#she was raised by the KING OF ASSASSINS since she was seven

[littlequeens]

yes reading is subjective but do you ever just see a review that completely misses the point lol

#･ﾟ* ❛ 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 / ooc #saw a tog review on Goodreads that set me off lol #it’s fine if you didn’t like but they were trying to say there was no basis for Celena being the best assassin #she was raised by the KING OF ASSASSINS since she was seven #had her first kill when she was EIGHT! #was went to train in other lands with other fighting styles #extremely detailed descriptions of how arobynn abused her in order to make her a better fighter #plus she is constantly shitting on the other competitors? the only reason cain almost beat her was bc he was Juiced Up on demon tren #tell me you have no reading comprehension without telling me you have no reading comprehension

[dollyyun]

𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 | chap 09

SYPNOSIS: wherein the princess, who is a clandestine assassin, has been commanded to eliminate the seven vampire princes.

GENRE: 18+ (mdni), reverse harem, contemporary fantasy, enemies to lovers, third pov, eventual previous past lives will be entailed.

WARNINGS: profanities, violence, choking, suggestive theme/borderline smut kinda.

WORD COUNT: 6.8k

FEATURING: TXT members

TAGLIST: @aishigrey @kgneptun @b3tt7boop @smg-valeria @lhspeachie @enhaverse713586 @strxwbloody @firstclassjaylee @jwnghyuns @luminouskalopsia @deobitifull @loumin908 @sousydive @mlywon @pinkkami @skzenhalove @darkjongsung @caravm

🍒 MASTERLIST 🍒

As soon as a cirrus of consciousness pervades Elora's mind, an incessant pounding pummels within her skull, and gradually, she regains cognisance, resulting in her feeling sheer extortion throughout her body, while fragments of the event transpired prior to consciousness being deprived from her coalesce into one perceptible account.

The power that coursed through her veins was unlike any other. It was as though the enigmatic power itself derives from her inner core, rendering her confounded. She lacks comprehension of how and why it happened, especially when she was born as the first Aetherlyn without innate power. Subsequently, as she still bears the wound from being impaled by the dragon king's claw in her stomach, the extortion affects her wound, eliciting a painful moan from her lips.

Despite being rendered vulnerable, her mind and heart are in a symphonic tumultuous state of raging emotions, a thirst for vengeance is palpable. Being born with blood on her hands, she has long since developed a proclivity for bloodshed and enkindled mayhem insidiously.

No one, not even a single being, is aware that the princess of Aetherlyn is a clandestine assassin, and Elora intends to maintain this enigma until her dying breath.

"Mia Cara?"

Amidst the cacophony of tempestuous rage, a peculiar spark of benignity ignites within her upon hearing the dulcet tone of his voice. A part of her arduously desires to eradicate him and his brothers, since that is her mission after all.

Groggily, Elora flutters her eyelids open and is greeted by the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling. A searing pain in her wounded stomach elicits another moan from her as she forces her body to turn to the other side, coiling her body with an arm covering her throbbing stomach.

"Elora." She feels his hands on her body before he cradles her in his grasps, with her body now leaning dependently on his chest while she is settled on his lap.

He grips her chin with his fingers firmly enough to tilt her head up, forcing her to meet his crimson-hued eyes with her hooded eyelids. "What's wrong?" Heeseung inquires, his tone evidently laces with worry despite his austere countenance.

"Hurts." Elora lacks the ability to form coherent words into a proper explanation, as pain is all she can feel. Her head almost lolls to the back while her eyelids are threatening to close, but his hand steadily supports her head.

"You need to feed on me." Heeseung raises his wrist to his elongated fangs, tearing the skin without any hesitation, before he descends his bleeding wrist to her parted lips that heave light pants. "Drink my blood." It is an order.

Despite her face contorting into a grimace at the revolting taste of blood, she complies, knowing that a vampire's blood, and moreover, a royalty's, has the ability to heal her wound.

The touch of her lips as she proceeds to drink from him sends an odd sensation through his body. There is no denying that he is enamoured by the sight of his bride with her eyes fluttering closed while holding his wrist firmly to her parted mouth.

Elora pushes his wrist away from her mouth, the excess of his blood is evident as it smears her lips. Her breath catches in her throat when he uses his thumb to wipe away the blood at the corner of her lips, while her gaze remains on his astute yet charming countenance.

Elora should be pushing him away, she should be ramming her hand into his chest to rip his heart out, but his touch on her body and his scent that infiltrates her senses feel oddly comforting and safe, especially with how he is being gentle with her, as though she can entrust her life in his hands.

"I'm going to kill them." An undertone of promise belies her croaked voice, while a spark of vengeance ignites in her indigo-hued eyes.

"No, you're not." Heeseung's opposition dismays her. "There will be no more bloodshed."

"Yes, I am." Elora punctuates her words before forcing herself to disentangle from Heeseung's oddly protective grasps. Despite the fact that his blood in her system has healed her, her body sways lightly as she abruptly stands, her mind going hazy momentarily.

"Mia Cara, stop." Heeseung's fingers latch around her wrist just as she nearly reaches the door with every intention to unleash her wrath at the dragon kings. Her heart lurches in her chest when he pulls her towards him. Their bodies crash against each other's, but unlike Elora, Heeseung remains indifferent as his eyes bore into her widened ones. "Under no circumstances should you provoke the dragon kings, let alone kill them."

She gives him a bewildered glare, but she doesn't feel the slightest bit bothered by his touch on her skin. "Why are you being indifferent about this? Weren't you attempting to annihilate one of the kings earlier?"

Heeseung's eyes flicker down at her lips momentarily, and they entice him to close the gap between them, but he maintains decorum. "Trust me, I feel as enraged as you, but Jay has commanded us to cease fighting any longer."

"Why is that?" She prods, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

"We're about to find out." This time, another voice answers her question, compelling her to look over her shoulder just to meet Jake's eyes.

Jake, who is leaning against the door frame with his arms folded over his chest, tilts his head lightly to one side while a soft grin paints his charming countenance. "It's good to see you finally vertical, love." Even the way he speaks to her sends her a foreign sensation, and she has no idea whether to perceive it as good or bad.

"Elora." Jungwon emerges from behind Jake, his voice tinges with relief. When she looks at Jungwon, the latter's eyes soften as they scan her. "You were unconscious for a few hours."

"So I figured." She mumbles, tearing her gaze off of him to gaze at the window, where twilight has made its appearance. "When will we depart from here?" She inquires tersely, suddenly feeling self-conscious as their eyes remain on her.

"Hopefully soon." Jake heaves a sigh. "The kings agreed to spare our lives. The reason behind their agreement is solely because of Jay."

"Why? Because he's part dragon?" Elora frowns.

"You're not entirely wrong, but there is another reason." Jungwon tips his head to one side, beckoning them to follow him. "Come with me. The kings have summoned us to their main chamber."

"I don't trust them." Elora remains rooted to the ground. Her eyes go hard while a muscle pulses in her jaw. "We might be playing right into their trap."

"At the very least, you should place your trust in us, Mia Cara." Heeseung's voice comes out a tad softer at the end while he holds her wrist to his chest.

Something flickers in her gaze before she masks it with detachment, her lips curling into a sneer as she yanks her hand from his touch. "I don't trust you guys either. Remember that you're the ones who kept me as a captive detainee in the first place and got me into this shit." She says venomously, a patent animosity towards them.

Heeseung's eyes narrow at hers. "I recall you being the one who brought this upon yourself the moment you stepped foot into our kingdom. If anything, you're to be blamed. This is the consequence of your actions, Mia Cara."

Elora grits her teeth, hating how the endearment manages to affect her every time. "Stop calling me that."

The corner of Heeseung's lips tips up a smirk. "The more reason why I should continue to call you that, Mia Cara."

"We should head to their main chamber now." Jungwon's voice is tinged with annoyance as he grumbles.

"Come on, lovely. Enough of that." Jake chides her, but how soft-spoken he is compels her to heed his words. With one last glare at Heeseung, she pivots on her heels and trudges away with storms clouding over her head.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The familiar faces of the sovereigns greet her in her line of sight as soon as they enter the main chamber. The interior is different than she expected. The chamber is rather coruscating, with glimmering gemstones inlaid on every wall. Her gaze returns to the dragon kings, who have been examining her closely.

Elora recognises them, as she spied on them a few months ago when the high court ordered her too. Mainly due to studying them closely, albeit from afar, with a magical telescope to determine whether or not Pyrefall is merited as one of their targets. While dragons are the most ferocious creatures, they prefer to keep to themselves and avoid meddling with the affairs of other species; therefore, the high court of Aetherlyn concluded that it was prudent to steer clear of the dragons.

"So, is this the mermaidian you speak of?" Yeonjun's voice echoes throughout the chamber, resonating enough for Elora to be cautious of him and the way he is still accessing her with luminous amber eyes.

"I have a name." Elora nearly growls out her words, struggling to preserve decorum as all she desires is to launch her rage on the dragon kings, especially when the power is flowing through her veins with a hum, awaiting her to utilise it.

"Yes, she is." Heeseung wraps an arm around her waist, shattering her sole focus on her rage by the fact that his touch feels oddly protective. When she glances up at him, his stern gaze is directed at the dragon kings. "She's my bride."

"How peculiar. You are most certainly not one of the mermaidian princesses." Soobin speaks to her, prompting her sharp eyes to settle on his face. "Tell me, what is your rank?"

Elora hopes neither of them catches onto the way her heart is beating erratically. She has forgotten to prepare herself for this question. "I serve the princesses closely." As she speaks, her voice wavers lightly.

"A handmaiden?" Kai appears to be pondering as he raises an eyebrow at her. "Pray tell, how did a handmaiden like you end up being His Majesty's bride?"

"Enough." Jay startles her when he slams his palms on the wooden table, towering over the dragon kings' seated figures and glowering at them. Elora can't help but feel gratitude towards Jay for intervening. Her eyes glide all over his back, noticing how tensed his muscles are. "The purpose of you summoning our presence here is not to interrogate my brother's bride."

"Right. Let's get down to business." Soobin leans his body forward with his hands clasped together, and his amber-hued eyes seem to darken. "To begin, we will not apologise for capturing your brother and the mermaidian─"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Sunghoon cuts him off with a cold snarl. "Not only did you capture and injure Elora, but you've wasted our time when we should have already landed on Runefell's borders."

"Ah, the kingdom of phoenix's." Interest dances in Taehyun's eyes as he stares at the group. "It does beg the question, though. What do you hope to achieve in your expedition?"

"We are not obliged to answer your question." Heeseung's arm tightens around her waist, and she hates to admit it, but a part of her enjoys the sense of security he is providing her with.

"You're right." Beomgyu raises his hands, feigning surrender, while a smirk touches his lips. "But we're afraid that your brother may no longer join you in your expedition."

"Why is that?" Sunoo asks, his crimson eyes are glaring dangerously at the kings.

"Because we need him." Beomgyu's smirk falls, and the ambience is starting to feel sombre. "He's our dragon lord. One of the demigods of our world."

"Bullshit. He may be a dragon-vampire hybrid, but he is still a vampire royalty at the end of the day." Jake shoots him a scowl. 

Taehyun shrugs his shoulders. "Don't blame us. Blame the prophecy."

"What prophecy?" Riki frowns.

Jay heaves a sigh, his fingers running through his strands. "They have been told by their elders of a prophecy entailing the dragon lord's reincarnation, and he will reign supremacy over Pyrefall again."

"Aside from the prophecy, we do need him to strengthen the core of Pyrefall, especially when there is something brewing at this very moment." Soobin says sullenly. "A calamity that will happen soon."

"Wait," Sunghoon chuckles coldly, lacing with disbelief as he stares at Jay. "You can't possibly believe that you're their dragon lord."

Elora catches conflict residing in Jay's gaze before he looks away from Sunghoon with his jaw clenched. "What if I do?"

"This is preposterous! Our brother can't possibly be the reincarnation of your dragon lord!" Sunoo exclaims to the kings. "For that matter, demigods don't exist!"

"You have no idea how wrong you are about that." Kai shakes his head. "Perhaps you haven't been apprised of our past, in which there were demigods and demigoddesses a millennium ago. They ruled over kingdoms, including ours and yours."

"If what you are sprouting is true, then where are they now?" Riki asks with a sardonic grin. "Aren't demigods and demigoddesses supposed to be immortals?"

"A tragedy happened, leading to their demise." Yeonjun answers firmly. "We are uncertain of how or why it precisely happened, but according to the prophecy, each of them will reincarnate and will reign supreme over the kingdoms they used to rule."

"I'm not buying any of this." Sunghoon scoffs out. "This is all just a myth."

"Regardless of what you say, it doesn't change the fact that we recognise Jay as our dragon lord." Soobin tells him before his eyes meet Jay's steely ones. "You know it yourself, and you can't deny the fact that you have a sense of familiarity with us ─ your subjects."

"To add on, we will allow you to continue your expedition with Jay, on one condition." Yeonjun's tone is tinged with resolution. "After the end of your expedition, Jay will return to Pyrefall and reclaim his rightful position as the dragon lord."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Elora leans her back against the wall with her arms folded below her chest, eavesdropping keenly on the seven brothers as they have been engaging in a heated dispute with Jay since the moment the dragon kings made their dispersal. As she continues to listen, her mind drifts off to the conversation she last had with the vampire queen.

Unlike the rest of his brothers, Elora has a strong sense of inclination to believe in the fact that Jay is indeed a demigod ─ the lord of dragons, even more when the dragon kings provided with them concrete proof, just like the queen did with her.

Elora is startled by the ajar door swinging open violently, and as she turns her head to the side, she watches as Jay emerges from the chamber. The tension is palpable in his muscles. Upon catching sight of her in his peripheral vision, he turns to look at her, but the female remains flat-lipped before she leans away from the wall and saunters past him.

Elora hears his footsteps approaching her from behind before he falls in tandem with her, side by side. "You're no longer hurt anywhere, right?" Jay asks, though there is hesitation in his voice.

"No. Heeseung healed me with his blood." Elora says, remaining impassive, before her eyes flicker at his. "Are you actually considering returning to Pyrefall after the expedition?"

Jay's steely eyes harden with emotions she can't decipher. "I have no choice. The only reason you and my brothers are still alive is because of me. Otherwise, they would have executed you lot, especially after Sunoo and Riki eliminated some of the royal guards."

"There is always a choice." Elora retorts as they now turn to a corner where their temporary quarters are located. "You just have to be brave enough to make that choice. If I were you, I would've devised a strategy to outplay their cards instead of acceding to them."

"You wouldn't understand if I told you." Jay mutters bitterly, still following her even as she enters the room.

"Oh, but I do. I understand that you're weak." Elora shoots him a smirk as she stands in front of him. "You've allowed yourself to submit to the dragon kings, accepting whatever tripe they sprouted. I expected better from a prince like you than to acquiesce, but then again, you're just a mere prince, and they're the kings, after all. Pathetic."

"Shut up." Jay clenches his jaw while his crimson-hued eyes dance with menace. "You don't know anything. You're just a useless mermaidian without a worthy rank." He steps closer to her, glowering at her with his glaring eyes penetrating into hers. "The next time you dared to speak to me with such insolence, you'll do well to remember your place that is beneath me."

Elora ignores the tension that rises abruptly in a span of minutes as she remains glaring into his eyes. She clenches a fist to the point her nails are digging into her palm, finding his disrespect towards a royalty like her unacceptable, albeit he's one as well. "You may be above me, but you don't have my respect." She whispers, smirking coldly. "Get out, or I'll show you that I am far more capable of killing you in ways that are unimaginable."

In a blink of an eye, Elora finds herself being pinned against the wall with a loud thud due to the impact, and a gasp leaves her lips at the moment his fingers that are curling around her neck squeeze hard, obstructing the airways. She attempts to summon the magic that derives from the bracelet with the intention of conjuring a weapon, but once again, it fails her.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Jay asks mockingly with a cold chuckle, his grip on her neck is threatening, choking her. "You know, I felt sorry for you earlier today when you were injured by one of the kings. I should've let them kill you off instead."

"Fuck you." She manages to utter despite the restriction of her airways. She struggles in his strong grip and attempts to knee him in the sack, but he uses his knee to settle in between her parted thighs instead while gripping her neck tightly, which causes her to see black dots in her vision.

With a cold smirk on his handsome countenance, he dips his head next to her ear. His voice sounds sinisterly dark. "Tell me, Habibti, should I be the one to kill you?"

Elora claws at his forearms as she continues to struggle, her eyes rolling to the back as she nearly succumbs to the darkness, but he loosens his grip on her neck just slightly, allowing little air for her to inhale. Her heart nearly lurches in her chest at the moment he leans down to her face with his head slightly tilted and their noses grazing against each other.

His crimson-hued eyes seem to darken with each passing second, the longer her gaze remains on him. "Even if I kill you, you wouldn't even matter because Heeseung will eventually find another bride that is worthy of him."

"You can't kill me." She wheezes when he squeezes her neck again. "You need me to acquire the crystal heart. I'm the only access you have to get what you want." The airy whisper from her hits his lips.

Jay examines her with darkened eyes. An involuntary lust clouds his head at the gorgeous sight of the helpless mermaidian, whose eyes glimmer with hope for clemency, but her ego won't allow her to utter the words he wants to hear.

"Beg." He commands lowly. "Beg, then I'll consider letting you live."

"Never." She gasps out once more. Pain is apparent while her eyelids are threatening to close, with the black dots appearing in her vision quicker.

"Come on, Habibti. Don't disappoint me."

Tears well in her eyes, feeling humiliated by the fact that he easily overpowers her. Shoving her pride aside, she begins to whisper brokenly. "Please....."

What he does next throws her completely off guard. As he loosens his grip on her neck, but enough to still assert dominance over her, he closes the gap between their lips and swallows her gasp. She has no idea why, but she falls for his allure, reciprocating the kiss with equal fervour.

With her parted lips, his tongue breaches the entry to explore the cavern of her mouth, eliciting a faint moan from her. A low growl vibrates at the back of his throat as he appreciates the female submitting to him, sending her goosebumps.

Jay has no idea how divine and exquisite the mermaidian taste is. Her taste only drives him to addiction, needing to savour her for as long as he can.

"This is so wrong." She manages to murmur against his hungry lips. Eventually, he pulls away from her lips and dips his head into her neck, kissing her skin so sensually that she can't help but arch her back with her neck bared to him. Her chest heaves up and down at the palpable tension, and she attempts to squeeze her thighs together, but his knee is a hindrance.

A soft moan leaves her lips as he nips at her skin with his teeth. "Heeseung─"

"Keep my brother's name out of your mouth." He growls against her skin, sending shivers down her spine, especially with his hands roaming around her back before they rest on her derrière to pull her closer to his body.

By now, Elora is panting heavily, with moans occasionally leaving her lips at his sensual assault on her neck and her core grinding on his thigh. He trails his kisses on her skin upwards until he presses a deep kiss on her cheek. "Don't fucking say his name when you should be saying mine."

"But Heeseung─"

"What is my name, Habibti?" He nearly snarls, and she discerns how evidently he is being territorial over her. She gasps as he squeezes her derrière hard. "I asked, what is my fucking name?"

"Jay." She whimpers as he slots his lips over hers, not kissing her just yet, but enough to graze his lips against hers ghostly. "Jay." The way she utters his name sounds heavenly.

Satisfaction spreads across his chest before he leans in to nip at her bottom lip, sucking on it and resuming to kiss her senselessly. A low approval growl emits from him upon feeling the mermaidian using his knee to get off her high.

"That's it. Use me." He smirks against her lips, watching as her eyes roll to the back with her head tilting and her parted lips heaving with breathy moans, knowing that she is nearly coming. "I'm the one who gets you like this. Not Heeseung."

Elora ruts her hips against his as soon as her orgasm comes crashing down violently. A moment of exhaustion dawns on her while her arms are lazily draped over his shoulders. He proceeds to carry her over the bed and settles her down with the tendrils of her lilac sprawling across.

With hooded eyelids and dazed eyes, she gazes at him as he hovers on top of her. Her eyes flutter close when he leans down to kiss her, but this time, it is a kiss full of gentleness, as though he is taking his time to memorise the shape of her lips. Her heart flutters in a way that is foreign to her.

Jay pulls away briefly to scan her, smirking as he does so. He places a chaste kiss that she will surely remember before disappearing from her sight in a blink of an eye, leaving the female utterly breathless as she remains unmoving from the bed.

The state of haze continues to cloud her mind while her eyes are staring at the ceiling in daze. As her fingers make their ascent to touch her lips, which still tingle with the sensation of Jay's lips, she begins to ponder: What the fuck was that escalation?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Seated on the balustrade by the massive open balcony, the nightly breeze tenderly brushes against her cheeks while she gazes out to the horizon, and she catches silhouettes of dragons soaring in the sky freely. The thought of freedom brings a rueful smile to her lips, while her heart has a discernible ache of longing.

Although Elora doesn't particularly have good memories back at her kingdom, she misses being there, especially the Mermaidia princesses, whom she regards as sisters. She misses the view of her bedroom, where the window allows her to view the magnificent kingdom of Mermaidia. Unlike her own subjects, the mermaidians are kinder to her and often welcome her to their kingdom, even though she always comes off as standoffish to them. The only times she wasn't aloof were when the mermaidian princesses were around.

Elora can't deny the fact that Mermaidia feels more like home than Aetherlyn. Oh, how she yearns to return to Mermaidia, where she can seek a semblance of freedom and swim with aquatic creatures. Nostalgia hits her when she recalls a certain memory of her racing with the Mermaidia princesses by riding fairly huge seahorses.

"What are you doing out here, lovely?"

Elora turns her head to the side and instantly meets his kind gaze. She watches in silence as he approaches her. The benevolent ambience he exudes reminds her of the mermaidians. It is ironic how she thought that he would be the insufferable one when he turned out to be the kindest, alongside Jungwon.

"Just thinking." She gives him a curt answer, lowering her disheartened gaze, but the sentiment doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Jake's gentle tone compels her to confide in him.

As she lifts her head up, Jake is settled across from her as he settles down on the balustrade. The foreign flutter makes its movement against her heart as she locks eyes with him. "It's stupid, but I miss home." She murmurs.

His eyes soften. "It's not stupid, Elora."

"It is." She counters firmly, ignoring the palpable crack in her heart that denotes her yearning to return. "You know what's worse? It's the fact that I'll be betraying my people. I'll be betraying the princesses." The back of her eyes burns while she tries her utmost to refrain her voice from wavering, but with the look in Jake's eyes, she feels as though he is able to read through her.

"I'm sorry." Jake offers with a sympathetic glint in his kind eyes. "You should already know that I disagree with their decision to acquire the crystal heart."

"I know." Elora blinks away her tears before gazing out at the horizon once more. "Heeseung was right. I brought this upon myself."

"What really is your purpose for coming to Mysthaven in the first place?" Jake prods gently.

"I can't tell you." Elora releases a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, but it's better for the truth to remain unknown to all of you."

Jake wants to press on the matter, truly, but upon seeing how low-spirited she is and the apparent display of her vulnerability, he decides to forgo it and wants nothing more than to provide her comfort. His sharp eyes catch the sight of a tear sliding down her cheek.

Jake scoots closer to her, and when the distance between them is nearly nonexistent, she looks at him with widened eyes, but he remains focused as his hand ascends to cradle her cheek before using his thumb to wipe away the fallen tear.

"I hate seeing you cry because of us." He murmurs, his eyes zeroing in on her glistening ones. Tenderly, he brushes her cheek once more with his thumb. "Don't cry, lovely."

Elora is about to deny it, but his strong yet kind gaze does something to her heart. She should be pushing him away, as he is one of them, after all, but right now, she doesn't feel like he is a threat to her. Instead, he feels like a safety blanket, offering her the comfort she never knew she needed until now.

"I miss home." Elora says sincerely in a broken whisper. By home, she meant Mermaidia. Not Aetherlyn.

"I know you do, love." Jake's velvet tone soothes her, prompting her to lean into his touch. There is also a peculiar warmth he exudes. His heart soars upon seeing the way she voluntarily seeks comfort, even from his mere touch as he cradles her face.

"Thank you." Elora murmurs, sincerity glimmering in her beautiful indigo eyes, which have become his favourite colour. "You are kinder to me than most. Thank you for that, Jake."

Jake unfurls a soft, lopsided grin that sends another flutter to her beating heart. "So, since you're not sleeping any time soon, care to tell me more about your home?"

When he sees a small smile appearing on her lips, he realises that he may or may not catch forbidden feelings for his brother's bride.

All the while Elora tells tales about Mermaidia and sits closely with Jake as he listens attentively, they fail to realise a pair of eyes and ears have been watching and listening to them in the dark. 

Jungwon's jaw is clenched while his eyes harden with newfound envy before he forces himself to look away from the sight any longer and retreats to his quarter.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

When the next sun rises, the group wastes no time delaying and prepares to disembark for their next destination. Kingdom of Runefell, the kingdom of the phoenixes. The air is crisp as soon as she arrives at the castle's courtyard, where she is taken aback to see the kings in their dragon forms.

"You're here." Heeseung breathes out, his eyes scanning her appearance, and his chest rumbles with approval that the female is wearing the attire he had provided for her.

"It's not as if I can run away, can I?" There is a certain bite in her tone before her eyes soften as she stares at Jake, who is approaching her with a welcoming grin.

"Hey." Jake greets her as normally as he can, despite his heart pounding hard against his chest at the gorgeous sight of the mermaidian.

"Hi." Elora dismisses the way Heeseung seems to be examining them and remains in eye contact with Jake. "So, why exactly are they in their dragon forms?"

"Because we'll be riding them." Sunghoon's annoyed voice speaks from behind, prompting her to break eye contact with Jake, who, in return, pouts his lips in dismay as she no longer has her attention on him.

"But why?" Sunoo asks, his face twisting in pure annoyance and distaste. "We have Jay to do that, and surely he is able to carry the seven of us on his back."

"Shifting into a dragon is not as easy as you think." Jay's cold voice sends a familiar shudder to her, and when she accidentally locks eyes with him, instantaneously, she lowers her gaze while her cheeks feel oddly warm from the recollection of yesterday's event that happened between them. "Just like Riki, I need to save strength for what is to come next." Even as he continues to speak, she can feel his eyes drilling into her figure.

"The kings initiated and graciously agreed to assist us at Runefell's borders." The authoritative tone in Heeseung's voice indicates no room for any objections, to which the rest immediately smack their lips shut. "You all know your assigned teams. Elora will be riding with─"

"I'll ride with Jake." Elora interjects sharply, taking everyone by surprise as she walks towards Jake and latches her fingers around his wrist, dragging him with her. Jake can't help but shoot a smug grin at Heeseung before following her.

"Wanna ride with me?" Jay asks Heeseung, forcing the latter to look away from the two as they look oddly comfortable with each other.

Heeseung heaves a sigh. "As if I had a choice."

"Since when did they get close to each other?" Sunoo asks Jungwon in a whisper as they approach Taehyun's dragon form.

Jungwon's tongue hits the roof of his mouth as he rolls his eyes. "Do I look like I have the answer?"

Sunoo narrows his eyes at Jungwon's bitter tone. "I was merely asking."

While the group is busily mounting and settling themselves on the dragon kings' backs, the kings exchange looks between each other with snorts of smoke leaving their muzzles, finding great amusement in the palpable tension amongst some of the hybrid brothers and the mermaidian.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The journey from Pyrefall to Runefell is not as tedious as she thought it would be. Maybe it has something to do with Jake, who has made the journey comfortable for her, and how secure he held her waist, similar to how Heeseung held her before, but this time, the butterflies were intensifying in her tummy.

The sky remains a clear, bright blue, with the sun by the horizon casting a warm glow as the dragon kings make their descent to the land. As Jungwon dismounts from the dragon king with ease, his eyes are attached to Elora and Jake once more, and the green feels like poison within him.

As Jake has dismounted first, he assists Elora with his hands on her waist, carefully helping her to dismount from the dragon king. A subtle smile yet one that is impactful to Jungwon dances on her pink lips as Jake says something to her, to which she chuckles lightly afterwards.

"Are you okay?" Sunoo nudges Jungwon with his elbow. "You look like you're about to pop a muscle."

"Shut up, Sunoo." Jungwon hisses lowly before tearing his gaze off of the couple.

"Why do you have to be mean to me every time?" Sunoo sighs, following after his brother.

"It should be the opposite." Jungwon states in a monotone manner.

"Thank you for your service." Jay speaks for the group as he stands in the dragon kings' line of sight. In return, the dragon kings bow their heads before flapping their wings, gradually making their ascent.

The group begins to cross over the border and simultaneously wonders about the lack of security at the border. Elora has never been to Runefell, and neither has she ever encountered a real-life phoenix. However, she has heard that phoenixes are a majestic species and a force to be reckoned with.

"Has any of you been here?" Elora breaks the silence that feels thick, her eyes darting between their faces in curiosity.

"No. We have not." Sunghoon answers her curtly, his eyes are scanning their surroundings to keep a lookout for any potential danger that decides to hurl at them.

"Is it just me, or does this place look like a ghost town?" Riki asks in a low murmur, prudence is evident in his tone.

"Yeah." Elora swallows harshly in an attempt to moisturise her dry throat. She immediately understands what he means. Despite the striking autumn leaves that cast a warm ambiance amidst the peculiarly warm temperature, it sure does feel ominous, especially when there are no signs of civilisation.

Silence befalls the group as they walk in silence. Occasionally, Heeseung's eyes trail to his bride from time-to-time to check for her well-being. His eyes narrow at the close proximity between her and Jake.

"Look over there." Sunoo announces, his finger pointing towards a small town from afar. "Maybe we can ask the folks directions."

"There's the castle." Sunghoon points out this time, and as they catch sight of the castle, they expect to see a beautiful castle, but instead, it looks ruined, almost as though a calamity had dawned before.

Elora's head throbs, leading her to stagger back a step while a wince escapes her lips, but Jungwon is swift to catch her as he supports her from behind. She ignores the tingles dancing on her skin as he touches her, her fingers rubbing her throbbing temple.

"Are you okay?" Jungwon asks in a murmur beside her ear and, subsequently, squeezes her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her.

"Yeah, I just─" Her breath hitches momentarily when flashes of images appear in her mind before they disappear into thin air. She shakes her head, finding it bizarre. "Never mind. I had a little headache."

