in first-look photos for Minisode 3: Tomorrow

From rebellious rockers to fairytale princes, there’s no concept that Tomorrow X Together can’t pull off.

The K-Pop group (pronounced ‘Tomorrow By Together,’ or TXT for short) is officially back with its sixth mini-album Minisode 3: Tomorrow, and to celebrate, Entertainment Weekly is exclusively revealing five never-before-seen concept photos that highlight Soobin, Huening Kai, Taehyun, Beomgyu, and Yeonjun’s versatile style.

The snapshots are part of the group’s "Ethereal" and "Romantic" photo concepts for the album, each of which, Taehyun tells EW, “distinctly encompasses a unique story and emotion that we wanted to deliver visually through Minisode 3: Tomorrow.”

They’re also completely different from one another aesthetically. The "Romantic" photoshoot draws upon Snow White-inspired imagery with the quintet's dreamy outfits, while their "Ethereal" snapshots turn TXT into modern-day rock stars — complete with their own winged guitars, amps, and big rig. Minisode 3: Tomorrow's final two concepts — "Light" and "Promise" — further expand upon the group's artistry as they're seen outfitted in ballet slippers, angel wings, and crowns.

“We wanted to [experiment] with a diverse range of fashion styles,” Yeonjun says. “I think, at this point in time, one of our greatest strengths as a band is our versatility, not only in music and performances but also in aesthetics, which we always aim to absorb and make our own.”

And yes, in case you were wondering, those winged guitars were seriously hefty. “During the 'Ethereal' version concept shoot, I was surprised by the weight of the guitar!” Beomgyu recalls. “It was quite cold on set, and I thought it was so cute how we would huddle around the heater during breaks, which added a heartwarming touch to the experience.”

TXT fans, called MOA (short for 'moments of alwaysness'), will also spot that the concepts directly relate to the group's past albums. “The props like the truck and guitars are reminiscent of our previous releases ‘0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You)’ and ‘LO$ER=LO♡ER,’” Taehyun says. “I hope MOA enjoy the throwback!”

That connection can also be heard on Minisode 3: Tomorrow. Leader Soobin says the group is “connecting the dots from our previous releases" with the record, especially on their title track, “Deja Vu.” He adds, "Including lyrics such as ‘I ran away countless times,’ and ‘be my eternity,’ from ‘Run Away’ [from their 2019 album The Dream Chapter: Magic] added a nostalgic touch that I think our fans will enjoy rediscovering."

While TXT is honoring its past, the album still has its own story to tell. One of EW’s concept photos (below) features the group sitting on a truck that reads, “We made a promise when we were young. That’s the reason I have to live for tomorrow.”

“The phrase hints at the underlying story of Minisode 3: Tomorrow,” Soobin explains. “It means that we will remember our past promises and embark on a journey to find 'you' to charge forward and face a hopeful 'tomorrow' together.”

Beomgyu describes the seven-track album as a “treasure trove of diverse sounds” that “represent the stories of today's generation.” Throughout their careers, TXT has never been afraid of openly and honestly discussing the physical and mental hardships that come with adolescence and, now, young adulthood — the 23-year-old’s favorite track on the album, “Quarter Life,” is actually about navigating a quarter-life crisis.

“Taehyun, Huening Kai, and I participated in the lyric writing to express the inner thoughts that we have at this point in our lives,” Beomgyu says about the song. “I love the track's mood and melody, too!”

In fact, four of Minisode 3: Tomorrow's tracks were penned in part by the members of TXT. Yeonjun — who co-wrote “I’ll See You There Tomorrow,” “The Killa (I Belong To You),” and “Miracle” — says that the album’s lyrics “have greater depth and uniqueness” this time around because they’re framed through the members' worldview.

“We have collectively been improving in our lyric writing, and I think it shines through in this album,” he says. “As we aim to give voice to the common experiences of our generation, we tried to focus on applying our own stories in the lyrics.”

And, just like in their "Ethereal" concept photos, TXT will soon find themselves hopping aboard a tour bus and hitting the road when their upcoming Act: Promise tour kicks off stateside next month. The 11-date concert series will see the members perform across the country, including two nights at Madison Square Garden in New York City.

“We are visiting even more cities across the U.S. this time around, so I'm thrilled to meet and interact with more MOA!” Huening Kai says. “Our fans will be able to see some brand new performances of tracks from our new album, so I hope they can look forward to it. Just like our album's opener, ‘I'll See You There.’”

Minisode 3: Tomorrow is available now.

