#[ They must ALWAYS attend Pride together?! ] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starryhyuck · 2 months

Text

pairing: prideandprejudice!jeno x afab!reader

words: 17.8k+

summary: lee jeno is the furthest idea of a possible suitor in your mind. yet somehow, fate continues to pair you together.

genre: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, creampie, slight breeding kink

this is basically pride & prejudice (2005)

“You are behaving foolishly,” you comment as Minji runs around the room, encouraging your headache to grow. Jimin exhales from her spot next to you, hands folded in her lap like one of those formal ladies you used to make fun of when you were younger.

“Minji, please sit,” Jimin sighs exasperatedly. Minjeong giggles from her position on the opposite couch, slouching even though she’s not meant to look so unseemly.

Minji finally takes her seat and rolls her eyes at Jimin. “Sister, you must feel some ounce of joy. It’s our first time at a ball!”

It was true — your family had been all but shunned from any formal engagements due to your lack of wealth, but lately, your father has climbed up the ranks and gotten respect from some of the rich parties across town. His hard work resulted in you and your sisters being invited to your first ball, an elite event made up of high society members.

Your mother took this as a sign of a wedding on the horizon since none of your sisters have received formal proposals yet despite being of age. Minji is overjoyed, Jimin is stressing out, and Minjeong is displeased with the situation at hand. Minjeong has always been proud of your family, regardless of status, and she hates the social climbers that migrated around these parties.

You’re indifferent to tonight’s events, willing to tag along to whatever boisterous adventures you find.

Your mother comes frantically into the room just as Minji has finally calmed herself down, hair tied messily on top of her head and corset barely laced up.

“Girls, we must leave soon!” She declares, stroking her fingers through Minjeong’s hair to perfect it.

“Mother, you look unkempt,” Jimin scolds, standing from her spot to finish lacing up your mother’s corset and taming her unruly hair. Your mother profusely apologizes before shooing her away.

“This night is not about me. It’s about you girls. Now remember, Mr. Lee and Mr. Na will both be in attendance. They come from very affluent families, and it would be in your best interest to invest your time into them as they are the most desired bachelors of the season.”

Minjeong scoffs. “Mother, I highly doubt entertaining these men who deny our self-worth is in our best interest.”

Your mother’s mouth opens to scold Minjeong until the click of your father’s shoes come padding down the hall. In his old age, your father traditionally expects all of you to be married off before he passes. Otherwise, the estate transfers over to your cousin, Nakamoto Yuta, who has always been less than kind to your family. You know he would wed you and your sisters off to the first men he comes across just to keep your family’s earnings for himself.

“Are we ready to depart?” Your father asks, smiling proudly in his formal wear. All of your sisters rise from their seats, with Minji nearly jumping out of hers and Minjeong being heavily prodded by your mother.

It’s a long ride to the ball with your family’s estate being located further away from higher society. You and Minji play games on the journey as Minjeong sleeps and Jimin frets over what to say when you arrive.

Jimin has always been the more responsible one out of your sisters, and you understand she has a heavier burden on her shoulders to be married first. Luckily with you being one year younger, there wasn’t as much of an expectation for you to be wed so fast.

The arrival of your family is greeted with a hesitant welcome, most of the men smiling at your father and the women analyzing your sisters and your mother. You grip Minjeong’s arm for dear life, feeling a little more hesitant about the experience now that you have stepped foot on the grounds.

“This is absurd,” Minjeong whispers in your ear as you enter the expansive ballroom. People are gathered in some of their most formal outerwear with music echoing around the dance floor.

“Would you not enjoy a dance?” You ask your sister, heels clacking against the wood floors as you scurry your way through the crowd. You imagine dancing would be quite nice — you and your siblings have spent nights practicing in your rooms, hands joining together as you pretend that you all are actually on the dance floor. Tonight would be perfect to bring those memories to life, but Minjeong doesn’t seem very fond of the idea.

“Have you forgotten that we are not allowed to dance with one another? We must find a partner,” she reminds you, and your eyes flutter around the room to see the prospects.

You’ve seen most of these men in passing, like Lee Taeyong or Lee Mark. You have heard that the brothers are kinder than their appearance might make them seem and perhaps they would entertain you with a spin on the floor.

You suddenly feel Minji grip your arm and she squeals in your ear. “There they are! Lee Jeno and Na Jaemin!”

Your eyes turn to the entrance, where the men of the night are starting to flock in. Lee Jeno, a known affluent man, owns one of the largest estates in the country and has been one of the most desired bachelors for years now. His friend, Na Jaemin, has just moved to the country, making this ball his first public appearance. Similar to Jeno, Jaemin owns multiple estates with an abundant fortune sitting in his bank.

In this world, they are a girl’s one way ticket to safety.

You see Jimin’s back straighten in anticipation, and you know she has her eyes set on Jaemin.

Your mother approaches your side, squeezing your arm. “Behave now, girls.”

Your family gathers to present yourselves in front of Jeno and Jaemin, bowing and curtsying in respect. Jeno simply appears bored, eyes scanning the room in an air of confidence and arrogance. Jaemin immediately smiles at Jimin, who grows slightly bashful under his gaze.

“Mr. Na, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” your father greets first, shaking Jaemin’s hand with fervor.

“You as well, sir. I’m taken by the people’s hospitality to my arrival,” Jaemin remarks.

“It’s rare we get a new face in this town,” your mother replies happily. “And such a handsome one at that.”

Jaemin’s smile is blinding, basking in the compliments and attention. Jeno, on the other hand, looks like he wants to leave and never return.

The music suddenly changes to the tempo of the traditional dance, and Jaemin asks Jimin to join him on the floor. Your sister shyly accepts and you hear both your mother and Minji squeal to one another. Minjeong rolls her eyes and informs you she’s going to find some refreshments for herself.

She leaves you with Jeno, who still appears stiff and unapproachable. You decide to take the first leap into conversation.

“Do you like to dance, Mr. Lee?”

He blinks once, scanning you before answering. “Not if I can help it.”

You’re deterred by his answer until Minji tugs you forward, nudging you to join her on the dance floor. You’re paired with Taeyong, who politely bows to you.

You feel a pair of eyes follow you while you maneuver around bodies of the elite, and your mind lingers on the disdainful presence of Lee Jeno.

Once the music subsides, you take another politeful curtsy to Taeyong before sweeping the room for your fellow companion, An Yujin. Yujin, like your family, was not born into wealth and struggles in society as you do. However, because of her charisma, she is able to sneak her way into parties by charming some of the men for an invitation. You spot her in between a few other guests and eagerly pull her away.

“You did not tell me you were coming!” She exclaims, wrapping you up in a hug.

“We were not informed until earlier this week,” you share, walking along with her as you move your way through the crowd. “Is it not so lovely?”

“Very,” she giggles, her voice turning down when you spot Jeno and Jaemin walking very close to you two. They do not catch sight of you, speaking quietly to one another.

“What a splendid night, so many lovely women,” Jaemin chuckles.

Jeno replies in a bored tone. “You were dancing with the only lovely woman in this room.”

“Yes, she was quite a keeper, was she not?” Jaemin hums, and you and Yujin exchange a look. “I saw you speaking to her sister. She was quite admirable as well.”

Jeno scoffs. “Admirable? Barely tolerable, I would say.”

The conversation is cut short when Jaemin’s sister sweeps them away to meet another family. You huff at Jeno’s clear dislike of you and Yujin pats your hand in comfort when they disappear into the crowd.

“What a horrid man,” you comment.

“Do not fret,” Yujin smiles. “If he liked you, you would actually have to speak with him.”

You giggle in agreement. “Yes, imagine having to entertain a man like that.”

“Jimin looks rather happy, though,” Yujin remarks fondly. “She’s thoroughly taken by Mr. Na.”

You gaze over at your sister, who is happily chattering with Minji. “It seems so. I hope mother is taking her bearings and not placing too much pressure upon her shoulders.”

“I think it might be too late for that.”

Your mother has suddenly grouped Minji and Jimin into directly speaking with Jaemin and Jeno. You exchange a look with Yujin before walking over to save your sisters from this debacle. When you step into their circle, you hear Jaemin compliment Jimin’s dancing.

“She is quite the dancer, if I must say.”

“Yes, yes!” Your mother shouts. “She and her sisters practice all the time. My handsome Jimin, you see, is definitely the most well-rounded of all my daughters!”

“Mother!” You scold, trying to stop her as she continues to embarrass your sisters.

However, she ignores your protest and Jimin’s visible contempt. “Jimin’s always had a vast amount of suitors, you know. There was this one bewitching gentleman who I thought would propose to her last spring but alas, all the man did was write a few poems.”

“And that ended it completely,” you cut in, and Jimin throws you a grateful look. “Who ever decided that poetry was a suitable medium to a woman’s heart? Very poor choice, might I say.”

Your statement earns you a few laughs until a haughty voice interrupts.

“So what do you propose?” Jeno retorts, and it’s the most engaged he’s been with you all night. His eyes bore into yours with the most intense observance. “Poetry has been the love language for suitors across all ages. What do you propose is better to take its place?”

You smile mischievously. “Dancing, I believe. Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable.”

Jeno’s face morphs into a mix of understanding and discomfort at your recall. You smirk, offering him another curtsy before vanishing back into the crowd.

You feel the burn of his stare follow you.

—

“Shopping for such a simple piece of clothing must seem so benign, do you not think so?”

“Yes, it quite certainly is,” you reply, tugging Minjeong into a nearby fabric store. “But it is necessary in order to impress the likes of the Na family for Jimin’s best interest.”

You and your sisters have made a trip into town to purchase new dresses for another upcoming ball planned by Jaemin. Since your first encounter with him, he and Jimin have made slow strides into courting one another, and this dance may be an opportunity to make it more official. Therefore, you have taken the role of stringing your family into the best shape to appease high society.

Jimin is already browsing through a variety of pinks and blues, carefully explaining to the seamstress that she has no desire for lavish embellishments to her dress. Although she would never admit her nerves, you can detect it from the way she frantically combs her fingers through her hair.

“Play nice for once,” you say to Minjeong, stroking her arm in consolation. “This could mean wonders for Jimin.”

“I can play nice,” Minjeong agrees hesitantly, pretending to be interested in some of the frilly ribbon decorating the store.

The bell above the door rings, signaling another customer walking in. You all turn to see a gentleman come inside, and you curtsy to greet him.

“My apologies for the intrusion,” he smiles, and you take note how captivating he appears. “It’s pouring out there and I was hoping to take shelter in here.”

“Of course, Mr. Lee,” the seamstress nods, gesturing for him to walk about as he pleases.

His eyes zero in on you. He takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. You bow your head coyly.

“Lee Donghyuck, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Are you ladies also shielding yourselves from the horrid rain?”

You smile and return your hand to your side.

“In contrast, Mr. Lee, we are prolifically finding ourselves a manner of dress for the Na ball,” you share, and his eyes sparkle at your response.

“Ah, I see. It must be an extremely difficult decision for you then.”

You laugh. “Yes, it’s quite the hunt for us.”

Minjeong suddenly reappears next to you. “And what brings you to town this evening, Mr. Lee?”

He offers a nod to your sister. “Some of the men from our militia district are in town for our homecoming. We have gathered into town to see what we all have dearly missed from our time away.”

His eyes flit over to you once more, and you bashfully glance down at your feet.

“I must come and see what beholds the community of this ball,” he states, hands wringing together behind his back. “It looks to be an event of importance.”

As soon as Jimin finds the right fabric for her dress and you review the designs for the rest of your family, Donghyuck offers to walk you all back to your estate. Luckily, the weather clears by the time you finish shopping.

You speak with Donghyuck on the way home, with Minji throwing the two of you suggestive looks as you break off from the others.

“How long are you in town for then?”

“Another fortnight or two, dependent on the weather,” he replies, his shoulder brushing against yours as you stride along.

“It must be pleasant to be back home. I cannot imagine how much you have missed it,” you say, enjoying the warmth of his figure every time his arm presses against yours.

He opens his mouth to respond before Minji’s loud hollers interrupt him.

“Oh, Mr. Na! Mr. Na!”

Minji calls out to Jaemin across the river, who is riding horseback alongside Jeno. Your eyes narrow at Jeno’s appearance, still feeling offended from his malicious comments against you. He, in turn, returns your heated glare but to your surprise, it’s not directed at you. His focus is solely on the man beside you, and you notice how Donghyuck tenses at his presence.

“Mr. Na, we just came from the dress shop to look fitting for your ball!” Minji calls happily.

Jaemin gives a nod, his eyes floating to Jimin.

“I’m happy to hear of it!” He replies.

The conversation is cut short when Jeno suddenly instructs his horse to trot away. You observe his abrupt exit, with Jaemin promising to see your family at the ball before following his friend.

“Very ill-mannered, that one is,” Donghyuck comments, scoffing as Jeno’s figure disappears further and further in the distance.

You begin the trek home again as Minjeong speeds up her pace and Jimin tugs Minji along to keep up. You fall behind in order to uncover the deeper meaning of Donghyuck’s words.

“You seem to have an uncivil assumption of Mr. Lee,” you note to him, and he hums in agreement.

“Mr. Lee and I do not get along well.”

“May I inquire why?”

“I have known Mr. Lee since birth, you see. Our families were very close and I thought of his father as mine and he thought mine as his. When my father passed, I became closer to his own as a result. Eventually, when Jeno’s father grew sickly, he asked that the rights of the Lee estate be passed onto me. At that point, you must imagine, we were closer than he and his son ever were and it drove Jeno wild with jealousy.”

You can visualize Jeno as the epitome of bitterness, envy blazing his form as he watches Donghyuck grow closer to his father. You fail to realize how your bias towards disliking Jeno prevents you from questioning the truthfulness to Donghyuck’s story.

He continues. “After his father passed, Jeno willingly sought my demise by forcing me into the militia and preventing me from inheriting his estate. I hope you can see now why I do not enjoy entertaining his presence.”

“That is purely vengeful,” you say with sympathy, almost wishing to apologize on Jeno’s behalf. “It pains me to think you had to go through such a thing.”

He smiles and shrugs it off.

“It is in the past, and we must look towards the future. I shall be delighted to see you at the ball, miss.”

You curtsy and grin. “You as well, Mr. Lee.”

—

Donghyuck is the first person you search for when you arrive at the Na estate.

You spot Yujin in between bodies, tugging her along in your search. She laughs and follows you as you weave your way through the crowd.

“How handsome is he that has you so besotten?”

“He’s just wonderful, Yujin!” You exclaim passionately. “If you spoke to him as well, you would know!”

You pass by numerous familiar faces, asking them if they have seen Donghyuck lingering around. You disappointingly receive a resounding denial at the sight of his presence.

Jimin calls your name quietly when she approaches you and Yujin in the drawing room.

“I do not believe Mr. Lee is here. It seems he has been sent off.”

You frown. “Sent off? Oh, but he must be here!”

“There you are.”

All three of you jump at the sound of a male voice entering your conversation. You turn to see your cousin, Yuta, staring at you intimidatingly. You curtsy in respect.

“I was wondering if it would please you to join me.”

He gestures to the dance floor and you almost choke.

“Mr. Nakamoto, I did not know you danced.”

If you did not know any better, you would guess Yuta was glaring at you judging by the weight of his stare.

“I do not think it so inappropriate for a gentleman of my status to ask a woman for a dance. As much as I think it is not inappropriate for you to accept.”

You flounder. Your sisters had gossiped a few days ago about Yuta being in search of a wife, but you would have never guessed he had his sights set on you.

You nod timidly, trying your best to ignore Yujin and Jimin’s incredulity. He guides you to the floor and you make your best attempt at taking him seriously.

The dance is almost comical to you, suddenly burdened by Yuta’s intense gaze. He has never shown the slightest interest towards you until now, and his advances only bring you laughter.

As soon as the music ends, you grab Yujin’s arm and pull her away to avoid Yuta’s further questioning. The two of you giggle at the spectacle that just took place.

“Can you believe Mr. Nakamoto just-“

Your voice catches in your throat when you almost collide into someone’s chest. Your eyes drift up to catch the sight of Jeno.

He still has that same bored expression painting his face but you can see a hint of nervousness clouding his eyes.

“May I have the next dance?”

You are slightly startled by the question, but you manage to keep your decorum intact.

“You may.”

He offers you a nod before disappearing into the crowd once more. Yujin squeezes your arm.

“Did you agree to dance with Mr. Lee?”

“For heaven’s sake, I believe I have. I must be going mad, Yujin. He is the man I have sworn to hate,” you gasp.

She shakes you from your trance and guides you back to the dance floor, bringing you face to face with Jeno. He is a lot more restless than usual, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he avoids your gaze.

The dance begins with a respectful curtsy and bow. You begin to move to meet Jeno at the center and remark, “This is a beautiful dance.”

He curtly nods. “Yes, I think so.”

He is rather lucky you’re determined to be on your best behavior or else you would have rolled his eyes at the simple comment. You turn past Kang Seulgi’s figure and meet him again in the middle.

“It is your turn to make conversation, Mr. Lee. Usually, you would compliment the host of the gathering or comment on the people who have attended.”

“Is that so?” He muses, taking slow steps around Lee Mark to circle back to you. You join your hands in the middle and pace quietly to the hum of the violin playing. “Please do tell what invigorating subject you would like for me to focus on.”

You can tell he’s trying to push your buttons and you grit your teeth. “A lady must not lead the conversation so easily, Mr. Lee. It is your job to set the tone.”

You separate to continue the dance, rotating again around Seulgi and Mark’s figures.

“Do you and your sisters go shopping in town often?”

You hesitate, knowing he’s beginning to broach the subject of Donghyuck. You connect in the middle, the bottom of your dress skirting by him.

“Lately yes, we have. We find it a great opportunity to get out and meet new people. In fact, we had just met a lovely man that day you saw us by the river.”

His lips press into a thin line. “Lee Donghyuck is charming, indeed. His ability to win over women’s hearts is quite notable, but it does not fare in comparison to his ability to quickly lose that adoration.”

You bite back, dancing in another circle and attempting to keep your composure. “Yes, and it was so devastating to hear that he has lost that devotion from you. Quite irreversible, is it?”

“Indeed,” he nearly hisses, stopping in the middle to sneer at you. The dance continues but you hold your ground, staring at him with as much anger as you can muster. “Why do you ask such a question?”

“To inquire into your character, Mr. Lee.”

His eyes burn with an unanticipated flame. “And what did you discover?”

“Very little. I hear quite different stories about your character and it baffles me exceptionally.”

“My apologies,” he states, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “I hope to clear your troubled thoughts going forward.”

You both resume the dance, but it somehow feels like the entire room has disappeared. The weight of your words builds the tension and you follow the steps of the dance you know by heart, but your eyes no longer drift to different parts of the room. They stay focused on Jeno, who is equally captured by you.

The two of you speak nothing more until you return to the same spots you started the dance in. The sound of applause jolts you out of your stupor and you take one last look at Jeno, offering him a polite curtsy before exiting the floor.

You’re startled when you nearly run into Yuta again on your way to the drawing room.

He says your name in a rigid tone. “You’re well acquainted with Mr. Lee?”

You almost stutter. “Not very well. I will admit, I’m surprised to see you at such an event, Mr. Nakamoto.”

“Are you? Your mother has brought it up to me on many occasions, especially noting that you would be in attendance.”

You clench a fist behind your back and silently curse your mother.

“Did she? I cannot imagine why she would think that would be of importance to you.”

“I am sure you have heard of my search for a companion to my estate. Lady Park has been stressing the issue and I am not one to avoid her suggestions,” he shares, taking a small step closer to you.

You take a step back. You and your sisters know all about Lady Park — the woman who financially supports Yuta until he gets a hold of your family’s fortune when you and your siblings are married off and your father has passed. She dictates every aspect of Yuta’s life and he must engage in her wishes to ensure his funds are properly taken care of.

“Mr. Nakamoto, I will save you the trouble. I have no desire to be married at this time, so whatever offer my mother promised you cannot be fulfilled on my account.”

He frowns. “Surely, a girl of your age understands the need for a husband in this economy. A comfortable life could save you the misfortune of attending these dances.”

“If you do not mind my candor, I do not believe a comfortable life for me would include you in it. I sincerely hope you are able to find a wife who is best suited to help you run your estate.”

You curtsy for him, ignoring the malicious sneer he throws your way. You scurry into the drawing room, searching for Yujin and finding her near the piano. Minji is playing to her heart’s content and it seems she has been doing so for hours, and your father walks over to tell her to be mindful of other people’s time.

You loop your arm around Yujin’s to get her attention.

“Oh, how was it?” She exclaims enthusiastically as you pull her away. “You did not look so pleased to be in Mr. Lee’s presence from what I could see.”

You huff. “Truly an understatement. And you will not believe the kind of proposal Mr. Nakamoto approached me with.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Do not tell me-“

“I denied it, of course. It would have been a loveless coupling, much to my mother’s chagrin.”

She frowns at your indifference. “You know, you are blissfully lucky to even have such an offer come across you. Your family has only been in high society for a few months yet you have already gotten a marriage proposal from a wealthy suitor.”

“Is that all you heard? A wealthy suitor,” you repeat with a scoff. “Yujin, Mr. Nakamoto has despised my family since Jimin came of age. I would like to think I should get a say in who I marry and not just because he is inheriting my father’s pocket.”

You brush off her continued sorrow over your situation. Your eyes scan the room, seeing your mother hang by the staircase with a glass of wine in her hands, loudly praising Jimin for catching the attention of Jaemin. Jimin, on the other hand, is conversing quietly with him a few feet away, awkwardly tucking her hair behind her ears and avoiding his gaze. Minji is tugging Minjeong along now that she is not berating a crowd with her piano playing, the both of them laughing at some of the guests around them.

“I believe my family is entertaining the masses well enough,” you muse.

She laughs and nods, sweeping your previous conversation about Yuta under the rug.

“The upside is that Mr. Na does not seem to mind,” she says, and the two of you watch him laugh at something Jimin has whispered.

“I think he is quite devoted to her.”

She hums. “But does she return his favor?”

You chuckle. “What are you on about? Of course she does! He’s all she ever thinks about.”

“All I am saying is that having a wonderful man like Mr. Na becoming smitten is a rare chance. However, if Jimin does not outwardly express her intentions, he could be deterred from continuing his advances.”

You shake your head. “She’s just shy, you know that. She is not the type to wear her heart on her sleeve like most other women.”

“But Mr. Na is not well acquainted with that fact. He does not know her as we do. She has to take advantage of his love before the clock runs out.”

You study your sister and her suitor, wondering if Yujin was right.

Your eyes drift over to catch Jeno’s, who is intently watching you from across the room. His hands are folded behind his back and despite the many women surrounding him, he only has his gaze directed at you. You interpret it in the wrong fashion, assuming he has once again taken on a mission to taunt you.

You hold your head high, hauling Yujin to the next room and disregarding the irritating presence of Lee Jeno.

—

It is weeks later when your family catches news that Jaemin is leaving the city.

Jimin is utterly distraught, ostracizing herself in her room while your mother frantically runs around the house, insisting the news cannot be true. You hesitantly approach Jimin as she is crying on her bed, curled up with her face stuffed in her pillow. You brush back her hair and sigh.

“Mr. Na is an idiot for leaving without proposing to you,” you say, trying your best to comfort her. “All of us could see he was so taken with you. I am sure he will return soon and bring you with him.”

“Do not bother,” she sniffles, wiping the tears falling down her cheeks. “I knew I could never be an acceptable fit for him. He saw our family and ran for the hills.”

“Stop putting yourself below him,” you scold. “You were a very acceptable match for him and it is his fault if he could not see how uniquely extraordinary you are. He will learn his regret soon.”

You leave her to wallow in her sadness, telling your mother to stop her fussing and leave Jimin alone. You catch some fresh air outside, basking in the sunlight before you hear the crunch of leaves from behind you.

You barely register Yujin’s form until she’s tackling you in a hug. You gasp and lock your arms tight around her.

“What on earth are you doing here?” You laugh, and she gives you another squeeze before pulling away. You take in the anxiety clouding her face.

“I have come to tell you the joyful news — Mr. Nakamoto and I are engaged.”

You take a step back, astonished by the reveal. You blink rapidly and stutter. “E-Engaged? To be wed?”

“Of course, silly. What other kind of engaged is there?” She drinks in your nauseated expression and sighs. “Do not give me that. You should be perfectly happy for me.”

“But he is ridiculous! And so much older than you. Yujin, you cannot possibly-“

“Yes, I can,” she replies in a stern tone. “Not all of us can afford to have choices. He is offering me a comfortable life and a beautiful home. And now, your family will no longer have to worry that some tyrant will swoop in and steal your father’s earnings.”

“But Yujin-“

She continues. “My father is very close to losing his job and my family is in danger of falling from high society. I do not have many prospects, and I am very thankful that Mr. Nakamoto approached me. I am terribly frightened, do you not see? So please, do not judge me.”

You embrace her. “I apologize, I did not realize how tough it must have been for you.”

She shakily returns your affection. “Promise me you will come visit when you can? Lady Park has a wonderful cottage that we will be staying in when we are married.”

You nod. “I most certainly will. I have to ensure you are being taken care of properly.”

She giggles. “I will miss you.”

After a tearful goodbye, you watch Yujin’s figure disappear into the horizon and return home. You feel a plethora of emotions swirling around your head from Yujin’s future — mainly concern but also a feeling of happiness for her safety. As much as you were not fond of Yuta, you know he would still treat her with respect.

You are taken aback when you enter your home to see your mother with a handful of garments in her arms. She rushes up the stairs with Minji following closely behind. You fume when you see her entering Jimin’s room.

“Mother, I told you to leave Jimin well enough alone!”

You ascend the staircase and follow them, confused when you see a suitcase splayed out on Jimin’s bed as your mother stuffs clothing into it as fast as she can.

“Oh, there you are!” Your mother exclaims at the sight of you. “Come here and help Jimin pack for her trip. Where in heavens did you disappear to?”

Your eldest sister is now up on her feet, looking slightly more lively. Minji is eagerly folding dresses for her.

You speak slowly. “I was out speaking with Yujin. She is betrothed to Mr. Nakamoto.”

They all pause at the news. Your mother is the most engaged, furious by the revelation.

“I told you! Mr. Nakamoto is a reputable man who could have brought you wonderful children.” You wince at the thought. “You should have accepted his proposal when he offered!”

“Oh mother,” Jimin interjects, coming to your defense. “The man did not even have the decency to ask father for permission.”

“What exactly are we packing for?” You ask, desperate to move the topic of conversation far from you.

Your mother immediately brightens, forgetting about nagging you for a second. “Jimin is going out of the city to stay with your aunt and uncle! She will remain for a visit until Mr. Na sees the error of his ways.”

You frown, approaching them as they continue to pack Jimin’s belongings.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Of course it’s what she wants!”

You and Jimin ignore your mother’s enthusiasm. She nods at you, smiling softly.

“I think so. No, no, I believe so. I want to fight for him.”

You smile at the sparkle of determination in your sister’s eye. You happily help her fold the rest of her belongings.

Your mother has already called the carriage, with Minjeong holding the door open with a disinterested look on her face. Jimin envelops her in a hug as she passes and you see Minjeong’s hardened expression melt a little.

You all help Jimin into the carriage and wave her off, praying to the heavens that Na Jaemin will offer her a second chance.

