#The Woman King fan fic
Text
The King and I, Part 4
Pairing: King Ghezo x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT AND ANGST. Mentions of violence, forceful touching. PIV, Fingering and oral (fem receiving) , all consensual. Doesn't follow canon of the movie.
Summary: You hid in your room unwilling to witness any budding love between King Ghezo and his new bride. You hid in your room until you could not take the loneliness anymore and decided to not let this define you. An unexpected conversation allows you to see things differently.
Word Count: 5,636k
A/N: What a way to come back from being sick, I hope I still got it LOL. This one definitely had to marinate because he needed to come correct! I hope you enjoy! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!
Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5
Taglist: @planetblaque @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @honeyoriginalz @gg-trini @eggnox @naj-ay444 @sheepywritesfics @westside-rot @twocentuar @pinkpantheris @tchallasbabymama @sevikasblackgf @slippinninque @abeautifulmindexposed @neawarren @monaeesstuff @blackerthings @melaninpov @1-800anklebully @mogul93 @softimgyu @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @softscorpio17 @theunsweetenedtruth @we-outsiiiide @thecookiebratz @badassdoll @kinginwithbreezy-blog @chrishy973 @skyesthebomb @blackelysian @yayasworldview @wakandamama @thadelightfulone
You hated her. You hated everything she represented. You were sick to your stomach at the mere thought of her hands all over him, her laughter making him smile. At the thought of her sitting in “your spot” with the King, watching the sunrise that she’s probably seen a hundred times by now.
You spent the majority of your days in your room avoiding them. You took your meals in your room and spent your days reading or looking out over your balcony. You didn’t care what people thought.
You were a mountain and no one could scale it if you didn’t wish it so. You were unyielding. You were…lonely.
The King had been a saving grace from that loneliness. You finally belonged to someone and that feeling was invaluable to you. Someone would actually care if you fell off the face of the world. Or so you thought.
Tomorrow was the wedding and you were expected to attend, just like the first wife. Was this why she was so silent? Did she silently hate you that whole time? Forced to concede her spot at the table to someone newer, younger?
You sat on your bed with your knees drawn. You stared at the dress you were expected to wear at the wedding. You hated that dress. You wanted to rip it to shreds and throw it at the King’s feet.
The anger and hate felt better than the burning sadness in your chest. How it burrowed. How it ate at every vein and cell in your body. The sadness took everything. It stole your breath, your dreams, and your very will. You cried yourself to sleep every night this week.
Every morning, the King knocked on your door and begged you to listen to him. To talk to him. He asked you if you would kill him today. You were too sad to entertain your little game.
In one fell swoop, he gave you the greatest night of your life and the worst morning you ever lived through.
You couldn’t get over the embarrassment and shame. How everyone stood and looked at you while he introduced…her. They were all in on it, meeting her, and talking to her. No one ever did anything like that for you.
You were tossed like garbage at his doorstep. There was no grand welcoming. Just a sassy eunuch who saw you for the common village girl you were.
Fresh tears fell from your eyes but you wiped them away. Fuck this. You did not break.
You did not break under your Father’s cruel hands and words. You did not break when your Mother begged you to accept the latest farm owner, sheep herder, or market owner who dared ask your Father for your hand in marriage. You did not break when men put their hands on you when your Father wasn’t looking. You did not break when girls in the village would spit on you, tear your hair, or call you names to your face. You did not break when they would trip you and make you spill buckets full of water. You did not break when you had to turn around and go back to the river to fill them up again. You did not break.
You got out of bed and called for your servant. She entered a moment later, eyeing you wearily. You had been icy towards her and her attempts to help. You apologized and she helped you get dressed in a bright orange dress and wrap your hair up in a scarf. You left the room, breathing fresh air for the first time all week.
You did not care if you ran into the King and his new little bride. Let her have him. You only wished he planted a baby inside of you already so that you fulfilled your duty as a wife and he had no more cause to touch you.
You kept your head held high as you made your way to the training grounds. The sounds of clashing swords met you first as you rounded the corner. Even with all these people in the palace, you were still alone.
You took up your post and watched the Agojie run through their training drills. You watched as they sliced up straw dummies. As they practiced with swords. As they drilled, taking each other down. Their ferocity gave you chills.