#txt #tomorrow x together #240402 #article #ew #soobin #yeonjun #beomgyu #taehyun #hueningkai #minisode 3 tomorrow #minisode 3

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lilydoeswrite · 3 months

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THE MERCILESS SIREN | CHAPTER SEVEN

wattpad link previous chapter series masterlist next chapter

summary: It is the 66th Hunger Games when Oceana Fontaine is reaped as tribute, and at just thirteen years old, the odds are certainly not in her favour. As much as it is seen as an honour for Oceana to represent her district in the games, it is also practically a death sentence. But Oceana knows she needs to go home and is determined to, no matter how low her chances are and with the help of her mentors, she might just do that. But if she is to win, she will have to learn where her biggest strengths start to turn into her biggest flaws and weigh her options carefully as she starts making choices that pushes her morality and the lengths she will go to for love.

tags: slow burn (finnick x oc), eventual violence, the usual stuff when it comes to the hunger games, not sure what else

My sleep is filled with comforting dreams. It’s as if my brain knows what memory to play in order to comfort me in the worst of times. It’s from the day our ancestors liked to call Valentine's day. It is a day celebrated with romantic love, friendship and admiration along with the lovebirds of early spring. Aurelia and I learnt about it as kids when we would read about it in old novels talking about all sorts of love and eventually it became a tradition between us to celebrate it together. We would sit in the meadows near the Fields having a picnic as we made bouquets and flower crowns for one another, then we’d go to the Centre holding them in our arms as we went shopping for each other before finally hiking up to the Cliffs to have dinner at our favourite restaurant and watch the sunset. It was just as good as Christmas or any of our birthday parties.

I still remember the day she had turned sixteen and how we had thrown a sweet sixteen birthday party for her. I still remember her smile on that day when she saw all her friends show up at our house and how happy she was talking to them around the bonfire.

I can tell dawn is breaking as small streams of sunlight break through the windows. The Capitol seems to have rather misty air as I can’t seem to see much in the horizon. I let out a sigh, how is it possible for dreams to feel so real? It had felt like I was really back in District 4 until I had woken up to my harsh reality.

Slowly, I drag myself out of bed and head into the shower. I don’t feel nearly awake enough to bother with the control panel so I punch the buttons aimlessly until the shower feels just right. I wash my body with the fancy soap they had which smelt like lavender and wash my face in order to wake myself up. The hot water doesn’t do the trick so I go back to the control panel to adjust the temperature till it was icy cold and it’s only then that I wake up. I dry myself off and moisturise myself with lotion before changing to the outfit I find has been left for me at the front of the closet. It’s skin-tight black leggings and a short sleeved blue top and leather boots.

I gather my hair into a ponytail and secure it with a hair tie and find that whoever has left the outfit has also taken my costume and jewellery from the ceremony. I hope it has made its way to Valeria well. The outfit reminds me of my wetsuit for whatever reason and it’s the first time since the reaping that I resemble myself. Perhaps it’s the lack of fancy clothes and hair that makes me look more like myself and I find it comforting.

I head out to the dining room since I feel hungry and hope there will be food and there is. I’m not disappointed. I find Finnick and Dover talking to one another by the table and they greet me warmly, welcoming me to the table as I take a bowl of granola and a glass of milk. I take a seat next to them and they look at me weirdly.

“That’s all you’re going to have?” Dover asks.

“Yeah, why?” I ask as I pour the milk into the bowl.

“That’s way too little, Oce,” Finnick shakes his head. “You’ve got training today. Go get some eggs and some fruit.”

“Alright…” I say reluctantly, walking towards the bowl of fruit and taking a banana and an apple before loading a plate with eggs. I’m not used to eating this much for breakfast, in fact, most days I tend to skip breakfast so I can get more sleep before school, but I know that they mean well. I take a bite into my apple before my mind wanders off.

I’m nervous about training. Of course, I already know that I’d be coached separately from Gill but there will be three days in which all the tributes practice together. On the last afternoon, each tribute will get a chance to perform in private before the Gamemakers. I feel nauseous thinking about having to meet the other tributes.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Dover smiles at me and I laugh before seeing Gill and Coral enter the dining room as we greet each other. Gill is wearing a different outfit as me and it’s green instead of blue.

The rest of the victors stroll into the dining room one by one and we greet each other before Clifford gives him pep talk. “Alright, good morning everyone, as you all know, today is the first day of training. Now, I assume you two would like to be trained separately?” He glances at both Gill and I as we both give a nod. “Great, just like what we had in mind. It’s important that you both show your mentors all your skills, no matter how good or bad they are. It’s critical that they’re aware of your capabilities, it’ll help with your strategy as well, and who knows? Maybe you’ll pick up a skill or two. Don’t underrate yourself. Just don’t show your full ability to the other tributes.”

“Well, if there’s anyone I need to fear, it’s Oceana,” Gill chuckles and I give him a suspicious look, I’m not sure what he’s alluding to. “Don’t look at me like that! I’ve seen you with your water guns at the Academy! You’ve got good aim!”