—

You breathe in the smell of the quaint countryside, laughing when Yujin comes bursting out the front door of her cottage and embraces you tightly.

“I cannot believe you are finally here! I have waited so long for your arrival,” she says.

“I am delighted the weather was favorable enough for the trip,” you murmur, pulling away and smiling softly. “This is a lovely home, Yujin.”

“Oh please, you flatter me so. You have not yet seen the inside!”

She pulls you through the door, and you drink in the sight of the living room. It feels warm and cozy, which is exactly what you would expect from a home decorated by your friend.

Yuta comes walking down the long hallway, eyeing you.

“I see you have made a successful trip here.”

You curtsy. “Yes, Mr. Nakamoto. I am honored that you and Yujin have allowed me to stay for a short period.”

“You know you can stay for as long as you like!” Yujin exclaims. “I have missed your company a great many.”

She guides you into the room where you will take your stay. She helps you unpack your luggage, admiring the new dresses you have acquired in her absence.

“And how is Jimin? I was curious to know of her whereabouts since the last letter of yours arrived.”

You sigh. “It has been months since she left to stay with our aunt and uncle. No progress has been made for her and Mr. Na, and I fear for her heartbreak when she returns to us.”

Yujin frowns. “How dreadful. I do hope she is able to win his affections before it is too late.”

“Whatever the case may be, Mr. Na has surely lost a beautiful bride.”

She hums in agreement.

Yuta interrupts your conversation hours later, rushing into your room with a delighted expression.

“Yujin! Lady Park has asked us to come to supper,” he declares.

Yujin stands from her spot on your bed, clapping her hands in excitement.

“Oh, wonderful! That is absolutely delightful.” She turns to you, gripping your elbows. “You must come with us. Lady Park would be overjoyed to meet you.”

“O-Oh,” you stutter, unsure of what to say. “I haven’t got much to wear.”

Yuta brushes off your concern. “Lady Park is not averse to your manner of dress. Simply put on your best and you can accompany us.”

You join Yujin and Yuta that evening to meet Lady Park at her grand estate, which is merely a few miles away from their cottage. You hold your breath as you enter the grand drawing room, where Lady Park sits with her daughter, Chaeyoung.

You curtsy in respect alongside Yujin, and Lady Park eyes you warily.

“We are honored you have asked us to dine with you tonight, Lady Park,” Yujin says, hands folded neatly above her stomach.

You are about to voice your agreement until a creak in the hardwood distracts you. Your eyes flutter over to the doorway to catch the sight of Jeno entering.

“Mr. Lee,” you murmur in surprise. “I did not expect to see you here.”

The familiar burn of his stare welcomes you. He bows his head and you return the favor.

He says your name, and you feel a rush travel down your spine. You have not heard him speak since the night of the dance.

“I am a guest here,” he explains simply.

Lady Park stands from her seat on the chaise lounge.

“You are familiar with my nephew?”

You digest the information, storing away the fact that Yuta never mentioned Jeno was related to Lady Park.

“Yes, I had the privilege of meeting your nephew a few months ago, ma’am.”

You hear Jeno almost scoff at the suggestion of your encounter being anything but dreadful. You clench your fists behind your back to prevent an outburst.

“And this is my cousin,” Jeno introduces, stepping aside to allow another man to come into your line of vision. He smiles and bows. “Park Jisung.”

You pay your courtesy and Lady Park instructs the group to gather in the dining room for supper. You take a spot next to Jisung and across from Yujin.

Before you can get comfortable, Lady Park scolds Yuta. “Mr. Nakamoto, you cannot sit next to your wife and only converse with her. Switch with our guest.”

You awkwardly switch places with Yuta, now sitting next to Yujin and Jeno. Your shoulder brushes by his, and he instinctively leans closer to you. Your breath hitches slightly at the proximity.

With the seating arrangements in order, you all take your seats and begin dining into the feast.

Jeno clears his throat. “Has your family been faring well?”

It takes a moment for you to register that he is speaking to you. You glance at him, only to find him engrossed in his meal.

“They have been doing well, all things considered,” you reply. You cannot help but prod him for answers. “Jimin has actually gone to stay with our aunt and uncle, close to where Mr. Na is staying. Perhaps you have seen her.”

He looks at you. “I have not had the pleasure, no.”

You purse your lips. “What a shame. I know she would be delighted to have your company.”

He hums. “Is that so? Is she the only one who would enjoy my companionship at this time?”

Your mouth hangs open in surprise at his confidence. A sliver of his true personality shows, with the corner of his lips threatening to lift.

Lady Park interrupts your exchange as she calls your name.

“Do you play the piano?”

You shake your head, trying to disregard that Lee Jeno’s character seems to be more than that of a boring nobleman. “Not very well, ma’am. I’m afraid that is a talent reserved for my youngest sister.”

“And your sisters — how many of you are out in society?”

You smile as politely as you can. “All of us, ma’am.”

Lady Park is shocked by the revelation. “All of you? All at once? The youngest being out before the oldest ones are married? Why, that is unheard of.”

“I should not think to burden my younger sisters simply because the oldest ones are not yet wed. They deserve to have their fair share of enjoyment,” you voice, ignoring her continued surprise by your candor.

“You have a lot of opinions for a girl so young and still not in charge of her own household,” Lady Park sighs. “It would do you well to hold your tongue.”

Your fingers tighten around your spoon but you’re amazed when Jeno speaks up.

“I think she is very gifted for her age, considering her family was not born in the faces of high society. I do not think playing the piano would truly showcase the talent she encompasses.”

Lady Park’s lips dissolve into a thin line at her nephew’s impudence. You swallow the jarring emotions you feel at Jeno’s blatant defense of you.

“Well, I must be carrying the customs of my time then. However, I shall hear you play a piece for us after supper.”

“Ma’am, I stress to you that I do not lie when I say I play the piano poorly-“

Yuta hisses your name across the table, throwing you a stern glance. Yujin has a pleading look painting her own features.

“She would be happy to play for you,” Yuta says firmly, with no room for argument.

You swallow your dispute, looking back down at your bowl of soup as Lady Park scolds her daughter for her poor posture. In the corner of your eye, you see Jeno’s hand twitch.

Your head raises and you catch his stare — his eyes no longer holding the small glimmer of amusement you caught earlier.

The last thing you want is for Lee Jeno to feel sorry for you, so you return to finishing your meal, brushing off his concern.

After dinner, you go back to the drawing room and hesitantly take a seat at the grand piano in the corner of the room.

Your fingers clumsily press down on the keys, playing an off-tune version of the last piece you memorized. The group continues to chatter behind you as Lady Park invites Yujin to come visit whenever she pleases. Jeno slowly approaches you and you shake your head.

“There is no need to point out my terrible sense of musical inclination, Mr. Lee. It is a flaw I’m very well acquainted with.”

“I had no intention to do so,” he replies. “And no gentleman would ever raise attention to a fault a woman believes she has, even if he disagrees with her.”

You stop playing briefly to look up at him. He’s already staring back at you, his eyes now conveying an emotion you cannot recognize. You wonder what you would find if you peeled back a few layers of his hard exterior.

Jisung draws near, his hand cupping Jeno’s shoulder with familiarity.

“You must tell me how my dear cousin behaved when he was in your town.”

You laugh under your breath. “I must disappoint you, Mr. Park, as your cousin was very indifferent during his stay. Despite the many women begging for a dance and the lack of suitors on the floor, Mr. Lee still insisted on keeping to himself and refusing to make conversation with others.”

Jisung chuckles. “Truth be told, that sounds very akin to the cousin I know. I have never seen him dance with another woman willingly.”

You pause, remembering how Jeno asked you to dance the night of Jaemin’s ball. You recall how nervous he looked when he faced you, almost as if he was jumping out of his socks.

Jeno clenches his jaw. “Well, dear cousin, I am sure you understand how difficult it is for me to gab about with people I’m not familiar with. Dances are not something I take pleasure in.”

You interject. “Even if it is a woman’s choice of love language? A way you can show her your affection?”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he catches on to what you’re referring to.

“Perhaps then, there could be an exception.”

Lady Park admonishes you for not playing as instructed and you return to the piano, paying no heed to Jeno’s presence for the rest of the evening.

—

Your hand aches as you finish writing your letter to Jimin, sealing the envelope carefully.

You are anxious by the state of your sister’s duress, as it seems Mr. Na has still not come to visit her. Jimin is growing more and more disappointed by the day, feeling as if she has burdened your family with this ridiculous adventure. You wish you could see her and tell her that she would never be a burden to you, but writing a letter is the only communication you can give to her at this time while you continue your stay with Yujin and Yuta.

Just as you place the envelope back down on the table in your room, the door swings open.

You’re startled when Jeno walks through the door, his eyes frantic.

“Mr. Lee,” you say, failing to hide the surprise in your voice as you stand.

You both pay your respects and you wait for him to explain the meaning of his visit, as it has been a week since you saw him at Lady Park’s dinner festivities. However, the words seem to be caught in his throat because he says nothing to you, opening and closing his mouth furiously.

“Mr. and Mrs. Nakamoto went to the village,” you bring up, pondering if that was the reason he was here.

“Yes,” he clears his throat, fiddling with the sleeves of his coat. “Yes, it is a nice day to go to the village.”

You nod, still trying to decipher the reason why he’s here with no notice.

“This- This is a beautiful home,” he notes, bouncing from one foot to another.

It is the most disheveled you have ever seen him.

“Yes, I think so as well. Should I fetch us some tea?”

He immediately shakes his head. “No, no.”

You sit in an unpleasant silence for another few moments before you hear the front door open, signaling Yujin and Yuta’s return.

“Have a good day,” Jeno quickly says, walking swiftly down the hallway and out the cottage, not even bothering to acknowledge Yujin’s presence when he passes by.

Yujin stares incredulously after him, eyes darting over to you.

“What on earth have you done to poor Mr. Lee?”

You shake your head, puzzled by the odd interaction.

“I have no idea.”

—

“There are many conveniences which others may supply and which we cannot procure for ourselves…”

You fight the yawn threatening to come out as Yuta drones on in his sermon. One of the downsides of staying with Yujin and Yuta was the weekly attendance at the local church, where Yuta often read verses for the people. Yujin is always enthralled by her husband’s lectures, but you do not share her level of enthusiasm.

You lean over to whisper to Jisung, who is seated next to you.

“How much longer will you be in town, Mr. Park?”

“As long as my cousin needs,” he answers. “I am at his disposal.”

You scoff, imagining exactly how many people Jeno had at his disposal.

“I wonder why he does not marry so he can bring a woman alongside him instead of dragging you,” you quip.

Jisung laughs quietly. “If he did choose a woman, she would be very lucky. Jeno is a loyal man to both friends and family alike. I heard he recently helped save a friend from an unwise marriage.”

You frown. “Who was the friend?”

“One of his closest companions, Na Jaemin.”

Your features twist into a scowl, and you spot Jeno sitting across the church. Your chest fills with an indescribable rage.

“Did he explain why?” You ask Jisung.

“There were a lot of objections to the lady. I believe her family was not considered to be the right fit for a nobleman of his status.”

You could nearly feel the steam coming out of your ears. So this was the truth — Jeno found your family completely unruly and unfit for his standards and in return, he cut off Jimin’s chance of finding love. All of the pieces click into place and you clench your fists, wondering who gave him the right to dictate the fate of your family.

As soon as the sermon ends, you find the quickest exit, refusing to wait for Yujin and Yuta. You decide you must get back to their cottage to write to Jimin, insisting she come home and end her useless pining after Jaemin.

You gasp when you realize it’s raining, the heavy downpour soaking your dress. You waste no time, running as fast as you can until the church is no longer in sight.

After a mile, you see a nearby gazebo and decide to take shelter there to catch your breath. You place a hand on your chest, staring down at the hem of your dress, which is now covered in mud and dirt.

The call of your name causes you to gasp, and you look up to find the main character of your distress.

Jeno is also completely soaked from head to toe and offers you no time to say a word. “I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer. These past few months have been a torment. I came here with the sole purpose of seeing you and I must tell you how I am feeling. I am fighting against my family’s expectation and the inferiority of your birth because I am asking you to end my agony.”

You shake your head. “I do not understand-“

“I love you,” he confesses. You freeze, appalled by the revelation. “Most ardently. Please do me the honor by accepting my hand.”

You grit your teeth. “I apologize, Mr. Lee, for having caused you pain since our first meeting. I assure you it was not my intention.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is this your reply?”

“Yes.”

“So it is a rejection?”

“Yes.”

He swallows. “May I ask why you are so quick to voice your refusal?”

You laugh. “Then may I ask why you think it is so brave of you to confess your love for me against your better judgment? I must be so uncouth for you to hold onto your feelings for so long instead of speaking them to me!”

“I did not mean-“

“And I am frankly horrified to think that you believe me to have no dignity that I would accept the hand in marriage of a man who has ruined the fate of my eldest sister, whom I admire with all of my heart!”

His expression falls at the mention of Jimin, and you laugh mockingly at catching his lie.

“Do you deny it, Mr. Lee? Breaking up a young couple in the height of their affection and forcing my sister to question her self-worth?”

“I do not deny it,” he replies sternly.

“What gave you the right-“

“I watched them out of respect for my friend and realized his attachment was deeper than hers,” he explains, but it only causes you to grow angrier.

“She’s shy! She has never been courted so seriously by another man before, especially not one that became so public,” you vouch for her.

He stands his ground. “Jaemin had realized she was not returning his affection with the same amount of passion-“

“Only after you suggested it!”

“I did it for his own good!”

“My sister rarely shows her true feelings to me,” you yell, and Jeno is taken aback. “You will never understand the burden an eldest sister has to face when there are no sons born to the family. You will never understand the weight on her shoulders when Mr. Nakamoto is knocking on the door, waiting to take away what little fortune your family possesses!”

He continues to defend himself. “There was a call into the character of your family and the suggestion of an advantageous marriage-“

You sneer. “How dare you assume Jimin would pursue such a thing!”

“It was not her, but your mother, on the other hand-“

You taunt him. “And what of Lee Donghyuck?”

He narrows his eyes and takes a step closer to you. “Lee Donghyuck?” He speaks the name as if someone poured acid on his tongue.

“What excuse could you possibly conjure of your behavior towards him?”

He purses his lips. “You take a great deal of interest in Donghyuck.”

“How can you defend the misfortunes you have put him in?”

He smiles mockingly. “Ah yes, I’m sure his misfortunes are vast in comparison to mine. I see that this is how you view me — a horrible villain who casts a dark shadow wherever he goes.”

“You are the one who has decided to insult the inferiority of my birth, which is beyond my own control! That arrogance and selfish disdain for the feelings of others is why I believe you are the last man in the world I would ever consider to marry!”

His expression crumbles. It is only now that you recognize how short the proximity between you two has gotten. He seems to have grasped the situation as well, eyes flickering downwards to stare at your lips. You swear that he begins to lean in before he stops himself.

You think you would let him kiss you, despite all signs pointing to it being a bad idea. The desire building in your stomach has you questioning your common sense.

There is no possible way you want Lee Jeno to kiss you, to mark you as his, to marry you in front of all those presumptuous nobles like Lady Park-

“Forgive me for taking up so much of your time.”

He turns and walks away, leaving you panting with a gaping hole in your chest.

—

Days pass before you hear from Jeno.

You contemplate returning home, but Yujin convinces you to stay for a little while longer. You write out a letter to Jimin to tell her everything, but for some reason, you never send it. You fear the gruesome picture you will paint of Jeno and consequently, Jimin’s feelings towards him. You somehow care for your sister’s approval for the rich nobleman although you turned down his proposal.

It’s another dreary night when Jeno shakes the cottage with his presence. You hear his blazing footsteps behind you but you refuse to look at him, staring at the wall in your room with your back turned to him.

He clears his throat. “I came to drop off this.”

You do not know what he has left, ignoring the miniscule part of your brain that screams at you to check.

You speculate on what he looks like — was he wearing that dreary trench coat he likes to walk around in? Was he wearing a mask of contempt at his behavior? Did he really mean what he said? Did he really love you?

“I shall not repeat the confessions that were so insulting to you, but if I may, I will address the two offenses you have laid against me,” he says.

You want to see him. You want to see if he has that stricken expression on his face, if he still has a hint of playfulness hidden in his eyes.

But when you turn around, he is gone. You would believe you had imagined him if not for the letter sitting neatly on the windowsill.

You swallow and open it, eyes scanning over his neat penmanship.

My father loved Donghyuck like a son. After his passing, my father left him a generous living, but Donghyuck made it clear that he would not be taking orders. He gambled away his living within weeks and demanded for more money from me, insisting it was what my father would have wanted. I refused, and he severed all acquaintance thereafter. He returned to us last summer in an attempt to court my sister, Jayoon, and convince her to elope with him. My sister is to inherit half of our estate. When it was made clear Donghyuck would not be receiving a penny of that inheritance, he disappeared once more. I will not try to explain the depth of Jayoon’s despair.

You gasp, eyes shuffling through the ink in disbelief. You could not comprehend the deceit and maliciousness Donghyuck possessed. The man you met was so poised and charismatic, but you suppose all the best con men were.

As for the matter of your sister and Jaemin, though the motives which governed me may to you appear insufficient, they were in the service of a friend.

Yujin’s voice pulls you out of your stupor. She enters your room, carrying a tray of your meal for the night. A worried look crosses her face at the sight of you, and that is when you realize you have started to cry. You wipe the tears falling down your cheeks.

“Are you okay?” Yujin asks, frantically coming over to you.

You hide Jeno’s letter behind your back, clutching onto it for dear life.

“I-I hardly think so.”

She lays her forehead on yours, understanding what you need.

“I believe it’s time for you to return home.”

—

“Honestly, if he passed by me in the street, I would hardly even recognize him.”

You brush off Jimin’s blatant lie and ignore the way she is combing her fingers through her hair as a nervous tick. She frowns at your faint smirk.

“It is true!” She claims, hitting your arm with mischief. “Anyway, what news comes from your visit with Mr. and Mrs. Nakamoto?”

You returned home shortly after Jeno delivered his letter. Yujin was sorrowful to see you go, but she recognized you needed to be with your family, no matter how loud and boisterous they could get. Jimin arrived a day before you, declaring her efforts worthless, much to your mother’s displeasure.

Jimin insists the experience was a pleasant one and that she learned a great many, and you would not dare refute her claims despite the numerous letters you received that say the opposite.

You smile at your sister’s question. “Nothing exciting.”

You had decided to keep the contents of Jeno’s letter for yourself, afraid to admit your blossoming feelings and ignorance at your accusations towards him. Considering Jimin is handling the loss of Jaemin better than expected, you also did not want to burden her with the truth.

The door to the drawing room bursts open and Minji comes parading through, screaming wildly.

“The heavens have truly blessed me!”

You raise an eyebrow at her as she collapses on the lounge, dress flowing across her hips in an improper fashion. Minjeong follows her into the room, looking cross with her hands folded across her chest.

“They are not sending you there because you are a suitable wife, they are sending you there because you are a disgrace to the family!”

“Minjeong!” You scold her, watching as Minji simply laughs at her sister’s insult. “What on earth are you two jabbering about?”

“Father is sending me to live with the Baek family,” Minji divulges, wiggling her feet in excitement.

Jimin stands, outraged by the information. “What? Minji, the Baek family live across town!”

“Yes, and is it not so delightful?” She giggles, ignoring you and Jimin’s worries. “There will be a handful of suitors there at my disposal!”

You and Jimin exchange a knowing glance before heading to your father’s office. He appears to be expecting your arrival, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in anticipation of your anger.

“Father, you cannot send Minji away to the Baek family,” Jimin begins.

You continue. “She will make a fool out of herself and ridicule this family! She needs to be educated properly here, at home.”

Your father sighs. “Girls, you know I have tried with your sister, but she has become too complacent for my teachings. I trust Colonel Baek and his family to educate her about becoming well-behaved.”

“Father!” Jimin yells, utterly displeased. “Minji is not some farm animal you can dispose of as you please! She is part of this family, and her careless behavior is ours to own.”

“You cannot send her away or we might lose her forever.”

Your father shakes his head. “I’m sorry, girls, but my decision has been made. Minji will live with the Baek family and we will pray for success to come her way.”

You both scoff at him, infuriated by his carelessness. You leave his office and travel to the den in the kitchen, where your aunt and uncle are quietly eating. They have decided to stay for a while after dropping off Jimin.

Your aunt calls your name with joy. “Oh, you must join us this time out to the gardens in the district. It would do you well to take in some fresh air.”

You smile politely and take a seat on the bench across from your aunt. Your mind is still whirling at the thought of Minji, all alone, faring for herself at the countryside.

“I am satisfied staying here. I just returned from a trip to see a friend.”

Your uncle waves you off. “Come with us! There are many soldiers stationed in the area and plenty of suitors for your eyes to take in.”

“I have no desire to converse with them, uncle. Men are overtaken by their own arrogance or stupidity, and it would be a waste of my time to entertain them.”

Your aunt laughs mockingly at your pessimistic declaration.

“Well, what a voice of bitterness! My dear, do not allow your opinion of one man to cloud the wonderful soldiers who could bend and worship the ground you walk on,” your aunt advises.

You shake your head in disagreement.

“Men bring nothing but heartache.”

—

Much to your chagrin, your aunt and uncle convince you to travel with them through the district.

You are slightly grateful for their coercion as the breathtaking weather allows you to take a break from your resounding problems, albeit momentarily.

You stop in the middle of the journey as one of the wheels on your carriage is starting to lose its weight, and the coachman requires you to pull over so he can fix it. You lean on one of the nearby trees as your aunt and uncle sit beside you.

“Where exactly are we?” You ask, taking a look at your surroundings, yet all that encompasses you is trees.

“I believe we are close to the Lee estate.”

Your ears perk up. “Lee Jeno?”

“Yes, that’s the fellow,” your uncle murmurs. “I heard his estate is surrounded by a great lake. I have an immense desire to see it for myself.”

“Oh, let’s not,” you immediately object.

Your aunt and uncle turn to you with a raised eyebrow, curious about your swift rejection.

You clear your throat. “I mean, he is awfully busy, I am sure. We would not want to bother him.”

“Do not fret, dear,” your aunt assures. “Great men like him are usually never home.”

You swallow down your further protests, refusing to tell your aunt and uncle the real reason why you cannot see Jeno again.

Once the carriage is fixed, you travel to the Lee estate. As many have vouched, the estate expands beyond your wildest dreams. A large lake covers the entire front yard, with more windows and doors around the house than you could ever conjure up in your mind.

One of the maidens comes out to greet you. Your aunt and uncle are eager to receive a tour and you glance around, picturing the spots where Jeno would walk through, probably dragging that awful trench coat behind him. You giggle at the thought.

“Has something caught your interest, ma’am?” The maiden asks you and you jump, quickly wiping the smile off of your face.

“Oh, no, no. I was simply wondering if Mr. Lee’s sister was home.”

She nods. “Yes, the young girl is likely wrapped up in her piano lesson. You may go search for her while I show your aunt and uncle the gardens if you wish.”

Your aunt touches your arm fondly. “Meet us back at the lodging when you are finished.”

You faintly hear the sound of the piano drift from upstairs, and you follow the noise. You drink in your sights as you go, marveling at the expensive marble columns and gold accents of the house. You ponder over the idea of Jeno choosing the decorations himself.

You finally find the door to one of the drawing rooms, and you open it by a sliver. You catch a glimpse of Jayoon’s long hair with her back turned towards you, her fingers playing a melody as if she had memorized it from birth. You gape at the young girl’s talent.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest when Jeno’s frame comes into view, tapping Jayoon on the shoulder and surprising her. She gasps and jumps into his arms, clearly not expecting his presence.

You make the mistake of moving your foot, which causes the hard flooring to creak beneath your weight. The sound alerts Jeno and his head turns to the entrance of the doorway, where he catches your eye.

You wheeze, quickly spinning around and darting back down the stairs. You must look like a clumsy oaf but you do not care, trying your best at getting as far from the estate as possible. You manage to find yourself outside, but before you can descend down the back entryway, you hear Jeno calling your name.

You squeeze your eyes shut momentarily before slowly facing him.

“I-I apologize, I thought you were out of town.”

He swallows, his once confident stare now filled with nothing but anxiety.

“I came home a day early,” he explains.

He’s wearing that long trench coat again. You wonder if he ever takes it off.

“We wouldn’t have come if we had known you were here-“

“I had some business with my steward-“

You both pause when you realize you’re speaking over one another. His eyes soften at the sight of you.

You avoid his gaze.

“I’m visiting with my aunt and uncle.”

He nods. “And are you having a pleasant trip?”

You blink nervously. “Yes. Tomorrow we are heading to the district before going back home.”

“Tomorrow?” You swear you hear the disappointment in his voice, but it could be a figment of your imagination. “Are you staying nearby?”

You nod and tell him where you’ll be lodging. You place your hand over your chest in an attempt to control your frenzied heartbeat.

“I apologize again for intruding. They said the house was open for visitors and I had no idea you would be home-“

“You’re always welcome here,” he says, his voice filled with honesty. Goosebumps rise on your arms at his frank statement. “Shall I see you into town?”

“No, no,” you object, taking a step back. “I would much prefer to walk. I like to do that — to walk.”

You want to hit yourself over the head. You sound foolish.

Jeno just smiles, laughing to himself. You do not think you have ever seen him this way. Your stomach erupts with butterflies at the sight of his handsome grin.

“Yes, I’m well acquainted with that fact.”

You stare down at your feet, recalling the day you had run nearly three miles in the rain instead of waiting for Yujin and Yuta’s carriage. You’re curious if Jeno had to also run that far just to catch you. Did he catch a cold?

“I shall see myself off then. Goodbye, Mr. Lee.”

You curtsy, refusing to take another glance at him before fleeing the grounds of the estate.

You think about him on your walk back into the village. You envision him as a child, running through the gardens and playing games with the staff. You smile at the thought.

When you find the inn you’ll be staying at for the night, you inform your aunt and uncle of your return before slipping into your room. You decide to freshen up before supper, ridding your mind of any thoughts related to Jeno. You remind yourself that you will likely not see him again, so any of these confusing feelings that are rising need to be squashed.

Your aunt and uncle, however, have a different idea when you join them downstairs.

“My dear, Mr. Lee was just here!”

“What?”

“Yes!” Your uncle is overjoyed. “He invited us to dine with him tomorrow. You don’t mind delaying our journey another day, do you?”

“I-I suppose not.”

An ominous shiver runs down your spine.

—

A lively tune greets you at the Lee estate.

You pause when you see Jayoon playing at the keys with Jeno standing beside the piano to hear her. She stops when she sees you enter the drawing room, jumping up and running over to curtsy before you. She says your name with clear fondness.

You smile and return the curtsy, a little startled by her warmth towards you.

“My sister, Jayoon,” Jeno introduces, walking over. Your breath hitches at his presence.

“My brother has told me so much about you,” Jayoon beams. Your eyes flit to Jeno’s frame, and his head is bowed slightly in embarrassment. “I feel as if we are friends already.”

“It is an honor to finally meet you,” you say. “You play the piano beautifully.”

She bashfully stares down at her feet. “You flatter me so. My brother tells me you’re an exceptional player as well.”

You laugh. “Then he has uttered the most ridiculous lie.”

Jeno chuckles, staring yearningly at you.

“To be fair, I said you were a good player.”

“Ah, well good is not quite exceptional, now is it?”