After they dueled, they always helped each other stand with jokes and a smile. Through sweat and tears, they continued through, bonding in ways you could only look at. Never participate in.
The sun reached its peak, so you decided to move on. You needed to stretch your bones. Feel the grass beneath your feet. Remember that you were somebody before the King and you remain somebody after.
In the palace gardens, you circled the wide space looking at all of the exotic flowers. They bloomed and stretched towards the sun. You walked around the path, scrunching the grass beneath your toes. As far as sensations went, you preferred the sand. Maybe you could visit the sandy beach tonight.
No one cared where you went or what you did. That thought still made you sad but you could also think of it another way. No one was watching you. There was freedom in that. You could move through the halls with no one to gauge your every footfall.
You rounded the base of a thick tree and nearly stepped on the first wife’s hand. “Oh! I’m sorry!” You stepped back and she looked up at you.
She was sitting in the grass with a baby in her lap. Her other son toddled after a butterfly.
“I’ll leave,” you said.
“It’s okay to love him, you know,” she said. You turned back around and looked at her. She adjusted the squirming baby in her arms. You finally recognized that she was breastfeeding.
“What?” You asked.
“It’s okay to love the King.” She continued to adjust the baby until it latched onto a nipple and settled down. She cooed to him and encouraged him. You looked at her face. She still looked as calm and blank as she ever did. This was perhaps the first time you ever heard her speak.
She was silent during the council meetings. Silent at breakfast. At least this answered your questions on if she could even speak.
You dropped to your knees beside her and absently picked at the grass. “How can you not hate me?”
She smiled at the toddler as it giggled and fell back on his butt. He climbed to his feet, little face concentrated as you’d often seen the King look, and then chased after the butterfly again.
“I have no hate in my heart for something I cannot control. I knew I would not be his only wife, the only bearer of his children. He is a King. He is expected to have many wives to show how rich he is. How prosperous. He is to be surrounded by it,” she said.
“Didn’t you want to tear my eyes out at breakfast?” You asked.
She giggled and it was a light, tinkling sound that made you smile with her. You didn’t feel like you were being mocked or talked down to. In a lot of ways, she made you think of your best friends back in the village. You’d give anything to talk to them right now.
“You were enjoying your marriage. You are supposed to kiss your husband,” she said and shook her head. “Kissing him takes nothing from me. Being in his bed does not mean he will not still come to mine.”
You were not as gracious. The thought of him being in anyone else’s bed made you sick with anger. Like you wanted to light the whole place on fire and let it burn. What she was saying was no different than what the King had told you. He had a special relationship with her as he hoped to have with you. As he will have with…her.
“Why are you speaking to me now?” You asked as you continued to pick at the grass.
“Why did it take so long for you to speak to me?” She asked and shrugged. “In a lot of ways, you are still young. Your emotions pull you through the world. You had to experience all of it before you were open to anything I had to say,” she said.
She moved the baby to her shoulder and placed a cloth there. She tapped on the baby’s back.
A fire boiled in your gut and you wanted to call her names. You wanted to scream and rage that she didn’t know you. She had no idea what all you’d been through to bring you to this point. It wasn’t her damn business what you did with the King. But you swallowed it all back down.
You needed this connection to someone else. To someone who’d been through this already. “Alright then, what is it that you have to say?”
“It is okay to love the King. You may think that you only get a piece of him because he gives pieces of himself to the land, to the kingdom, to the council, to the Agojie, to the Oyo, to me. He gives all of himself to the land, the council, to me, to you. He is who he is,” she said.
You laughed bitterly and rolled your eyes. “Did he put you up to this?”
She smiled. “The King cannot make me do what I do not wish to. I wish to not live in a bitter household with slammed doors and a sad King. I like my King happy. You make him happy,” she said.
The toddler fell forward and began crying. You moved to get up but she held out her hand. “He will be alright,” she said and waved him off. You watched as the baby cried and cried, looking towards the first wife. When he realized that she wasn’t getting up, his cries slowed. Then he sniffled and hiccuped until he wiped his eyes, stood up, and kept moving.
