#she's not a maid or having lower status

[sttoru]

‘the king of curses doesn’t like sharing. especially not when it comes to his partner.’

☀︎｜tags. heian era!sukuna x female reader. sfw/fluff ? ig. set in the heian era, duh. jealousy & possessive themes. size difference (reader gets referred to as small!). tried to be realistic w/ sukuna’s characterisation so. . . don’t be surprised to read about him killing somebody. therefore, mentions of blood. reader is implied to have a fear of blood (dw sukuna takes care of it teehee). reader gets called 'brat'. not beta read; this sucks ass.

you were taking a stroll outside of the estate, the hem of the floral kimono you’re wearing lightly dragging along behind you. the weather was perfect with not a single cloud in sight.

a pair of silent footsteps follow yours and you sigh. even though it was an usual occurrence, you still aren’t used to having one of sukuna’s servants at your side at all times. your over protective lover insisted that it was for your own ‘safety’. as if anything or anyone could harm you whilst you stay within the four walls of the estate far up in the mountains.

sukuna is continuously busy and thus decided to assign you a personal maid that accompanies you and takes care of your every need when he isn’t able to. well - looking at the bright side of things - at least she tries her best to hide her presence from you. she tags along silently and only speaks when spoken to.

you stop near a sakura tree and tilt your head back to admire its beauty. after a few minutes pass, you hear a different pair of footsteps walking up your way. you turn your head and see a familiar male servant approaching you with his head held low.

his hands were holding onto a platter with a cup of warm tea and a few of your favorite delicacies. the brown-haired man greets you politely. maybe a bit too politely as his voice carries a bright smile, “good afternoon, my lady.”

you return the greeting with a smile of your own. it was like you to treat the servants around the estate with kindness and care — a total opposite of the king of curses. you take a pastry from the platter and look back up at the man, “thank you for bringing me these. i appreciate it greatly.”

the way you treat the ones of lower status has always been an admirable trait of yours. it might have stirred some forbidden feelings for you in the heart of the male servant. he knows that it was impossible - he’d seen how easily sukuna gets rid of those who get too close to you.

but, he isn’t here. the king of curses isn’t present in the current moment. the brown-haired male shifts in his place a little, fingernails digging into the material of the plate he was holding. he was going to do it — no one could hold him back. not even the maid who stood a couple steps away.

“y-you look very beautiful, my lady.” the servant stutters and bows his head at you. you are surprised to hear such a flattering sentence leave the lips of the man in front of you. none of the men around you had dared to be this straightforward in ages. they all knew the possible consequences that such actions could bring after all.

perhaps it was due to the absent intimidating presence of your lover. still, you can’t help but feel grateful. you giggle softly, covering your mouth with your free hand, “thank you so much.”

the male servant gulps at the sound of your laughter. ‘oh, how lucky the king of curses is - to have such a beautiful woman at his side,’ the man thought to himself. he was sure that he could treat you better than the indifferent sukuna himself.

he hesitates to continue the conversation for a second. there was an urge deep within him; to ask if you’d like to have some tea with him in the dining area. it would be extremely bold and maybe way out of line considering that you’re taken.

but, the way you reacted to his earlier compliment gave him a huge confidence boost. one that would sooner or later send him to his grave.

“would you perhaps be interested in joining me for a drink, my lady?” the servant asks and anything that happens after that instant, is all but a blur.

you can’t process the next few moments as everything happens way too fast. the last thing you remember seeing, was the servant before you. a sudden gust of wind passes by and the sounds of quick slashes fill your ears. you couldn’t figure out anything else as your vision gets blocked by something. or rather - someone.

a familiar and large hand covers the back of your head. the scent of the person holding you is also oddly familiar—a certain scent that made a shiver run down your spine from both excitement and light fear.

“sukuna?” you guess and guess correctly. your voice was muffled due to your face being smushed against his torso. you didn’t yet understand what happened, so you try to pull your body away from the king of curses, only for his grip on you to tighten.

sukuna’s face was as emotionless as ever. his eyes look down at the pile of blood near your feet — what was once a human being had now turned into nothing but a pure crimson liquid.

“foolish. absolutely foolish.” the king of curses grumbles, his tone filled with disgust. he doesn’t soften the grip on your body for even a moment. one of his four arms holds you captive against him, his hand firmly yet somehow tenderly cradling your head just above his midriff, “it seems that i cannot leave this place for a single second.”

sukuna glances at your personal maid who had been bowing to him the moment he appeared out of thin air. she could feel his piercing gaze on her and knew exactly what to do without being told: to clean up the mess that stained the garden’s pavement.

“sukuna,” you try to move your head again, but was still restricted. you let out a small whine in response. you just wanted to see your lover after spending an entire day without him. any thoughts about that servant from earlier had long vanished, “i want to see you. can i?”

the request is an innocent one. there isn’t a visible change in sukuna's expression, but the way you asked him that was quite. . . endearing, if he were to explain it. he would comply if it wasn’t for the literal bloodbath he created. which he doesn’t want you to witness.

“not yet.” he replies and effortlessly uses one of his arms to pick your small body up. your lover notices how you try to steal a glimpse at the scene behind you while he moves you around in his embrace. he grunts and gently smacks the back of your head, “no peeking, brat. do as told.”

sukuna knows how much you hate the sight of blood. he's being considerate towards you — even if you do not realise that just yet. however, he also does not have a single regret about murdering that servant. it was to be expected. anybody who dares to make a move on his woman should suffer his wrath.

plus, it's not like you don't know about sukuna's ruthless actions. you’ve come to get used to them; more and more male servants keep dissappearing without a trace after they’ve been ‘too friendly' with you. it's easy to guess who’s behind those disappearances.

it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. as long as you don't see it happening and as long as you get to stay under sukuna's care and protection - you don’t mind.

“can i look now?” you huff after sukuna has carried you away from the garden. the king of curses clicks his tongue at your impatience.

he sighs deeply before allowing you back on your own two feet, “i do not understand why you’re so adamant on looking at me, but fine.”

you waste no time and immediately open your eyes. your gaze doesn’t wander off towards your surroundings—it instantly settles on sukuna. he looked the same as usual; there was not a single change about his appearance and yet you find yourself smiling at the sight of him.

“i missed you.” you hug your lover and feel him returning the gesture a few seconds later. he looks the other way and may seem indifferent to your display of affection, though the man was secretly grateful for it. for you in general.

“mhm.” sukuna lets out a small noise of acknowledgment and that is all you get out of him. he doesn’t have to say much; his body automatically does the talking. he squeezes your body against his — your small frame disappearing behind his beefy arms.

the king of curses doesn’t understand why, but the way your eyes sparkle when looking at him, intrigues him. sukuna had never seen another human look at him like that before after all. they all cower in fear; except for you. you don’t show a single ounce of fear. thus why you are something - someone - he must keep for himself.

he has and will never have any intent on sharing you with anyone. you’re his, for as long as he exists.

#sttoru writes. #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x you #jjk fluff #sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n #female reader

[noroi1000]

Can I request a part 2 of the evil queen ff ( gojo x reader ) where a woman wants to take the place of queen y/n ( not obviously knowing how powerful y/n is ) possibly by trying to show she’s much better than queen y/n when she can’t even be compared to her and tries seducing gojo ( which doesn’t work ) and become a mistress/concubine of his and then become the queen lol even having the audacity to think so bcs now both y/n n gojo have twin sons ( each of them look like their parents exactly but are momma’s boys lol ). I hope u understood what i’m trying to say haha

Have a nice day 🌸

Evil Queen 2

Warnings: NSFW King Gojo x Queen reader

"My lady, do you really think this is a good idea? I heard that queen (y/n)–"

"I don't need your advice. I don't care who this (y/n) is. Don't you think I'd make a better queen?" she asked with a smile as her maid dyed her lips a juicy pink.

She was a guest there.

In your castle.

As the daughter of one of the most powerful rulers, she was their guest of honor. They could not give her any other accommodation than royal.

Only that was possible.

She and her father were on a diplomatic trip to a farther kingdom to realize her royal engagement.

But she had other motives and plans.

She didn't want to go on to marry some ordinary prince.

She wanted a king who was powerful and handsome. Rich and young.

A twenty-eight-year-old king with a wife and two children?

He's an easy bite for her.

Especially since he was into her taste.

Tall and handsome.

She was mainly concerned with his status, since she would be the mate of the king of such a powerful and wealthy kingdom.

That was all it was about.

She did not want to be a princess of the state.

She wanted to be queen.

If she became Gojo Satoru's concubine, maybe at some point she would be so appreciated that the king would divorce his wife so that she would sit on the throne with him. To dethrone his wife, any was his concubine and bore him children if they wanted.

She doesn't want a baby. She wants to rule.

And he already has an heir. That's why they don't need to have a baby.

But if he wanted to... Let him do what he wants.

According to her, men want only one thing.

All she has to do is undress in front of him and show what she wants. And he is hers.

Men only think about sex.

And when they see a naked woman ready to give herself to them, they lose their minds about it.

"My lady, you would certainly make a suitable queen, but—"

"Suitable? I'd be the perfect queen!" She snarled. "Do my lips look luscious and full enough yet? Is that enough to make him unable to look away?"

"My lady, you certainly look beautiful. But what are you planning?" asked the maid as the woman stood up.

"What am I planning? Of course I want to be married to King Satoru!"

"But his wife-"

"I can dethrone his wife." she laughed. "A king can do anything. And I'm sure he didn't have much fun with her since they have two children."

"D-Dethrone?"

"Yes. I will be his concubine. He will love my body and me. So he'll prefer someone who hasn't been pregnant. I have the body of a teenage girl, don't you think?"

"I'm not sure the King would prefer the body of a teenage girl to his wife..." whispered the maid.

"What were you saying?"

"N-Nothing." She replied quickly.

"So I will be his concubine. And in time he will marry me, throwing his wife lower because he will love me. And a woman like her can't do anything to me! A mother with two children? haha! Would I be scared?!"

She suddenly left her chamber and saw in the corridor two white-haired boys walking towards the throne room with their uncle.

If not for the king, she would surely go to his right hand and best friend.

But she wanted to rule the kingdom as queen.

"Good morning, princes." She said smiling at the children.

They looked at her with their blue eyes and kept walking, holding the hands of their black-haired uncle who completely ignored her.

He really didn't like spoiled princesses like her.

She followed them a few meters to the throne room.

Where she saw her king she wanted to get.

And also you next to him when you stood with him at the window.

The children started running towards you and you smiled.

They were four years old and similar to Satoru. In appearance, and sometimes in character. However, there was one thing about them, except that they weren't quite like their father.

As your husband got down on one knee to catch his sons in his arms, they ran past, leaving his smile frozen.

He was hurt but still happy.

His kids just missed him...

Your sons ran to you, clinging to your legs.

Your sons are mommy's boys.

This was their characteristic.

So is your husband, who is also mommy's boy. But you're like his mommy.

Even though they love you both as parents.

Your husband turned to you with a small smile.

And your children suddenly attacked him, clinging to his chest.

"Your Majesty."

Someone interrupted his moment...

Who dared?!

He turned his head, looking at the woman in the dress behind him. Cursing slightly in front of him.

"what?" he asked, standing up but keeping his hands on his sons' heads.

He didn't care what she thought of him.

"Your Majesty... May I ask you in private? I'd like to talk to you about something." She said with a pleasant smile.

Even though there were dark intentions behind that smile.

"If you have an issue, speak now. I don't have time."

"My Father told me to talk to you about this in private. No unnecessary people." She looked at you condescendingly.

You hated people like that.

They say that damn princess doesn't know anything about you.

Satoru looked at you questioningly, waiting for you to help him. You nodded, signaling him to do so.

Besides, it can't last long.

But you get the feeling you know what she's talking about.

Judging from her dress and the lack of some items that she always wore and were necessary to look presentable.

You saw your husband disappear behind the wall, and you took care of your sons.

Oh, if what you think really happens, you're going to have to do something about Satoru.

Even if it wasn't his fault, he could get a little punishment.

Or a reward if he's a good boy.

"What do you want?" he asked sharply as he stood outside her chamber door as she closed the door.

"My king, you don't have to be so cold. We both know that I always want the best for you." She giggled.

"I'm in a hurry, so hurry up." He growled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh yes. Of course, your majesty." She suddenly walked over to him and her hands shot up to his chest. Her body began to push against him until she reached up with one hand to untie the string at the back of her dress. "We two know what we need, don't we?"

His eyes looked at her with disgust.

"Need a second partner? A partner who will take care of your needs while she takes care of the children? I can become it, my king. I can be everything to you. Give you everything you ever dreamed of. I'll be better than your wife."

"Hold on." He growled, pushing her away.

She held her dress across her chest so she wouldn't stand naked in front of him.

Not yet.

She went a little too far.

Sure, she might have been trying to seduce him. Because that wouldn't work anyway.

Nice try, but he's married. He will not be so easily corruptible.

Bribes from a woman's body don't work on him.

Unless it was you.

Then if he had to choose between something and you, he chooses you.

And his mind, instead of thinking about having a woman capable of undressing for him now, was thinking about whether you'd be able to punish him if you found out.

Now if you could see this eager bitch wanting to get his cock as a bribe, you'd laugh.

This princess didn't know what you were capable of.

You were able to protect your family, especially children, from destruction.

That's why if you saw it, she'd be dead by now.

He didn't need someone important to die. That's why he wanted it to end quickly.

Because he can't promise that nothing will happen.

He did not want to wage war on their country for the fact that the princess died. Even though this war would be another win for him...

He had no desire. He preferred to take care of his beloved sons instead of playing wars.

"My king?" She groaned.

"Your tricks don't work on me." He said and walked past her. Completely ignoring the fact that she's standing there. "Give it a rest. I've seen many times where a woman wanted to seduce a rich man to win favor. This primitive method doesn't work for me."

Because he only became primitive around your body.

Only you could drive him to something that would make him lose himself in pleasure.

"If you want to live, don't do it again."

And suddenly he left her bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Remind you when my ribbon was tied around your dick? Do you miss it?"

"Do you have that ribbon?"

"you ruined it. I had to throw it away." You laughed, sitting on his stomach as he lay on his back on the bed.

"You want to punish me like a bad boy?" He gave you a playful smile.

"Our kids told me you were coming out of her bedroom." You gave him a winning smile.

You know nothing happened. Because your children would react differently.

"My little ones are smart~" he hummed.

"I know you remember exactly the day we fathered them." You put your finger on his lips to keep him from saying anything. "The way you moaned against me and your eyes begged for touch. Should I do the same now? To make sure you only beg for me?"

He purred as his hand rubbed your thigh.

"Do you want me to make you beg? Maybe then you can explain what happened there." You laughed.

There was excitement in him.

"I know you know exactly that she knows that she could never beat me. It doesn't matter what. In everything, I win with her, right."

"You're so much better than her." He groaned, wanting to grab your finger between his pink lips.

"I win with her even more when it comes to pleasing my husband. I wouldn't let some whore fuck my husband. You will not hurt me. And you will not hurt our children."

He smiled because he knew you weren't being completely serious.

Your voice was also playful.

"Only my wife can fully satisfy me." He hummed, encouraging you to expand on this conversation of yours.

You didn't just have to talk.

You could have shown him that you were his only woman.

His ideal.

Everything for him. Everything he has.

"The only woman I'll touch is you... Aah..." he moaned as you moved your hips in a fluid motion. So smooth. Bouncing on his cock in a pleasant rhythm.

His wrists bound as he placed the fingers of both hands on your thigh, feeling your walls tighten around him.

Only you could see him like this.

Make him a moaning mess when you kiss and touch him. And your intimate places are connected.

"Fuck... I love you so much..."

"I told you not to curse. If the kids can hear." You said with a small smile, wiping sweat from your forehead as you traced your finger across his jaw.

"There are no children here. So please, I want to say anything and do anything with my damn sexy wife..."

"Won't wrists be enough for you?" you laughed, circling his hips.

"I only touch my wife. And that's all I want. Let me fuck you..."

"You're impatient. You could always ask nicely. Come on honey. I know you can show that you only want me~"

"Please..." He groaned as he felt you tighten around him. Tight.

"Toru~ I don't know what you're asking for..."

"I want to fuck you." He said louder. His cheeks flushed pink.

"Then fuck me." You kissed his lips, feeling him smile into the kiss.

He moved his bound hands over your head, allowing you to put your arms between his hands. And then he held you as you lay on his stomach, kissing him passionately as your thrusts met.

His hands around your waist pressed you against him as his hips pushed up to seek more of your warmth, even as he entered you to the hilt, demolishing your insides.

His breath quivered, and so did yours as he dug in hard and held on, snuggling against your neck.

You stroked his hair.

Long teasing foreplay always made him come a little faster than usual. But it still allowed you to have a satisfying orgasm sooner.

His hips jumped as you leaned against him, pulling him in tight.

Your walls sucked him in, not wanting to let out a millimeter of his penis.

His mouth was open as you put your head next to his, and you whispered very softly into his ear with your warm breath.

"Cum." You said and felt his body tense as he let out a guttural groan, biting your arm to make a mark.

His warm fluids began to fill you.

And his moans filled your ears.

"Fuck, I love you so much..." He groaned.

Only you.

Always only you. No one else.

Only his beloved queen could be so close to him

#gojo x y/n #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo #jjk x you #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo smut #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff

[legitalicat]

Out of Time

Chapter 1 - "Along Blackwater Bay"

AN: This dedication has been removed. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoy your works.

If you love this header go check out zaldritzosrose for more amazing work! She is tagged on the series masterlist and on my welcome post!

Find the series Master list here!

Summary: Princess Y/N Velaryon awakes on the shore of Blackwater Bay confused, hurt, and alone. She is found and escorted to the Red Keep, where she learns the circumstances surrounding her awakening.

TW: memory loss, reader is AFAB, talks/descriptions of injury, first person POV because I suck at any other POV I am sorry

Word count: 3.7 K

I awoke on the shores of King’s Landing, the water from Blackwater Bay rushing up my lower legs. My heart was pounding as I sat up. There was no reasonable explanation as to how I ended up here. Last night I went to sleep in my bed, feeling rather warm and fuzzy from the wine I had consumed at dinner.

The early morning light was shining through the mist that was coming off the water. Slowly, I made my way into a standing position. My black dress was torn around the hem, soaked from the sea water. My muscles were sore and my bones stiff. Every breath I took felt as though I was being punched in the left side. I was near certain my brown hair was wild, no longer in the neat braid I most commonly kept it in.

There weren’t any citizens on the shores this time of morning. For many, they would have already went out in their boats to begin their fishing for the day. The others, it was simply too early to start the day. However, I did see two city watchmen doing their rounds on the docks.

“Excuse me!” I shouted to them, waving my arms. They approached me, their gold cloaks shining in the sun. I recognized neither of them.

“Princess Y/N?” One asked as he stopped in front of me. I nodded softly. “Come with us.”

I could not really tell which guardsmen they were. They were in full armor, donning a helm and chainmail covering all but their eyes. Being roughly the same height as each other, that wasn’t even helpful to determine who I was following. However, I knew that nobody wearing golden cloaks would bring any harm to me. My stepfather would have their heads if my mother didn’t get to them first.

So, I made the only decision I could make in this instance. Silence laid over us like a thick fog as I walked with them through the city streets. One in front of me, one behind me, their hands on the swords at all times. We went to the barracks at which point they told me to stay in the front room. The one that had walked in front of me went off , I suppose to inform his commander of this situation, while the other man stood in the room with me. It was not long before there were a few other watchmen and even a serving girl to sit with me.

Nobody dared to speak to me other than what was necessary. Even when I threatened them with my status, first born child of the heir to the Iron Throne and betrothed to her heir, so that one day I would be Queen, did not loosen their tongues. None of my questions were answered. All that was said was that my mother would answer any question I had.

They spent longer than I thought necessary preparing a carriage to take me up to the Red Keep. I was almost certain I heard their commander send a small group of men to shut down the streets between here and the Red Keep but that couldn’t be right. Never had the streets been closed because of my travels, as there had never been a time that I was in danger. Once he received word that all the streets were closed and nobody would be looking to the street, I was put into a carriage.

My ride to the Red Keep was done with the singular maid in the carriage with me, one watchmen controlling the carriage, and three others riding around on horseback. They weren’t brought to my precession until after I was already in my seat. And still, nobody spoke to me. I could only glance out the windows at the city to try to see the citizens of King’s Landing, but it seemed though I had heard the Watch’s Commander correctly and the men did completely empty the streets.