He smiles at your jest. You both fail to notice how long you have been gazing at one another until Jayoon clears her throat. You divert your eyes and Jeno ignores how red his ears have gotten.

He addresses your aunt and uncle, who are standing behind you.

“I have heard your uncle is fond of fishing.”

“Yes, very much so,” your uncle replies with elation.

“I would be honored if you joined me out on the lake today,” Jeno invites, and your uncle nearly jumps for joy.

“And what about you?” Jayoon asks. “Do you play duets on the piano?”

You chuckle. “Not if I can help it.”

“Oh, brother, you must make her!” Jayoon says playfully.

Jeno looks at you. “She has quite the independent mind, dear sister. I am afraid I cannot make her do anything she does not wish.”

You do not return his stare, fearing you’ll get lost in his eyes.

Jeno and your uncle head to the lake to begin their fishing session while you and your aunt stay with Jayoon to chat and play the piano. You’re in the midst of drinking tea when Jayoon says something that nearly causes you to choke.

“My brother talks of you quite a lot,” Jayoon reveals with a knowing smile. Your aunt’s eyebrow ticks up. “He says you are different from the noblewomen we usually conversate with.”

“Yes, that sounds like something he would say,” you murmur, refusing to peer over at your aunt, who you know has a million questions to bombard you with. “I do not believe your brother chats with many noblewomen to begin with.”

Jayoon giggles. “You would fare on the correct side in relation to that guess. I have desired for him to find a lifelong partner but there has been no one who has peaked his interest until recently.”

You fiddle with your teacup, ignoring Jayoon’s smirk.

Your aunt’s puzzled tone speaks first. “How long has Mr. Lee been acquainted with my niece?”

“A few months only,” you answer before Jayoon can say something else that would embarrass you. “We met when Mr. Na first came into town.”

“Ah yes,” your aunt sighs, very familiar with Jaemin considering Jimin stayed in her home for weeks to capture his attention. “Does Mr. Na come to visit here often, Jayoon?”

She shakes her head. “Not as much lately. I believe he has been preoccupied for most of the season.”

Your aunt grumbles under her breath. You’re pleased by her disdain for Jaemin, understanding how tough this time has been for Jimin.

A maiden suddenly knocks on the door and Jayoon instructs her to enter. She says she has a letter for you and you furrow your eyebrows, taking the envelope from her hands. You recognize Jimin’s handwriting and rip open the letter immediately.

You gasp when you read its contents, placing Jayoon and your aunt on high alert.

“What is it, dear? What’s happened?”

You clutch your chest, heaving. “W-We must return home! At once!”

The two women try to stop you but you sprint out of the house and onto the lake, calling for your uncle with the most desperate voice you can muster. Jeno spots you first, quickly dropping his fishing rod and rushing over to you.

“What’s wrong? Are you injured?”

He clutches your elbows, scanning your figure for any visible wounds. You cannot stop the tears flowing down your face, your mind too overtaken with fear to think about how close Jeno is.

“It’s Minji,” you cry. “S-She has run away! With Lee Donghyuck!”

You crumble and he wraps his arms around you. Your uncle hurriedly comes to your side.

“What? When has this happened?”

“I do not know,” you choke back on your tears as Jeno gently wipes them away. “They do not know where she has gone! She has no money, no connections, no future!”

“This is my fault,” Jeno whispers. “I should have exposed Donghyuck.”

Your uncle gently takes the letter from your fingers, reading the words for himself. You hear Jayoon and your aunt approach, catching their breath from chasing you.

“What is it? What has her so enervated?” Your aunt questions.

Your uncle relays the message, including the part where your father has gone to the Baek family to search for Minji.

Jeno strokes your hair in comfort and you knock back your better judgment, digging your face into the collar of his trench coat.

“We must find Minji as soon as we can,” your aunt gasps. “If the news gets out, the family will be ruined!”

“I will fix it,” Jeno says with conviction.

You shake your head. “You can’t. This is my fault — I should have told my family the truth about Donghyuck or this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Do not blame yourself,” Jeno hisses, cupping his hands over your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. His eyes are filled with steadfast determination. “We will get this sorted.”

“I shall join your father in his search for Minji,” your uncle declares. “Mr. Lee, I ask for your favor in borrowing one of your carriages.”

“Of course,” Jeno agrees. “Jayoon, please show him the way.”

Jayoon casts another glance at you embraced in Jeno’s arms before guiding your uncle away.

“I will ask for our carriage to be prepared to take you home,” your aunt says, also leaving the two of you.

You sniffle, feeling shameful by your appearance in front of Jeno. He stares at you in distress.

“I apologize for my behavior-“

“I wish you would cease asking forgiveness in front of me. You never have to.”

Your breath hitches at his candor. Your bodies are as close to one another as the rainy day he first confessed to you. If you tilt your head forward a few inches, you could plant a kiss on his lips.

You compose yourself and take a step back.

“Mr. Lee, I-I should go.”

“Yes, yes,” he mumbles, clearly taken aback by his own actions. “I hope your family can remedy the situation.”

You turn to leave but he stutters out a request.

“And please, take care of yourself.”

You glance back at him, eyes welled with tears.

“You as well, Mr. Lee.”

—

When you return home, your mother is bedridden and wailing.

You and Jimin gather around her bed as she sobs. “Oh, what shall we do? You are all ruined. Who will wed you now with a fallen sister? And now your poor father will have to go off and fight Lee Donghyuck!”

You and Jimin exchange a glance. Jimin clears her throat.

“Father hasn’t even found Mr. Lee yet, mother.”

Your mother ignores her and continues. “And then Mr. Nakamoto will turn us out when your father is killed! Oh, Minji must know what this will do for my nerves. How can she vex her poor mother like this?”

You decide to head downstairs, agreeing that your mother’s avid concerns would not be subdued any time soon. You frown when you see Minjeong in the kitchen, holding a letter in her hands.

“What have you got there?”

Jimin snatches it out of Minjeong’s grasp and scans it herself. “It’s addressed to father. It’s in uncle’s writing.”

You hear the familiar sound of the carriage pulling up and you all dart outside, frantically waving the letter around.

“Father! Father!”

He groans, taking a step out of the carriage. “Let me get my bearings first.”

“It’s a letter for you! From uncle!” You say, thrusting it into his hands.

He opens it as he walks back to the house, dismissing your frantic jumping to read the contents.

“Well?” Minjeong says impatiently. “What does it say?”

“He’s found them.”

Jimin gasps. “Are they married?”

He squints. “I cannot make out the script-“

You seize it and read it for yourself. Jimin and Minjeong lurk over your shoulder.

“Are they married?” Jimin asks again.

You sigh. “They will be, under the condition that father pays Lee Donghyuck a small sum for Minji per year.”

Minjeong scoffs. “A small sum! How barbaric!”

“Well? Will you pay it, father?” Jimin questions. Minjeong takes the letter from you to read it again.

“Of course I will agree. The matter of the question is how much your uncle has already laid on this wretched man,” your father exhales, walking back into the house sluggishly.

You turn to Jimin. “What does he mean?”

She shrugs. “Uncle must have threatened Mr. Lee wickedly. For the situation, with the three of us still unmarried and the family’s reputation hanging by a thread, Mr. Lee would be foolish to only settle for a small sum.”

You scowl. “Heaven forbid the day we have to welcome that wretched man into the family.”

The day comes sooner than you think. Minji and Donghyuck arrive a few weeks later, with Minji beaming at her newfound status as a married woman. You roll your eyes at her airy nature at the dinner table.

“You must all visit the Baek family soon. That is the place to get husbands! I hope you have half of my good luck.”

“Good luck?” Minjeong scoffs. “You nearly ruined our family!”

Your mother scolds Minjeong for her outburst before turning to Minji with a smile.

“I want to hear every detail, my darling Minji.”

You and Jimin chuckle at your mother’s quick change in heart. She was out of bed and celebrating as soon as you told her the news of Minji getting married.

You exchange a look with Donghyuck across the table, and he appears remorseful. You mock him and laugh.

Minji rattles off the story about the last few weeks with Donghyuck and their wedding. You tell her you do not want to hear it but she ignores you.

“I wondered if my dear Donghyuck would be married in his blue coat, as I love the way he looks in it. And of course, because of the quick ceremony, I worried that uncle would not make it in time to be the best man. Luckily, he arrived on time or else I would’ve had to ask Mr. Lee Jeno but I don’t really like that man.”

You pause. “Lee Jeno?”

Minji gasps and covers her mouth, making sure no one else at the table heard her slip up. “Oh heavens, I forgot. I should not have said a word.”

You prod her further. “Mr. Lee was at your wedding?”

She lowers her voice into a whisper, and you realize she cannot help herself in dishing out the truth.

“He was the one who discovered us. He paid for everything — the wedding ceremony, Donghyuck’s sum, all of my new dresses, everything!” Her elated expression turns serious. “But do not say a word to anyone! He told me not to tell.”

You’re astounded by the secret. “M-Mr. Lee?” You clarify for your own sanity.

She shoots you a sour look. “Quit it!”

You sit back in your chair, feeling as if you need to catch your breath. You cannot believe Jeno went out of his way to save Minji and fix her horrid nuptials to Donghyuck. It’s no wonder that Donghyuck only asked for a small sum from your father as Jeno must have paid the rest.

You digest the information, wondering how it was possible for a man like Lee Jeno to exist and how it was possible that he so clearly loved a girl like you.

—

You hear rumors of Jaemin’s return to town, pushing Jimin to a state of disarray. She insists she does not care about his arrival, but when a local butcher tells you that he comes without a woman by his side, her interest is clearly piqued. You attempt to convince her to locate him, but she still persists she does not care about the origin of his visit.

You are lounging in the drawing room when Minjeong comes bursting through the door.

“He is here! Mr. Na is here!”

Her announcement sends the room into a frenzy, with your mother gasping and shooting out of her chair, nearly tripping over the furniture. Jimin is on her feet, combing her fingers through her hair and straightening her dress. You flee to the window, shocked when you see not only Jaemin approaching, but Jeno walking right beside him.

“Act natural, girls!” Your mother shouts, struggling to stand.

You quickly draw back from the window, hand over your heart. You are not thoroughly prepared to face Jeno again, especially now knowing how far he has gone to ensure your family wasn’t laid to ruin.

Your mother pushes Minjeong down into a seat and shoves some fabric into her hands to make it appear like she’s been embroidering. Jimin cries at you in despair and you help her tie a ribbon around her waist and brush her hair.

Your mother throws you a book and you all hurriedly sit in different areas of the room, looking as natural as you possibly can.

There is a knock on the door before one of your handmaidens enters.

“Mr. Na and Mr. Lee,” she introduces, stepping aside so the men can set foot in.

You all stand, curtsying as they bow. You beg your heart rate to stop thumping in your ears.

Jeno looks so attractive that it makes you want to curl into yourself and scream. He avoids your gaze, and you contemplate if he no longer wants to be with you because of Minji’s incident.

Jaemin opens his mouth to speak, but your mother beats him to it.

“How glad we are to see you again, Mr. Na! I am sure you have heard of my youngest getting married while you were away. We are very proud of her accomplishments.”

Jaemin smiles politely. “Yes, I heard the great news. I offer my congratulations.”

His eyes drift to Jimin’s form, and you see your sister smile timidly at him.

Your mother continues. “It is a shame that Mr. Lee Donghyuck lives so far. Having my youngest taken away at such an early age is no easy feat.”

You interrupt her, hoping to salvage the conversation for Jimin’s sake.

“How long are you in town for, Mr. Na?”

“Just a few weeks for the hunt.”

You forget that now is the best time for hunting season, and many men in town partake in the activity. Your eyes flit once again to Jeno’s form, and you catch him staring at you briefly before he looks away. The butterflies in your stomach will surely make you ill.

“Oh, Mr. Na, you must come here once you get bored of the game in town. My husband would love to oblige you,” your mother invites.

Jaemin’s smile never wavers. “Yes, that sounds splendid. Thank you.”

“How are you, Mr. Lee?” You ask.

You cannot help yourself. You have dreamed about him since you left the estate and he has to take accountability for your sleepless nights.

He momentarily glances at you. “I’m quite well, thank you.”

“I hope the weather is favorable when you go hunting,” you say.

He nods. “I return home tomorrow. I will not be participating in this year’s hunt.”

Your heart drops. “So soon?”

He refuses to look at you again.

“My Jimin looks beautiful, does she not?” Your mother questions Jaemin.

He stutters. “O-Oh yes, she does indeed.”

The room is filled with silence, and while you’re pleading for Jeno to look at you, Jimin is desperately wanting Jaemin to say more.

Jaemin swallows before clearing his throat. “W-Well, we must be going, I think. It was lovely to see you all again.”

“You must come visit,” your mother reminds him. “You promised last time you were in town that you would attend a family dinner.”

Jaemin awkwardly nods before scurrying out of the house. Jeno lingers, looking disappointed.

He bows his head. “Excuse me.”

The request for him to stay lays on the tip of your tongue but he exits before you can ask.

Once the two men are gone, you all collapse back in your seats. You rush to Jimin’s side as your mother voices, “How unusual!”

Your sister seems as optimistic as ever, despite the gloomy look in her eye.

“Perhaps that was for the best,” she hollowly laughs. “Now I will not have to go to bed wondering about my fate. He’s clearly moved on and is no longer interested.”

“Jimin,” you sigh, placing a hand over hers. “You do not have to fabricate your feelings to me. I may also be hiding some truths that I am not content with.”

Her head whips around. “Like what?”

Before you can finally tell her your secret, Minjeong’s voice screeches.

“He is back!”

“What?” Your mother screams, flinging her body at the window.

You catch the billowing of Jaemin’s coat before you’re being hauled up again by your mother. Jaemin enters the room in a more uncoordinated fashion, not even alerting the handmaiden so she can announce his presence. His hair is sticking up in random directions, indicating he was likely running his hands through it nervously.

“I apologize for my abrupt actions, but I would like to request an audience with Jimin if I may.”

All of your mouths drop open. Your mother speaks first.

“Everyone into the kitchen,” she instructs, and you nearly trip when she pushes you forward.

You grab Minjeong’s wrist and tug her with you. Your mother closes the door behind her and all three of you immediately press your ears against it to listen in.

“First, I must tell you that I have been a halfwitted and reckless fool,” you hear Jaemin start to say. You scoff, internally agreeing with him. Minjeong elbows you to be quiet. “And second, I want to atone for the months I have been away. My fair Jimin, I will wrong you no further. Would you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

You all gasp.

Moments pass before Jimin’s shaky voice replies, “Yes, a thousand times yes!”

Your mother bursts open the door and screeches in delight.

“My heavens, I never believed the day would come!”

You hurry in to envelope Jimin in a hug and congratulate her. The embrace gives you a direct view of the window, where a stony Lee Jeno stands in a far distance. You hold your breath, hoping he would come inside as well and give his own second version of a proposal. You would not hesitate to accept this time.

However, he merely situates himself there for a few seconds longer before turning away and leaving. You shut your eyes, quelling the ache in your chest and pulling Jimin closer to congratulate her once again.

—

That night, you giggle as you lay in bed with your sister.

“A spring wedding!” She exclaims, and your heart is full at the sight of her happiness. “Oh, he just looked so nervous but he had no idea how my heart was pounding out of my chest, sister. I wish for you to be this happy one day.”

Unlike the way Minji declared it to demean you, Jimin says it with pure virtue.

You fake a smile, thinking about how you screwed up your chances of ever being with Jeno.

“Maybe Mr. Nakamoto has a friend.”

She bursts into laughter at your joke and you pretend to share her joy. Your satisfaction, however, is broken by the sound of a carriage pulling up outside.

You frown. “Do you hear that?”

It was already well past midnight, so if a visitor was approaching, it must have been with urgent news. You and Jimin hop out of bed and rush downstairs, where the rest of your family is also starting to gather.

There’s a knock at the door and your father wobbles over to answer it.

You gasp when you see who is behind it.

“L-Lady Park?”

The woman shuffles in haggardly, and you all curtsy and bow at her presence. She looks disturbed, mouth twisted into an angry frown.

Your father awkwardly talks first. “May I offer you a cup of tea, madam?”

“Absolutely not. I need to speak with your second oldest alone.”

All eyes turn to you. You swallow and step forward, gesturing to the drawing room and leading Lady Park inside. You shut the door, placing a candle on a nearby table to provide you some semblance of sight.

Your palms sweat at the thought of what Lady Park had to confront you with. Perhaps you should not have messed around with Jimin — maybe Lady Park really was here to marry you off to one of Mr. Nakamoto’s friends.

“I am sure you are not puzzled by the reasoning behind my visit.”

You blink. “You are mistaken, ma’am. I cannot conjure up why you have honored my family here tonight by your presence.”

She scowls. “I warn you, dear girl, I am not one to be trifled with. A message has reached me that my nephew, Mr. Lee, has intended to unite you in the union of marriage.” You freeze, your mind running through a myriad of scenarios. “I know this to be a scandalous falsehood, so I instantly traveled here to make my sentiments known.”

You narrow your eyes at her degrading tone. “If you had thought the rumor so impossible, I ponder why you decided to travel so far.”

She steps forward, her scowl transforming into an expression filled with more hatred.

“I came to hear it be contradicted.”

“Your appearance will only serve as a confirmation if indeed such a report exists,” you say.

“If?” She spits out bitterly. “Are you meaning to pretend to not know of it? Were you not the one who started such a malicious lie to bring down the reputation of my dear nephew?”

“I have never heard of it!” You defend yourself.

“So my nephew has not made you an offer of marriage?”

You raise your head high. “You are the one who has declared such a thing to be impossible.”

You can practically see her shake with rage. “Mr. Lee has been engaged to my daughter since their infancy. Now what have you to say?”

“If that is the case, then there is no reason Mr. Lee would make an offer to me.”

“You listen to me, you selfish girl — if you think a woman of inferior birth with a scandalous sister who married the first suitor she came across can come in and tarnish Mr. Lee’s reputation, I will surely prove you wrong. Now tell me the truth, are you engaged to him?”

You contain yourself. “I am not.”

“And do you promise to never enter such an engagement?”

You put your foot down. You refuse to allow this woman to come into your home, insult you, and forbid you from marrying the man you know you yearn for.

“I shall never promise such a thing. You have traveled here in the dead of night to offend me in every possible way and I will tolerate it no longer. I must ask you to leave.”

You swing open the door, exposing your entire family on the opposite side of it, who were likely listening in on your ordeal. Lady Park gives you one last glance, and if looks could kill, you would be six feet underground.

“I have never been so disrespected in my entire life!” Lady Park declares before taking her leave, shutting the front door with great force.

“My dear, what is going on?”

“Why does she think something is happening between you and Mr. Lee?”

“Did Mr. Lee propose to you?”

You flee from your family’s questioning, running up the stairs with tears in your eyes.

“For once in your life, leave me alone!”

—

It is the break of dawn when you decide to take a walk.

You could not sleep all night. Jimin slipped into your bed at one point and comforted you wordlessly, wrapping her arms around you. You thought about Jeno and Lady Park’s scornful words. If you had a little less dignity, you would have told her how her nephew proposed to you but in all your stupidity, you denied him. She would probably get a laugh out of that.

You stare down at your feet, kicking around the patches of weeds childishly. Your breath hitches when another pair of shoes land before you.

You raise your head to see Lee Jeno standing there in all of his glory.

You say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Nor I.”

You nod, pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders. “Your aunt was here-“

“I should make amends for such insolent behavior.”

You shake your head. “After everything you have done to save Minji and I suspect to help Jimin, I should be the one apologizing for my behavior.”

“I told you that you never have to apologize to me, didn’t I? You must know I did all of it for you.” He says, smiling. You wonder if you could ever be this infatuated with another human being. “I came here because I beg you not to trifle with me. My aunt’s visit has provided me hope — a feeling I thought had disappeared months ago. I plead with you to tell me if your affections have changed.”

He takes a step closer to you. His eyes melt with a familiar fondness.

“If they have changed, I must tell you that you have bewitched me, body and soul. I love you, and I wish to never be parted from you from this day forth.”

You can no longer hold back your grin. You close the distance, gently tugging on the lapels of his dreary trench coat. You press your lips to his and his control officially snaps, one hand wrapping around your middle and tugging you closer. He kisses you with fervor, as if it is the last thing on earth he will ever get to do.

You giggle and pull back to catch your breath.

“Tell me, please,” he whispers with desperation. “I can bear it no longer.”

“I love you,” you say, stroking your fingers through his hair. “I love, love, love you.”

He kisses you again, hand traveling to the back of your neck and pulling you as close as humanly possible. He kisses you like he is afraid that you will slip out of his grasp. Warmth pools at the bottom of your stomach at his obvious desire.

“W-We should speak to my father,” you pant against his mouth.

“Yes, yes,” he agrees, catching his own breath. “A spring wedding? Or we could get married now, I have no objection-“

You giggle. “Mr. Lee, don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

“I cannot help it. I have waited too long for you to be in my embrace.”

“Then we shall not wait a second longer.”

—

You marry Lee Jeno on a beautiful day in spring.

The ceremony is simple at your request, and your mother cries when you walk down the aisle. Yujin sobs when she sees you in a veil, joyful that you have finally found your happy ending.

Your father was initially confused when you came to his office hand in hand with your betrothed until you explained to him the true nature of your feelings and all of the actions Jeno had taken to save your family. Jimin and Minjeong demanded to know all of the details you kept from them, and Minji even traveled into town to also hear your side of events.

Jeno has the wedding planned faster than you can blink, stressing that he cannot endure another day without you as his wife.

You have awoken something primal in him, and it shows on your wedding night.

He nearly breaks open the bedroom door as he pushes you in, shutting it loudly and practically throwing you on the bed. You laugh when he hovers over you, pressing kisses down your neck.

“Jeno, Jeno,” you hum, smiling as he tugs your wedding dress up. “Slow down, my love.”

“I want to taste you,” he groans against your collarbone.

His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. You have only heard stories about what happens between a husband and his wife in their bedroom. They were usually filled with salacious recountings from many of the schoolgirls around you growing up. You honestly have no idea what you’re in for tonight, but all you know is that you would let Jeno take you at his heart’s desire.

“Too many buttons,” he grumbles against your chest, and you gasp when he rips your dress clean down the middle.

“Jeno!” You begin to scold but it turns into a moan when his lips latch onto your left breast, tongue flicking at your nipple lewdly.

“You’re mine, are you not? My wife, my forever,” he mumbles, kissing down your stomach until he is face to face with your core.

You tense at the sight of him being so close to an intimate part of your body. He senses your nerves, looking up at you and interlacing his hands with yours.

“It is quite alright, Mrs. Lee,” he smirks at your new surname. “You can trust me.”

You take a deep breath and relax. “I trust you.”

The first swipe of his tongue against your core takes your breath away. Your spine arches at the exhilarating feeling. He moves your hand until it is resting on his hair, urging you to pull at the strands as you please.

He laps at your folds eagerly, lips mouthing over you passionately. You cry when he suddenly takes your clit in his mouth and sucks hard.

He unlocks a new type of pleasure you never believed was possible — tremors running down your body as you chase the high. You fail to realize your hips are moving on their own accord, twisting and riding his face.

When the pleasure begins to subside, Jeno pulls away and lets you catch your breath.

“What was that?” You wheeze.

He chuckles, hoisting himself up to kiss you. He trails kisses across your cheek.

“Did it feel good, my pearl?”

“I-I need to feel that again.”

His laughter is like music to your ears. He nuzzles his face into your neck.

“Would you like me to show you how much better I can make you feel?”

You nod and he raises his head to see you. “I love you,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss you again.

Since the day you confessed your feelings, he hasn’t failed to remind you of his love nearly every hour of every day.

“When this is over, will I bear your child?” You ask, genuinely curious about the answer.

He strokes your hair gently. “Is that something you want?”

You laugh and bob your head. “Of course. We simply cannot live in this grand house by ourselves. I fear I will go hysterical.”

“Then we will have as many children as you like, Mrs. Lee.”

He begins to undress and you eye him as respectfully as you can. You wish you had known Jeno was hiding his muscular glory underneath those boring trench coats. You likely would not have rejected him the first time if you were made aware.

“Please resist drooling.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “You’re my husband. I may drool as I please.”

He grins and throws his coat and shirt to the side, slowly unbuttoning his pants. Your mouth waters when he finally takes off his undergarments.

His cock is beautiful, if you’re even allowed to say that. Pretty and pink and long. A bit of liquid leaks from the tip and you suddenly get a craving to taste it.

“We have all the time for you to do that later. I want to show you a good time now,” he says as if he can read your mind.

You smile and pull him close, pressing your lips together. You watch as he gives his cock a few tugs before lining it up to your entrance.

“This may hurt at first, but I promise it will feel satisfactory if you loosen your body,” he says, ensuring that you are listening carefully.

You nod, happy twinkle never disappearing from your eyes.

“I trust you.”

The first thrust is painful. You exhale, focusing on not tensing up your body too much as Jeno instructed. He soothes you, fingers running up and down your sides lightly.

“You are so perfect for me,” he hums. “I should have married you sooner.”

When he’s finally all the way inside, you take a deep breath. He rests his forehead on yours.

“Good?”

You stroke his cheek fondly. “Good, my love.”

He rolls his hips into yours and you groan. He picks up a steady beat until the furrow in your brow vanishes. A wave of pleasure shoots up your spine and you gasp, triggering Jeno to pick up his pace.

He grips the headboard tightly between his fingers, planting his knees on the mattress before driving into you.

“O-Oh!” You moan, not anticipating how intoxicating this would feel.

You raise your hips and subconsciously move to meet his thrusts. He groans at your effort, slowly losing it at how tight you feel around him.

“Here,” he says, moving one hand downwards to pinch your clit and roll it between his fingers.

“Ungh,” you wail, throwing your head back. “That’s so good, Jeno. Keep going.”

Vulgar sounds fill the bedroom with skin slapping skin and your moans mixed with his grunts. You probably look maniacal with the way you’re desperately chasing your high, but you have no care in the world right now.

Your mind is merely screaming Jeno’s name.

He collapses back on you, kissing you with an intensity you could not describe. You swear you see stars explode behind your eyes.

“May I try something?” He pants into your mouth.

You agree and he withdraws himself from you, nearly causing you to whimper at the loss. He grabs your hips and twists you around, taking off the scraps of your dress and flinging it to the floor. His hand pushes down your head and arches your back. You turn your head to the side and moan.

“Please, Jeno, please-“

He eases himself back inside, answering your pleas.

He breathes heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You are torturing me beyond no end.”

This position hits a different spot inside of you. You mewl, clawing at the sheets. You have never felt closer to Jeno until this moment with the way his cock fits so perfectly inside of you.

He leans down to press kisses to your shoulders.

“May I use you as I wish?”

The question almost has you whining.

“Whatever you like, my love. Please, use me for your pleasure.”

He drills into you, forcing his cock into your dripping hole until you weep for him. You bury your face into his pillow, preventing your screams from growing too loud when you ultimately fall into your second climax. It hits a lot harder than the first, especially since Jeno shows no signs of stopping.

You cry when he changes positions again, falling to his side and moving you to do the same, hiking up your leg until it’s wrapped around his hip. He angles himself so that he hits you deeper.

You wonder if you look like a woman vexed, completely overtaken by lust. He pounds into you to coax your third orgasm to come to bay.