“How can you be so calm about this?” You asked. You were about to explain further, that she seemed so knowledgeable about…everything. But she looked at you and smiled.
“I will spare you the details of how I got here, but you can picture it,” she said. She held out her arm. There were gouges, scratches, and burns marring her skin that made you hiss as you looked at them. “I’ve already survived the worst things men can do to women and I’m still here. I’m happy, I’m fed, I have two beautiful sons. I’m safe.
“But do not think for one second that I am calm. I am expected to push these children out for a man in constant danger from enemies. To political rivals or discontent in the palace. One hint of weakness and they will come for my babies. Or, they will grow up and be expected to give their lives for this kingdom. They will be cut down or full of holes from those bullets the devils brought with them. I am the furthest from calm. Because if I lose my babies, as it stands, the King will lose his hold on this kingdom. You have not given him sons. This new bride may or may not, remains to be seen. And he is the best king we have seen in a long time.”
“So I am to be a broodmare no matter what,” you spat.
“You are to be a wife to your husband! And the only one making it difficult is you! And your childish notion that you are supposed to be the only one he cares for. It is not all or nothing! You cared for your Mother and Father, didn’t you? Your friends? Your family? Some knot-headed little boy who smiled at you from time to time? Did you expect to be the only one they cared for as well?”
It may be childish but it wasn’t a stupid notion. After being picked last your whole life, it was difficult to conceive of a world where you weren’t the only person in your husband’s life.
It was not uncommon for regular men to have more than one wife. The really wealthy ones took more wives to basically create a labor source for their businesses. Some chose to only have one partner, like your parents, and look how miserable your mother was. Perhaps she would have been better had your father had multiple wives.
Then again, your father was so evil, it was a wonder he managed to trap your mother in marriage. He was not capable of love in his heart. And you would not wish him on anyone else. You would have liked to have siblings though. Perhaps you would have learned to share better.
“You’re an annoying older sister I never had,” you told her.
She laughed and it transformed her whole face. She looked much younger and softer as she did so, throwing her head back. “You are a stubborn younger sister I wish I had,” she said.
Your chest swelled with an inexplicable feeling of closeness. She held out her hand and you took it. She squeezed it. “It can start with us. We don’t have to be enemies,” she said.
You told her your name. She smiled. “I’m Ayi,” she said.
Topics moved on to much better things like her children, the Agojie. You did mention some things about your upbringing. Your story became much clearer once she realized that you were an only child. It wasn’t by choice. In fact, it was a constant source of irritation with your father.
The sun was starting to disappear in the sky. You had been out with her all day long and hadn’t realized it. Her sons were growing sleepy and it was time for them to eat and go to sleep. She asked that you at least kept an open mind. She didn’t like seeing her husband pouting into his breakfast.
You did take some pleasure in that. You didn’t doubt his feelings towards you, you only wished that he had been more upfront with you. This self-imposed exile was more for you to get a handle on your emotions. To have time to sift through your thoughts and feelings so that you could examine each one with care.
But you’d be a liar if you weren’t grateful that he hurt, even just a little. It was a rotten thing to wish for your husband, but it was true. You wanted him to feel a fraction of what you felt this past week. The pain, hurt, and shame at being made a fool of.
As if your thoughts summoned him, King Ghezo stood outside your room. His head was down and pressed against the door. His hands were planted on either side. He wore dark blue robes today filled with intricate square designs. His hair looked soft enough to sleep against and your fingertips ached with the memory of running your hands through it.
You stopped short to look at him but he must have heard you because he looked up. He faced you and took a few steps forward but you stepped back. You weren’t ready to face him. You weren’t prepared to see him just yet. You thought you’d see him tomorrow, during the wedding as you tried not to puke through the whole thing.
“I thought you were inside,” he said. His voice was soft. Your chest ached. His voice was one of the things you’d grown to look forward to hearing. Not hearing it these past few days hurt more than you were willing to admit.
“If I interrupted a speech, continue,” you said.
“That was not how I intended you to find out.”
“Did you know that you had already procured another wife while you were fucking me?” You asked.
His face twisted up and he sucked his teeth. “Don’t say it like that,” he said.