"The more reason we should head for the town to get you some refreshments." Jungwon's breath fans the shell of her earlobe, still not letting her go. "Come on."

Elora allows herself to be assisted by Jungwon, and eventually, the group makes their way to the first sign of civilisation.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Riki was right. Everywhere is a ghost town. As they finally arrive, there are no signs of any phoenixes in sight. It is practically deserted, and every building looks dilapidated, akin to how the castle looks. It is as if the kingdom and its inhabitants have been forsaken.

"I have heard tales about how Runefell was a radiant kingdom and prospered with an abundance of opulence, but this?" Sunoo speaks up, scoffing. "This is giving me major eerie vibes."

"Where is everyone?" Elora ponders out loud, her eyes scanning her surroundings keenly, and a movement captures her attention. Without alerting the princes, she rushes past them, startling them.

"Excuse me!" Elora halts her steps a few metres away from the mysterious, tiny, cloaked figure, who was previously about to sneak away. "Are you a citizen of Runefell?"

The kid hesitantly takes a glance at Elora, allowing the latter to catch a glimpse of the little boy's face. "Stranger danger." The kid mumbles.

Elora hears the princes approaching from behind, but she focuses on the kid with radiant golden rims in his eyes, and a frown pulls at her lips when she notices the abrupt change in his contortion. "Hey, kid─"

But what happens next shocks her. In an instant, the cloak obscuring the kid's full identity burns into ashes while he bursts into flames, but peculiarly, his flesh doesn't seem to melt.

"Elora!" Jungwon is quick to snatch Elora by the waist, pulling her away from the kid. Elora is too shocked to process anything after what she witnessed, still staring at the kid with her lips parted.

"Are you going to kill us?" The kid begins to wail, his power is abundantly uncontrollable. Despite bursting into flames, tears stream down his cheeks. "Please don't kill us! We have nothing left!"

"What? No! We're not going to kill you!" But the way Sunoo declares it seems to frighten the child more.

"Duck!" Riki shouts, dodging the flames that are shooting uncontrollably from the child's power.

Sunoo uses his magic to create a shield, with Riki behind him. Jungwon uses his body to shield Elora from allowing any of the flames to touch her, with his arms wrapping around her. Heeseung uses his magic to counter the flames, distinguishing them with water. Jay, who clearly breathes fire, clearly isn’t affected by the flames.

"Jake, what the hell are you doing?!" Sunoo's exclamation draws their attention to the aforementioned male, who is cautiously approaching the kid without any concern for his safety, and it also appears that the flames have no effects on him.

"Jake!" Heeseung grits his teeth, worried for his brother.

But Jake ignores any of their calls, as his sole focus is to soothe this kid. "Hey, it's okay. We're not here to hurt you." Amidst the child's wailing, Jake's gentle voice manages to overpower the chaos.

The others watch in bafflement as Jake places both of his hands on the child's shoulders while he kneels down. Upon Jake's touch, the child's wails quieten as he tearfully stares at Jake with a peculiar emotion that has Jake in confusion.

"We're not here to hurt you, little one." Jake reiterates firmly this time. "Where are your parents?"

"I don't have any." The boy hiccups, and Jake's heart feels as though it has been ripped off his chest. As a matter of fact, Jake feels oddly inclined to protect this boy as though the boy is his own.

"Then where are the rest of your people?" Jake asks, his face contorting into a frown.

"They're everywhere." The boy wipes away his tears with the back of his hand. "Please spare our lives. We have nothing left but the scraps of our home."

Jake clenches his jaw, and his eyes darken dangerously. Whoever is their sovereign clearly doesn’t deserve the title. He begins to ponder how long the citizens of Runefell have been neglected and living in such conditions.

"Do you know your way to the castle?" Jake asks gently while keeping his anger at bay.

"Yes." However, wariness resides in the boy's eyes. "But─"

"Can you guide us?" Jake's voice sounds too calm, and out of all them, Elora is able to discern that he is more than pissed. "I'd like to have a chat with your sovereigns."

"Jake! That's not what we came here for!" Sunghoon doesn’t bother to conceal his annoyance.

"I don't care." For the first time, Elora is taken aback to see the fierce resolution Jake displays, and for a fleeting moment, she swears she sees radiant golden rims in his eyes that are akin to the child's.

"Our expedition can wait, but this can't." Jake nearly growls, glowering at the rest of his brothers, before turning back to the kid with a firm nod. "Lead the way, little one."

PREV CHAP | NEXT CHAP

#eternal curse #enhypen #enhypen poly #jake #heeseung #jay #sunoo #sunghoon #enhypen fanfiction #ni-ki #jungwon #vampires #dragons

[gulnarsultan]

This idea was inspired by @floatyflowers blog.

You are the precious Princess of House Targaryen. You are the first and only child of Daemon Targaryen and Rhae Royce. Both are perfect parents for you. You have silver-colored curly hair that reaches down to your back, smooth pale skin, expressive eyes, one gray and the other violet, and a full, curved body. You are very close with your cousin, Crown Prince Rhaegel, your best friend. You see him as the best cousin and friend. However, he sees you as a lover. He believes the two of you were made for each other. King Viserys and Queen Aemma love you very much. They see you as the girl they never had. Rhaegel is very determined to keep other men away from you. The pure feelings he has had for you since his adolescence are replaced by obsessive and dark feelings after a while. You two like to go on rides with your dragons together. Rhaegel's male dragon Syrax and your female dragon Saphira are like a married couple. He learns that Otto is making plans to marry his daughter (Alicent) to him. Alicent is just a friend to him. Otto decides to take action before starting his plan. He explains to his family that he wants to marry you. The King and Queen welcome this request. He talks to Daemon and Rhae about it. All that remains is to hear your opinion. Before you leave your room to go to dinner with your family, Rhaegel is visiting. Honestly, you're mad at him for doing such a thing without telling you. Rhaegel tells you everything. Honestly, you know the King's hand is cunning enough to do such a thing. Rhaegel gets on her knees in front of you. Because you care so much for your cousin, you give him a hug and comfort him. You say you will agree to marry because you can't stand her being so miserable. After all, you think that marrying your cousin would be a better choice than marrying a man you've never met. Your wedding is taking place soon. The wedding is very ostentatious and organized with no expense spared. Otto is not at all happy with this decision. Rhaegel is determined to get rid of him soon. After getting married, Rhaegel begins to show her tendencies. He won't let you leave the palace and ride your dragon when he's not with you. She says she did everything for you when you confronted her about it. Rhaegel is trying hard to get you pregnant. He doesn't listen to you even if you say it's too early for the child at first. Rhaegel takes care of you every single pregnancy. It gives him great pleasure to see you puffing up with his baby. Rhaegel would never raise a hand or insult you. His weapon is manipulation. Your marriage is blessed with seven healthy children. Rhaegel is a good father to your children. Rhaegel is crowned King after King Viserys abdicates earlier. He never hesitates to kill others for you. When it comes to you, Rhaegel is passionate about assassination, threats, blackmail, torture and killing. It pampers you and your children to the fullest. He is a very devoted husband to you. You can ask anything from him. But never ask to break up with him. The eggs that Syrax and Saphire have together are laid in their cribs when your children are born. Not only does Aemond's egg hatch. Your husband helps your son Aemond bond with Vermithor. Being stuck with your husband Rhaegel isn't all that bad in a way. It allows you to correspond with your mother and relatives and let them visit you.

Rhaegel and Princess (cousin) childrens ;

Baelon

Gaemon

Aegon

Helaena

Aemond

Daeron / Shaena (twins)

#yandere got #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #yandere targaryen #targaryen!reader #targaryen reader #yandere rhaegel targaryen #yandere rhaegel targaryen x reader #yandere game of thrones #yandere character #aemond targaryen #baelon ii targaryen #gaemon targaryen #helaena targaryen #helaena the dreamer #daeron targaryen #daeron the daring #shaena targaryen #aegon targaryen

[the-blood-dripped-crown]

The Blood-Dripped Crown

(Medieval Reverse Robins/Background information)

Part one: The Kingdom of Shadow bird

     Before there was the kingdom of Shadow of Birds there were two separate kingdoms Fallen Shadow ruled by Ras al Gul and Rising Bird Ruled by Thomas and Martha Wayne. For many years these two kingdoms had been at war but it came to an end with a treaty and agreement still unknown by most. Due to old law, Talia and Bruce were forced into an arranged marriage to bind the kingdoms to each other. While it was his duty to marry Talia, Bruce told her he would break off the engagement if that was what she wished. She declined and the two were married and thought it was not in the plan they fell in love.

     With their marriage, the crowns of each kingdom were passed down and the two kingdoms merged into one with Bruce as the King and Talia as the Queen. They ruled together as Partners hoping to ensure unity among the new kingdom. However, relations were rocky as the two former kingdoms divided themselves. Ras's Former subjects were called Fallen Shadows and the others were Rising Birds. Fallen Shadows were seen as harsh and gloomy while Rising Birds were weak and foolishly optimistic.

     Fallen Shadow had been an assassin Kingdom with each of its subjects trained in the art of killing since birth. When the two Kingdoms were joined Assassins trained a rift among the people and noticed from the eyes of the world. So Bruce put in place a Kight regimen consisting of people for both former kingdoms. Ras disapproved of how his daughter and son-in-law ruled his old Kingdom, demanding that they reintroduce assassin training to the whole kingdom. When they refused he announced that he would reestablish the kingdom of Fallen Shadow taking any who had wished to Join him. While any Fallen Shadows did accept his invention most stayed loyal to their Queen even if they disapproved of the King. Ras took the ones who would join him and moved on leaving Shadow Bird even more divided.

     With the Kingdom barely held together all eyes were on Bruce and Talia. As Royals, there was a lot of pressure for them to conceive an heir, especially with relations among the subjects so rocky. Talia soon became pregnant and gave birth to a son named Damian. With the birth of the prince came the unity that Bruce and Talia had fought so hard for. It may have not been great but it was there. Over the years the bond would grow until they acted as one kingdom sadly this would all come to a halt.

     Seven years after the birth of the prince Ras made his move attacking one of Shadow Birds alleys. The battle was brutal. most of the defending kingdom was slayed including the King and Queen. The few survivors were taken in as prisoners, one of them being a young prince that Ras planned to raise as an heir.

     Bruce and Talia knew they had to put an end to Ras's rule or they would lose their own kingdom. So Bruce got his Knights ready for war but Talia knew they would be highly out manned so she went to her people and asked them to use their former training. Talia led the charge and after a blood-filled battle, Ras was captured. He was blinded and banshee from the kingdom and his subjects returned to Shadowbird along with his heir whom Bruce took in as his own. Those who had returned were looked upon with suspicion. Rumors spread among the kingdom and the unity of Shadow Bird was once again rocky.

#fanfiction #reverse robins #reverse batfam #medieval #damian wayne #tim drake #batman #talia al ghul #kings and queens #Prince Damian #batfam

[12pt-times-new-roman]

OK WOW IT'S THE BREAK, THAT WAS A HELL OF A FIRST HALF JESuS FUCK

I have 10 minutes to collect my thoughts so let's fuckin' go

Dusk's name is Yu. They're a hexblade warlock (so the rapier is probably their pact weapon) and an Oath of Conquest paladin.

Birdie is a rogue, and has access to Invisibility (through either the Arcane Trickster subclass, the Magic Initiate feat, or the Fey/Shadow-Touched feat).

Fearne is Ruidus-born, and Ruidus has been appearing in the feywild "where/when it shouldn't be."

Yu mentioned the Keeper of the Moontides by name, and claims that both courts and the Keeper will be hunting the Calloways for the Moontide Crown. This directly connects the Arcana Pansophical and Allura to this campaign, since a Pansophical spy was the first one to report the Keeper and promptly went missing after that

"You don't know what you're doing!" "Elaborate!" Ashton my beloved

The Bead of Imprisonment is broken & unusable

Oh, this party's flaw is going to be that they're too trusting. Got it. (Travis is giving me huuuuge C2E70 vibes right now and I don't know how I feel about it.)

YEAYEAYEA

Ruidus doesn't appear in the Feywild, only Catha does, but it started appearing about seven years ago. Ollie had visions and no one believed them — he saw "something about this red moon tearing through and leaving devastation in its path. And in the center of it, he kept seeing you [Fearne]." That's why they didn't take Fearne with them.

Birdie directly knows the Nightmare King and called him Ira, and she specifically mentioned that she had seen him after he fought the Hells.

The Unseelie were working with "some Exandrian folk" (my bet is on the Paragon's Call) to try and put something together, something arcane that was going to help "further their boons from the red moon." At the center of that construction was the Moontide Crown, so the Calloways took it to stop them. The crown has strong ties to the Moonweaver and Catha, and Birdie is unsure who the Unseelie were working with and what the crown actually does.

The Calloways were working with Ira to try and figure it out. "Corrupted" versions of the Unseelie are contained within a mirror and sent out to assassinate whoever the mirror is pointed at, and Ira constructed it. Sounds a lot like the assassins who attacked the Lumas twins and Zephrah.

The Nightmare King was doing work with Treshi to raise funds for this project.

"Something big is coming... we're trying to build a device to discern the true nature of Ruidus, and why everything's overlapping. We have about a month until [an apogee solstice on Fessuran 21-23]... [Ira] sees in his own weird way the dangers of what might be coming."

Their device is missing a couple things. They're working with Hanvir, who works with the Grim Verity.

"Your ignorance is going to be the end of it all."

ah

Ira reached Morri to get one of these missing pieces. And Morri said that she'd send something along. Like the little gem that Fearne is carrying around.

The gnarlrock is in the Feywild, and "everyone always ends up returning to it, for better or for worse." Yu doesn't know what it does, just that it's a powerful artifact.

Ira's work with the werewolves wasn't actually his "work," he was just working for Treshi to make some money for the machine.

Are they building a spelljammer helm???

FCG casts Identify on the gem from Fearne.

"It looks like a green glass disc. It's rough on the edges, but it's like a deep emerald lens. It has a slight rainbow flash across it... it isn't a known magical item. The best term you can come to is a weave lens. You glance through it, and you look through it at everyone around you— every piece of magical equipment your friends are wearing seems to be giving off a glow. You focus on the glow, you're not sure of the nature of it but there's letters and symbols across each of them. You look at Ashton's hammer, and you see the magical magnetic fields across it, and you look at the patterns for a second and it looks like script."

Laudna has Eyes of the Runekeeper, which allows her to identify the language on Yu's sword as an ancient elven language "used for pressing ideas and philosophies and truths onto weapons as part of an enchantment... it tens to be about creating shadow and banishing shadow in the same stroke." That tracks with it being a pact weapon, so.

Birdie got a couple more arcane batteries from Imahara.

Birdie also took Yu's tracking ring! Fearne takes after her mother :)

Ruidus started acting weird seven years ago, which precisely aligns with when the Mighty Nein freed Cognouza. (we all thought the chains breaking across the city was it being freed. but was Cognouza some kind of lock? was it one of Tharizdun's fanes? was it keeping something at bay like the Tree of Names was??)

An apogee solstice is approaching, about a month from now — so Ruidus' zenith is most likely going to coincide with that, since EXU:C confirmed that both of the moons play a part in producing an apogee solstice.

anyway my take away from this half is that all you fuckers who said Calamity 2: Electric Boogaloo were hit with Apollo's dodgeball. "your ignorance will be the end of everything"? "there'll be nothing left, it'll all burn"? massive bureaucracy trying to take advantage of things far bigger than them that they don't understand just because they think they can? yeah. Exandria had its Calamity eight hundred years ago — so maybe it's the Feywild's turn.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #critical role c3 #critical role campaign 3 #critical role liveblog #critical role c2 #note watches c3 #critical role c2 spoilers

[proper-goodnight]

Pawns in the Game

Anon Request

If you would like a Faceclaim for Sierra Seven, my anon suggested Bill Skarsgard!

Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)

Pairings: N/A

Type: Gen, One-Shot

Words: ~3.4K

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence

Six had spent years in covert operations. He’d studied faces and evaluated threats for a living; he knew what an operator looked like when a fight was over, and what they looked like when a fight was about to begin. His survival depended on thinking ahead, and through pure expediency, he’d thrived. Long distance sniping, close quarters fighting, edged weapons, Krav Maga, long guns, short guns, explosives, poisons… 

But God, he sucked at Chess. 

With a renewed irritability, he watched as Chief Cahill knocked his King off the board–an unnecessary amount of force sending it careening underneath the dusty couch that he’d taken residence on the last few weeks. Something about that was oddly poetic, as if she was continuously reminding him of his place while she took the only other room in the safe house that wasn’t the bathroom. His face attempted a smile, but it morphed into an awkward little grimace as Cahill maintained eye contact with yet another victory. 

Her chin settled on her palm, raising her eyebrows.

“You do realize that you’re above Special Forces? Strategy is supposed to be your specialty.”

“Chess takes two people.” Six replied easily, glancing down at the stark difference between their remaining pieces on the board. He would have suggested a two out of three, except that it would require him to have a point to barter a tie with. “And nobody is going to bring a Chess board to a gunfight, so.”

Cahill rolled her eyes at the quip, but Six could see the start of a smile before she’d turned away and left the table. The rickety legs shook from the force and the last of his pieces made a home on the equally unsteady floor boards. It wasn’t the best of safehouses, but it was a means to an end until the heat on her died down.

“I’m going to call Fitzroy in the morning and tell him to close the contract,” she went on absently, fishing a cigarette from a pack in her suit jacket. 

“Close the contract?” He echoed. 

“Fitzroy has reason to believe that my trail’s gone cold, and he’s already forwarded the compensation to your bank account,” she turned to him expectantly, lighter in hand. The sparks snuffed out with the confession, and she covered the flames with her hand to shield it from the sudden draft. “You’ve done your job and Fitzroy has another job laid out for you.”

Six should have expected that. So many days with nothing and the clear indication that Chief Cahill was itching to get out of the safehouse and back to some semblance of normalcy–he hadn’t personally thought about what would come after. He’d spent plenty of time moving around between places similar to this one, and most even worse, figuring it out as he went. 

The idea left him unsettled.

“Does he know who ordered the hit?”

“A third party not worth my time, trust me.” She took a drag from her cigarette. One flicker of her eyes up to his face sent her reprimanded him before he had the chance to respond. “They’ve been given a phone call and a financial incentive, and since there’s been no sign of the assassin, it’s safe to say they took their payment and ran.” 

Six didn’t believe that, but maybe it was his own bent moral code and too many years on the job.

“Did Fitzroy look?” 

“One man is not worth our time.” 

“He’s worth mine.”

Cahill sighed, fixing him with a glare that would have brought any other inferior to their knees. If anything, it only made him more determined to go against her orders.

“Your job was to protect me, nothing else. You are not to pursue this.” She pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. “Tomorrow you’re going to be on a plane bound for Europe. Understood?” 

Six worked a tick in his jaw, nodded, only to answer with a flat: “Understood.”

“I’m serious, Courtland. You’re going to be facing disciplinary action–”

“I hear you.” 

Cahill was unconvinced, but for the sake of a headache that only he could cause, she dropped the subject in favor of taking her cigarette out into a less confined space. He wasn’t far after her, but she was beyond conversations about Chess and his lack of social etiquette. 

She dropped her cigarette to the ground shortly after, snuffed out by snow and ice. One last slithering string of smoke drifted up from its tip and disappeared. Any arguments about the possibilities of her would-be-assassin were drowned out in that last puff of smoke. ~~~~

Six’s life had been dedicated to killing men, and there was one out there that he’d missed. If he was going to break the tie with something, it may as well have been something that he was good at. 

Threats of penalties to his paychecks and future support likely awaited him when he got back because he had decided to run off and play the patriot. He didn’t mind, he guessed. He took the time to think about the contract, about the assassin. Someone that worked in service to someone easy to pay off, and that much made it a little easier to narrow down. 

Looking a little closely into Fitzroy’s personal accounts had handed him leaps and bounds as well, backtracking until he found the third party, and then backtracking through the third party to find the culprit. Not a name, or a face, but a general location at the very least. It brought him to the heart of the states, just West outside of D.C. 

West outside of D.C. and directly into a trap that had flipped his car over and turned it to ash. 

Snow had piled onto the roads, but he hadn’t run into much trouble with the car so far. It was finally warming up, the death grip on the wheel loosening to a more relaxed handle as he steered around a corner. Angelic, feathery ice crystals kissed the windshield, and rubber blades squeegeed them away, melted water streaking along their tips. The car passed under the streetlights, illuminating the inside of the cab and casting soft shadows over his face, pulsing and fading, brief but alert all the same.

His hair was damp, frizzled strands out of place while his fingers tucked around the damp ends of his jacket. Six molded over what had exactly led him to this point, but they were moving too fast for him to keep up with. His solution was to grab one and hold onto it. 

Suddenly there was plenty to distract him from. 

Bright lights flashed somewhere to his left. Car brakes desperately needing changed squealed, and with a curse that lost itself under a breath suddenly yanked from him, the tires slid and the wheel whipped to the side and locked. His seat belt snapped into place and his spine bounced against the seat. 

The next thing he could make sense of was that he was suddenly upside down. A crash reverberated against his eardrums, shards of broken glass pelting none too gently against his face. He tasted blood in his mouth. 

Six took a breath of thick and rotting air to rocket forward, to shove up in defiance of impending death. Unbuckling the seatbelt, he fell against the car’s roof. A fierce kick and the door shot open, landing on frozen concrete. It wobbled, metal grinding on ice, then it settled into silence. 

When he’d dragged himself from the car, he’d landed right on one of his wounds, of course. Dark blood squelched upon impact, his breaths ragged as he flipped and sat up, the sound of people nearby soft and muzzled by distance. Six didn’t want to deal with the passersby quite yet. It risked a scream at least; a forcible visit to the hospital at worst. 

A filthy hand dragged down his face. He sat against the car he’d clawed his way out of and took a moment to breathe, one leg folded in, the other stretched outward. A glass shard embedded loosely in his stomach earned a look of utter contempt.

Unconsciousness was taunting, fluctuating, and smug. It left as it desired, only to return before Six had any chance of jolting up and identifying his surroundings. He seldom made it past opening his eyes before they rolled back and flickered shut. 

This was the closest he’d been to death in… he didn’t know how long. Long enough. It was an inconvenience, either way.

A man strode forth through the glare of the hazard lights blinking on and off. His pointed shoes crunched against bits of car, and the Sierra learned very quickly that it was not a good Samaritan coming to help, rather someone with purpose–one that likely ended with his brain matter all over the concrete. 

Six shoved his hand into the folds of his jacket and noiselessly withdrew a pistol–the attached silencer longer than its barrel. He then rolled, prone and locked into a cramp that seized his entire body. When his stubbornness ran its course, and Six finally surrendered, the horrific pressure waned. He sank into crushed remnants of glass and car parts. 

His shoulder shrieked, but not so mind-splittingly as the wounds beneath his chest. Nausea licked up his throat, though he kept the acid down. His hip and leg weren’t doing so hot either, and with exploring fingers he investigated each source of pain. 

Once he was sure that he would live, his forearm braced against the side of the burning metal, attempting to find the strength to pull himself up. 

“Hey, big guy.” A sharp pain behind his knee sent Six buckling with a quiet grunt. His hands slammed into a patch of black ice, saving his face from impact, but he lost his gun. The air dropped into a vicious chill. Snow fell harder, but even it could not bring a quiet serenity to the chaos of the flames and Six’s irritation speaking louder than his words could. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to answer some questions for me, could I?” The voice was like silk. “I’ve been told that I can be very persuasive.” 

“I’m convinced.” A wheeze pushed from him, lungs struggling, burning as he took in the frost. One hand lifted, drained even further of color. Six attempted to rise, soon lifting his other hand to show they were both empty.

Darkness concealed only half his features now as he stared up into the unnerving mug of an old comrade’s face. They’d all visited him in the form of the word ‘DECEASED’ in bright red print on a file. He saw their fleeting shadows, their drowned bodies in the rivers and lakes. And after all this time, one wandered down the side of a street in D.C. with an incentive to kill him.

They’d all had it coming eventually. Every last one of them. It was easier on his conscience to call the extinction of the other Sierras an act of due justice, and his own survival an act of his stubbornness as well as luck. It wasn’t as though Six grieved any of them, but he remembered. 

Especially this asshole.

“You remember me?”

Six squinted, not a single protest leaving him as he analyzed his face. He’d always been a deathly looking man, wearing the lives he’d expunged on his sleeve and shown bare to the world. 

“Sierra Seven?”

“You’re worth a lot of money,” Seven mused. “I won’t need any work for the next few years.”

“You had the lowest contract completion rate.” Six spit through grit teeth, a sudden boot coming down on his hand making him cry out. He clenched it into a fist, hearing a loud snap. Through the pain, he carried on through grit teeth and a breathless gasp. “I’m not surprised you need it.”

A combat knife gleamed in Seven’s right hand, twirling before it came to rest in his palm. 

Six maneuvered onto his hands and knees, wiping a grimy hand over his mouth. “How much do you weigh? One-sixty?” He extended his arm, waving a finger up and over the man’s torso. “The jacket with the–with the blue cuffs. I like it.”

Begrudgingly, but not unexpectedly, the other Sierra sprang toward him just as Six grappled for his gun. Deft fingers raked through his hair then clutched. Not a heartbeat to spare. Seven dove the knife forward in an attempt to stab a jagged gash through Six’s jugular. A pistol fired, grazing Seven’s right calf. Another shot missed, landing squarely in the car’s side.

Six caught the agent’s wrist after a third bullet went flying, the knife slicing his hip. An airy grunt left him. He wrenched the knife away, sending it across the concrete and glass arena. Fists flew and collided while they quietly wrestled for control. They were taught not to go at each other snarling like animals, rather similar to a dance where the two opponents knew the steps of the other quite well. Six managed to catch the agent’s arm and snap it clean at the elbow. A sickening crack reverberated through the open space. 

Another crack. A groan, wet with agony. Six shoved forward, busting the agent’s face into a glistening red pulp. While he struggled for another breath, one hand unhooked itself from Seven’s coat to tear his pistol out of its leather cradle and shove the barrel against his abdomen. A few derogatory clicks followed the realization of an empty chamber.

Six’s face scrunched into a grimace, then he sighed. “Shit.”

A fist sailed directly into his nose, a sickening crack sending him slumping with his spine against the remnants of his car.

Another, softer grumble. 

Six ran a thumb over the middle of his face, the broken bone and the stench of blood square in the center, shoulders stretching back in some pitiful attempt to regain his senses. He half-ducked half-fell to the ground. A thud above him reverberated against the metal, a sudden weight on his back that kept him pinned down, writhing underneath him like a cornered animal with no viable chance at escape. His breathing became labored, but not panicked.

His fingers grabbed blindly for his ankle, grabbing his knife that he twisted around and drove directly into Seven’s calf. A garbled yell deafened in his ears, one of his arms grabbed and shoved up against the car, his arm repeatedly beaten against it until he was forced to drop his knife. It skittered across the concrete with a resounding clang. His hair was a grimy mess of scarlet tufts, one eye shut and bleeding from an open wound at his eyebrow. When he breathed, he spit up blood.

A quiet, displeased grumble shook Six’s chest. The reflexes to follow were sharp, cruel, cold. A large hand lashed forward, gathering the collar of his coat in a row of deadly fingers to jerk him forward and lift. Seven leveled their faces. It was with one, the other dangling at his side in two awkward pieces connected by flesh.

The resistance eroded. Seven set his jaw and gave him a single, very harsh, shake.

“One reason,” he growled. “Give me one reason not to pop your head off like a fucking cork.”

“I’ve been told I have that effect on people, but I’m going to have to ask you not to do that.”

The bitter irony was lost in their heated space as he shoved him hard against the driver’s side. Pain exploded through his back, but his defensive demeanor never waned. The angle of his arm narrowed against Six, adding pressure to his windpipe. “Where’s Cahill?”

“Who?”

His elbow sailed into Six’s nose, making him wheeze. Irritation pinched at his eyebrows, tucking his head back against the man’s bated breaths. “What do you want? An apology?” Six choked. “Catch up over coffee and talk about it?” 

Seven chuckled, amused by the defiance but not any less inclined to change his mind about killing him. He enjoyed the pain that he inflicted, the pressure added gradually and with no other intention except to make him suffer. 

Six took it in stride, between one wounded animal to another, a message had been relayed–his, more clearly. He was going to die, left in the streets without a name attached to his face. A ghost. His vision twisted and distorted, black fringing the outside corners and moving in.

In what would be the few remaining moments of his life, a faint glint flickered at his vision’s edges, then a cloud of red mist exploded from Seven’s head, body collapsing forward and releasing his death grip on Six’s throat. Six slid down until he was sitting, looking over at the corpse that he felt a weird urge to apologize to.

The pitter-patter of light footsteps sounded from his left. Six’s head snapped to the side, lips parting for a moment until he recognized Chief Cahill. She bounded over the wreckage, the ice and debris hardly proving a worthy obstacle. He waved, his other arm tucked against his chest and aching.

“Boy,” she sighed, her irritation and disappointment obvious, even in his nearly comatose state. “Look at me.”

Her orders were answered only by an awkward peering through half-lidded eyes, blood pouring from every orifice of his face. Sounds had been secluded to white noise, his vision swimming in a mixture of red and purple while he struggled to keep his head up. There was an alertness in his distant expression, but he figured that if she asked him any direct questions, he might not have been cohesive enough to answer them. 

“You should have told me that you were leaving,” she scolded, removing her jacket to press it against a spurting gash in his leg. Her eyes were fixated on his face, being none too gentle in her prodding at his more life-threatening injuries. 

The corners of his mouth twitched. “You said not to, so.” 

“I told you to head to Europe.”

“Missed my flight.” 

Cahill rolled her eyes, disappointment, as well as some vague sort of nausea evident as she took in the state of him. He could only imagine how bad he looked, sitting amongst the remnants of carnage and his safe drivers discount. 

“I warned you. You might be a Sierra, but you’re not invincible.” 

“I’m disposable.” Six corrected, shrugging and grimacing at the pain that shot up his spine. “That’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it?”

Cahill narrowed her eyes. “Disposable, fine. You’re not replaceable.” He hissed at the harsh shove against a spot on his calf, strongly suspecting it was on purpose.  “You’re a valuable asset, Six. We can gladly pick any idiot to do your job, but nobody will do it as well as you.”