You beg for him, unsure of what you’re pleading for.

“Please, please, please-“

His hand strikes at your clit, slapping it with an unexpected force. You dive headfirst into your peak, crying and whimpering until your throat is sore.

Your body tries to squirm away from Jeno’s sharp thrusts but he doesn’t let you, holding you down and turning you so that your stomach presses against the mattress again.

His cock beats into your soaking cunt before he reaches his own high, groaning loudly as he spills his seed deep into you. It is only then that he finally slows down, collapsing onto the bed and pulling you into his arms.

You both pant, trying to catch your breath as his cum leaks down your thighs.

“So we can do that all the time now?” You huff.

He laughs and kisses your forehead.

“Whenever you would like, Mrs. Lee.”

#nct fluff #nct smut #jeno #jeno smut

2K notes · View notes

targaryen-dynasty · 10 months

Text

WHAT NOURISHES ME, DESTROYS ME.

Maegor I Targaryen x little sister!Reader

You and Maegor have always been a good team, but when he sits on Iron Throne after your older brother‘s death and doesn't allow you to come to war with him, you have to remind Maegor that he wouldn‘t be where he is without your help.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; DUB/NON CON, spit kink, humiliating, size kink, size difference, power imbalance, hate sex, canon typical incest/targcest, fighting, violence

WORDS: 2.6 K

NOTES: This was written for @fairysluna and @borikenlove and is based on the scene in Vikings season 1 episode 2 where Lagertha fights Ragnar.

Maegor was only half dressed as you stepped into his chambers. The stool he sat in looked ridiculously small underneath his bulky presence, just like the castle’s barber did. His head was tilted back, allowing the much smaller man to attend to the grooming of his neat beard, and despite his eyes being closed, the smug smirk on his lips gave away he knew it was you barging into his quarters.

“Why must mother inform me that I cannot come to the Blackwater with you, brother?” You all but spat the words out, hands formed to fists at your sides with your knuckles already blanching.

“It is Your Grace for you,” Maegor’s voice drawled as he did not move, voice uncharacteristically soft but still determined to put you back in your place.

Your level of anger did not allow you to pay any attention to it, not caring enough to respect the courtesies. It was surprising that Maegor managed to keep his temper at bay, considering he was far more quarrelsome than you were.

“This was going to be the most exciting battle of my life,” you hissed. “To fly upon Dreamfyre’s back, alongside Balerion.”

“I do not want you to come,” he said, still in the same position as before, though you could hear just a hint of irritation in his tone. “I need to leave the castle in the hands of someone I trust, and there is no one else besides you and mother.” It was a poor attempt of him to lessen your anger, but caused quite the opposite.

Having brooded over it ever since you broke fast, your patience ran thin, and in moments like this, you felt the Blood of the Dragon coursing through your veins.

With quick strides, you headed over to where Maegor sat and snatched the sharp knife out of the barber’s hand, pressing it to your brother’s throat. That seemed to stir him enough to open his eyes, and the familiar purple quickly flickered up to meet your matching pair. You could feel his pulse quickening through the blade, yet you did not apply enough pressure to draw some blood.

“I have dreamt of this many times, and in my dreams, Dreamfyre and Balerion were always together. We were always together,” you tried to reason.

Maegor had your wrist in a painfully tight grip within seconds without giving you any chance to react. The tight impact caused you to sharply draw in some air, before you found yourself being pulled into his lap with an equally tight grip capturing your throat.

There it was. He had snapped.

The sharp blade clattered to the ground as you clawed at his large hand with both of yours, panic settling in your bones. “You would do well to follow your King’s orders,” his hot breath fanned across your face when he brought yours closer to his.

In the distance, you faintly heard the door to Maegor’s chambers fall shut, indicating that the barber had left without a word.

A lightheaded feeling spread throughout your mind with you choking for air, not getting better when his lips captured yours in a kiss that was shy of gentleness and chasity.

When your teeth harshly bit down on his bottom lip, he released you in surprise, seizing the chance to bring some space between your bodies. Upon a closer look, you spotted a few droplets of blood on his pale skin, and your panic was replaced by pride, even if it only lasted for a few seconds.

As his bull-like body rose from its seat and proweld towards you, your head craned upwards to meet his purple eyes. It was a good thing he was not able to see how your heartbeat quickened at his movements, and though he was your brother and twin, Maegor still was unpredictable and always in control.

For a split second, you thought he would actually do something, however, it had merely been an intimidation tactic, a clear warning. He stopped just a few inches shy of you, crossing his rippled arms in front of his chest.

You grabbed a hold of the closest item you could grasp–a candlestick in this case–and proceeded to try to swing it at him, but someone as skilled as Maegor had an easy game ducking and grabbing something to block your attack.

It was obvious that he held back, because otherwise you would’ve been flung through his chambers by now. What you did not notice was that he slowly but surely backed you up against the bed, stalking closer towards you with each step, practically herding you.

“Am I not good enough for you anymore?” You asked, swinging the candlestick at him once again. This time around, Maegor did not try to lessen your blows and just ducked. “Am I not strong enough for you?” When there did not come any objection or reaction from him, you moved to kick him with your foot, which didn’t do more than barely pushing him back. It was clear you did not have anywhere near the physical strength required to move someone of his caliber, more without his compliance.

“Don’t you remember?” You asked–no spat. “I fought with you in the Stepstones. I saved your life.”

By the look on Maegor’s face, he seemed to find a certain liking in your outburst, not because he had not seen you like that before, but because he always enjoyed putting you back in your place after. In that moment you truly were your mother’s daughter, and Maegor loved your mother just as dearly as you. A smirk that dripped with malice was etched onto his features, sending shivers down your spine once you noticed it.

The realization was short lived, because your next blow was seized by him getting the candlestick from you by twisting it, recklessly throwing it aside and demolishing some vessels standing on a chest of drawers. “Without me, you would not sit on the Iron Throne!” A harsh kick of him pushed you down to the bed behind you with him following shortly after and settling between your parted legs, immobilizing you. You grunted at the impact, but where quickly shushed by his proximity.

He had your throat captured once again, but not as tight as before, and allowed you to actually breathe. “How could I forget!” His deep voice rang out, resembling more an animalistic growl than an actual human’s voice. “You keep reminding me,” each word was emphasized with a tight squeeze to your throat, inevitably pushing you deeper into the mattress beneath.

His bulky frame was looming over your much smaller one, the entirety of your neck covered by his hand though he hadn't even splayed out his fingers. Your hand clasped around his wrist with your nails digging into his skin, but he did not hiss at the pain, effortlessly keeping you pinned beneath him.

“I am so angry with you.”

Maegor made it no secret that the whole act aroused him, and shamelessly pressed his bulge against your womanhood, causing you to take in a sharp breath, as you felt your own arousal coating the inside of your smallclothes.

Upon seeing the smug grin that adorned his features, you had never longed more for Dreamfyre to unleash her flames, because Maegor knew you could never say no to him - regardless of how angry or sad you were.

Your eyelids lowered as you looked up and down his stern face, trying to observe his darkened eyes. They met yours, trying to guess your next move.

“Are you sure?” Came as a reply, and within seconds, his large hands had grasped your waist and flipped you over onto your stomach. One of his hands applied a good bit of pressure to the back of your neck, while the other pushed the skirts of your dress up and pulled down your smallclothes in one motion.

As his calloused fingers dragged through your mound, you refrained from bucking your hips into his touch and opted to try to wiggle out of his grasp. Maegor just chuckled dryly at that, and when two of his digits eased into your core, every sense of restraint left your body.

Your face was pushed into the bedcovers, though the moan you released still was perfectly audible to him.

“That’s what I thought,” your twin replied smugly. “You would not be so wet if you really were angry with me, Y/N.”

While you felt ashamed he had noticed your body’s reaction to him, you could not deny that the silence between you was thick with tension, both of you obviously longing for more. And with Maegor being a bit blunter than you were, he had no shame wording his desires.

“Must I fuck some sense into you, sister? Must I treat and fuck you like a common whore to remember you of your place again?”

Even with your head barely turned to the side, you could see the way his bulky frame was looming over your much smaller one, covering its entirety in a mere display of dominance. That alone almost was enough to put you into submission, but a few threads inside of you still clung to the initial hurt of him not wanting you to join him in battle, hence you tried your best not to give in to him.

But still, his condescending words put a bright blush to your cheeks, the color even running down your neck and spreading along his large hand clasping the back of it. “There-There is no-no need for that, brother,” you stuttered, voice not louder than a whisper.

You should’ve seen it coming, but his fingers quickly were replaced by his hard cock. When the bulbous tip of it prodded against your entrance, you already tried to prepare yourself for it, but to no avail.

Being as rough as always, Maegor practically forced himself into your tightness, causing you to cry out - but not in pain or dismay. The daunting size of his cock always rendered you speechless, though it was very much in proportion with his large body.

The pace he set up was reckless and harsh from the very beginning, and whenever the tip of his member brushed the sensitive spot within your core, the breaths hitched in your throat, hiccuping and trying to fill your lungs the short moments he used to draw his hips back.

Instead of being propped up on your hands and knees, you just laid on the bed, unable to move even in the slightest. Maegor seemed to relish in the dominance he held over you, and your body seemed to keen at the realization, too.

Your bodies were an interesting contrast, despite you being twins. His broad and powerful form, even larger than your father Aegon The Conqueror, was towering over, driving into and domineering your delicate body in every possible way.

You fisted the silken bed covers as if your life was depending on it, knuckles blanching from the force in an attempt to keep your body grounded and strong for his reckless assault. “G-Gods… be… good,” you whined through particularly harsh thrusts, your voice increasing in volume.

The sounds of his heavy stones slapping against your slick core and the creaking of the bed probably could be heard by anyone that passed by the King’s chambers and even further down the corridor, but neither of you cared. Maegor and you were dragons, true blood Targaryens that were determined to rule the Realm together. If it was up to him, he’d take you in the Throne Room atop the Iron Throne and have everyone of court watch–or at least hear–the pair of you.

“I am your King, and I expect you to treat me as such,” Maegor growled through gritted teeth, emphasizing the meaning of his words with harsh thrusts of his hips and a tight squeeze of his hands on yours. “Am I understood?”

“Y-Yes, Your Gr-Grace,” you stuttered out, clearly cock drunk.

“Good.”

You were so lost in the bliss your twin granted you, that you had not even noticed your eyes squeezed shut with tears brimming in the corners–until his calloused fingers dug into your cheeks and turned your head to force you to look at him from over your shoulder.

“Not so bold anymore, mh?” Maegor asked, though it was obvious the question was outright sarcastic, not expecting an answer from you. “Where is your confidence now, silly girl?”

As your lips parted in an attempt to hiccup something in return, Maegor seized the chance and spat a thick puddle of his saliva straight to the corner of your pouty lips. A bit of it dripped into your mouth, whereas the rest stayed exactly where he had spat it to.

The second your tongue darted out to gather the rest of his saliva, he pushed his hips into yours harshly and immediately stopped in his tracks while buried to the hilt inside of you, a loud tsking echoing through the chambers followed by a “No.” You stopped–of course you did–and only gasped once you noticed the fullness within you and the warmth of his saliva spreading all over you flushed cheeks with his thumb smearing it.

Shame rose within your body, fighting with the despair you felt at him not moving anymore. You figured it was time to take your pleasure into your own hands, and started to rock your hips against his, though your movements were far slower and much more sensual. Maegor chuckled dryly at that, and released your face in order to serve a stinging slap to your arse.

You squealed and inevitably clenched down around him, resulting in the bull behind you drawing in a sharp breath. “Just as desperate for my cock as any of the common whores in the Street of Silk, I see,” he remarked snakily, the smirk on his chiseled features perfectly audible.

“But I will be no cruel man,” with that, he proceeded to impale you on his hard cock, snapping his hips into yours over and over again, until the familiar coil in your belly seemed to tighten.

There was no one else that knew your body better as your twin, and as if he was spurred on by the reaction of your body to his ministrations, he snaked his large hand flatly underneath your lower body and started to circle his deft fingers around the sensitive bud at the apex of your legs, amplifying your pleasure and your following peak.

Your core was clenching around him so tightly with whines and moans spilling past your lips like prayers, that Maegor barely was able to declare his own approaching peak, only noticing he reached it once his warm seed filled your body and added to the overall fullness you felt.

Without another word and not even the repercussions of his peak fully subsiding, Maegor pulled out and laced the front of his breeches back up. Picking the knife of the barber up from the ground, he trimmed the rest of his beard himself, only sparing you a scarce glance through the mirror.

You rearranged your smallclothes and dress, despite his seed oozing out of your core, and slowly stalked towards him like a hunter. The emotions within your body had calmed, clearing your mind again.

“So, I assume I am allowed to join Your Grace on his flight to the Blackwater?” You asked in the sweetest voice you could muster and even paid attention to the damned courtesies, determined to get exactly what you wanted.

But without even turning to look at you, Maegor retorted a stern “No,” before placing the knife down as he was finished. “You are dismissed now–I have to sit on Dragonback in an hour.”

#maegor x reader #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #hotd smut #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon smut #maegor i targaryen

836 notes · View notes

alexisomnias · 1 year

Text

WHEN YOUR GONE. . . | obey me

obey me nightbringer spoilers

characters | BROTHERS

they return home, a sunken feeling moving along with them as their home feels much more empty. Despite the attendant never living with them, it feels as if a room lost its shine that kept the home lifted. they go to the bedroom to mourn for the loss of a friend who they've known for no longer then a week (yet it feels like years).

LUCIFER "Hopefully you found me helpful from time to time? Don't push yourself too hard "big brother."

lucifer finds himself staring at your writing, it was clearly handled with care, perhaps even written with a shaky hand. he finds himself doing nothing other then staring, he can't even reread it as if his throat was choked up for good. lucifer, who thought your position as attendant was nothing other then stupid found his heart slow to if he didn't know better would be a stop. he did... he did find you helpful... his eyes close as he leans his head back and takes a deep breath, as if to stop tears.

why must you of done this too him? why couldn't you just leave with a goodbye that he would forget come hundreds year?

MAMMON "Thank you for always thinking of me. I always had fun when we were together."

mammon prided himself in his ability to hold his emotions, but after his eyes came across the last letter, reading each syllable as if it was his first time he lets out a sob. clutching the letter in his hand as if all of you would disappear if he ever let it go. you were cruel, he thinks, so cruel for leaving him alone like this. he sobs quietly leant over the desk as he sobs into his arms, why did he always get attached to things that would soon leave him? you don't realize, that even after your gone. your memories, even the happiest ones will leave him thinking of you as left pain.

his heart aches for you already, he wants to continue to be together, he wants you back.

LEVIATHAN "Make sure to take good care of Snake, okay? I know you'll make an amazing demon !!"

it took a lot for leviathan to even build up the courage to exit the comfort of his own room. without you there by his side, what will be there to help him navigate around? you've been barely gone for 3 days and yet it feels as if you've been missing from his side for centuries. curse him for getting attached, curse the universe for making you the friend that leaves for his own character development. he sniffles, rereading the text over and over. he let out an ugly cry, uncaring for if the world outside saw it.

how could he be the amazing demon you claim him to be, without you by his side to reassure?

SATAN "Someday we should both go bookstore hopping! You're fine just the way you are Satan."

he doesn't know why you left, but dear lord is he so angry. at the world, at his brothers for allowing you to leave, at himself for not being there to tell you he needs you. satan doesn't cry, satan doesn't even rage out in anger as he reads your letter. he stares, and he stares until a figurative hole could be burnt through the crisp paper left in your place. the only memory left of you for you weren't there for long. why couldn't he be there to see you leave? send you off? why was he the one stuck under the impression you would come back for him, until you didn't?

did you even realize that you were the reason he felt like he belonged in this world?

ASMODEUS "Looking forward to the next Asmo Night! I love you! more then words can say!

asmo loves you more then words exist, thats why he needs you by his side, thats why he needs you there to remind him of why he's deserving, of why he deserves to be happy like the others. asmo needs you more then words can say, he lets out a quiet cry, almost silent as tears drip down his porcelain face. clutching his own note close to his body. why did you have to leave so early? why did you have to leave him so abruptly after carving your place in his heart?

he trusts in the fact that you will return, maybe its denial, or trust, but he believes you'll be back for him.

BEELZEBUB "Be careful not to eat too much! Keep your brothers safe, okay?"

beelzebub did not cry, but he did mourn. how could he always lose those he grows to care for? all in such a short time? he swears he would starve if it meant you'd come back, he'd never complain about hunger again if you'd be back to tell him off, back to make him breakfast out of food he's unfamiliar with. he clutches the note strong enough that if he tried it would rip, but he'd never destroy a memory of you.

beel wants to keep his family safe, but as their attendant, that includes you, he wants you safe as well.

BELPHEGOR "Someday I'll buy you the ultimate alarm clock. I adore that happy look you have while asleep."

Belphegor was the last of the brothers to visit your room, as if he contemplated for days of whether it would be a good idea. belphie despised humans, and you being a human would of included that, wouldn't it? but yet, he can't find himself to hate you. you helped him, helped beel instead of hurt. all the other notes were gone, so the sole one laid upon your empty desk. he stared down on it, in a slow process, his stone face crumpled, melted into tears as it dripped onto he page. his hands clenched up as he cried. falling to his knees as he allowed himself to sob against the desk. your letter lying dead in front of him.

did he really need an alarm clock when his attendant was there to wish him a good morning?

#obey me nightbringer #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me #angst #obey me angst #obey me nightbringer spoilers #suns pencil.

1K notes · View notes

malfoyswand · 1 year

Text

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

pairing: draco malfoy x reader

summary: draco malfoy offers to help you study for an upcoming exam in potions class. a turn of events leads to both of you opening up to each other in unexpected ways.

word count: 2.3k

genre: fluff, a little bit of angst

warnings: n/a

author's note: my first fic here, i'm so excited! please let me know if there's anything you think i could have done better and of course, my writing requests are open :)

You sigh softly as you look down at the textbook in your hands, putting it into your bag as an act of defeat. You weren't sure exactly why you felt so embarrassed when, really, there was nothing to be embarrassed about. The logical side of your brain knew that.

Potions was never your strong suit. Sure, other classes were just as hard but you've always managed to work through it. But Potions? No matter how many hours you put into studying, you are barely passing.

Today's class was a monstrosity. Professor Snape called you in front of the entire class about a question you had no clue what the answer was. Truthfully, it was as if the question was in a foreign language, that's how difficult his class was. You tried to think of a good guess, but all that could come out were the words, "I'm sorry, Professor. I don't know."

Professor Snape wasn't impressed. He knew that you were smarter than this, and he found it lazy when students would say "I don't know" to any question. Your lack of knowledge had the consequence of him deducting 5 points from your house. You're convinced the entire house now hates you.

You shake your head slightly, trying to get out of your own thoughts. You know you're overacting, it's just 5 points. If anything, the only real damage done was to your pride. Everyone else made their way to the door, but as you stood and followed them, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"(Y/N), wait."

Draco Malfoy. You would know that voice anywhere, the whole school would. His reputation certainly precedes him, without any further explanation needed.

What surprised you was that he was even talking directly to you. You didn't hate him, but you didn't necessarily like him either. You both arrived at Hogwarts at the same time, yet barely spoke more than ten words to each other all these years.

You turned around to face him, your eyes scanning his face. His eyes were widened, as if he was trying to focus intently on something.

"Yes?" You hear yourself speak softly.

"I noticed that Professor Snape was a bit hard on you today. He's a good professor, but all of this year he's been very harsh." He chuckled slightly at his own joke.

What exactly was Malfoy trying to say? Did he come up to you just to tell a joke?

The look of confusion must have been apparent on your face. "Anyway, Professor Snape noticed that you were upset after he deducted those points. Like I said, he's harsh, but he wants his students to succeed. He's asked me to help you. How about we study together for the exam next week?"

Ah, that's why he's talking to you. Professor Snape asked him. Why would someone like Malfoy want to talk to someone like you, if he wasn't forced to?

"Oh," you nodded. "Yeah, alright. Thank you. How about we meet after dinner in the library?"

The thought of studying with Draco Malfoy was something you didn't know excited you or filled you with dread. But whether you liked it or not, he was arguably the smartest Slytherin student, especially in Potions. You knew you needed to pass this class.

"No, that won't work." Draco shook his head. "I do my best studying somewhere quiet, and the library is a bit crowded after dinner. It wouldn't be very effective. How about we go now? I know you're in my Herbology class next period and, no offense, I'd rather skip it anyway."

Of course, he demanded to study now. You peek your head out of the small window in the door, seeing how the corridor was completely empty. By now, it's likely Herbology has already started. There was no point in attending class now.

You turned back to look at him, nodding. He led the way out of the classroom and to the library. You were surprised he even went into the library, with the reputation he had.

Let's just say that Malfoy was popular with the ladies. He was known to have had a few girlfriends by now. Every time he and his girlfriend would break up, he would soothe his heartache by starting an intimate relationship with another girl. But as far as you know, those were just rumors. If they were true, he was smart in not getting caught in the act by a professor.

He led you through endless aisles of bookshelves, until the very last one. He set his bag and books on one of the tables, sitting down and opening his Potions textbook.

With a moment to breathe, you had the opportunity to take a proper look at him. You could see now why it seemed like every girl was in love with him. His blond hair was smoothly laid back, his eyes seemed to be able to stare into the depths of your soul without any effort. Not to mention, he had a charm about him.

"(Y/N)." You were taken out of the trance by his voice calling your name. "You like what you see then?" His lips were turned upwards into a slight smirk. Your eyes stared at them for a moment, before looking down in embarrassment.

Of course, he thought you were staring out of adoration. He acts like he's some sort of Greek god or something! Sure, he's attractive, but was that his only redeeming quality? You could feel your cheeks glowing red.

Alright, fine, you were admiring him. In your defense, you were trying to remember the moment. It's not often that a girl at Hogwarts can say they had a private study session with Draco Malfoy.

"Wait, no, I'm sorry." He adjusted his chair to sit closer to yours. He looked at you until your eyes met his, the blush still burning on your cheeks. "I didn't mean to say that."

"Why are you apologizing to me?" Your voice spoke out, your eyebrow raised. He truly didn't offend you. If anything, you were sorry that you were caught staring at him openly.

"Because I'm trying to become better." That was all Malfoy said before he broke eye contact to stare at the pages of his textbook, telling you to turn to the correct page to begin studying. You got the sense that he didn't want to explain any further what he meant.

While the blond haired Slytherin tried to attempt explaining the foundations of Potions to you, all you could think about was what he said. What did he mean by trying to become better? You assume he meant to become a better person.

As far as you knew, he wasn't a bad person. Yes, he was known to pick on the first-years, especially the Gryffindor house. But most Slytherins did the same, especially the ones that come from wealthy families like he does. If anything, his behavior was more than expected. That doesn't mean it was right, but you always thought he just didn't know any other way to behave. You had always assumed his parents taught him he was better than anyone else in the school.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his voice asking you questions about the material. It was strange, but Malfoy was quite a good teacher. You could understand the material in a way you couldn't if you were only taught by Professor Snape. Malfoy explained Potions with passion, as if he couldn't stop talking about how fascinated he was about it.

This wasn't the Draco Malfoy you thought he was. You expected him to be an arrogant prick who would tease you if you got a question wrong. Instead, looking at him now, you saw just a boy who wanted someone to listen to him, even just about Potions.

"Draco." Before you could process what you were going to say, it was already coming out. "What did you mean by trying to become better? You said that earlier."

Your question must have shocked him, as he stopped reading and looked up at you. He bit down on his bottom lip, he must have been thinking what the appropriate response was. With a sigh, he leaned back on his chair and looked down at his hands that were folded before him.

"Well, you've caught me. Professor Snape didn't ask me to help tutor you, it was my idea. What I meant was I'm trying to be a better person. I know I've been a prick to most of this school, but this summer was a real eye opener. I thought I would start by doing an act of kindness, like tutoring someone." Before he could stop, his chest was rising and falling as he spoke quickly. "It's my family. They are a part of something that I'm not sure is right, and they want me to join soon. I don't think I have a choice, (Y/N). And I want-"

By this point, the words were spilling out of him. Truthfully, he looked a little insane. Here was this boy who, moments ago, was worried about explaining Potions to you. Now, he was opening up about something you did not expect. Malfoy was always the calm, collected one in your year.

How long has he been holding this in? So long that he was willing to say this to a practical stranger?

"Woah, Malfoy." You took a breath and placed your hand on his. You were positive he would make fun of you for that later, but his hands were shaking. "I don't know what's going on, but you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Do you want to stop studying for now? We can pick up another time."

All he could do was nod, beginning to pack up his bag. You took another good look at him, before taking your hand away and packing your own bag. This was the strangest study session you've ever been involved with.

"I-I'm sorry." He suddenly blurted out before you stood from your chair. His hand was in yours again, stopping you in your tracks. "I'm sorry if I scared you off like that. I didn't mean to say all of that stuff, about my family. That's too much to expect you to listen to."

"No, it's okay." It was a little weird, but you sensed he needed someone to talk to. If you were going to spend all this time together studying, you might as well become friendly. "You can talk to me about it whenever."

Malfoy stared at you for a moment, his eyes going from your lips back to your eyes. Without any warning, his hand left yours and he leaned in towards you. His lips gently touched yours.

What the hell?

Now that you were this close to him, you could feel how soft his lips were. His cologne even smelled extravagant, something you knew you couldn't afford in your wildest dreams. This was going to be something to tell your friends about later. You're sure none of your friends will believe you when you tell them that the Draco Malfoy kissed you.

He pulled away all too soon, looking down nervously. You failed to notice, but one of his hands was cupping your cheek. You could feel the rings on his fingers gently graze your skin. You both were breathless, but you managed to say one thing to him.

"I don't know what just happened. But I want to make one thing clear, I don't want to be another one of your girls."

"One of my girls?" His eyebrow raised, a look of confusion painted on that face of his. Oh Merlin, did you mess it up badly now? It was too late, you had to explain yourself.

"There are rumors that you've.. messed around with girls before. I just want to make myself clear that I refuse to be one of them. I won't let myself be something you can just play with when you're bored. I really appreciate all the help you've given me, but if you think that something else is going to happen, you're wrong!"

You didn't mean to sound so harsh, but you knew then that you were. But it was true. Malfoy was incredibly handsome and the kiss took your breath away, but you wouldn't let yourself be used like that. You stood from your seat, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"No, no, no! (Y/N), that's not it." Draco Malfoy stood, standing in front of you. "Alright, there's some truth to that. I've made mistakes and probably been with girls I shouldn't have, but this year is different. Like I said, I'm trying to be better. Just listen to me."

You sighed softly and crossed your arms, but stood there and listened. You weren't angry per se, but confused. Did Malfoy ask you to study just to mess with you? Did all that stuff he said before was made up to manipulate you?

"Thank you." He sighed slightly, relaxed that you were now listening. "I know what you're thinking, that I offered to help you to get in your pants or something. That's something I would've done last year, but not now. The truth is.." He stopped, looking down at his feet.

"Yes?"

"I like you, (Y/N). Since the school year started. I don't mean in a perverted way, I mean in a delicate way. I offered to help you to get to know you better. I stopped messing around when I started to like you, I knew it wasn’t worth it.”