It was midday by the time that the carriage stopped in front of the door to the keep. The door was opened and I was offered a hand to help me out. It was the first protocol that had been kept in my presence. And now that I was on the ground, I finally saw the first people besides the Gold Cloaks and the maid.

At the top of the stairs stood my mother, my step grandmother holding her hand tightly as they both looked at the carriage. Queen Alicent had always been a forceful presence in my life, demanding things of my mother and father that were crude and unfair. Though she never liked my brothers, I seemed to be near and dear to her in a way that not even her own daughter was. One could almost convince me she viewed me separately from them as though I were anyone but my mother’s daughter.

Flanking each of them were their respective sides of the family. My twin, my betrothed, Jacaerys stood beside my mother. He was more shocked than I had ever seen him when we made eye contact. There was Lucerys beside him, who looked older than he should as he was a man grown, and the same could just about be said about Joffrey. The other two boys on my mother’s side could’ve only been Aegon III and Viserys II, my two baby brothers, but they were not babies. They were easily nine and seven respectively. It shouldn’t have been possible. It was only last night that they could have easily fit in my arms, now they were half my height.

When I looked to Alicent’s side, Aegon and Aemond stood beside her with Helaena further back. Her three children, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor stood hand in hand beside of her. Again, everyone looked older than they should, older than when last I saw them.

My step father Daemon and my step sisters Rhaena and Baela were not with my mother, but the maid whispered to me that they were visiting our grandparents in Driftmark. She gave me no answers to any other question.

Out of everyone, there were three people that desperately wanted to break free from the crowd. Obviously my mother was trying to hold some decorum, some sort of semblance of what it means to be a Targaryen, even though I could see her inching closer. Jace was completely frozen with shock, the pull that existed between us not enough to motivate his feet. Then there was Aemond, who seemed to be willing to disregard all things that could be considered proper as he took the steps two at a time to close the distance between us.

His arms were around me before I could blink, and despite the physical pain when he touched my side, it caused a comfortable feeling in my brain that soothed something inside of me. I returned his affections, desperate for some sort of connection. As much as it had always annoyed my brothers, Aemond and I were very close growing up. He and I were the last to get dragons, the last to fulfill what it means to be a Targaryen. It binds you in ways that you can’t explain to anyone else.

“Byka zaldrīzes,” he whispered to me. Little Dragon, the name he gave me the moment he claimed Vhagar, to assure me one day I would have one too. “How I have missed you.”

“I don’t understand, Aemond. Why is everyone acting as though I am not real? One would think I died.” I asked him, loud enough so that my voice would carry.

“You have been gone for nearly six years,” my mother said. I pulled myself from Aemond’s grip to look at her.

“What?” my voice was cracked under the pressure that was building in my chest. “No. No. I was just with you all last night. I would know if I had been gone.”

Then I turned my gaze to Jace, who still looked as though he has seen a ghost. His inability to come to me, the way he watched me like I was about to dissolve in the wind, not even commenting on Aemond’s grasp on me, it told me all I need to know. The words were true and I had missed out on six years.

But I needed him beside me. He was my brother, my twin, I have existed for as long as he has and will continue to exist as long as he does. We were written in the stars, always destined for each other. We had given each other everything as we knew we were to be married one day.

“Issa dārys,” I called to him. My king. He will be my king one day, a good husband and father to my future children. We will rule the kingdom together, side by side. We’ve known this for our entire lives, and once we could really understand it, there was no turning back.

He slowly descended the stairs to me. Our eyes stayed glued to each other as he closed the distance. My body yearned for him. He was my other half; we were not two separate entities, simply just two pieces of the same soul.

When he was within arm’s reach of me, his ability to show restraint faltered. He grabbed me by the face and kissed me, all regard for propriety out the window. But it wasn’t as though I minded. I belonged to Jace, I always had, so it was only natural that I returned his affections. Propriety be damned.

It was less than a minute, rather tame compared to all other kisses we’ve shared, but the moment it was over, I become increasingly aware of cracks forming in my heart. His forehead resting against mine, I could guarantee I was home. I was safe as long as we were together.

My mother had informed me that I was not to be alone for the coming weeks. When we were alone in the room I had growing up here, she held me to her and cried. She insisted on me having a bath before I see the Maesters. A few of her most trusted maids helped me out of my dress and into the bath. The way her face contorted in mental anguish, tears forming in her eyes, as she looked over my body was something I would never forget. A glance in a mirror showed I had bruises and scars scattered across my body, including over my ribcage on the left, and a busted lip I was unaware of until now.

“If it brings any comfort, I do not remember it happening,” I said to her quietly as she sat beside the tub. There was a failed attempt to prove to her I was okay as I went to pour water over my hair, but the stretching motion caused enough pain I lost my breath.

“It causes me more worry than anything,” she told me. Her voice was fragile in the same way a flower is, soft and delicate, able to be broken in one move if anyone chose. “But it is nothing you need to fret over. We shall have the Maesters examine you and treat you, in a few weeks it will be as though this didn’t happen.”

Mother asked the maids to go inform the Maesters of our need and then sent one to bring me food from the kitchens. I think it was in equal part that she needed to feel useful but also needing to just be alone with me. There was no part of my brain that could even fathom what she had been feeling for these years.

She caught me up on all of the happenings in our family while she washed me. The night I had gone missing, my grandsire was greeted by The Stranger. She lost the babe she had been pregnant with within a few days of that, a girl that was named Visenya. It was an impossible amount of grief to deal with in such a short time and all I wanted was to take away all of her pain and suffering.

“Did Otto not try to put Aegon on the throne?” I whispered to her as she took her time gently washing my hair. She refused to let it wait for the maids, insisting that five years is long enough for someone else to care for me.

“He wanted to, but when I sent Alicent a letter informing her of your disappearance, she halted her father’s plans,” she told me. “Nobody, not Aegon nor Aemond, cared for the throne after you were gone.”

“But why? She has hated you for as long as I can remember. They have hated us for just as long. What difference did I make?” I asked.

“Oh sweet girl, they have never hated you. I cannot say how they felt about your brothers, nor can I deny the resentment Alicent and I have felt for one another. You, however, have been loved throughout it all. You were the light of your grandsire’s life, Alicent has adored you from the moment she laid eyes on you. Aegon and Aemond both used to beg for your hand. You, darling, take after your father.” She ran the water through my hair, rinsing all of the dirt and oils from it. I ran my right hand through it, as that was the only arm I could lift so high without crying, and it felt much cleaner than it had before.

“Which father?” I spoke, barely above a whisper, standing with her assistance.

“Both Laenor and Ser Harwin loved you dearly, as they were both loved by you. You enchanted them from the moment you made your entrance into the world, and you did so until they died. You are both of them, the best of them, in a perfect package.”

I could only nod. Jace and I knew from a very young age that Laenor was not our blood. He claimed us all the same, cared for us as much as he could. Ser Harwin, though, made every difference in our lives. Even if Luke wasn’t completely aware, our father spent every moment he could watching over us. He trained with the boys every morning, attended my lessons as much as possible, trained me in swords in the eve. He was there for Luke’s birth, was there within a few hours of Joffrey’s. And the love he held for my mother, to be willing to love her from a distance and sire children he could never claim…it was admirable.

“Jace never married,” I stated. It was not a question, but an observation. I knew far too well that if he had, he would never have put the shame on his wife that would’ve been given to her when he kissed me so publicly.

“The two of you share a special connection. He could not bring himself to agree to any marriage proposal until we knew one way or another. He said that he would only be with his other half unless there were no other options,” she spoke softly. She helped me into a new dress, a beautiful sea green color to represent House Velaryon.

“So, until my body washed ashore somewhere?” I asked, a ghost of a laugh coming through. I could see a frown slowly creeping onto her face. “Mother, I’m sorry. I can’t Imagine how difficult the last few years have been.”

“You are back now, my darling girl. That is what matters,” she told me, sitting me in the nearest chair so that she could braid my hair. “Aegon asked me to annul his marriage to Helaena. Their’s was not a happy one, I do not wish that upon any of my family.”

I was grateful for her gentle touch as she worked carefully with my hair. It wasn’t as though my mother had ever been rough with me, but there was a gentleness that she always seemed to have whenever we were sick or hurt.

The first time Jace flew on Vermax, he pulled me onto the saddle. We both returned blistered and aching. Yet once it hit midnight and my fever had fully set in, it was realized I had an Infection because I wasn’t wearing proper dragon riding clothes and my skin was rubbed off until I was bleeding. She sat by my side for nearly a week then. She prayed to nearly every god, even the ones she had no faith in, and she was so soft with me you would think she was a mere common woman instead of the future Queen.

“And Aemond?” I asked her once she pulled her hands away from my hair.

“Refuses to marry. He has wanted to marry you since the two of you attempted to run off to Dragonstone when you were children,” she chuckled. “If I did not know you, I would say that was his idea.”

“In my defense, we had been speaking about the Valyrian traditions that have been lost. He and I were going to marry in the tradition of Valyria and then Jace and I would marry under the Seven,” I told her, a smile on my face.

I was approximately five years old when that became our plan in life. Aegon the Conqueror had two wives, so I would have two husbands. Of course, whenever Jace was told about this plan, he vehemently denied me. He said he would give me everything that I would ever need when he was king.

“He was hoping that Jace would find a new bride, so that when you came back he could have you,” she told me, taking my hands in hers. “Before you ask, yes. He was certain you would come back. He spent nearly a year searching all of Westeros for you on Vhagar. He only returned at the request of Helaena.”

“What do I do, mama?” I whispered. “It has been so long, so much has changed. Little Aegon and Viserys won’t even know me. Is Vhaela even alive?”

Vhaela was my dragon. She had been a wild dragon that approached King’s landing near six moons before my eighteenth nameday. She was the most gorgeous shade of amethyst, her scales glittering in the sunlight whenever I flew her. She had rested on a mountain not far out from the city and I snuck out of the castle to get a closer look. Never had I known of a dragon who was so calm and regal when being approached. It was like she was royalty and she knew exactly what the difference between us was. It was this confidence she carried that lead me to attempt to claim her, and she graciously agreed to a partnership with me.

“Vhaela is in the Dragon Pit. She enjoys flying when Aemond and Jace go, I believe she feels close enough to you through them to allow them to care for her. As for your younger brothers, we did not let them forget. They know you, not in the same way they know Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, but you are not a stranger to them,” she assured me. Her voice did not waiver in this. It was instead supported by a firmness that could only result from a confident truth.

She turned me to face her directly, hands starting to squeeze mine. The look on her face was so tender, so comforting, I wasn’t sure what to do except let a few tears leave my eyes. It all felt so overwhelming, and there was no certainty as to what I should do.

“You wished to be betrothed to Jace at a young age. Do you still wish it?” she asked me quietly. “Or does your heart desire another?”

“I love Jace with my entire being,” I told her firmly. It was everything I could do to ignore how my heart began racing.

“Save for the piece of your heart that has long been held by Aemond.”

My head dropped. There was nobody that I had ever told of my affections for Aemond. He had never exactly been subtle, that I would admit. A year before Luke’s claim to Driftmark was questioned, my Grandsire the King had requested my appearance at court. He wished to spend time with me. And during that time, Aemond and I grew as close as we were as children. Maybe even closer.

But that did not matter. Those were the adventures of a young girl. I was promised to Jace formally when my family came to King’s Landing. Any affections that I had for Aemond was left behind in that moment.

The kisses that we shared In the library or in the gardens were innocent. The nights spent in my chambers, talking until the sun comes up. We absolutely did not do anything that was considered something that could ruin me. We did not make each other come undone for hours every night.

“That was a girl’s exploits. I belong with Jace, we were brought into the world together and together we shall always be,” I said while trying to keep my voice steady as hers. Yet, when it came to the overwhelming truth of Aemond and I, I was never steady. And so I turned away from her, withdrawing my hands from her touch. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her stand.

“I only wish to see you happy, to marry for love and not for duty,” she told me, taking a flower from a vase nearby and sticking it in my hair. “Allow yourself to court both of them. There have been many changes during your time gone. When you have been made completely sure, I will not question your mind again.”

Before I could say anything in response, knock on the door echoed through the room. The Maesters were here to examine my injuries. Instinctually I turned to face mother, who silently promised me she was not leaving. With a deep and painful breath, I was able to nod and allow them inside.

#dividers by benkeibear #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #out of time

[vbecker10]

Loki's Silent Sentry

(Part 7 - Final Part!)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Alt Ending (in progress - very sad, please read trigger warnings below and in the link)

Pairing: Loki x female reader (y/n)

Summary: You are not just a soldier in Asgard's Royal Army, you are Lieutenant Y/L/N, Prince Loki's personal guard, his sentry and you are not supposed to fall in love with him. If you followed your training properly, you should never have even spoken to him. As a sentry, you are expected to remain silent and invisible as you shadow your appointed member of the royal family or member of the court protectively throughout their daily tasks.

Rumors (that happen to be true) begin to circulate through the palace that you serve the younger prince of Asgard both outside and inside his chambers. There is little you can do once word of your off duty activities spread through every maid, cook, gardener and seamstress in the palace. You soon find even the soldiers in your own company are now questioning how exactly you had come to earn your seemingly quick rise to lieutenant.

As the annual Winter Solstice Ball approaches, you come to the heartbreaking realization that your relationship with Loki must come to an end if you are both to fulfill your duties.

Warnings: Angst, arguing, Thor trying to be a better brother, Odin being a terrible father... I promised fluff so fluff you shall have 💚

"If you do this..." Odin walks slowly to the edge of the steps, "You will no longer be my son."

"If you force me to do this," Loki answers defiantly, "It is because you failed me as a father."

You hold Loki close to you to keep him from moving towards his father. You can feel him shaking with anger but his eyes are full of pain. Loki and his father had their issues, no one could deny that, but you never thought Odin would be so quick to throw away what is left of their relationship.

A silence settles over the room as they hold each other's gaze, each daring the other to say something else. Before it can escalate further, Thor draws everyone's attention to himself.

For the second time today, Thor calls to begin the voting. "The vote will determined by the majority. Those among you who are for upholding the existing law shall vote aye. Those among you who wish to revise the law, thus revoking Prince Loki's title and status, will vote nay. Is that understood?"

The members of the council, along with the king and queen agree to the terms Thor explained. Thor nods to one of the senior members of the council and in response, he steps forward to the center of the throne room. A young man follows him with an open book and quill, you presume to keep track of the votes.

The older man turns to the throne and asks the king how he will vote. Loki's eyes are focused on the king as you wait for his decision.

Odin waves his hand dismissively towards you and Loki as he sits back in his throne. "Nay," he says in an emotionless voice.

Loki lowers his head and leans into you as he sighs deeply. You rub his back hoping one day he will heal from the wound his father just inflicted on him.

The council member turns to acknowledge the queen and asks her for her vote. She smiles at you and Loki, "Aye."

Loki's body relaxes the slightest bit but he tenses again when it is his older brother's turn. It's hard for you to read Thor's emotions but he slowly smiles and says, "Aye," loudly.

Having two of the three royals say aye must help sway the council, you think hopefully but you honestly aren't sure. Will most of them still side with Odin purly because he is the king? Or will he allow the vote to continue only to overrule their judgment in the end? Your thoughts race but they calm for a moment when Loki kisses the top of your head.

The senior council member moves to the center of the room and turns to face the rest of the council. He asks for all those voting aye to raise their right hand.

You turn your head, burying your face against Loki's chest, suddenly too nervous to watch the voting. He holds you tightly and you can hear him mumbling quietly as he counts along. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath as a new thought forms in your mind.

The vote doesn't matter, you think. Whether they vote to uphold the law or not, you and Loki will be together. Either as prince and sentry or as two simple Asgardians.

The doors to the throne room close behind you and Loki with a dull thud. You take a few steps down the empty hall then stop suddenly, barely able to breathe.

"Loki," you turn to face him. "Did that... did that really just happen?"

He smiles and puts one arm around your waist, his other hand resting gently on your cheek. He nods, "It did, love."

A wave of excitement floods through you as Loki bends to kiss you. You place your hands on his back, bringing him as close to you as possible. "I just... I can't believe it," you smile up at him.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and smirks, "The only concern we have now, is how quickly can you become a captain?"

"You are dismissed for the night, thank you Lieutenant Y/L/N," the queen says as the two of you reach her chambers.

You bow, "Thank you, your highness."

She smiles as she opens the door, "Have a goodnight Y/N. Tell my son I will see him at tea tomorrow afternoon."

"I will, your highness" you reply.

"Frigga, when you are not on duty, dear," she reminds you warmly.

"Frigga," you repeat with a smile. "Have a goodnight," you tell her.

You walk confidently down the hall, excitement spreads through you as you see Loki waiting for you outside of your shared chambers. You had moved in the night of the vote, almost two months ago. Loki and you still rarely crossed paths while conducting your duties during the day, but you were able to spend every night together and you both cherished that.

You throw your arms around him and he kisses your forehead then your cheek and finally your lips. "I missed you today," he tells you as he holds you close.

You take his hand as he leads you into your chambers, "I missed you too." He uses his magic to help you out of your armor as always and he chuckles when you say, "That is one of my favorite tricks of yours."

A few minutes later, the two of you sit cuddled together on the couch. He plays with your hair gently while you rest your head on his chest and your hand on his thigh. "So... I have something to tell you," you lift your head a little.

"What's that, love?" he asks.

"You know that I went to the city on my day off last week?" you ask him.

"Of course," he answers.

"Well... I didn't tell you but I ran into one of my favorite professors from when I went to university," you tell him.

"Is there a reason you didn't tell me before?" he sits up a bit.

"I wanted to wait until I got this," you take a small scroll out of your pocket and hand it to him.

He looks at you curiously as he opens it. His eyes fall to the paper and he begins to read it, his lips moving slightly.

You anxiously wait for him to finish and when he does he looks up at you, a shocked expression on his face. He looks quickly back down to read it again. "Y/N, is this-" he starts to ask but doesn't finish.

You smile, "It's an offer letter from the university. She told me they were in need of a literature professor for the summer term."

"Y/N..." he says softly. "This is... this is truly amazing."

"I checked the class times with your mother and she says it won't be an issue to schedule your meetings around them," you add. "That was why it took me so long, I wanted to tie up all the loose ends."

"Y/N, you have no idea how happy you've made me," he says as he grips your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

You run your hand lightly over his cheek and kiss him. In between kisses you tell him, "All I want to do is make you happy."

Two years later, you stand at the doors of the throne room in your dress armor at your promotion ceremony. One of the guards standing to the side of the door announces, "Lieutenant Y/L/N."

You walk down the aisle and stop in front of the royal family, kneeling in respect. The crowd gathered to either side of the room is quiet as Odin tells you to rise. He motions for you to come closer and he takes a few steps towards you.

"Lieutenant Y/L/N, you are being promoted to Captain as a testament to your commitment to protect and serve the realm. You have shown a mastery of your duties and the skills necessary to lead future soldiers," the king says loudly so the whole hall can hear him. He pins a metal to your chest and a bit quieter so only you can hear him, he says, "You will make a fine general some day."

You can't believe your ears but before you can focus too much on his comment he goes back to speaking to everyone in attendance. He explains to the crowd that you will no longer be a sentry, you will work at the academy training new recruits. He goes on to tell them you will be the youngest instructor at the academy and he will continue to expect excellence during the remainder of your career.

While he talks, your eyes wander to Loki as always. He smiles broadly at you as does his mother who is standing next to him. She whispers something to her son and he laughs a bit as he nods. You try not to make a face but you are now curious about what she said.

When Odin finishes, you kneel again and when you stand he gives you the smallest smile and says, "Captain Y/L/N."

You bow slightly as the room erupts in a series of applauds. You laugh to yourself when you look towards Thor who is clapping the loudest. He had truly become the older brother you never wanted but wouldn't give up for the world.

Loki looks as if he is going to burst with pride and his mother nods her head towards a particular section in the middle of the crowd. You glance to see where she is looking and you find your parents standing among the onlookers. You fight the urge to run over to them, it's been ages since you've seen them. They had been been assigned to guard a diplomat and his family who lived in another realm. After the shock and excitement of seeing your parents sinks in you look back towards the queen who discretely points at Loki to signal it was his doing.

You stop and turn to look at Loki with a smile but your heart skips a beat when you see him kneeling next to you with a small black box in his hand.