“Like what? Isn’t that what it was? Were you not fucking me while you were thinking of getting a new wife as soon as we were done? Fucking a baby into me so that you could move on and make more?”
“Do you want this conversation where everyone can hear?” He asked.
“They hear everything else.” You folded your arms across your chest and wrapped anger around you like a cloak.
The King took a few strides forward and you stood your ground as long as you could stand it. When he got within arm’s reach, you stepped away.
“Will you not even let me touch you?” He asked.
“Answer my questions,” you said.
“After everything we shared, do you think I was only fucking you? Is that really what you believe?” He asked.
It was hard to look him in the eyes because he looked so genuine. So genuinely hurt that you thought so little of him. But words meant nothing to you. They never did. Actions always spoke louder than words.
“How long did you know that she was coming before you climbed in my bed?”
“I have been in negotiations with her father for months before you came into my life. But we had months still before we could come to be allies against the Oyo. When he heard that I married you, he panicked. We tried to assuage his fears but he is…a strange man. He sent her anyway. I had planned to tell you while we were at the beach,” he said.
“So you waited until she was here to tell me?”
“How was I supposed to know that she’d show up the next day or that you would let me touch you that night? What can I say to make you believe me?”
“I want the truth!” Tears were starting to burn in your eyes. You hated this. You hated feeling like you were on opposite ends again when you had found your way to trust him. To love him.
“Have I not given you everything you wanted, eh? You asked for space, I gave it. You asked for patience, I gave it. You said I earned your love and you won’t even let me kiss you. You hid all week from me. I am your husband!”
“You are my King!”
The King reared back as if you’d slapped him. “I am your husband!”
“You are my King!” You stepped away and he followed you until your back hit a wall. You thought you were stepping back in a straight line, but he had backed you into a corner at an angle. Your hands dug into the stonework, hands trembling.
“You want the truth? The truth is that I did not know she would arrive so soon. I thought I had more time. I thought I could spend more time with you, while you looked at me with love still in your heart. I did not know that you would let me touch you, let me take you to bed. That you would share your body with me. If I am guilty of anything, it is being selfish. Selfish with every little bit of yourself you’ve given me. I want more. I want to know your every thought, every smile, every word that crosses your lips. If you wish to kill me, then go ahead,” he said.
He stepped back and took off his robes, throwing it on the ground. His chest heaved with the passion of his words. He opened his arms and looked at you.
“Finish the job we joke about too often.” He slapped his chest. “Stab me in the heart that beats for you. Stab me in the chest so that I can have a wound outside that matches the wound inside at the thought of never touching you again. Never kissing you. I have changed so much about how I do things, for you. I am a King. I do not have to explain myself to anyone. And yet I will explain it all to you if you wish!”
Tears flowed freely down your cheeks as you watched him and listened to him. You didn’t even know why you were crying. He was offering you everything on a platter and you did not know how to cross the gap to him. As if there were invisible hands wrapped around you, pulling you from him, keeping you from just flinging yourself into his arms.
Your Father always said that you made things difficult. Ayi said the same thing. You didn’t trust when things were easy. If things were, it could be taken away just as easily.
The King got to his knees at your prolonged silence. Flickering candles in the hallway danced across his skin. His eyes were narrowed and focused on you as he looked up at you.
“Do you wish me to beg? To plead? To send her away? Ask me. Ask me to send her away and I will spite a kingdom for you. I cannot explain why you affect me in such ways. But I am here on my knees the night before a wedding, wanting you.”
You got to your knees as well. You scooted close to him and looked him in the eyes. “I want the truth from here on out. I…will get used to you having more wives or children. I won’t like it. But I don’t like to be blindsided and made a fool of. Can you promise me that?”
You were tired of fighting. Tired of trying to remain so strong that no one could knock you down. There was no one here to tear you down. There was no Agojie waiting in the winds to kill you. If you were lonely, it was because you made yourself lonely. And it didn’t have to be like that. You had Ayi and you had the King.
“I promise,” he said. “I vow to you as your husband.”
You kissed his cheek. “Then I will choose to forgive that you waited until the morning after loving me to tell me you’re getting married,” you said.
He sighed and dropped his head. “Can I make it up to you in a different way?” He asked.