A part of you couldn't believe what you were hearing. Were you dreaming of this? Why would Draco Malfoy like you, when you had nothing to offer him? Your feet were planted firmly on the hardwood floor, with your mouth slightly open. After a few moments, you felt your eyes blink as you came back to reality.

Draco Malfoy likes you. You weren't sure if you felt the exact same, but the gut in your stomach was telling you this was right. The world seemed to have stopped when he kissed you, a feeling you have never felt before. This feeling couldn't be wrong.

Without another word, you stepped forward to break the space between you and kissed his lips. You couldn't help but feel a laugh escape as he pulled you closer.

#draco #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x you #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfic #draco fanfic #draco malfoy fic #draco fic #draco malfoy imagine #draco imagine #draco lucius malfoy #draco fluff #draco angst

1K notes · View notes

g1rld1ary · 2 months

Text

kiss me on the dance floor ; remus lupin x reader

➻ yayay first remus fic !! happy valentines!!!!!!! (my fav holiday <33)

➻ word count: 2071

➻ synopsis: you and remus keep meeting when you have to hold your friend's hair back at parties; it turns out to be effective bonding time

➻ warnings: alcohol & being drunk, drug use/being high (minor), mentions of vomiting, swearing, kissing, fluff

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You liked parties a very normal amount. You weren’t massively into drinking or staying out all night every night, but you liked to dance and you liked spending your weekends with your friends, so you ended up at most of the parties thrown around Hogwarts. The best of these were the ones thrown by the Gryffindors; they had the best music, the best booze, and usually the cutest boys.

On one fateful Friday evening you were attending one of the aforementioned Gryffindor parties — this one specifically in honour of Halloween. You and your group of friends had all decided to go together, coordinating outfits to be Charlie’s Angels from the muggle television show. Looking and feeling good you’d all enjoyed the party to its fullest, spending the long hours of the night dancing and drinking. That was, until your best friend, Jen, began to appear more shaky than upright, and you knew exactly what was coming.

You grabbed her hand and led her through the crowd, mercilessly elbowing guys out of the way when they tried to start conversation.

“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” You shouted at James Potter, who pointed you along to a hallway leading off into relative darkness. You tried to hurry the both of you along, hoping to spare your friend the embarrassment of vomiting all over the Gryffindor common room, and you could have kissed the ground for making it in time if it wasn’t so grimy. The crisis directed your focus until you were absolutely sure Jen had made it over the bowl and her ponytail was safely in your hands. After the urgency had somewhat worn off your eyes could take in the rest of the room, noticing there were already two inhabitants in the room, one hunched over the sink.

Remus Lupin was the one holding back the other’s hair, which gave you a pretty good indication it must have been Sirius Black. Remus was already looking at you when you locked eyes and you gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Hey,” He said, patting a hand on Sirius’ back to soothe him.

“Hi,” You replied. You’d never spoken to him properly before despite being in school together all these years, but you supposed now was as good a time as any.

“How are you liking the party?” Remus asked and you almost laughed.

“Well the party itself is just fine — the Gryffindor music is almost always better than Slytherin’s EDM shit. Can’t say I’m as pleased with my current job, though.” You seemed to have amused Remus judging from the snort he released and you felt a flash of pride.

“I’ll take your compliment, it’s almost always my records James puts on for parties,” Then he lowered his voice to a stage whisper, “But I never lend him my Bowie records — they’re basically my children.”

“That’s not true, Moons,” Sirius interrupted, momentarily pulling his head up, “He was playing my Zeppelin tape before.” Remus gave him a smile similar to one you might give a child when you know you need to acknowledge what they’re saying but knew they were talking complete nonsense. You decided to focus on Remus’ earlier statement.

“I love Bowie!”

Once you’d found some common ground the conversation was easy. You sat for almost half an hour, the two of you chatting lightly whilst feeding your respective friends water and waiting until they were ready to be upright again. You almost dreaded leaving the gross toilets, your unexpected meeting with Remus becoming the surprise highlight of your night. You hesitated at the door.

“We should get going. The rest of our friends are probably worried,” You trailed off awkwardly, unsure of how to end your acquaintance.

“It was nice talking to you,” Said Remus, “Despite the, uh,” He gestured at the location. You laughed, nodding.

“Well, if you’re anything like me, I’m sure I’ll see you next time.” With that you and Jen said your goodbyes, waving at Sirius and Remus before darting into the crowd to find the rest of your roommates.

You saw Remus again sooner rather than later. Not at the Slytherin party the next Friday — the Marauders refused to go on principle — but at the Ravenclaw one the weekend after to celebrate their quidditch win. This time he was comforting Peter, not Sirius, and you didn’t even know the girl you’d accompanied into the bathroom. You were pretty sure she was a year or two below you, but you didn’t want her to be all alone while she was drunk.

Remus smiled softly as you explained that to him, getting so invested in your storytelling that he momentarily loosened his grip on Peter’s sandy mop. You both winced at the dull thud of his forehead hitting the toilet bowl. He simply laughed, which in turn made both you and Remus laugh, states possibly heightened by substances but you weren’t admitting anything. Your laughter subsided and you looked at Remus quietly, scrutinising his face. You liked talking to him, he wasn’t nearly as mean as his resting bitch face or the rumours made him seem. In fact he was quite nice, complimenting your outfit and giving you pointers when you started whining about the essay you were procrastinating.

It started to become a habit, the two of you meeting like that at parties and ending up hiding in the toilets for longer than was strictly necessary to take care of your respective friends. After three instances you were pretty confident you could even call him a friend, the interactions lasting outside of the singular moments at parties.

The first time he’d acknowledged you in the light of day with a wave as you passed him in the hallway you were too stunned to return it, only able to spare him a backwards glance when he had already passed. You had to ask the roommate you were walking with if it was even directed at you. Remus, in turn, was on the verge of humiliation when he thought he’d totally misread your interactions for something more than just necessity, quietly devastated when you didn’t return his greeting and interpreting it as you not actually wanting to be friends.

You managed to ease his worries the next time you bumped into him, a shy but excited “Hi, Remus!” when you passed him entering your shared potions class. You didn’t stay to watch his friends make a ridiculous fuss over the minute interaction, Sirius in particular knowing exactly what was going on. But you were glad you were becoming real friends nonetheless, the prospect of possibly talking not in a greasy toilet sounding very appealing.

Despite the introduction of small ‘hellos’ and waves when you crossed paths, your schedules were hardly aligned, so most of your relationship was confined to the parties you attended. Neither the Marauders nor your own friend group were ignorant of the two of you becoming individually more eager to attend these parties, and you could have sworn they’d started exaggerating their drunkenness to get you two to spend more time with each other.

A Valentine’s Day party in February had you dressed in your prettiest pink and white dress, the Gryffindor common room the perfect venue for a red-themed party. You’d been enjoying the party itself; you’d come up with a game where you guessed which music belonged to which Marauder — the best tracks were always Remus’.

When Jen tugged on your arm saying she was feeling sick far too early in the night you raised an eyebrow, but you weren’t going to be the arsehole who let her be sick on her own. And so you participated in the near-weekly ritual of steering her through the crowd towards the bathroom you were now well acquainted with.

For the first time in a while you were the first two in there. You stared at Jen curiously. She wasn’t exactly retching over the toilet despite the act she’d put on earlier. You were just trying to figure out how to ask the question when the door pushed open, and in walked Sirius and Remus. You could have sworn Sirius had winked at Jen, but you were too enamoured by Remus to be focusing on anyone else. Sirius at least had the decency to commit to his performance, leaning over the sink, occasionally groaning half-heartedly.

You and Remus took your customary places next to each other, periodically rubbing your friends’ backs lightly. You made light conversation with him, enjoying the way he got when he was high. His eyes became softer, hazel shining through as he locked eyes on you. Your favourite was his smile though, dopey and eliciting easy giggles at every joke you made. You were engaged in a passionate conversation about aliens when Sirius groaned louder than his pre-vomit sounds.

“Merlin, would you please just kiss already! Moony’s mooning over you!” He cried, and you watched as Remus face flushed an adorable shade of red. You assumed yours probably matched, but you were at least handling it better than the boy across from you, who looked like he wanted to drop dead in that moment. You couldn’t contain your giggle, slapping a hand over your mouth to try and lessen Remus’ embarrassment. You set your eyes on Sirius instead.

“I’m not kissing anyone in the fucking bathroom, no matter how cute they are.” You chanced a wink at Remus, then followed Jen out of the bathroom, trying not to betray how flustered you were by your own actions.

The two of you giggled all the way back to the rest of your friends, who were promptly filled in on the story and let out similar shrieks. A glance over at Remus’ friends showed them already looking at you, James Potter with a delighted expression on his face. You turned away and missed Remus’ friends hyping him up, Peter handing him a full-looking shot for confidence.

The next thing you knew, a hand slung around your shoulder. You looked up, smiling when it was the slightly dazed frame of Remus Lupin, giving you a fond grin.

“Wanna dance?” You were surprised at his request, everyone knew Remus Lupin hated dancing. And yet, here he was dancing with you to Pink Floyd as your friends made kissy faces when he wasn’t looking. You were just happy to be spending time with him not on the bathroom floor.

You were about four songs in and you could tell that Remus was tired but you were still puzzled as to why he hadn’t sat down yet. You were pretty sure even his high was wearing off which would ordinarily be an indication it was time for him to leave. But he was here. For you. You were about to question him when he leant down so his mouth was right next to your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“I know you said you wouldn’t kiss me in the bathroom, but how about a dance floor?” You could feel your jaw drop open.

“I… would say that dance floor is a green zone.” You smiled. You watched him return it, so close you could see every fleck of colour dancing around his eyes. He closed the distance first, scooping you up into his arms and kissing you with such fervour you could only imagine how long he’d been waiting for it. You returned it just as eagerly, swiping your tongue across his bottom lip to deepen it as you’d daydreamed about in class just days ago.

A frightening yell came from behind Remus and you both pulled away to investigate, rolling your eyes when it was just Sirius — clearly smashed but surprisingly wholesome in his celebrations of you and Remus finally taking some action. His heavy hand clapped Remus on the shoulder, rambling nonsense that emphasised how long it had taken the two of you to bite the bullet. Both of you ignored him, stuck in ignorant bliss, sneaking kisses between bouts of laughter.

All in all, it was a pretty decent Valentine’s Day — not actually needing to clean any throw-up was just an added bonus.

186 notes · View notes

wonderwolffs · 1 year

Text

Only Have Eyes For You

A/N: Toto only has eyes for you… short and sweet but pure fluff 🥰

Proudly, you’ve stood by Toto’s side for the last three years, a whirlwind romance from girlfriend to fiancée and most recently his wife: Mrs. Wolff. He knew from the minute he laid eyes on you that you were the one.

You couldn’t help but beam with pride every time something or someone, written or verbal made reference to your last name, or being struck in awe by the rock on your finger daily, everything reminding you of the man you were grateful to share your life with. Not just together but as a family unit, being there for his elder children, Benedict and Rosa, whenever they needed you. It was perfect.

Both having high pressured jobs, attending races together was tricky but the ones where you could be in his company for a full weekend, were the best ones, especially on home soil: Austria.

Not loosing sight of each other day after day, entering the paddock, cuddled close and everyone knew you both were the ‘it’ couple, a term you’d gladly accept. Planting kisses to your temple, your head resting on his shoulder, reaching the garage.

“Laters, baby” uttered as a whisper leaving both of your lips, heading your separate ways as Toto and the rest of team prepared for the race. Fifty Shades certainly wasn’t either of your favourites, but the phrase held meaning.

You occupied Toto’s office for a couple of hours until a few minutes before the race, always punctual giving yourself time to head back and set sorted before ‘lights out’. Sitting in the VIP enclosure, sat right across from your man, a mere few feet away is a view you’d never tire of - a very good excuse to admire him from a far, arms crossed, shirt sleeves rolled up showcasing his toned forearms with a few buttons undone while he concentrated on a various screens in-front of him and in your mind, you’d take him right then and there but of course imagination was different from reality and you quickly cleared your throat to pause those wild thoughts for a wee while longer.

Mercedes finished mid way in the points, which was a positive result given an unfortunate start to the season. Toto wrapped his arms around your waist “Just a few press interviews and that’s me finished for the day, darling”.

You smile and look up to him in response “Take all the time you need”.

As he leaves for his final duties, it gave you the perfect moment to tackle your cunning plan. A few weeks prior, you’d enlisted the help of Rosa, Toto’s PA to make sure you had everything you needed. Counting each item, you headed upstairs and into the bathroom. Undressing yourself, then into the appropriate attire. Timing it just right as you see Toto set up for his final interview, it’s go time.

You exit the garage and walk by the media pen, all heads turning when they see you head to toe in Dirndls - traditional Austrian clothes, for women. Toto couldn’t believe it when he looked up as you patiently waited for him beside the team signage - it took everything it his power not to run to you then and there, rather composing himself to complete the final question… quickly.

“So, tell us Toto what does it mean to be here in Austria? Not only is it home for you but we see your wife is here too, which must be lovely”

“It means everything and now I can go home and unwind, maybe even celebrate. As for my brilliant wife, when she’s with me, it’s like my good luck charm and today proved that as we’re in the best form yet”. He says with a light chuckle. “If you’ll excuse me, that’s who I’m going to see right now”.

#toto wolff #f1 x reader #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff imagine #f1 fanfic #toto wolff fluff #toto wolff drabble #f1 tumblr #f1 imagine #wonder wolff works

828 notes · View notes

tiny-tini-imagines · 8 months

Note

Hi, read your headcanons about the fellowship and wanted to ask for some HC's about Legolas being in love with an elf reader. Preferably female, if that's possible. THX

Re.: Of course, Thank you for asking. I often thought about that, so I hope it's alright.

Headcanon Request - Lord of the Rings summary: Legolas is in love with a female elf

(added: character art, what they would say to them, or about them)

Stolen Glances: Legolas can't help but steal glances at you when he thinks no one is looking. His eyes find your effortlessly, and he cherishes the moments when your gazes meet, a silent exchange of your affection.

"In your eyes, I see a world of wonder and courage, and in your heart, I find the most beautiful melodies of love and strength."

Whispers in the Woods: You often communicate through soft, whispered conversations in the heart of the forest. The tranquility of the woods mirrors the serenity of your love. Although you don't need words at all to comunicate.

Language of Flowers: Legolas memorizes your favorite flowers and leaves them where you'll find them, each bloom carrying a message of his love and admiration. (And he definitely knows the meanings of every single flower, everytime you get a bouquet it's like a poem)

Hidden Keepsakes: In his private quarters, Legolas keeps small trinkets and tokens you've given him over time, treasures he holds dear and takes comfort in during lonely nights, or when your away/ when he misses you.

Stargazing Together: One of your favorite pastimes is stargazing. You find constellations together, creating your own stories in the night sky and lay there for hours.

"Among all the stars in the night sky, it is your radiance that guides me through life's journeys, and I am forever grateful for your presence in my world."

Comfort in His Presence: Your presence brings Legolas a sense of calm and contentment. He often seeks solace in your company during moments of reflection. (You'd often find youself with him in your arms, stroking his hair, comforting him - especially after disagreements with Thranduil)

"My loyalty to you and our people remains steadfast, but my heart has found a home in a world beyond the borders of the Woodland Realm." Legolas to Thranduil

Loving Affection: He expresses his love through affectionate gestures, like gentle caresses, forehead kisses, and tender embraces. He's very soft, always making sure you're comfortbale

Your Laugh: Legolas adores your laughter. He often finds ways to make you smile, cherishing the sound as one of the most beautiful melodies in Middle-earth. It is not just the sound but also the sign, since he loves to see you smile. (He goes to great lengths to bring joy to your life, whether through humorous stories or playful antics.)

Shared Silences: You're comfortable in each other's silence. Sometimes, words aren't necessary as your presence alone brings peace and contentment. You just need to know that you're close.

Fingers Intertwined: Legolas has a habit of gently intertwining his fingers with yours whenever you walk side by side, a silent declaration of your connection. He'd also do that during audiences and other commitments he must attend.

Attentive Listener: He's a patient and attentive listener, valuing your words and insights and seeking your opinions on important matters. However sometimes he just enjoys listening to your voice, that gives him a sense of comfort

Your Elegance : He admires the way you handle your bow and arrows with such grace. It's a skill that he finds endlessly captivating. He'd often say that you're much better than him (something he would tell no one else).

Pride in Your Strength: He takes great pride in your strength, both physical and emotional, and often tells you how impressed he is by your abilities

Gentle Respect: Legolas treats you with the utmost respect, always considering your thoughts and feelings in any situation.

Secretly Protective: While you are a formidable warrior on your own , Legolas can't help but be secretly protective, always watching your back in battle and ensuring your safety. (You're definitely more important than him)

Your Name in Elvish: He often murmurs your name in Elvish under his breath, finding comfort in the way it rolls off his tongue. You can catch him smiling whenever your name is said.

Eternal Commitment: Legolas contemplates the idea of eternity together, envisioning the ages you'll spend side by side, facing whatever challenges comes your way.

Confidant and Supporter: You're his confidant, and he turns to you for advice and solace in times of uncertainty. Your unwavering support is a source of strength for him.

Shared Adventures: He involves you in his adventures, wanting to create memories together and share the thrill of exploration.

Unspoken Promises: You share unspoken promises of a future filled with love, adventure, and unwavering devotion, with every glance and touch reinforcing your commitment to each other.

"Every day by your side is an adventure worth cherishing, for you bring light to the darkest of places and joy to my soul."

213 notes · View notes

brabblesblog · 4 months

Text

Ch 9: The king hath brought me into his chambers: we will remember thy love more than wine.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

With the party over, Ban and Astarion share the rest of the night together. Important conversations are had.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

The party had ended a little while ago. The remainder had gone by quickly, with Astarion refusing to bring her anywhere near Vel and his spawn. She had fulfilled her usual end of soirée role, standing by the door and seeing the guests out, but the Ascendant had made sure to stand by her as Vel and his retinue left. He’d become particularly protective once he’d realized his focus had faltered during their tryst and all of his summons had been returned to the ether. Thankfully, there had been no further incidents, and he’d relaxed somewhat once the doors had closed behind the last of the guests.

Writing the letter to Gale was hard. Ban frowned, quill in hand. She wanted to slam her face on the table and be done with it.

Said Ascendant was now slipping out of his suit, leaving it a crumpled mess on the floor. Ban winced a bit at the sight. She had always hated him leaving his clothes everywhere, especially when they were always ridiculously expensive.

“A letter?” He quirked an eyebrow, amused. He wasn’t really sure what she was doing, and curiosity won out. Leaning forward, he saw Gale’s name written on the top line.

His expression darkened. “Gale? Really?” He pushed on before he could stop himself. “I came inside you mere hours ago, and you’re already thinking about another man?”

Stop lashing out, you fool. You’ll ruin everything. But he couldn’t help it.

Ban sighed. “I’m actually letting him down, if you must know.” He opened his mouth to respond but she continued, wanting to get her words out before he said something that would escalate the situation. “Had you asked me nicely, I would have told you that right away.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, then his mouth snapped shut. He moved behind her instead, standing at her back. His hands gently worked on her braids, undoing them one by one, a routine he’d always maintained after every event they’d attended. It had usually been a prelude to sex, but tonight, he did it as a nonverbal gesture of apology, which was all his pride would allow.

With her hair free and loose, he gathered it up, draping the ebony locks forward, enjoying the way the silken lengths cascaded over her collarbone. He leaned down, affectionately biting the swell of her shoulder.

“Would you care to join me for a bath, pet?” he whispered into her ear.

She reached back, finding the back of his head and scratching his scalp. “Sure. If you stop calling me pet, at least in private.” Ban understood all too well the need to keep up appearances in the presence of others.

Astarion stopped mouthing at her neck. “Done.” In truth, he hadn’t considered what such nicknames implied. It had begun the moment he’d ascended, his burgeoning ego making it seem all too natural that she’d be fine with it. After all, wasn’t it cute, being someone’s pet? He didn’t think about the deeper implications of it; she didn’t want to be called that, and it was an easy request to grant. That was all there was to it.

He straightened up to undo the clasps of her dress, letting them fall over her shoulders, exposing her small, firm breasts. The sight sent a shiver of arousal through him, but he didn't act on it.

“Let’s bathe together, and then we can retire to our bed,” he said, elated that she’d decided to sleep over. She stood, letting her dress fall to the floor, but unlike him she picked it up.

Ban headed over to his pile of clothes, gathering them up as well, carrying everything to a basket she used to hold sullied clothes for the servants to wash the next day.

That done, she headed for the bathroom, where Astarion already had a bath prepared. The strong smell of lavender wafted towards her, and Astarion smirked as he lowered himself into the tub.

“Join me, lover,” he purred, adoring the sight of Ban climbing into the tub and settling in front of him.

Astarion gestured and she leaned back to let him wet her hair. Reaching for the shampoo, he dispensed some onto his palm and lathered it up, beginning to massage it in with a tenderness bordering on reverence.

“I can have you sent over to the Elfsong tomorrow with a servant to help you gather your things.”

Ban raised an eyebrow. “Who said I’m moving back?”

She leaned back into his touch, but his hands stilled mid-scrub at her words.

“I thought-“

“Only tonight. I said I’m willing to try, not that we’re already there.”

The hands in her soapy hair tightened for the briefest of moments, then loosened and resumed their ministrations, scrubbing the shampoo into her scalp.

“I suppose I misunderstood the terms of what trying meant.” The edge in his voice was back, haughty and unwavering.

She barked out a humorless laugh. “Did you think one or two good days and a good fuck was enough?”

His hands kept working as he considered this. The silence stretched, and Ban could almost hear him trying to figure out the right response. Eventually, he murmured a quick “Tilt your head back, love,” and began to rinse the shampoo out.

Finally, he answered, “I knew it wouldn’t be enough. But for a moment I had hoped it was.” A foolish thought, he was aware. “Are you worried you won’t be able to leave the palace again if you move back?”

“Yes,” she replied immediately. “I have wards against you and your summons. But against your staff? No.” Before, the belief that she was his spawn had kept her in line. But that ruse was gone.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Astarion gritted out. “I want you to do whatever it is you want.” That second bit was harder to spit out, but he needed to say it. It needed to be true, or she’d inevitably abandon him again. He finished rinsing her hair, picking up the scented soap next. Draping her hair over her shoulder, he proceeded with washing her back.

“Then why did you lie about me being a spawn?”

Shit. He wanted to move past all this. Why couldn’t they do that?

“I did say you would have a different experience than a spawn, love.” A half-truth.

“But you also never told me what I was.”

Astarion felt bile rise in his throat, a mixture of fear and anger bubbling in his chest. He finished scrubbing her back, turning her to face him, beginning on her front. As he soaped her chest he cupped a breast, then met her gaze.

There were a lot of things he could say here. That he had hinted at the truth, when he’d told her he’d given her a drop of his blood. That she’d been allowed, even encouraged, to bite him was another hint. He could say he hadn’t even been sure if the ritual had worked. He’d given her less of his blood than was usual, hoping to circumvent the danger of madness inherent to the ritual of turning her into a bride.

None of these were what she was looking for. He gathered what little courage the Ascendant had left, and opened his mouth.

“I figured you would leave me were you to find out the truth. And was I wrong? You did leave me. You left me passed out in a cup of wine, left me like I was just a used up plaything you no longer wanted.”

At his core, that was what Astarion feared most - that he was still a toy. Something to be enjoyed and then discarded once his usefulness had run out. For a time, Ban had worn down fear, and he had started believing in their love. But the moment he had ascended she had turned cold, as though she refused to accept who he had become, and wasn’t willing to try to. As if the moment he’d displeased her, she had punished him by withdrawing her affection.

Then that old fear had come roaring back, and he had needed to ensure she didn’t leave.

He looked down at the breast cradled in his palm, absently swiping a thumb over her nipple.

“Was this all I was good for? To be your sweet, kind Astarion? The Astarion who listened to your every word, who walked a step behind you? The one who needed your help, who stroked your ego, who gave you every pleasure you desired, who needed saving?”

He released her breast, returning to soaping her arm. His eyes didn’t meet hers.

“The moment I wasn’t that, the moment I was free - strong, confident - the moment I was no longer afraid, Ban, you changed.”

He remembered that invisible barrier between them in the last days of fighting the Absolute. He remembered bedding her every single night after the ascension, desperately trying to use what he knew best to regain what was slipping away, even though he hadn’t been exactly sure what it was. He’d finally been able to make love to her without being haunted by the horrors of his past, something he’d wanted so desperately for them to revel in together, yet each time, he’d felt her growing more and more distant. He had buried himself in discovering his newfound powers instead of dwelling too much on that distance - that cooling in their relationship, deciding it was a problem that was best not unearthed, perhaps it was something she would come to him with in time. After all, she was still with him, so it was fine. Everything was fine.

Ban shook her head vehemently. Of course he had misunderstood everything. “Astarion. You changed. All of a sudden you were megalomaniacal, narcissistic, and just - evil! Of course I’d pull away. You were distant. You were suddenly all haughty and there was none of the you that only I knew.”

He stopped soaping her arm. “I was finally strong, finally free! I finally had something to offer you! Don’t you understand?!” His temper got the best of him and he growled, “The rite made me this. Made me better. Stronger. Gave me the chance to claim my due. What I was owed.”

He leaned in close. “After two hundred years of torture and slavery, Ban, I think I deserved it!”

He didn’t tell her that he had also thought ascending would please her. That he could finally be a partner equal to her in strength and prowess, that he could protect her as she had him and provide her with everything she would ever need, immortality foremost amongst them. That she’d be his queen, his right hand, loved and pampered for eternity. The moment she had shown displeasure over that, he’d had to double down on the hedonism and the callousness to protect himself.

Centuries without anyone to care, to know him, to love him. Endless years of bodies and cruelty and pain, with no hope of reprieve. He’d given up hope of ever finding freedom, or happiness, or love - and then she’d come along. She’d seen him and chosen him, had claimed his withered heart, though he had nothing to offer in return. She’d thought him, simply him, to be enough. The idea of losing her, of losing that which had been bestowed upon him like a benediction was unthinkable. His mind had recoiled at the very idea, refusing to accept something so painful, and so he’d hidden himself away, behind layers of extravagance and ego, in a desperate effort not to fall apart.

“The world doesn’t owe us anything, Astarion. And I know you’ve suffered. So much more than you ever deserved.” Ban took the soap from his hand and put it away. He took a moment to wet his hair, the curls sticking to his forehead. She grabbed the shampoo, reaching for his hair, hoping he would allow it.

To her surprise he did, leaning his head forward so she could reach him.

“But just because you’ve suffered doesn’t mean you can inflict the same suffering onto others. Onto the people you would’ve made your spawn had I not put my foot down. Onto… onto me.”

Her hands scratched his scalp gently, and he was thankful that with his head lowered like this, she couldn't see his face. He cried silently, a trick he’d mastered early on in Cazador’s custody. The tears mixed with the water, lost before she could notice.

“I started avoiding you, yes. And maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have talked to you instead. I’m sorry I didn’t,” she continued, “But I was scared. I thought you weren’t you, that maybe the ritual had actually fundamentally altered you. So I did my research first, took my time. And by the time I realized it was indeed still you…”

By that time, their love had been so tainted she’d felt like her only option was to run.

She slid behind him, gently nudging him to tip his head backwards so she could rinse out his hair. He did so, his eyes closed. The water sluiced down his silvery curls and she couldn’t help but play with them, running the strands between her fingers.