After the ceremony you spend time with your parents, catching up on their lives and yours. They tell you how immensely proud they are of you how much they miss you. You promise to visit them now that you will have a better schedule with the academy.

Loki walks over to where you and your parents are talking and says, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but may I borrow the captain for a few moments?"

"Of course, your highness," your father bows.

"Loki is fine," he says in a friendly manner.

"I don't think that's going to happen," you tell him honestly with a light laugh.

You hold his arm as he walks you through the garden slowly. After a few minutes, you stop to smell a beautiful burgundy rose and you are suddenly surrounded by a soft green glow. You giggle and spin as Loki's magic replaces your heavy armor with the same emerald and gold gown he had conjured for you at the ball so long ago.

"Loki?" you ask, your hand covering your mouth in surprise.

He smiles and takes your other hand in his. "Y/N, love, we've both waited so long for this moment, I didn't want to wait an extra second. I love you more then anything in the nine realms and I would do anything for you. You are the most amazing woman I have ever met and I-" he says but you interrupt him.

"Yes!" you tell him, nodding furiously.

He laughs, "You aren't going to let me finish? I had a whole little speech." You laugh and shake your head. "Ok, I'll skip to the end. Y/N, will you marry me?"

You jump into his waiting arms, "Yes, yes! A thousand times yes, Loki."

He slips the ring on your finger and kisses you. Then he gets up, picks you up easily by your waist and spins you. You giggle and when he places you back down, you kiss him and tell him you love him.

Ok... so that was the end of this fic and I really hope you like it! It's been so long since I've written anything. I started working on an alternate ending for this based on a song I have stuck in my head.

I want to warn everyone that it will not have a happy ending. It will not be fluffy. One of the main characters will die. (I'm not saying which character cause I don't want to spoil it if someone actually wants to read it but if you message me I'll tell you who so you can decide if you want to read it)

I will have warnings on it when I've posted it but I'm just giving you all a heads up. I mostly just need to write it cause it's stuck in my brain and I have to get it out. I understand it's not something everyone will want to read and I'm totally OK with that.

I won't tag anyone unless you specifically tell me you would like to be tagged.

@soubi001 @michelleleewise @harlequin-hangout @ace-of-gay @xorpsbane @mochie85 @sheris532 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @kkdvkyya @animnerd @peaches1958 @peachyjinx @lokiandbuckysdoll @winterfrostlovetriangle @high-functioning-lokipath @winniewings @pics-and-fanfics @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @lokisgoodgirl @mischief2sarawr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @crimson25 @goblingirlsarah @janineb86 @chantsdemarins @simone818283 @tonystank8 @im-briana-stan @foxherder @chantsdemarins @catsladen @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @lokidokieokie @dragonmurray @honeydew3064 @malfoycassimalfoy @kneelingformyloki @newtomofgods @rayne-the-god

#tom hiddleston #hiddlestoners #loki #tom hiddleston characters #loki laufeyson #twhiddleston #hiddlesarmy #loki x reader #loki odinson #hiddlesverse #Loki's Silent Sentry #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader angst #loki fluff #loki fanfic #loki friggason #loki fandom #loki x oc #loki x ofc #loki x original female character #loki x original character #loki au #asgardian #asgard #loki of asgard #thor and loki #loki angst #loki and thor

[sourlove]

YANDERE KING PART II 👑(GN READER)

TW: OBSESSION, YANDERE THEMES, JEALOUSY, VIOLENCE, IMPLIED TORTURE

READ PART 1 HERE

You had never heard a room fall silent the way it did when you stepped in.

It was lunchtime and King Henry had demanded politely requested that you join him and some foreign dignitaries for a meal in the grand hall. However, none of the aforementioned were present. Instead, the Queen and her servants stared at you coldly as you halted by the entrance.

"Good afternoon, Your majesty," you greeted with a bow. "My apologies for-"

"You. Come here." The hall was empty, so the Queen's voiced echoed, coldly.

You glanced up and nervously stepped towards her. The head butler stood there as well, but he sneered at you when you looked at him. Queen Penelope's maids, two nasty girls who constantly tried to make your life miserable, began to whisper to themselves, eyes trained on your neck. Actually, you noticed that all of them seemed to be looking at your neck.

With a sinking feeling, you looked down at the garishly ornate necklace the King insisted you wear to lunch.

"It's the same color as my eyes. I want you to wear it and think of me," Henry had whispered into your ear as he clasped it around your neck. You hadn't thought much of it and had just planned to wear it for the afternoon and stuff it in a drawer with all the other gifts Henry had forced on you.

"That necklace, where did you get it from?" the Queen asked stiffly. Her face gave away nothing but disgust and hatred for you.

"Ah, this? It was His majesty that gave it to me, Your majesty," you replied, reaching up to touch the giant chunk of sapphire swinging from the thick gold chain.

"Liar!" One of the maids cried. "It is the same one the King gave Her Majesty on their wedding night! The one that went missing!"

The temperature suddenly dropped as you realized the situation you had just walked into. You opened your mouth to defend yourself but nothing came out, making Queen Penelope snap in anger.

"You dare try to make excuses? Hold them down!"

The two maids immediately grabbed your arms, fingernails painfully digging into your skin. The butler scoffed, "Of course someone of your status would resort to theft."

The Queen roughly yanked the necklace off you. "A filthy concubine," she hissed. "Dares to sneak around my chambers? You must think you can get away with anything just because you're warming the King's bed. But let me tell you something." She lowered her voice as if she were sharing a secret. "He will soon tire of you, and I will take great pleasure in dealing with you the same way I dealt with others who dared to think they were beyond their station."

You licked your lips shakily and stammered out, "Y-your majesty, I swear there must have been some kind of mistake. Hen-The King truly gave me that necklace! I would never dare to-"

Her rings caught on your face when she hit you and you stumbled back, only held up by her giggling maids. A warm, metallic taste filled your mouth. Blood. "How dare you speak his name?! You will regret ever crawling into his bed, you vile wench!"

She raised her her hand again to land another blow until a booming voice froze everyone in place.

"What is going on here?!"

Henry looked furious as he stormed into the grand hall, closely followed by an entourage of people; guards, servants and the dignitaries you were supposed to have lunch with. Before you could even begin to feel embarrassed, the maids holding you fled to stand behind their mistress, leaving you to stagger into Henry's arms.

His blue eyes scanned you and took in your bruised face, his face twisting into an expression you had never seen before. "Penelope!" he barked. "What is the meaning of this? Explain yourself immediately!"

The Queen balked at the face of his pure, unadulterated rage, but still pointed an accusatory finger at you. "My necklace! Th-they stole it from my chambers and paraded around claiming that you gave it to them!" All of a sudden, she burst into tears and you gaped at her. Who exactly was the victim here? "I-I just lost my temper, because that necklace is so dear to me! You gave it to me as a wedding gift!"

You could already feel the nasty looks being sent in your direction and shrunk back. Henry looked down at your trembling form and bloody mouth, seemingly unaffected by Queen Penelope's tears.

"Let me see the necklace," he commanded. The head butler stepped forward with the cause of all your problems and bowed to the King, handing it to him. Henry turned it over in his hand and chuckled dryly. "You foolish woman."

This seemed to surprise everyone, for the King was known for being kind and peaceful. "Y-your majesty?"

Henry flipped the sapphire pendant, revealing the gold backing on which your initials were carved. The Queen was at a lost for words and her mouth opened and closed multiple times without saying a word.

The butler stepped in for his mistress. "Your majesty, there is a chance they could have engraved it themself after they stole it!"

Henry cocked his head and hummed. "There is a chance. A very slim one, considering I was the one who engraved their initials myself." He stroked your hair soothingly. "I didn't want there to be any confusion between the two so this was a precaution. Had I known that the Queen would be so willing to strike my concubine over such a small issue, I would have been more careful."

"Your majesty!" A knight ran into the room, holding up a familiar object. "We found the Queen's necklace in the head butler's quarters!"

The man gasped and shook. "Framed! I've been framed!" He dropped to his knees as the guards surrounded him. "Your majesty, please believe me!"

Henry barely spared him a glance. "Take him to the dungeons and have him whipped. Such is the punishment for a thief." He turned to the Queen who paled in fear but Henry wasn't done. "Take the maids too. Cut off the hands that dared to hurt what is mine."

They screamed as they were dragged away, pleading for mercy, and you winced. Henry turned to reschedule his lunch meeting with the dignitaries as if it were nothing, as is he didn't just order for people to be tortured. The events of the day started to catch up to you and you swayed in Henry's grasp.

He swooped you into a bridal carry immediately, barking orders to call a physician. He cast a final glance back at the Queen who had just watched her most loyal servants be taken away. Tears, perhaps real ones this time, filled her eyes.

Henry turned back to you. "Lock the Queen in her chambers until further notice. She has done enough damage today."

"Your majesty! Your majesty, you cannot do this to me! I am your Queen!"

Her cries were cut off as the doors to the grand hall slammed shut. Henry strode quickly to you chambers, lips pressed in a thin line.

"...I'm fine, Henry," you said softly. You knew calling him by his name would calm him down from the thoughts in his head. He glanced down at you.

"She hit you."

"But it's not serious. I will heal very soon."

Henry shook his head in frustration. He said no more until you were tucked in bed, after being thoroughly examined by the palace physician. After the old man had given you some medicine and left, the King crawled into your bed. "I'm sorry, my love."

You patted his hand tiredly. You wished he would leave you to sleep in peace, but that didn't seem like it was going to happen. "It's not your fault, Henry. It's not like you planned this."

When Henry said nothing, you turned to find a look in his eyes that made you sit up straight, sleepiness fading away. "I didn't think she would hit you-" he began but you cut him off.

"Is that why you insisted I wear it to lunch? Did you plan this whole affair to humiliate me?"

"You don't understand, I did it for you! To help you establish your place in the palace!"

"As what? As your bed warmer? The King's whore? Is that what you wanted?" You glared at him. "Why can't you understand that there is simply no place for me here. Not when I was forced to be here."

"...you're right."

You glanced at him, frowning in confusion but Henry was staring into space, lost in his thoughts. "It's too dangerous for you here. Who knows what that woman will do to hurt you?"

"Are you-are you saying that I can go home?" You couldn't help feeling hopeful of returning to your old life but that feeling soon crashed down when Henry smiled.

"I can't just let you go, my love," he chuckled, pulling you closer to him. "But I will take you somewhere you never have to go through anything like this ever again."

Later on, you would wonder if anyone ever questioned your disappearance or if Henry had spread some story to stop them from searching for you. Either way, it's not like anything that happened outside of the safehouse mattered. It was your only home now.

And the only thing you needed to concern yourself with was loving your King and serving him, and only him, until death do you part.

READ ASK ON 'What happens if Reader tries to run away?' HERE

A/N: Please like, reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed this! Feel free to request any headcanons for this character but I might not write anymore full fledged fics of Henry for a while lol.

@pinkrose1422 @justabratsworld

#obsessive love #obsessive yandere #yandere #fanfic #yandere boyfriend #writers on tumblr #fantasy creatures #fantasy #lovesick #love story #lovers #unhealthy love #toxic love #toxic relationship #monarchy #dark romance #romance #romantasy #royalty #yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere male #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #reader insert

[idyllcy]

sheer curtains

word count: 2.8k

warnings: hurt/comfort, messy soulmate relationship, angst to fluff

summary: It's taboo to speak about the situation, but Tim finds that a ripped curtain has nothing on him, stepping into your side of the line, desperate to have you in his arms for the rest of his days.

Tim's no stranger to the concept of soulmates.

Fingers pressed to your skin, nose dug into the skin of your neck, Tim has known you for longer than he could imagine. Since the early mornings of waking up in the mansion to the late nights where you'd beg your mom to stay until he fell asleep, you've been a cornerstone in Tim's life for a long time — fingers laced with him under the lunch table in middle school, arms wrapped around his waist during the short time he was in high school, registering the bond together years later than supposed to, you are Tim's soulmate, through and through.

His timer only had four years compared to everyone else in the hospital he had been born in.

And true to the clock, at four and a half years old, you skipped into his life, following behind your mother as she introduced herself as the new maid. Your timer hit zero, made a beep, and promptly disappeared into your skin, only the date left behind. Tim's wrist had done the same thing from the top of the staircase when the two of you met eyes — but neither of you would say anything about it. You would remember, but you wouldn't know. The small glimmer of his blue eyes and a matching one in yours — the two of you knew, even without asking, that the two of you were soulmates.

Neither of you really knew whether it was platonic or romantic, and neither of you really cared.

The sandbox in his backyard mattered more to the two of you.

Even when you two were muddied from the water spilled into the box to build a mound of sand called proudly by the two of you to be a castle, and even when the two of you were scolded by his family for getting messy, neither of you cared. It was fun playing with one another, and that was enough for the two of you. When you're five and the only thing on your mind is figuring out how the two of you would navigate his school, that's enough.

"They could be a personal aide." Tim's mother suggests in the study. "The two of them could work together for good. Your child catches onto things fast."

Your mother is much more apprehensive about the idea, but as you steal the last cookie from Tim on the couch and he doesn't complain, she relents. If you did not want it, you could leave whenever. It was as simple as that. The two of you could split up whenever. Your parents didn't know you were soulmates — you two did. It hurt when you spent too long without each other. Neither of you knew why, but you knew to stick close.

In the sticky floors of kindergarten and the wooden blocks of preschool, you had been sent to attend the same school as Tim despite the lower class status. He had kept you close, fingers interlaced with yours, sharing his plate of snacks with you. It was hard to figure out if the two of you had been just friends or if it was a puppy crush. But it didn't matter to anyone — neither did it matter to you. You were happy to be around him.

Tim didn't find it in himself to leave you alone, even when he made new friends and met new people.

At eight years old, the two of you found out you were soulmates during science class.

"When your timer strikes zero upon meeting someone, they are your soulmate." Your teacher had smiled at you all.

You tugged on Tim's sleeve under the table, blinking slowly at him, clicking on the matching date on your wrists. Tim nodded back at you, toothy grin on his face, lips quirked up. He knew. But neither of you knew if it was platonic or romantic, and honestly, it still didn't matter to the two of you. It doesn't matter to the two of you. It felt platonic to the two of you, so there was no need to register it with city hall. It wasn't required for minors.

Even in middle school, your fingers laced with his under the table, cheek pressed to his shoulder, heart racing in your chest, neither of you cared to check whether or not you were romantic soulmates. Even when he ran his thumb over the back of your hand, even when he rested his face in the crook of your neck, even when he stared at your lips too hard while sending you to your room, the two of you had never assumed to be romantic soulmates. Even at middle school graduation, when Tim had his arms around you and cheek pressed to yours, it was never a thought.

There was never a label for your relationship — there was never a need.

Even as Tim blinks at you owlishly under the dim lighting in his Robin suit, letting you peel the mask off his face in high school, he doesn't care what kind of a soulmate the two of you are. Even when you whisper his name in the darkness of his old room, eyes wide, struck with fear, neither of you speaks about it. It's taboo — talking about something that the two of you had known for so long. It didn't matter to the two of you, even when Tim was crashed in your room, bandaged wounds and quiet cuddling, even when you're forced to leave his house, watching as he's legally adopted by Bruce Wayne, left behind in a way. It's taboo to talk about the situation.

You continue in high school for the few years that Tim goes missing in your life, the burning of the date on your skin, a reminder that your soulmate had decided to leave you after revealing one of the biggest secrets in his life. He texts you occasionally, sending you updates on where he was living, but other than that, you see him less and less. The friend group that Tim had for a short while in high school also starts breaking apart, and you find yourself stranded in a sea of students at the end of the semester. You don't know if you want to continue. Graduating early sounds like something on the table for you. You discuss about it. Tim's been changing around schools and never making time for you. It might've been a sign for you to start moving on your own, even if the two of you were soulmates.

But Tim catches you before you can leave, as he does, desperate to keep you.

You sit outside the hall during Prom, undoing your blazer, letting the cold air run on your skin, clicking on your phone while seated on the sidewalk. You've left already, but you aren't ready to drive home yet. You grimace at the thought. Your mother's picked up working for someone else, finally, yet you were left behind in the dust, an empty highway at night, wondering what you were without Tim. You had known him for as long as you could remember. It. It felt wrong to move on on your own even though he had already moved on.

"Alone?" Red Robin swings down next to you, weight resting on the streetlamp as he stares down at you.

"Oh, look who finally showed up." You mumble bitterly. "Got bored in Bludhaven?"

"You know I didn't—"

Tim stops mid-sentence when he notices the way you look at him.

Alone. You looked alone. Lonely. It looked like him when he was staring in the mirror in Bludhaven. You looked miserable, like an abandoned child in the street, like the look on Dick's face when he lost his parents at the circus. You looked like him when he had attended his parents' funeral. He grimaces as he tries to reach for you, only for you to turn away, standing up, blazer in your arm, not turning around for him.

It's taboo to talk about the situation, but you rip the curtain first.

Tim's shoulders sink when you shake.

"Tell me to go." You whisper. "Tell me to leave. You have your life, and clearly we're just platonic soulmates. The news loves showing me about how my soulmate is out with someone that has someone else, because clearly, romantic soulmates would have their hearts crushed at the sight."

The tears in your eyes run hot against your cheeks.

"Don't." Tim whispers, heart sinking in his chest at the idea of you leaving. "Don't go."

"Yet." You turn around to face him, eyes hard, chest tight, cough breaking out of your chest. Tim reaches to help, only for you to hold a hand up to him. "You have gone without me. You don't care about me, Master Drake."

It hurts. Something seems to shatter in Tim's body as you call him that. You never called him that. It was something your mother reserved for his family and him back when he had been upper class. It was something that not even Alfred called him. He runs his hand through his hair, desperate to fix this. How does he even fix it? He doesn't—

"We..." You seem to hesitate. "We can get the dates covered up. I'm sure your adoptive father has enough money for the surgery, so it's clearly—"

"No!" Tim lunges at you this time, grabbing you by the arms, heart racing in his ears, eyes watery. "We. We can't. I won't. I won't let us. I..." Tim's head hangs, his own breath caught in his throat, something threatening to rip out his voice. "I can't. I.. I can't lose you too." He chokes out. "I've lost too many. Just." He falls to his knees, kevlar clanging against the ground, grabbing your hands now, pressing your fingers to his forehead, begging you to stay.

No matter how much you had wanted to leave at first, none of it mattered. You wouldn't have left if Tim hadn't said anything. You would have had a hard time leaving if he had told you to leave anyway.

But he's not yours.

It hangs in the air when Tim offers to drive you home, and it hangs in the air when he sends you back to the apartment, lips pressed to yours in an attempt to make you stay, his own heart in a predicament. He knows what he feels. He just refuses to admit it. He couldn't admit it. You might've ripped the curtain, but you did not step through. The two of you could only see each other now. Staring dead into each other's eyes, wanting more but never making a move. Neither of you could win. There was no winning in a game with no result. There wouldn't be a winner or loser. There would simply be an outcome.

Tim never returns to high school, and you settle with graduating early, applying around to colleges. You still want to leave. Tim was not yours. Tim wouldn't be yours. He couldn't be yours. Even as the two of you are seventeen and the world seems to fall back into place, he isn't yours. You go to the town hall to check your soulmate mark, wondering if they would have an answer for you.

They tell you you need to bring in Tim, so you decide that running away was going to be a recurring theme in your bond.

At sixteen and a half, you leave Gotham for Ivy Town U. You don't tell anyone other than your mom, a scholarship in tow from your writing, money from years of your mother saving up her salary for you. You leave Gotham like a ghost, disappearing out of Tim's life one day, number changed and disappeared like the wind. He tries finding you from the street cameras — no avail. You disappear from him, his own soulmate mark burnt into his skin, some nights worse than others.

Some nights, he's stuck in his bed, gasping, curling into a ball, praying that the stinging pain on his wrist would go away. It hurt worse than all the times when he had left you alone in Gotham. It hurt more than when he had his first girlfriend. But that was what it was. Your soulmate mark was far from platonic. Tim knew it. He had an inkling of a suspicion that you did too, but he couldn't prove anything. Not when you had disappeared on him. He couldn't text you even if he tried. Your number was changed too.

It bothers him to no end, deciding the last relationship he would ever have would be with you, leaving his boyfriend for you.

There was no one in the world that Tim Drake couldn't find — but it seemed that you were dead set on proving him wrong.