Through one open eye and a vision of red, he mulled over the confession. The sincerity in her gaze did not hide anything other than genuine honesty. It put him off giving up the ghost for at least a while longer, but the hand that she extended to him almost made him forget that he was injured at all. “You’re still an idiot, though.” She didn’t sugarcoat that. “And you’re still bad at Chess.”

Six laughed, then immediately coughed. God, that hurt. “It still takes two people.” He sighed. 

“Are you ready to go?”

He waved his good arm dismissively. Even his good arm felt as if it would pop out of its socket. “I’m good. I think I might sit here for a while.” 

“You’re going to bleed out.” Cahill mused. “You might go into a coma.”

“I’m hoping so,” he smirked, leaning his head back, allowing his eyes to shut. “It’ll be the best sleep I’ve had in weeks.” 

“It doesn’t look like he hit anything vital. You’ll be alright.” She clapped a hand against his shoulder, and he winced at the sudden contact, hand coming up to grasp the abused area. One eye opened to fix her with a gentle glare, but she’d already turned away, calling who he assumed was Fitzroy and advising him to bring several bags of AB and a new suit–he’d mentioned 42 regular, but he suspected that she ignored him on purpose and told Fitzroy to bring what he had. Once the phone call ended, she’d turned, only to say: “This isn’t getting you out of Europe, by the way.” 

Six offered a meager thumbs up in response. He hadn’t counted on it.

#Courtland Gentry #The Gray Man (2022) #fic request #fanfiction #the gray man fanfiction #sierra six

[christian-perspectives]

The Esther And Haman Story

The book of Esther consists of a unique story of Esther, King Xerxes, her cousin Mordecai and Haman. Haman hatched a plot to kill Mordecai but through circumstances, it backfired on him. Impale Haman on it!” the king ordered. So they impaled Haman on the pole he had set up for Mordecai, and the king’s anger subsided. Esther 7:9-10 Esther’s story almost sounds like a fairy tale. The queen of the empire publically disrespected the king. So to keep wives from doing the same to their husbands, the king took immediate action. (In a written decree.) It should order that Queen Vashti be forever banished from the presence of King Xerxes, and that the king should choose another queen more worthy than she. Esther 1:19 Even though this story isn’t a fairy tale, I still can’t help but to start it with the following words, “Once upon a Time.” The king decreed that a search would begin throughout the kingdom for a new queen. The king's men selected many beautiful women as candidates including Esther. They were taken to the king’s harem and placed in Hegai’s care. Hegai became very impressed with Esther and treated her kindly and giving her special attention. He quickly ordered a special menu for her and provided her with beauty treatments. He also assigned her seven maids specially chosen from the king’s palace. Esther 2:9 Because Esther’s parents died when she was young, Mordecai adopted her and raised her as his own daughter. But the two of them kept Esther’s national origin a secret. She (Esther) had not told anyone of her nationality and family background, because Mordecai had directed her not to do so. Esther 2:10

Esther Became the New Queen

They were one of the Jewish families exiled from Jerusalem to Babylon by Nebuchadnezzar. Her beauty and personality though caused everyone to admire her, especially the king. And the king loved Esther more than any of the other young women. He was so delighted with her that he set the royal crown on her head and declared her queen instead of Vashti. Esther 2:17 After Esther became queen, Mordecai overheard two of the king's eunuchs plotting to assassinate King Xerxes. So he reported what he heard to his cousin Esther. She then told the king about it and gave Mordecai credit for the report.  Esther 2:22 The king investigated the report and found it to be true. This incident will become significant as the story of Esther and Haman progresses. So let’s press the fast-forward button to move along. The king promoted Haman over all the other nobles. Thus people throughout the entire kingdom bowed down to him. Everyone except Mordecai, who refused to bow before him.

Haman's Hatred for the Jews

Haman hated the Jews and he despised Mordecai even more. So he concocted a plan to kill all the Jews which included Mordecai. To do so though, he needed a decree signed by the king. Then Haman approached King Xerxes and said, “There is a certain race of people scattered through all the provinces of your empire who keep themselves separate from everyone else. Their laws are different from those of any other people, and they refuse to obey the laws of the king. So it is not in the king’s interest to let them live.  Esther 3:8

The king believed him and instructed his secretary to write a decree exactly as Haman dictated. Then sent it to the king’s highest officers, the governors, and to the nobles of each province. Mordecai began mourning for his people when heard about Haman’s plot to have the Jews killed. During that time he had an opportunity to send a message to Queen Esther about the situation. He wanted Esther to approach the king. But only those with an invitation could enter his inner court, including the queen. The uninvited would die if he didn’t hold out his gold scepter. Esther decided to approach the king even if it meant her death. You see, it had been thirty days since he last called for her. But before she went to see him she sent this reply to Mordecai. Go and gather together all the Jews of Susa and fast for me. Do not eat or drink for three days, night or day. My maids and I will do the same. Esther 4:16

The Plot Thickens in this Story of Esther and Haman

The king did receive Esther and asked what she requested. She prepared a banquet for the king and wanted Haman to come as well. After the meal, she invited them to come to a second one. That night the king couldn’t sleep and was reminded of when Mordecai exposed the plot to assassinate him. He also found out he did nothing to reward him. The next day... The attendants replied to the king, “Haman is out in the court.” “Bring him in,” the king ordered. So Haman came in, and the king said, “What should I do to honor a man who truly pleases me?” Esther 6:5-6 In Haman’s mind, this was shaping up to be the best day of his life. He thought for sure the king wanted to honor him. Plus he intended to ask the king to impale Mordecai. The king took Haman’s suggestions of how he should honor someone. Then he revealed who was getting honored and told him to do just as he said. Not Haman but for Mordecai the Jew. So Haman took the robes and put them on Mordecai, placed him on the king’s own horse, and led him through the city square, shouting, “This is what the king does for someone he wishes to honor!” Esther 6:11 The story took a turn when Esther revealed to the king and Haman that she was Jewish. Then she asked the king to spare her life and the lives of her people. She continued by saying; “This wicked Haman is our adversary and our enemy.” Haman grew pale with fright before the king and queen. Then the king jumped to his feet in a rage and went out into the palace garden. Esther 7:6-7

The Application from Esther and Haman and their Story

The story ended with Haman impaled while the lives of Esther and all the Jews were saved. Something interesting about this book of the bible is, God isn’t mentioned in it at all. There are, however, some great insights in it that we can apply to our lives. Let me list a few. - God used both men and women to carry out His will. - He also will utilize the young and old. - The steps of a righteous person are ordered by the Lord. - We can learn from Haman’s life that God honors the humble but he hates the proud. I have written only a condensed version of the story of Esther and Haman. Take the time to read this book, it’s short and I’m sure the Lord will speak to your heart. The Book of Esther. Lord, through the years many have tried to kill, slaughter, and annihilate your people. But have always failed. Use us, Lord, as a catalyst in helping to build your kingdom. Check out these related posts of when things get difficult. - How to Trust God in Difficult Circumstances - How To Make It Through Life’s Difficult Times - The King David And Absalom Story Read the full article

#BibleStudy #Devotions #Esther

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin goes home for a little while, determined to enjoy a well-earned vacation;

Camelot immediately falls apart, with the sole exceptions of Guinevere and Gaius.

Merlin knows Arthur really well.

Which just means he knows exactly how to get him to let his servant go home for two weeks to visit his mother and relax a little:

“You just don’t want me to go because you know you can’t cope without me! Look, if you want to come with me, that’s fine, but you’ll struggle just as much there as you would here because I refuse to act as your servant in my own home.”

Arthur turns red, looking outraged as he loses the ability to speak. Merlin turns around before The King can see his satisfied smirk, tidying around the prat’s chambers with exaggerated annoyance as he just waits for the inevitable-

“Fine! Go! See if I even notice that you’re gone! Honestly, Merlin, the running of the Kingdom will probably end up going smoother without you here to mess things up, you bumbling idiot.”

Merlin grins to himself before schooling his face back into annoyance and turning around with a huff, crossing his arms petulantly:

“Fine!”

The servant decides that he’d better leave, what with the way he was struggling to keep the victorious grin from his face, so without waiting for a response, he “storms” from the room, slamming the door behind him as dramatically as he’s able when he hears Arthur yell:

“FINE!”

~

Merlin sets off at the beginning of the next week. Gaius had raised a disapproving eyebrow when his ward had told him how he’d gotten Arthur to agree to such a long vacation, but didn’t say anything. They both knew that the elderly physician thought it was funny.

Gwen and Morgana make sure to see him out of the castle gates with big hugs, and whilst all of the knights were meant to be training, it came as no surprise to anyone when Gwaine slacks off for half a candle-mark to say goodbye as well. Mordred shoots him a quick goodbye across their mental link as the servant walks away from the city, after promising Merlin that he would warn him if anyone was in any serious danger (”Serious danger only, Mordred, I mean it. If I get called home because Arthur is throwing some sort of tantrum, then I’ll act out your destiny for you.”).

Merlin’s journey goes smoothly. The world was hovering in the junction between Spring and Summer, but with a little magical manipulation, the Warlock had no trouble staying warm and keeping his feet beneath him on the uneven path. Unsurprisingly, the young man is a lot less clumsy when he doesn’t have to focus on keeping his magic locked away so tightly.

Two days after his departure from Camelot, his mother is greeting him outside her little house with a long hug and a wide grin, stroking a hand through his hair as she welcomes him home.

Coincidentally, that’s also about the time things started going to shit for everyone else.

~

It was just after noon when Elyan had to be carried to Gaius’ chambers, his whole body juddering as he struggles to draw breath, the lack of oxygen from his throat closing up mixed with the panic making his brain go fuzzy.

Percival holds him up from one side and Leon holds him from the other, the two of them bursting through the physician’s door just as Elyan’s eyes roll back in his head. Gaius looks up suddenly, obviously startled by the abrupt intrusion, but he swiftly focuses, eyes wide and assessing as he quickly points them to a patient pallet:

“What happened?”

The two knights lay him down as carefully as they can before standing out of the way as Leon forces out an answer, trying to catch his breath between words:

“I don’t know, servants brought lunch out whilst we were training so we stopped to eat and he just started... wheezing. We thought he was choking at first but he said he couldn’t breathe. Has... has he been poisoned? We stopped everyone from eating.”

Gaius had gathered a handful of odd looking dried leaves the moment Leon mentioned the food, recognising the symptoms of an allergic reaction and putting two and two together immediately. He crushes them in his hands quickly, knowing he didn’t have time for a proper mortar and pestle as he shoves the crumbs into Elyan’s mouth, following through with a vile of something green and gross-smelling

He massages the odd concoction down Elyan’s throat as best he can around the swelling, and lets out a relieved smile when the knight’s eyes blow wide open and he chokes slightly before swallowing it all, grimacing at the taste but breathing deeply as his airways open again.

Leon and Percival let out similar breathes of relief when Elyan begins breathing again, chuckling breathlessly at his disgusted groan. The door bursts open again before anyone can say anything, and Arthur strides in, his flushed cheeks and rumpled clothes implying he had sprinted across the castle in his panic.

He spots Elyan on the pallet, his deep breaths interspersed with the odd cough, and his eyes widen even further as he looks to Gaius for an explanation:

“A servant told me something was wrong, what happened?!”

The King loses a little of the tension in his shoulders when Elyan waves a thumbs-up in his vague direction, but still looks frantically between the two knights and the physician as he waits for an answer. Percival wordlessly moves to Elyan’s side, running a hand up and down the man’s arm as Leon looks to Gaius expectantly:

“He had an allergic reaction, likely to nuts in the food. He should be fine, but he needs a day or two of rest, and to come back to me immediately if his throat swells again.”

Arthur sags in relief, nodding his approval of Elyan’s needed bedrest, but Leon’s eyes go wide as he lets out a knowing noise:

“Of course! I forgot about his allergy, it hasn’t been an issue since we were kids.”

Gaius nods knowingly and begins reorganising the jars he had knocked over when the knights had startled him:

“Hmm. I imagine he watched what he ate carefully when he was travelling, but Merlin keeps an eye on all of your food now.”

Leon frowns slightly as he tilts his head in confusion, but Arthur beats him to the punch, asking incredulously:

“What do you mean, Merlin keeps an eye on our food?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow, holding in his smirk as he slowly replies:

“Well, Merlin is usually the one to bring food out to you when you train, is he not? And on days he can’t he always speaks with the kitchen staff to double check what food is going where. Sir Elyan is not the only one with an allergy, My Lord. Merlin always makes sure any food the seven of you are given is safe. He has a tendency to check the Lady Morgana’s meals as well, whenever he’s able.”

Arthur is too taken aback to reply, his mouth hanging open, but that is when Percival looks up from his place at Elyan’s side, a confused frown on his face:

“Why?”

Gaius doesn’t manage to hold his smile in at that, looking between the three knights, and Elyan, who has just about managed to regain his breath:

“To avoid situations like this, I imagine, and to check for poison. It’s not uncommon for assassins to try and lace the royal’s food with something or other.”

Arthur finally shuts his mouth, only to open it again, speaking slowly:

“So... Merlin checks all of our food?”

Gaius nods:

“Religiously, Sire.”

Leon and Percival just shrug, adding it to their list of Weird Things About Merlin That They Should Be Grateful For, and Elyan smiles goofily from his place on the bed (whether it was the lack of oxygen or something funky in the vial, the knight didn’t know, but he was definitely still feeling a little... odd), but Arthur just frowns deeper, muttering a distracted “Take it easy.” to Elyan before walking stiffly from the room.

The King makes quick work of the journey back to the council meeting, desperately trying to persuade himself that this was nothing to do with him not being able to cope without Merlin. Elyan was the one not coping, clearly. Merlin was still wrong and stupid and Arthur hadn’t even noticed that he was gone until Gaius brought him up (a lie, he missed him terribly, but shhh).

Leon and Percival look to Gaius in confusion when Arthur had almost stormed from the room, and the Physician simply smiles again, the amusement shining clearly in his eyes:

“Merlin persuaded Arthur to let him take a holiday by heavily implying that he couldn’t cope with Merlin’s absence.”

Percival snorts with laughter and Leon raises an eyebrow as he grins:

“Arthur took that as a challenge then, I suppose? Two days in and we’ve already got The King sprinting from meetings because a knight has collapsed from an allergic reaction... because Merlin wasn’t here...”

Gaius just nods, and Percival mutters an amused:

“This will be entertaining.”

~

Arthur steadfastly refuses to acknowledge that the next mini disaster, a few days later, was also down to Merlin’s absence.

Ok, so maybe it was because Merlin wasn’t here, but ultimately, it was Gwaine that messed up, not Arthur. So it didn’t count.

The knight came back from a night patrol that he’d taken with The King with an infected gash on his arm. Arthur grins teasingly as he describes to Gaius how the knight had tripped on a loose cobblestone and scratched his arm on the sharp edge of a stray cart at the beginning of the patrol, and Gaius hums disapprovingly as he unwraps the scrap of fabric Gwaine had used as a bandage:

“Did you not have any medical supplies in your pack? Or did you think it best to let it get infected so I had to wake an hour before dawn to deal with it?”

Gwaine swings his dangling legs back and forth from where he sits on Gaius’ table, pouting sheepishly as he admits:

“I looked, but there wasn’t anything helpful in there, usually the armoury-hands have them stocked up for the patrols, I guess they missed mine.”

Arthur rolls his eyes at Gwaine’s seeming ineptitude, but his scolding is interrupted before it even begins when Gaius shakes his head in disagreement:

“Hmm. The servants that work in the armoury only tend to check the packs every few weeks, and even then they only check if they need any repairs. Merlin is the one with easier access to patrol rotas, so he’s the one who stocks them up on a day to day basis.”

Gwaine just nods in understanding, as if he should’ve expected that, but Arthur’s smile drops as he unfolds his arms, getting over his annoyed speechlessness in a matter of seconds:

“You’re telling me that Merlin, my personal manservant, is responsible for all the knights’ patrol packs?”

Gaius finishes cleaning Gwaine’s wound, muttering a quiet apology when the knight hisses at the first poke of the needle, speaking slowly as he focuses on making sure the stitches were neat and uniform:

“No, Sire. Technically the knights are meant to take care of their own packs, but Merlin is a paranoid man, he likes to double check things to make sure everyone has what they need. I suppose some people got used to having it done for them.”

Gwaine winces abashedly, making a mental note to remind the others to check their packs before their next patrols, but Arthur rolls his eyes, crossing his arms again and immediately accepting that this little incident was therefore Gwaine’s fault, and not down to Merlin's absence.

The voice in his head sounded a little doubtful, but he ignores it, choosing instead to chide his rebellious:

“Do try to pay attention to your own responsibilities, Sir Gwaine, I’d hate to see something terrible happen to you because you’re unable to complete your own simple tasks.”

Gwaine just sticks his tongue out petulantly, looking away from The King before he can see the blonde’s rolled eyes. Arthur huffs at his childishness, turning around to cover his grin and speaking over his shoulder as he walks from the room:

“You will be on time for once, Gwaine, training starts in a few hours and I want to see you bright and early.”

Gwaine just smirks, waiting for the door to shut behind Arthur before moving his sly, curious eyes to the physician in front of him:

“He’s missing Merlin, then?”

Gaius just gives him a knowing glance before looking back down at the now stitched gash, gathering bandages:

“I’d imagine so, though he’d never admit it. Merlin implied that Arthur wouldn’t cope with his absence,-”

Gwaine interrupts him with a laugh:

“Hence his insistence that it was entirely my fault?”

Gaius nods wordlessly, and Gwaine snorts, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

Meanwhile, Arthur stalks back towards his chambers, eager to get out of his armour and get into bed; Gwaine had training in a few hours, but so did he, and he needed at least a little sleep. He purses his lips in annoyance as his gaze falls upon the clinical cleanliness of his room... George had been in then. 

Look... Arthur being used to a slightly messy room did NOT mean he depended on Merlin. And Gwaine not being used to having to actually organise himself ALSO didn’t mean that Merlin was... ok. Maybe Gwaine relies on Merlin a little.

So that’s Sir Elyan and Sir Gwaine, two of The King’s most trusted knights, who can’t cope without Merlin. But Arthur is doing just fine. It’s been half a week and he is just. Fine.

Just fine.

~

It was the next day that things began going wrong a little more... drastically.

George wakes Arthur up for training on time because of course he does. Arthur had found himself losing out on a lot of sleep without Merlin insisting he go to bed at a reasonable time, and waking him up late; Merlin had gotten into the habit of snatching Arthur’s paperwork away and holding it out of reach until The King agreed to go to sleep, and somehow manages to fit Arthur’s entire morning routine into half a candle-mark. George would never snatch away Arthur’s paperwork, and he takes so much longer in the mornings meaning Arthur has to wake up earlier.

Not that Arthur would ever admit to enjoying his and Merlin’s unorthodox routines. 

Eight more days to go, and he’s fine.

At least... that’s what he thought until a nameless guard approaches the training field, waving him over from his spar with Mordred. Arthur strides over quickly, annoyed at the interruption and nodding at the guard to speak as he drinks from his water-skin:

“My Lord, Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel have arrived. I believe they’re waiting for your presence in the courtyard.”

Arthur chokes, managing to turn his head to the side just in time before he spits a mouthful of water over the guards face. He quickly wipes his mouth and turns back to the pour armoured man with wide eyes:

“That’s today?!

The guard nods hesitatingly:

“Yes, Sire, would you like me-”

He’s interrupted when Arthur shouts a hurried:

“Fuck!” as he drops his water-skin and begins sprinting up the field towards the castle, desperately trying to calculate if he had enough time to wash and change before they got antsy with waiting. Probably not.

Seeing Arthur’s panic and hearing his loud curse, Leon hurriedly approaches the guard, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder as he speaks with a frown:

“Gavin? Is everything alright?”

The guard, Gavin, looks to Leon with a confused frown:

“It would appear that His Majesty... misremembered the date of Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel’s arrival.”

Leon’s eyes go wide and he glances quickly to the castle as he rushes out an exclamation identical to Arthur’s:

“That’s today?!”

Gavin just nods again, and Leon drops the hand from his shoulder, letting out a loud:

“Shit!” as he recreates Arthur’s sprint up to the castle, knowing that he was expected to be at The King’s side when welcoming guests. He doesn’t pause, even when he shouts:

“Lancelot’s in charge!” over his shoulder.

The knights all look to each other in amusement, but Lancelot quickly takes charge, running drills as if he had been doing it his entire life and trusting that, whatever it was, Arthur could get things sorted. And if Arthur couldn’t get things sorted, then Leon would get things sorted. And if Leon couldn’t get things sorted, then Merlin would... oh.

He glances worriedly to the castle just as Leon falls through the door, not bothering to shut it behind him in his panic. Oh.

Arthur lets out the deepest breath of relief he thinks he’s ever experienced when he sees George ahead of him in the corridor; he gestures him over hastily, making the servant jog to keep up with him as he continues his fast pace down the hall:

“I don’t care how many other servants you have to pull from their duties, but I need the castle prepped for Halbert and Ethel’s arrival right now.-”

Arthur barely pays attention to George’s faltering step of shock, just stops suddenly in front of the door that leads down to the courtyard, turning to the servant and putting both hands on his shoulder as he stares at him intensely, face flushed and breathing harsh:

“I need you to do this for me, George. Prepare guest chambers, send someone down to show them to the right rooms, and make sure the Kitchens know they’re feeding two extra nobles for three days, starting today. If you can organise all of that in the next two minutes, I’ll give you a raise and a Godamn hug, you hear me?!”

George gulps, his shoulders tense, his face pale, and his breath frozen in his lungs as he meets Arthur’s frantic gaze with wide eyes. He gives a shaky nod, instantly turning and sprinting down the corridor without a word when Arthur lets go. 

Leon skids around the corner, moving to stand next to Arthur with his hands on his knees as he attempts to catch his breath, speaking in a slight wheeze:

“I... I left Lance... in charge.”

Arthur nods in approval, pulling Leon to stand before holding his hands out to the side, presenting himself for inspection. Leon takes one last deep breath, smoothing the training tunic over Arthur’s shoulders, attempting to rub the dirt from his nose, and brushing a quick hand through his hair before stepping back and holding his own arms out. Arthur pulls a leaf from behind his ear, but is otherwise satisfied, and the two of them turn to the door, schooling their faces and stepping down into the courtyard.

Arthur has a calm, welcoming smile on his face, and Leon stands stiffly behind him, hand on the sword that he luckily had on his hip as he stares blankly ahead.

The nobles seem taken aback at The King's state of undress, but don’t say anything, covering their shock quickly. Arthur’s hoping that his friendly attitude will just give the impression that he’s...approachable and slightly laid back, as opposed to just an idiot who forgot they were coming because no one had reminded him.

Gods. Merlin can never know about this.

~

Thankfully, the next three days went smoothly, or at least as smoothly as possible after Arthur spent an hour rifling through his old mail to try and figure out the original reason for Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel’s visit (watching their eldest’s knighting ceremony, and discussing with Arthur the potential for their youngest to move to the city to become a squire).

He waves them off in a much more regal manner than he had welcomed them, and keeps his promise to George, upping his pay slightly; though he exchanges the hug for an awkward pat on the shoulder, which he thinks both of them were grateful for.

~

He’d successfully made it through nine days. Semi-successfully. He’d just about made it through nine days.

Five more to go. But Arthur was feeling fine about those five days. He’d double checked all his mail, and made sure to find out when his patrols were scheduled.

Which is... unknown to Arthur, where the next problem stems from. 

Arthur wasn’t the one to rota the patrols, he really didn’t have the time to sit down with a list of names and hours and times and maps and organise everything fairly, it was difficult and time-consuming, but he made sure that Leon knew exactly how many hours he could give up for patrol each week.

Apparently, the communication between Leon and the council was normally handled by Merlin, who wasn’t there. So whilst Arthur was enjoying a solo patrol along the city borders at noon, waving at citizens and making his horse do tricks for giggling children, the council were sitting around the table, waiting rather irately for his arrival.

Now normally, this could’ve been easily dealt with, but when the same guard from three days ago gallops over to inform him of the problem and take over his patrol, Arthur was reminded rather suddenly that Merlin was always the one that came up with sensible sounding excuses.

(He also makes a mental note to avoid that guard forever out of embarrassment.)

This was one of the very rare occasions when Arthur simply glares the council into submission. Normally he likes to work with them; he hates to feel like they're just doing what he wants because they were kissing his arse, but he has no excuse other than “I forgot.” and he felt like that was worse than just.. acting like a bit of a dick for five minutes.

So... yeah. Merlin wasn’t there to reorganise the council meeting around Arthur’s patrol, and then also wasn’t there to come up with an excuse for why it wasn’t reorganised.

Arthur makes it ten days before he admits to himself that perhaps he relies on his manservant just a little too much.

~

Four days later, Arthur had missed another council meeting (despite his best efforts), Lancelot and Mordred had accidentally insulted some visiting Lord (and had therefore been told not to leave their rooms until he had vacated the city), and Gwen was no longer speaking to him, on account of The King being a dick without realising because Merlin wasn’t there to rein in his ego and... well... dickishness. That, and his crown had somehow gone missing between yesterday morning and now.

(If that last one had happened even a week prior, Arthur would’ve been adamant that it had been stolen or something else equally not-his-fault, but with how quickly he’d been made aware of his apparent bad memory and social clumsiness, he had every faith that he’d just misplaced it, and Merlin would know exactly where to look.)

Arthur was sitting on the courtyard steps, tunic unlaced at the top and hair a mess when his servant finally, finally walks through the castle gates. The King perks up slightly, but refuses to give Merlin the satisfaction of being run to, so forces himself to remain in place. He was especially glad that he’d made that decision when he saw Guinevere spring over to greet him. He has a feeling she won’t be all that... welcoming, at least not yet.

Merlin wraps her in a tight hug and Arthur forces down the swell of jealousy in his lungs, especially when he laughs brightly and pulls back to clasp her shoulders. Arthur sees Gwen’s face fall at a question Merlin had asked and he gulps, biting his lip when Merlin frowns and raises an incredulous eyebrow at her response. She points in Arthur’s direction, and The King’s eyes go wide as he rapidly stands, failing miserably at looking as though he weren’t staring in their direction. Guinevere rolls her eyes before giving Merlin one last hug and walking very deliberately in the opposite direction to Arthur.

Merlin marches towards him, slight annoyance mixing with a secret eagerness to check on Arthur speeding up his normal pace significantly. Before the servant can say anything, Arthur grabs his wrist, pulling him up the steps and through the castle without a word, tugging harshly every time Merlin opens his mouth to demand an explanation for himself or an apology for Gwen.

When they finally reach his chambers, Arthur quickly locks the door behind him, whirling on an angry Merlin with flushed cheeks and a desperate look in his eyes:

“I swear Merlin, I will never doubt you again, but Elyan almost died, Gwaine got an infection, Leon and I forgot about Ethel and Halbert, Lancelot and Mordred are essentially under house arrest, I missed two council meetings, lost my crown, and now Gwen’s not talking to me. You’re never allowed to leave me again.”

Merlin freezes in place, staring at Arthur with wide eyes and an open mouth for a few moments before he bursts into laugher. Arthur huffs, crossing his arms as his blush deepens, but waits patiently instead of demanding that Merlin stop. Honestly? He may have been laughing at Arthur, but it was still the most beautiful sound The King had heard in two weeks, and he’d definitely missed it. Which is... something to think about at a later date.

Merlin finally relents, his dimples showing prominently as he holds in another round of giggles at Arthur’s red face. The servant drops his pack to the floor, stepping forward and not giving Arthur time to move away before he pulls him into a tight hug, sighing contentedly at the warm contact:

“I missed you too, you prat. You’ll just have to come with me next time and we can leave Gwen and Gaius in charge.”

Arthur huffs out a gentle laugh, finally wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle tightly and burying his face in the slightly taller man’s hair:

“I did. Miss you, I mean. And I also mean it when I say you’re never going anywhere without me again, this has been a nightmare.”

Merlin snorts, tightening his grip on Arthur as if he were trying to squeeze all of the stress out of him:

“Co-dependency isn’t the healthiest thing in the world, you know.”

Arthur just huffs, refusing to let go as he petulantly responds:

“I don’t care. I’m The King, I can do what I want.”

Arthur can almost feel Merlin rolling his eyes, but the servant just laughs again and seems to nod in agreement:

“Hmm. That excuse is going to come back to haunt you one day. Heard you gave George a raise?”

The blonde tenses in embarrassment, now refusing to pull away so Merlin wouldn’t see his pink cheeks:

“Uh... yeah. He cleans too much and is shit at coming up with plausible excuses, but he did save my arse a few times.”

Arthur can feel Merlin’s laugh vibrate through his ribcage, and though the man was usually rather touch averse, he found he never wanted the feeling to stop. He found himself hoping that Merlin felt the same when The King chuckles at his response:

“Oh yeah? Does that mean I get a raise for being good at excuses and bad at cleaning?”

~

THE END!!! 

Literally wrote this in one day so... sorry if it’s bad😅

Had no clue how I was going to end it until I got there, my thought process essentially just went “Hugs? Yeah. Hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs.” :D

Same as always lads, you wanna write it out in full or remix it or whatever, go for it, just drop me a message and credit/tag me :)

#bbc merlin #merthur #merlin #good mordred #merthur fluff #arthur is gay and stupid #merlin is THE functioning gay #leon is surprisingly dumb #in fact all the knights are #only percival survives #and gaius and gwen of course #sir leon #leon #sir percival #percival #sir gwaine #gwaine #mordred #sir lancelot #lancelot #sir elyan #elyan #gaius #gwen #guinevere #merlin/arthur #bamf merlin #arthur pendragon #sir mordred #gavin

[sourholland]

A Royal Convenience || Tom Holland

| Series Masterlist |

Part Seven

Summary → When an alliance is made between England and France, you are sent away to marry the crown prince and heir to the British throne. Except both you and Prince Thomas despise each other at all odds, subjected to the hand of the monarchy and unable to stand each other.

AN → So this chapter could potentially be a bit triggering for some people, it is pretty descriptive into the beheading of someone. I would like to preface this in saying that I do not support capital punishment, nor do I support the death penalty. This is merely a work of fiction, and I am only trying to bring to life history. Anyways, this chapter is something else. Let me know what you guys think, I’m sure you’ll have some thoughts.