“You could have talked to me, you know? This isn’t just on me,” she finally said.

“I couldn’t.” His voice threatened to crack, and he forced it to steady. Couldn’t, because he’d been terrified of being weak and alone again, the panic had strangled him before he could give voice to his fear. He’d known she was unhappy and self-preservation had taken over. To preserve his heart, he’d needed control; telling her would have relinquished that control. He would rather have lived with that farce of a relationship and suffered than risk it all on a gamble that could go sideways and leave him worse off than he’d been even in slavery.

“I couldn’t risk losing you.” He forced the words past his lips, enunciating everything slowly so that no cracks appeared in his voice. “I’d much rather just suffer. I am used to suffering. The whole of my life has been suffering.”

I’d rather suffer than be alone again. He would rather endure all her barbs, all the coldness she’d shown him, if it meant she’d be there.

“And how about my suffering? Or did that not matter to you?” She finished rinsing his hair, grabbing the soap to scrub his back. She ran her hand over the scars carefully, remembering to touch them in a way that he found acceptable. He melted into her touch, his shoulders drooping as he relaxed.

“It mattered. I knew you were miserable.” He hesitated. “I thought everything else would make up for it.” His voice finally cracked. He winced at the sound of it, but he pushed on.

“I wanted to give you the world.” His voice was small, another layer peeled from his core. “You deserve the world, but instead I made the world hell."

Ban froze, hand stilling in the middle of an infernal rune. She fought the instinct to hug him, unsure if that would be welcome right now. He was still the Ascendant, but he was also the spawn she loved. She understood now, he had always been both.

“I never wanted the riches. Not the clothes, or the jewelry, or the influence. Even the sex, as amazing as it has always been.” Other than tonight, every single time they’d had sex had been marred by something - from his initial plans of manipulating her, to all the times when she’d just lain there and gone through the motions because she’d hated who he had become. She kissed the back of his neck, a gentle press of lips that left them soapy. “I only ever wanted you, Astarion. The real you.”

The Astarion who had accompanied her in her journeys, the one who hadn’t been afraid to trust her with his heart. The one with whom she’d cuddled in that dirty tent night after night, swapping stories and enjoying each other’s company.

The Ascendant covered his face with his hands. He didn’t want her to see his tears, and even if he was silent, he knew it was pretty obvious by now that he’d started to cry.

He was so afraid. He’d always known, deep inside, that that was what she wanted. The bigger question, however, was whether he’d be able to give it. Was he brave enough to let the last layers fall at such a tentative time as this? When she could just leave again?

I’m a coward. The Ascendant knew this; he knew he would never be as brave as that spawn. This, after all, was why he loathed that version of himself - so powerless, and yet stronger than the Ascendant had ever been. He wanted to draw away from Ban, to bring the walls up, to hide behind them and peep through the windows of his defenses. To be safe.

But he owed it to her to at least try.

“If I fail, Ban-” he began, “If I stumble-“

“I’ll catch you. I’ll be here.”

Her hands roamed his back, still cleaning him, and he realized he wanted to ask her to hold him. He longed for the shelter of her embrace, the shield that protected him from the world.

A broken, stifled sound broke through the Ascendant’s lips.

“Hold me.” It was a broken whisper, he half hoped she hadn’t heard it. He hadn’t asked to be held since that fateful day when he’d condemned thousands to their end. Hadn’t felt like he deserved it, really.

But he wasn’t above asking now.

She responded immediately, gathering him in her arms and letting him settle against her, his back to her chest. He positioned himself to hide his face in the crook of her neck. He could feel her every breath, her undead skin, the slow beat of her undead heart.

The frantic pace of his own heart began to slow. He closed his eyes, the two of them utterly still for a few heartbeats, until Ban began to wash him again, allowing him time to collect himself.

This is why I love her. She always knew exactly what he needed, when he needed it, even when it was something he wasn't aware of himself. He let her bathe him, focusing solely on the sensation of her hands on his body, the gentle glide of her touch soothing him. He hadn’t had this type of intimacy in far too long, and he realized he’d rather die than lose it again. He’d been thinking that a lot, lately, he realized; about the things he’d rather die than go without. Perhaps it was time to start behaving accordingly.

All too soon she was finished bathing them both, and he was wrapping a towel around his waist. Ban sat on the bed, drying her hair with a towel. Astarion walked back into the bedroom and nearly reached for his pillow and blanket to curl up on the floor again, out of habit.

But Ban’s words echoed in his mind. The floor never did wonders for your back, Astarion.

He sat beside her on the bed, searching for something to say, just to break the silence.

“That whole time you were with Gale,” he began. The fact that she’d chosen to begin writing to him immediately after their evening together had struck him as odd and made him more than a little jealous. “Did you ever consider actually being with him?”

She looked over, a little surprised by this line of inquiry. It did make sense for him to ask, she supposed. The truth was that she’d felt nervous being around Astarion again, being in the same bedroom - actually sleeping together. Writing that letter had felt like something to do, something to keep her occupied while he bathed. She hadn’t really expected him to ask her to join him - that wasn’t something they’d done often when she’d still lived with him. She didn’t see any reason to tell him that, though, since that wasn’t what he asked.

“I did consider it.” It wasn’t a lie, and he knew exactly what had transpired between her and Gale physically. “He’s-” she tried to continue, and he cut her off.

“Everything I’m not. I know.” Tamping down the urge to get angry and to push her away yet again, he took a moment to calm down. Did she really mean it, when she’d said she wanted to try? Why had she been writing a letter to him so soon after? He was aware there was probably a perfectly reasonable answer, and that he could simply ask, but the insecurity won out.

“Is that what you want? Someone like Gale.” He was relieved that it hadn’t come out angry, although his jaw was clenched.

“Didn’t I just tell you I want you?”

He wanted to protest. Sex made things complicated, made people say things they didn’t mean. He knew that better than anyone - he’d heard it all, professions of love from countless people in various stages of bliss. He’d known not to believe a word of it, known that in those moments those people did believe their own words - he’d known exactly how to twist that belief to serve his master’s agenda, too.

“If it’s true, then say it again.” Shit. That came out wrong.

She narrowed her eyes at him, meeting the challenge in his gaze. Her mouth opened for a scathing remark, but then she noticed the way he looked.

The challenge was there, but there was more. In the set of his lips, in the way his jaw was clenched - there was fear. He was bracing himself, as if he expected her to change her mind and to leave him again. Ban looked down and sure enough, his hands were fisted into the sheets. She covered his with her own.

“I want you,” she said slowly. “I want to try again.” She kept it simple - not promising too much, but also hopefully giving him what he needed to hear.

Astarion looked away from her, staring at the wall. He eventually nodded sharply. “That’s all I ask. You can finish your letter now, if you want, and I’ll have the servants send it out first thing tomorrow.”

Ban nodded, placing a quick kiss to his temple before leaving the bed. As she settled herself at the desk again, Astarion forced himself to lie down on his side of the bed, watching her work. He took the opportunity to revel in her presence, in the quiet domesticity of it all. His eyelids began to grow heavy and his body relaxed comfortably, sensations he hadn’t felt since she’d left. He let the contentment wash over him, slipping into trance, his last thoughts of her.

He didn’t see her finish her letter and slip onto the bed beside him, nuzzling into his chest. He didn’t hear the whispered “I love you,” nor feel the soft kiss against his sternum. It made a difference, though, his rest was undisturbed by nightmares or by dark thoughts for the first time in months.

When sunlight finally streamed through the bay windows, Astarion opened his eyes and reached out for Ban.

His hands met empty air.

#astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion x tav #baldurs gate astarion #astarion fic #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x female oc #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #ascended astarion x f!tav #ascended astarion x tav #astarion ascended #astarion bg3 #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic

117 notes · View notes

hardly-an-escape · 1 year

Text

I saw pictures of Ferdie in a tux earlier today and blacked out and wrote this | rated T for public makeouts | 1445 words

- - -

'cause every Dreamlord's crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man

- - -

Hob would be the first to admit he isn't much of a fashion plate these days. In fact, it’s one of the things he deeply appreciates about the 21st century so far: just how much easier it had become to simply get dressed.

No more fussing with hose and doublets and codpieces. No more wigs or complicated ascots or fancy hats or cufflinks. Pair of jeans, decent jacket, and you were out the door. And if your shirt didn't have holes in it people considered you fairly put together, all things being equal.

Still, he takes pride in looking well, like he always has. Keeps his hair nice, stays away from crappy fast fashion. And since his TA makes a point of teasing him about how many undergrads have a crush on him (despite the enormous eye rolls that conversation always generates), he figures he must be doing something right.

And before anyone asks, yes, he also finds the juxtaposition with Dream amusing. “Painfully normal history professor on a hot date with an exquisite goth king” is hilarious any way you slice it; in fact, Hob secretly lives for the subtle double-takes when he introduces people to his boyfriend.

Yeah, I pulled that, he thinks smugly to himself. He just couldn’t resist my devastating Levis-and-t shirt combo.

- - -

“I’m off, love,” said Hob, draining his coffee. “Don’t forget the fundraiser tonight, yeah? They're doing it at the natural history museum. Cocktails at 6:00, dinner at 7:30, and you know I can't come home to collect you after that meeting, so please don’t be more than fashionably late and I'll meet you there.”

“Hmph,” said Dream. “Must we go at all?”

“It’s literally in my contract to do one of these a year, I’m afraid,” said Hob. “And I did promise Professor Hathaway that this time, and I quote, my surprisingly dashing partner would be in attendance. Besides,” he added, pausing to press a kiss against his glowering lover’s temple, “you know you love to dress up. Just think of it as your own little Met Gala.”

“And are you wearing... these?” queried Dream, gesturing disdainfully at Hob’s well-loved corduroys.

“You like these trousers,” said Hob with a cheeky grin. “You think they make my bum look good.”

“Hmm.” Dream slid a hand onto Hob’s hip and pressed his nose into the hollow of his throat in a way that never failed to send a shiver down Hob’s spine. “Perhaps I do. Perhaps I could demonstrate. Perhaps we could skip—”

“Nice try, my love,” laughed Hob, and detached himself regretfully. “I will see you at 6:00 o’clock, we will schmooze lovely donors with lots of lovely money, and never fear, I will be wearing something other than my old cords.” He punctuated each sentence with a touch of his lips. “Now I really have to go.”

He dropped one last kiss on Dream’s upturned mouth and snagged his bag on his way out the door.

“No later than a quarter after six! Promise!”

- - -

Dream sauntered up the steps of the museum at 6:33, exactly as he had intended, and followed the sounds of revelry toward the crowd of literature professors, history lecturers, administrators, graduate students, donors, and various hangers on who always seemed to turn up at this sort of event.

The professors and lecturers would be bored, the administrators avid, the graduate students petrified, the donors sleek, and the hangers on clustered around the hors d'oeuvre table. So it always had been and so it always would be. Strange, how the glad-handing traditions of the waking world mirrored so perfectly the events of state he had endured in the Dreaming.

He accepted a plastic flute of sparkling something from a waiter and looked about for Hob.

Dream soon spotted his paramour in the midst of a cluster of people paying court to Professor Hathaway, who liked to surround herself with handsome younger men as frequently as possible (and could get away with it, partly due to being an absolute powerhouse in the field of art history and partly due to being eighty years old and four and a half feet tall in her socks).

Hob was laughing, plastic flute in hand, and even from across the room Dream was so captivated by the sparkle in his eye that it took a moment to realize just what Hob was wearing.

It was an impeccable dinner jacket, nipped in ever-so-slightly at Hob’s slim waist, where a single button closed the front. Stark white cuffs peeked out at the wrist, and a touch of texture on the lapels drew the eye upward, across the snowy dress shirt to the perfectly tied bow tie at Hob's throat.

He twisted to the side to listen politely to the man standing next to him – clearly a donor – and Dream's eye drifted down, where excellently tailored trousers emerged from the hem of the jacket, gave the corduroys a run for their money, and led down to a pair of highly polished Oxford shoes.

Hob's hair was swept back from his forehead, and the five o'clock shadow that had looked a bit scruffy that morning had somehow, by the mysterious alchemy of formal wear, been transformed into something rakish and debonair.

Dream's mouth was suddenly and inexplicably very dry.

Of course, Hob chose that moment to scan the crowd and catch Dream's eye, flashing him that brilliant smile and waving him over to join the group. Dream swallowed half his wine in one go and obeyed Hob's beckoning hand.

"Madam, may I present to you Morpheus, as promised," Hob said laughingly. "I have proved he still exists and must beg your indulgence if he fails to appear at a faculty party for another year and change."

"Professor Hathaway." Dream took her wrinkled hand and bowed low over it. "I am as charmed by your presence as ever. I know I have only just arrived, but would you briefly excuse us? I find I must borrow Robert for a moment."

She tittered and waved them off as Dream neatly excised Hob from the conversational circle and steered them away from the crowd and down an empty gallery.

"Everything alright, love?" asked Hob. "Did something happen while I was at work?"

The tinge of concern on his face lasted right up until Dream pulled him behind a trilobite diorama, divested him of his drink, grabbed him by the lapel of his perfect dinner jacket, and fitted their mouths together with mathematical precision and intensity.

"Ah. I see," said Hob after a long and breathless kiss. "One of those moments. Like the suit, do you?"

Dream considered growling at Hob; quickly weighed and dismissed the relative merits of, in order, demanding where exactly Hob got off looking like that, demanding to be taken home and ravished, and demanding to be ravished on the spot; and finally settled for pushing him back against the glass case and kissing him again, as thoroughly as possible.

It was several more moments before they broke apart, and the white expanse of Hob’s shirt was heaving slightly as he straightened his tie and swept a hand through his hair.

“Are you not going to tell me I’m late?” asked Dream, retrieving his plastic cup and draining the remaining wine, already gone slightly flat.

“That joke’s gotten a bit old by now, hasn’t it?” said Hob. “Besides, I fibbed, because I know you very well. Cocktails didn’t start until 6:30 and dinner’s not until 8:00. Got to let everyone get a bit toasty before the auction starts.”

“Liar. Rogue. Charlatan.” Dream grumbled. “I cannot possibly remain in the waking world that long. My realm requires—”

“Tell you what,” interrupted Hob. “If you stay through the main course, you can plead a headache and we’ll leave when they serve dessert; they won’t need me after the speeches anyway. And then…” his voice dropped lower “...if you don’t mind, all these studs and cufflinks are very fiddly. I may need quite a bit of help getting out of this monkey suit once we get home.”

He leaned forward and brushed a promising kiss at the corner of Dream’s mouth, and something inside Dream shivered in a way he still was unaccustomed to.

“Your terms are acceptable.”

Hob smiled again, one of the soft smiles that Dream had learned were especially for him (and for which he was privately willing to endure many more fundraising galas).

“I love you,” he said simply. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

Dream found his hand and squeezed it gently as they turned to rejoin the party.

“I love you, too,” he said.

- - -

PS: picture, if you will, Lord Morpheus at the fundraising dinner in the velvet Saint Laurent suit Tom wore to the premiere. because it amuses me.

#Dreamling #Hob Gadling #Dream of the Endless #this is just an excuse to lovingly describe Hob Gadling in modern formal wear #I apologize for nothing #my writing

708 notes · View notes

shesjustanothergeek · 5 months

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty-Seven

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I just wanted to start by saying thank you, and I'm sorry. Life has been so hectic these past few weeks. I met a guy, and we dated. Then we broke up, celebrated my birthday, got another job added to my current one, and got invited to parties while trying to care for myself, which is already a struggle. It may take some time, but this story will be finished! Everything is planned out; I have to write it. I promise!

Chapter Warnings: Misogyny, sexism, blood supremacy, the iconic dinner scene.

After the much-awaited arrival of your family came, it quickly went. The Keep was a buzz with a tense thickness of worry for what would come. With the petition of Vaemond Velaryon for the Driftwood throne and the other faction of Targaryen's appearing, the Lords and Ladies of the Court were anxious. The last time the entirety of the House of The Dragon was together, a Prince was maimed, and a Princess was cut, creating an irreparable divide.

You thought nothing of it. The court was always tense in your presence. What was the added chance of another physical confrontation?

Rhaenyra had sent you to fetch your brothers, saying she needed a moment to gather her bearings after being away for so long. You bid her farewell as you strolled along the stone halls, already having a place in mind for where the troublesome duo could be.

As you suspected, the boys were in the training yard, Jace enthusiastically wielding a short sword and showcasing a prideful stance to Luke. Rolling your eyes, you descended the stone steps, focusing on not tripping as your brothers approached a crowd of cheering onlookers. You had your suspicions of who would be within the circle, cautiously hurrying your slippered feet.

Just as you were moments away from pulling Luke, a smooth timber carried throughout the yard.

"Nephews, have you come to train?" the One-Eyed Prince asked. You knew the query was rhetorical, swiftly pushing yourself between your brothers and taking their hands.

You challenged Aemond with the firm line of your mouth, an arched brow within your hard stare. Before either of you could think to do something foolish, the thundering creak of the courtyard doors opened, revealing Lord Vaemond and his entourage of blue-grey seahorse banners.

Instinctively, you put Lucerys behind you, the sword Daemon gifted you hidden beneath your cloak of crimson and black. Both your brothers clutched at your hand as if it were the only thing keeping them from withering under their Great Uncle's stare, and perhaps it was. You heard a chuckle from behind, your head quickly snapping at Aemond to fix him with a stern look.

"Come, brothers," you announced, tugging their larger fists in yours, "let us find Mother before we must attend this farce."

Jace and Luke followed solemnly behind. The elder hunched over with a wrinkled brow, the younger desperately clinging onto you like a babe to its rattle.

***

The Great Hall was bustling with the sounds of anxious voices. All the court members were gathered in a display of what you could only think to be an attempt at public embarrassment by the Greens. Petitions such as these only required some of the Lords and Ladies to be in attendance, yet here they were, making a chilled and open space incredibly stuffy and small.

The Iron Throne stood imposing with its presence, the swords of Aegon the Conquerer's enemies smelted into a seat that could cut those who came too close to its rug of pointed metal.

Your Father was conversing with Rhaenyra, his strong fists clasped over his stomach, leaning into your Mother's ear. Lucerys was at her side, his slender fingers picking at each other as he cowered beneath his cloak. Rhaena and Jace were beside you, and you glanced at your half-sister, her white hair knotted into thick, cylindrical locks piled atop her head. She nodded toward your brother, and you stepped forward, wrapping an arm around his more petite body.

He tried not to show how your gentle actions comforted him, subtly leaning into your side as the announcement for the petition commenced.

"Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds," Otto Hightower spoke, his voice booming across the Great Hall, "we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As the Hand, I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters." You couldn't help but roll your eyes, removing your arm from your brother and replacing it with your palm. "The Crown will now hear the petitions."

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, the sense of someone watching your movements too closely to be fleeting. Aegon's violet eyes were trained on you and your connection with your brother; his lips curved into a frown. You brought Luke tighter into your side, fighting the urge to get him into your chest as a mother would, only to spite Aegon. The Prince could no longer stand the infuriating sight of you holding someone so close and trained his darkened eyes on the floor.

"Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon," the Hand spoke, announcing the challenger to the room.

The man who caused this stepped forward, dressed in a rich velvet doublet of deep navy, nearly black, and sparing a glance to the wife of Lord Corlys, the Queen Who Never Was, Princess Rhaenys.

"My Queen," he greeted with a nod, "my Lord Hand."

Luke bristled beneath your touch at his Great Uncle's voice, retreating further into his cloak.

"The history of our noble houses extends past the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Valaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Old Valyria, our House became the last of their kind." You glanced at your Mother while Vaemond droned eloquently, her gaze downcast with a disapproving smirk. "Our forebears came to this land, knowing they were to fail; it would be the end of their bloodlines and name."

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Princess Rhaenys, her stare boring holes into the back of her good brother's skull. Your worries that the Queen Who Never Was would not side with your Lucerys and his claim vanished as you noted the anger on her face, the fury at Vaemond's claim that he had the right to be Lord of the Tides and not her, as if her rule during Corlys' absence meant that the Driftwood Throne was not in safe hands.

"I have spent my entire life on defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys' closest kin, his own blood," the second son petitioned.

Otto stared at the man with a neutral expression, but his eyes betrayed his genuine emotions. Arrogance and pride shine through. "It's a true, unimpeachable blood of the House of Velaryon that runs through my veins."

"As it does in my son's, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon," your Mother interrupted, causing everyone in the room to direct their attention to her.

You sucked in a nervous breath, your gaze flickering to Rhaenyra as you gnawed on your lip. She knew better than to interrupt during a petition to the King. Perhaps since it wasn't her Father, she felt the ability to speak out of turn was appropriate. Even the daughter of the King shouldn't be allowed such liberties.

"If you cared so much about your House's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and your own ambition-"

"You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra," the Queen interrupted, causing your simmering anger to spike into a rolling boil. "Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard."

You understood Queen Alicent's opinion but couldn't quell the rise of frustrated tears at her words. It was not her place to order your Mother. She was a wife to the King; she held no real power, and remembering that would do her well.

Ser Vaemond turned to stare smugly at Rhaenyra, continuing with his rant of blood purity and superiority. "What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn't recognize it."

A tugging at your dress sleeve brought your attention to Luke, swiftly nodding that you were all right as he stroked the back of your white knuckles. Your hand long forgetting its comforting touch as it blanched from ire.

"This is about the future and survival of my House, not yours," Vaemond finished, staring hard at your brother as he cringed.

You did not let the Lord frighten him for long, standing in front of Luke like the moat of iron spikes surrounding Maegor's Holdfast. You came face to face with Ser Vaemond for the first time in your life, his facial hair a mix of salt and pepper from the decades of life he held above you. You were still determining if you could best him in a battle of swords. Yes, you were skilled, but you were not a fool.

The Lord turned from you, his prideful grin duller as he addressed the Queen and Hand. "This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my House and line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor," Vaemond finally concluded, taking a few steps back, "the Lord of Driftmark-the Lord of The Tides."

"Thank you, Ser Vaemond," Otto announced, the second son giving one last sneer toward your family.

With the retreating of the Lord, you were given the perfect view of the Green children, the eldest still very much disinterested in what was happening around him, shifting on his feet as if he was itching to leave the room, which you supposed was true. The second child was attempting to dissociate from the world around her, uncomfortable with the animosity between the two houses, her golden dress the opposite of her appearance. The third and final member seemed to match his Mother and Grandsire, an air of superiority radiating from his toned body.

"Princess Rhaenyra," the Hand called, "you may now speak for your son, Prince Lucerys Velaryon."

Your Mother approached before the steps of the Iron Throne, her body language openly depicting her ire at the whole matter. Her complete disregard for the seriousness of the situation caused you to crack a smile, looking at Luke in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"If I am forced to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding this court that nearly twenty years ago in this very room-"

Rhaenyra's words were cut short by the creaking of hinges, the grand doors to the Great Hall opening to reveal the rhythmic tapping of a cane.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of The Andals, the Roynar, The First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

Gasps were heard collectively around the large room, your Mother turning to see her Father in public for the first time in years. Lord Vaemond watched the King of The Seven Kingdoms as he hobbled across the great expanse of the throne room, a golden mask covering the right side of his face.

You recalled that nearly a year ago, there was only a tiny sore on his cheek, such a minuscule gash that festered and grew to eat away at his flesh until you could see the rotting teeth within his skull. Tears pricked at your eyes as you listened to the steady tapping of your Grandsire's cane, your heart unable to watch the hunched figure. You knew it was only time until Viserys became the Lepers you saw within the slums of Flea Bottom as a girl, but your memories did not serve the disease any justice. It was worse than you could have imagined.

The Hand seemed more shocked than any. His stoic face of pride morphed into one of stunned surprise as your Grandsire made his way to the bottom steps of the Iron Throne.

"I will sit the throne today," the King rasped, his entire weight resting on the dragon head of his walking stick.

"Your Grace," Otto acknowledged reluctantly, taking his place next to his daughter and her children.

A kingsguard quickly rushed to the side of his ruler, briefly assisting before Viserys weakly shoved him away. You couldn't watch this, watch someone once so full of joy and love for his kin struggle to walk the stairs of his ancestors.

The sound of fallen metal echoed in the room, bringing your attention upward. Your Grandsire's Crown had fallen onto the stairs before the throne as a quiet grunt of discontent puffed past his chapped lips. Daemon was behind his brother before anyone was the wiser, assisting the last remnants of his late parents' love to his ruling seat and placing the golden Crown of Jaehaerys on the remaining tatters of silver hair.

Luke tugged your hand at your side, making you lift your gaze from the floor to him. "Sister, you're crying," he whispered just below the shell of your ear. You nodded silently, whipping away the stray water that collected on your warm cheeks.

"I must admit my confusion," your Grandsire spoke, his frail voice reverberating through the high walls of the hall. "I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession." You did not need to look at Vaemond to see his outrage. You could sense it from where you stood twenty paces away, your tears slowly drying as you gazed at the disappointed Queen. "The only one present who might offer keener insights into Lord Corlys' wishes is the Princess Rhaenys."

Everyone turned to the woman as she processed her cousin's words. "Indeed, Your Grace," she nodded, taking a moment to look at her brother-in-law.

Eyes followed the Queen Who Never Was as she spoke, her voice so smooth and elegant you felt envy for it at the back of your mind. "It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark passes through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed."

The collection of emotions within the room was a whirlpool. Anger, betrayal, shock, and relief whirled around the Great Hall like the beating of a dragon's wings. Ser Vaemond was fuming, indignant at his good sister's words. He was a true Velaryon, not his bastard nephew born of a harlot disguised as a Princess. Rhaenyra Targaryen dishonored his family and the realm with her illegitimate offspring, parading them as pure. He would not stand for this. Vaemond's blood was thick, and it ran true like the sea.

"As a matter of fact the Princess Rhaenyra has informed me of her desire to marry her son's Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys' granddaughters, Princess Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartedly agree."

The rate at which your head snapped to Luke was supernatural, nearly causing you to lose your balance. His expression mirrored yours, shocked with mouths parted like a fish, then turning to look at your Mother. A graceful smile painted her pink lips, swiftly lowering her gaze with a protective hand over her round stomach.

No one besides your Mother shared the proud sentiment, the Queen's countenance souring far more than you thought possible, the Hand still aghast at the sudden turn of events.

"This will be good," you leaned into your brother's ear, his gaze unsure.

Aegon had suddenly perked up at the revelation, uncharacteristically grinning as he watched the drama unfold. You couldn't pinpoint why he had an abrupt interest in the conversation. Perhaps he enjoyed the misfortune of others, even if it was his kin.

"Well," the King spoke, his breathing now calmed, "the matter is settled. Again."

You leaned your head atop Luke's, wordlessly expressing that everything would be well, that there was nothing to worry about anymore. He reciprocated the notion with a squeeze of your hand.

"I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, to the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of The Tides."

The proverbial sigh of relief let out by your family was deep, the heavy-bearing weight of the future being lifted off your shoulders and placed onto the Greens. Princess Rhaenys sauntered to her position beside her eldest granddaughter, an almost annoyed yet prideful gate to her walk.

A scoff cut through the moment of joy, your head directed to the sound. "You break law, centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir," Vaemond spoke, venom laced within every syllable. "But you dare tell me who deserves inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it."

Your brown and violet orbs flickered from the man to the King, your posture changing from the reserved and proper Princess to a warrior, ready to protect.