I sigh as the memory comes flooding back in. It’s a rather stupid yet funny one. There was this particular day in which I had brought in a couple of water guns I had found in the back of my house to the Academy and handed them out to my friends for us to have a small battle with. The only reason why I didn’t get in trouble was because we managed to pull some kind of excuse that it would help us with our target accuracy. “Shooting and aiming at something with a water gun is not the same as throwing a trident.”

“No it’s not.” Gill says. “Still, you’ve got good aim and you’d be pretty deadly with an actual weapon.”

“Well, throwing an actual weapon at someone is still not the same,” I argue before Clifford shuts the both of us down as Gill opens his mouth to argue back.

“Enough, you two. First of all, I’d like to hear that story of the water gun,” everyone at the table lets out a laugh. “Second, remember to focus on your survival skills. I know you’ve heard this a million times by now, but I cannot emphasise on it enough. You’re going to need to know how to trap animals and know what knots to tie, basically skills to help you survive– hunting, trapping, foraging, all that stuff. Know how to quickly familiarise yourself with the environment and how to tell what others are planning by simply observing them. How to stay mentally strong. There is much more to the games than knowing combat, and as much as the Academy can teach you that, only those with experience, so us, can give you the proper advice.” Both Gill and I are paying close attention at this rate, we know how serious it is. We can hear it in his voice. “Meet at the elevator at nine thirty, alright?”

It's nine by the time we’re done with breakfast. I go back to my room to clean my teeth and tie my hair again. I think about what Gill said, I had no idea he had seen me in the Academy. Heck, I had no idea he had even gone to the same Academy as me. How much had he seen? Had he seen me in class throwing knives and shooting arrows? How much of my ability does he know? I know nothing about him except for the fact that he must’ve been extremely good in the Academy for him to be as confident as he is. Had Ms Bronte paid him a visit as well? But for him to say that I was the one that he had to fear, was he making fun of me? Or was it simply a joke? Or had he seen enough of me in the Academy to actually fear me? But what was there to fear in me? He’s stronger and probably more experienced in every aspect, I’m only thirteen.

My thoughts and confusion temporarily blocks out my nervousness about meeting the other tributes but I can feel my anxiety rising again. I head onto the balcony, and stare down at the teeming with life as cars let out honks like an uncoordinated orchestra. The Capitol is as busy as they make it out to be, just like a heart. The heart of Panem is what the president calls it. Now that training has begun, you can make out a certain heaviness in the air. It sits and lingers and it’s impossible to forget the inevitable. I stand by the balcony for a while, closing my eyes as my fingers fidget. I feel a pit in my stomach and now I feel like crying again.

“Oce?” I open my eyes and smile at Finnick who approaches me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I nod, but I know I’m not fooling him as his lips curl into a frown.

“No you’re not,” Finnick raises his hand and wipes away a tear that’s running down my cheek. “Come on, talk to me about it.”

“I don’t know how to put it in a sentence,” I admit, wanting to laugh at how stupid I sound. “It’s just, I’m trying to be as strong as I can, but it’s almost impossible to. How do I ignore something that I feel so deeply? I feel it with every breath that I take in every waking second. One day I’m a thirteen year old girl spending her days surfing and studying, the next day I’m not. Because I know I’m not going to be just thirteen anymore. It’s like I’m being forced to grow up all of a sudden and I know it’s so stupid not to be able to cope with that but I just can’t. I don’t know how to, I don’t know.” My voice starts to crack up, but before I can cry, Finnick pulls me into a hug.

“I can’t say it’s okay because I know it’s not going to be okay,” he sighs as I bury my head in the crook of his neck. “And if I were to give any advice, I’d be a hypocrite because this is how I felt like last year.”

It’s hard to remember that he only won last year, and that he probably is still healing from his very own games. This is the cruellest thing about the games in my opinion, other than making twenty four children fight to their deaths, to make the victors mentor and get to experience every following Hunger Games when they are still trying to recover from their own. To have them to mentor and get close to kids they’re not even sure will come back.

“But all I can say is that fear is what drives you. Fear drives the human spirit and sparks the fire in you, hope is the one that kindles it. Do it scared but still keep the hope you have.”

“How do I be brave? Everyone else is, all the Careers are, except me,” I say, my voice is reduced to a mere whisper.

“There is a difference between bravery and confidence, Oce,” Finnick lets out a laugh. “Bravery is feeling fear, embracing it, and moving forward with it. It’s the ability to take the leap you know you have to take no matter how scary or big it is. Don’t be so scared about not winning that you let it consume you and most importantly, trust yourself.”

I pull out of the hug and I nod. I’m lucky to not have cried as I know we have to go to the training centre soon and I’m sure it’d be a disaster if I were to show up with red and puffy eyes. It’d be an embarrassment.

“Thank you,” I smile shakily, trying to control my emotions.

“You can win, Oceana, I truly do think so,” he says.

“You haven’t seen me train,” I nearly chuckle.