You raised an eyebrow at him. “How will you do that?” You asked.
A mischievous glint entered his eyes as he pressed his lips to yours. You sighed, instantly melting into the kiss. You missed his lips on yours. His arms wrapped around your body as he held you closer, tighter. Your arms wrapped around his neck and clung to him while he kissed you. While you felt just how much he missed you with every pass of his tongue against yours.
You didn’t know how long you stayed there kissing him, but you never wanted to get up. Your knees protested otherwise. You shifted one too many times and the King finally picked you up, never breaking your kiss. He pressed your back into the wall, holding you up and kissing the absolute breath from you.
His hands cupped your ass, squeezing you. You moaned into his mouth. He never failed to ignite something deep within your core. A hunger that simmered just below the surface until you were able to draw it out with his lips on yours. His hands on your body. You’d only had him once and it wasn’t nearly enough.
He moved you, somewhere finding the energy to open your door and push inside. He closed the door with his foot and then walked you to your bed. He placed you onto it, your back hitting the soft cushion.
“Let me give you the wedding night we should have had,” he whispered.
Your balcony was open as it usually was, blowing a soft breeze into your room. It felt amazing over your feverish skin. The candles were lit, thanks to your servant, the covers turned down just waiting for you to get inside. You were thankful that you weren’t in here alone.
You nodded. “Please, I’d like that, husband,” you said.
The King smiled and covered you with his body. He was heavy and you made an oof sound underneath him, but you clung to him so that he wouldn’t let up. You liked being crushed by him. You rubbed your body against him like a cat, needing to feel him everywhere.
He took his time kissing you, content to just lay there with your legs wrapped lazily around his hips. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb lightly rubbing your cheek. Your hands grazed his back, feeling the wide expanse of him. The broadness. You lost yourself in just touching him. Feeling him. He was as close as possible and he was yours.
It could have been hours you spent there kissing him yet it felt like none passed at all. Your lips turned numb from the brutal heat of his kisses. His lips moved downward, trailing liquid fire down your jaw and neck. He planted kisses there as well as his hand moved lower to grab your ass again. Squeeze your thigh.
Your chorus of moans seemed to only pitch higher as he moved his hand back up to unwrap your dress and reveal your breasts. He took his time worshiping them. Squeezing them and suckling them into his mouth. His tongue flicked over your nipples causing your thighs to tighten around his hips. If it weren’t for his body in the way, you’d be squeezing them shut needing some type of relief or friction.
Your clit throbbed the longer he took his sweet precious time with your nipples. He rolled one between his fingers and you couldn’t help moving, stretching, needing him to do more.
“Is there a problem, wife?” He asked.
“More,” you moaned.
He smiled against your breast, licking the underswell of it. He pinched your nipple and you cried out at the unexpected bite of pain. “I think I like you twisting like this,” he said.
“Husband,” you moaned in warning. You would not last like this. This was too much. Too much sensation and teasing and he hadn’t even touched your wet pussy yet. You felt the arousal slowly leaking from you. You needed to feel him inside of you, filling you up.
“Wife,” he mocked by mimicking your moan. He kissed his way down to your stomach. His hands left your breasts, moving further south to tease at your entrance. His hand played with your damp curls and you hissed, loving and hating that he was finally touching where you wanted him to.
He nibbled on your lower stomach and you moaned, your hands digging into his curls. He lifted his head and looked at you as his fingers moved between your folds and found your clit. Your mouth dropped open as he played with it, swirling your arousal all around sloppily.
“Love that face you make, wife,” he said.
You fought to look him in the eyes and let him see you. See how he was making you feel. You didn’t know what to do or how to make him feel just as good. But that would come in time. You had many years with him. Many years to learn each other’s bodies.
You bit your lip and moaned as he rubbed his thumb around your clit. It was slow and lazy as if he had all night to bring you pleasure. The stirrings of your climax tighten your belly and you flopped onto the bed, unable to keep eye contact. You let yourself feel his hands on you. His lips returned to your belly as you tensed up and let go.
You let go of all that tension and anxiety you had been carrying the past week. The sadness and loneliness that hung around you like a demon. You shed the anger and shame as your eyes rolled back into your head and your back bowed from the bed.