Pairing(s) → Prince!Tom x Princess!Reader

Warnings → Angst, Beheading - Descriptive, Blood, Vomit - Descriptive, Light Smut, Choking Kink, Alcohol, Language, Intended Oral Sex - Female Receiving, Knife Play

Word Count → 4.5k

“I want to leave, please just let me go home,” you pleaded.

It was only you and Tom at the heart of the throne room. After the whole shooting ordeal, he’d rushed you back and demanded the audience of the King.

You were both waiting, still suffering from the shakes, you could only beg and pray that he would let you go. Tears stung the backs of your eyes, cheeks hot and feverish. Tom had sent all of the guards away, not caring that it wasn’t proper for you both to be alone without a chaperone.

“Please, Tom,” you almost whispered.

“You can’t go home, Y/N,” he replied simply, peering over at you from his spot parallel to where you stood.

“I was just shot at! What more could you people want to see in order to let me go home? I miss my mother, I wish to see my mother,” you shouted at him.

“I couldn’t let you go even if I wanted to.”

“But you do want to?”

Silence. Tom said nothing. He only straightened his posture a bit, looking away from you and back to the door. The King had still not come, there had been an attempted assassination and the King of England could not be bothered to grace his own son with his presence.

“This is why I told them to take you back to your chambers,” he murmured to himself.

“You can hardly look at me!” You marched up to him, taking a free hand and pressing it to his chest in anger and frustration. “Look at me, Thomas.”

His eyes slowly lifted from the ground to your eyes, your breath staggering from the rage and sudden proximity. There was an intimacy in the way you both seemed to get yourselves into these situations. It was a change for you to initiate something like this, especially since anyone could come through those large double doors at any point.

“Please,” you begged.

“You don’t get it do you?” He asked, eyes falling to the dip of your lips, parting at the curve of your Cupid’s bow. “You and I, we haven’t got a way out of this. It’s for life, Y/N. There is no running, not really. Don’t you think I’m tired? This life is exhausting, but it’s bigger than both of us. There’s no out, no going home. The sooner you accept that, the sooner this’ll all become a lot easier for you.”

“I hope you’re saying that when our heads, or God forbid, the heads of our children—”

The doors opened and King Dominic and his entourage came through, there was hardly any urgency in the way he walked. You and Tom quickly stepped away from each other, he stood taller, bowing as his father sat. You gave a quick and anxious curtsy.

“You’ve clearly been quite busy, I didn’t expect an act of high treason to pull you away from whatever important engagement you were wasting your time with,” Tom scowled.

“Do watch yourself, Thomas,” the King responded.

“Did you not hear about the man who attempted to put a bullet through my skull?” He question, tone raising.

“From what I’ve heard, the bullet was directed towards Princess Y/N, meaning this was hardly even an attack on the Crown.”

“She is the Crown! We’re to be wed in less than three weeks, she’s practically the Princess of Wales already!”

You stood in silence, wondering whether or not you should step in. Tom told you to go back to your wing of Buckingham Palace when you’d both come back, but you refused. He was shifting uncomfortably under his father’s intense gaze.

“Maybe so, but not yet. I’ll have the bastard’s head, hell, you can even watch if you’d like. I won’t cause an uproar within the country, this is far from the first attempted assassination of the Crown, nor will it be the last,” the King boomed.

“What if that bullet had landed between my eyes, my head blown apart within seconds? What would you have done then?” Tom asked him, brows furrowed.

“You have three brothers, one of which would probably do the job better than you,” he responded, coughing into the handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.

You took in a sharp breath, wondering how any decent person could say such a thing. Tom stiffened, his lips forming a fine line. There was something lacking between the two men, you hadn’t seen it before, but now it was clear as day. There was absolutely no love, no compassion. You were staring at a King and his successor.

“That’s an awful thing to say,” you finally said.

“Don’t, Y/N,” Tom leaned over to you.

King Dominic’s eyes scanned over you, eyes flickering from you to Tom. The room was almost silent, the ruffling of your dress pooling at your feet filling the air.

“You are quite a pretty little thing,” he mused. “Shame, you know? That you have no clue when to keep that mouth shut.”

“And why is that?” You asked him, stepping forward.

“If you hadn’t been brought here from France, I’m not sure you’d have been very popular among suitors.”

“Then it’s a good thing that I don’t exist to cater to anyone’s domestic pursuits, isn’t it?”

Your gaze did not falter, King Dominic’s eyes piercing your own. He was dressed in fine satin, but this did not distract you from the fact that there were deep purple crescent shapes, littered in indigo wrinkles underneath his eyes. The King’s sallow skin was discolored against his sunken in eyes, and downturned mouth.

“She’ll bear witness to the beheading,” King Dominic remarked, pushing up against his throne to stand.

“What?” Tom asked very suddenly, stepping in front of his father. “She’s eighteen, practically a child! You cannot expect her to watch something like that!” He shouted, waiting for his father to let go of his pride.

“If she can stand before me—acting as if she is King, and not I, she can watch the man you ordered to die be executed.”

Tom went to argue, but was met with his father’s hand held high in his wake. He slumped back in defeat, sighing as the King turned in front of him. There was hardly anything you thought he could say, and nearly nothing he could do.

You let out a shaky breath, holding your abdomen with a free hand. There was nothing you wanted more than to be in your mother’s arms, or to sleep in your old bed. Yet, you stood in the throne room of Buckingham Palace, having just been shot at and conspired against.

“The Tower of London. Tomorrow.”

This was all he said, turning his back to both of you and walking off. Tom said nothing, not until a man came in after his father had left and leaned into his ear, an unreadable expression passing over his face.

“He was Danish?” He asked the unfamiliar man.

“Yes, sir. I am sure of it, it is all we were able to get out of him.”

“Leave us,” Tom motioned towards the door.

As the man left, he turned to you with a look as set as stone. He was upset, yet somber at the same time. Something about the way he was staring at you left the hairs at the nape of your neck standing up. You couldn’t help but step forward, feeling the need to steady yourself.

“Do you remember when the Prince from Denmark and I had a row?”

“I would hardly classify that as a row, you are still battered from hitting him so hard. When I saw him today, his face looked worse than it had that night,” you said.

“Y/N, you have no reason to listen to me, or to trust anything I say, but please heed my words, do not engage with Nikolai again. I cannot stress—”

“Is this what you do now? Tell me whom I can and cannot see. I have nothing, Tom! My life has been seized from me, and now I cannot even dictate who I see?”

Tom’s hand just barely brushed your own, his head bent to look directly into your eyes. There was an urgency in them, something telling you that this was bigger than both of you. You remembered the way he had held you down when those shots were fired, and the way he held your hand.

“You’re right—about all of it. I am asking you, Y/N, not as the Prince of Wales, or even as Thomas. I’m asking you as your husband, as the man you have been dealt in the most unfortunate of circumstances. Please, just stay away from him until I can be sure of something. This is all I ask of you, and even then, I deserve nothing from you. So in this moment, right now, you and I are not the next King and Queen of England. We are simply a man and a woman, nothing else.”

His words came out pleadingly, his fingers curling around your wrist. The pad of his thumb dipped underneath your glove. The skin on skin contact made you shiver, wondering whether or not Tom was being serious in his words. Nonetheless, you nodded feverishly, feeling him let out a deep breath of relief.

-

The carriage ride and walk into the large and extremely ancient looking castle, seemed to blur together. You were dressed darkly, a short veil covering your face in an almost sheer material.

Tom was beside you, his hand lightly cupping your elbow as the both of you entered the large room at what felt like the heart of the Tower of London. Prince Harry and Prince Sam followed closely behind the both of you, the King in front.

Everyone parted as you all made your way through the crowd of Nobles. You learned that the man’s name was Sir Alfred, and his title was the reason he was to be executed in such a manner. It also contributed to the fact that his beheading was occurring in such a prestigious place. Many famous executions took place in the same location, you had heard of many of the people who had lost their heads in the same position.

At the front of the room there was a high block on top of a sort of wooden stage, an executioner standing off to the side with an axe in his right hand. You couldn’t fathom the idea of having to do what he was only minutes away from doing himself.

Tom looked like he wished to say something, but in the end stayed completely silent. You were all completely sectioned away from everyone else, standing to witness the man about to die for his crimes.

In he walked a moment later, he wore a baggy black tunic and a cross around his neck. His head was down, eyes on the floor. When he came through the archway and into the large room, you couldn’t help but feel a lurch in your stomach. He denied the man who asked if he wished to say anything before he placed his head at the high block.

You felt your hands begin to clam up, wringing them against your dress. The man stood in prayer for a moment, a single tear falling from his eye. He mouthed a few words and took his place, bringing to cross to his chapped lips, and placing a single kiss upon it.

“Help me, God.”

His words were enough to make you sick, watching as he bent forward on his knees. His head sat firmly on the block, the man holding the axe waiting patiently. Someone said something in the distance, but your ears were pounding.

The moment the blade raised, you fought the urge to squeeze your eyes shut. It came down in a thud, a loud noise coming from the mouth of the man. A splatter of blood came soon after, his head was still intact. The blade raised again, and it struck once more. This continued another time, until at last, Alfred’s limp body had fallen.

You tasted acid, biting your tongue as you pushed through the cluster of people and looked for any exit. There was a single stone passage leading to a bit of land outside, you had no clue how you had gotten there. In a fleeting moment, you felt yourself hunch over and begin to empty the contents of your stomach onto the ground.

You felt a pair of hands grasp at the bit of hair falling into your face as you heaved, holding your chest firmly. You willed yourself to stop, but bent once more. Your throat burned, tears prickling the backs of your eyes.

“Are you—”

“No, no—I am absolutely not alright,” you just barely got out to Tom. “I’ll be in the carriage.”

-

You spent both of the following days in your quarters, claiming ill to all of those who asked. Dinner had been brought to you each night, and every other meal left for you as well. You couldn’t decipher whether you were doing it out of spite, or pure hatred for the establishment you were marrying into in less than three weeks.

A small portion of it may have also been out of fear, the thought of even being out and about sent a shockwave up your spine. Every time someone rapped on your chamber door, you couldn’t help but flinch.

On the morning of the second day you’d isolated yourself, the Queen sent word that the ball she’d arranged was still to be attended. You couldn’t help but groan at the man she’d sent to deliver the message. You had absolutely no desire to make an appearance at a dance, especially after the past few days.

It was only hours later when Anne pushed through the double doors to your room, sending all of the other servants away in a simple hand motion. You furrowed your brows at her, holding onto the bedpost, corset left loose and undone. She looked as if she had seen a ghost, clutching the underside of her dress.

“Your grace,” she curtsied quickly.

“Anne, is everything alright?”

There was a pause, she brought a small brown bag out from under the cloth of her brown dress. She undid the clasp gently and pulled out a dagger, extending her hand to give it to you. With it came a sheath and what looked like two leather bound straps.

“I have reason to believe someone is dangerous, ma’am. I—well, I wanted to be sure you would be able to defend yourself, should something present itself tonight,” she said shakily.

“Oh, Anne. Where did you get this?” You asked, placing a hand on the blade.

“A stable boy offered it to me at a fair price, I just wanted to be sure you’d have some sort of defense. If you don’t want it—”

“No, no! I’m terribly grateful, I just haven’t a clue how to properly handle something like this.”

There had been very little swordplay taught when you were being instructed to be the ruler of a country, and even less as you grew into a young Princess. You handled horseback riding, language study, arithmetic, and learning the duties of a sovereign.

Anne took a few moments to show you how to hold the knife, and then flipped up your undergarments to have access to your thigh. She strapped the leather bindings to it gently, the sheath sticking to you as she slid in the dagger. You felt nervous, knowing you were armed underneath all of the layers. Yet, something about it made you feel safer.

A while later, she brought all of the servants back in and they began to dress you. By the time you had finished, you stared into the full length mirror at the entirety of the velvety looking gown. It was a deep red color, with a dipping neckline that left your shoulders and collarbones exposed underneath the candlelight.

You opted for a more bold choice in tiara, ditching your family heirloom and going for a fringed tiara that dated farther back than you could guess within the British royal family. It was littered in diamonds and went well with the dress, watching as the material swished at your feet.

“I must say, this is one of my favorite dresses you’ve worn so far,” one of the lady servants murmured.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Thomas of Wales,” announced a man, almost out of nowhere.

You watched as the doors opened, the guard member stiff and standing tall. Tom rolled his eyes, wishing his entrance had not just been broadcasted so generously. Though, he was far too used to it by now to say a thing. It really had been quite unnecessary, but it was clear that the young man was quite new.

“Princess,” he greeted.

You turned, meeting his eyes and watching as he swallowed hard, eyes dipping to the curve of your bosom, and curl of your gloved hands. He was dressed in his usual formal ball attire, blinking a few times and noticing the way you moved to sit.

A diamond necklace laid untouched, sitting prettily on your vanity. He sent a nod to each of the women crowding you, watching as they fled the room. You peered over your shoulder, almost immediately seeing him lift up the heavily studded jewel. It was cold against your bare skin, but his hands were warm as he fiddled with the clasp at the back of your neck.

You gazed into the mirror, watching his determined eyes work their way around your shoulders and spine. Just as you felt the necklace sit comfortably, his fingers lingered for a moment, the brush of a knuckle against the divot of the arch of your neck.

“There,” he said. “Now—we should probably be going.”

His words came out breathlessly, turning around quickly and looking away. You couldn’t help but let out the wisp of a breath yourself, feeling the heat flush to your face. The trace of his touch remained on your skin, the thud of your heart quickening as soon as you took his arm.

The short walk to the ballroom was mostly silent, only breaking when you would make a mindless comment, making him reply with a crude remark. You felt a pull in your gut, like you wanted to despise him more than anything. Most of the time you were together, that was all it was, disdain. Though, in passing moments, you couldn’t help letting your guard down.

These thoughts rapidly halted when you both entered the large familiar room. You both made your rounds, greeting the guests and embracing family, his family. Soon after, you watched Tom step to the side and reach for a bottle of what you could only guess was brandy.

“A dance?”

This was a phrase you heard dozens of times throughout the night, men after men swinging and swishing you around the floor. Some of which left you drowning in your own boredom, others capable of making you smile and laugh. There was no sign of Nikolai, this was odd to you.

Tom sat at the edge of the room, elbows sat on his knees while he drank himself to death. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, curls falling into his eyes. The most peculiar thing was the way he watched you, the way he would be able to speak and converse, yet still make sure to flicker his gaze back to you.

The dagger at your thigh made you feel a bit less helpless, like you had a bit of leverage. Though, the night quickly faded and everything was turning out to be incredibly mundane. Nothing was seemingly out of the ordinary, and when you took your out, a feeling of relief washed over you.

Your soft steps sounded as you made your way back to your chambers. It was easy for you to find the right moment to claim you were tired, and needed to retire to your bed for the night. Tom had left you for the entirety of the night, keeping to himself for the most part.

You grasped the brass handle, pulling it open to reveal a room full of servants meant to help you undress. You bid them all a goodnight and promised you could do it on your own, wishing to be alone. When the last of them departed, you lifted the tiara from your hair, unclasping the necklace and placing both of the priceless items on the wood of the table.

You heard the rattle of the door a second later, asking who was there. No response. You felt your pulse quicken, lifting up the skirts of your dress and pulling at the handle of the knife. You took a few paces backwards, jumping when you realized it was only Tom. His back faced you as he closed the door quietly, throwing his hands up when he turned to see you, dagger in hand.

“Y/N—put down the knife,” he said cautiously.

You hadn’t a clue why you were still holding it in a position like you planned to stab someone. The adrenaline, perhaps. Tom approached you slowly, making your head swim with thoughts. Some part of you was wondering why you hadn’t dropped your hand, and the other was telling you to stay just as you were. He was just as bad as any other man you’d encountered, wasn’t he?

“Give me the knife,” he held a hand out. “Just let me see it.”

“You’re drunk,” you muttered, smelling the alcohol on him.

“You truly do know how to sober a man up, though, don’t you?” He laughed.

There was something mocking about his words, like he knew you wouldn’t do anything. This set something off inside of you, that feeling in your chest only grew when you took the opportunity to step forward and act as if you were going to pass the dagger off to him. When he extended his palm, you pulled his wrist forward and did your best to slam his back against the nearest wall. Your right hand, firmly grasping the hilt of the blade, rapidly meeting his neck. You pressed it into his exposed skin, watching his pupils dilate.

“Feeling sober?” You asked, masking any bit of anxiety.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

You felt the beat of his heart through his shirt, pressing deeper. This earned a shocked wince, making you take in a deep breath yourself. His expression was surprisingly calm compared to your own, making it even more difficult to grasp when he flipped the both of you very out of the blue. His significantly larger hand had flawlessly brought the dagger from your white knuckled fingers, and into his own.

You felt the cold blade against your hot skin, his breath fanning over the sensitive spot below your ear. Your chest constricted, never having been this close to him before. You could smell the mix of brandy and whisky on him, wondering if he could sense how fast your heart was beating.

“Quick. Just not quick enough,” he teased lowly.

Something about this position made you almost melt, just now noticing how dry your mouth had become. Tom’s head turned to look into your eyes, making you practically jump. There was something so intimate in the way he was looking at you, something so personal.

“God, you truly have no clue about the things you do to me,” his drunken words seemed to spill out.

“Don’t I?” You asked, feeling his free fingers slide against the skin of your jaw. “You despise me, hate me even.”

“I wish I hated you.”

These were the last words spoken between the two of you before the space between both of you was filled. Firm, but warm lips were being pressed onto your own. With hardly a second to react, you felt your hand slide up the fabric of his clothed shoulder and to the nape of his neck. Your fingers threaded themselves into his hair, tugging harshly as he kissed you harder.

You arched your back against the hard surface you were pressed at, listening to the clatter of the knife against the floor in the night. His now freed hand found your neck, gently curling around it and squeezing. The euphoric feeling sent a wave of pleasure down your back, a single whimper passing between your conjoined lips.

“Tell me you hate me,” he whispered to you, breaking away for only a moment.

“I hate you,” you kissed him. “I hate you,” you kissed him again. “God, I hate you right now.”

One of his hands remained around your neck, the other sliding down to your waist and flipping you around. His nimble fingers played with the buttons at the back of your dress, pressing sloppy kissed against your neck and throat. Once the dress fell to your ankles, he pulled several layers over your head. Before you could even get to unlacing the corset, his heavily ringed hands twisted into it, ripping it straight down the back.

You were left in almost nothing, a thin article of clothing covering you. His hand brought itself to your breast, kneading at the almost completely exposed skin. You let out a repressed moan as he cupped the swelling of your chest.

“Is this okay?” He asked between wet kisses, trailing generously down your collarbone.

“Yes,” you hardly got out.

He nodded against you, lips brushing the skin above the neck of your underdress. It slid down, exposing the tops of your breasts. His head dipped, tongue trailing behind, leaving goosebumps along your feverish chest. He bit gently, leaving you to pant as you felt his hand slide up your calf and onto your thigh, he undid the holster, listening to it fall to the floor.

Before you could even truly think, you were being placed on top of one of the wooden surfaces of your bedroom. Tom was on his knees, pulling your ankle to him lips and pressing a kiss to the skin. This continued up to your knee, nearing closer and closer to your aching core. His touch was like fire, spreading through your whole body.

Movement outside of your chambers made you stiffen, Tom sat up immediately. The sound repeated itself and you were both scrambling to get away from each other. Your discarded clothes littered the floor, corset ripped down the middle. Tom was clearly disheveled, but mostly dressed. You began to realize the extent of what you both had done.

You grabbed at a few of the pieces of fabric, finally looking up and meeting his eyes. You both stared at each other for a moment, and without a word, Tom slipped out the door and into the night.

taglist- @justapurrcat @witchyartemis @clara-licht @dummiesshort @username2002 @imaginationisgrowth @nova-sup3r @jeyramarie @the-avengers-assembling @veryholland @sleepybesson @stylessugarhigh @minejungwoo @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @sinisterspidey @iamsherloki-wholocked @kassey @golden-hoax @starilicious @thegreat-annamaria @gerim-1995 @wroetospidey @pignolithecookie @crazylokonugget @outshineallthestars @tomhollandsslilslut @millennial-teenybopper @thc-chalamet @mroy-l0l @ameliathackray @crispyfansofchaos @dangerouslovefanfic @quacksonholland @bluecrusadearcade @440mxs-wife @peterporkpie @johnismyreason @sadxaries @hollandstanevans @itsallyscorner @stargazerholland @miraclesoflove @determined-overthinker @peterbubblebuttparker @thexplosivegirl @in-some-fandoms

#tom holland x reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #Tom #holland #a royal convenience #prince!tom #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagines #elle’s fics

[elenarodriiguez]

day eleven: “i’ll never forgive you” | s.c.

summary: there’s something to be said about the bitterness of forgiveness, revenge is far sweeter.

pairing: sharon carter x reader

warnings: TFATWS spoilers, dark!reader

word count: 906

“If you walk out of that door, I’ll never forgive you.”

Sharon stops in her tracks, probably would have tripped over her own two feet if she weren’t so graceful, and you can see her hand clenching her duffel bag of things. It’s a low blow, you know that it is, but this isn’t just any normal argument to be having. Your life together was amazing, she was going places in the CIA and you had gotten a well paying teaching job, which was practically unheard of these days.

There was so much going right for the both of you, you couldn’t fathom why she’d be so content to just drop everything because Steve had called. Steve, who neither of you had heard anything from besides a brief conversation at Peggy’s funeral. Steve, who had a plethora of individuals at his disposal, all far more powerful than your wife.

Both of you had seen on the news how tensions were rising: between the devastation in Lagos, the assassination of King T’Chaka, and the push from the right for the ‘Sokovia Accords’, you knew it was only a matter of time before it all came to a head. Not that you’d ever mention it to her, but you’d been counting down the days until Steve got in contact, knowing she’d do anything for the man that her aunt had cared so much for.

However it didn’t mean that you had to like it, and you certainly didn’t. Steve’s anti-Accords status didn’t surprise you, they’re terribly written and set to criminalise enhanced individuals of any calibre, but the people endorsing them are dangerous, people you don’t want Sharon to fight alone.

Because that’s how she’d end up, despite how much you hope otherwise, she’d end up alone and on the run from politicians with an axe to grind and no need to pardon a rogue CIA agent. Captain America and all of his friends would be more than fine, but Sharon, you and her both know that if she left right now it could very well be the last time you ever see her.

“I mean it Sharon. If you go, I’ll never see you again, and we both know that.”

“I can’t just ignore Steve, I owe him.”

“What do you owe him?” You ask, your voice raising an octave as anger courses through your veins. “What could you possibly owe him that’s worth losing everything you’ve worked for? The moment you’re seen with him, with all of his team in this fucking avengers civil war, your life is over! No more CIA, no more living on US soil, no more us! Is he really worth losing everything?”

“Of course not,” she says, dropping her bags and crossing the distance between you to hold your face in her hands, brushing away the stray tear tumbling down your cheek, “of course not. But this is bigger than just us, or him, this is something that will affect people for decades to come, maybe even centuries. I can’t just stand by and let it happen.”

“There are other ways, you know there are. Hell, you’re CIA Sharon, and you know that Coulson is rebuilding SHIELD with May and Mace.”

“But are they as effective as the Avengers being divided because of these laws? I don’t honestly think you can say they are, not yet they aren’t anyway.”

“I meant what I said.” Your lip quivers as she smiles sadly at you and tells you that she knows.

She leaves you one last parting gift, a tender kiss to your forehead, before grabbing her discarded duffel bag off of the floor and leaving you alone in your apartment, the slam of the door forcing everything to sink in all at once. She’d left you, knowing that she probably would never see you again. It feels selfish to be upset, not when you know it’s for the right cause, but your heart feels as though it’s just shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Seven years. Seven painful years since you’d seen or heard from your wife. No calls, no texts, no ‘please tell me you weren’t dusted’ messages that you’d gotten off of all of your fellow survivors, nothing whatsoever. And yet here she was on your TV screen, walking down the steps of congress after being officially pardoned by the United States’ government.

You were surprised to see her still wearing her wedding ring, yours was lost somewhere in your apartment, thrown in anger only never to be seen again. After a minute of taking in the little differences in her, the way she walked more akin to a predator, how she had dyed her hair lighter and let it grow out more, the smile that was so clearly fake to you, you turn the TV off, throwing the remote onto the other end of the couch.

She’ll come crawling back to you soon enough, undoubtedly wanting to reestablish her lovingly married ex-CIA agent persona, maybe even wanting to rekindle your romance and make up for lost time. You just hope she’s ready for it.

After all you’d kept your word, you never had forgiven her for leaving you and never coming back. And manipulating the Power Broker into doing your bidding, ruling her empire as she’s unknowingly under your thumb, maybe even turning her in one day, well, that’s better revenge than anyone could have ever asked for.

#febuwhumpdayx #febuwhump #marvel #captain america: civil war #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #sharon carter #sharon carter x reader #tfatws imagine #tfatws oneshot #daisy writes

[restlessfandoming]

"you, my enemy" (chilumi oneshot)

Lumine must assassinate the cruel king of Snezhnaya, Ajax.

//

i could see this being turned into a full fledged fic? but for now, here is the dollar store version LOL

[Masterlist] [AO3 Link]

"you, my enemy"

“I want you to kill the king of Snezhnaya.”

Lumine’s eyes flickered to her client. “King Ajax?”

“There is only one, is there not?” the hooded man responded.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You must have the wrong person,” she said. “I do run-of-the-mill jobs. I don’t murder kings.”

“I was told you were the only mercenary who could do it.”

Lumine slid out of the bar booth. “Find someone else who is insane enough to do that. I value my life.”

The man’s arm shot out, grabbing Lumine by the wrist. She would have sliced it clean off, had the man not taken off his hood.

He had an unmistakable hue of scarlet red hair, with equally fiery eyes to match.

“You’re Diluc,” Lumine said. “The son of the slain King Ragvindr.” It’s never a good idea to get involved with royals.

His face wavered at the mention of his father. “And who was the one who murdered him?”

“King Ajax,” she answered. “That sounds like your own quest for vengeance. Not mine.”

Diluc pulled her closer. “Magic,” he whispered.

Lumine’s blood ran cold. “Magic?” she echoed hollowly.

“I’ve been trying to find the right person to do this for a long time,” he told her. “I had to do my research.”

“What does magic have to do with this?” Lumine asked, trying to keep her voice even.

“You use magic,” Diluc stated. “That’s how you’ve completed every single one of your assignments perfectly.”

Magic had been banished long ago, a witch hunt massacring any and all magic users within the land of Teyvat. Each of the seven kingdoms had decreed it, agreeing that those with magic were too powerful—a threat to the people, all people.

Ever since, the rare few born with magical powers were forced to hide away their abilities for survival. I thought Aether and I hid it well enough.

“You do this, I won’t report you to the authorities,” Diluc continued.

“What about you?” Lumine hissed. “You’re supposed to be dead with the rest of your family.” She shook off his grip. “If I report you to King Ajax, there’s no doubt I’d get a hefty reward, more than you could ever give me for murdering him.”

He pursed his lips into a thin line. “If there’s any suspicion of a magic user, what sort of action do the authorities take?”

You’re killed on the spot—no questions asked. The kingdoms didn’t want to run any risk of magic users rising up, no matter how small of a threat.

“We would be executed at the same time,” Diluc said lowly.

Shit.

Lumine sat back down in the booth, sinking into the seat, gnawing on the side of her cheek. Then, she took a deep breath in.

“You’ll give me every single piece of Mora you have,” she demanded.

Diluc’s face visibly relaxed. “Of course.” He crossed his arms. “The hidden vaults of my family are all yours: every single jewel, Mora, artifact—when you complete the job.”

Lumine’s mouth nearly watered at the prospect of all the riches.

No, she wasn’t greedy. That amount of Mora meant she and her twin brother Aether could retire from this life, this life of scraping by with the money they made from bloody bounties and assassinations. It was the only job they could do, being abandoned as children, having to learn to fend for themselves.

This one job meant she and Aether could have quiet peace until the end of their days.

She held out her hand to Diluc.

“You have a deal.”

* * *

When Lumine arrives in Snezhnaya, she expects impoverished villages, famished citizens, and cold, desecrated lands—all while this merciless, vile king sat on his throne of bones and riches.

However, what she finds are bustling streets of business and cheerful citizens. Children played freely on the streets. The kingdom was thriving.

Is this king truly as evil as the stories say?

It hadn’t been long since King Ajax had begun his crusade of conquering the entirety of Teyvat. It had started with his brutal assassination of his own ruler at the time, the slaying of the late Tsaritsa, quickly followed by his claim to the throne. Then, he had taken over the small country of Mondstadt, and Liyue fell shortly after.

Any who opposed him would face the sharp end of a blade. The stories of him on the battlefield were whispers of blood soaked garments and a wicked smile as he slaughtered soldier after soldier with no remorse.

The image of this bloodthirsty monster faded as Lumine watched these citizens move around care free, as if they were unaware of the atrocities laying under their feet committed by their dear King Ajax.

Glancing up, she could see the distant looming monument, the grandiose castle of the king, looking over the land with a watchful stone eye.

She listened intently to the conversations around her, seeking any information about this Ajax, about how to get close enough to do her job.

She always wanted the most covert way, and now even more so. This was very much her highest profile case, and if she wasn’t careful, she could potentially start wars, with her murder being the first blood.

Perhaps the best way was to become some nondescript maid, someone’s whose presence and subsequent disappearance wouldn’t be questioned by any of the king’s allies. Perhaps as a chef? She could easily poison his food and silently slip away.

How she wished Aether was here with her. He was much more a strategist than she. Unfortunately, he had taken on a different job, far away in Inazuma. They would not see each other until both of their assignments were completed.

Lumine sighed, moving down the street, in search of a bar. Drunk bastards were always the best source of information: they didn’t know how to shut their mouths. In a bar, there were no figures too suspicious, and if there were, they would quickly be forgotten within a few pints of ale.

She pushed past vendors, until she was stopped by a brunette woman in a lavender robe.

“You are not from here,” she said with a breathy smile.

Singled out already? “I’ve only just recently moved here,” Lumine lied.