“Yes, but, it’s much more than skill, Oce, it’s about the fire and spirit in you. I told you last night and I’ll say it to you again, you have the spirit of a victor.” Finnick says as we arrive at the elevator. “See you,” he grins.

“See you,” I echo back before going into the elevator.

“Be friendly to the other Careers, alright? Try to make friends with them.” Clifford says as he stares down at both Gill and I.

The training rooms are below ground level and are in the basement of the building. The elevators are fast and the ride is short. The doors open and I step out into an enormous gymnasium that is filled with everything from weights to weapons to obstacle courses. We’re not the first to arrive but certainly not the last and the rest of the tributes are gathered in a tight circle. The atmosphere is tense and I start feeling nervous once again. They each have a cloth square with their district number on it pinned to their shirts and we’re provided with one as well. Someone pins mine to my shirt and I look over to Gill who mouths to me a word I can’t make out so I follow him. We end up standing next to the tributes of 1 and 2 who smile at us as if we’re old friends.

Perks of being a Career, I guess.

I smile at them before putting on my best poker face and glance at everyone around us. The tributes from 12, 7 and 3 have yet to arrive. There is a weird silence that falls on us

Slowly, the remaining tributes start to trickle in and join the circle. Once all of us are gathered, the head trainer, a tall and athletic man named Lysander steps up and explains the training schedule. There would be different stations for each skill and at each station there would be an expert. We are allowed to travel from area to area as per our mentor's instructions which means I have to head straight to where the weapons are at. There are a few stations for that, and many targets to practise with. Some of the stations teach survival skills and the others, fighting techniques. However, we are forbidden to engage in any combative exercise with another tribute, should we want to practise with a partner, it would be with the assistants on hand. Lysander starts to read down the list of the skill stations. A few stand out to me. Archery, wielding, camouflage, edible plants, gauntlets and knives. I know exactly which one I’d head for.

We are dismissed and we disperse as each of us head for one station or another. I head straight for the knife throwing station where there are a couple of knives sitting on the table next to the expert waiting to be thrown.

“Hello,” I smile at the man who is standing next to the targets.

“Hello,” he smiles back, “are you here to learn about throwing knives or are you here to practise?”

“Practise,” I smile and he nods, handing me the three knives. I can feel the stares of others which makes me worried. The other Careers are probably looking at me and if I mess up slightly, there’s no way they’d ever take me seriously– much less team up with me.

I relax my body and straighten my posture, holding onto the knife as I shift my right foot forward. I grip onto the knife before letting it go. My mind is now blank as I automatically throw the next one and the one after. I take a deep breath in as I look at each target, I have hit every single one on bullseye. The expert seems impressed as he gives me a nod of approval, smiling at me as he retrieves the knives.

I turn around, about to go to the other station when I see Gill and the other Career tributes. “Oceana,” Gill calls me and I walk over. “This is Oceana, the other tribute from 4.”

“Nice work with the knives,” a blonde girl who has her hair in a braid smiles, “I’m Briar and this,” she nudges the tall, muscular, brown haired guy next to her, “is Alvise.” He waves at me before I’m introduced to the tributes from District 2.

“Chase,” the male tribute who has dark brown hair and brown eyes extends his hand which I shake. “and next to me is Giselle.”

“Hi,” I smile, shaking Giselle’s hand.

After we’ve introduced to one another, we go our separate ways and I head straight to the archery station. I take one of the bows from the stand and an arrow, correcting my stance and gripping the bow loosely. I feel more relaxed now for whatever reason. I place the arrow on the bow before drawing it back and aiming at the furthest target before releasing it. Bullseye. I smile and go back to the rack to take another arrow when I’m stopped by Gill.

“Clifford said not to show our full abilities,” he whispers hastily, looking at me in the eyes with a glare.

“I’m not,” I walk past him to take another arrow. “This is light work.”

Author's note: BOOM ANOTHER CHAPTER!! i'm kind of on the verge of giving up on the three chapter rule gap i've set for myself but oh well, it's better to have chapters prepared in advance in case of anything i guess. anyways, thanks for reading all the way down here, i really appreciate it! if you like this, consider reblogging and commenting! and once again, constructive criticism is always welcomed!

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darsynia · 1 year

Note

🔥 Stephen Strange x Female Reader (or if you feel like it, one of my OFCs 😉)

"I swear when I planned this, it went much more smoothly than how this turned out!"

Please and thank you 😘😘

So uh. I like this one SO much, I hope you love it! (I chose Stephen/Reader) Thanks for requesting a blurb for BLURB WEEK! Credit to @doctorstrangegifsparadise!

Summary: The bad guys Stephen has been warring against have finally caught up with the two of you at the worst possible time, and neither of you are going to stand for it.

Length/Warnings: 1,618 / LANGUAGE, haha.