You graduate, inviting your mother to your graduation, smile on your face, lips pulled up gently. She coos at you, a support in your life, never questioning why you did specific things and not others. But it didn't matter that much to you. It never mattered to you. You've avoided having people ask you who your soulmate was at the cost of covering it up, and you had changed your appearance — desperate to gain control of your life again after being Tim's for so long.

You graduate early, and for a second, you think to turn down the job offering from Wayne Enterprises.

"Go." Your mother urges you, hand on your bicep, squeezing affectionately. "You know you want to."

And you do.

You miss Tim. You miss holding his hand under the table in middle school, wrapping him up in early high school when he was still Robin, the feeling of his hand in yours in the early days of kindergarten and preschool. You miss the taste of Tim's lips from the only time he had ever crossed the line to kiss you, and you miss the feeling of your wrist at peace. Both of you had been avoiding the conversation for as long as possible.

At twenty years old in the airport in Gotham, you stare at the man sent to pick you up.

At twenty years old, Tim runs into your arms at the airport of Gotham, sobbing into your neck, all thoughts about his public image gone with the wind. He clings onto you like his life depends on it, gasping for air, you finally in his arms. He sobs quietly, his wrist no longer burning, like he had to absorb you into his body so that his heart would calm, racing in his chest as he feels you wrap your arms around him too, giving him a gentle squeeze.

It's taboo to speak about the situation, but Tim finds that a ripped curtain has nothing on him, stepping into your side of the line, desperate to have you in his arms for the rest of his days.

If it would cost his life, then so be it.

He moves his head to your chest next, pressing his ear to your heart, listening to the way your heart beat, making up for all the nights he had stayed in bed knowing you had been out doing the same thing as he. He listens to your heartbeat to make up for all the times he had cheated you, all the nights where he had crashed without explanation, your endless patience for him bleeding through your skin onto your hand, his blood staining your cells. He listens to your heartbeat to remind him of every single moment in his childhood, the two of you glued to each other, enamored with each other as much as children could be. He listens to your heart to learn what you had gone through because of him.

You let him listen, fingers tangled in his hair, lips pressed into a tight smile. You aren't uncomfortable. Despite the assumption that you would be, you aren't. You wonder what kind of reflection ended up with Tim so honest with himself, but you aren't complaining.

You two are romantic soulmates. It showed in the way Tim had clung to you as a child, it showed in the way that you had wrapped him up in your room in the dead of night, it showed in the way you both had a burning in your wrist when you had picked people that were not each other. It was not taboo to talk about the situation when both of you knew what you were, it wasn't taboo for Tim to press his lips to yours in the airport, the rest of the world lost behind him—

because the world meant nothing when it came to you.

It meant nothing when he could finally hold you in his arms, longing long gone on your side of the curtain, the sun warm on his skin, your forehead pressed on his.

It meant nothing to him if it meant he couldn't have you.

Your side of the curtain is much cozier anyway.

#tim drake x reader #tim drake imagine #dc x reader #tim x reader #LITERALLY HOW DO YOU TAG FOR TIM I GIVE UP #also if you notice the banner looking weird it's on photopea for the content aware screwing me up #does anyone know any accs that clean batfam comic panels here #☾.fics

[chocolatechipkiki]

I'm not sure if you have ever done a song fic, but I was wondering if I could request one? There's a song called loveletting by V V that would be great for somewhat sad Loki fluff.

I listened to the song and I really, really tried to make this sad but I guess I'm just kinda ass at writing angst? Unless this counts. Either way, I hope you enjoy it!

Loveletting

Loki x Fem!Reader Fluff

W/C: 2113

Warnings: Kinda sad, FLUFF!!, mutual pining, sad childhood??

Summary: After realizing how you truly feel about Loki, you have an upsetting realization and begin to distance yourself from him. But he seems ever so determined to find out why you seem so down.

*****

"Will that be all, Your Majesty?" Y/N said, keeping her head down in courtesy.

Loki's brows furrowed together at her tone. Her usually bright and cheery attitude had been evidently lacking over the past few days, and his heart hurt for her in ways he couldn't find the words for. He kept his hands clasped behind his back though as he leaned forward slightly and spoke in a lowered voice. "Miss Y/N, is something troubling you?"

The maid's face reddened at the question, and she quickly shook her head. "The Prince should not worry himself over a lowly maid such as myself," she responded, monotone as if reciting it from memory. Loki sighed.

"Very well then, you are dismissed," he replied somberly. 

He sauntered over to his studio room, full of daylight from the floor to ceiling windows despite it being as early as it was. He had planned on showing Y/N his most recent painting, but because of whatever was causing her saddened attitude, she had politely refused to spend any time with him in his chambers recently. His mind played memories of the two of them in there together, laughing and recounting stories from their very different childhoods. He had been growing quite fond of their time spent together.

In truth, he had been growing quite fond of Y/N in general.

But something had changed in her life that she wasn't telling him, and it was driving a rift in between them that was making him go mad with concern. He tried asking several times, but each time it was a variation of the same thing: "I'm a maid, and you're a Prince."

He hated that she was hurting and it felt like he could do nothing to ease her pain. As Loki sat in his stool in front of the near-finished painting, an idea sprung in his mind. If Y/N didn't talk to him still after this, he didn't know if she ever would.

***

Y/N made her way through the palace corridors and towards the kitchens hesitantly. She was hoping that because of the time, Loki had simply joined others in the dining hall at suppertime and would not call for her again. There was nothing she dreaded more than him asking once again what was troubling her. Because she couldn't tell him.

She couldn't tell him that she was in love with him.

She had realized it a few days prior, particularly when they had been sat on the floor of his studio, mixing paints. It was her favorite part of spending time with him, because it was the first thing he ever taught her to do that she would never have learned without him. Her status never allowed her the free time to do something as frivolous as painting, but being Loki's personal chambermaid had allowed her the leisure time to learn even more so than that. 

That day in particular, Loki was recounting something more saddening from his childhood. He spoke of his ignorant father and attention-seeking brother always casting shadows over everything he did. That despite his intellect and wit, he felt useless because all his father cared about was physical strength and charm - both things Thor had always possessed and Loki had lacked. He had everything in his life decided for him, and he never got to leave the palace, and all for what? So he could sit and watch his brother be king?

Y/N had paused crushing a particularly light blue rock into powder to look at Loki's hunched frame as he continued to stir a green pigment into the egg white. It felt like she was seeing him for the first time that day. The real him. Not the Prince or the younger brother or the 'failure' of a son. But Loki.

Loki loved painting and the color green and winter. He loved long strolls through the gardens and desserts and tea. He wanted to travel and learn more difficult magic and marry and have kids. He had dreams.

She had reached out and placed her hand atop his, to which he had paused his stirring to bring his blue eyes to her soft gaze. Y/N's heart fluttered at the pure longing she saw in his eyes - longing to be wanted, longing to be cared for, longing to be loved. Suddenly, she felt all his sadness at once. He had always been alone. Much like Y/N had been, since being sent here to the palace to work. Seeing his longing brought her own loneliness to the forefront of her mind, and her eyes had darted down to Loki's lips before quickly locking back with his eyes. 

He smiled at her and she returned it, before resuming her work at turning the blue rock into pigment. She had felt light and airy for the remainder of the day, until she left his chambers later on for her nighttime routine. Reality had crashed through her.

Although he made her feel special when she was in his personal chambers, sitting in his studio, and enjoying his company, she was a servant of the royal family. She was supposed to wash his linens and scrub his toilets and be grateful enough to eat off of the very floor he walked upon. He could never court her because she was nothing and he was a Prince. They could never be together. 

So Y/N began to distance herself from the prince, starting with only staying in his chambers long enough to perform her mandatory duties and nothing more. He had asked almost immediately why she was down, his brows furrowed in the cute way they do when he's confused. She almost broke her resolution to distance from him immediately just so she could ease his concern, but she didn't. And he seemed to feel particularly dejected, which only made her feel guilty.

The next few days only grew harder as she continued to deny Loki. She began to resent going up to his chambers, as it only made her feel worse each time. He hadn't stopped trying to decipher the reason behind her sorrow yet, so as she turned the corner and entered the kitchens to collect his dinner, she hoped it would be a quick visit.

Y/N waved to one of the kitchen staff, who pointed in the direction to a rather large platter of various foods. There was far too much food for Loki to eat alone, and she wondered if maybe he had a guest with him. She carried the platter up several flights of stairs and down several corridors until she finally made it to his doors, and she knocked gently.

Loki opened the door almost immediately, as if he was waiting for her. He greeted her (which only made Y/N's heart flutter, much to her annoyance), and stepped aside for her to bring the food to his sitting area. After she set the platter down on the coffee table, she looked around to see if someone else would be joining him, but nobody else was in his rooms. As if reading her mind, Loki spoke.

"Before you go about denying my request, hear me out. Please," he pleaded, holding his hands out in front of him as if in surrender. Y/N sighed, but allowed him to continue. "I had more than enough food made so you can join me for dinner. I understand you must be spending less time with me for a reason, and I want to know it. I hate to do this, but if you refuse me, I will order you to sit and eat with me."

Y/N scoffed. He knew she couldn't deny an order, and he was using that against her. If anything, this only sealed her proof that they couldn't be together. She couldn't exactly order him to do anything and have it turn out positive.

So she sat down in the loveseat with the Prince and waited for him to ask. He stared at her with curiosity in his eyes and then smiled. "Eat something, my sweet. I promise it's not poisoned," he joked. But she didn't find it funny.

"With all due respect, Your Highness, I request that you please stop calling me that," she said, looking away from him as she did so. Loki gave a crestfallen look and his shoulders fell slightly. 

"Oh, I-I apologize. I hadn't known that made you uncomfortable." He reached towards the platter of food and plucked a grape from its vine. Y/N decided to grab a small slice of bread, just to keep the Prince from uttering another instance of her eating something. Loki chewed slowly, watching her again with curiosity before getting right to it.

"Y/N," he spoke softly, reaching out to grab her hand. She flinched away from his touch, so he sighed. "Please, tell me why you're pulling away from me. I thought we were getting along quite well, and I do not understand what I did wrong."

The girl felt her heartstrings being pulled. She hadn't meant for him to feel as if he had done something wrong. She only wanted to spare herself the pain of rejection. But in doing so, she had completely disregarded the possibility that maybe he had felt some sense of care for her.

"W-Wha- Loki, no! Nothing is your fault," she stuttered, forgetting all formalities and reaching forward to grab his hand. "I just- I can't- UGH!" she continued, frustration growing at the situation. Why did this have to be so hard?

Loki met her gaze gently. "If it's not my doing, then what am I missing?"

Y/N sighed, realizing that she can't lie any longer. She looked down at her hands that she placed in her lap and spoke barely above a whisper. "Loki... I realized something and it's breaking my heart... Y-You're a Prince, and I, a maid. I've grown so fond over you in these past months, but I can't ever be with you..." 

Loki looked dumbstruck for a moment. Was she professing her love for him? Or was he just that naive? "Whatever are you talking about, Y/N?"

She looked up and met his blue eyes once more. "I-I'm in love with you, Loki... But it doesn't matter, because you can't ever court me. I'm not allowed to be close with you, and we've already broken enough rules by doing things like this," she said, gesturing to the platter of food. Loki took her hands in his suddenly and scooted closer to her.

"Y/N," he said softly. "I reciprocate your feelings. I-I'm... in love with you as well. But what you speak of is nonsense. My father has never cared who I spend my time with, knowing that I will not be King. I would only court you publicly if that is what you wished. But it is not a requirement."

Y/N's heart swelled at Loki's words. "R-Really?" she asked, which only made Loki smile and chuckle. Without another thought, she leapt forward and encased Loki in a tight hug, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "Oh Loki, these past few days have been so miserable without you," she said, holding back a sob. He hugged her back, stroking her hair and shushing her.

"My sweet," he whispered. "Please promise me something, will you?"

Y/N sat up from his arms and nodded eagerly. "Anything."

He reached up and wiped a tear away with his thumb, caressing her cheek in the process. "Promise me you'll tell me from now on anytime something is wrong. You worried me a great deal these past few days, and I wish I had known you felt this way earlier, that way I could have stopped trying so hard to impress you." He chuckled and she joined him, feeling relief and love for the first time in the past few days. She couldn't take it any longer and she reached over and planted a quick kiss to his lips, very much to his surprise.

When she pulled away, Loki looked absolutely smitten. He quickly grabbed her and pulled her back in for a longer, slow kiss that felt like every single ounce of love he had in him was being poured into. It left Y/N breathless, but she didn't care.

They were two lonely hearts, beating as one, in sync for the first time.

#loki fluff #loki one shot #loki oneshot #loki #god of mischief #marvel loki #loki x female reader #loki x reader

[kleftiko]

❦ HOUSE OF SILVER

cw: mature themes (paid sexual favours), implied historical violence, historical ideologies regarding sex, fem!reader

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The Edo period—the final era of feudal Japan. daimyos, samurais, and the common class, all with a purpose to help society. After her father lost his money and status when she was a child, y/n works as a maid in a teashop, following courtesans and cleaning up after their jobs. When the head of the Gojo clan comes in one night, she doesn’t expect to see him again, much less have him call on her.

On a busy night, Madame Ino finds you. You recognize the pleased look on her face as the one she has when a favourable customer shows up.

“Y/N.” She looks down at you. “Clear the Daimyo’s favourite room.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Daimyo Gojo? “Yes, ma’am.”

She left just as quickly, not giving you any more information.

You rushed to where she told you, your head filled with thoughts of your conversation with Miwa. Perhaps you’d get to see him—this elusive shikigami who seems to place a spell on every woman he glances upon. You wonder how you’ll react if you see him. You try to push that thought to the side for now, but you remind yourself that right now, you need to clean a room. Madame Ino doesn’t accept slow work from the maids. You respected Madame Ino, hardly ever thinking ill of her; she was harsh but kind enough to treat the staff with respect. The reputation of a high-class teashop can only be maintained if the staff is quiet and out of sight, as she often reminded you. As you gather your cleaning supplies and make your way to the designated room, you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation lingering in the air. Madame Ino's Teashop has always been a place of elegance and sophistication, attracting a clientele that appreciates the finer things in life. The thought of encountering someone as captivating as the man rumoured to have a spellbinding effect on women fills you with both excitement and trepidation.

Upon sliding the door open, you run into a wall, falling back onto your butt and hissing in pain. The wall in question looks down at you. Shades of blue capture your gaze, holding your body captive in awe. Your breath gets caught in your chest, unable to escape your parted lips as you stare up at his soft white locks.

He's beautiful. His piercing blue eyes seem to hold a universe of secrets, and his chiselled jawline accentuates his striking features. It's as if time stands still in that moment, and you can't help but feel a magnetic pull towards him.

His head tilts, eyebrows raise a fraction of a centimetre, and lips lift in the corners. It's so effortlessly casual that it feels oppressive. The haughty look he gives you as you're trapped on the ground, not holding out a hand to offer you up, makes him seem amused. You can't help but wonder what thoughts are running through his mind, hidden behind that enigmatic expression. His confident demeanour and lack of concern for your predicament only add to the air of mystery surrounding him.

"Funny." His voice drawls, deep and velvety, sending shivers down your spine. It's a voice that commands attention, filled with a hint of mischief that leaves you curious about the thoughts swirling in his mind. "People don't usually look at me like that unless they're planning to kill me."

You want to apologize, to say that no, you don't want to kill him; you were just caught off guard. You want to excuse yourself, completely embarrassed for walking in on him and then falling on your ass. You want to do so many things.

But all that comes out of your mouth is a squeak—akin to a mouse that's just been trapped by a cat.

His chest vibrates with silent laughter. And as he lowers his head slightly, smiling eyes not leaving yours, the only feeling in your stomach is one of prey, faced with a predator that wants to eat them. You desperately wish you could muster up the courage to speak, to explain that it was a genuine mistake and that you mean no harm. However, your voice remains trapped in your throat, leaving you feeling helpless and vulnerable under his gaze. The intensity of the moment hangs heavy in the air, making it clear that he holds all the power in this situation.

"Y/N!" Madame Ino's voice is shrill, and your wide eyes snap to her horrified look as she analyzes the situation.

"Ma'am!" Your speech finds you once again, and you scramble onto your knees, bowing deeply. "I am so sorry—"

"Leave!" She cuts you off, and there is an urgency in her voice that makes you run away immediately. You don't even bother to excuse yourself to the Madame or the Daimyo, preferring to be as far away as you can from the scene. Tears well up in your eyes as you flee, the weight of disappointment and shame weighing heavily on your shoulders. You can't help but wonder if this mistake will cost you your position in the teashop. It was a miracle the madame took you in anyway; you know that if she were to kick you out, you would never find a place as favourable as this one.

And for the rest of the evening, you aren't called to do anything anymore; instead, you sit in your room, biting anxiously at your fingers, awaiting Madame Ino's reprimand.

When the sun starts to rise, Miwa slides open the door with haste.

"Is it true?" She’s out of breath.

You can’t answer her; the only indication is the nervous tears that well up in your eyes, so she pats your back and tells you calming assurances that the Madame wouldn’t throw you out for something like that, and you two end up falling asleep beside each other.

When you wake up the next day, you don’t bother to relax, instead rushing to work, the anxiety of last night still eating at you.

That night, your footsteps are feather light; rooms seem to clean themselves as if by an apparition; not even Miwa can pin you down unless you are asleep beside her, curled up on the futon, and silently breathing. You feel the need to prove to Madame Ino that keeping you would not prove detrimental to her business. When she says you can stay, you almost burst into tears of joy. And as retribution for embarrassing the teashop, you now work yourself silly.

Yet you can't get the daimyo out of your head. He truly was ethereal. His presence was captivating, like a fleeting dream that lingered in your thoughts long after you woke. The way he carried himself with grace and authority left a lasting impression on you. It was as if his very essence was woven with a touch of otherworldliness, making it impossible to forget him. Truly, he must be a shikigami.

The more you think of that moment with him looking down on you, the more you start to feel like you can remember every little thing about it. His amused look in the dark of the moonlight, the perfume that crept around him, not too overpowering, and his nonchalant demeanour at the sight of a maid running into him.

"Y/N." The madame's voice pulls you from your reverie.

You turn on your heels, crouching to the floor in a bow and tilting your head down as you greet her. "Yes, Madame?"

But you don't hear her request. The uncharacteristic silence in the air is concerning enough for you to lift your eyes and witness, for the first time, the Madame in a state of anxiety. Her polished lips are littered with soft bite marks, and her gaze doesn't look at you but rather through you.

You open your mouth, about to ask what's the matter, she cuts you off.

"The Daimyo is calling for you." She utters.

Your heart drops. For what reason could he possibly wish to call on you? Except for the obvious reason that a woman is called for in a tea house. Your mind races, trying to come up with any other possible explanation for the Daimyo's summons. Perhaps he needs to have a room cleaned that he is not satisfied with. However, deep down, you cannot shake off the nagging feeling that it may indeed be related to the traditional role of women in a tea house.

Your mouth is too dry to respond with words. Madame Ino grabs your arms and hoists you up, the look in her eyes not getting any better as she once again bites her lip.

"There is no time to make you presentable." Her eyes survey your body, the sheer vision causing her brows to scrunch with worry.

Her sight locks with yours; in a moment, a hundred words are exchanged, and you know with absolute certainty the reason Lord Gojo has called for you. Your heart drops.

Madame Ino ushers you out of the room and along the corridor.

"When you get in there, rid yourself of your kimono." She tells you.

"But Madame," you plead, "I'm not a courtesan; I have no idea what to do."

"I know, child." Her eyes meet yours. "But you do not disobey the Daimyo."

As you make your way through the maze-like hallways, she gives you instructions in a hushed whisper. However, as you proceed, the erratic beating of your own heart begins to drown out your hearing. Only when you are stopped outside the room does your mind come back to you, but the Madame is already out of sight. Staring at the door, the weight of reality comes crashing down on your shoulders. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. The thought of disobeying the Daimyo fills you with fear and uncertainty. With a trembling hand, you reach out and call out a small "excuse me" before sliding open the door.

With crossed legs and his head in his hand, he sits on the mat in the middle of the room. Your mind doesn't comprehend the fact that he isn't on the bed, only taking note of the piercing stare he has as he nods his head for you to step inside.