“Oh? For what reasons?” the woman pressed, her long eyelashes batting as she assessed Lumine head to toe. “Work?”

“No.” What was this woman’s motive? “I’ve heard Snezhnaya is a great country to live in.”

A content, pitched sigh. “Well, since you’ve just moved here, why don’t you come work for me? Outsiders earn a pretty penny.”

Lumine stared at her. “Who are you?”

The woman smiled. “I am Ying’er. I’m in charge of a local performance troupe.” She stepped closer, and Lumine could smell her flowery perfume. “I would love to have you join us.”

“No, thank you,” Lumine told her, inching away. Sounds like a cheap cover for a brothel. “I’m not in need of a job right now.”

Ying’er pouted, but stepped back. “Alright then, sweetie.” She leaned on the doorway of her shop. “I’ll be right here if you decide to come back,” she finished with a wink.

Lumine gave a curt nod before slinking away, back to her search for a bar. She pulled the hood of her cape over her head, sticking to the shadowed walls on her walk. Do I really stick out that much here?

In the distance, she heard the subtle pounding of a drum, and watched, astonished, as the crowded streets parted straight down the middle. An eerie silence filled the previously buzzing plaza. Something was coming.

All the citizens had their heads bowed—Lumine quickly followed suit.

The booming of the drums came closer, and she heard the thunderous marching of armored boots layered into the sound. She glanced up.

There was an entourage of armored soldiers, an assortment of glistening weapons at their sides, escorting a decorated golden carriage.

King Ajax.

What was this? Was there some sort of special occasion taking place?

Much easier to find than expected.

The carriage rolled past. Lumine strained to look at the window while still keeping her head bowed.

Unfortunately, the window was curtained, a velvety red cloth obscuring any view of the king. Lumine wrinkled her nose in disappointment; she had wanted to see what she was up against.

The terrifying rumors of King Ajax never told of what he looked like. Lumine imagined a beastly figure, one with dark shaggy hair and sharp teeth, bones all jutting out in the wrong directions, filleted with raw scars all over.

The carriage continued to move past.

Could she do it? Could she use her magic to take him out right now? There certainly was a large number of people around, and all of them would be suspects; all the easier for her to get away.

However, the guards could easily murder everyone in the plaza if a perpetrator wasn’t found. And, as Ying’er so blatantly pointed out, Lumine didn’t exactly fit in with the Snezhayan citizens.

She would just have to wait. Wait for a better opportunity. Wait to learn more about King Ajax. Wait to plan the best way to kill him.

There was a rustle of murmurs as the citizens returned to their activities, the royal carriage and its guards wheeling out of sight—the air more tense than before.

Taking in a deep breath, she resumed her search.

I need a drink.

* * *

Lumine sat in the corner booth as always, the seat in the bar that could overlook the entire establishment, the place where she could easily see who entered and exited the building.

She sipped at her mug of ale: not enough to become inebriated, but just enough to take some of her stress away. She still listened intently for any utterances about King Ajax.

She kept her eye on a man who was chugging pint after pint of alcohol, complaining about his job, his kids, his wife.

Maybe he’ll complain about his king as well.

“God, I miss Mondstadt,” the man sighed.

Lumine raised a brow. Someone from the conquered land of Mondstadt? He should definitely harbor some resentment for King Ajax.

“Careful there,” the bartender muttered. “The king will have your tongue if you speak ill of him.”

The drunkard scoffed. “The king ain’t here, is he? Too busy with his parties and parades to ever come to a hole-in-the-wall bar.”

The bartender shrugged, silently wiping a glass.

“C’mon,” the man continued. “You don’t think it’s weird how he always invites those performers to the castle? What a dramatic man.” A hiccup. “You think he beds all of them?”

“Probably. Lots of women would want to sleep with the king”

“See, King Ragvindr never did things like that.” He laid his head on the counter. “A modest man. Genuinely cared about his people.”

“King Ajax cares for us. He provides—he’s made Snezhnaya wealthier than ever.”

“Hmph. Is that why he murders people in cold blood? Remember that man that got executed in the street for not bowing to him?”

“Just listen to him, and you’ll be fine.”

Lumine slid out of her booth, making her way to the exit, to a certain brunette woman with a lavender robe.

He likes performers.

A plan started to bubble in her mind as she walked the streets to Ying’er’s shop.

She would slip into the castle with the performance troupe. She would feign illness, seemingly leaving early, when in actuality, she would hide until all the guests had left. King Ajax would retire for the night, alone—and that’s when she would strike.

Lumine smiled, just a bit, confidence coming to her now that she knew what to do.

Her and Aether’s life of freedom felt like a breath away.

* * *

“You’ve certainly improved quite a lot,” Ying’er said, sauntering into Lumine’s quarters.

Lumine set her lyre down. “Guess I’m a quick learner.”

It had been a few weeks since Lumine had arrived in Snezhnaya, and became one of Ying’er performers. She had decided to learn an instrument—the lyre—while staying with Ying’er and the rest of the performers at the hostess’ establishment. She preferred it over becoming a poet or dancer.

Ying’er was right: many people came to watch Lumine sit prettily on stage and play her lyre—her face painted with make-up, and her body adorned with beautiful robes and gowns.

All the while, Lumine anxiously awaited the king’s invitation to their performance troupe. He had invited different groups all over town, though not Ying’er’s yet.

Was this plan a failure? Where was that damned man’s invitation—

“Is that what I think it is?” Lumine asked, eyeing the embellished envelope in her boss’ hand.

Ying’er hummed in affirmation. “The king has finally invited our group to perform at a party tonight.”

Finally. “What an honor,” Lumine said with a smile.

“Very much so.” Ying’er put her hand under Lumine’s chin, examining her face. “Yes...I will have you dressed in our best garments and make-up.”

The woman smiled. “After all, you are our pretty little star.”

* * *

The carriage ride to the castle was filled with the girls’ giggles and whispers, how they wished for the king to whisk them away into a life of riches and royalty, to be his beloved first wife. Lumine kept a hand pressed against her leg—ensuring the dagger hidden under her heavy robes wouldn’t fall out.

She didn’t like to get messy with such a close ranged weapon—she would usually just use her magic from a distance—but she wasn’t going to take a chance if something were to go awry.

As they neared the castle, everyone burst into gasps, admiring the massive stone structure. The excitement doubled as the dozens of other carriages came into view as well.

This is going to be one very extravagant party.

Before she knew it, Lumine was sitting in the great hall, along with the rest of the party goers, awaiting the king’s arrival. She saw the empty throne at the very front of the room, raised on a marble platform, his rightful place above his subjects.

A fanfare of brass instruments blared. The king is here.

The room collectively stood, bowing their heads as the king’s personal guards filed in. Lumine quirked her head to look for King Ajax.

Oh.

The king was not a hideous looking beast at all.

In fact, he was quite the opposite.

He walked in, tall stature carrying an air of importance (and arrogance) on his shoulders with a billowing crimson red cloak, a broad grin plastered on his face. He was young, exactly around Lumine’s age.

He had reddish-brown hair framing his face, locks that glittered like gold in the light of the room, and his eyes were like vortexes—deep whirlpools of the bluest ocean water. All his features were sharp, upturned, like a cunning fox waiting contently to trap its prey.

She watched as he made his way up to his throne, a sickening anxiety spreading through her limbs.

Lumine had never killed anyone so close in age to her—it had always been older men and women. And, of course, she had never found herself attracted to her target.

“Please,” the king spoke, still grinning. “Have a seat.” As he sat on his throne, the rest of the room sat as well.

Lumine swallowed the lump in her throat. His voice was light, playful even.

Was that truly the murderous king of Snezhnaya?

“A toast, to you, my people,” he said, raising a golden goblet. “Let the festivities begin.”

Lumine gulped down her own glass of wine, then shook her head.

I’m here for a job. Not romance.

The room filled with chatter, and Ying’er motioned to Lumine and the rest of the musicians to the corner where they would be performing their music for the night.

Lumine gathered her lyre, shuffling towards her spot in her heavily layered robes. Her mouth was set in a taut line.

A momentary lapse in judgement.

As she played the first few notes, her eyes flickered to the king, who was busy greeting various nobles at his throne. She narrowed her eyes at him, at that sly, sly smile on his face.

It won’t happen again.

* * *

The night seemed to drag on forever. After what seemed like an eternity of playing music for the room—as other patrons ate and danced and conversed—the musicians were finally taking a break.

Lumine delightfully chewed through expensive meats and breads as various actors, dancers, and poets took the floor in front of King Ajax to present their pieces.

The king seemed to be entertained, joining on some of the performances himself.

That drunkard from the bar was right. King Ajax was quite dramatic, inserting himself into the spotlight whenever he so pleased. How pretentious.

The crowd clapped and cheered as another performance was brought to an end, an air of boisterous chatter resuming. Lumine swallowed her last piece of food, making her way to Ying’er.

Time to get started.

“Ying’er,” Lumine called to her boss, clenching her side. “I feel a bit sick.”

The brunette woman raised a brow. “You were looking quite well before.”

“Yes, it was very sudden,” Lumine responded, turning to the exit. “I think I will just head back now.”

“So soon, dear? We haven’t even introduced ourselves to the king yet.”

Lumine was already on her way out. “I’ll see you back at the shop.”

She slipped past the guards patrolling the halls, ducking into the nearest empty room, a storage closet of sorts. Perfect.

She hiked her long robes up, unsheathing her dagger, cutting away at the garments. Sorry, Ying’er. But I can’t fight in this. She threw the discarded fabric in a dark corner, where they would be forgotten about.

She slid the knife back into its sheath, and cracked the door open the tiniest bit—enough to watch the entrance into the great hall.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

* * *

Lumine would have fallen asleep had it not been for the two guards who stopped to converse right outside her door. Within a matter of seconds, Lumine had gone from sleepily nodding off to firmly clenching her weapon in her hand, nerves buzzing on high alert.

“That party dragged on forever,” one of the guards said. “I don’t know how King Ajax does it. Isn’t he exhausted every night?”

“Not sure. He seems to enjoy it.”

“He’s been gone a while now. Should we check on him?”

Lumine tightened her grasp on her dagger. He was gone?

“No. He likes to be alone at night. He’ll kill you if you interrupt him.”

“Oh...Should we just go to the other side of the castle then? So we don’t...interrupt him?”

“...Sounds like a good idea.”

The sound of their footsteps faded, and Lumine dared a peek out the door to scope out the hallway.

There were no other guards, and the boisterous sounds of the party were long gone.

Lumine slid out of the closet, sneaking down the hall, starting her search for King Ajax.

Sounds like he’s still here somewhere. Alone.

This job was getting easier and easier.

Too easy.

* * *

Please be in this room.

There was a great stone door before her, one she had come to after a mind-numbingly exhaustive search through the entirety of the large castle. She pushed on the door, as slowly and as quietly as possible, then looked in.

She nearly cried out in relief.

Sitting in the middle of the room was King Ajax, his back turned to her.

He was completely silent, unmoving, in this empty stone room. Was he asleep? No, it looked more like meditation.

Lumine slinked in, silently, conjuring the elemental energy of the wind in the room.

She would take every bit of air out of his body. Quick, quiet, no mess. It was the method she had always used.

She closed her eyes to focus, feeling the pull of air from his lungs.

He was going to die, and she was going to be free, free with her brother—

WHOOSH!

Lumine opened her eyes just in time to see Ajax rush towards her.

His hand wrapped around her throat, and he slammed her into the ground. All of the breath in her body hissed out of her, and she clawed at his hand.

“Who are you?” he growled.

She stopped prying at his hold, quickly yanking out her dagger, and slashing at his face.

He dodged, forcing him to loosen his grip on her.

She slashed again at his hand, throwing herself away from him as he recoiled in pain. She rubbed at her neck, gasping for breath. The king was looking at the gash across his fingers.

Shitshitshit.

Lumine quickly focused her energy on the earth below, trying to create shackles out of stone to hold him in place, or to just bury him alive.

The ropes of earth sprang out of the ground. His eyes flickered to the coils as they rushed for him.

Yes!

But then a swirling mass of water appeared, engulfing him, destroying the chains in the process.

What—?!

A sharp stream of water shot out from the bubble, coiling around Lumine before she could react. She was pulled to the ground, bound, and unable to move.

The bubble of water dissipated, and Ajax stepped out, eyes ablaze. He approached Lumine.

“Who are you?” he asked again, less angry, more inquisitive.

She strained against the chains of water, her elemental energy unable to rid them. She locked eyes with him. “You’re a magic user.”

He squatted next to her. “You are too,” he responded, the smallest ghost of a smile on his lips. He took her dagger into his hands, weighing it. “Now, why were you trying to kill me?”

Lumine bit her cheek. No, she couldn’t sell Diluc out; he could still get Aether killed.

“That’s how you conquered Mondstadt and Liyue so easily. You used magic,” she pushed, ignoring his question. “That’s forbidden.”

He barked out a laugh, wiping his bloodied hand on her robes. “And yet, here we are, two magic users in one room.” He pointed the dagger at Lumine’s neck. “Tell me why you were trying to kill me, before I make it only one. I won’t ask again.”

“You’re going to kill me anyway,” Lumine said. “I’m a magic user. That threatens your power, doesn’t it?”

Ajax studied her for a second, pulling the dagger back, just a bit. “True.” He tilted his head. “But I’ve never actually met another magic user before.”

She averted his intense gaze. “So what are you going to do? Keep me alive and experiment on me?”

“No.” He stood. “How about this...in exchange for sparing your life, you become my student.”

…

What?

“You mean learn magic from you?” Lumine glared at him. “How do you know I won’t kill you in the future?”

“You won’t,” he said. “This murder attempt? Wasn’t personal—you tried to kill me from a distance. Someone must have sent you.” He closed his eyes, squeezing the hilt of the dagger. After some shaking, it disintegrated into dust.

“Also, you can’t kill me,” he continued, opening his eyes. “You’re severely untrained. You saw how easily I subdued you.” A small smile. “All the more reason to learn from me.”

Maybe this was the gods taking mercy on Lumine. Ajax didn’t kill her right away; she had a chance to live, to get back home to Aether.

“What’s in it for you? This only seems to benefit me,” she said to Ajax.

He hummed, thinking. “A potentially powerful weapon,” he responded, eyes glinting.

Maybe, once she learned more magic, she could overtake him, and complete her job.

She locked eyes with him.

“You have a deal.”

The ghost of those words burned bitter on her tongue.

* * *

Lumine nearly died the next morning.

“You did what?!” she gasped out, after deathly choking on a part of her breakfast.

She was currently sitting across from Ajax in his elegant dining room, who had just informed her that he had announced their marriage.

He leaned back in his chair. “A random new woman living in the king’s castle? Bound to raise many rumors,” he said, nonchalant. “This way, there are no rumors, and we can train without being questioned.”

Lumine worried her lip. He has a point.

“I don’t—We don’t have to...do anything in public, do we?” she asked.

“No.” He smirked. “Unless you want to, pretty girl.”

She grimaced. “No, thank you.” Here for a job, not romance, she reminded herself, no matter how handsome this cocky bastard is. Not to mention, she still planned to kill him.

And so, Lumine’s days were filled with training, pretending to the servants and maids she was King Ajax’s fiancée. She was trapped, as Ajax reminded her many times that if she tried to leave, he would swiftly execute her.

She learned more about him, as much as she didn’t want to. She saw that he did really care for his people, and provided for them as best he could—though he wasn’t above using his power to strike down those in his way, whether it was an enemy or a citizen who simply disrespected his reign.

And that was ultimately what he wanted: power. To have power over everyone in the land of Teyvat. He had endless ambition—Lumine could credit him that much.

Some days, she caught herself imagining it as well: a world she could rule over, have everyone bend to her will, set the laws so people like her and Aether could live without fear, and be provided for. In some ways, she could relate to Ajax’s desires. In some ways, she could justify his methods.

It very much disgusted her, at first. But then, it was liberating. To have someone who could understand the darker sides to her being, understand the blood on her hands.

Even Aether could never fully understand her. How part of her was always glad to be given magical powers to defend herself and those she cared about. How part of her enjoyed her current situation.

After all, she was living lavishly, compared to the impoverished life she had before. She had every meal provided for, luxuriously, and a soft bed to lay in every night. No threat of the authorities finding out about her powers and murdering her.

Could she perhaps bring Aether here?

Ajax had spared her—was it too much of a stretch to believe he would spare her twin as well?

If Aether could be brought here, she wouldn’t have to kill Ajax. She wouldn’t have to kill perhaps the only person in Teyvat that knew who she truly was.

* * *

“If you found another magic user,” she asked Ajax over dinner, “would you train them as well?”

Ajax took a sip of wine from his goblet. “No.”

“...No?”

A small smile, a slight flash of his canines. “I can’t have my weapons outnumbering me, now can I?”

Lumine’s mouth went dry. “If you won’t train them...what would you do with them?”

“Kill them.” He set the cup down. “They would be a threat.”

“I’m not a threat?”

Ajax barked out a laugh. “No, Lumine. No, you are not.”

Ah.

So she and Aether couldn’t be together here. Aether was still in danger of being outed by Diluc.

“Why?” Ajax questioned. “Are you lonely here?”

“I’m trapped in your castle. What do you think?”

He rested his head on his hand. “My bed is open at night, if you’d like.”

Lumine drove her knife through her food. “You’re insufferable.”

“Oh, Lumine, it’s just banter,” he said, chuckling. “You don’t think we’re friends? I quite like your company.”

She pursed her lips, staying silent.

“You don’t have to lie to me.” Ajax stared right at her. “I see you while we train. You like it here. You like becoming more and more powerful.”

He leaned over the table. “You and I are very similar.” He smiled. “There’s a hunger in your eyes. You want exactly what I have.”

Lumine stood abruptly. “We are nothing alike,” she spat uselessly. He sees right through me.

“I told you, you don’t have to lie to me,” Ajax responded, sitting back in his chair. “We are already married. We could rule together—as partners.”

...What?

“I thought I was your weapon.” Her knuckles were white from clutching the edge of the table.

“Partner if you so choose.” His blue eyes narrowed slightly. “Weapon if not.”

What game is he playing? “There has to be some sort of catch.” He was essentially offering her his power as king, even if it was just partially.

“No catch,” he said. “Like I said, if you refuse, you’ll just continue your little life of entrapment, as my weapon.”

“One of these options is obviously better than the other.”

Ajax laughed, genuinely, his expression softening, just a bit. “I guess one is.”

She gave him a look, quizzical, before swiftly leaving the room, his proposal still hanging in the night.

As the guards escorted her back to her room, she played the conversation over and over again in her mind.

Would it be so bad? Would it be so bad as King Ajax’s consort, his companion through his crusade of Teyvat?

He was right: part of her deep down ached for that kind of power.

But joining Ajax meant sacrificing her dear brother.

The aching desire hissed, Is that a sacrifice you are going to make?

* * *

The castle’s stone floors were freezing on Lumine’s feet as she traversed through the halls barefoot. No shoes meant no sound. No sound meant she could surprise the guards, getting the upper hand to take them out. Already, there was a trail of dead guards behind her as she passed through the corridors, the air stripped from their lungs.

Her sheer white nightgown fluttered around her as she dashed about, and in the dim moonlight waning through the windows, she thought herself a ghost, an angel of death. She was on a path she could not stop.

She knew exactly where he was. After spending so many days trapped here, of course she knew where the king’s quarters were.

She knew him like clockwork: what days he would stay up in his study, what days he would retire to his chambers and when. She knew where his guards were, when they would switch patrols, when their protection would be the weakest.

And when it came time, she stood outside of his door, wavering on the spot slightly.

She shook her head, trying the door. Locked.

Taking a breath in, she rapped her knuckles on the hardwood.

She heard rustling beyond the heavy oak door, her heartbeat picking up. She would have to get in there quick, before he looked behind her and saw his guards missing.

The door swung open, a flash of anger on Ajax’s face until he saw who it was.

He gave her a closed-eye smile. “Ah, Lumine, to what do I owe the pleasure—”

Lumine stood on the tips of her toes, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

She could feel him go rigid under her touch. She walked him backwards, further into the room, closing the door behind her with her foot.

As the door shut, he broke away from her. “Are you accepting my proposal?” he whispered, his hands clutched around her arms.

Lumine nodded, going for another kiss, arms slinking around his shoulders. This time, he melted into her touch, pulling until he was under her on his bed.

He fell for it.

Pity crept into her heart. From the way he breathed her in, the way he held her in his arms, there was a softness she had never seen from him.

He loved her.

She was his weapon, and now, his greatest weakness.

“I’m sorry,” she said against his lips.

His eyes opened, those ocean eyes on her as she pulled the air from his lungs with ease.

You shouldn’t have trained me.

His hand reached for her throat, but went to his own as he gasped and choked.

She wrapped her own hands around his, pressing down. She slammed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to see his face.

He thrashed wildly, and she repeated I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorryimsorry over and over again until he went still under her.

…

…

...

She opened her eyes, the world blurry around her. She wiped away the tears pooling in her vision, and looked down at Ajax.

He was unmoving, eyes glazed over, arms limp at his side.

Lumine reached for his throat, hand shaking, fingers checking for a pulse.

He’s dead.

She scrambled off of him, crumbling into a ball on the floor.

I killed him.

Her breathing was uneven—she was the one gasping for breath now as uncontrollable sobs racked through her body.

I am so sorry, Ajax.

* * *

“Lumi?”

Lumine turned to see Aether looking at her with worry.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

A breeze rustled by. Lumine turned back to look over green fields that stretched as far as she could see.

“I’m okay,” she responded.

“Okay,” he repeated. He smiled a bit, pulling an envelope from his pocket. “Diluc’s hawk came this morning. He sends warm wishes to us both.”

After the assassination of King Ajax, Lumine decreed Snezhnaya a freed country, a country with no ruler, and returned the lands of Mondstadt and Liyue back to their rightful heirs. Diluc, now the restored king of Mondstadt, gave Lumine and Aether the riches he promised, and a home deep in the countryside for the peaceful life they so desperately wanted.

But sometimes Lumine had nightmares of Ajax.

She would be sitting next to him, on their thrones as the King and Queen of Snezhnaya. Sometimes, little princes and princesses of theirs would be running around as well.

They would have conjured all of Teyvat together.

They would have loved each other.

Lumine would wake up, tears in her eyes, heart heavy with desire for that life.

And then she would cry because her life would never be peaceful ever again.

#genshin impact #genshin childe #genshin lumine #chilumi #fanfiction #fanfic #me

[candreloup]

Hello! So, here's the surprise! I'm doing a collab with@villain-enthusiast! We decided to split an ask into two parts- I'm doing part one, and they'll do part 2. The ask is from an anon- but whoever you are, here's your ask! Also- to the people reading this, make sure to go check out part 2 on @villain-enthusiast's 's blog! I'll add the link when it's up. Anyways, on to the story!

(Also this ask is addressed to@villain-enthusiast, NOT me)

hi! i really love your writing, and i was wondering if you could write a snippet where an assassin is given a lucrative sum of money to kill a prince, but when she tries to, it turns out that the prince is like, /five/, and his parents really suck (like, really, really suck), so she ends up faking the prince's death and adopting (read: kidnapping)

"I need you to kill someone."

The bag thumped onto the table, clanking with the distinct sound of coins.

Assassin raised an eyebrow. "That little?"

The man at the end of the table scoffed. "There's more."

"How much more?"

"Enough."

Assassin snorted and spun in her chair, turning and getting up.

"50,000."

Assassin started walking.

"100,000."

She kept walking, strolling lazily along the plush carpet. The man behind her huffed in exasperation. "What more do you want?" Assassin laughed.

"You know the price- you tell me."

"...500,000."

Her back still turned, Assassin paused, calculating. 500,000. It was a ridiculous sum for an assassination- even she knew that. Half a million was enough to live off of for... well, for a while. On one hand- it was almost too good to be true. On the other hand, she knew full well it was going to be risky. No one in their right minds would give half a million for an easy kill. But money was money, and she'd done hard kills for less money. After a moment of hesitation, Assassin spun on her heel.

"Now that's what I'm talking about."

Assassin crouched on the roof, staring into the glowing windows of the castle. A prince. It had been a while since Assassin had killed a royal- the heavy defenses and high risk made it a task she'd only once accepted. The knowledge had made Assassin hesitate- but that hesitation vanished when the man raised the prices to 700,000 without blinking an eye. Jesus. How important was this prince, anyways? He was in line to inherit a small kingdom- beneath most others' notice and unlikely to pose any threat. Oh well. In this business, Assassin had learned not to pry. It never went well. The last time she'd gotten involved... well, it hadn't gone the best. For her or the target. Better to keep out of it and just do the job.

The curtain moved, focusing Assassin's attention on it. She was perched on one of the castle's roofs- one that was relatively far away from the guard but close enough for her to use binoculars to see what she assumed was the prince's room. It was a strangely childlike room, with a regal look and a huge vaulted ceiling-but with decorations that seemed more fit for a toddler than an adult. The curtain was pulled aside by a woman- the queen, a tall middle aged woman with crease lines on her forehead- and pinned to the walls. The door slid open and the queen stood there, breathing in the night air. She turned suddenly, something pulling on her dress. A child's hand. Whose- As the queen turned, it hit her. The prince is a child.

Shit. In the years she'd been killing, Assassin had never touched children. She had lines, boundaries she didn't cross. Killing the bedridden, senile, children- that she didn't do. Her morality wasn't shattered enough to stoop that low. She could make money other ways.

Shit. Assassin silently cursed her stupidity. Why hadn't she asked for more details? The man had been cagey, nervous- but it wasn't unusual for new clients to be more reserved. The thing that should have tipped her off was when he'd refused to give her more information than the prince's hair color and eye color. She'd assumed- god, she should've known- that the prince was a young adult- at least past his teenage years and soon to inherit the throne. But not a child. His parents were unusually old for the prince's age, too; they must have had a child early.

It was a good thing this was a reconnaissance mission. She'd just have to go back and-

A sudden burst of movement from the window caught Assassin's attention. The woman was upset, waving her arms and moving around the room agitatedly. The prince just sat on the bed, head hung and feet dangling. What the hell? Assassin decided not to get involved. That was the best thing to do.

Don't get involved. Ignore it.

And then the queen slapped the child. Hard. Across the face.

From what Assassin could see, the child wasn't crying- only sitting, still dangling his legs over the edge of the bed like a doll. The queen was clearly screaming, pointing to something with her mouth moving. She slammed her hand on a table, still screaming about something, and grabbed the boy's legs, stopping their dangling motion. He didn't seem to be saying anything- but the woman was getting angrier and angrier by the second. She was throwing things now, hurling papers and books off of desks and smashing objects on the floor. The prince did nothing. Finally, the woman stormed off, a trail of destruction following her. The door slammed, and the little boy sat on the bed, crying.

Assassin was pissed. She didn't know what the argument was about, or why the queen thought she could slap her child. The boy looked young- what, five? Too young to be hit like that. And the fact that he hadn't started crying until his mother left the room made Assassin very doubtful of their relationship.

It's not my business. Assassin could feel the anger building up, boiling white-hot. Not my business. She remembered screams from a different time, bruises and cuts in places that couldn't be seen.

Just keep out of it. Yelling and the crashing sounds of things shattering echoing down the hallway. Sobbing, and the sound of skin thrown violently against skin. The metallic smell of blood.

No.

Assassin stood up carefully and started to climb down the roof.

It's my business now.

The next few days were a blur of preparation. What to do, how to handle the parents, where to go- and how to safely take the prince. How to remove the bounty on his head. How to get away without the retaliation of the man who'd paid her to kill this child. She'd have to plant a fake body, make a possible story- preferably one that pinned the parents. They deserved the worst.

The first step was sneaking into the castle and observing the situation more carefully. Their private lives were a cesspool of violence and rage. From father to mother, mother to son and father to son. Throwing things, hitting things, hitting people- everything was a target. Close servants, mistresses, even the unfortunate people who happened to find the king in his drunken rages. Everything was, of course, kept under wraps. It wouldn't do to have the royal family exposed for domestic violence and abuse. No, instead they always appeared as a perfect family. Even when the king was drunk, he was always sober enough to leave marks where no one else could see them. The queen wore long sleeves. So did the prince.

Assassin couldn't stand to watch their family for more than an hour. Except for the prince. She was extremely interested in him. He was seven, but looked a lot smaller than he should have. Probably because... well, Assassin didn't want to think about that. He studied constantly. Partly because of his parents and partly because of his own volition- his parents left him alone when he was studying.

It only took a day or so for Assassin to figure out the best plan to get the prince out after she'd figured out their schedules. She had to plant a fake dead body in the prince's room, bring him out through the window. Night was the best time- everyone was sleeping and the guard's visibility was much lower. But she had to act fast. The rotation was tight, with barely any breaks in their watches. She'd only been able to observe them from a fairly far away tower using her best gear, and only because the palace had such large windows. But the guards were also only human, and she'd slipped past castle defenses before.

That night was dark, a kind of pitch blackness that covered even the stars' piercing lights. The perfect night for Assassin, with even the moon only a sliver in the sky. Tonight was the night. She'd known the minute the sun went down and she could barely see past the end of her street. It was perfect.

She slipped past the guards fairly easily- only a few close calls that set her heart racing. Everything else was a breeze past that, the climbing not difficult as long as she stayed low. The prince's room was near another roof, the window and balcony protruding from it easily accessible. It was going too well.

Assassin finally made it onto the balcony, silently sliding through the open window. The queen had left it slightly open after she left the room, slamming the door as usual. The window was a tall one, a typical French Window leading onto a huge balcony. She stood in the prince's room for a moment, looking around to make sure she was alone before she walked quietly to the boy's bed. He was sleeping soundly, chest rising and falling steadily.

Assassin reached out a hand to his head.

Something grabbed her wrist suddenly. Assassin jolted in shock, twisting her wrist away instinctively.

The prince was sitting up in bed, staring at her.

"What are you doing?"

#assassin #ask #collab #check other person out #child person #palace #prince #royalty #terrible adults

[dollyyun]

𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 | chap 05

SYPNOSIS: wherein the princess, who is a clandestine assassin, has been commanded to eliminate the seven vampire princes.

GENRE: 18+ (mdni), reverse harem, contemporary fantasy, enemies to lovers, third pov, eventual previous past lives will be entailed.

WARNINGS: expletives, blood, suggestive theme, borderline smut (ig?).