Ruin Your Day

Stephen looks from the flower crown in your hair, the colorful sundress you’re wearing, and the flimsy sandals on your feet to the iron shackles around your wrists and says, “I promise you, this was not the way the afternoon was meant to play out.”

He’s just an astral projection, so you can’t do anything more than glare at him. “I thought you said they couldn’t find us! Are you okay?”

“I--” he starts to say, then looks over his shoulder. When he turns back toward you, his expression is fearful. “I’ll be right back.”

“Stephen!” you hiss, but he’s gone.

It’s cold in your new dungeon habitat, which is just cinematic, at this point. You and Stephen have been dating for just over eleven months, six of which have involved his fight against a pair of interdimensional travelers in search of the green stone he always wore around his neck. You’d taken to never saying its real name even in your head, Voldemort-style, not that this had ended up making much of a difference.

Today was meant to be a break, an escape from the stress of those battles, a chance for you to finally see the sun. You’ve been holed up in a suite of rooms at the Sanctum for months, for fear of a mole at Kamar Taj.

At least today’s turn of events has made it clear that Stephen wasn’t being overly cautious by keeping your existence secret.

Well, Stephen wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

You take a deep breath and clear your mind, connecting yourself to the fount of power all sorcerers draw from when they use the Mystic Arts. Your boyfriend doesn’t know that you’ve spent every free moment studying the texts in hopes of unlocking the abilities he uses with such ease. It was hard, and you’d only made the breakthrough a few weeks ago, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to play Damsel in Distress to these thieving, kidnapping assholes.

You’re not playing your hand early, either. In order to keep your abilities secret, you’d focused more on the subtleties of the Arts, things like eavesdropping, Far Sight, and the like. Honestly, if he’d waited another ten minutes, Stephen would have found you in seeming repose, your consciousness having gone walkabout.

As you pull yourself free of your mortal body, the thought that you haven’t actually practiced this very much occurs to you, but what are you supposed to do? Wait to be rescued??

Don’t be absurd.

Stephen has been counting to calm down for a good five minutes now, with no calming in sight. The necklace he’s wearing may be what his adversaries are seeking, but there’s another piece of jewelry in his pocket that’s just as valuable to him, and he doesn’t appreciate his plans being disrupted.

It took far too long to recognize that they’re in Sokovia, and even longer to contact Wong to gather an attack force. He appreciates the fact that he was able to connect so easily to you, and thus find the place you’ve been taken, but though that validates the question he’d intended to ask today, it doesn’t help the cavalry show up any faster. The whole building is warded fairly heavily, and the anti-portal provision stretches miles in all directions.

Either Wong’s going to need to call in the Avengers to borrow a Quinjet and a few supersoldiers, or they’re all going to walk to the rescue. He doesn’t know which is more insufferable.

Stephen drifts through a wall and finds a meeting, which is both useful and extremely insulting. There isn’t even a guard outside your ‘dungeon’ door! Safe in the knowledge that they can’t see him, he floats angrily around the table, swiping his incorporeal hand on the back of a few necks from time to time, just to make the (ahh yes. HYDRA. Completely unsurprising) goons in question feel uneasy. Once he’s finished gathering all the information there is to glean, Stephen makes his way back to a safe place so he can rejoin his body-- and runs into your astral form, on the way.

Your eyes are wide and surprised even though your jaw is set at a defiant angle, and god, he loves every infuriating, beautiful, inexplicable inch of you.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Marry me?” he blurts out, right there in the middle of a HYDRA base, while you’re both incorporeal and very fucking busy. “And, for the love of Cagliostro, get back to your body so I can rescue you!”

“Goddamnit, Stephen!” you whisper-roar, throwing your hands in the air and sighing like he’s just demanded you invent time travel. “Yes, of course, but you haven’t heard the end of this!”

With that you float off in a huff, as if the two of you are in the Sanctum arguing over whether to order your favorite takeout again and risk someone figuring out where you are thanks to how specific your fucking food order is.

It takes Stephen a second to gather himself (was it ‘of course I’ll marry you’ or ‘of course I’ll head back to my body??’) --and then he can’t find you.

“First things first,” he mutters to himself, and heads over to his body as quickly as he can. Once he gets there, he does the thing he’s done every single day since he’d put the ring box in his pocket: feel for it, to make sure it’s still there.

That sends him into a Moment, as well. If he could, he’d draw on all the power that there is, draw it all into himself, and destroy everything and everyone that’s threatening you, molecule by molecule. Except, he knows if he does that, his own chemical makeup will be so compromised, he won’t be the man you love anymore.

That’s not acceptable.

“All right. We’ll do it the old fashioned way.”

Your astral form is busy drawing on little bursts of power to completely fuck up the electrical system in your captor’s rather quaint castle in Sokovia when a thunderous voice sounds from seemingly everywhere.

It’s Stephen.