"Allow it?" Viserys echoed, testing the word on his dry tongue. "Do not forget yourself, Vaemond."

The fallen silence was too thick to cut even by the sharp blade of Darksister, everyone waiting with contained breaths to see what would follow.

"That is no true Velaryon!" the second son shouted. Your hand went to the sword concealed within your large cloak, the other going over Luke as you stepped before him. "And certainly no nephew of mine."

"Take him to his chambers," Rhaenyra ordered you before swiftly turning her attention to Vaemond. "You have said enough."

"Lucerys is my true born grandson," your Grandsire declared. "And you no more than the second son of Driftmark."

"You," Vaemond stated, taking menacing steps forward, "may run your House as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine. My House survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides."

He turned to you and your brother, feet firmly planted with the grip on your longsword. Your gaze stared fire at his, jaw clenched as he spat his vitriol. "And Gods be damned I will not see it ended on account of this..."

You tilted your head to the side, eyes wide as you dared him to utter the words that desperately wanted to leap from his tongue.

"Say it," a voice whispered behind you, your Father's soft and menacing timbre.

Onlookers watched with bated breath as Vaemond thought over his words, his gaze flickering from your Father to you, your Mother, and then finally, Luke. A sneer slowly pulled his lips, righting his posture as he bellowed.

"Her children are bastards!"

You inhaled, a near-inaudible growl emitting from your throat as you took a charged step forward only to be yanked back by your kid brother. Soft murmurs sounded, the Greens all sharing the same look of begrudging disappointment. Jace seemed just as furious as you, his lips curling into a snarl.

"And they," he glared at you, then to your Mother, his jaw tensing, "are whores."

Your gaze immediately flicked to Aegon, your body moving on its own accord as he stared at Vaemond. His eyes were no longer their sullen purple but a near black, shining like dragonglass shards, fists blanched. Did people know of you and the Prince's dalliances? Had you not been as careful as you thought? Your mind raced with the possibility of your secrets being understood, with the chance that Helaena that your family knew of your sins.

You were unable to hear the sound of raised voices expressing facts of treason, threats of violence, and the unsheathing of a sword until you felt blood splatter on your cheekbone, seeing the sliced head of Vaemond Velaryon laying a few paces from your feet.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon declared, looking at the limp corpse below.

"Disarm him!" The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard yelled, his fellow members drawing their weapons.

"No need," your Father protested, wiping the blood of his kin from his blade and exiting the room.

Your eyes could not leave the bleeding form of Vaemond Velaryon, the top half of his dreaded white hair discarded as the crimson liquid seeped into the cracks of the stone floor. Viserys groaned above, collapsing onto the Iron Throne like a sack of bones, Alicent and your Mother running to his aide.

You felt nothing of the inferno of emotions from before, your mind replaying the images of bloodied hands stabbing, stabbing, stabbing and slicing, cutting, tearing at muscle and tendons until you saw nothing but red.

"Little one?"

The name startled you into reality, your hands no longer dripping the essence of life, Vaemond's body carried away.

Aegon stood before you, his face etched with worry. You merely stared at him, your mind blank and body numb. What could you say to him after everything that had happened? After the night he cared for you so tenderly, it rivaled that of a mother's touch, proving that he would keep your secrets without being asked.

You parted your lips to speak, suddenly finding your throat too dry as you swallowed. Aegon extended a hand to yours, fingers brushing each other as fire ignited in your veins, sending bolts of heat through your limbs.

Oh, how you missed his touch.

"I-" you started, the Prince's amethyst orbs searching your own.

"Sister. Mother wants us in our chambers to prepare for supper," Lucerys called, his tone clipped.

You yanked your limb away from Aegon as if it burned, nodding curtly to Luke as he replaced it with his own. You followed your brother out of the Great Hall, refusing to look back as the Prince's stare bore holes into your head.

***

The sun had set upon King's Landing, but none slept. The flagstone streets bustled with life, men with several drinks searching for a championship with anyone willing for some coin.

You, too, nursed a goblet of firewater, your cloak long forgotten as the drink slid down your throat. The intricate strings of bronze fabric woven into your gown glimmered with every movement of your body in the dim candlelight.

The atmosphere of the dining hall was tense on both sides, idle chatter amongst family filling the space as servants prepared for the first meal. All waited patiently for the King to enter, joyful albeit subdued smiles on their faces. You observed your brothers' interactions with their betrothed, each dutiful and respectful, speaking with them in hushes about the future and what it might be.

You and Aemond were the only occupants without a respective partner, Alicent with her Father, Rhaenyra and Daemon with each other, Aegon and Helaena worlds apart but still connected by the rope of marriage. It made your skin crawl to have more in common with your estranged one-eyed cousin than your own family, taking another hearty swig of your Arbor Gold as the Prince locked gazes with you.

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, leaning unceremoniously into the back of your high chair, staring at the dozens of foods before you, begging to be eaten. You were growing impatient with waiting for your Grandsire and decided to steal a purple grape from the platter before you, your Mother scolding you with a tsk.

Aegon was six cups into his wine before the King arrived, his face sullen as he observed his sister-wife delicately stroke something within her hand.

Viserys was escorted into the hall on his makeshift throne, all rising in respect for his title, his crown long forgotten as he was placed between the Queen and your Mother. Sores you hadn't seen before in the throne room were more apparent, causing your eyes to sting with the threat of tears and stomach churning. He leaned heavily onto his cane despite already sitting, his extravagant Targaryen robes weighing on an already frail body.

You were not to cry. Not here. Not in front of the very people who already held little respect for your existence.

"It both gladdens my heart," the King spoke, his voice straining without much effort, "and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table, the faces most dear to me in all the world." Viserys looked toward his left, your Mother, Father, and brothers in his line of sight. Your hand gripped the stem of your glass, ignoring the heated glares from across the table. "We've grown so distant from each other in years past."

You forced yourself to hide the scoff at his words, taking another long drink. And why would that be? Perhaps it was because of the Queen's unwavering grudge against your Mother that festered into a hatred of her life and choices. Or the Lord Hand, previously removed from his position for his corruption, created an environment hostile to those who interfered with his plans. The permanent injury of a young boy only solidified the foundation of hatred.

Viserys paused his speech, wheezing and supporting his weight on the table as a hand came to remove his mask. The sight was nothing you could have imagined. The space where his bright violet eye should be was sunken in a hole of partially healed and rotting flesh in its wake. The wound in his cheek had eaten away at the skin and muscle, revealing his decaying grey teeth.

Aegon's previously intense stare faded, looking at anything except the live corpse before him. The urge to comfort the Prince as you would Luke manifested into a twitch of your fingers, crossing your legs to distract yourself.

"My own face is no longer a handsome one, if it ever was." Phlegm was stuck within your Grandsire's throat, creating an almost repulsive noise. "Tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your Father..."

Aegon met the eyes of a man who was his Father only in name, his glare dark, filled with an anger you had never seen before. You bit your lip, hard to focus on anything other than your heart aching to run and kiss the malice from his face. Why were you thinking this way? Aegon murdered your kin, murdered an innocent maid who was simply doing good.

He deserved this.

But why did it hurt?

"...who may not walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold your feelings in your hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong as long as the House of The Dragon remains divided."

The Sullen Prince's eyes turned to you, your gazes locking with thousands of unsaid emotions, unsaid truths.

"Set aside your grievances!" Viserys declared passionately, startling those at the table and causing you to break your revere momentarily. "If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly."

Silence fell across the table as the King stumbled into his seat, the metal of his mask and cutlery clanging as Alicent dutifully came to his aid. Your Mother stood abruptly, not giving the room to process the King's words as her chair scraped against the stone floor, a cup in her hand as all eyes turned to her.

"I wish to raise my cup to, Her Grace the Queen," she started, her eyes downcast. You watched your Mother skeptically, brown orbs flickering from her to Alicent. "I love my father, but I must admit no one has stood more loyaly by his side than his good wife."

The Queen stared at Rhaenyra, so full of emotions. Years of harbored pain and resentment from events you did not know, bleeding from her chest and onto her finely tailored green dress.

"She has tended to him with unwavering devotion, love, and honor; for that, she has my gratitude. And my apology," Rhaenyra concluded, returning to her seat.

You felt like you were intruding on an intimate moment between lost lovers, the happy moments of their history flashing before each of their minds' eyes. Turning to Aegon, you realize that he did not remove his stare from you, his violet eyes a glassy pool of amethyst. You were sure you mirrored him, your chin slightly quivering as you focused on the empty plate before you.

"Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We're both mothers and we love our children. We have more in common then we allow," Alicent spoke, her voice barely stuttering. "I raise my cup to you and to your House. You'll make a fine Queen."

Otto's disapproving stare did not go unnoticed by you, and Aemond reflected on his expression. Each person raised their goblets individually, taking sips in honor of their current and future Queen.

Aegon threw his drink back twice, going for a third time, but stopped once he caught sight of you. Droplets of Arbor Gold slipped past your lips, lurching forward to catch the liquid before it ran down to the aperture of your chest. The Prince swallowed audibly, his throat clicking as his trousers grew tight.

It had been so long since he felt his love's warm embrace, the softness of your skin on his, and the melodic laughter at one of his raunchy jests. Aegon longed to have anything of you, whether it be your smile or the icy sting of your glare. You ruined him. No one could compare to you, the finest ambrosia he ever tasted, forever aching for another sip. The Prince truly and deeply loved you and needed you to know.

Supper commenced, and you wasted no time feasting, eating the savory vegetables cooked in butter and smothered in rich spices. Smoked cheeses, both hard and soft, found their way to your plate, nearly moaning at their hearty combination with slices of meat.

The frigid environment from before left and was replaced with the warmth of laughter and music. Even the old King himself wore a smile on his cracked grey lips.

You ignored the piercing stare burning on the side of your face, focusing your attention on your Father and adoptive Mother. Daemon whispered something into your Mother's ear, gently grasping her lithe fingers as she giggled and a blush bloomed.

The sight caused an ache to rise in your chest. The hollowness of your heart knocked on your ribs, longing to find a love like your parents before you, but it could not be. Men like your Father were rare in more ways than one. He was more devoted and loyal to Rhaenyra than her sworn shields, ready to defend her honor even at the cost of lives. It was a love you could only dream of. You were a bastard, nothing more.

Ignoring the fist cinching around your lungs, you downed your half-empty goblet of Arbor Gold, summoning a servant to refill it. You did not want to feel like this anymore. The ache. The constant throbbing in your head and heart. It was sometimes too much to bear, seeking solace in a few things. Your days were spent with the swirling storm of thoughts and memories. They plagued your mind like the diseases of your childhood, culturing into an amalgamation of sadness, rage, guilt, and isolation.

It was small at first, smiling and shaking your head when Helaena and your maids questioned what was wrong. Gradually, anger backed every motion you made, and guilt for acting in such a way, for the actions of the past. Your lust for revenge soon consumed you, not long after. Your only focus in the loneliness was to wrong those who wronged you, and now that it was done, all that was left was... nothing. Simply nothing.

"Sister," a kind voice whispered beside you, a gentle hand coming to land on your shoulder. You placed your own over your younger brother's, flashing him a brief smile. "Would you like to dance?"

You accepted Lucerys' invitation, the sudden rising movement causing you to lose balance slightly, resting your weight on him. You both giggled as he glanced down at your awkwardly positioned body, helping you upright as any gentleman would. The musicians started a lively tune, Luke beginning to lead you in dance as several pairs of eyes turned to you.

Daemon and Rhaenyra watched their children with a smile, sharing looks as your Mother leaned against him. Rhaena observed with a wistful look, her gaze to the future rather than the present. It looked bright-- distant time with the sound of running feet and laughter, living in the seat of her ancestors.

You turned to peak a look at your half-sister, ready to congratulate her on securing a good husband as you saw Aegon. His face contrasted with the others-- blue-black circles sunk underneath his violet eyes, his pale skin devoid of the flush of life. You brushed his stare off you and followed your kid brother's lead, catching the glimmer of a look that made your stomach churn.

The murmur of Viserys' voice registered in the back of your mind, too focused on your slightly unbalanced movements to comprehend them. You heard a deep sigh, the soft screech of a chair, and a flash of green. Aegon was on the other side of Jaeceryes, glass in his hand as he whispered something into his ear. The loud cutlery clanking sliced through the air, and you pulled yourself from Luke, watching the eldest Prince saunter back to his seat, and two others stood.

"Jace," Baela called noiseless, her mahogany eyes flickering between her betrothed and the One-Eyed Prince.

Beats of silence echoed in the dining hall as everyone stared at Jace, waiting with curious yet cautious expressions.

"To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond," your brother spoke, raising his drink. "We have not seen each other in years, and I have fond memories of our shared youth." Jace turned, exchanging a sidelong glance with Luke. "And as men, I hope that we may yet be friends as well as allies. To your family's good health, dear uncles."

Each table member raised their cup, Aemond, albeit reluctantly, and took a drink. You took that as your cue to return to your seat, the next course soon to start. Princess Helaena stood moments after you sat, hiding a laugh at yet another toast.

"I would like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They'll be married soon. 'Tisn't so bad," Helaena's melodic voice said. "He mostly just ignores you. Except sometimes when he's drunk."

Daemon's chuckle pierced through the unease, the two full goblets of wine gone to your head as you stifled one of your own, hiding it behind your digits. Aegon refused to meet anyone's gaze, finding his half-eaten plate much more interesting than the people before him.

The next King rose from his seat with a groan from the wood and excused himself from his betrothed, walking to the moonlit Princess, extending a hand. Aegon stared at the pair as they went to the open space you and your brother once were, his face one of surprise. You brought your cup to your lips, swallowing a smirk.

It serves him right. His treatment of Helaena, or lack thereof, was appalling. Though he may not be in a marriage of love, she was still his sister and the dreamy-eyed Princess deserved more.

Adding a few more spoonfuls of boiled potatoes, you observed the returning smiles of your kin, a warm fuzzy feeling replacing the hollowness.

It was over a year since you had been with them like this, laughing and merry as you feasted until your stomach was full. If you closed your eyes, you could picture yourself on Dragonstone, your darling Cannibal curled inside the caves of the Dragonmont, the smell of Brimstone and salt in the air.

A glint of gold caught your eye, breaking you from your fantasy. Viserys' brilliant mask shined in the candlelight as his head lulled to the side, fighting off a bout of pain. Rising from your seat, you went over to him before Alicent or Rhaenyra could react, kneeling on the side of his Lady Wife.

"Grandsire," you gently spoke, bringing his attention to you. "Would you like a drink?" He nodded as you grabbed his goblet, head tilting to the nonmarred side.

You could feel Alicent's gaze from behind, disregarding it as you continued to help him. Perhaps it was guilt that made you feed your dying uncle and Grandsire. Or perhaps it was instinctual to care for someone moments away from meeting the Stranger. It did not matter. Not now, at least. All that did was ensure Viserys' time would be filled with the love and kindness he desired, no matter how short it may be.

"Thank you, Granddaughter," the King rasped, smoothing a bony hand over your braided hair. "You always bring me such... peace when you are around. Please, before I rest tonight, read to me... The stories of Old Valyria."

You nodded hastily, a downturned smile on your lips as you grabbed his fist, your thumb rubbing the crepey flesh. He had never asked this of you before, and though you agreed without a thought, it set an uneasy feeling in your stomach. Signaling the guards, they swiftly went to his side, lifting the chair as you kissed his scalp. The skin was so cold it nearly froze your lips as the men carried your Grandsire out of the dining hall.

The merriment soon returned, melody and song embracing all who sought to take it. Jace and Helaena quickly returned to dance as if their King had not been escorted from the room with a wail of pain. Lucerys conversed with Rhaena and Baela, speaking of things only betrothed couples could as your Mother and Father continued their private conversation.

Once again, you were out of place and next to your family. It had always felt that way. When you were whisked away from all you knew on the back of Caraxes, it felt like you did not belong—constantly teetering on the edge of being legitimate but not being treated as such. You didn't have the powerful ancestry of your half-sisters nor a claim to any lands or titles like your brothers. Yes, you were of noble descent, but only partially. Bastards should not have the privileges that you do.

Sometimes, you convinced yourself it would be better if you had not been born. Your true Mother would still be alive, and Lyra and Sara would, too. Your Father would not have to live with the shame of having a child born of sin, and Aegon would not have to know the pain of never having the one he desires the most.

As if the Prince could read your thoughts, he looked at you, his annoyed expression disappearing into a concerned crease in his brow. You flew away from his inquiring one, focusing on your Mother and Father's joined hands. When you were sure he was no longer staring, you found yours returning, Aegon's eyes now on his younger brother as they spoke without words.

Soon, the main course arrived. A succulent pig glazed in a coppery crisp of honey, cloves, and cinnamon lying on a large platter with a crimson apple in its mouth. Your own began to water as you eyed its tan skin, hearing a snicker to the left of the long oak table.

Luke barely subdued his delight as the pig was placed in the middle, his dark brown gaze connected with the One-Eyed Prince. You were unsure of the reason for his laughter, seeing as Prince Aemond did not share the same sentiment, slamming his fist down onto the table with an attention-grabbing thud.

"Final tribute," he announced, his pink lips in a firm line. "To the health of my nephews Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise," Aemond paused, sparing no one but the boys a glance, his violet eyes wide with something feral, "and strong."

The soft plead of the Queen and a disapproving look from your Mother were cast aside as the Prince continued, Aegon raising his drink far too enthusiastically as you released an irking sigh, rolling your eyes.

"Come. Let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys."

You followed as Aemond said and downed your drink, not for his insulting excuse of a toast but to tolerate the inevitable uproar he created.

"I dare you to say that again," Jacaerys shouted, his chin high.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment," Aemond countered, rising from his seat. You mirrored his actions, standing from your own far too quickly as you fought for balance, the wine gone to your head. "Do you not think yourself strong?"

Before anyone could blink, Jace swung, hitting the One-Eyed Prince on his good side. Luke shot up, ready to defend his brother, but was thrown forward as his face was smashed into his plate, rattling the silverware. Your legs carried you surely despite your sway as you grabbed Aegon by his choppy silver hair, yanking an arm behind his back.

"First, you take my only kin from me and now you feel you are entitled to their misfortune." The Sullen Prince whimpered as you brought his wrist higher, shoving it between his shoulder blades. "Hurt my family again, and you will wake up with your cock flayed and no hands to drown your sorrows."

"Daughter."

You need not look to know who it was and what he was asking, releasing Aegon as he struggled like a caught fish.

A dull sound captured your attention, and Jace was on the ground with a smirking Aemond standing above him. Guards made their way over to you and your brothers before you could even think to retaliate, restraining you all with iron-like grips as your Mother and Father surrounded you.

"How could you say such a thing before these people?" Alicent's heated words spat into Aemond's face, her fist gripping his forearm.

"I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother," Aemond cooly spoke, removing himself from her touch. "Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs."

You had never wanted to kill the One-Eyed bastard more than you have at this moment, shoving free from the guards. How could he think he could get away with saying such a thing? Had the Prince not seen a man beheaded hours prior for spouting those words? Just because he was the son of a King, he felt laws and declarations did not affect him. No.

Hiking your skirt, you reached for the dagger hidden at your ankle, charging forward without the repercussions of attempted kinslaying.

"Wait! Wait!" Daemon shouted sharply over the sound of stomping feet, holding you back with a mere finger. "Not now," he whispered so only you could hear, glancing at your Mother behind you. You slowly retreated, obeying your Father's command as any good daughter should, Jace gripping your shoulder roughly.

"Go to your quarters," Rhaenyra commanded, repeating her words as you hesitated. "All of you. Now."

Aemond's smirk left his thin lips as quickly as it came, face to face with your sighing wall of a Father as you exited in acquiescence.

You did not visit Viserys that night as you promised; your mind was a maelstrom of thought and emotions not even the most skilled seaman could navigate safely as you fell into the warm fur of your bed.

YouTube Playlist

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @prettywhenicry4, @daenerysqueenofhearts, @justarandomfloewerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @heavenly1927, @prettylittlelady, @hjgdhghoe, @im-sidney, @aurorathi, @marihoneywk

Y'all know the clip of 50 Cent where he says, "fuck T.I., fuck Nelly, fuck 50. I'm like, what he'd say fuck more for?"

That was literally the reader when Vaemond called her a whore. I just thought that was so funny, lol.

Also, special thanks to all those who kept up with me during my small hiatus. Now that there ain't no boys in my life no more, I can finally do what I love again! Never give up what you love for anyone. Ever.

Bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason. Message me so I can fix it!

94 notes · View notes

nocturni3 · 8 months

Text

Bruce Wayne x male reader: Late Night worries

Tw: SFW, soft, comfort, missing Jason, Bruce Wayne inner turmoil, husband reader, slight angst, worrying parents, Tim being worried and frustrated, grief

There are things that a married couple will learn together. Be it giving each other their own space to express themselves, to support them in their struggles and hardships. And yet there is much you can’t learn from the other; something’s you must learn for yourself.

M/n had learned this throughout the years of being married to two different sides of his husband.

The billionaire ex playboy, prince of Gotham…and Batman, the dark knight, savor of Gotham. Both parts of Bruce Wayne as a whole; parts of Bruce that m/n loved. Be it his husband's confidence in showing the city of the good behind his endless pockets of cash. Repairing the city that through the years of the rogue gallery deemed as the prime battle ground to face off with Batman…with Bruce.

Or seeing the Justice his husband brought to Gotham; his endless crusade against crime families to crazed maniacs had M/n worry and prideful as he attended the galas Bruce couldn’t attend knowing his husband was doing far more important things.

And no matter how much he tried M/n couldn’t help but fear the worst every time his husband went out on patrol. Alfred had tried repeatedly to assure him of Bruce’s skills and complete capability to defend himself from the insane masked rogues and petty criminals of the city.

Yet none of the older man’s efforts had worked to ease M/n’s fears as he laid in their shared bed staring out into the stormy skies of Gotham city, staring out at the silhouette of the crime ridden city.

The massive mansion was always the coldest and lone year when Bruce was gone; the bed far too cold to fall asleep alone in, the once comforting silence became deafening.

Even with Barb,Tim and Alfred in the house aiding Batman in his missions wasn’t a comfort to M/n as he laid in the large plush bed alone once more.

Letting out a shaking breath M/n turned in the bed pulling one of the many untouched pillows to his chest, smothering his face into the clean case of Bruce’s pillow and yet there still managed to be a slight hint of his husband's cologne.

For years now M/n had only the reminders of his husband's smell to sleep too; at least until the early morning sun woke the couple up, both tangled in each other's limbs to start their morning together.

But tonight wasn’t one of those nights…if felt just like the night Bruce got trapped on Arkham, and tonight felt worse. Throwing the blanket off from his sweating body M/n slipped on his slippers and night robes making his way to the living room. Switching on the TV to Gotham city news; pouring himself a small glass of bourbon as he stood watching the TV tirelessly.

“Can’t sleep like this; can’t keep worrying like this, he’s going to be fine, he’s always fine-“

-BREAKING NEWS! Billionaire Bruce Wayne thrown in Arkham City!-

🦇~~~~~~🦇

Alfred was in the kitchen finishing up washing the dishes from dinner when a loud sound of glass shattering erupted the once deathly silent manor.

Dropping the dish in his hand allowed it to fall and shatter as he ran to the source of the sound. Only to come across a scene he’s seen far too many times to count.

M/n Wayne on the floor grasping his mouth with one hand as his shoulders shook with each wrecking sob as the replay of Bruce’s ‘kidnapping’ played on the large flat screen. The glass of bourbon shattered and spread all around M/ns now bloodied hand.

“Master M/n! Sir your hand!”

Alfred rushed towards the sobbing wreck of a man. A man who was always withstanding so much from the emences fear that came with master Bruce’s attention being elsewhere as Batman. Fears that would shatter what little resolve would be left after each night.

Crouching to M/n’s level Alfred gently took hold of the shaking and bleeding hand; aiding m/n Wayne to the couch.

“Up you get master m/n, you didn’t get cut elsewhere sir?-“

“B-Bruce-“

Alfred’s eyes softened seeing the desperate look in those once shining e/c eyes. The worried lines that seemed to become a permanent placement. Alfred always knew things would get worse the farther Bruce delved into his crusade on crime in Gotham. That his mission would hurt those around them and it had. It all started with M/n then…Jason.

They lost a son be it through him simply running away or worse no one knew what happened to Jason only that he was gone and the mansion was far to quiet without his and master Dicks arguments during dinner over small differences in plans.

But looking away from the new outlet on Bruce Wayne being trapped in Arkham; Alfred knew as he patched the now cleaned wounds on master M/n’s hands that M/n was hanging on a rope of desperation as he listened to the new outlet speak on the low survival rates of Arkham city…the city with in the city filled with criminals.

“Master Bruce is quite capable of surviving in such a place master M/n; as we both know”

Sparing a glance up at the man in front of him, the bags under his eyes, the paleness of his skin from the lack of sleep had M/n Wayne look more dead than alive with each passing major event like this very one.

“I-I know…but I know Bruce too. And that I know that man won’t simply leave; he’ll investigate which will only lead him deeper into danger-“

“That he will and yet we both know he will always find a way to make it through against all odds sir… would it make you feel more at ease if we both help master Bruce on his mission”

M/n would once in a while help his husband on his missions; give Barbara a break away to rest once in awhile. That was before nearly witnessing his husbands death far to many times.

And yet deep down M/n had to make sure Bruce was safe! That he was even still alive-

‘No he’s still alive damn it!’

Looking down at his well bandaged hand M/n watched as Alfred clean the shattered cup up as he awaited an answer.

“I think that’s a good idea…even if it’s just for a short while, can't let you deal with all the hard work now can I?”

Alfred let out a light hearted chuckle turning his body towards the nearest trash can then to M/n.

“Oh believe me master M/n I’ve handled far worse than master Bruce’s rather common nightly actives; though the help would be much appreciated for both our sakes after all I’m not getting any younger”

Smiling M/n tightened his robe against his body before turning the large flat screen off before following Alfred down to the batcave.

“What are you saying Alfred you’re as young as ever”

M/n joked looking over to the far older man who scoffed at his joke.

“We both know that’s a load of poppycock master m/n”

Laughing as they stepped out from the elevator m/n made his way to the bat computer grabbing one of the ear pieces.

“And Alfred this is why we love you, you don’t take shot from no body”

M/n smiled as Alfred took a seat next to him, his fatherly energy filling the cold cave.

“Well I wouldn’t be a very good butler if I did now what I”

“Oh I don’t know your fighting and medical skill would’ve made up for it, alright let’s get started looks like Bruce is…of course he’s getting into a fight with Cobblepot”

🦇~~~~🦇

“So Brucey I see I can’t leave you alone for a night without you getting into life threatening trouble now can I?”

Upon hearing his husband’s joking voice Bruce nearly slipped during his climb up to the Ace chemical building. Before regaining his grip, scoffing as he spoke.

“Oh I would’ve thought you’d get used to my troubling behavior by now”

“Haha, I have…until recently I mean there was the black gate break, than Arkham asylum, now Arkham city I’m seeing a pattern of places and galas I’ve gotta keep your batty self from”

Laughing Bruce pulled himself on top of the roof looking out over the chaos that was ‘Arkham City’.