WORD COUNT: 6k

TAGLIST: @aishigrey @kgneptun @b3tt7boop @smg-valeria @lhspeachie @enhaverse713586 @strxwbloody @firstclassjaylee @jwnghyuns @luminouskalopsia @deobitifull @loumin908

🍒 MASTERLIST 🍒

The journey to the castle is rather a covert one. Elora has been given a dark cloak with a hood to obscure her identity from any onlookers before they disembark for the castle, which is approximately fifteen minutes by foot.

The princes flank her from the sides to the front and back, and although they appear to provide further protection by completely shielding her from the public eye, their real intent is to prevent her from fleeing. They have long since noted that their detainee is unpredictable, and it would be prudent for them to take extra precautions with her.

After having to go through security checks by the royal guards, they have finally arrived outside of where the imperial court takes place. Presently, Jake, Riki, and Sunoo are with her, while the rest are inside the courtroom. The wooden door is ajar, allowing Elora to eavesdrop on them.

"Bring forth the mermaidian." She hears an unfamiliar voice that wields sovereignty. She feels a hand gripping her arm firmly before she looks at the side, her eyes narrowing at Sunoo, who hasn't uttered a word to her since the incident.

Elora bites down her tongue from spitting profanities at Sunoo as he forcibly pushes her inside at the moment Riki and Jake push open the door. Her head remains lowered as Sunoo continues to hold her while guiding her to the centre of the room, where the others are as well.

Despite the cloak that obscures her whole being, she can feel gazes on her in every direction, but she doesn't feel the slightest nervous. This is nothing compared to having to stand before the imperial and high courts of Mermaidia and Aetherlyn.

"Raise your head, mermaidian." The deep, manly voice, which she presumes is the king, commands her, and despite loathing their species, Elora obeys the sovereign.

As Elora raises her head, her hands lower the hood that is obscuring her whole identity, revealing her divine lilac waves that cascade down her shoulders as well as her face. Her eyelashes flutter as she looks up, she instantly locks eyes with the queen, who is seated on her throne, whose beauty is unrivalled and exudes a prominent regality.

However, the moment the vampire queen meets Elora's indigo-hued eyes, her icy demeanour melts while her eyes go wide and her lips go parted, looking genuinely appalled. The abrupt shift in the queen's countenance draws everyone's attention while she remains staring at Elora.

"My beloved?" The king, whose throne is next to the queen's, calls for his wife with a tinge of softness, despite his firm tone. Elora simply stares at the queen with a confused frown, as though the latter has seen a horrific sight.

The queen immediately recovers herself, her icy demeanour returns, but Elora can see through her that she is still shaken by whatever happened.

"What is your name?" The queen's voice is resounding as it echoes throughout the imperial court.

"Elora, your eminence." Elora bows, displaying her respect and courtesy for the sovereign.

"Indeed, you are a mermaidian." The king hums, still inspecting the female with his steely, crimson eyes. "I've been informed by my sons that your purpose for being here remains unclear. No matter your reason, I have a preposition to offer you." A cold smirk is drawn on his lips. "The preposition entails you marrying my eldest son."

At once, the other elders seated by each side of the room begin to erupt in heated discussion, as they did not expect their king to offer such a preposterous preposition.

"What?" Elora blurts out in disbelief while the princes react the same as well. "Pardon my impudence, but I don't wish to marry your son."

"Father, what is the meaning of this?" Heeseung steps forward, his eyes glaring at the king, to which the king simply smiles.

"It's a political marriage. It will benefit both kingdoms, so there will not be any conflict or bloodshed in the near future." The king states calmly. "Additionally, my eldest son is of the age where he should have already been married."

"But why me?" Elora asks rather aggressively. She doesn't bother to conceal her frustration and distaste for their species, to which she earns glares from the elders. "Surely, you can find other potential candidates to marry your son."

"Oh my, it appears that I have forgotten to add that this is a direct order." A cynical smile touches the king's lips. "Unless you want to be executed for being an attempted murderer, then you have no choice but to accept this marriage."

Elora scoffs loudly. It is ironic how she is deemed an attempted murderer when the killing itself is in the vampires' nature. 

"My kingdom won't agree to this." Elora speaks venomously, and she almost lunges for the king with the intention to slit his throat if it weren't for Jake and Sunghoon holding her back.

"Adorable, isn't she?" The king releases a genuine laugh with a mirthful grin on his lips, finding pure amusement in Elora's apparent wrath. "Expect the wedding to happen after your journey to Mermaidia to retrieve the crystal heart of Oceania."

"You will only be permitted to embark on your journey in two days." The queen decides to speak up after keeping silent. "In the meantime, you are to remain in the castle and attend the royal ball tomorrow. As for Elora," The way the queen speaks her name is rather odd, as though she refuses to believe that is her name. "You will have a temporary handmaiden serving you. We'll be expecting your attendance at the royal ball."

Elora clenches her jaw. Her wrath for the vampires is overbrimming, but she chooses to remain silent. She doesn't wish to get her tongue cut, or worse, beheaded.

"Consider it as a pre-celebratory party for the marriage between Heeseung and Elora as well." The king adds one last smile. "Now, off you go."

"Don't touch me." Elora jerks her shoulder away from Sunghoon's hand just as he is about to escort her, but the prince is not having any of her attitude and grips her arm tight before they proceed to depart from the imperial court.

"My beloved, what caused you such perturbation earlier?" The king speaks to his wife in a soft murmur, and when he looks at her, she is still staring at the door where they had just exited.

The queen releases a shaky breath, and she has yet to realise how her hand is trembling until she feels the king's hand placed on top of hers. She looks at him with shaky pupils. "The mermaidian, she looks exactly like her."

"Who?" The king asks gently as he continues to hold his wife in a delicate manner.

"The first monarch from a thousand years ago." Her lips quiver while her face seems to be paler by the second, before she speaks in a whisper, "The demi-goddess."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Marriage? Marriage?! The thought of marriage, let alone being married to her enemy, is simply preposterous! Elora buries her face into the pillow to muffle her screams, now having settled into one of the rooms assigned by the queen.

It appears that her screams have reached a pair of ears as he comes striding into her room stealthily. His eyebrow is arched as he stares at the female, who is still throwing tantrums with her head buried in the pillow.

"Don't bother muffling your screams. I could hear you from a distance."

Elora immediately removes the pillow from her face and turns her head to the side, shooting him with an accusatory glare. "Were you in it as well? Did you know that the king would have me married to your brother?"

Jake shakes his head in response, the sincerity in his eyes proves to her that he has no idea, but the corner of his lips quirks a smirk, finding enjoyment in the predicament she is in. "I can't say that I don't find this enjoyable. You should be thankful that our father didn't sentence you to death after your attempts to kill us."

Still lying on the mattress, Elora glares at him once more before she turns her body to the side, her back facing him. "Do me a favour and fuck off."

"No can do. I've been instructed by your groom to oversee you while he and the rest have respective tasks to complete." Jake's mirthful voice irks her to no end, but she remains unmoving. "Come on. Why are you being so boring? You were a lot of fun when we were at the palace!"

"Uughhh." Elora groans out loud as she grabs another pillow to cover her ear. She has no idea that Jake can be unbearably annoying and talkative. Despite covering her ear with the pillow, she can hear knocks on the door.

"Your majesty," The voice of her temporary handmaiden causes her to remove the pillow from her ear. "Princess Celeste has requested for you."

"Tell her that I'm busy." Any traces of mirth have dissipated in his voice as he sounds rather icy-cold, rendering Elora confused by his sudden change of behaviour. From what she recalls, their sister recently miraculously woke up from a coma, so naturally, the brothers were elated, all except for one.

"Princess Celeste is in her room, and she refuses 'no' as an answer." Despite how firm the handmaiden speaks, Elora can detect shakiness in her voice, as though she is afraid the prince might lash out at her.

There is a brief silence for a moment before Elora hears footsteps approaching from behind. The next thing she knows, she is being carried in a bridal style by the prince, eliciting a surprised yelp from her while instinctively latching her arms around his neck.

Elora's heart is pumping hard from the close proximity of their faces, with his side profile greeting her. She glares at him while he continues to carry her as they leave her room. "What do you think you're doing?!"

A faint smirk touches his lips while he casts a quick side glance at her face. "Since I'm on my princely duty to oversee you, I'm bringing you with me to meet my adamant sister."

"Even so, I can walk by myself!" Elora exclaims, and her cheeks go flushed upon receiving stares from the imperial personnel in their vicinity.

"You'll only slow us down. Plus, I want to get this over with." Jake mutters under his breath before holding her more securely. "Hold on tight."

At once, Elora automatically closes her eyes and tightens her arms around his neck, feeling the wind whirling past them as he uses his vamp speed. It isn't even a minute or so when she feels him come to a stop. She flutters her eyes open and shoots him a scowl. "Put me down."

Surprisingly, he complies, setting her down to her feet while she ignores the way her heart flutters as he does so gently. She takes a step back, watching as Jake knocks on the door before pushing it open. He allows her to enter first, and she does, with him following after.

Elora scans the princess's room, finding it odd how there is a lack of ornaments and how the curtains are drawn closed, casting an eerie ambience to the room. Her eyes finally settle on the princess, who is seated on the bed with the duvet covering her lower body.

Elora's lips parted in complete awe at the princess's beauty. Her hair is in a beautiful golden shade that looks rich and silky as it cascades down her slender shoulders. Her crimson eyes glow the same as the others. However, there is a certain ambience from the princess, especially when there is a kind smile on her pink lips and her eyes gleam with warmth.

"Jake." The princess, Celeste, calls for him in a soft, gentle voice. Her eyes are still staring at the cold prince, whose face remains impassive.

"Celeste." Jake greets his sister curtly, refusing to move closer to her. "Now that you've seen my face, can I go now?"

Despite Elora's hatred for the vampire species in general, she can't help but disprove the way Jake is being hostile towards his sister. She casts him a disapproving glance. "Jake." The sound of his name on her lips sounds oddly heavenly, causing Jake to falter as he stares at her. "Stop being a dickhead to your sister."

Elora definitely didn't expect the princess to chuckle at her remark. As she stares at the princess, she is taken aback to see the kind smile on her lips. "You must be Elora. The mermaidian." Celeste's eyes glimmer with admiration as she scans Elora's countenance. "I've never seen a real-life mermaidian before. You look truly divine."

Elora decides to lower her guard and give the princess a small smile before bowing to her. "Your highness."

"That isn’t necessary." Celeste waves her hand dismissively at her. "After all, you'll be a princess consort since you'll be getting married to Heeseung."

Elora's eyes twitch, but she holds back from making an indecent remark. The princess is already being kind to her, so the least she can do is to be polite.

"Why have you requested my presence?" Jake goes straight to the point as he crosses his arms over his chest. "It should've been more than enough for you that the rest have already visited you."

A sad smile touches the princess's lips. "You're my brother as well, Jake. I've missed you just the same as I've missed them."

"I didn’t." Jake scoffs coldly, and Elora finds it bizarre that he is acting this way towards his own sister. He takes Elora by surprise when he grabs her wrist. "Now that you've seen me, we'll be taking our leave."

"I'd like to speak with Elora for awhile." Celeste says sternly, forcing Jake to halt his steps, and Elora takes this chance to yank her wrist from his grasp. "Please."

Jake's eyes harden while his jaw clenches. "Five minutes." He proceeds to trudge away, making his exit and closing the door.

Elora relaxes a hair before turning her attention to the princess. "I have no idea why he's behaving like that when he was fine earlier." She says.

Celeste gives her a sad smile in return. "He's always been like that with me." She then motions for Elora to sit on the chair next to her bed, and the latter complies.

"I've heard about what happened from my brothers." Celeste starts off. "And I would like to apologise on behalf of them."

Elora's eyebrows jump in surprise. "Why?"

"Because you've been held captive, and according to Jungwon, some of them haven't been really treating you well." Celeste offers her a sympathetic smile. "If it makes you feel better, I've already reprimanded them."

"You didn't have to." Elora is in pure confusion as to why the princess is being kind and compassionate towards her. "It was sort of a reciprocity since I did attempt to kill some of them. It's understandable for them to treat me the way they did."

"Nevertheless, they should've been gentlemen towards you." Celeste heaves a sigh, disappointment glints in her eye. "I taught them better than to treat a woman like that."

"They did. At least some." Elora rubs her nape. "Heeseung healed me with his blood, and Jungwon used his magic to heal me as well."

"Speaking of Heeseung, how are you feeling about the whole marriage thing?" Celeste asks, treading her words carefully as she examines Elora's facial expression.

Elora scoffs lightly and looks away from her. "Why does it matter how I feel when the king affirms that I have no choice but to marry your brother?"

"Believe it or not, but I care." Celeste takes her by surprise as she holds her hand tenderly. Elora can see the sincerity and sympathy shining in her crimson eyes. "It must've been awful to have your life dictated by the sovereigns. If I had the full authority, I would've helped you and allowed you to go back to your kingdom."

Elora's heart swells with something unfamiliar. "Why are you being so kind to me when you've just met me?" She asks quietly, as her hand is still being held by the princess.

Celeste gives her another one of her kind, lovely smiles. "I believe that being imposed by something you deem unjust is not the way to form an alliance between two species."

"You want to form an alliance with me?"

Celeste shakes her head. "Not just an alliance, but a friend as well."

"Friend." Elora says the word in a whisper. Her heart clenches with an unfamiliar sentiment. Throughout her life back in Aetherlyn, no one has ever wanted to be friends with her due to her being powerless. Even though she has proven to her people how powerful she was without innate power when she became a clandestine assassin, it didn't change anything.

Maybe it has something to do with Celeste being the first vampire ever to show kindness and compassion towards her, but Elora decides to trust her. And so, Elora reciprocates Celeste's smile. "Sure."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Elora steps out of the fairly large bathtub with lukewarm water that manages to ease her muscles and grabs the towel on the racks before wrapping it around her body and grabbing another one to dry off her hair.

After what happened earlier with Celeste, Jake escorted her back to her room, and surprisingly, the prince remained quiet and brooding, but Elora took his silence as a good thing. The least she needed was to hear him being chattery all over.

Just as she is about to step out of the shower, which is equivalent to the size of her room, she halts her steps at the moment a certain someone enters with a towel draped over his clothed shoulder. Whereas she is staring at him in complete shock, he doesn't seem too surprised and simply raises his eyebrow at her.

"What are you doing here?!" Elora's cheeks flush pink as she grips the edge of her towel that is covering her body.

"I'm going for a shower." He states in a monotone manner, and while he appears impassive, his eyes are shamelessly raking over her body. Her skin looks flawless, while her hair is damp. Even underneath the towel, he can discern her alluring curves. His eyes fall to her visible cleavage before he quickly looks back at her face.

"But why here?" Elora asks with a scowl, and yet she still avoids his gaze.

"Because this is my shower room and you'll be sleeping in my room, Mia Cara."

"Your room?!" Elora gapes at him in disbelief. "I thought─"

"You thought wrong." He clenches his jaw, hating how his mind bears sinful thoughts the longer his eyes persist on her gorgeous figure. "Just get dressed and sleep." He grumbles before walking past her, and her scent alone is enough to entice him to take a bite of her again.

Elora doesn't waste time and immediately exits the shower room, not forgetting to slam the door closed. She groans loudly at how the night just seems to get worse. Her gaze settles on the king-sized bed, and she swallows harshly. The thought of sharing a bed with her enemy, who happens to be the groom, disgusts her.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Elora, now dressed in a white sleeveless nightgown, sits at the edge of the bed with her body tensed. She hears the door of the shower room open and close from behind. It is bad enough that her bracelet seems to be impaired, so she can only rely on her combat skills if anything happens.

"I thought you'd be asleep already." Heeseung speaks from behind, and she feels the bed dipping, making her shoulders go even tensed. "Relax, Mia Cara. I'm not going to hurt you."

Elora finally turns around to stare at him incredulously. "Why are you so calm and normal about this? It is obviously clear that you're not thrilled about getting married to me either."

There is a brief silence that allows Elora to scan his nightly appearance, dressed in a loose blouse with his collarbones peeking and oddly transparent enough for her to make out his abdominal muscles, supposedly hidden underneath the material. His hair looks soft and silky as it hovers over his forehead. His gaze alone is telling her that he has no intention of hurting her.

"You're right, but what can I even do with little authority?" Heeseung sighs, still standing across from her by the side of the bed. "Trust me, I don't want this as much as you don't. My brothers and I have tried persuading our parents to change their minds, but their decision still stands."

Elora scoffs lightly before rising from the bed. Without a word, she storms towards the door, but just as she holds the handle, Heeseung appears closely next to her with his palm on the door, preventing her from leaving.

A frown touches his lips. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Anywhere is better than to sleep on the same bed as you." She tries to yank the door open, but with Heeseung's strength, it's futile.

"Stop being stubborn and just sleep on the bed, Mia Cara."

"No." Elora grunts as she remains resilient in trying to open the door. "Don't stop me, Heeseung, or I'll─"

Heeseung has her turn around with his hands on her shoulders and pins her against the door. Elora gasps softly at the impact, and when she glances up, his glaring eyes penetrate into hers, sending an odd shiver down her spine.

"Stop being so fucking difficult and get on the damn bed." Heeseung orders calmly, his voice sounds deeper and darker, almost as if he's furious, which he is.

"Fine." Elora acquiesces, feigning obedience, which prompts him to release her.

With his eyes on her, she proceeds to amble towards the bed, and he follows, but she slows down the pace, allowing him to move ahead. Once he is just a few feet away, she wastes no time in turning around and dashing for the door.

But Elora is mistaken. Heeseung has long since known that she does have some tricks up her sleeves.

"Hey!" Elora's heart lurches in her chest as soon as he carries her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Put me down!" Even her punches to his back don't seem to deter him.

Before she knows it, she is thrown on the bed without any thoughts of carefulness. She gasps once more as he hovers on top of her with his hands on the sides of her head, trapping her, while his knee is settled between her thighs. With an angry huff, she decides to throw punches at his solid chest. "Get the fuck away from me, you asshole!"

Heeseung doesn't seem the slightest bothered by her mere punches and simply allows her to throw tantrums with profanities at him. He waits, and waits, until the female below is heaving with harsh breaths as she finally relents.

"Are you finished?" His voice has a husky rasp to it, while his crimson eyes seem so oddly alluring, and the close proximity between their faces brings heat to her cheeks against her will.

Just then, her fingertips tingle with the familiarity of her magic before she conjures a dagger and clutches it in her grasp. She quickly raises it to his neck with the intention of threatening him, but a gasp of disbelief leaves her lips when he grabs her wrist with ease. She struggles, even when she is now using both hands to try and plunge the dagger into his neck, but his strength overweighs her.

Soon, she finds herself utterly vulnerable, with his hand locking both her wrists and pinning them above her head. All the while, she feels eerie by the fact that he looks calm and collected despite the fury ablaze in his beautiful crimson eyes.

Goosebumps arise on her skin as the nightgown she dons has been hiked up, revealing her smooth thighs, as do the shivers running down her spine, and she has no idea if they're from the coldness teeming in the atmosphere or just from his gaze alone.

"You." His voice nearly comes out of a growl while a muscle pulses in his jaw. "It would've been a lot easier if you had just given up and surrendered when you knew you had lost."

"I don't lose. Never." Her voice comes out quiet while she feels oddly breathless. "At least not to you."

He cocks an eyebrow in an attractive manner. "Look at yourself, Mia Cara. You're beneath me." A smirk touches his lips as he leans closer until his cold, minty breath hits the cupid bow of her lips, rendering her speechless. "Not so feisty now, are you?"

Elora stares at his lips with hooded eyelids, and something inside of him is close to snapping and devouring the attractive mermaidian in his grasps. She feels lightheaded as something dangerous swirls within her, tempting her to seal his lips into a kiss.

"Heeseung." She utters his name breathlessly as she returns her gaze to his darkening eyes, looking at him under her naturally long lashes.

"Heli." A feminine voice that sounds uncannily like hers echoes throughout the walls in her mind, but she pays no mind to that, not when she can't focus on anything else other than the prince above her and his strong, addictive cologne that invades her nostril.

Heeseung's eyes flicker at her pink, kissable lips that seem to be luring him, as does the way her luminous, indigo-hued eyes gaze at him. He is fighting an internal battle where one part of him desires and lusts for his enemy, while the other part is reasoning with him through rationality.

"We shouldn’t." Elora whispers as the distance between their lips decreases, and yet she finds herself willingly surrendering to him, welcoming his lips on hers.

"Yeah." He whispers before pressing his lips on her awaiting ones.

Elora gasps softly as her lips parted, but she is only giving him access for his wet muscle to enter the cavern of her mouth. Her will to fight off his dark allures weakens, as do her clutches on the dagger before she completely releases it and relaxes her every muscle.

Elora melts against his kisses, surrendering herself to him. His tongue dances with hers in a perfect rhythm before he retracts and pulls away from her chasing lips. His eyes darken with each passing second as he stares down at the panting female. Upon seeing her relaxed, he slowly releases his hand from pinning her wrists.

He waits for her to attack him or anything, but what she does next surprises him. Her hands latch onto his nape before she pulls him down. Their lips meet once more, and this time, a sense of urgency and hunger is palpable with the way their lips move against each other, filled with carnal desire.

Elora runs her fingers through his soft locks before tugging on them, eliciting a low growl from him, his lips sending vibrations to hers. He kisses her like he's punishing her. She gasps painfully at the moment he bites down her bottom lip and pulls it before resuming to kiss her senselessly.

His hand descends to her bare thigh, rubbing it sensually while his touch sends tingles down her skin. She moves her hips, and a jolt of pleasure shoots up through her body when her clit comes into contact with his thigh. She does it experimentally again, and this time, he presses his thigh deeper into her core, eliciting a breathy moan from her as he pulls away from her lips.

"Yeah? You like that?" He rasps, watching as she moves her hips sensually, grinding on his thigh. He can almost feel the dampness seeping through her underwear. He dips his head to press a kiss on her neck.

"Heeseung." She moans again at the pleasurable sensation of his lips kissing and nipping her skin. She shudders when she feels the tips of his pointed fangs graze across her skin in a teasing manner.

"Keep going." He murmurs, his hand on her hips, assisting her to move as she continues to grind on him. He can hear the blood pumping under her skin, enticing him to take a bite. He fights off his thirst for her blood, but the longer he resists, the more difficult it is to contain the darkness.

A pained moan leaves her lips as he sinks his fangs into her jugular, and yet she doesn’t relent from grinding her already wet core against his thigh. Her eyes roll to the back while her back arches, as does her neck, allowing him to drink comfortably from her neck. The pleasure from both administrations is delirious.

"Heeseung." Tears prick in her eyes at the delirious sensation while her thighs tremble as her very first orgasm comes crashing down like a tidal wave.

Heeseung moans, his arm hugging her waist and pulling her closer to his body as he continues to drink her blood. It tastes divine, even better than a mere liquor. He's utterly drunk on her blood.

"Heeseung." Amidst the pleasure, Elora is starting to feel a searing pain from how deep his fangs have sunken into her jugular. She grabs a fist of his blouse, trying to push him away, but her gesture elicits an inhumane growl from his lips. "Heeseung!"

Heeseung pulls his fangs away from her neck, and Elora watches in a mixture of horror and awe as he licks the excess of her blood that is dripping from his fangs. At the moment he opens his eyes, fear resides within her upon seeing the familiar obsidian that shrouds his eyes.

His blood-smeared lips curl into a smirk. "Why did you stop?" His voice sounds eerily dark, so sinister as the way he is caressing her bare thigh, which is locked around his waist. "Did I say you could stop?" He snarls, and his whole countenance looks different. It reminds her of Sunoo the other day, when he attacked her.

"H-Heeseung, you're not yourself." Elora whimpers, trying to push him away from her, but he grabs both of her hands and pins them to the sides of her head. "What are you?" She asks with shaky breaths.

"What do you think, Mia Cara?" He chuckles darkly, his grip on her hands tightening. "I'll let you guess the answer, but if you get it wrong, I'll suck you dry."

"No." She shakes her head, and for the first time, she feels an intense fear for the prince. "Y-You're a monster."

He clicks his tongue in disappointment. "A classic answer, but good try, Mia Cara."

Heeseung bares his razor-sharp fangs while eliciting an inhumane noise deep from his rumbling chest before sinking his fangs back to where he had bitten her, with her blood seeping from her wounds and dripping down her skin and the sheets.

"H-Heeseung!" Elora tries to move her head, but when she does, the familiar, searing pain jolts at her neck. She swears that she will lose her head sooner or later with the way he is devouring her with his fangs. She doesn’t bother fighting back and surrenders herself to him. Tears stream down her face while her helpless cries begin to quieten as her body is starting to lose consciousness.

"Lilith."

An unfamiliar name is being uttered by Heeseung's voice in her head, confusing her while her eyelids are getting heavier with each passing second.

"Lilith, I'm sorry."

"Heli." She doesn’t even have the time to feel shocked upon hearing a feminine voice that is similar to hers in her head, calling for the unfamiliar name, as darkness begins to engulf her whole before her body goes entirely lifeless.

Heeseung, in his delirium, continues to consume her blood with a palpable thirst that is inevitably intoxicating his whole senses. He doesn’t even realise that she has long been unconscious.

"Heeseung, snap out of it!" His inner conscience screams at him, rendering him completely shocked upon hearing his own voice, as though it were a different person with the same voice as him.

His obsidian eyes return to crimson-hued as he blinks his eyes. He immediately pulls his fangs away from her neck, and when he looks down, his stomach feels sickened at the horrific wounds on her neck from his bite as blood continues to seep, tainting her nightgown and the bedsheet.

For the first time throughout his twenty-three years of existence, guilt and regret consume him as he stares at his bloodied bride in mortification.

"Elora?" He cradles her face as he stares at her lashes resting under her eyes. "Mia Cara." His heart clenches as she remains unresponsive.

Cradling the back of her head as he holds her close to him, Heeseung pulls his sleeves down and bites down his wrist before placing it on her parted lips and allowing his blood to go into her system, hoping that she would wake up and her wounds would heal. But minutes have passed, and nothing happens. Her wounds remain seeping with blood.

A muscle pulses in his jaw before he decides to carry her in a bridal style, using his vamp speed to head outside, but he is still unstable, swaying lightly. He holds her securely in his arms, her head lolling to the back. He has no idea how or what to do, feeling utterly helpless.

"Heeseung. Why the hell do I smell her blood─"

Heeseung turns around to meet Jay's steely eyes. The latter appears to have been with some of his brothers as Jungwon, Jake, and Sunoo approach from behind him. All of their eyes fall to the bloodied bride in the groom's arms.

Jungwon pushes past Jay, his concerned eyes turn into anger as they glare into Heeseung's. He uses his vamp speed to get to Heeseung and snatch the unconscious female, now carrying her in his arms.

"What the fuck did you do?" Jake steps forward, and he doesn’t look the slightest pleased. "Heeseung!"

"I─" Heeseung is at a loss for words, the guilt is written across his face. "I didn’t mean to."

"You lost your control." Jungwon states coldly, and amidst the anger, disappointment flickers in his gaze. "We trusted you that you would never lose control."

"I said I didn’t mean to!" Heeseung bursts out, a mixture of anger and sadness brims within him. "I would never hurt her! She's my bride!"

"Yet, you did." Jake glowers at him. "You fooled us into thinking that you had it all at bay."

Familiar voices approach the group before they turn to see Celeste with Riki and Sunghoon, seeming to be in a lighthearted, peaceful conversation. The moment Elora's fresh blood invades their senses, they divert their gazes to the group.

"What happened?" Celeste uses her vamp speed and stops in front of Jungwon. Her hand touches Elora's forehead while she inspects the wounds on her neck.

"Heeseung." Riki mutters as he stares at the eldest, whose blouse is stained with her blood.

"Celeste, help her." Heeseung implores his sister, and thankfully, the latter doesn’t seem to be disappointed or angry at her like some of his brothers do.

"She's still there, but weak." Celeste murmurs, her eyes are in full concentration as she uses her ability on Elora. "Come." She orders as she spins around to walk in haste ahead, with Jungwon, Jake, and Riki following after her.

Heeseung stares down at his hands, which are stained with her blood, and he recalls how he held her lifeless figure. Killing is in his nature, but why does he feel sick to the stomach upon almost killing his bride?

"Heeseung, what really happened?" Sunghoon places his hand firmly on Heeseung's shoulder, prompting the eldest to look up.

Thankfully, Sunghoon, Jay, and Sunoo don't seem to resent him, unlike the others, but their faces remain serious.

"I-I don't know what took me over." Heeseung mumbles distraughtly. "We were in a heated moment, but then I couldn’t resist drinking her blood."

"Her blood triggered you, huh?" Sunoo heaves a sigh, as he knows that feeling.

"I thought I had it at bay." Heeseung clenches his jaw and looks away. "I fucking thought that it wouldn’t take control over me."

"We told you, Heeseung," Jay says in a grave tone. "that no matter how hard we try to keep them at bay, they're bound to consume us sooner or later."

"We're cursed." Sunghoon adds, but his tone is light, as if he has long since accepted the cruel reality.

"Elora." Heeseung swallows the painful lump in his throat as her lifeless, beautiful face appears in his mind.

"She'll be fine." Sunghoon pats Heeseung's back. "With Celeste's ability and help, she will wake up soon."

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#enhypen #enhypen poly #heeseung #jake #jay #sunoo #jungwon #ni-ki #sunghoon #enhypen fanfiction #fantasy romance

[what-the--curtains]

There Are No Wolves in the Desert

Part 2 - The Tell Tale Knife

(Oberyn Martell x f!reader)

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Summary: After the death of his paramour Oberyn seeks out a local mercenary known as the Shadow Hunter, but who he finds is more valuable than he could have imagined.

Authors notes: Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs! I’ve loved Robb and Oberyn since I read the books like 10 years ago now (yes my parent gave me that book when I was like 13 😂) I’m so happy to finally write down whats been in my head for years! Thank you for letting me share it with you💕💕 as per usual let me know if youd like a tag (or untag)!

Tw: Alcohol, violence, threats of sexual assault, swearing, nudity (implied), mentions of sex.

Word count: 4.5 k

Tagged: @evyiione @ayamenimthiriel @xsadderdazeforeverx @agingerindenial (if i missed anyone please let me know im the worst for tagging!!)