You may think you are safe because you are numerous. You are wrong. Give me back what’s mine, and I will be merciful. Harm her in any way, and you’ll wish you’d never been born.

You fucking love it when he gets possessive.

It takes a little more effort than you should expend at once, but you manage to finish your task of complete electrical sabotage ten seconds after Stephen’s reverberating voice fades.

The only catch? You can’t see anything either. You roll your ghostly eyes in the dark and lift yourself up into the air, intending to float around until you find a window, and search for your barred dungeon room from the outside.

Unfortunately, the energy you spent affecting the real world in your astral form was too much, and you lose consciousness with just enough time to curse yourself for forgetting to read the warnings.

The power cuts out so soon after his speech that Stephen instinctively knows you had something to do with it. It reminds him of something he’d said three months into your relationship:

‘I never thought disobedience was sexy until I met you.’

He can’t wait to see you again, but it’s a toss-up whether he’ll yell or kiss you quiet. Probably both. Probably more.

Stephen doesn’t have time to contemplate in exactly which order he’ll punish you, or how much he’s going to enjoy it, because as he stands in shadow outside the castle waiting to hear from Wong, an aerial armada appears overhead.

The Avengers aren’t any more inclined to be merciful than he is.

You wake up in your bed in the Sanctum, weak as a kitten and almost as blind. You’re immediately filled with terror-- has your careless, untrained use of the Mystic Arts harmed you permanently?

“Shhh, sweetheart, I’m here, you’re safe,” Stephen says, his comforting hand brushing your cheek seconds before his lips press against your forehead.

“If you made that threat before backup showed up I’m going to kick your ass,” you say weakly.

“I would expect nothing less, darling,” he says placatingly. The fact that he doesn’t sound the slightest bit defensive tells you volumes about how worried he’s been about you.

That prompts you to get emotional, and to cover it up, you dredge up your most indignant voice as you say, “Did you save me anyone to vanquish?”

“You’ll have to take that up with the Avengers, I’m afraid.”

“Jerks,” you sniff.

There’s a long silence, during which the two of you communicate mostly in hand squeezes and caught breaths.

“I’m proud of you,” Stephen says, finally.

“You shouldn’t be. I was reckless.”

“That’s just the thing. You weren’t constrained by me. I have a lot of power. I don’t want a subordinate. I want you to fight back. I want you to feel safe to get angry at me. I want--” He breaks off, and you use all of your strength to roll over and open your eyes. Stephen is sitting beside you, eyes bright with emotion, both hands clasped around yours.

“I love you too,” you whisper, “--but if you even dream of proposing again while I’m this much of a mess, I will marry Wong just to spite you. He’ll do it.”

The smile Stephen breaks out into is as relieved as it is bright. “He would, the asshole.” He pats his pocket and nods soberly. “Point taken. Maybe I’ll let you choose the spot, this time?”

“As long as you’re there, I’ll be the happiest woman in any dimension. Even if something else tries to ruin our day.”

#stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x you #stephen strange imagine #stephen strange #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange x you #doctor strange imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #mcu fanfiction #established relationship #damsels in this dress #romance #humor #fluff

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andydrysdalerogers · 25 days

Text

Undercover ~ Six ~ We Have A Problem...

Pairings: Jake Jensen and OFC Samantha Matthews

The Losers have made it back to their families and are out. Well, almost. A threat against the British crown needs to be handled and the CIA has tapped the Losers for one final mission. And they are sending in Jensen.

Jake Jensen hasn't been a civilian in years but now he's undercover to find out why his target is where he is and who he's after.

Enter Sam, someone who Jake doesn't expect and well, he didn't know he was looking for.

Can Jake handle his mission and falling in love? Especially when the truth leads to a bigger mission than expected?

*~* A Jake Jensen Story *~*

Author's note: this story continues after the events of the Losers. I may weave other characters into it but they are all minor. THE TAGLIST IS OPEN.

The playlist is available on Spotify.

cover photo by me! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warnings: angst, death, smut, and a bunch of stuff a can’t say because it gives away the plot!

Previous: Five ~ My Girl

Story Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Samantha has always been a heavy sleeper. Only her alarm clock ever woke her up. Until today. She feels like she is being tickled on her neck and shoulders. She sighs sleepily, moving to get comfortable again. And then she hears it.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

Her eyes are still closed but she smiles as Jake continues to press kisses on her skin. All of the memories and sensations from the night before flooded back and she could feel her cheeks warm. She turns to look at Jake. His glasses are off, but his cheeks are slightly more stubble now and she can study his eyes better. “I’ve never noticed,” she whispered.

“What?” He whispered back, making her giggle.

“Your eyes. They have a bit of green in them. Like the ocean. It's beautiful.”

Jake begins to blush, but Sam cups his cheek, and he stares into her eyes. He moves over and presses a sweet kiss to her lips. They kiss for a bit before he pulls back. “I don’t know how I got so lucky to find you.”