“Now where’s the fun in that, besides we both know I can’t just let these people run free. Let alone be placed practically in the middle of Gotham”

M/n smiled upon hearing the passion in Bruce’s voice, the strong morality of his husband and the love he had for the city of Gotham. The kind of love and passion he showed M/n in his protective and loving nature out in public or in their manor.

Yet a part of M/n knew there was far more to Bruce’s more protective nature… to a point that M/n couldn’t help his thoughts from drifting to the missing member of their family…Jason.

Ever since Jason had gone missing; practically vanished off the face of the earth had Batman work non-stop in his crime fighting and his search for the second member of their family of crime fighters. Bruce never forgave himself for Jason going missing, blaming himself for the fight they had before Bruce suited up to take Joker back into Arkham.

And argument M/n had to get in the middle of, it was the last night he spoke to the kid he considered as much his son as any one of Bruce’s adopted sons. And yet this sort of lose had the couple continuing their circle of non-stop fearing for their other half's safety.

More reason why both couldn’t stop the other in their duties. Batman was needed in this crime ridden city the two called home. Gotham but even more so Bruce needed Batman, needed a reason to hope for better.

“That’s putting things mildly; after all, me and Alfred have been looking through the schematics and radio channels and it’s all referring to a ‘Protocol 10’. Sent what data I could grab before the firewalls caught on to Barb…Bruce Tim could be a-“

“No”

Sighing M/n looked over to Tim who was in his Robin uniform upon hearing the news, ending his patrols to check on his tired father.

“Bruce we both know I could help you-“

“I said no Jason! I’m sorry it’s just-“

“Just something you have to do yourself yeah I get it; aye pops I’m heading back out call me when…you know”

Nodding m/n smiled sadly to Tim who’s own worried eyes stared at the bags that sat heavy under his pops e/c eyes. As Tim left the batcave to silence was nearly deafening if it weren’t for the few stray bats flying over head.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“I know babe, Tim knows too”

Alfred took this opportunity to go make them some tea for the long night ahead. Leaving the couple alone on call as Batman read over the few documents on encrypted documents M/n had found.

“He reminds me of him sometimes…always pushing, always-“

“Stubborn, headstrong, always willing to push your buttons to get any mission, training, or patrols you can give him?”

“Yeah”

A mournful silence filled the batcave as the couple focused on the work of the impending arrival of yet another long, exhausting night of crime fighting and investigative work.

“Brucey…at some point whether or not we want to admit it…Tim isn’t a kid anymore…he’s not weak, and at some point you have to let Robin spread his wings”

Bruce knew that everything his husband said was true; no matter how they felt Tim wasn’t Jason…Jason was gone; missing or dead for all they knew he could’ve just took off and didn’t look back. Tim wasn’t some kid anymore, he was trained by the best, his future looked bright even past being a crime fighter.

Sighing Batman took off towards the courthouse, the best place to start his investigation was to ask the best thief in Gotham.

“Tell Robin to keep his coms open to any calls of backup…if this nights anything to go off of right now…there more going on here”

Smiling as Alfred handed him his tea , M/n smiled at the screen of countless radio channels between the TIGER guards.

“It’s going to be one long night; be careful, l don’t want Tim to have to bring you back home in a body bag”

“ that’s not going to happen, I’ll make sure if it…love you”

“Love you too…going on stand by”

I hope you all liked a small taste of this one shot! I’ve loved the Arkham series ever since I first played it! Best games ever shocked there aren’t many of the Arkham series based oneshot out there hope I did a good job for the first of many in this new hyper-fixation of mine!

#male reader #fanfic #oneshot #angst #batman x male reader #batman arkham games #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x male reader #soft #jason todd

106 notes · View notes

asongofmarvelanddc · 2 years

Text

Duty PT 4½: Robb's POV

PAIRING: Robb Stark X Reader

WORD COUNT: 4753

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: Robb is crushing underneath the weight of his responsibilities, and with his wedding looming, there seems to be no end to his plight.

MASTERLIST | ROBB STARK MASTERLIST

A/N: I want to start by saying I am so overwhelmed by the amount of love this series has received while I've been temporarily away from tumblr. I haven't written anything in a while and coming back to see all your amazing comments honestly made me so emotional. I forgot how much I love to write, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reminding me. I wish this was part 5, but I've dropped a very (very) rough sneak peek of a future chapter at the end. I hope you enjoy 💞

"What is it?"

Jon is staring at Robb inquisitively. The two have been sitting in silence for some time. They were supposed to be breaking their fast, but Robb got distracted by a letter delivered to him by Maester Luwin. He’s been reading it intently over and over again, eyebrows furrowed as his mind races.

Robb looks up at the sound of Jon’s voice and folds the letter, putting it down to the side.

“Nothing,” he says, as he picks up his fork and attempts to resume eating, but finds he has suddenly lost his appetite.

Jon sits up properly now. He knows that something is wrong, but he doesn’t ask again. Eventually, Robb puts down the fork and balls his fists, a sigh escaping his lips.

“I’m worried,” he confesses, “Not one of these letters from King’s Landing has mentioned Arya.”

“She’s a child, maybe they just—”

“They claim to have two Starks,” Robb cuts him off sharply, “If that were true, they would make it abundantly clear.”

Sansa’s letter came shortly after their father’s arrest and imprisonment — her script, but clearly the Queen’s words. Robb expected to receive parchment covered in Arya’s blotchy scrawls not long after, but nothing ever came. It’s as if she was never in King’s Landing.

Jon is quiet as the implications of Robb's words dawn on him, “They wouldn’t harm her."

Robb stares off into the distance as he considers what the Lannisters might be thinking. Everything in him wishes he could know what is happening at King's Landing.

"No, I don't think they would," he finally mutters, briefly rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, "Not after Father."

At least that is what he is choosing to believe. What he has to believe in order to keep hold of any sanity that remains in him.

He's tired. Exhausted beyond comprehension. He barely sleeps at night because the thoughts in his head never quiet. There is always something that needs to be done, something that needs attending to, both at Winterfell and at the frontlines.

It's getting to be too much.

Robb sighs heavily and stands up suddenly. "Please, don't speak a word of this to anyone. I don't want Mother to worry," he says as he walks away, "I need to think."

***

More bad news.

A raven from the South carrying a stern rejection from Stannis Baratheon of Robb’s offer of allyship. Robb expected as much, but a part of him had hoped that the old man would put his pride aside and choose to stand with the North.

“He must be confident that he can defeat the Lannister army in battle,” Maester Luwin suggests. There is no such explanation in the short scroll.

“Whatever it is,” Robb says through gritted teeth as he balls up the piece of paper in his hand, “It doesn’t help us.”

He walks over to his desk and sits down, his knuckles pressed together under his chin. His mind is racing.

“What happens if Stannis usurps the throne? Will you bend the knee?”

Robb looks up at Maester Luwin with hard eyes and sets his jaw. “The North will never again bend the knee to a Southern king. Not while I live.”

A look of pride quickly crosses Maester Luwin’s face. Their conversation is interrupted when Catelyn enters, unaware that her son is not alone.

“My Lady,” Luwin bows in greeting before leaving the two.

Catelyn moves closer to the desk where her son is sat shuffling through some papers, “You look tired.”

“There’s much to be done,” Robb shrugs as he reads yet another request for men from one of his Lords to maintain the upkeep of their holdings.

“It can wait,” she says as she places her hand over the letter and lowers it.

Robb looks at her in confusion and she smiles, nodding to the window just behind him. He turns to look outside and sees the sun going down over the castle walls.

“Right.”

He sighs and gets up to put on his cloak, ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest. Catelyn stops him as he heads for the door.

“Before you go, I just want to know that you understand the importance of the commitment you are making tonight.”

“Of course I do. I haven’t taken this decision lightly,” he turns to face her, “We need the Myrrton's army now more than ever."

Catelyn nods slowly, “And what about her? Lady Y/N?”

“What of her?”

She cocks her head to the side, “Do you care for her at all?”

“I care for her well-being, as any husband should his future bride,” his voice is unemotional and steady, “I’m sure she’s finding all of this just as difficult as I am.”

“Perhaps even more so."

Robb frowns in confusion. He knows that whatever you may be feeling today is no different to what he himself is going through. In fact, considering all he has had to sacrifice, he believes that not even you could know how he feels.

"More so?"

Catelyn nods in response.

“After you say those words tonight and become man and wife, you will wake tomorrow in your childhood home, where your family and all the people you grew up with reside,” she says, “Lady Y/N, however, will not return home. Her mother and father will be gone. She will have no one but you."

"Many have been through the same," Robb says in a stoic manner, "I'm sure she will cope."

"But she is not like most young brides, is she?"

Once again, Robb frowns. His mother is staring him dead in the eye as if there is something unspoken yet understood between them, but he can't discern what she is hinting at.

"Mother, what are you talking about?"

She raises a brow. “As much as they say women like to gossip, we know the truth — men talk too," she walks closer to him, "I’m sure you’ve heard the stories from your men. About what happened to her in King’s Landing.”

Robb rolls his eyes dismissively and turns to head for the door, "That's all gossip."

“From what her mother tells me, that isn’t the case."

He stops in his tracks. The whispers he's heard are not simply 'unpleasant' experiences with a suitor – they are downright horrific. There was never a moment when he believed any of those stories could be true.

"I couldn't begin to imagine how she must feel," Catelyn's voice is barely above a whisper, "Yet again marrying for her family’s benefit to a man she doesn’t know and doesn’t trust. She must be terrified.”

He can't help but think back to the one time you spoke of King's Landing, just after he threw these very rumours in your face. The way your voice wavered...

Robb blinks and looks to the side as he starts to feel the unmistakable pit in his stomach caused by guilt.

"I saw her outside just now," Catelyn continues, "She'd just been sick, the poor girl. She claimed she was feeling ill, but I know better."

"I don't know why you're telling me all this, Mother," he turns around to face her, just a hint of exasperation in his tone.

"Do you remember when I asked you to be Sansa's escort when she wanted to visit a friend outside the castle walls? You couldn't be angry with me so you took it out on your sister," she chuckles as Robb rolls his eyes.

"What has that got to do with my marriage?"

Catelyn pauses for a moment before stepping closer to him. She presses her hands against his cheeks and brushes his curls out of his face.

"I know you're not happy about this, Robb. And I wish you could choose to marry someone you truly love," Robb looks away as she speaks, "But this is where fate has led all of us. You don't have to be happy about it, but you must accept it. Promise me, Robb."

Robb knows his mother is right. This marriage isn't as simple as moving pieces on a map, it is not some great battle strategy. After tonight, he will have another person whose care and wellbeing is his sole responsibility.

He may find you snobbish and slightly condescending, and he knows there is not a chance on this earth that he could ever grow to love you as his wife...but this arrangement is not your fault.

He can't keep punishing you for not being the woman he wants.

"I promise, Mother."

***

The serenity of the Godswood offers little comfort to Robb.

Never has he been so sure of a decision, yet so torn apart by it. The moment he goes through with this marriage, he gains an advantage against the Lannisters. Yet, one thought still lingers at the back of his mind: when the war is over, will any of this have been worth it? Will he wake up beside you one morning and regret this night?

Robb is pulled out of his thoughts by Catelyn mouthing something at him from a distance. He can't make it out, but she forms a smile and nods encouragingly, so he mirrors her expression and plasters a smile on his lips.

Before long, two figures begin walking down the cleared path towards him. At first, you're shrouded by shadows and the bodies of some of the guests on either side of the aisle. When you come into full view, your arm is interlocked with your father's as you stare straight ahead.

For a moment, Robb wonders if you see him standing underneath the Weirwood tree, but just as the thought crosses his mind, your gaze falls on him.

As soon as he locks eyes with you, his smile drops. Almost immediately his jaw clenches and his breath catches in his throat. It's a purely uncontrollable reaction, but it happens and Robb finds it strange.

The glistening of the silver on your dress, the unusual braids in your hair...and the look in your eyes when they meet his. It's a look that mirrors how he feels.

He hasn’t been so struck by a woman’s appearance in some time, but the eyes don’t lie, and it is undeniable that on this night, you look beautiful.

As you approach, Robb steps forward, his hands clasped behind him, “Who comes before the gods?”

“Y/N of House Myrrton comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods.”

Lord Cillian seems unsure when he speaks. Robb doesn't know whether the uncertainty in his tone is due to being unfamiliar with these words, or hesitant about this whole affair.

“Who comes to claim her?”

Robb clears his throat as discreetly as he can before lifting his chin.

“Robb of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North. I claim her,” he announces, “Who gives her?”

“Cillian of House Myrrton, her father.”

Robb watches as Lord Cillian's tone softens when he speaks to you, “Lady Y/N, will you take this man?”

Robb grows anxious as you seem to hesitate before answering, then, like you'd been snapped out of a trance, you whisper something to yourself. His brows furrow as he questions whether you've given the answer they're all waiting for.

Before he has a chance to ask, you look him square in the eye and answer, "I take this man."

Robb is slightly intimidated by the intensity and decisiveness in your gaze. He holds his hand out to you and waits until you slip your hands into his before guiding you towards the heart tree.

As he drops to his knees at the base of the tree, the rest of the world melts away, and it's just him and the gods. But he can't seem to find any words for them.

He has uttered the same prayers over a thousand times in the last year. That his sisters will return home safely and those involved in his father's murder will be brought to justice. None have been answered yet. Still, he whispers the prayer again, choosing to have faith in the gods.

He raises his head only to find that yours is still bowed, your eyes closed. There's a desperation in your posture that makes that feeling of guilt settle in the pit of his stomach again. So, he bows his head yet again and asks the gods for one more thing; that the two of you find peace in this arrangement, in whatever form that takes.

You rise to your feet together and Robb immediately steps closer to you, eager to be done with this ceremony. He removes the maiden cloak that shrouds you and hands it to the man standing behind him, swapping it for the Stark cloak.

As he brushes your hair over your shoulder and out of the way, an unfamiliar scent wafts up his nose, warming his whole body. It’s earthy and spicy, yet sweet – unlike anything he’s ever smelled before. The kind of scent that would be overpowering most times, but you’ve clearly applied just enough to be inviting.

He inhales deeply before resuming with his task.

When you turn to face him, the Stark cloak now shrouding you, Robb suddenly feels the weight on his shoulders grow heavier. He was never one to think about marriage when he was young. Still, he never expected to feel so devoid of any love towards his wife. To look at her and see nothing but yet another burden.

He holds out his arm to you and leads you out of the godswood, the whole time questioning what he could have done to offend the gods and be cursed with such a life.

***

Why isn't she eating?

Robb has been kept entertained for most of the night by his bannermen – it's hard not to be when they're all drunk and feasting. But every time he glances in your direction, he finds you sullen and staring into space, and the thought returns.

Why isn't she eating?

He's noticed it since you arrived at Winterfell. You rarely join them for any meals, and when you do, your plate remains untouched. At the engagement feast, you spent most of the time playing around with your food, but he can't recall seeing you eat any of it. It didn't concern him at the time, but he's finding it strange now so he decides to speak up.

"You haven't touched your stew."

Oddly, you jump at the sound of his voice. He sees confusion in your eyes when you turn to look at him, so he nods to your bowl to reiterate his statement.

"I, um...I'm not very hungry."

It's the first time since the day he met you that you have sounded unsure of your own words. The stutter and the way you avoid his eyes – he knows that you are hiding something.

He leans closer to you in an effort keep the conversation private. "My mother told me that you were sick earlier," he wonders if the mild concern he's feeling is evident in his voice, "Did you have anything to eat after?"

Robb is shocked when you shake your head no.

"Then surely you must be hungry?"

Again, Robb is baffled when you simply shrug in response. He can't read you at all – not that he has ever been able to. In all honesty, it is one of the most frustrating things about you. How is he supposed to be a husband to a stone wall?

Still, he knows that any person who has no food in their stomach must be hungry, whether you confess to it or not. He reaches for a bowl of fruit on his side of the table and places it in front of you. You may dislike the Northern food, but even a man who has enjoyed an entire feast would not say no to a juicy fig.

"You should have some, if you like," he nods to the bowl, but your expression remains unsure. "I wouldn't want my new bride starving herself on the first night," he teases you in an attempt to ease your apparent discomfort.

That seems to do the trick as he notices the glimmer of a smile – a genuine one – on your lips. Satisfied, he takes an apple from the bowl and leans back in his chair, watching you finally reach for something to eat.

He notices how carefully you inspect every fruit, discarding the bruised ones. He's not even sure you realise you're doing it. You have the same look on your face that you did when you walked towards him in the godswood, just before he caught your gaze – in a trance.

"I should've said it earlier, but you look beautiful tonight."

As soon as the words leave his lips, he questions whether he should've said it at all. He meant it, of course, but not in the way that it might come across. His only intention is to be kind. You're his wife now after all.

"Thank you," you smile, though Robb sees the way your brows furrow ever so slightly in confusion, "You look very handsome as well."

You look away before he can even respond and the conversation ends there.

The festivities continue as expected with singing, dancing, and arguments that arise and resolve themselves within seconds. Some of the men tell their most entertaining stories of battle, and Robb is happy to see you laughing at some of their jokes.

Drunk and exhausted, Robb is just about ready to retire for the evening when he hears the words he's been dreading all night.

"It's time for the bedding ceremony!"

In seconds, the women seated nearest to the High Table are on their feet and pulling him towards them. They paw at him, doing their best to undress him as they march him through the Great Hall and towards his bedchambers. He can't discern what is going on through the cheers, the laughter and the comments – it's all too much. By the time the girls arrive with him at his chambers, all they have managed to remove is his tunic.

"Be gentle with the poor girl," one of the women winks as she leaves the room.

Before long, he hears more bellowing laughter and jeering coming down the hall. The men carrying you lower you to the ground at the bedroom doors and push you in before making a swift exit.

Seeing you almost completely undressed and shrinking into yourself, Robb suddenly feels guilty again. The bedding may have simply been an annoyance to him, but it was clearly more than that for you. He shouldn't have let it happen.

He watches as you awkwardly look around the room, avoiding looking in his direction. Robb doesn't move a muscle, fearing that you're seconds away from dashing out of the room.

Without any warning, you spin on your heel and turn your back to him. The sudden action makes Robb jump, but still, he makes no move to approach you.

He's frozen in a way he's never been before, not even before his first battle. Sweat begins to form at his hairline as he wipes his clammy palms on his trousers. He tries to convince himself that it's the heat from the fire burning that's causing this and not his nerves.

He takes a step forward, wanting to reassure you that he won't touch you, even if it's what is expected of you, but the words seem pointless when you lift a hand and lower the strap of your chemise. You do it slowly, and Robb can't tell if this is hesitation or some kind of seduction. Either way, he doesn't know how to respond.

Once the straps come off, the gown slips and reveals what's hidden underneath.

Robb lets out a gasp.

Instantly, he regrets it, knowing he's given the wrong reaction. As you rush to pull the straps back on, Robb struggles to digest what he's seen. Three long and thick scars – one starting from the nape of your neck – jagged and stretching down your back. The wounds look mostly healed, but they can't be more than a few months old. He doesn't have to think about it to know exactly where they came from.

Joffrey.

That is all the proof he needs to confirm the rumours were true. And worse, he fears that this isn't the worst of it. Those scars could've been made by anything from a knife to a whip. The thought of someone doing that to you makes him feel sick.

Slowly, you turn around to face him. He can tell that you're hurt by his reaction, but he can't bring himself to comfort you. He doesn't know how. Just as he thinks you're about to scold him like you've done before, you do the unexpected and begin to approach.

Once again he freezes, and when you stop right in front of him, Robb is unsure what he's supposed to do. You're looking into his eyes like you're searching for something, but he doesn't want to mistake your intentions for anything more.

That doesn't matter because those intentions are made clear when you lean in and press your lips against his.

It's...different.

Your lips are soft, and your scent – that scent. For a brief moment it makes him forget where he is, who you are, and he leans in, arms sliding around your waist. But when your arms wrap around his neck, he misses something.

Elyse. The way her fingers would find their way into his curls.

That's all it takes to snap back to reality. This isn't her. And all of a sudden, she's the only thing on his mind. Her dark hair, her kind smile. The memory of her forms a lump in his throat.

He's tried. This whole night he's tried to put her out of his mind, but even now in what should be the most intimate moment between a man and his wife, Elyse is the only woman he can think about. The guilt returns.

Is that all this marriage will ever be? Constantly feeling guilt and shame whenever he looks at you, knowing Elyse is the only person who will ever occupy his heart?

He feels a wetness on his cheeks and salt on his tongue.

Is she crying?

“Wait, wait. Stop,” Robb suddenly says as he pulls away from you, your cheeks stained with tears, “Are you alright?”

You look at him like you're confused. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

He raises a thumb to your cheek and wipes away a tear. "You're crying," he says, almost dumbfounded.

The second he says it, you gasp and quickly wipe your cheeks in embarrassment. Robb simply watches in disbelief. You plaster a smile on your lips as you continue wiping away the tears that seem to be beyond your control. You're stumbling, fighting to keep up that stone wall that Robb has been so desperate to see beyond.

“Ignore me,” you chuckle nervously, “My emotions sometimes get the better of me.”

“You don’t have to pretend.”

“I do if I’m to have even a smidgen of comfort tonight.” You're smiling, but there's pain in your voice where you're trying to convey conviction.

Robb softens as he cocks his head to the side and looks at you, “Y/N…we’re not obligated to do anything tonight.”

“What?” your eyes widen ever so slightly, a glimmer of hope appearing.

He shakes his head and turns his gaze to the bed. “You don’t want to do it,” he says, “And without meaning any offense to you, I don’t want to do this either.”

In truth, he can't even entertain the thought of being with anyone but Elyse. Not that he intends to confess that to you.

A sigh of relief escapes his lips once the weight of the consummation is lifted from his shoulders.

“What should we do then?” you ask after a moment, “Shall we return to the feast?”

Robb has been awake since first light. He can't think of anything worse. “It has been a long day for me," he yawns and stretches his muscles, "So unless you desperately want to return to the festivities, I would like to turn in for the night.”

He walks to the bed and collapses on top of it like a sack of flour. The room grows. dimmer as you go around the room blowing out the candles, leaving only the fire from the hearth to illuminate the room.

You climb into the bed on the other side of him and turn your back to him. He knows you're still not used to the Northern cold, yet you make no move to adjust the blanket despite the fact that it is barely covering your body.

Without a word, he lifts himself off the blanket and slips under it so that there's enough for you. Then he tucks a hand under his head and lets his eyes flutter closed.

“I had my own Elyse.”

His eyes snap right back open.

He turns his head to face you even though you can't see him, shocked beyond belief and rendered speechless.

“He was an armourer I met simply by chance,” you continue, “He was my comfort and my peace during the hardest period of my life. And I loved him for it.”

Just like that, everything makes sense. Your callousness about his feelings for Elyse. The words you threw so casually in his face.

"You're not the first to have loved and lost. You won't be the last."

At the time he knew you were speaking from experience, but he never expected a confession.

He quickly turns his gaze to the ceiling when he realises that you're turning to face him.

“Was it like that for you?”

The memory of the days after his father's death wash over him like a wave. Never had he ever felt such deep sorrow. It burrowed into his bones like a disease, and he never thought he would be rid of that pain.

Not until Elyse.

When he turns back to you, your eyes are staring deep into his. The fire from the hearth is casting a warm glow over your face, but it's the moonlight from the open window just above your heads that is reflected in your eyes. His gaze lingers for a moment before he answers.

“Yes,” he admits, “Elyse and I…After my father’s death is when we grew close.”

You nod and look down at the sheets.

“When I left King’s Landing, I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to him,” you whisper, voice trembling, “I wanted to thank him for making me happy after everything that happened.”

Robb’s eyes stay on you, but not once does he speak. He doesn't know which is worse; having to see the person you love everyday, knowing you can never be with her, or never getting the chance to even say goodbye.

He looks at you and knows that your heart is no more available than his own. Even though you don't say it, it's clear as day in your eyes – you haven't let go of your armourer, and you probably never will.

Without saying any more, you turn to face the other way, whispering a quick, “Goodnight.”

This is the rest of his life, he realises. A wife who will forever be just out of arms' reach, and the woman he loves never to be his again. An undoubtedly cursed existence. One he can do nothing about.

Ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest, he turns to face away from you.

“Sleep well.”

***

SNEAK PEEK FOR ONE OF THE FUTURE CHAPTERS:

“I’m not happy, and I’m not content.”

“Happiness and contentment are a luxury most of us do not get to enjoy," he snaps.

“Some people deserve it. After all they’ve been through.”

Robb scoffs and turns to you. “We’ve all been through terrible things. You’re not the only one.”

“I know. I know the tragedy you’ve endured,” you climb off the bed and walk towards him slowly, “Even now I see how much burden you carry on your shoulders.”

You take his hand in yours and look into his eyes, “Don’t you owe it to yourself to try and find any happiness?”

Robb’s gaze lingers as he considers it for a moment. A brief moment. Then he snatches his hand from hers and heads for the door.

You're shocked by this, and suddenly a burning anger begins to swell in her chest. A rage that felt a lot like hatred. Hatred because of how selfish and stubborn he was being.

“I know you’ve heard the rumours about Joffrey and I,” he freezes in his steps as you speak, “Yet you’ve never asked me about them.”

Slowly, you walk towards him and stand in front of him, blocking the door. “You’ve also seen the scars on my body — scars that not even my parents have seen. And you never asked me about those either.”

You cock your head to the side as you look into his avoiding eyes. “Why is that?” you ask in a genuine tone, “Do you not want to know? Or are you afraid to know?”

He avoids your eyes as you wait for him to speak, to say anything. But he never does.

“You won’t ask?" you raise a brow, "Very well. Then I shall ask you a question of my own.”

“Have you ever been violated?” you ask through gritted teeth, “And I don’t mean someone taking your home or your father away from you, I mean personally violated. To have everything stripped away, to be broken down into a shell of nothingness. No fight, no dignity, no will…to do anything.”

You stand on your toes and lean forward until your shaky breath is fanning his face and your rage-filled eyes are burning into his, “That is what Joffrey did to me.”

Special thanks to these awesome (and patient) folk! Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist ❤️:

@witchywrter, @satan2002, @kingniazx, @ria132love @ietss @spn-obession @hotleaf-juice @simonsbluee @shawty-writes-a-little @sarcasm-n-insomnia @harrietbarnesblog @simonsbluee @delicatelyherdreams @tiredstrangerr @xxgarden @davnwillcomee @are-y0u-sirius @dreamy-caramel @iw4milf @jessyballet @greekktragedyy @spid3rgwen @sasuke-deserved-better @lycheecreams @bport76 @itspbjellytime @forever-and-more @holysmokesblog @callmemaeverick @njadakaufey @albeeox @ethereal-concepts @lacontroller1991 @losers-club6 @pulisvertz @universeoflonelystarlight @idkjj04 @cullenswife @oscarisaacsleftknee @fandomarchiveilyd @bekky06 @random-human02 @labellapeaky @alastorhazbin @shawtybaess @larissareadings @johnmurphys-sass @millies0bsimp @bluesongbird @starrstrucked @lifetimeofadventue @sweet-lilacwine @cherrywinepoison @vixemi @multitargaryen @gxlden-honey @faatxma

#robb stark x reader #robb stark #robb stark imagine #got #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #got imagine #richard madden #got x reader #duty #robb stark fic #robb x reader #stark x reader #richard madden x reader

457 notes · View notes