You quickly obey, shutting the door behind you before you stare dumbly at him. His gaze is fixed on you—the same predatory look that takes you back to your last meeting. The silence in the room is suffocating, making your heart race even faster. You struggle to find the right words to say, feeling cornered.

But then the Madame's words come rushing back to you, and your shaking hands reach for the collar of your kimono, pulling it down to show the slope of your shoulders. Lord Gojo's eyebrows raise slightly, but no other change in his expression sends doubt into your mind about whether or not he likes what he's seeing. With your shoulders exposed, the fabric gets caught, and the obi around your waist is too tight to allow the kimono to slip off your body. You don't know whether to mentally thank or curse Miwa for tying it so tight. With a huff, your fingers shakily move to your back in an attempt to free the obi, your eyes flitting to the Daimyo's to see a look of intrigue on his face.

Just as you manage to grasp what you need, a voice just outside the room calls, "I'm coming in."

The door opens too quickly for you to do anything. In your compromising attire, you come face-to-face with a tall man. The first thing you notice is the sheathed sword at his waist, indicative of a samurai, and with your head craning up, you find his look of horror planted on you.

With absolutely no grace, you squeal, nearly tripping over yourself as you back away and pull your kimono back up, the samurai in front of you holding up his hand to cover you from his sight as he sends a pointed glare towards the Daimyo.

"What is she doing?" He hisses, and your wide eyes snap to Lord Gojo.

With an amused smile on his face and a slight bounce in his shoulders, the Lord laughs.

"I don't know, to be honest." He says. "Without a word, she started undressing. You'd think I was paying her."

"What?" You squeak out, gaining the attention of both men. "You—you didn't call me here to..."

But you don't finish your question because the Daimyo throws his head back and lets out a deep and bellowing laugh. Though the sound was melodic, you couldn't help but feel immense heat in your face at the situation.

As the Daimyo's laughter subsides, he looks at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Oh, my dear," he says, his voice filled with amusement. "I called you here to discuss something of interest to myself and my friend, not for any other reason."

Relief washes over you as you realize your assumption was completely off-base. But you can't help but be curious about what the Daimyo and his samurai could possibly need from a maid like yourself.

taglist:

@witchbybirth @alekssashka7

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fanfic

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Unexpectedly Yours: Part 3

Fandom: Ted Lasso (Regency AU)

Pairing: Roy Kent x F!Reader

Summary: Lord Roy Kent still has yet to marry. He hates the notion that marriage is a way to ensure your status in society. You have delayed your debut to society for years because of the same idea. So what happens when two people who hate the idea of marriage are constantly drawn to each other?

Part 1 | Part 2

"Miss Y/N, you have a caller," your ladies maid, Jane, announces as you, your mother, and Cece in the drawing room doing your own respective activities.

"Who is it, Jane? your mother asks.

"Lady O'Sullivan, ma'am."

Your mother perked up, "Lord Kent's sister?!" She turns to you, "What do you think she'd like to speak about?"

"I'm not sure, but I'll see to her right now," you stand from your chair and place your book onto the seat.

You follow Jane to the front room. You smile when you see Clara. You give her a curtsey, "Lady O'Sullivan, it's a pleasure to see you."

She shakes her head, "Please, just Clara will do."

"Would you like some tea? I can have Jane-"

"Oh no. That's not necessary. This is a quick visit. I'd just like to personally invite you and your family to dinner in three days, if you're available."

"Oh! We'd love to attend. Cece has been asking when she can see Phoebe again."

Clara softly laughs, "Phoebe as well."

"I will inform my mother. She'll be very excited."

Clara then smirks, "Yes, my brother will be very pleased to hear you'll be attending."

You clear your throat, "Right, yes, Lord Kent. He's...interesting."

Clara scoffs, "It's alright. You can say he's a pain in the ass."

You burst out laughing, Clara joining you.

"I-I wouldn't say that. He can be pleasant, when he wants to be, I assume."

"Hmmm. Indeed."

"Very well. I will see you in a few days. I look forward to our dinner, Y/N," Clara gives you a bow and sees herself out.

You let out a deep breath before sharing the news with your mother.

_____________________

"YOU DID WHAT?!" Roy looks at his sister in disbelief.

Clara glares at his brother, "Lower your tone," Roy rolls his eyes and Clara continues, "It's clear to me you harbor some feelings for Y/N. This is just another opportunity to talk with her, maybe, propose a courtship?"

Roy pinches the bridge of nose and groans, "Clara, she despises me."

She shakes her head, "See, you say that, but I'm sure that's not true," she walks over to her brother's couch and sits on it while he continues to look at her with disbelief from his desk, "Roy, just because things didn't work out with Georgina doesn't mean it won't work out for the next woman."

"Why can't you just let me live my life alone?"

"Because no one should ever be alone. Roy, you're a good man. I know you could make any woman happy if you just open yourself up to the possibility."

Roy lets out a deep breath and shakes his head, "Maybe we should move somewhere else."

"Roy!"

"Maybe the countryside where we don't have to deal with fucking society anymore."

Clara rolls her eyes and stands, "Complain all you want, but we're having Y/N and her family over."

_______________________________

Your father had arrived from his travels abroad, which excited you. He'd always bring back books for you to read.

"How are you, my dear?" he asks you while he escorts you around the gardens.

"I'm alright," you reply, giving him a shrug.

"Just alright?" he looks at you with concern.

"Well, you missed my debut ball. It would've been a lot more tolerable if you were there."

"I suppose it's good that I didn't. Wouldn't want to let down all of those young men asking for your hand."

"Father!"

Your father laughs and kisses your head, "But no one has sparked your interest?"

"Not really."

"Not even a little bit?" he gives you a look and you smile shyly at him.

"Well maybe, but he doesn't seem like he's fond of me...or fond of anyone really."

"Who is it?"

"Lord Roy Kent. He, his sister, and niece moved here from Chelsea after his sister's husband died. We've interacted a few times here and there. He's somewhat pleasant to talk to, a bit blunt sometimes. But he seems sweet. He cares a lot about his sister and niece."

"Well, I hear we have dinner with him in a few days. So I look forward to meeting him."

_______________________

Roy is pacing back and forth while Clara and Phoebe watch him amusedly.

"You seem nervous, Uncle Roy," Phoebe states with a grin.

Roy shoots a look to Phoebe and she snickers. Clara pats her daughter's arm in comfort, "Ignore your Uncle Roy, darling. He's definitely nervous because Y/N is coming."

Roy stops, placing a hand on his stomach, "I don't feel well."

"You're fine."

"I think I forgot to write letters to-"

"Roy," Clara stands and approaches her brother and cups his face in her hands, "It'll be fine. What you really need to worry about is her father, who just arrived back from his travels."

"Her father is coming?! Oh fuuuuu-"

"Roy!" Clara slaps her brother's arm.

"Ma'am, your guests are here."

"Wonderful!" Clara gestures for Phoebe to follow her and she does. The two head out of the sitting room and then turn to Roy who looked like he was in internal battle with himself.

__________________

You, your parents, and Cece sit with Roy, Clara, and Phoebe in the sitting room while dinner continued to be prepared. Phoebe and Clara were on the floor playing with dolls. You sit on the piano bench, slightly more distant from the rest of the group.

Roy looks uneasy, as if he would rather be anywhere but here. The thought made you feel a bit insecure. You were sure he didn't like you too much but the fact that it physically seems that way hurts you. You begin to fidget with your gloves, rubbing the satin fabric in a way to appease your growing anxiety.

"Y/N?" you look up to see your father looking at you with soft eyes.

"Yes?"

"Will you play us a song?"

"O-Oh. Um, any requests?"

"Whatever you choose should be fine," Clara responds with a smile.

You glance towards Roy and meet his eyes for a second before he looks away. You clear your throat and turn around to face the piano. You mentally go through the songs you know how to play and pick one. It's a slow, soft tune. It starts of light but then turns melancholic with it's lower notes.

You focus on the keys before you rather than the conversation at hand.

"So, Lord Kent-"

"Roy, Lord L/N, please."

"Roy, how are you finding Richmond so far?"

"It's alright," Roy rasps out.

Clara rolls her eyes, "He's more used to the city life. Phoebe and I love it here. We were unsure about the move, but after some time, we've grown to love Richmond."

Your father nods with a polite smile, "I hope Richmond continues to treat you well."

"Thank you, sir."

"I'm curious, how do the men and women here compare to those in London?"

Your mother scolds your father and he shrugs, "I'm just curious!"

Clara chuckles, "I wouldn't know to be quite honest. My concern isn't on them, rather on Phoebe. My brother, however, is very open to finding himself a wife." That piques your interest.

"Clara," Roy practically growls in warning.

His sister rolls her eyes, "My brother believes he doesn't deserve to be happy with someone."

"That's nonsense, my boy! Everyone deserves to have someone they hold dear to their heart!"

Roy looks at your father in surprise, "Many people your age don't hold that same sentiment, sir."

Your father waves him off, "That's all nonsense. These people believe that wealth and status is the most important thing world. They sacrifice their happiness for it."

"Were you two a love match?" Phoebe asks, now growing bored of playing dolls and finding the adults' conversation much more fascinating. You, too, tried to listen in on the conversation while you continued to play.

"Not at first, no. I believe she hated me when we first met."

Your mother rolls her eyes, "He kept talking about himself, not once asking me any questions or letting me speak for even a second."

"I was nervous! She was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and, to be quite frank, I've never been very good at talking with ladies. So, yes, I did talk about myself too much. But luckily, she gave me a chance at the next ball to apologize. I spent the entire dance listening to her share things about herself. When the dance was over, I didn't want it to end."

"What happened next, uncle?" Cece asks.

"He asked for a courtship the next day," your mother replies.

Your father laughs, "Oh, I was smitten. We courted for a month before I proposed!"

"Then you got married?!" Cece asks.

"Oh heavens, no. She rejected me and said she wanted to spend more time courting. I asked her again after the second month. Got rejected again. The third month was when she finally said yes."

"Really?!" Cece looks at your parents in disbelief.

Your mother chuckles, "My mother was so upset with me for denying him twice, but he ensured her that he wouldn't give up on me. It just took me a bit more time to warm up to him."

"Ma'am, dinner is ready."

"Finally!" Phoebe groans, causing all of the adults to chuckle.

Everyone stands, following the servant to the dining room. You and Roy are the last ones to leave.

You curtsey to him, "Lord Kent."

"You play beautifully," he says, offering his arm to you.

"Thank you, sir," you place your hand in the crook of his arm and you both follow the group.

You feel your cheeks heat up as your father looks over his shoulder to see you with Roy. He gives you a wink before looking forward.

#roy kent x reader #roy kent imagine #roy kent #f!reader #fem!reader #female!reader #ted lasso au #regency au

[can-youimagine]

Season of Scandal (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Summary: There are few people you hate more in life than Benedict Bridgerton, unfortunately, it seems as though you'll have to get used to him

TW: Female reader, period typical misogyny, suggestive, enemies to lovers

Word Count: 2273

A/N: Let me know if you want a part 2!

Masterlist

Dearest Reader,

The start of a new season is always something to celebrate. Those of lower morals will be placing bets on who will marry whom. If this writer were a betting woman, she would wager that Mr. Benedict Bridgerton will end the season with yet another broken proposal, while Ms. (Y/N) (L/N) will finally take a caller. I have always bet on the long-shot, and Ms. (L/N) is no exception.

Yes, Reader, I can assure you that this season will indeed be something to watch. But, rest assured, I will be the first to inform you if you win or lose your wagers. 

~Lady Whistledown

“Oh, Benedict, have you seen the new Whistledown?” Eloise yells, bounding down the steps with the pamphlet in her hand.

“I take it you have,” he mumbles with an amused smile, “and I have no doubt you will tell me about it.”

Thrusting the paper in his face, she explains, “She wrote about you. It seems she, like the rest of us, believes that you will never be married.”

He shrugs. “It is not my fault Ms. Pierceton received a proposal from a man with a larger wallet.”

“How come when you have a marriage fall through, it is perfectly normal, but when it happens to me, I’m one step away from becoming a spinster!”

He half listens to her rant as he stares at his sketchbook. He hopes he appears rather unphased by the whole article, though that is far from the truth. He’s not bothered by being a bachelor. What he is bothered by is being mentioned in the same sentence as you, implying that he is just as unmarriable as you. His lack of marriage has nothing to do with his own faults, while yours is because you are so stuck up and overall unlikeable. He has had plenty of women wish to marry him. You have never had two dances with the same man.

You roll your eyes as you read the article. Of course, you would be deemed as unmarriable as that pompous fool. Every conversation you have attempted with the man has ended with a foot stomp and heel turn by one or both of you. 

Crumpling up the paper, you toss it as far from you as possible. Trying not to let the article affect you, you call your maid in to help you dress for the art show today. Your mother has not stopped talking about it, and Lord help you if you cause her to miss it just because you are upset about a gossip column. 

Your arm is linked with hers as you walk into the gallery. The building is full of people. Women try to spend enough of their husband’s money to prove their status, and artists are eager to help them. Your mother immediately spots a group of women she knows, leading both of you over to them. They drone on about the art and artists, as the topic changes to the upcoming social season, you excuse yourself to look at the art. There are very few things you would like to discuss less than the social season.

The building is open enough that you do not need a chaperone; your mother can see you from where she is, if she bothers to look for you. 

You focus on a painting of a building. The dark sky beautifully contrasts the warmness of the building. Light seems to pour out of it, drawing you in.

“You know,” the all too familiar voice of Benedict Bridgerton starts, “this is one of my favorites.”

The painting immediately turns sour for you. “I can’t imagine why.”

He smirks. “You must have a sixth sense.”

“What do you mean?”

He takes a step closer, almost too close to be appropriate, but not quite inappropriate. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. “You have never been able to compliment me, even when you do not know that I am the one who deserves it.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Bridgerton?”

“I am the artist of this painting.”

“No wonder it is so hideous,” you lie.

He chuckles. “Are you saying you have no interest in it?”

“I’m saying I have no interest in you or anything you create.” You move to leave, but it seems your mother has perfect timing and approaches the two of you before you have the chance.

“Oh, (Y/N), what a lovely painting! Don’t you agree, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He wears a stupidly smug grin as he answers, “Well, I would have to, Lady (L/N), I am quite familiar with the artist. I would say this is one of his best works.”

His grin only gets wider as your mother makes a deal to buy the painting and calls him “such a talented young man.” Your mother, like every other mother in the Ton had heard the news that Mr. Bridgerton was eligible for yet another season. She was not going to waste the opportunity to set you up with him. “I am so sorry to hear about your engagement, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He offers a strained laugh. “Thank you. Though, I imagine this might be a blessing in disguise.”

“Of course,” she agrees. “I’m sure you have a much better idea of what you want now. That is what (Y/N) says after turning down a proposal. She believes that each courtship has shown her what she would prefer. You would think by now someone would have met her standards,” she laughs.

He gives you a smirk before turning back to your mother. “That certainly is one way to look at it.”

She looks like she is going to embarrass you further, so you grab her arm, urging her home. She sighs. “I do hope you will be at Lady Danbury's ball tomorrow evening.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he promises. “Take care Lady (L/N).” As he leaves, your mother turns to you, giving you a glare that tells you you will behave yourself at the ball, or you will most definitely face the wrath of God.

Benedict would rather be anywhere else than here. He contemplates taking the carriage back to his house, letting the others figure their own ways back as penance for bringing him here in the first place, but the whining he would hear from Eliose would not be worth it. 

Your dress is so tight that you feel as though you can barely breathe. Your mother insisted that you get a new one. After all, one cannot wear a dress to multiple balls. You have to admit, it is a lovely dress. It is so lovely, in fact, that Benedict Bridgerton himself glances in your direction. At the moment, it seems like more of a punishment than a reward. 

Benedict watches you as you walk in, taken aback by you. The dress looks remarkable on you, he thinks. Though, he placates the thought by assuring himself that the dress is so lovely that it would make a horse look like a princess. It only makes you look like a duchess.

As the night continues, you find yourself becoming more and more fatigued. You need a moment to yourself. What you really need is to get out of this dress, but you know you will be stuck in this particular cage until the end of the night. Managing to sneak away from your mother for a moment, you head into the garden. The cool air does wonders to distract you from your evening.

“Of course,” a voice groans. Of course, he is here. Where else would Benedict Bridgerton be than the last place you want him?

“I am not here for you,” you say, leaning against the side of the building. The dress is certainly taking its toll on you. You slide down, the rough exterior of the building creating tears in your dress.

He drones on about something, no doubt a quip about your improperness, but you can’t focus on him. 

“Ms. (L/N)?” he calls. You feel his arms around you, and you slump against him. “Ms. (L/N)?” You want to answer. You want to tell him to get off of you, but you don’t have the strength. His hand slides under your corset. You want to scream, but the relief is too good. He loosens the ties just enough to all you need to breathe again.

Leaning against Mr. Bridgerton, you start to catch your breath. His hand is still on your back, though now it is keeping your dress in place. “Ms. (L/N), are you alright?”

“I think so.” You look up at him. His eyes are not cold and cruel as they normally are when he looks at you. Instead, they’re filled with concern. Your heart swells with the knowledge that that concern is for you.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers out. “I didn’t mean to take-my sisters always complain they can’t breathe in their dresses. At her first ball, Francesca almost-and I didn’t want you to-”

You give him a soft smile. “Thank you. It’s just what I needed.”

“Are you okay? Can I?” He gestures vaguely at your dress.

“Please, just a little looser.”

Nodding, he gets to work. His fingers shake as he starts to relace your corset. He’s not sure what happened to him. No one wants to see someone pass out, but Benedict thinks, a normal person would have called your mother over to help you rather than undress you in public. 

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Dearest Reader,

Well, well, well. I know that you expect to hear all about the latest scandals from me, but it appears that not even I know what truly happened at the Danbry ball last night. It appears that there is a rumor of some rather improper conduct between some of our favorites. I dare not publish their names and cause more trouble than just this rumor will.

I promise you, Reader, that once we have more than a rumor, I will be the first to tell you all about it

~Lady Whistledown

Benedict’s heart beats through his chest. No one should have seen you, and if they had, surely they would have realized that nothing had happened.

“Oh, who do you think it is?” Eliose asks. “What do you think happened? Did you see anything?”

“Do you have nothing better to do?” he snaps.

She shrinks before leaving the room. If he weren’t so preoccupied, he would have apologized or at least felt bad. He knows what he has to do. He’s never hated being a gentleman more.

“(Y/N),” your mother calls. “You have a caller.”

You panic. You were stressed enough about the Whistledown article, and now you have to act like a person in front of someone you barely know as you try to figure out a way out of this. Walking down the stairs feels like a death march, and when you see who’s waiting for you.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” you greet.

He smiles, uttering a quick an awkward greeting. It seems as if he knows what needs to be done and is just as much a fan of it as you are. He puts on a nice show, winning your mother over, who will no doubt tell your father all about the wonderful man who wants to marry you and how you seem more than excited for his proposal. You have to be. What choice do you have?

“Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Lady (L/N), Ms. (L/N),” Mr. Bridgerton says, “but I’m afraid I must be going.” 

“Oh, of course,” your mother gushes. “It was absolutely lovely to see you. I hope we will see you this weekend.” 

“Actually, I had hoped to invite you to the ball at Aubrey Hall,” he explains. “I know it is quite a journey, but I hope it will be well worth it.”

Your mother eagerly accepts, completely forgetting about the Waterson ball. The next week is a blur of dresses and visits from Mr. Bridgerton in preparation for the ball. Luckily, Lady Whistledown has not published another article about the Danbry ball. That doesn’t fill you with much comfort. If anyone says anything at the ball, you’ll be trapped with your shame. God, you wish the entire season could just be over.

When you get to Aubrey Hall, the place is so full of people that no one notices you and Benedict sneaking away.

“I’m sorry, about all of this,” he says as soon as the door closes. “My personal feelings about you aside, I would never want to tarnish your name, and I intend to make it right. You will end this season with a proposal.”

“I don’t want a proposal!” you exclaim. “I don’t want to marry you!”

Before he can compose himself, his face falls. He hadn’t really wanted to marry you. Why would he? But, if he didn’t want to marry you, why is he so upset? “I am doing this for you! I cannot be responsible for ruining you.”

“If you’re going to ruin me, then do it.” Your eyes are dark, jaw clenched. He doesn’t know what comes over him as he grabs your arm, pulling you into him.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Your voice grows soft. “Ruin me, Benedict.”