“And here I was thinking the same thing,” Sam replied. Jake smiled as he led her back onto her back. He ran his hand down her side, eliciting goose bumps over her skin.

“Can I love on you, princess?” Jake bit his lower lip, waiting for her to answer.

Sam blushed and trembled slightly at his words. Her father was the only one who really called her princess when she was little but now, the title has taken on a whole new meaning. She nodded as Jake grinned and proceeded to kiss the life out of her. He was gentle this time, like he knew she was sore. He slotted himself between her legs but stopped.

“Fuck, I don’t... we have to stop.” Jake’s smile fell until Sam held him closer, surprising him.

“I’m clean and have birth control,” she said.

“I’m clean too.” Jake smiled as he teased her. When she began to whine, he placed the tip at her entrance and just barely pushed in, earning him a gasp. He slowly, methodically filled her so by the time he was buried to the hilt, she was frustrated to hell.

“Jake, I swear...” she stopped as he withdrew his hip and then filled her again. Torture. That was his plan. Pure unadulterated torture. This went on for a while, until he saw a tear slip.

“Princess, are you ok?”

“No”. She sobbed, “I need more Jake, please, I can’t take it anymore.”

He smiled and started to speed up. Not the pounding he gave her the night before but still powerful. “How’s that gorgeous? Like me hitting deep inside you?” She nodded. “I can tell because you are gripping me hard. Are you close?”

“So close JJ, just, oh fuck.” She was on the brink. Jake slid his hand down her torso and to her clit, rubbing just hard enough to take her over the edge. “Jake!”

He watched the pleasure wash over her face and that set him off, cumming in her, his cock pulsing as he pumped her full. Finally, he slowed and kissed her softly. “Now that’s a wakeup call.”

Sam giggled, “it sure is. Breakfast?”

“Yes, please.” Jake slowly pulled out and went to the bathroom. He cleaned up and grabbed a washcloth for Sam. He cleaned her gently, knowing she was sensitive. He pulled on his boxers as she reached for his shirt and slipped it on. She pulled on clean panties and walked out of the room with a sway to her hips.

Jake thought his cock was soft. It was not.

As they finished cooking breakfast together, Jake’s cell phone rang from the living room. He licked his fingers of the pancake batter. “Plate that up babe, I’ll be right back.” He headed to the living room and saw that it was Clay calling. Jake looked back at the kitchen and answered. “Hey?”

“Jensen, where are you?”

“Out.”

“With the girl?”

Jake hesitated. “No?”

“Don’t lie to me, Jake. Cougar tailed you just in case the accounting prick followed you.”

He sighed. “Look Colonel...”

Clay cut him off. “Don’t call me that. Look, I don’t care. If she makes you happy, then that is great. I had another reason for calling. We need to meet. ASAP.”

Jake looked at the kitchen where Sam was holding two plates and a smile that could literally make him do anything for her. “I can meet in three hours.”

“Copy. And Jake... have fun.”

Jake set his phone down and headed back to her. She saw a flicker of apprehension and she frowned. “Everything ok, JJ?”

He saw the frown and panicked. “Everything is good princess. I forgot that I was supposed to meet with my old unit for lunch.” He sighed. “I don’t want to leave you though. “ He kissed her cheek.

“Oh, baby if you have plans, that's fine. I should, uh, clean up,” she blushed a light pink. “You could always come back after. I mean, if you want. No pressure or anything...” her ramble was cut off by Jake’s lips.

He let go and cupped her cheek, thumbing her cheek. “Oh course, I want to come back. Let’s eat, I’ll help you clean up breakfast, I’ll go meet the losers and pick up a bag. Sound good?”

“It sounds perfect. I’ll cook you something.” She reached up to kiss him softly.

“Looking forward to it.”

The Losers were all standing around in a graveyard, waiting for Jensen to show. Pooch kept looking back at Clay and Aisha. “Is anyone else having a sense of déjà vu?”

“How do you mean?” Aisha looked at his curiously as Cougar shrugged.

“I mean, I feel like I’ve done this before.” He looked around at all the headstones.

“Where is Jensen?” Clay asked, interrupting Pooch.

“Right here,” Jake replied, surprising the team. “What’s up?”

“Jesus,” Pooch muttered. “When did you become stealthy?”

“I’m just having a sense of calm Poochy. Life is great, the world is great, I am awesome, and I’ve got a girl. Life is perfect.”

“Ok perfect boy, you may want to pay attention,” Clay said as Cougar snickered. “We’ve been reviewing, oof,” as Aisha elbowed him, “sorry, Aisha’s been analyzing the data you had gotten us.”

Aisha cleared her throat. “Yeah, Fitzgerald is smart. He hasn’t been using his work computer a ton for this side project. Just a couple of times he’s done a search under 30 seconds that shows a record that he searched but not what he is searching for.”