Your breaths shuddered as you calmed down. The King kissed his way down your body and spread your legs open. You didn’t know what he could see, but you did see him smile. The hand he used to finger you, he placed it on your titty and began to massage your nipple with your juices.
“Ouue,” you moaned. Crisp, lightly salted air blew into the room over your wet nipple and your thighs tingled.
“Louder, my Queen,” he said.
His lips descended on your pussy like a cat lapping up milk. His tongue swiped against you slowly, taking long swipes from your entrance to your clit. You moaned and yelled to the ceiling. Your fingers dug into his curls, pushing his face in. You hoped you weren’t hurting him, but you didn’t know how you could stop.
You cried out when he suckled your clit. You felt like you were dying and being rebuilt brick by brick. Every pass of his skilled tongue notched your climax higher and higher, reaching the peak of the tallest mountain.
You pulled on his hair as you came once more, gushing all over his mouth and the sheets. You whined as your legs shook, body moving uncontrollably. The King chuckled as he kissed your thighs, your belly, in between your breasts, and up your neck.
“Are you alright, my Queen?” He asked.
It took you a few deep breaths before you trusted your voice not to break. “That would’ve been our wedding night?” You asked.
He grinned and kissed your cheek. “Every night since then if you’d have let me,” he said.
You melted into the bed. You shook your head. “Liar,” you said. But there was no heat behind it.
“I wish to feel you, husband. All of you,” you said.
“Are you not tired?” He asked. But he was already moving his trousers down, off of his hips. The fabric hit the floor and he was pushing himself up off of you.
“Not of this. Not of you,” you said. You pulled him into a kiss, tasting and smelling yourself on his tongue. It only made you want him more. You liked claiming him in such a small way, only between these kisses.
“I love you, wife,” he said.
“I love you, husband,” you said.
He moved in between your legs, sliding his knees high under your thighs. He pushed you wider than you expected, guiding the head of his dick to your slick folds. He got the tip of himself wet and then slowly pushed into you.
Your hand flew to his chest. “Slow, slow, slow,” you moaned.
He slowed down, slowly pushing his way inside of you. Your body relaxed, letting him slip inside with ease. “You’re so beautiful, wife. Filled up with me,” he said.
“Shit,” you moaned. Your legs shook on him as he began to slowly fuck into you. You were outside of time as he moved inside of you. You stared into each other’s eyes. You were pure feeling.
He kissed you in between strokes. You couldn’t keep your lips off of each other. Whispering in between kisses. How you missed each other. How you loved each other. How you wanted this to work in between you. How he wanted to plant babies inside of you and watch your belly grow with his children.
“I want to keep you, wife,” he whispered against your lips.
The glide of his dick moved easily inside of you. Like he fit there. Like you were made for each other. And for this moment, you let yourself believe it. You were meant to be here in his arms.
Your mouth dropped open, limbs weak, as a powerful climax ripped through you. You cried out to the sky and heavens. You didn’t care if you woke up the whole palace. You cried until your voice went hoarse. You squeezed around the King’s dick.
“I’m yours, my husband,” you said.
He looked into your eyes while he moaned and finally climaxed himself. His dick pulsed inside of you and you savored the closeness of his body. The heat of him. The feeling of him on top of you. He was yours and you were his.
When he was finished spilling inside of you, he dropped to one side panting. He slipped out of you and pulled you toward him. You faced him and he pulled you closer, pulling your leg over his hip. You were completely enveloped into his warmth.
You talked until the morning light. Both unwilling to allow something as small as sleep interrupt this time together. He made you tell him all about the books you read while you were hiding. He tried to make you talk about every thought you had but it was impossible to remember every single one.
You giggled well into the morning, kissing in between, and talking about the things you missed as well. All too soon, it became increasingly obvious that he would have to leave to get ready for his little wedding.
The thought still pierced your heart with an arrow. But you’d try to get over it. You’d try, for your sake and for the sake of the household. Ayi was right. You didn’t want to live in a broken household full of tension and unsaid things. You had enough of that growing up.
“Go, go get ready,” you said.
“Are you sure?” He asked.
You took a deep breath. “No. But you are a king. Who am I to get in the way of that?”