He swallows, cursing himself as he finds some composure. “I am going to ask you to marry me by the end of the week. I am going to marry you by the end of the season, and then, I am going to ruin you, before anyone else has the chance.”

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x y/n

[house-of-vandernacht]

I think under all Ada's insecurity, she's desperate to be Lenore's friend, and not because of being upwardly mobile. Out of all of them, Ada has sussed out that Lenore comes from money/has station, and isn't tryna blow smoke up her ass like she is Annabel. She genuinely seems to like Lenore.

I think she recognises that Lenore is different from most rich folks. She cares and is accepting of everyone regardless of station. Ada has watched Lenore stand up for the little guy, to show concern equally for rich or poor, to show concern for people in general which is probably not something Ada has experienced much with rich folks.

Ada isn't entirely stupid (just a lil dim), -- until romance comes into the picture, and that's understandable for someone who desperately wants to be loved -- she's shown herself to be smart and astute in a lot of ways, but in this case I don't think she behaves the way she does towards Lenore because she's edging her bets n her allegiances are fickle.

I think when we see Ada with Lenore is when Ada is at her most genuine. She feels comfortable enough to show glimpses of herself around Lenore, which she doesn't do with any of the others, which is a crying shame cause those glimpses we see of her, she seems like she'd be a great girl that's a lot of fun but its buried underneath fear, insecurity and the fingerprints of societal norms of her era.

(right after she punches Lenore in the tit. :D )

We don't know the circumstances of how she became a maid, but we can extrapolate a few things by looking at history available to us.

Maiding was seen as a respectable, nay, if not a sought after job in all eras. It leant you a smidge of social status, but the down side was, yes you might rub shoulders with the wealthy and famous but you were never part of that world. It was like being on the other side of the a filmy membrane. Often you were never noticed at all, and subject to an even stricter societal hierarchy than what was on offer outside the house, but often maids saw factory work as being beneath them or super working class poor. It was a weird skewing of the world. Ada is just as much a victim of circumstance as Lenore and Annabel, has been shaped by it, and its fueling her Nevermore behaviour.

If I'm correct in my theory that she was a scullery maid/ lower house maid specifically, (denoted by her lack of skills of how to prepare a lady for her day) she's on the lowest service rung with little to no prospects of advancement unless a head maid took an interest to teach her how to be a parlour maid. This in time might lead to a head maid track but there was hot competition from all the other maids in the house, esp if there was a large staff (you often had to wait until the head maid died for a promotion reshuffle, OR another house hold offered you employment, and even then you would need to seek permission from your employer to be released from their service.) So this is a girl who needs her position to keep her belly full, and a roof over her head, and is used to having someone (prolly lots of someones) have power over her n hold her life in their hands. She's in a very vulnerable position and perfectly primed to be taken advantage of. Then introduce a young heir dangling that good life and societal advancement in front of her. Its easy to see how she might have succumbed to those romantic advancements even though she's risking her reputation AND position. (and then it ends in the ultimate betrayal)

She wanted more for herself, she wanted to be a has, not a has not. She has been groomed by service n societal norms. And who wouldn't grasp the opportunity when it arose to claw their way from the bottom n grab that perceived good life? She was quick on the uptake in Nevermore, enacting a ruse from the get go. She didn't think she had the luxury to sit back and assess the situation, because it might be her only chance at something better than what she couldn't quite remember. She looked at the game of poker, saw everybody was at the same starting point, threw herself into the gamble and began trying to build her own hand. The shame is that underneath it all, I believe, Ada is a great girl who desperately wants good friends, but she's unable to trust or rely on others due to her own hangups that have been stamped by her pastlife. Think she and Bernice would get along great if she'd just shirked this up stairs/downstairs mentality, realise it doesn't matter, find her own self esteem, and just be herself. If she was just herself, I think she'd find that she'd be accepted which would help her self esteem so much. Welp. this got away from me. I just have a lot of empathy for the silly little twit. The Writer's do a great job of toeing the line with Ada, she'll do something questionable but then draw you back in. You might want to hate her but you just can't.

#nevermore webtoon #nevermore webcomic #ada nevermore

[moreespressoformydepresso]

Guess who just had the most hijinx filled AU in mind? Imagine if the mentors from TBOSAS are all high society elites (like in canon) while the tributes are several shades of impoverished lower working class? Not like canon, because at least they’re seen as humans here :p. Despite them all working in different industries and not really living in the same area, the poor kids are all somewhat connected. I will fuck around with the ages here, but they may be a little older than in canon. What started all of this is wedding shenanigans so I’ll try to briefly summarize what’s happening:

Persephone is getting married to Festus. She’s a teacher/mentor to Mizzen, who is the little brother of Coral, one of the bodyguards for the event. Coral’s girlfriend Lucy Gray is the lead singer of the band that’ll provide the music at the event. Said lead singer is friends with the head bartender Jessup, who is friends with the maid of honor Lysistrata. Both Jessup and Lucy Gray have loose friendship ties to the waitstaff. This web of connections runs deep and I’m gonna make a family tree type thing for it at some point lmao. Now for the fun part:

The mother of the groom shows up in a truly gorgeous, expensive, exquisite designer dress. A white one. Persephone is, of course, in tears, but Festus can’t get his mom to change and for social status reasons they can’t kick her out. Luckily for them, they won’t have to. See, Lysistrata goes to Jessup to get Persephone’s favorite drink to help console her and tells him what’s going on. Jessup passes the information on to Lucy Gray, who gets an Idea. See, she is friendly with Treech, one of the waiters. They met when her band the Covey played orchestra in the theater where Treech works as an actor. It was a show where he had a starring role and they interacted a lot because of it. So she tells him what’s going down and asks if he could… put an end to this little problem. Treech happily agrees and ropes the other waiters into plotting.

Not even ten minutes later, when Persephone comes out for the pictures, Treech “stumbles” with a platter of red wine and very accidentally falls. Right on top of the mother of the groom. Oh no! What a coincidence!! He’s near tears he’s so sorry for what he’s done as he “helps clean her dress” and very unintentionally rubs the stain into the fabric, spreading it out further. Whoops. The mother of the groom (MOG) screams at him for minutes and goes to hit him, but Lamina distracts her by moving in close and starting to “clean up the dress” with a dark napkin that was soaked in more red wine earlier. Treech nopes away long enough for MOG to forget his face and then helps escort her to change into a new, non-white dress.

The entire staff gets a massive tip that day.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #the hunger games #10th hunger games #hunger games #treech tbosas #treech #tbosas treech #treech thg #alternate universe #thg lamina #tbosas lamina #lamina #lamina thg #lamina tbosas #customer service #lucy gray baird #coralbaird #coral ​tbosas #tbosas coral #coral #festus creed #tbosas mizzen #mizzen tbosas #persephone price #jessup diggs #vipsania sickle #lysistrata vickers

[haggishlyhagging]

“It is a truism in the literature on working wives that although the husbands of working wives do help with household tasks, all too often wives continue to have responsibility for running the household. They rush home from work, shopping on the way, in order to have dinner on the table by six. They clean and tend to the laundry and do whatever has to be done in the evenings or on weekends. This is not role sharing.

The husband may promise to do his share, and increasingly he does or, at least, agrees to. But he can make his contribution so grudgingly as to force the wife to conclude that she would rather do it herself. Pat Mainardi has shown how such reluctant sharers of the burden manage to renege. She has translated all of their dodges. Eleven are standard:

“I don't mind sharing the housework, but I don't do it very well. We should each do the things we're best at." MEANING: Unfortunately I’m no good at things like washing dishes or cooking. What I do best is a little light carpentry, changing light bulbs, moving furniture (how often do you move furniture?). ALSO MEANING: Historically the lower classes (black men and us) have had hundreds of years experience doing menial jobs. It would be a waste of manpower to train someone else to do them now. ALSO MEANING: I don't like the dull stupid boring jobs, so you should do them.

"I don't mind sharing the work, but you'll have to show me how to do it." MEANING: I ask a lot of questions and you'll have to show me everything every time I do it because I don't remember so good. Also don't try to sit down and read while I'm doing my jobs because I'm going to annoy hell out of you until it's easier to do them yourself.

"We used to be so happy!" (Said whenever it was his turn to do something.) MEANING: I used to be so happy. MEANING: Life without housework is bliss. No quarrel here. Perfect agreement.

“We have different standards, and why should I have to work to your standards? That's unfair." MEANING: If I begin to get bugged by the dirt and crap I will say, "This place sure is a sty" or "How can anyone live like this?" and wait for your reaction. I know that all women have a sore called "Guilt over a messy house" or "Household work is ultimately my responsibility." I know that men have caused that sore—if anyone visits and the place is a sty, they're not going to leave and say, "He sure is a lousy housekeeper." You'll take the rap in any case. I can outwait you. ALSO MEANING: I can provoke innumerable scenes over the housework issue. Eventually doing all the housework yourself will be less painful to you than trying to get me to do half. Or I'll suggest we get a maid. She will do my share of the work. You will do yours. It's woman's work.

"I've got nothing against sharing the housework, but you can't make me do it on your schedule." MEANING: Passive resistance. I'll do it when I damned well please, if at all. If my job is doing dishes, it's easier to do them once a week. If taking out laundry, once a month. If washing the floors, once a year. If you don't like it, do it yourself oftener, and then I won't do it at all.

"I hate it more than you. You don't mind it so much." MEANING: Housework is garbage work. It's the worst crap I've ever done. It's degrading and humiliating for someone of my intelligence to do it. But for someone of your intelligence. . . .

"Housework is too trivial to even talk about." MEANING: It's even more trivial to do. Housework is beneath my status. My purpose in life is to deal with matters of significance. Yours is to deal with matters of insignificance. You should do the housework.

"This problem of housework is not a man-woman problem. In any relationship between two people one is going to have a stronger personality and dominate. MEANING: That stronger personality had better be me.

"In animal societies, wolves, for example, the top animal is usually a male even where he is not chosen for brute strength but on the basis of cunning and intelligence. Isn't that interesting?" MEANING: I have historical, psychological, anthropological, and biological justification for keeping you down. How can you ask the top wolf to be equal?

"Women's Liberation isn't really a political movement." MEANING: The Revolution is coming too close to home. ALSO MEANING: I am only interested in how I am oppressed, not how I oppress others. Therefore the war, the draft, and the university are political. Women's Liberation is not.

"Man's accomplishments have always depended on getting help from other people, mostly women. What great man would have accomplished what he did if he had to do his own housework?" MEANING: Oppression is built into the system and I, as the white American male, receive the benefits of this system. I don't want to give them up.”

Jessie Bernard, The Future of Marriage

#jessie bernard #heterosexuality #housework #weaponized incompetence #male privilege #female oppression #male entitlement #mental load

[myabsurddreamjournal]

Luck (part 1)

Éomer x Female! Reader

Summary: Reader is a maid at Edoras who has a crush on Éomer, What happens when she accidentaly pours wine on him?

.....

Everyone was celebrating the victory in the Great Hall of Edoras. She was hearing the sounds of laughter and dancing, faintly from the outside. Her duty for tonight was waiting here, Serving wine or water if anyone ever comes for getting fresh air.

Maybe it was weird that she volunteered for this, no one seemed to come here anyway. Waiting alone in the balcony. While everyone else is having fun.

But she always liked this kind of duties.

Like grooming horses, picking herbs, cleaning after everyone left. The ones where she didnt need the communicate with the other.

She liked silence,

Sure music was beautiful, and people laughing, dancing, celebrating. It was all beautiful.

But this,

this is something else, Watching the white mountains, the way moonlight reflects on them. It is prettiest shade she ever seen, The dark blue, that she never gets tired of.

And the gentle night breeze on her hair.

Its almost magical to her.

.....

As moon gets lower on the sky "It must be close to end of celebration" y/n thinks. She can tell it from the way sounds from inside quietens slowly.

She smiles to herself thinking this was a beautiful night,

she feels calm. Her mind feels calm.

But like everything beautiful in life her peace is short lived because suddenly footsteps alerts her, someone is coming towards here unfortunately, i hope they leave quickly she thinks as stands up, taking the wine jug on her hand.

To her luck (unluck) owner of the footsteps is may be the last person she wants here. A very tall person with broad body, and long blonde hair that she knows very well. She stared it many times when no one was looking.

Éomer, the kings son.

The powerful Éomer,

The one everyone adores.

The fearless, and strong

And kind.

Her heart beat starts to quicken. Just like whenever she sees him, (from 20 meters apart at most close and more than 20 people around) sneaking galances from window while cleaning. Or when he passes by corridor she is standing.

She takes a deep breath, as he goes to opposite side, his back towards her, he is not drunk she can say, she never seen him drunk anyway, he is always standing on his legs strongly. Like a great warrior he is.

I never seen him this close, he is beautiful.

he will get inside back soon, Calm down. He wont even notice you.

Minutes passes with her battling with herself and her poor attemps to calm herself and he is still looking at mountains motionlessly as if he was a statue.

After few more agonizing moments he finally starts to move, Drinking his wine at one go.

Thanks Eru, he is leaving.

But to her horror instead of leaving he extends his hand that holding the goblet, which is a sign for more wine.

Her mind races.

But, I never served him before! Eru please please help me.

After a few seconds She burts towards him as he starts to turn his head questioningly towards her way, hand still extended.

Dont be a coward this is the simplest duty.

As she starts pouring the wine she relizes her hands are shaking.

Very badly.

Its okay he is not looking, he is looking at mountains.

How long pouring wine can take It? 5 seconds at most maybe, but this time it feels like years to her, years spend with war and agony,

it almost over, You got this. You can do this.

But her body has different plans from her brain. Her hands stafts shaking more as the wine level gets higher on the goblet.

and before she knows it the goblet is full and its overflowing

To his hand.

Oh Eru, please no, this might be a nightmare

...

She doesnt know how much time passed her eyes are closed and she cabr dare look at him.

But when she notices unbereable feeling of his eyes on her.

She has no choice but open them.

Yes, He is looking down at her with unreadable expression,

"F-forgive me s-sire." She says immadietly bowing her head.

But she can see wine is dripping from his hand to floor.

Not knowing what to do, her panicked mind decides it for her, She pulls out her handkerchief , and takes his wine soaked hand in her hand wiping the vine quickly. and gently as possible,

You are touching a royal you fool! This crime is punishible by Death.

she pulls her hand quickly as if she burned by a fire. Éomer's hand falling to his side absurdly and her handkerchief falling to floor.

Eomer opens his mouth but she beats him to it.

"S-sire please dont k-kill me, im too young to d-die" she half yells and runs to inside.

...

Notes: i love how y/n has almost every mental disease.

Also This is Éomer looking down at her

#eomer of rohan #did i ever told you guys karl urban was my childhood crush #eomer fanfiction #eomer x reader #lotr #lord of the rings #eomer #lotr imagine #lotr fanfic #eomer imagine #karl urban

[idyllcy]

sincerely, never yours

word count: 4.8k

warnings: Inspired by TBOSAS, non explicit smut, master/pet theme

summary: in a room full of birds, there is something visibly off about you.

In the beginning of your life, if you were told that you'd get your life ripped to shreds by a boy from the richest area in the country, you would have laughed in their face. If someone told Tim that he would get his heart marred by some insignificant girl in the world, he would have sent them to the catacombs.

There is no such thing as fate.

You spend your days weaving your friends' hair, fingers working as you weave intricate patterns, voice soothing to their ears as you hum the folk songs passed on to you by your family, performers through and through. You keep your voice quiet as you sing, and you lower it further as a guard from the capitol strolls by, eyes narrowing at you as you avoid his eyes. He stares harder, brows furrowing, and eventually, you are grabbed by the chin as he laughs.

There is no one in the world who does not know the voice of a songbird.

Your family is known for their voices, yet no one lives past their youth. Fate plays the cruel trick of selection for the capitol to be sold as an entertainer, and fate plays the cruel trick of never protecting them from the diseases presented at every moment. You are not lucky. You will never be lucky. In this world, you will never be able to break the bonds of fate no matter how you try. The strings on your body will be pulled and you will be forced to perform for the rest of your days.

You are bound by the strings of fate.

And just by opening your mouth to sing, you will be tied up until there is no way out.

"The daughter of the songbird himself." He sneers. "What are you doing in the slums singing to the poor? You should be in a cage performing for the capitol just like your daddy."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir. I'm an orphan." You flinch as he throws your head to the side, delivering a slap on your face. You can not let him take you. For if he does, you will never know the illusion of peace ever again.

"Hah. Lies." He sneers. "I'd recognize that poisonous voice at any point in time. Be thankful I didn't just take you like they did with your father. You can make this easy for you, or I can take you forcibly just like they did with your daddy."

"Sir. I really do not—"

He spits on your face. "Hard way it is."

You are yanked by the arm as a chain is clasped to your neck, and you are tazed, electricity shooting down your spine as your jaw drops in shock, the veins in your neck becoming prominent as you hold back a yell. You land on the ground as he holds you down by the head, and you grimace as the dust fills your lungs and grime digs into your hair, and you feel yourself get pulled back up, with another chain around your wrists, and you grimace as he shoves you with the tip of his gun into the car he arrived in, and you watch as your friend yells for you as you leave.

You mouth at her to stop, and you watch as she stays standing in place, even as the car rolls away, and you keep staring at her, even as her figure becomes nothing more than a spec of dust in your vision. You can not stop staring back at the past.

You arrive at the train station, and your chains are unlocked, stripped, washed, dolled up and dressed up. The maids ask you how you want to be dressed, and you ask if you are able to dress yourself. You do as they watch you, eyes on every movement of yours, and you watch as they rush over to help you lace up the corset to support your back. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and your lips are curled into a wretched grin.

An idea strikes your mind as you take notice of the treatment you are receiving.

They take you to the stage, and you cough twice as the judges step in, and you meet eyes with him.

Timothy Jackson Drake.

Ocean blue eyes and pitch-black hair, Tim is the embodiment of the elites in the capitol. Born of money, born of status, Tim Drake has everything the children on the street desire. You wonder if you could take advantage of him in some way. After all, it does make you excited to see if you could do what your father failed to do. Well, no point in crying over spoiled milk. It was only you now. It didn't matter if you had to seduce him with your body. You would pick a youngster over an old man any day of the year. Anything is better than the men in their seventies who bring home songbirds for the sole purpose of sexual release. Maybe Tim is naive enough to even love you. Though, it doesn't have to be him.

The thought of it alone makes your lips curl into a sweet smile, flashing it at him before you listen to their words.

You are to sing, and not stop singing until you are told that you can stop.

So you open your mouth, voice warm as honey, sweet to the ears, and you watch as your listeners descend into that same mania that everyone who listens to your voice does, and you stare into Tim's eyes as you sing, watching as that same sick of obsession that twisted onto the face of guard when he heard his voice mirror on Tim's face, and your lips curl into a sickening smile as you catch his attention. Your voice pulls your listeners underwater as they feel free, bubbling in the blue with their happiness, your voice there for their service.

There is no such thing as fate.

Yet, as fate pulls on you and drags you down to hell, you can try and fight it all you want.

You finally stop after one of the judges break free from your voice, and something is clasped around your neck as you land on the ground with a thud. You don't struggle, holding your head down as you listen to the judges whisper amongst themselves to see who should take you home, and you wonder if Tim likes you enough to fight against the elders. You wonder if he would win against those grimy old men who had seen your chest and decided that you would be a great bedwarmer. Well, if that were to happen, you would just have to sing a little harder. It isn't too hard to b—

Tim walks up to you when the judges leave him to take you home, and you blink up at him, doe-eyed, innocence leaking out every single pore of yours just so he can buy the act. You pray he trusts you. He brushes the hair from your face, cupping your cheek, eyes oddly gentle, and you recognize the psychotic glint in his eyes as one that used to rest in the eyes of your mother while growing up. So, you lean into his palm, eyes closing, pretending to enjoy his touch while it disgusts you to no end. You suppose he works.

The way Tim's thumb brushes your cheek convinces you that he's fallen for it.

"You'll be my songbird from now on." He explains, lips curling into a smile. "I'll treat you well as long as you obey, hm?"

You blink at him, lashes full, eyes convincing. "Alright."

Even your voice sounds like sin when you speak.

"My first order... do not speak unless permitted to." He smiles, showing all his teeth.

You nod.

Oh, such power

Tim adores it.

"Then," He whispers, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth, "when I am receiving guests in twos or threes, you are never to sing to your full potential."

You bat your lashes at him in understanding.