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3 years later

The days passed slowly while you remained tucked away, out of sight from those seeking to do you harm. A generous payment kept you safe in the attic of a local blacksmith, the promise of more ensuring you wouldn't be sold out. Once the imminent threat of assasination was over you focused on staying alive, finding the dragon queen becoming a distant memory, one that would have to wait until a more opportune moment presented itself. You used the last of your funds to purchase a horse and sought out work where you could. For a while you served as a healer to those returning from the fighting pits and other skirmishes occurring between nearby cities, until a Lannister soldier showed up searching for you. After that you moved further out of town finding work at a tavern miles from the city walls catering to a variety of characters travelling from near and far.

The owners were good folk, a retired sculptor, her wife and two young children. You’d stopped in for a drink with plans on heading further south, but an incident changed your course. A man came in threatening the owners demanding a payout when you’d stepped in, the man thought it would be easy, and it was at least for you. You helped them bury the body and they’d asked you to stay and so you did; tending to bar, training the horses and offering protection when needed. In return they offered you a bed, hot meals and a small salary despite your insistence that room and board was more than enough. It was a quiet life, a simple life, but one you enjoyed greatly. The noise of war and murder a ditant cry. Only in your sleep were you reminded of the cruelty of the world. The restful days quickly turned to weeks and it wasn't long until a year had passed, as had the memories of who you were.

The rumour of your murder had spread slowly from king landing, uttered from between the poisonous lips of Cersei Lannister, a lie you prayed one day would come back to haunt her. The day the news reached the ears of your employers you knew it was time to leave, and you rode back through the golden gates of the city. You’d resold the horse to a palace guard whose wife worked with the royal stables, training them, breeding them, caring for them, a good place for a faithful friend to live out its days. Noticing the weapons on your back the guard offered you a fee to find and kill a man who had snuck into the palace and murdered three of his wife's favourite horses after their daughter had refused his hand in marriage. He was dead within the hour, and from there the word of your skill in both tracking and murder got around amougst the nobility, and you fell haphhazourdly into mercenary work. If there was one skill you could rely on, it was your ability to unabashedly kill and you quickly became one of Dornes finest assassins. You fell into the work, the ease at which you became accustomed to it frightened you at first, but you had been hardened by loss, and it wasn't as if you hadn’t killed before.

Any semblance of emotional morality long forgotten, unable, or not wanting to have it all come seeping back, fearful of what may surface as a result. Most of your money went to keeping you fed, well rested and off any enemy radars. After the first month, money became more lucrative and you had splashed out on new armoury and weapons, nothing flashy like some of the more ornate dornish assassins who made a show of their profession. They were harmless, though admittedly annoying and from what you heard, not nearly as impressive as they boasted. Your armour was simple, lightweight leather over loose, breathable cloth, and a dark cloak, Its hood heavy and kept drawn well up over your eyes obscuring your face from prying eyes at all times. A shadow on the wall. Your weapons were similar to your clothes, your short swords and longbow were well crafted and durable, no decoration but for a few carved vines wrapped around their ends. Your only remaining identifiers were your eyes, and the dagger belonging to your late husband which stayed with you at all times, always within reach. Any remaining money was hidden away about the city, a retirement fund if you will, assuming you lived that long.

There were bonuses beside finances in your line of work, your ability to disappear into a crowd kept you in touch with the rumour mill. Words and secrets would fall from drunken mouths carelessly. Most of it stank worse than the horse's field after rain, but there were some that rang true, and a few that even brought a rare smile to your face. A young woman had spoken loudly about Tywin Lannister's death and how he’d supposedly died on the privy, causing you to snort into your soup, a fitting end for a coward of a man.

A month later you heard that the prince of Dorne had gone to King's Landing to fight for Tyrion, where he supposedly defeated a man standing well over 12 feet tall. A tall tale of a tall man you think, knowing how royal always sought to increase the truth of their abilities. You had also heard the unfortunate news of Ellaria Sands poisoning , the venom not reaching her veins until the ship had sailed out, no remedy to be found on the vaste seascape. It was a shame, she and the Sand Snakes were skilled adversaries here and they had since scattered in search of answers and allies around the seven kingdoms, to help avenge their mother. The prince apparently had to be restrained to stop him from turning the ship around, that was a story you found more believable. From what you’d heard the prince may have many lovers but he would go to war for any of them. You’d never seen his face, except for on the back of coins or from a distance. If you had you may have noticed him enter into the tavern where you sat awaiting your payment from your most recent client.

Your eyes stay on the table, your hood pulled up well over your forehead giving you a frightening silhouette beneath the candlelight that was beginning to glow more prominently as the sun set. The young man who commissioned you entered, he stank of wine and privilege, but he was rich and the payment promised was well worth putting up with his unsavoury personality. His true odor protrudes through the thin veil of perfume attempting to mask his stench, alerting you to his presence well before he’d sat down. Your time alone had heightened your tracking skills, a side effect of living under the constant threat of being hunted. The wiry man sits down next to you, his thin fingers snapping under your eyes in an attempt to get your attention, you inhale deeply, drawing yourself back to your displeasing reality and forced social interactions.

“Where's the money?” you ask, knife whittling a notch out of the table's leg with Robbs dagger.

“Where the head?” he retorts, and you pull out a small sack, shoving it into his hand watching as he pulls at the drawstring, opening the velvet bag. He raises his eyebrows and pulls out the index finger you'd removed from the corpse.

“Head was…. indisposed. I hope this satisfies,” you murmur, this job had been messier than you intended. You typically weren't so reckless especially with a noble.

“ Very much so, ” he says taking it and turning it in his hands

“The money then,” you restate, tone flat.

“Well there's one more... proposition I had.” He states, hand resting down on your thigh.

“I'll take the money for this job then you can hand me the next target,” you respond, sighing heavily, used to people getting handsy with you.

“You can make extra on this job if you play your cards right,” he whispers, hand running up your thigh. The other reaches up to pull back on your hood within seconds your dagger had impaled his hand, pining it to the table. His wail of anguish causes the heads in the tavern to turn briefly towards the scene before returning to their lively chatter.

“You stupid bitch,” he spits making a grab for the knife but you reach forward pushing it further into the table leaning in towards him.

“The money, or I cut off your head and mount it on the wall of this tavern,” you say, louder than intended.

Oberyn watches from the bar in amusement , the last time he’d seen fire like that had come from Ellaria. He needed someone to help get his revenge, someone willing to murder a man in front of witnesses, his birds had been right, this mercenary was the one for the job.

You rip the knife from the man's hand as he throws you the coinpurse you were owed you reach for it as he stands.

“Bitch,” he spits, liquid hitting the side of your face as he pulls down your hood “you better watch you back mercenary, I'll be taking you from behind in no time.” He snarls, as you hurry to pull your cover back up.

“Clever,” you retort, wiping your face, shaking out the purse and counting your pay out. Empty threats. Or threats you didn’t care about, you could kill scum like that in your sleep, and you had. You mutter another curse under your breath at being exposed, the latest delay in dye shipments had allowed the roots of your white hair to protrude through, lucky everyone inside was too drunk to notice. The money from the job was enough to keep a roof over your head for the foreseeable future, maybe even enough for a bath, it was getting to be that time. You go to stand, you had an ‘appointment’ in town, one with a handsome payout. Before you can stand you see a pair of hands adorned in jewellery slip into your view a scent of sweet fruit and honey indicating a cleanliness and a high status, a very high status, your appointment could wait.

Obery was observant, his eyes had been glued to you even while conversing with the beautiful patrons of the bar, not wanting to lose you in the crowd. “The shadow tracker”. That’s what you had been dubbed by those residing in the city according to his sources, clients of yours pleased with your services, services he was in need of. It seems you may bear more than one secret identity, it may have been for the briefest second, but the colour of your hair stood out against the dark fabric you wore. It intrigued him, white hair was uncommon in those of your age, very rare. In fact he only knew of one person still alive with such a trait. The other, one whom he’d sent a wedding gift to years prior, was long dead, or so the Lannister would have him believe, and when has he ever trusted the word of child murderers. He may have come here in seek of a mercenary, but what he found may prove to be even more valuable to his cause.

“Payments 50 for a nobody, rate goes up with each class, royals are above my paygrade, and nobles will cost you at least 6 of those fancy rings on your fingers,” you list, taking note of the martell sigil embellished on one of the larger rings.

“How much would it be to convince a wolf to take down a Lion,” he queries, hunching his head down to try and catch a glimpse of the eyes under the hood. Your heart drops.

“Above the pay grade, couple down at the docks have a death wish, you might try your luck there,” you explain, deepening your voice slightly in an attempt to disguise yourself.

“And what would be your wish, if you could have it?” he queries, leaning back kicking his feet up onto the stool beside you. As he does the yellow of his robes come into your peripheral the suns intricately stitched on, shining against the murk of the tavern's tile floor.

“To be left alone,” you chide, this was someone well acquainted with the royals here, you didn't deal with royalty, more trouble than they're worth.

“What's that old saying? The lone wolf dies, or am I mistaken? ” he returns, chuckling slightly.

“I don’t know who you think I am but I assure you…” you say, eyes finally raising, only then realizing the prince of Dorne sat before you, at least based on his impression on one of the coins in your hand.

“Lady Stark, I was hoping we’d meet face to face,” he remarks, the long forgotten address catching you off guard causing your eyes to shoot back down.

“Lady Stark died, the Lannisters ground up her body and fed it to the king's direwolf before killing it, haven’t you heard?” you say sarcastically, pulling your knife out of the table, unsure if he’d recognized it.

“Propaganda, set to diminish the power of the north,” he says, watching the blade intently as it's pulled from the table.

“I do not know if Lady Stark is alive, but for a price I could find out, granted you tell me what you need her for,” you mutter.

“I did not come here in search of Lady Stark. I came seeking a mercenary, the so-called “shadow tracker” however, this is a most welcome surprise, as for why I need you, or her, the answer is revenge plain and simple.”

“Is that what they call me?” you remark “ So you seek out a mercenary only to find something better, something you can trade?” you pose shaking your head.

“No, I needed an assassin, but found something better. Something more lethal.” He pauses.

“Which is?” you prompt, hoping to end this conversation sooner rather than later.

“One they think is dead. Besides I figured Lady Stark would want the opportunity to take down the Lannisters.”

“I assume she would, though she may think the offer stands too good to be true,” you state, gathering up your payment and making your exit he follows suit, stopping briefly to gently nudge his hand under the chin of an attractive man standing near the door, no doubt planning on returning later.

“The desert is no place for a wolf,” he calls after you, a significant distance between the two of you now.

“I shall let you know if I see such a sight, my prince,” you shout, dramatically curtsying before turning on your heel and walking off. He smiles before re-entering the tavern.

A week later

You stroll through the dark alleys of the city, a few years ago you wouldn’t have dared ventured out so late. The woods were known to you, their dangers and sights predictable, but the city was uncharted territory. While a bear could be trusted to do as bears do, the movements of man were less predictable. Your work kept you attune to the veins of the city and the people that coursed through them. You knew where to go and where to avoid depending on the day. You knew the sounds, able to pick out when something was amiss and tonight something was. The usual scurry of the rats below or the call of the parrots from above were absent, someone had been through here and not long ago. Your hand dips into the folds of your cape and you throw your dagger catching a man in the neck. You lean over and remove it from his jugular, the blood flowing out from the wound. Before you can turn him over, something hits you knocking you forward onto your stomach. You’re lifted from the ground by the nape of your neck. Your hoods pulled down and your head pulled up to see the foul smelling client and two other assassins standing before you.

“Dirron, Brant, always a pleasure” you snarl

“No hard feelings Shadow, you’re taking out all the business” Brant responds.

“How much is he paying you? Not enough I bet he didn't pay me enough. I'll double it if you let me walk.” you plead, but they shake their heads.

“I paid you more than your worth,” he spits, gesturing to the man behind you and he lifts you up slamming you into a nearby wall pressing your face against the rough brick. You can taste the blood beginning to gather in your mouth. He releases you, handing you over to the unpleasant smelling man who brings the dagger you’d dropped into your view, pressing the steel against your cheek as he begins to speak.

“This dagger belonged to Robb Stark.”

“Did it? I stole it from a client months ago,” you say, elbowing him in the stomach causing him to drop the blade. You catch it, and drive it deep into his knee. He falls, and you unsheathe his sword and throw it catching Dirron in the chest. The large brute gets to you before your next move knocking you in the stomach and pinning you back up against the wall.

“Told you I'd have you from behind,” the client says, limping over to you and spitting on the side of your face. As the moisture hits your flesh a spear pierces through his chest , pinning him to a nearby crate as the remaining two men scatter. You push yourself up spinning to see the prince standing in the alley picking up your dagger.

“Of all the souvenirs to keep, this…” he starts, examining the blade before continuing “ is the most telling. Even with your distinct traits, the Young Wolf's knife is well known, especially by those who saw it made. Dornish steel,” he explains tossing it in the air catching it by the blade and handing it back to you by its handle.

“As I just finished explaining to your dear friend there, I stole that,” you lie, taking it from him.

“No you didn’t,” he says, eyes bright even in the dark, a familiar smirk on his lips, clearly bemused by your attempts at lying.

“Yes I did,” you retort, refusing to let up on your façade.

“Shall we debate it over a drink?” he asks, retrieving his spear from the client's body which falls to the ground with an unpleasant thunk.

“A prince slumming it with the poor?” you ask watching as he uses the dead man's silks to wipe his weapon before turning back to you.

“My enjoyment of life precludes class,” he says offering you his arm

“As you speak from your riches,” you point out, watching him run his tongue along his upper lip.

“We are not as antiquated in our ideologies here, class here is less pronounced” he assures you.

“Is it?” you argue, pushing down on his extended arm and he shrugs his shoulder in defeat, pride faltering only for a fragment of a second at the notion of being rejected. The streets are busy tonight, the warm weather bringing the people out en masse to enjoy the city's nightlife. He brings his hand up to usher you into a nearby tavern by the small of your back, but thinks twice and drops it, not wanting to lose it. As you enter he raises his hand and winks at the barkeep before following you towards the back near the window sill.

“What will it cost you?” you inquire as he sits down, watching over his shoulder as the person behind the bar pours out a decanter of wine.

“What?” he asks, the downturn of his mouth and creased forehead painting a picture of confusion.

“To let me leave here, to keep this a secret, the two men who escaped know who I am now. My time here is up.” you confess as the decanter is placed on the table the bartenders hands trailing across his shoulders causing him to smile fondly up at them.

“I do not wish you to be found. It would ruin the plans I have,” he says, slowly turning his attention back to you, offering you wine. You stare at the decanter, then to him before shaking your head causing him to chuckle

“What? Have I said something amusing? “ you question, almost annoyed.

“Untrusting,” he remarks, taking a sip of the liquid before offering it to you once again. You reach over the table grabbing the cup from his hand.

“I am untrusting because in my experience people cannot be trusted,” you explain taking a sip.

“You husband certainly lied about marrying the Frey girl,” he remarks, leaning back into his seat, arms spreading out across the chairs back.

“I’ve never been married,” you state, wanting nothing more than to punch the smug look off his face.”

“You're good,” he says, eyes giving you the once over.

“At what?”

“Lying, well perhaps not good per say but committed, i'll give you that, you fight in a similar manner.” he presses, hoping to get a rise out of you.

“So, you think I can’t fight,” you say, shaking your head with a laugh

“Your words,” he states.

“I did not come here to be insulted by the likes of you, prince or not,” you scold, sitting up.

“I didn't mean to offend,” he remarks, eyes watching your movements, evidently he’d touched a nerve.

“Didn’t you?” you query, tilting your head.

“No, truly it was not my intention, I merely believe upon improvement,” he explains.

“Hard to improve without practice, hard to practice on your own,” you state, moving to leave, the prince drawing too much attention than you wanted on you. You down the rest of your wine and utter a ‘thank you for the drink’ before bidding him a farewell and exiting the bar. You don't make it far, seemingly unable to shake him.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“That’s privileged information,” you say, turning to face him walking backwards along the cobbled streets. His eyes fall to you before looking up to the heavens, the stars were bright tonight illuminating his features. The rumours of him held true in one area undoubtedly, he was handsome.

“Come back to the palace with me.” He says, eyes still gazing up at the sky.

“I have no intention of divulging in your pleasure my prince, my heart belongs to another, I swore I wouldn’t stray from him even in death,” you reply, turning back to walk forward spitting blood out onto the street, sure one of your teeth must have been knocked out in the earlier fight.

“While I disagree with more than one of those statements I did not mean to imply, though I would be remiss to say it wouldn’t be of great honour. I heard the Young Wolf betrayed an entire kingdom for you.” he says eyes once again on you, trying to catch a glimpse of your features obscured by the hood.

“Are you suggesting I got my husband killed?” you muse, hearing him tut in disagreement

“You’re dirty, you’re tired, you’re injured and at risk of murder, the palace offers you a safe place to recuperate.”

“And what do you expect in return?” you ask.

“I simply wish to offer you a proposition once you are rested, if you decline, you are free to leave. I will ensure you are transported to a safe location where no one knows you.”

Perhaps it was the itching of your skin, or the way the dye was clinging your out of control hair or maybe it was being allowed to be who you once were, but you agree.

“This is Shana she will help you, unless you prefer a male companion, though I would gladly offer my services” he says, gesturing to an older woman of great beauty.

“I can bath myself, thank you though,” you say, turning and nodding to the woman who bows her head and exits the bathhouse.

“Whatever you wish, I'll have her bring you clothes while we clean yours... if we can clean yours” he muses, the remark cracking a smile in your icy demeanour. He leaves and you undress placing your clothes outside the door as requested. Your bare feet feel refreshed against the cool orange tiles of the bath house, the area evidently meant for the use of many people. Multicoloured tulip petals float atop the water filling your nostril with an aroma unlike one you’d ever known. The steam from the water rises in the cool air of the night and you dip your toe in water proceeding to the steps.

You stride into the water allowing your lower half to adjust to the heat before fully sinking in to cover your shoulder. Immediately the dye in your hair begins to leak into the water blending together with the built up mud and blood that has been stuck to you since your last clean. You scrub your skin until the scars scattered across your body are once again visible in the moonlight. Your hand pauses over the wound above your shoulder, memories of Robb flooding back in, as you assume your true identity for the first time in years.

You dunk your head under the water, scrubbing to remove grime from your face and to work out the last of the dye until it's all gone, your hair returned to its original state. You stay in the water for a while enjoying the heat, but sitting in your own filth is no longer a luxury and you stand up and dry yourself off. Pulling on a robe hung up for you as if they knew you’d be there that night. The cool air hits you as you exit, a welcome relief compared to the heavy heat carried around while wearing your armour. One of the palace guards leads you to your bed chamber, the bed is large and the room even larger. Tiles from floor to ceiling apart from the windows which opened up to the balcony allowing the breeze in at night. You step out onto it, hand trailing through the flowers growing along the bannisters. You thank the guard and he closes the large wooden doors leaving you to change into an orange gown true to the style in Dorne. The thin material leaves little to the imagination, but it would prove good for sleeping though not much else. You turn your head to the room's table where clothes better suited for your line of work sit. Your weapons had been cleaned and lined up across the corner of the room, your dagger shined and stabbed into the wood, holding a note in place.

“Dramatic,” you chuckle, pulling out the knife retrieving the note and opening it ‘winter is coming’ you recognize the handwriting immediately, it had been years but you'd never forgotten the letter you'd received the day at the docks. Perhaps the prince could be trusted after all. You hesitate before folding the note up and placing it back down on the table, walking over to the large bed and falling asleep with the knife tucked securely under your pillow, just in case.

#oberyn martell x you #prince oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn #oberyn x you #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x y/n #game of thrones fanfiction #There Are No Wolves in the Desert #part 2 #pedro pascal characters

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - xv (King!Steve Rogers x Reader

FINAL CHAPTER

Chapter Summary: The war has come, separating the king and queen for seven long months. 

Warnings: MAJOR character death(s), (complicated) child birth, angst, anxiety, FINAL CHAPTER

Word Count: 5k

BRING HIM LIGHT MASTERLIST

Thank you for riding this out with me, guys. xoxo

<- Last Part

The clashing of swords and hollers of men filled King Steven’s ears. The mayhem took his breath away. In all his years of battles and wars, he had yet to see something this destructive.

From what he was able to gather, the fighting had, thankfully, left the north. King Anthony and his armies were able to push Thanos to the northern border, but that didn’t mean York was winning. The scouts informed him that the enemy was able to cut York’s army to half its size. Steven was also told that Thanos’s army was steadily growing – it was as if every time one soldier fell, two would take their place. York and its king were tired and losing – in desperate need of an assist, whether Anthony Stark would admit that or not.

“Just like old times.” Lord James told his king with a bitter chuckle.  

“I’ll get you home, Bucky,” Steven promised. “Back to that lovely wife.”

“Well, my queen would have my head if I let anything happen to you. So, likewise, Steven. Likewise.”

It was different now – the two old friends knew that. Before when they rode off into countless wars together, only Steven had a woman waiting for him back home. Whether it was Margaret or Sharon, he still had a wife. But now, both men had two worried women waiting on them back in Brooken.

Before he had left to lead his men, you cried in his arms, begging him to come back in one piece. The somber moment witnessed by what felt like the entire country. They watched as you wrapped the white fabric – torn from your wedding gown – around the hilt of his sword, kissing the blade and praying for his safety. Brooken watched as their king kissed his queen one last time before mounting his horse and riding off. Everyone – but you most of all – wished for his safe return.

Steven’s eyes narrowed as he withdrew his sword and his fist wrapped tightly around his horse’s reins. Around him, he heard hundreds of swords being drawn from their sheaths. He raised his blade high into the air, kicking at his horse’s hind as he sped off into battle with his army marching behind him.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Days into the war…  

You sat at the fountain – the first place you laid eyes on Steven. The water was no longer running; the irrigation turned off for the cold, bitter winter. The flowers that decorated the garden had wilted away. Only a select few remained. You visited it every day, always with the intention of picking the surviving few. But you could never bring yourself to do it, scaring yourself into thinking that the flowers were Steven’s lifeforce. Instead, you opted to stare blindly at them as if they’d conjure up your husband like magic.

You heard footsteps approach but did not think you were in any danger. An assassin would be taking their strides carefully with light footsteps. This person’s steps were soft but in no way near quiet.

“(Y/N).” Your mother greeted as you turned to face her. She had Morgan in her arms. Your baby sister thrashing about in the thick garments that she was dressed in.

“Mother.” You smiled at her though she saw the sadness in your eyes. You stood and relieved her of the child, rocking slightly to help calm her. “She’s gotten big.” You looked over at your mother who smiled at you both with teary eyes. “Don’t you dare cry.”

“I can’t help it.” She smiled sadly. “Seeing my eldest and my youngest together… It’s heartwarming in this cold, cold times.”

“Did Harvey go with father?” You asked. “I would’ve thought he’d be safeguarded considering he is the heir of York.”

Your mother sat down at the fountain. Her hand nervously wrapped around the pendant of her necklace. You stopped your movements as you stared at her. She swallowed thickly and furiously dabbed beneath her eyes, attempting to stop her tears. She let out a shaky breath, the hot air materializing itself in the cold winter as thick white vapor. You frowned and asked her again.

“There’s something you have to know…” She whispered. You didn’t need to hear the rest of it. Her tone – the grief and the pain, feelings you were all too familiar with – gave it away.

“Mother – “

“You asked before your wedding where he was. Your father lied and told you he was too tired to travel… The truth was…” she took a sharp breath, a few tears fell. “He was too ill.” As if sensing your sorrow, Morgan began to thrash about even more. You shushed her, patting her back soothingly, wishing someone were doing the same to you. “We always thought he was healthy… He gave us no reason to believe otherwise. Then, days after you left, he started coughing up blood. He ran a fever for days, dropping himself into a coma. When the fever finally broke and he woke up, we were told he didn’t have long.”

“Mother, where’s Harvey?” You asked, your voice breaking because you already knew.

“He’s gone, (Y/N). He passed a month ago.”

You bit your lip to suppress the cry that nearly escaped. You continued to hush Morgan, lulling her to sleep. You closed your eyes, feeling the tears roll down your cheeks.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.” You whispered.

It was a terrible feeling. A closure that you will never get. It left an ache in your chest and the pain only increased when you realized if Steven died during this war, you may never get to say your goodbye either. You may never hold him again, nor kiss his lips. You may never see his smile and hear his laugh. You’ll never hear him tell you I love you again.

The realization pained you more than anything you’ve ever experienced.

And the fact you could do nothing but pray and hope made the pain twice as worse.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

A little over One Month into the war…

Brooken was left with a few guards to ensure your safety. You hated being cooped up in the castle. You felt useless. No word had been brought back about the progress of the war. Your mother encouraged you to take the silence as a good sign – because if things had taken a turn for the worse, Thanos would be pounding at Brooken’s doors, which he was not.

Nevertheless, it left you a worried mess. The ring, a reminder of your union, sat dauntingly on your finger. You often stared at it when you were alone. You’d nervously twist the ring around when you spoke to others – when you told your people that everything would be fine, hoping that they believed you.

“You worry too much,” Natasha told you as you stared into the distance. You often did this at night and in the early mornings. You wanted to be awake for his return. You wanted to be the first one to see him.

“You’re a newly wed lady. Shouldn’t you share my concern?” You asked her, twisting the ring around.

Natasha eyed you, wearily. She glanced down to your nervous fumbling and shook her head. “King Steven has never lost a war.” Your eyes widened as you rushed to your balcony’s wooden doors, knocking furiously on it. Natasha sighed and pulled you back in. “Everything will be right again, (Y/N). Worrying only makes you suffer twice.”

“I’d rather worry and suffer threefold if it meant my husband be brought back tomorrow – preferably alive,” you told her. You took two deep breaths as you tried to steady your breathing. Natasha noticed how you visibly winced and grabbed your lower abdomen.

“What’s wrong?” You waved your hand at her concern. The sharp cramping sensation was from stress – you were sure of it. “If you are in pain, we should seek a physician – “

“I’m fine,” you assured. “It’s from worrying too much, I suppose.”

Natasha frowned as she eyed you cautiously. Ever since the voyage that took the lives of Wanda and your unborn child, you had always worn loose fitting garments – you told her it was because you hated the way corsets made you feel breathless and trapped. However, this morning as she loosely laced you into the dress, she noticed how she didn’t need to pull the laces around your chest as much as she was used to – how your breasts had suddenly increased in size.

“(Y/N) …” She trailed off as you rubbed your stomach, trying to dull the pain. “When was your last blood?”

You frowned as you tried to think. You opened your month to answer but quickly closed it when you realized you had no idea.  “No…” You shook your head. You didn’t want to entertain the idea of bringing a child into this world – especially with Steven absent and not by your side.

“Could it be possible?” Natasha asked. “I mean the entire castle knows what you two do at night. You two are not shy when it comes to… keeping warm,” she smirked, “during the winter.”

You shot her a glare and she shrugged. “I suppose it is possible…” You whispered, rubbing small circles around your tummy. “But the idea… This is such a difficult time, Natasha. The uncertainty… Steven’s not here.”

“Yes, but the line needs to be continued.” Natasha said. You gave her a thoughtful glance, brows furrowing. “If Steven falls during this war – gods forbid it – Brooken will need an heir. Brock was next in line, but he’s gone now… If you’re pregnant, your child is the heir.”

“I don’t to live in a world without Steven in it,” you snapped. The idea alone sent chills down your spine.

Natasha nodded, understandingly. She, too, had a husband in this war – one whom she’d only been married to for two months. “But you must, (Y/N),” she whispered. “For, if you are pregnant, you carry a piece of him with you. The child of the north, an heir to both Brooken and York’s thrones.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Two and a half months into the war…

The camp had a foul stench that hung in the air. The soldiers were spread about – wounded, exhausted, many both. The two kings tried their best to ration out what supplies they had left. Two and a half months into this war and it felt as if they were nowhere near victory though they were nowhere near defeat, either.

Both Anthony and Steven exchanged blows with Thanos in the past battles that ended with hundreds of men on both sides dead and no one declared victorious. It felt as if every time the north was close to winning one battle, Thanos would retreat – and vice versa.

It was a continuous tug of war that lasted months and showed no signs of ending any time soon.

Steven stared blankly as the moon rose. He thought if you were staring up at it as well. He wondered how many nights you’re spending sleepless and full of worry. He wanted nothing more than to just come home to you – to wrap his arms around your body as you slept curled up next to him.

His hands toyed with the fabric tied to the hilt of his sword. The white had been stained with mud, dirt, soot, and blood. He let out a shaky sigh.

“Miss her?” He turned and saw Anthony slowly approach. He watched as the York king slightly limp over to him and pat his shoulder.

“Just want to go home to her,” Steven responded with a sigh. He felt a bit strange confessing this to her father, but considering James and Sam had both been injured and were resting, he welcomed the company.

“You will.” Anthony told him.

“It feels as if this war will go on forever.”

Anthony chuckled. “What’s the longest war you fought in?”

Steven thought for a moment. He had fought in too many wars, but his first war against the long-vanquished country of Hydra was one he’d never forget. “Four years?” He said though it came out as a question. “Fought for so long the years became muddled together.”

“You married then?”

“It’s different now.” Steven sighed.

“You really love my daughter?”

“Without a doubt.”

Anthony smiled. “I didn’t think she’d get married. She’s too … sharp-tongued. That girl damn near offended every noble I introduced her too.”

Steven chuckled. He always found your bluntness and witty remarks entertaining. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’ll get you home to her,” he promised, clasping his old friend’s shoulder. “Come now, Steven, we have battleplans to prepare.” He looked over at Steven. “Do you trust me?”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Three months into the war…

The rounding belly became increasingly challengingly to hide – especially now that the bitter northern winter was ending, and spring was quickly approaching. Though word from the battlegrounds painted the war as gruesome and dark, the life growing within you was a source of light – of comfort – for you and your people.

The midwife, Jean, preformed a trick she learned from her mother. She tied your wedding ring to a string and held it above your swelling belly. She watched as the ring swirled in fast, large circles. “A boy!” She announced to you with a big smile. Your mother clapped excitedly as did Lady Natasha. You were a skeptic, of course, but the idea of bringing a miniature Steven into the world made your heart leap.