“Shit,” Jake mumbles. “I’ll need to do a direct search on the network. I have a program I can use, so I can login on Monday and get to Fitzgerald’s computer. I can meet you after work on Monday with whatever I find.”

“Perfect.” Clay looks at his team. “Cougar, you are still on his tail,” looking at Jake. “Pooch, you’re with us to check out Fitzgerald’s home while they are at work.”

“Pooch, you need to watch for any trip wires or lasers,” Jake reminded him. “I will remote drop his security at 0900 on Monday as planned.”

“Let’s move out,” Clay said. As the team leaves, he pulls Jensen aside. “How’s the girl?”

“The girl’s name is Sam and she’s great. She likes me for me.” Jake shrugs. “I’ve never had this before.”

“I was going to tell you to make sure to NOT be yourself,” Clay joked, clapping Jake’s back. “Just make sure you keep your eye on the prize, ok? We don’t want Sam to be hurt in the crossfire if this goes sideways.”

“Understood Colonel.”

“Don’t call me that.”

The rest of the weekend was uneventful. Well, if you don’t count all the sex that Jake and Sam were having. They were having fun, getting to know each other, inside and out. Sam cooked a steak and potatoes meal that had Jake swooning.

As Monday morning approached, Jake drove the pair into the office. Sam was nervous. The last time she walked into the office with a boyfriend was with Terry and that was not a great memory. Her leg bounced on the seat faster and faster as they got close. “Everything ok, princess?”

“I’m fine,” she squeaked.

“Talk to me.”

She sighed. “The last time I came into the office with a man, had been my last boyfriend. Terry. We broke up that same day.” She looked down at her hands but was surprised with Jake slid his own into hers.

“If you want to walk alone, I understand. I have never worked with a girlfriend before, so I don’t know how this works.”

She looked up at him and blinked rapidly. “Girlfriend?”

Jake realized his mistake and swallowed hard. “I mean, I want you... if you are comfortable, but if not...” he continued to ramble until he noticed the sparkle in her eye. He groaned and tilted his head back. “You’re fucking with me?”

“A little bit,” she replied with a bite to her lip to suppress her smile. “JJ, I would love to walk into the office with you as your girlfriend as long as I can call you, my boyfriend.”

Jake thought he would combust with how good it felt to have Sam say she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He pulled her over the center console for a sweet kiss. “Let’s get to work Princess.”

Walking in, Jake took Sam’s hand and guided her to the elevators. He could feel the nerves coming from her and he squeezed it gently. They walked out onto the floor... with Jake’s entire team watching. Jake pointily ignored them and walked Sam to her desk. “Lunch?”

“Absolutely.” Sam smiled and looked up at him. Jake leaned down and gave a soft kiss. “See you later Princess.”

“Bye JJ,” she flushed and sat at her desk to take a moment.

Jake walked into his area, a slight strut in his step. He went to his desk and started to get set up with for the day, fully understanding that his team was staring at him. He hummed to himself as he waited for his laptop to boot up. “Boss?” Jake turned to see Fred standing right behind him.

“Need something?”

“Yea,” he ran his hand through his longish hair. “How?”

“How what?”

“How did you land the most beautiful girl I have ever seen?” Fred’s face changed from questioning to awe. “Like Sam, she is a dime, and she is so nice, but she doesn’t date. I saw her turn down that British guy in accounting.”

Jake clenched his jaw a bit but remained calm. “Look, all I did, was be myself. Turns out she likes it.” He smiled and gave a shrug. “She’s amazing.”

“She got a sister?” Dave asked.

“Sorry, just an older brother. Let’s run it down guys,” getting them together so they were up to speed with the day's work.

As the team broke to get to work, Jensen loaded his detection program into his secondary laptop. He checked to see if anyone was looking before loading the program, connected it to the office network and found Fitzgerald’s terminal. Jake quickly looked through and found hidden files. “Jackpot,” he said to himself.

Copying the files to his laptop, he quickly backed out before he was detected. After his standing coffee with Sam, he went back to his investigation. Just as he was about to give up, a line-item transaction search caught his eye.

Search: The Duchy of Manchester.

Jake didn’t know much about the royal family, so he jumped on Google. Searching through, he saw the articles of the King stepping down to his son Prince Anthony in just a few months' time. Jake made note of it and continued but there was no mention of a Duke of Manchester anywhere. He sent the information to Clay.

Clay came back quickly.

There is no Duke but there is an account set up for the Duchy of Manchester. It’s a shell.

Jake sat back. What the hell was Fitzgerald up to?

Taglist:

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#andy's shenanigans #andy's hea #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #Jake jensen #jake jensen smut #jake jensen fic #the losers #the losers au #chris evans fic #ofc Samantha matthews #British royalty au #Jake jensen au #Jake jensen x Samantha matthews #undercover

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