"Finally, you have to keep the chain around your ankle at all times, hm?"

On the first night he brings you back, he has you in his bed at his mercy, listening to your voice as you mewl his name and chant it like a prayer, breathless whimpers and moans slipping past your lips as he uses you. His touches are gentle, and the words he whispers into your ear almost make you sure that he loves you, but he does not. It is painfully obvious he does not when you wake in an empty bed, but it makes no difference to you. You are his pet— to be abused, used, discarded. You are nothing but an object he holds temporary possession over, an object he will inevitably grow tired of one day, and the reminder is carved into your skin, a remembrance of your father who was used by your mother.

You are a lowlife half-blood.

That is all you ever will be.

But, you don't complain about Tim's treatment of you. Your fingers stay still as the maids apply a new set of press-ons to your nails, and you tilt your head for the maid to powder your face, and you sit on a silk-wrapped couch in Tim's study room, locked inside a human-sized glass cage as you sketch and sketch and sing and sing. You are not permitted to consume books out of a fear that you would learn rebellion, so you dabble in the arts, oil paint on your face, watercolors spilled all over the couch you sit on, fingers always busy with something. The chain on your ankle is barely noticeable.

You paint portraits of the servants that go in and out of Tim's study.

You paint portraits of your friends out of a fear that you will forget what they look like.

You paint portraits of the mysterious figure known as your father out of a wretched longing.

Your paintings are hung up around the mansion, pictures of people staring lifelessly staining the walls, but Tim pays no mind, asking if you would ever paint him one day. You do not answer him, blinking innocently instead. Tim finds it bothers him slightly, but not as much as he believes it does, and not as little as you think it does. You do not have much of an effect on him, and Tim believes that you never quite will. After all, the two of you are simply master-servant, servant-master.

However, you do find it strange that Tim never has you sing.

When he does, it is only when guests are over, and you are offered dinner in exchange. You almost fool yourself into believing he might have even taken a liking to you. You know that's not true, of course, and you find it funny that you would even entertain the thought. Though, that is not your problem— especially not when Tim has you dolled up for the first time since your arrival, telling you to sing nice and pretty for the elites of the capitol at Bruce Wayne's mansion. You have to prove that he has the best bird. It was simple.

You're paraded around to the rich of the capitol, and you perform in Bruce Wayne's manor as Tim's songbird, lips curled into a teasing smile as you play the act of a bird, voice ringing in everyone's ears as you smile sinfully at them. The song sends everyone to the waves, floating on the sea on a sunny day, the sand between their toes, the salt in their hair. The world spins in your palm slowly as your voice dances in the air, and you watch as Tim brags about you like one would about their pet, and you snicker. He is no idiot.

He knows you're acting, and you know he is.

It's really just a matter of who breaks first.

Tim tucks the loose strands of hair behind your ear as you bat your lashes prettily at him, lips pulled into a sweet smile. Even when you thank him and he tells you to save your voice for singing, the two of you are separated by a thinly clean web made of lies, two spiders on the string, waiting for the other to attack first for a reason to betray the other. The two of you dance on the strings, two, four, six, eight. And on the web of lies, the two of you hunt prey separately.

Tim is more than aware as to why you beg him to bring guests over, lips pulled into a gorgeous smile, and he brushes the hair from your face, pulling the feathers of decoration in your hair, agreeing happily— you are a symbol of his accomplishments, why wouldn't he show you off to all those men who can't have you? After all, even if they were to put their pretty hands on you like he does, their hands would only find themselves cut off. No one in the capitol has the time to arrest Tim. Not when his family was so powerful. Ah, what a symbol of status in such a corrupt world.

You stay next to his side the whole night, giggling and smiling as the men vie for your attention, kissing your hand and asking you for a dance as Tim keeps you securely by his side. You're sure he's just bubbling over with happiness over this display of power. Well, not that Tim particularly cares that you're the one attached to him. You suppose he's simply territorial over what belongs to him. You find no reason to answer any of the noblemen, especially not when Tim's first and only command for you was to not speak unless ordered to, and he had made no indication, so there was no reason for you to do so. Well, it didn't matter that much to you anyway.

You would prefer not to talk to them anyway.

At the end of the night, Tim whisks you away in the night, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, to the palm of your hand, and then up your arm to your neck, down your chest to your legs, and the rest of the night is spent much like the first night you returned to his mansion. You wonder if having you all vulnerable before him gets him off. You wonder if he is so desperate for recognition that he will do anything for it. Maybe he is. Maybe he isn't. You most certainly don't know. Neither do you care. You are simply waiting for something to happen to you. Maybe that will give you the freedom you so desperately crave. Besides, what point is there in escaping now? You have everything in the mansion, and neither are you beat up like you were in the street.

No.

You should escape first and then figure it out.

You listen to everything Tim says, and eventually, the lock on your cage doesn't get locked, and you are no longer watched by every servant in the house, and you breathe a little better. But those are all simple things. You need to prove that you would be loyal to Tim for the rest of your days. You didn't know how to, but you were sure the occasion would arise.

After all, Tim had plenty of enemies.

The season changes as you spend more time in Tim's mansion, and you are extremely docile, staying still and listening to everything he says, obeying his every word. You sing when commanded, and you stay quiet at all other times. Even when Tim has the servants test you for your loyalty, you do not open your mouth or speak. That earns you the unlocking of the chain around your ankle in the cage on top of the open entrance. You suppose it's great that he is giving you so much more freedom now— even if it wasn't really true freedom. It's a start, you surmise.

Tim takes you to one final gala before you hear what you want to hear.

You are dressed simply, silk hugging your skin, lips curled upward in a gentle smile as Tim helps you onto the stage. He insists on helping you do everything. The room is slightly empty save for the few noblemen who have arrived, and Tim had scheduled you early purposefully to avoid singing in front of larger crowds. You were his diamond in the rough.

So, you open your mouth and sing, eyes stuck on Tim's as your voice swims in the air.

Then, in a twist of classic capitol fashion, someone rushes toward Tim, and you yell, voice ringing in the air as Tim catches your warning, stepping to the side as they are sent to eat shit. Your voice returns to normal as soon as Tim is safe, lips curled into a stunning smile as you wrap up the song with a bow. It was so simple. It was so easy.

Tim thanks you by telling you it was alright to sing as prettily as you can in front of his guests now.

You suppose he's proud to have you as a bird now.

You listen to Tim from your cage as he talks to the ministers in the room, sketching with the pencil and paper, eavesdropping on their conversation. Your cage door is wide open, and you stay on the divan lazily, smudging the graphite on your paper as your wrist brushes over it, and you frown. In the background, Tim discusses classic politics with his companions, and you do not pay too much attention to it. After all, it was not what you wanted to hear. You were waiting for one specific point of information.

"The seventh competition is being hosted soon." One of the men speaks up. "Will you have your bird participate?"

You turn your head at the word bird.

January is approaching, and the yearly bird competition is coming up. You wonder if Tim is too protective of you to let you join. Maybe if you ask him, he will let you. You are illiterate to him, so you will have to find another way to convince him. But you stare at Tim anyway, blinking, eyes wide, almost as if asking whether or not he was talking about you. You wonder if Tim would ever think about letting you join the competition. It would be too much, but it could also be not enough. It didn't matter. You wanted to join. If you won, you would be displayed as a trophy for Tim, and you're sure Tim is just dying to have that kind of title to his name.

"Not you, pretty bird." Tim smiles. "Songbirds in general."

You nod, going back to your sketch, the graphite staining your skin as you stare at Tim, eyes darting to his face and then the paper, tilting your head as you both listen and sketch. His brows are furrowed, you assume because you've been selected for competition, and you blink at Tim as he stares at you, his lips curled into a gentle smile. You wonder if he'll give in to the greed and send you on the stage. Maybe he will. He's always been the type to give you up in the bigger picture.

"Pretty bird." He calls, and you pause in sketching, looking up.

You tilt your head to have him continue.

"What are you sketching?"

You flip the paper up, showing Tim, and he throws his head back in laughter, manic, almost.

"M-mister Drake?"

Tim steps off of his seat, holding his hand out as you hand him the drawing, and he takes your lead-stained hand, pressing his lips to the back. "Thank you, pretty bird. I look dashing."

You smile, lips curled upward gently.

"Whistle for me, birdie." Tim hums.

You oblige, notes teasing as you do, and Tim observes the looks on the men's faces.

"My bird will be participating." He smiles.

Diamonds and rubies, emeralds and sapphires, you are adorned from head to toe with the prettiest of colors and finest of silks. You wear the prettiest of colors and the softest of clothes, and thorough check-ups on your body day and night. Your tongue is shoved out as they check the condition of your throat, and you are fed warm soups and liquids all day, making sure your hydration is proper, and you stare at yourself as you wince at the way the corset is tightened. Not too tight. Your instructor tells you. She's not a songbird.

The lights backstage make you dizzy, and you exhale in your dress, the corset a little too tight yet too loose. You despise the way you are dressed like some doll, lips curled into a genuine smile as the door opens behind you. It didn't matter. You were going to win this stupid competition and break out of this hell. You would be the first to break character, but you would drag Tim into hell with you before you'd let him have the last laugh. After all, you spent so long building up a relationship with him.

"Pretty bird." Tim hums, bringing you lunch. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, I'm a little anxious..." You bat your lashes slowly. "But I think I will do well."

"Of course you will." He smiles, holding the spoon to your mouth. "You always do. Just remember to come home, alright? You don't need to emerge victorious."

You offer him a smile in return.

He doesn't even care if you speak now.

Then, Tim says goodbye to you as you are sent to the backstage with the rest of the birds. It's really simple. You make small talk with some of them, and some of them don't even look healthy enough to perform, but you suppose it isn't something you should concern yourself with. There's something else that is going to come out as an issue. You can only hope no one notices it as quickly as you had.

In a room of birds, it becomes painfully obvious that there is something off about you.

The songbirds sing and spin in the air, voices dancing with the breeze in a field of grass, mouths open as they sing to the sky, hands thrown up with their body. The sky opens up as the sun shines on them, and you watch from backstage as everyone sounds the same. The songbirds are a dime in a dozen, the same sort of singing everyone has, their voices worshipping the sky as their wings are clipped by their masters, looking up into the light as they sing towards it. Their voices are the wind in the field and the breeze in the grass. Their voices are the farmer's companion, and Midas' secret that the barber had tried to hide in the wheat. Their voices are everywhere at all times.

When you sing, everyone is pulled downward, floating in a vast expanse of blue, clouds nowhere to be seen, your voice grounding them into the depths of the world, animals soaring above and below their vision. The moisture sticks to their skin, their hearts racing as they sink further and further into your voice, something so sickeningly sweet, something so saccharinely sinful. Your voice becomes very apparent when put against the other songbirds, and you wonder if anyone could catch you. Though, it wasn't as if the predator could be hunted by the prey in their natural habitat. You were used to singing like this. It was what made you stand out to begin with. It was what helped you seduce Tim from the start. It was painfully obvious.

When you emerge victorious, you glance at Tim, and you seem to understand something.

He had received the wrong script for the play.

Then, you're presented on a stage with the rest of the winning songbirds at a gala at the beginning of the year, the crows betting more and more money on who would out-sing the others, and you blink at Tim innocently, feigning confusion as you watch as he is told that you were selected for freedom, stuck with the rest of the contestants, a confused smile on your lips as you are dragged off and dressed in rags again, promptly tossed into a puzzle room with the other winning songbirds.

"Fellow birds! Welcome to your only chance at survival! Seven of you are selected, and only one of you will emerge victorious and leave your masters' homes as a free man! You know you want it, songbirds. Will you live in a cage forever?"

You suppose your cage is less of a cage and more... glass.

Right. Not that it matters anymore.

You are placed in a room with the rest of the winning songbirds, and you blink at the screen as notes are played and the birds sing. No one can mess this up. It was a fundamental of being a songbird, so there would have been no result. However, no one in the capitol really cares if their bird dies. So, when a false chord is displayed on the screen and the bird selected sings, the sound of a gun renders everyone stupid.

You watch as the first songbird is killed when they are unable to sing a note on command.

Their body drops to the floor lifelessly, and the other songbirds scream. Instead, you step closer to the body, craning your neck as you squat down to take a look at the wound. Then, you stare at the cameras in the corner of the room, get up, and lean into some random songbird, lips curled into a teasing smile.

"How trusting of me are you right now?" Your voice is but a whisper.

The songbird tells you nothing.

Then, you stare at the camera, smiling.

You hide your mouth. "The second door at the second trial of the game leads to a bottomless pit."

Tim watches you from the cameras, eyes sharp as he tries to read what you are mouthing— but it is to no avail. he is stuck sitting back in his seat instead, quietly praying that the trust you had placed in him was not for no reason. He had slipped you the correct answer for each trial, so there was no reason for you to pick the wrong answer in any of them if you valued your life. Though, it's not like he told you that both doors were the correct answer in the last trial. People often fought in order to enter the slide marked as the correct answer, and nine times out of ten, someone was killed in the last trial at the hands of a songbird. That was what made an elite in the capitol— the blood on your hands.

You lean away, and surely enough, when the second door emerges and everyone rushes into it, only you and the other songbird remain. You open the first door and then step through it, inviting them to follow you once you make sure it is safe, and the two of you are left with picking a slide. You nudge him to the wrong slide, and you step in front of the slide, turning to stare at him. There's a silence that hangs in the air, and for a second, the songbird thinks that you only let them survive because they were selected by you.

Which isn't true, obviously.

Since when have you chosen someone anyway?

Tim watches you from the screen, fingers relaxing, lips curled into a gentle smile.

See? He has no reason to worry.

You stare at the two doors before you, lips curled into a menacing smile, and you tell your partner to take the safe slide out of the game to take the crown of victor. You step to the wrong answer instead, and the elites in the room murmur amongst themselves at your act of disobedience. You stand behind the other songbird in the room as he sits in the seat at the only seat on the slide, checking to see if there are any mechanisms that could kill him. It was an act of compassion to one, but it was an act of betrayal to another. Tim supposes that he was the one who was fooled the whole time.

Tim's voice rings in the command room, his comrades holding him from the mic on the desk as you send your partner down the safe slide, watching as the latch closes for the safe door and you step before the wrong one, blinking slowly, lips curled into a cruel smile, turning your head for the camera, baring all your teeth.

And suddenly, Tim is reminded of the first time he met you.

"I had never picked you."

And you disappear.

It's a shame though. You never said you were a songbird.

#tim drake x reader #tim drake imagine #timothy drake x reader #tim x reader #☾.fics #surprise you thought my ass wasn't gonna post dc anymore huh?? u THOUGHT /j

[visd3stele]

Can I request some Criston Cole angst. Maybe she's rhaenyra's older half sister who had targaryen magic(interpret as you will). She and Criston fell in love and she gets pregnant but her powers began to get out of control before she tells him as she finds out about him and rhaenyra and nearly hurt rhaenyra so Viserys banished her. Daemon takes her to Essos to get help with her powers (only one who acknowledges her). Episode 5 angst (Criston pov) Criston x reader happy ending.

hope you like it 🤗

tw: spoilers from ep5, cheating (sort of), vague hints of *aham* bedroom activities (nothing detailed or explicit), reader going mad for a bit there, canon Criston bullshit, child loss, raw pain ( i hope 😁), lmk if there needs to be something else up here

a/n: so... it is kind of his pov, but i have to confess i skipped that part and went straight to writing and i actually really like how it turned out. oops? i'm sorry... maybe i'll write something else from his pov after i finish the requests i got. aaand, i combined this with another ask (X).

masterlist ; requests

Love the way you hurt me

"Princess y/n Targaryen was born a peculiar child," Lady Alicent whispered back to Ser Criston Cole. "No wonder Viserys chose Rhaenyra as heir." She added, sipping from her filled cup, stealing a stealthy glance at you.

You were sitting in a corner at the banquet after the tournament. Speaking to no one, swaying alone on a rhythm only you could hear, watching everyone intently.

"It is said she was born eyes wide open, not even a whimper, much less crying like babes should do."

Ser Cole fixed his inky gaze on you. Curiosity flooded the obscure eyes, deep and warm in their darkness despite the steel surrounding him at all times, as soon as he first laid eyes on you. At the tournament. When princess Rhaenyra, the realm's delight, filled the air around her with joyous interest in the world around, you kept to yourself, seemingly unaware of the happenings taking place around.

He had approached you first, lured in by your unusual beauty. Eyes big and attentive, the e/c in your irises like a haze over what lurked beneath. Face nor cold, nor warm to prying glances of the court, but the one of a goddess of old. Ser Criston has heard about the mistiques of Velarys, how inhuman its inhibitors are. But he never believed – nor understood – until he saw you.

He has asked of your blessing in the fight, like knights are supposed to. You lowered your gaze on him and your statue like demeanor broke for a second, before looking through him. That second was 'nough for Ser Cole, to steal his breath and bind his soul. The veil lift from your eyes and traveled deep within his, piercing his very being.

You didn't grant him his blessing, so he had to seek it from your sister. You spoke no words, nor did you acclaim his win. It only served to pull him more towards your mystery. Which led him to the conversation with Lady Alicent.

"She barely talks. The prince, Daemon is the only one to get to her. Make her react to a human presence. Other than that, she spends her days with the dragons. Or painting in her room. No one is allowed in her chambers, not servants, not even her family."

Lady Alicent leaned closer as the story thickened. "Actually, there was a woman. Y/n responded to her better than she does to Daemon. She was very clingy of this woman as a child, the only one to enter her room. After she died, y/n fasted for a whole year. No food, no water. The maestress do not know how she survived."

Criston's brows were lost in his messy curls. No matter how hard he tried to tame them for the event, his brown locks rebelled again and again. "Who was the woman?"

"A maid." Alicent Hightower shrugged. "Though some people believe she is y/n's real mother, not the late queen."

"The princess is a bastard?"

"So the gossip goes. Excuse me now, Ser Cole, but I hadn't danced at all since I arrived. It won't do," the young woman smiled and hurried away to find a pair on the merry hum of chords.

Ser Criston dunked a cup over his head. 'Twas, indeed, too much to take... at least while sober, that's it. When he turned around, there you stood. Behind him, those empty eyes that seem curios, yet all knowing.

Criston didn't know what happened to him. He considered himself quite the ladies' dream. With a body sculpted by the finest artists, muscles carved sharply by years of practice, with his eyes so dark they catch every light in the room in a soft glow, a dashing smile brighter than his armor and, well, being a knight, Ser Cole met no problems finding lovers.

Though he wasn't a cruel one, as others might think. He never laid with a woman he didn't felt for. And he expected that same passion returned. It caused him lots of heartbreaks in his young life. But it only seemed to make his heart expand, hoping to find that one true love poets sing about.

Now...? Now something differed. His throat dried the second he locked eyes with you. Color rose in his cheeks as he searched the room in a franzy. As if a speech would lie waiting for him on the walls. His heart skipped a beat, only to resume its race faster than it pumped during the tournament.

Before he could compose himself and add thoughts to a currently barren mind, he heard you speak. "We are to dance tonight." You had said. And Ser Cole barely contained a whimpery moan. Your voice sounded like honey tasted in a rainy morning, spread on freshly made bread. Not sweet like the addictive cakes, but not bitter either. Soft, yet powerful. Steady and decisive, so far a cry from the way orders are given. It was a certainty, a simple fact voiced out as one would say the sky is blue and a sword – sharp.

"Pri- princess?" Criston winced as he stumbled dumbfounded over his words. You didn't repeat yourself. Instead raised your arms towards him, palms facing the floor. He noticed dried paint around your nails and he smiled. Such a well put together image, only to show him a bit of chaos no one else would see. A sentiment of pride rose in his chest and Ser Cole loosened a bit, releasing a long exhale of breath. He didn't even notice when his inhales became short and sharp.

He bowed, remembering to bid a hand at his back. Took one of your hands in his own and dropped a kiss on the back of it. Criston shuddered at the warmth of your skin. No healer he was, nor versed in such knowledges, but he could swore your temperature was abnormally high.

Raising his forehead to steal a peek at you, he was stricken by your smile. "Blood of the dragon runs with fire inside the veins." Was it a joke? Criston thought so. As some of your warmth passed to him, Ser Cole chuckled lightly, an unsure smile – no less sincere make no mistake – playing on his lips.

"It's worth it to burn if it shall be by your doing." His self seemed to regain conscious as he grinned at you while interlacing your fingers for the new dance.