The pregnancy had brought you something new to worry about. Due to the trauma of losing your first child, you became extra cautious with this second pregnancy.

“Have you thought of names?” Natasha asked you as she plaited your hair. Your mother laughed at the question as she watched Morgan crawl around the bed with her array of toys.

“I don’t want to think of names,” you said, lowly as you nervously rubbed the growing bump. You noticed that you had forgone fiddling with your ring and had begun to rub your slowly rounding stomach when you became nervous. “What if it isn’t even born? I don’t want to be disappointed.”

Natasha gave you a sigh before nodding. She found that you had become quite the pessimist in the three months of the war. Though everyone tried to see the bright side of this situation, you had clung to the idea that everything would go wrong – as if you were preparing for the worst.

“Don’t think like that,” your mother scolded.

“I can’t help it.” You clenched your jaw before quickly unclenching it, thinking the tension in your skull could somehow harm your child. “Has anyone sent any word?”

“Besides the squire that vaguely reported that hundreds of died on both sides? No.” Natasha hummed as she finished your hair. “But you needn’t worry about the brutalities of war. You worry about taking care of yourself and that babe. Have you eaten? Shall I fetch you some food?”

“A lemon actually sounds delightful.”

Her nose scrunched up in disgust. “Just a lemon?” You nodded. “Alright then.” She chalked the strange request to pregnancy cravings.

“Oh, Natasha?” You called out. She hummed in response. “Perhaps you could also get me something sweet?”

“What a strange baby you will have.” She joked. “Strange, royal, and richer than anyone in Brooken. I’ll order the maid.”

You stood and walked over to your bed. Morgan had cooed at you, grabbing your hand and stuffing a doll into it. At such a young age, she had such a big personality – a common trait of Stark kids, your mother joked. She told you a story of how you always stuck your tongue out at diplomats and nobles when you were Morgan’s age – which nearly cost your father many trade opportunities.

You played with your baby sister, making up for all your lost time together. “You’ll be a great mother,” your mother said, suddenly. You smiled at her as Morgan became preoccupied in her own world. “You always took such good care of Harvey… and you took great care of Morgan when she was a newborn… You’ll be a great mother, (Y/N).”

“I hope so.” You smiled. “Perhaps, I should name my baby after Harvey? If it is a boy as Jean says.”

“What a lovely sentiment.” Your mother nodded.

“We can always conjure up a new name,” you smiled, rubbing your belly. “ We’ve got time.”

“Indeed, we do.”

Side note: I apologize that the gif depicts a woman with light skin. Please know that gifs/pictures used are no where near a representation of who the reader is/what the reader looks like.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Six months into the war …

Steven fell to the ground, exhausted from the duel and bleeding from his wounds. Thanos had successfully ambushed their camp – a surprise attack that left the dramatically dwindled down army hopeless and scattered.

He had no idea where Anthony had gone off to when he decided that he’d take on the Mad King on his own. Unprepared for the sudden attack, the Mad King had the upper hand, easily overpowering Brooken’s king.

Steven could hear Thanos’s army approach. In that moment, it felt as if it were one man versus the entire south. Was surrender really an option? No. He didn’t want to surrender to this monster. He just wanted to rest, closing his eyes as he followed the tempting beckoning of death.

He suddenly heard a laugh ringing in his head. Vivid images of his wife flashed before his eyes. Memories of her – her eyes, the feeling of her lips, her skin against his, her smiles, her laughs, “I love you, Steven,” – all calling his name, begging him to come back to her – pushing him to stand.

So, the Brooken King’s eyes shot open and slowly, he got up, refastening his shield to his arm to stop the bleeding from the large gash. Thanos raised his eyebrows with a sense of respect – whatever was driving this northern king must be something worth living for. And to Steven, you were.

“You want to do this?” Thanos taunted from across the field. He gestured to his army. “Are you sure, Rogers?”

Before Steven could respond, he felt the ground rumbling. Thanos’s brows furrowed as he felt the same vibration. Steven turned around and couldn’t help the relieved smile as he saw hundreds of horses approach. Allies from around the continent and even the world – from House Danvers to Wakanda’s reputable armies – all gathered together to take down one enemy.

The battle was long and well fought. Stark and the rest of the soldiers rejoined the battle. Everyone with one mission: strike Thanos down.

Swords clattered against swords and shields. Horses and people were slain. Bodies fell like leaves in the autumn. Steven had again exchanged blows with the Mad King – Thanos ultimately, rendering the Brooken King unconscious with a hard blow with the hilt of his sword.

Thanos raised his blade up, ready to separate the king’s head from his body when another sword stopped the attack. Anthony Stark’s sword hovered over Steven’s unconscious body, deflecting Thanos’s attempt. He lifted his sword up with so much force that the Mad King stumbled backwards.

“Stark.” He spat.

“Made a promise to get him back to his wife.” Anthony Stark shrugged. “I don’t like breaking promises.” Thanos cocked his head to the side with a menacing smile. “Look around you, Thanos,” he gestured to the carnage. Many of the bodies were of Thanos’s men. “You’re losing.”

“Are you making an excuse not to fight me?”

“I’m giving you a chance to surrender.”

The two men circled around each other with their swords drawn.

“Never.” Thanos snapped as he swung.

The clanging of their blades rang out throughout the entire field. It drowned out the other duels around them. Both drawing blood and taking turns giving one another fatal blows.

Steven had only come to when Anthony kicked Thanos’s sword away and plunged his sword through Thanos’s chest. His vision was a bit blurred but quickly cleared as he blinked furiously.

“Surrender.” Anthony seethed, kicking the Mad King to his knees. “Surrender.”

Thanos held his head in shame as he barked orders at his army, telling them to lower their weapons. Steven stared on as Thanos’s men hesitantly followed the order. The field was silent. Had Anthony did it? Was the war finally over?

“You win, Stark,” Thanos smiled, teeth bloody. Steven saw the man’s hand slowly reach behind him. His eyes widened as he tried to warn his friend, but it was too late. With the last of his strength, Thanos sheathed the sharp dagger into York’s king. “If I go, you go with me.”

“Tony!” Steven screamed. He ran towards them. With no hesitation nor remorse, he raised his sword and beheaded Thanos where he kneeled. He caught Anthony before he fell to the ground. “C’mon, Stark, stay with me.” He pleaded. He looked at one of the Danvers knights and ordered her to get a physician though he knew the attempt to save his friend was futile. Steven slapped Anthony’s cheek lightly as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

“Steve…” Anthony muttered. “Steve…”

“I’m right here.”

“Tell (Y/N) …” He trailed off, struggling to catch his breath. “Morgan… Pepper…” He heaved. “I love them all…” Anthony had a sad smile on his face. He was leaving York in his eldest daughter’s more than capable hands. Though he knew his wife would be devastated, he knew he was leaving them with no impending threat of a Mad King in the south. “Take care of ‘em, okay, Rogers?”

“I swear to you – on my life, on my marriage – I will.” Steven nodded. Anthony gave him a small smile and a nod before his eyes became unfocused and glossed over. Steven called his name three times – his voice breaking at the third and final time.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Month 7 – one month after the war.

You were emerged in the crowd, hidden behind the hundreds waiting for their loved ones returns – though many may be disappointed and heartbroken. You prayed you were not one of them.

You were far along your pregnancy, too big to hide the swollen belly. The midwife told you that you had a little over a month left, still very adamant that you had son.

You craned your neck over the crowd, trying to get a glimpse of the approaching men. Natasha gasped as she let go of your arm, rushing through the crowd and into her husband’s arms. You smiled as they shared a tender kiss. When they parted, James glanced your way – you saw the sympathy in his eye and your heart dropped. Your husband was nowhere to be found and the way his best friend looked over at you did not ease your fears.

You clenched your jaw before pressing your lips into a firm line. Tears pricked in your eyes. Your mother’s free hand – the other preoccupied with holding Morgan up – rubbed your arm, comfortingly. You turned to head back inside the castle. You had no intention of crying in front of the entire country, but then your mother’s grip tightened slightly, keeping you in place. You frowned at her before following your eyes.

Relief quickly flooded through you. He was battered and bruised, limping as he walked, but he was alive. You hurriedly cut through the crowd – though as their pregnant queen, your people practically parted to give you way.

“Steven!” You gasped, running up to him.

He stared at you in disbelief. You were glowing in the sunlight – a true vision. But it wasn’t your beauty that baffled him. It was your rounded belly. His eyes watered as he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you into a long-awaited kiss. And after seven long months, you felt as if you could finally breathe again.

Foreheads pressed together, he nudged your nose with his a happy grin on his face. “You’re pregnant.” He whispered. You nodded – you felt so much joy in that moment you were sure your heart would combust. “You’re pregnant.” He repeated, breathlessly.

In the weeks that followed, you were in a whirlpool of mixed emotions. With putting your father to rest and trying to piece together what was left of the north, you were exhausted – not to mention heavily pregnant.

Though, it became easier to shoulder all the responsibilities now that your husband was finally home.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

His paced anxiously as he waited outside the bedchamber doors. He wanted nothing more than to be in that room with you, but the midwife told him it was not customary that the husband be inside.

Steven winced when he heard your scream. The pained shriek would probably haunt him more than his war flashbacks. “IT HURTS… IT HURTS.” You repeated like a mantra. “SOMETHING IS WRONG.”

Steven couldn’t take it. He pounded on the doors. Natasha had cracked it open, but he pushed through it, almost knocking her down. He rushed to your side, your hands desperately grabbing each other. “What’s happening?”

“Something’s wrong, Steven,” you wailed, shaking your head against the pillows. Your face was wet with tears and sweat, and your anxiety was through the roof. “He’s – he’s dying.”

“The queen is losing too much blood, your grace,” Stephen Strange informed him.

“Get him out.” You begged. “Godfather,” you croaked, pleading, “if it comes down to me or the child, choose the child. Do you hear me?”

“No.” Steven snapped. “I will not lose you.”

“Steven…” you cried. “Brooken and York need this heir to survive.”

“But I need you to survive,” Steven pleaded with you. You shook your head, jaw trembling as you cried in pain. “Whatever happens, you save her, Strange. Do you understand me?”

“I – “

“As Brooken’s king I command you – “

“I think you forget that I am of York and she is my queen first.” Stephen frowned at him. “You may be her husband, but she is my queen and I follow her orders.”

Your godfather went to grab surgical instruments and Steven sent a glare his way. “Touch her and I will kill you.”

“Steven…” You whined. He turned his head to you, worry written all over his face. “I love you…”

“Don’t – “

“No, no… I need to tell you that.” You whispered. “Please, say it back.”

“I love you, (Y/N).” He said. His voice was barely above a whisper as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “(Y/N) – please…” His heart dropped when your eyes rolled back, losing consciousness as you succumbed to the pain.

“I have to operate, Steven,” Strange told him. “She ordered me to save the child.”

Steven didn’t pay him any attention as his grip on your hand tightened. “(Y/N),” he called. “I know you can hear me.” He choked back his tears. “You can’t die. Please don’t leave me. You’re strong – probably the strongest person I know. You can do this. I know you can do this. C’mon…” You were unresponsive, eyes rolled back, and your chest had stopped rising. “My love, please… If I lose you, I am left in the darkness. I will not know how to recover from this loss. Please come back to me, (Y/N). Please.”

You suddenly gasped, regaining consciousness as you sat up. “C’mon, (Y/N),” your godfather prompted as the midwife peered beneath the blanket that covered you.

“Your grace, we need you to push,” the midwife told you.

You screamed through clenched teeth. You grabbed Steven’s hand so tightly his went numb and turned white. “One more, big push, your grace!” You did as you were told, pushing through the pain in muffled screams.

And then the room was filled with a triumphant screeching of a newborn. You slumped back against the pillows, breathing heavily as the umbilical cord was cut and the child was cleaned and checked over.

Steven kissed your temple, whispering praises to your ear. He was relieved that you were okay – that you were alive.

“Queen (Y/N), King Steven,” Strange smiled, cradling the crying baby in his arms. “You have a son.” You reached out for him and your godfather gladly placed the baby boy in your arms.

His wails instantly calmed as he rested against your heart. You smiled down at the red-faced child whose eyes were fluttering close. Steven stared in absolute awe. “We made him.” He whispered to you. “You made him.”

You bit your lip. “Edward Harvey Rogers?” You suggested.

“Edward.” Steven tested, smiling. “Your father’s second name.” You nodded. “It’s perfect.”

“I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Edward,” you cooed to the child.

“As have I,” Steven whispered. You turned to smile at him. He leaned in and pecked your lips before you turned back to take in the beauty of your child.

As you admired the baby boy, Steven admired you, his queen – his wife.  

It had been a long, treacherous journey to get here. He had stumbled through the darkness for far too long, but here you were – a beacon, a promise of happiness and a bright future.

The Queen of York and Brooken, the Queen of the North – the Queen of his heart.

The Queen who brought him joy – who brought him a child.

The Queen who brought him light.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #King!Steve Rogers x reader #King!Steve Rogers #King!Steve Rogers imagine #chris evans imagine #chris evans #chris evans x reader #captain america x reader #captain america #captain america imagine

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate- Chapter 25

In all honestly, if someone told her that she would willingly allow Geralt to carry her off, she would have laughed at them. Adva told herself that if any man ever tried to carry her off, she would kick and scream till she escaped their clutches. The idea of having someone carrying her made her feel pathetic and vulnerable; she didn’t need anyone to do that until now. The inside of the castle was only fractionally warmer than the outside, with the unfortunate bonus that the thick stones that protected them from the biting wind seem to store the icy cold. Adva was sure back when there were enough Witchers to inhabit Kaer Morhen it was warm and toasty, with the raging fire ablaze throughout the fort. Now, however, it was freezing and barren. Her feet were already numb from the walk to the stronghold from the lake in what could barely be called a stitch of clothing. Stepping on the glass vial also hadn’t been the best idea, she was certain half of the blasted container was embedded in her foot, she could feel a steady stream of blood flow from foot and the tail tale sounds of the delicate droplets splattering against the stone. Even without her injuries, she couldn’t see herself being capable of finding her way back to her room.

But she wasn’t going to her room, she knew the second he stomped up the stairs that wasn’t the way to her chambers, but she couldn’t bring herself to care if he brought her to his room at least it meant he would stay with her. After the sour note that Cersi and Yennefer left on, she feared what would happen to her and him if they felt so inclined to return. And the thought of being more than an arms reach away from him filled her with dread. But the dread faded as he carried her up a winding staircase towards the very top of the forts highest tower.

Without dropping her, he kicked open the heavy wooden door with a bang and softly depositing her on the bed. The room was not what she expected; it was filled with several pieces of fine furniture, beautifully decorated rugs and tapestries. In the centre, opposite a grand stone fireplace, a large mahogany four-poster bed stood boldly, draped in rich green silk. It was a gorgeous room, fit for a king but had been left in a state, books and papers littered the floor and food left to go stale since his self banishment to the lake house. Her nose wrinkled as the smell of spoiling fruits and overripe cheese as the Witcher appeared in front of her with a jar of salve and a thick blanket that he dropped over her to protect her modestly while he knelt on the floor and examine her bloody foot. The sound of running water softly filling the background.

‘Sorry about the room. I wasn’t expecting…’ The golden eyes glanced up at her before quickly looked back at her injured foot.

Not trusting herself to speak, she continued to gaze upon the Witcher and felt a pang of guilt tore through her as she looked at his warn face, dark circled strain underneath his golden eyes, which seemed dimmer somehow. Golden skin seemed to have faded too, and even the bronzed hue was not enough to hide the sickly pallor that marred his skin. She had done that, her inability to see through Yennefer’s interference and her stubbornness has caused the prolonged suffering of not just her but him. Yet here he was tending to her so carefully in made her want to cry, she could scarcely feel the sting as he pulled the sliver of glass from her foot and smoothed in the salve, causing a weak giggle to erupt from her.

‘Someone is ticklish’ Geralt chuckled lowly as he raised to his feet and sent her a half-smile, it was a small one but a smile nevertheless, more then he had done in the past month at least. ‘Come on a little flower.’ Geralt purred and wrapped tightly in the blanket, and he strode over to a door half-hidden behind the chest of draws.  Inside a cloud of steam warmed against her skin, blinking her way past the mist, she was in a grand bathing room. The room was large, decorated with a folded ornate dressing screen edged in gold and glisten wood that stood out against the white porcelain of the washing bowl and pitcher.  The hulking Witcher settled her down on the edge of marble stone trough that dominated the middle of the room. Peering down, she watched the oil swirl around in the depth of water and filled the room with a heady fragrance of citrus and blossom.

‘You can em warm yourself in the tub. Towels are on the side.’ Geralt spoke through the thick mist of the heat of the room; she could see his gaze fascinated with the corner of the dresser screen. ‘I’ll be…I’ll be er next door if you need me.’ Geralt mumbled as he slowly retreated towards the door.

Adva couldn’t help but smile as she watched the big bad Witcher scurry from the room. But even after the door was firmly shut, she stared pensively, before, with a sigh,  she shredded the last remains of her clothes and submerging herself in water.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Geralt did not like uncertainly; he was a creature of action by his very nature, hesitation for a Witcher meant a very short life and a grizzly end. Now he wasn’t sure of anything, and that ambiguity was gnawing at him. From the moment he heard the bottle creak underfoot his heart soared like an eagle in flight over the Witchers trail, even more so when he watched his little goddess order Triss to throw the blonde mage through a portal. He was certain then she has made her choice but now, now in his room he wasn’t so sure.

He busied himself, washing in the wooden tub that has been placed in front of the fire seven winters ago during the great freeze. The circular tub was luxurious enough to satisfy him and filling the tube in the bathing room seemed more effort, then it was worth it. His wash was quick, removing any mud and leaves from his body and hair. Before shrugging a robe gifted from Duchess of Toussaint on his last excursion, it was a little flamboyant for his taste, but it covered himself and let him attend to his business with some modesty. He cleared the debris of the weeks prior and crafted a large fire to warm up the room. The sheets were clean enough, and he did not care to change them; he had other things of more importance to worry about, like Cersi and his mates mother.

They would be a problem which would need careful consideration and planning, but thankfully Kaer Morhen was the most impregnable fortress. They were landlocked, so the fear of a Merpeople army was not at the forefront of the list. Cersi was devious, and a threat, but the castle could be mage-proofed. But not to be forgotten was the threat from Adva unknown banished brother, he has already sent one assassin, he could send another or far worse. A weary hand rubbed over his face; he would keep her safe no matter what.

‘Hi.’

Turning around Geralt couldn’t stop a primitive growl from pushing its self through his chest and out through his mouth. There she was wrapped in a towel, smiling at him, all pink and fresh. The orange blossoms and bergamot oil lingered on her skin, but the scent of apple and salt overpowered them and sent his heart racing. She had rejected her chance to escape him and was here, with him, near-naked.

‘You better get dressed. I will….’ He forced out in a gruff low tone.

‘Stay’ a voice that sounded very similar to her own demanded the Witcher. He should go, they had a lot to discuss  yet the mere thought of their parting cause her a great deal of pain.

‘Don’t….Don’t….say it if you don’t mean it I can't….’ Geralt voice wavered as it cut from the tension that churned in the air between him.

Reaching out she clutched his hand it hers, there was no warmth, his skin still suffering from trudging back to the stronghold in nothing but his breeches. Staring up at his piercing eyes, she cradled his large hand between her smaller one and towards her chest.

‘I… don’t understand what might happen, but I know we are stronger together. I…. I want to face this together. Properly. I want to BE with you.’ Adva forced herself to look up at him, to staring into the whirling mass of his golden eyes.

Geralt stared at his mate, his eyes burning into her skin, looking for a sign, any sign. It was unnerving to wait under the heavy gaze of her blues eyes. A small smile curved across her pouting lips and shy eyes looked up at him. His lovely mate brought her lips to his hand and kissed them. It was soft and tender; the heat from her lips surged through him and set off a raging fire within him. All the want he felt for her, the touched starvation, the neediness. A rumbling growl vibrated through the room, setting a trail of goosebumps across the paleness of her skin and a soft blush to creep up and rest on her cheeks. The last grasps on control slipped, and he surged forward, a scooped her into his aching arms, one hand under her knees and the other supporting her back as he brought into a searing kiss.

Adva found herself being lowered down into the middle of the bed, the hulking frame of her mate hovering over her, his lips moving against hers in a passionate embrace.

 The anticipation and desire washed across Adva’s body as Geralt rested himself between her open legs, legs she parted widely to accommodate the Witchers thick body. Tentatively, she moved her hands across his golden skin. Heaving an eager breath, she licked her lips and again reached for her mate, her love. She was hungry for him in a way she'd never felt before, and she had to have him close, nestles between her thighs.

 Geralt pulled back, and his features blossomed into a devilish smile. Delight and devotion were coursing through his body; their teeth clacked slightly at the sudden force of their kiss but neither relented. Adva opened her mouth for him, and he took advantage of her submission by thrusting his tongue into her willing mouth. Her kiss lacked his skill, but it was full of love and want. Reaching up, she tangled her hand in his ashen locks, and the others gripped his bicep relishing the quivering muscle underneath her touch. Not to be outdone it seemed, Geralt grabbed her again under her thighs and hoisted her up so she could wrap her legs back around his waist as he continued to attention down her neck and finally to suck gentle on her collarbone, causing the most indecent moan to mew from her, which seemed to spur the Witcher on as he nipped at her neck. The feel of his teeth sliding across her neck was enough to cause her whole body to tense, tightening her thighs hold against the Witchers hips, dragging their cores against each other.

 With a grunt, Geralt pulled back to rest his forehead against her, his body almost trembling above hers. Panting, she was confused. Her brows furrowed, and her lips pouted. She watched as his eyes screwed shut and his brow pucked in his usual pensive look.

 "Adva," his throaty voice snapped her back to herself, "You …..you have to tell me now if you aren’t ready….I don’t think I will be able to stop this if we go any further. I…want you too badly.’Geralt voice wavered, almost breaking as he spoke.

 Her heart soared and broke at the same time. If she hadn’t have been so stubborn, she might have already been claimed, and the suffering they both had to endure wouldn’t have been. Yet, after the pain she had caused him, he was, as always, being so careful with her. Smiling up at him, she rose up on her forearms to meet his gaze.

 ‘I don’t want to be without you. I need you…Please don’t make me wait any longer.’

 The plea from her was all that he seemed to need.

 He pulled back onto his knew as he tore off the robed from his shoulders, and tossed it across the room, joined shortly by her towel. She was bare in front of him for the first time; any attempt to cover herself was met by a furiously deep growl and her desire to please him outweighed her want for modesty. Besides, her attention had settled in taking on her mate or more importantly, between his thighs. She had absolutely no basis for comparison apart from the brief glimpse she had seen in the Brightwater Whorehouse. They all appear inferior to her own dear Witcher. It bounced and swayed with his movements. It curved out from his body, looking rigid and swollen. A lowly rumble pulled her from her gaze and back to the Witcher who, with dark eyes, began once more to take his place over her. But for her hand to shot out against his chest, pausing him in his movements.

 ‘Please…let me.’ Her soft voice pleaded.

 Geralt stopped moving above her; hungry eyes searched across her face as she gently raised herself and let her fingertips trace the surface of his skin. His hands came down to clasp her knees, but she was still focused on exploring his arms and torso. He was perfect muscle; his body didn’t seem real as if chiselled in marble. Catching her lip between her teeth, she felt his eyes burn into her, but she steeled herself, she dared herself to touch his cock as it hung proudly between them. Fascinated, she watched her hand run up and down the length of him. He was thick and hot; she was amazed at how reactive he was, how his chest juddered and stifled moan caught in his throat. Wrapping her hand around the base, her small hands could scarcely fit around him as she sheepishly stroked upward.

Geralt's strangled grunt brought her gazed away from his cock, but her hand's slow movement didn’t pause.

 Darting her gaze back to his, his eyes were almost completely black, just a thing circle of gold remained, his jaw clenched tight, and she watched as bronzed callous hand pulled at her arm trapping it on the bed next to her. She had no idea what to do next, but she knew what her body wanted. She felt so empty, body clutching at nothing, wanting to be filled and mated. Her core was wet and in need of her mate.

 Geralt’s hand left hers as they continued onward until she felt the skin of his palms and fingers caress the skin of her stomach. Inwardly she winced, her soft and flabby stomach was not attractive, but the moan that pushed itself from his lips was enough to let her forget her insecurities. His hands roamed, seemingly enthralled with the dip of her belly button followed the skin up towards her breasts, they locked eyes again, and a deep blush bloomed across her body.  She remembered his touch from before, but this was different, it seemed more real than the time before.

 ‘Gods, I love your blush.’ Geralt all but moaned as his fingers ran across each rib below her breasts.

 She felt her nipples harden and her breast perk into delicate peaks under Geralt's lusty stare. She wanted to explore every dip and ridge of his body but was more than content to allow him to explore first.

 Skillfully, her mate lowered himself down onto her, which was too much. To feel the heat of their bodies burn together sinfully. Crowd his hulking frame against her small figure before returning to nip and suck down jaw and neck. A wanton groan tore from her in a needy whine, her body surrendering to his teasing. Soft whimpers continued to fall from her lips as he leisurely worked his way down her neck until he was placing sucking kisses across the top of her breasts.

 Adva’s back arched his mouth began to suckle on the right nipple; his other hand came up to flick and pull at the other neglected nipple. His torso pinned her juddering hips that yearned for something, anything to take away the ache within her. Her hands fisted and twisted in his hair, pulling him to her as he sucked greedily. Every movement of his mouth urged her more till she was vibrating with need.

 He released her breast with a wet plop and lowered his head to continue his kisses down her body, his hand never straying from her breasts.  A whine she didn't know she was capable of escaped her throat as he rolled her nipples between his fingers. Her body was shaking with impatience, excitement and fear.

 She watched as she kissed his way down her torso until he hovered over the most intimate part of her body, heavy eyes locking on to her own.  A primal growl roared through him as her inhaled deeply. His eyes darkened to an impossible degree, as a wicked smile blessed his lips. He looked like a predator, and it scared her, yet it thrilled her at the same time. She tried to close her legs and pull herself from his grasp, only pull her back as a glimmer of glee stretched across his features. With no effort, he pulled her back into position, holding her in place with one large hand.

 "My… kiss… little Goddess…kiss… I have to…kiss… worship you…kiss…I need to…’

 A strangled cry choked its ways out of her as he mouther kisses into her trembling thighs. It felt good. Too good. Too much. Gods. Bucking against him, a powerful snarl rippled up her body. As his hand pressed down on her hip, holding her in place, as is other hand pried shaky open legs, exposing her.

 A delicate cry poured from her as his tongue drove into her folds swirling around her clit. The feel of his tongue plunging into her core was overwhelming, too much, but she was too weak to want to escape such a sinful feel.

 One of his arms curled itself around her upper thigh, open palm against the opposite hip keeping her twisting body on the bed. Her eyes slammed shut tightly as another wave of pleasure surged through her as Geralt began to move again. His tongue was searching, alternating between circles, swirls, shapes and flicks till he found an action that brought about a cry of pleasure as she gripped the bedsheets, pushing her body up to lock eyes with him. Geralt smirked into her pussy, as he repeated the action again, and again, and again. Till it was as easy as breathing and his mate became a bubbling mess beneath him. His own moan began as her leg closed around his head, pulling him to her.

 ‘Please…..Please…Don’t….Stop….I can’t……I don’t know….Geralt.’ a string of moaned escaped her in a cry of passion.

 Geralt growled at the sound of his names fell from her lips. From now on, he would have her call his name like that at least once a day. He was merciless. He knew that he was teasing, not hard enough to bring her to the release that she craved but light enough to keep her needy and wanting. Lowering himself down to lay full on the bed, a moan vibrating her clit as his cock rubbed tortuously against the bed, the friction that he craved. Another groan pushed its way out of her throat as his fingers traced the opening.

 ‘Gods Geralt’ Adva body curled into itself as Geralt middle finger slipped into her. During her fitful attempts at masturbating, she dipped her fingers into her arching core in an attempt to get some release but never had it felt like this. His digit searched her channel. Exploring and stretching.

 Geralt let out a series of grunts as his finger sunk into her wetness. Gods, she was tight. And so hot. His eyes never left her as he plunged in and how curing how snugly she gripped at him. She was wet enough, but so tight. He kept his rhythm steady, as he worked into her till his finger hit that bundle of nerves he had desperately been searching for. Her whole body shuddered, and a flood of ecstasy rushed through her veins.

 She was so close; the feeling was overpowering. Too much but at the same time, not enough. When Geralt slipped in, she felt an uncomfortable stretch pull at her core, she mewled lowly, her hips jerking against Geralt’s hold.

 ‘You're doing so good, love.’ Geralt moaned in between furious licks as his fingers plunged swiftly in and out of her, hitting that spot again and again.

 ‘Geralt…Ohhh Geralt.’ Adva body stiffened in the bliss that built in the pit of her stomach, threatening to burst in her.

  Geralt grinned up at her as he pumped his fingers into her, curling them into her spot, his free hand sneaking up his body, messaging her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb as his tongue continued is an assault on her clit.

 The whimpers grew into cries and the cries into shrieks of ecstasy. Geralt was in rapture as he watched her body arched and trembled as her orgasm broke through her. Her mouth formed into a perfect O as a nearly inaudible scream ripped through her. A mewling moan filled the room as her body twitched as wave after wave engulfed her. Her hands clawing at the sheet trying to find anything to keep her grounded

 Geralt still between her thighs was lapping at her core, sending little after tremor thorough her as she rode out her high. When the last of the tremors subsided, she lay weightless against the pillows. Geralt was all but purring between her legs, making sure every drop of her essence was not wasted. She felt strangely energised but boneless like she has been poured onto the bed. She couldn’t help but give her mate the brightest smile she could muster as he kissed his way up her body.

 Caging her in with his forearms Geralt settled down between her thighs and lazily kissed her lips. Adva groaned into his mouth as she tasted herself. It was not unpleasant; it was musty and thick, but it was proof of what had just happened.

 ‘Mmmm I am going to spend the rest of your life devouring you.’ Geralt moan into her mouth. ‘but don’t think we are anywhere near done. You. Are. Mine.’

Sorry for the long wait- Work has been crazy so I haven’t been able to write as much as I would like. Let me know what you think. 

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