"You won't burn," you said, following him in the midst of carefree people dancing tirelessly. Something in the way you said it pinched a nerve, sending a shiver up Criston's spine. It wasn't a misunderstanding of his flirting. More of a reassurance: he won't burn... but something else will happen to him.

He shook the thought away. Surely, just a draft of a tipsy brain. Though he didn't drink but a couple cups – always putting his duty as a knight first of mere pleasures – Ser Cole thought he could lose himself whole in your being. An overbearing presence he couldn't resist. Not that he wished to.

Criston shook his head again. Yes, that must be it. He let that Lady Alicent fill his mind with conspiracies about you. There was no denying you were far from being like anyone else he has ever met, true. But that feeling must be exaggerated by his growing attraction to you.

"You like painting?" Criston decided to entertain a conversation while dancing. Act normal around you. He knew he made the right call when another smile, brighter than the last, bloomed on your face.

"I do."

"What do you paint?"

"Mostly what I see. Though there are times I ask dragons to pose for me."

Once again, he brushed the chilling tingles at the way you spoke about what you see. He had a feeling you meant something else than the sights outside.

He tried a joke. "I bet there are other models you could try. Maybe one's portrait."

"You shan't mean your own, do you, Ser Cole? Can I really be that lucky?"

Criston laughed. And his shoulders relaxed as your own stiff tension vanished away. A changed he noticed in you, one he cherished and allowed be fully calmed by. For the first time since he met you, you were truly present. Giving him the opportunity to make the aqquintance of the real princess y/n that, for reasons he shall find later, hid beneath a mask with everyone else.

"Well, princess, it's my duty to serve you. However you may wish."

Something even wierder happened then. You laughed. Ser Cole decided that is how life itself sounded like if it could be heard guiding its beings through. The chime of bells falling on the ground from a crib. A tune ringing on the happiest of his days. It sounded like the empty noise that caressed his ears after the last clash of metal on metal in a fight. Right before realization settled in – that he won, that he lived – your laugh was the dazed buzzing of the essence of life.

"I thought it meant solely in battle, no?"

"Not every battle must be on a dusty field, ending with me bloodied head to toe."

"Ah, that can't be true. You barely had a scratch today. The others looked like you described, but you? You only had smeared blood on your chin from a lip cut." And with your words you brought your fingers to his mouth, brushing your thumb over the crust standing in relief against the pulpy softness of his lips.

Criston shuddered again. This time not with fear, but with content. Your other four fingers traced his cheek. You made no movement to take them away, but still, Criston covered your hand with his, trapping it in place. He moved it slightly and you allowed it, weightless in his touch. He dropped a kiss to your wrist.

Ser Cole urged all the training he endured to resist taking you right there and then. Your response to his humble kiss sparked wild desire within him: fluttering eyelids, a sigh bordering a moan, a woman like he has never seen before.

If there wouldn't have been the cream of Westeros' nobility in the room, Criston would have grabbed the back of your neck and smash his lips to yours.

"You will have me tonight," you said, as if reading his thoughts, and this time the sure finality of your words escaped him. "I shall see you in my chambers. The door will be unlocked."

Too stunned to stop you, Criston let you walk away. Only the teasing glint in your eyes as you turned to whisper "thank you for the dance, Ser Cole," over your shoulder kept him company until the hour of lovers came to be. Finally.

He questioned it later, the speed with which you gave yourself to him in the sacred chambers only a selected few has seen, on a royal bed from which you never thrown him out of. He questioned it on another night of pleasures, with another princess in his arms. One less confusing with whom things were simple. (He liked simple. Or so he believed).

But for now, Criston Cole was too wrapped in your alluring secrecy. In your truths only he, amongst all the guests in the palace, had the honor to hear.

So he tipped on his toes, armor forgotten in the confinements of his given room. Dressed only in a nightwear the light of his candle revealed his body through. He made his way, as pulled by a string, to your suit. He needn't even knock. The creak in the door confirmed the right place and all Criston had to do was lift a ghostly touch on the wooden plank. Barely a push and he could sneak inside, securing the lock closed shut and tight.

It was the beginning of a formidable romance. The more he visited you, the more he fell in love. He didn't just lay with you as a husband would to a wife, he confessed his hidden most thoughts, highest desires and embarrassing fears. You did the same. The odd look in your gaze no more when he was with you.

Criston knew he can't be seen with you. But the more your love grew, the more he wanted to kiss your cheek every time he passed by you n the halls, or to have you wish him unneeded luck in battle, only for him to come out the winner and smile lovingly at you. "For princess y/n," he wished he could say. About every thing he did in life, in fact.

And the knight was sure you loved him too. Just as much, if not even more. Sometimes his thoughts would circle back to the first time you met, trying to understand if there was love in the depths of your eyes ever since. It couldn't be, and still...

Ser Cole willed every insecurity away. Every question or strange feeling. After all, you were a normal woman, with maybe too much to shoulder alone.

Until one day, when his love had to face his believes. He came to you at night as usual, a huge smile adorning his barely lit face under the thick curtains of his curls. He looked exactly like a lover in the old tales, come to steal the princess away. What was knew, though, was your distress.

"Y/n?" Criston called, dropping the wine he managed to steal and rushing to your side. What he saw tighten the aorta in a strangling grip around his heart.

The room a mess of rumpled papers, brushes and coals at every step, the desk broken apart with its pieces thrown all around. Criston had wanted to wonder what happened and who did this. But one look at you and he knew.

You were cowered in yourself on the bed, back rising with your breath too quickly. Ragged sobs echoing off the silent walls. Inside your deathly grasp, another wrinkled paper laid. Your fingers brushing over it, chipping pieces, letting them fall like ashes on the blankets.

Scared as he was - even the simplest man, a nonbeliever, can feel magic so strong when it's in his air - Criston tried to rub a comforting hand over your back. The second he touched you, he felt his skin melt in angry hisses.

He stepped away. And it was then you first looked at him. Your eyes smudged with tears, a crazed pain inside. "Can't stand to even look at me, Ser Cole?" You rasped. The way your fingers curled and uncurled around the well kept treasure you had, the way your barked words and roars of crying prolonged your mouth wide open, the heat you streamed into the burning room... Criston has never been more terrified in his life. For the first time, he had an idea of what 'the blood of the dragon' meant. For you looked like one. A majestic predator trapped in the body of a woman.

Before he could regain a sense of himself and reality, you snaped by him, disappearing around the corner. Criston didn't follow, eyes locked on the crumpled paper you left behind. Curiosity won in the end. Instead of following you, he grabbed the paper and softly, with upmost care not to break it, he unfolded it. The knight, trained to consider the enemies' moves, make quick and logical battle plans and look at the world as it is, rather than how it could be in one's fairytale, had to understand what he has just been a witness to.

As Criston took in the drawing, brows furrowed in even more confusion than before, a familiar voice screamed nearby. Dropping the sheet, Ser Cole ran towards bustle. Where you attacked your younger sister.

Princess Rhaenyra bore marks of burnt where you touched her, some in the shape of a wide open palm, some looking like fisted knuckles. "A dragon shan't burn," you spit, going in for another kick. The princess was on the ground, stumbling away from you, But the circle that closed in around the two sisters won't allow it. There's nothing the courtiers love more than gossip, even at the expanse of their realm's delight.

"Enough!" Criston boomed, catching your hand. He has put the whole armor on, yet he could still feel your fire. "You'll kill her."

"And that would break your heart, won't it, Ser Cole? Look at you, all a trembling mess at the sight of me. The brave knight who come to save his princess-" you stole a spiteful look at your sister before bestowing your piercing gaze upon him once more -"from the freak."

Criston will beat himself up for not doing anything that day. In your absence, he'd put the puzzle together and welcome guilt to consume him, wishing to be your fire.

But now he was too lost, too scared. He saw a maiden in need of saving and a woman gone mad. All he could think about was that maybe Lady Alicent has been right that far away night. You were, indeed, a peculiar bastard.

"Let her go," a commanding voice towered over him. The prince Targaryen hushed the lot of peasants, servants and bashful nobles away. "Help Rhaenyra to the healers."

A last thread of defiance clawed its madly in love head out. Despite your outburst he couldn't explain, he still felt for you. Deeply. He couldn't let you go. But he wouldn't accept you either... At least not yet.

"My prince," Criston bowed reluctantly, releasing his hold on your wrist.

"Can you stand?" He asked Rhaenyra. She gave him a subtle nod and accepted his hand to pull slowly pull herself up. They limped away in a soft embrace. When Ser Cole stole a peek behind, Daemon and you were gone.

He found the next day the king has finally lost his patience with his oldest daughter upon hearing of what had happened between you and Rhaenyra. In a burst of fury, he exiled you.

"Daemon is with her. No one knows - nor care to know - where." Lady Alicent informed Criston on their way to visit Rhaenyra who was advised to stay in bed until she completely heals.

"How do you feel?" He asked her when Alicent rushed out to empty herself of the rich breakfast. Viserys has married her no long ago, already giving her a child.

"Well. Not at all as if my sister just tried to kill me."

"Right," Criston cringed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault. I think I always knew she'd snap. I just didn't want to believe it."

"Were you close?"

Rhaenyra shook her head, tilting it to face the covers in shameful sadness. "No one was. Except Daemon and her late mother. It seemed for a bit she let you in too."

"Her mother?"Criston decided against pondering too much on the narrow list of people you allowed the company of.

"I thought Alicent already told you. Our father cheated my mother with a servant in her chambers. Y/n is the result of that."

"Is that why you two never..."

"Not at all!" Rhaenyra exclaimed, guessing very well what Criston was about to ask. "Her mother was a bit of mine too, in fact. After mine died birthing me, y/n's took care of both of us, raising us like sisters. But she seemed lost in her own head. The only times she talked to me was scary. Cripted warnings with no explanation. Like to stay away from Alicent.

When y/n's mother died I tried comforting her. I thought we could finally bond. But she stared me in the eye - a look I can't forget to this day - and told me not worry about her. She's been through this many times. But about myself and my friends I surround with. I hadn't try speak to her since."

Days passed and Criston and Rhaenyra grew closer and closer 'til a beautiful friendship was tied. Ser Cole seemed to have forgotten about you, if not for the daily walks to your suit. The way there imprinted in his mind.

He'd sit on the bed, head hanging between his palms rested on his knees. Lost in thought. Other times he'd pace the still not cleaned floor. Pick drawing after drawing up, trying to decipher what he looked at. The knight kept the paper you smoldered in your grip the day you attacked Rhaenyra. Hanging like the most valuable piece of art in his room, greeting him in the morn', lulling him to sleep at night. Two bodies tangled together, hands clasped in desperate union stretched on white sheets.

One night, as he said goodbye to the dragon heir after spending hours in each other's filled with desire arms, Criston went back to his own bed. The smile he wore faltered and fall when he saw your drawing. A perfect image of the sweetly love making he has just returned from.

"It can't be." He whispered, a poor attempt to convince himself against what his right mind already knew as truth. Criston took down the drawing, smoothening it on the cold floor. He brushed his fingers over every inch of it as still fresh memories confirmed it. You drew the future that day.

"And any other day," Ser Cole muttered. A sort of frightened admiration washing over him. He knew the stories, of course he did. Everyone has heard of Velarys' magic running in the veins of its people. Most people thought it's only the dragons. Taming them, controlling the beasts. It was so much more, he too lately realized.

Your too hot skin, never to be burned but meant to burn. Your lost eyes, seeing time's rush behind the e/c veil.

Criston twirled his sword in one hand, thinking, trying to contain the anger in his bones. What was he supposed to do with this information now? Would it change anything? You still mercilessly attacked your own sister in a fit of jealousy.

Yes, a voice in his head deadpanned. But even he could admit to himself, even if he could accept his love for you never died, Criston also had to see there was nothing more to do than moving on. Daemon took you skies know where. And you probably loathed him even if he could find you. Maybe it was time to move on. Your drawing of the future showed it too.

So Criston Cole had tried. And so Criston Cole has failed. He saw you in every face he looked at. Heard you in every voice addressing him. None as beautiful, none as etheral as your figure and the sound of your speaking. But his mind couldn't help but conjure your memory in every aspect of his life.

It drove him mad. He couldn't sleep, eat, nor train without your doomed presence looming over him. It's your fault, it seemed to say. You abandoned me, cheater. You broke me.

He could take it no more.

It was the banquet of Rhaenyra's wedding when Criston let go of any protocol, care and worry. He has dishonored his vows, tainted by desire. Every time he left her chambers the hole in his soul expanded. Fury at himself ate him alive. And not only for the kingsguard white cloak, not so pure anymore.

No, he should have never received it in the first place. After he allowed his love turned hate by gross fear, after he allowed it to hurt you and you to hurt Rhaenyra. After he fulfilled your pained prophecies, Ser Criston Cole shouldn't have reach such a title. Clearly, he wasn't worthy of it. The only thing he had to bring pride to his name and he muddled it.

Maybe the princess would be happy to leave with him. After all, there were many unhappy voices in the council with her father's choice. It would be so easier. A new life in Esos, forgetting the old, burying the hurt.

So he took an offer of good faith - oranges and cinnamon - to signify his loyalty and the undying of his love. Nevermind it may be another lie he tells himself to feel better, to sooth a pit - he carved with his own two hands in his being - short moment for short moment.

As he searched for the princess-heir, Ser Cole found himself face to face to a breathtaking sight. You. Criston would have thought he's imagining things had he not spotted Daemon by your side. Whispering something in your ear.

Ser Criston froze on his feet. Taking in all your etheral beauty he dreamt of every day, night and in between. You haven't changed at all - of course you didn't. Criston reminded himself you were only gone for a few months. The same striking gleam in your eyes, the same inviting lips curled into a sober smirk.

The knight felt his heart sink. You were farring so much better in your uncle's company. His eyes slide down in shame, only to fixate on your form. Something has changed, after all. A swollen belly poked your garments with heavy pregnancy.

"Tell my brother I shall not attend this wedding without my wife to be," Daemon argued with a stubborn guard.

Cole's heart sunk even more. Wife to be. A baby. You moved on so fast while every memory of you was ever lasting in his heart, pulling him backwards each time. He deserved it.

He needed to act now. Find Rhaenyra and leave. All he could think about looking for the bride of tonight was how much he wished to have a pinch of your magic right now. Ironic, he knew. But, oh, what he wouldn't give to burn the prince's hands off when he touched you.

Everything happened so fast afterwards. His rejection by the princess numbed him. The three bottles of alcohol he has breathed in arose his anger. Then he found himself in the midst of a chaos he didn't understand.

Criston stumbled on his feet, vision a blur of colors and shapes. Blood spilled around him as men begin to stab guests all of a sudden.

"Daemon, I'm dying," he heard your voice. The knight turned around, blinking the dizziness away in a futile attempt to spot you.

"I won't let that happen, y/n. But I need you to focus, where is Rhaenyra?"

"She will survive."

"Y/n, that's not what I asked. Where is she? Please!" Criston has never heard such desperation in the dragon prince's voice. "Remember why we came here, yes? To warn them. Protect them. That is why I killed my wife and pretend to be your betrothed. So, focus. Where is Rhaenyra?"

"She'll survive. I won't. The baby..." You trailed off. Ser Cole's heart broke in pieces. And if it already was broken as he could argue later, then the pieces spread too far gone to be made whole again. Your voice. Just like the one you had months ago when you saw him cheating on you. Except this time the madness in your voice was replaced by sorrow. "We cannot change the future, Daemon."

Your voices became clearer now for Ser Cole. Even in the maihem that broke around him. He turned one more time and he almost leaped. There you were, pulled by a bloodied Daemon, fighting your way out of the massacre.

"Yes, we can. That's why you have these visions. You and the babe will live to see tomorrow morn'. I swear this to you."

Criston begin to sway his way towards you when a strong man rushed right in front of him, carrying you on his back. He blinked and almost made a move to follow him. But the he saw you again, in the same spot as before, still cinging to Daemon Targaryen.

Rhaenyra will survive, your voice ranged though his hazed mind. The only thing making sense for the drunken night. I won't.

Just as he thought it Criston saw Joffrey Lonmouth sneaking at your back. Sword drawn, reddened with the blood of his victims from tonight, hungry for more.

"Y/n," he shouted at the same time Joffrey yelled "death to the princess". It seemed he hasn't been the only one to confuse you with your sister.

Both Criston and Daemon moved at the speed of dragon fire. Daemon slicing Lonmouth's arm off while Ser Cole pulled you aside.

And they both thought they saved you. Until a shuddering scream left your lungs and you grew lighter and limper in Criston's hold. The knight looked down where the tip of the sword pushed through the baby bump.

Your hands went to rub it on instant, feeling uncousciously for the babe that could be no more. "This isn't right. This isn't right!"

"Y/n, I need you to breath, alright?" Daemon tried to sooth you, passing a trembling hand through his golden locks to stop it. "Get her to the maestress," he snapped at Ser Cole. "Now! What are you waiting for?"

That seemed to be enough to pull Criston out of the alcohol claws. He picked you up and rushed outside the dining hall, trusting Daemon to watch his back.

He ran faster than he ever did before. He wished he could have words of encouragement for you, but his throat has died and his brain could only focus on one thing: getting you away from the fight and into good care.

"No, no, no, no," you kept pulling at his arms, trying to break free. "This isn't right," you chanted, voice growing to yells of dellirium or lowering to mutters of a lost mind.

"It will be, princess. Please, let me take you to safety. Y/n!"

"The baby. My baby. Our baby!" Ser Cole barely salvaged the misstep, gaining back the lost track of his running rhythm.

"I should be dead too. I should be with our baby. I saw it. Why isn't it happening?" You demanded, tears spilling on from your chin on his arms.

At last, Criston reached the healers' corners. You were put to sleep so they could work uninterrupted by your hectic moves. He didn't leave you for one second, not even in the confused daze he tried to break from. He would guard at your head day and night until you shall come back to your senses.

"Princess y/n shall survive. But the babe is lost."

Ser Cole thanked the old lady and sat on the edge of the bed at your feet. Where your stomach has been swollen with life mere hours ago, a flattened reminder of the loss was in place. He reached to touch it, but decided against it. In the state of your mind, you must have not realized whom you're talking to. Daemon fathered the child... did he not?

"Criston?" It's been days until you woke up. He hadn't wondered outside to know the consequences of that night. He couldn't if it meant leaving you.

"Take it easy," the knight said as he saw trying to get up. "Is there anything you need?"

Instead of an answer, your hands flew to your stomach and a whimper broke through your sealed tight lips. "This isn't right."

Criston took your hands in his. "Hey, hey, look at me. Y/n, look at me. You did everything you could to be with your baby. But we can't fight fate. There must be a reason you survived, even if this isn't what you saw. I am sure soon enough you'll see a new future." Saying it, Criston smiled at you through unshed tears, nodding his head as if to pass you all his bravery. That wasn't that much in the moment, though.

"But, I lost our baby. And you're here, with me."

Choosing to ignore the sharp question of his presence, Criston focused on the first part of your speech. "You keep saying our baby..."

"You are - were," you winced, "the father. I have fallen pregnant after our first night together. It messed with my magic. After I saw you and Rhaeeyra... I'm sorry. I a, so sorry."

"No, I a, the one who should apologize. You have these amazing gifts and you choose to show them to me, out of all people. I didn't know how to appreciate you."

"Do you love her? My sister?"

"No. I love you, y/n. It has always been you."

"But the look in your eyes back then..."

"A stupid, stupid mistake. I didn't understand you and I turned on you because of that."

You nodded, eyes still glued to your too thin waist. You have gotten used to the weight. "You never felt him kick."

"Him?"

"I saw him in the future. He looked like you. We were happy in Esos. But then I saw the attack and our death. And now... now I can't see anything. I am so confused, Criston," you cried, grief mixing with an emotion you have never knew: anxiety for the future.

"You are tired, y/n. Rest. Don't think too much of it. The visions will come back, just give it time. You have just woken up."

Ser Cole was about to live to get the maestress to take one more look at you. And, frankly, he needed time to munch on everything. He was a father for five months and he didn't even know. Now he lost a son.

"I saw you too. In Esos. With us," you said, picking his attention. "My visions aren't always in order, but I was so sure..."

"I haven't been sure of anything since I met you, y/n Targaryen. But say the word and I'll leave for Esos - for any place you want - with you."

"Take me to Esos, Ser Criston Cole. Now."

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