He kissed you, his lips lingering against yours. His thumb caressed your cheek. “My beautiful Queen,” he said. “Will you kill me today?”
“The day is young, husband.”
The Secret King Ghezo Files | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5
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Gentle Lights Ch) 3
Something short and sweet(?) bc I'm fading fast and needs a sleeb. The author is very tired. She is eepy. The author has had a very long day of writting sins and wants to take just a small sleep. She eeby and neebies to sleebie. audor sleepy and need bed by time. the ator is currently experiencing critical levels of being a sleehjy little guy and needs to go to beb. she is retired and needs to slep. just a little sleejing time as a treat.
TW: Idk how to write fluff... or dialogue...
~***~
“Izogie!”
Warm arms wrapped around her. The scent of honey and oil greeted Izogie as pure elation coaxed tears to her eyes. Oh to be hugged again! To feel something welcoming and familiar!
“We thought you were gone forever!” Nawi sniffed before being overcome with hiccuping sobs. Tentatively, Izogie lifted an arm and shakily wrapped it around her young sister. The warrior did her best to comfort Nawi and fight off sobs herself.
But the tears were all too eager to fall. They stung at her eyes before streaming down and scorching her cheeks. Izogie felt more hands on her shoulders, they pulled upwards. Her limited view of the world shifted as her body was propped upright with Nawi still clinging to her.
Two other figures hovered over Izogie and Amenza shifted into focus. She wordlessly pressed a clay cup to the warrior's lips. Water! Cool, quenching water! It greeted Izogie’s system like a storm in the dry season.
Liquid life trickled down her throat, bringing strength to withered limbs. Izogie gulped it down greedily and it was gone far too soon. Cracked lips parted to voice displeasure but a jug lifted to her thisting mouth quickly dispelled any protests.
After Izogie had drunk her fill, two more sets of arms encased her. The solid embrace of Nanisca and the welcoming tenderness of Amenza breathed strength into Izogie’s sore body. They stayed that way for a time. Tears, sobs and relieved murmurs were exchanged in the quiet moment. However; Nanisca was the first to break away.
“You never cease to exceed what is expected of you. I just wish you’d stop terrifying me in the process.” She chuckled. Amenza shook her head fondly at the comment, playfully smacking Nanisca’s arm.
“Behave!”
“W-we’re so happy to have you home! The palace was horrible and empty without you here!” Nawi cried as she tightened her hold on Izogie. The warrior grimaced when she felt a sharp twinge of pain in her chest and stomach. This did not go unnoticed by her friend who was quick to move away, but only just. She was still practically glued to the warrior’s side.
“Eh? What are those tears for? Just wait and see! When I heal, I’ll really give you something to cry about! You won’t miss me so much after a ten mile run.” Izogie rasped mischievously. Her words made the young soldier gasp and her commanders snicker.
Amenza hummed as a cheeky grin curled her lips. “Bold words for someone who could barely move, not even a few minutes ago.”
Laughter rippled through the room and they settled into relaxed chatter, briefing the soldier on what she had missed. Izogie learned that after she lost consciousness and contact with Nawi, Nanisca had returned, against the king’s wishes, to retrieve them.
She sat awestruck as they recounted how they had led an additional rebellion and burned The Trade to ash. Izogie smiled widely at the lively narration of their triumphant return. She nearly doubled over laughing at how Nanisca snatched the title of The Woman King right from under Shante.
The more she listened, the more her mind and heart relaxed. The soldier let the familiar voices scrub away any lingering burden of worry and fear. She finally felt safe, no longer adrift in uncertainty and pain. Izogie had found her way back to the ones that loved her. She had found her way back home.
~***~
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#izogie fanfiction#izogie#Izogie fluff#lashana lynch#the woman king#fanfic#fan fiction#fanfiction#fandom#fluff fic#fluff#new chapter#chapter update#chapter 3
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I'm about to change the url of this blog so I can create a new account, I have too many secondary accounts for different things and I'd like to be able to respond to people and interact more with others!
I'll be reposting all of my content on the new one under the SAMEEEE url/name.
if you like any of my work thus far, please consider following my new account (blacksapphhicmaddona)! I really would love to be connected to other fit writers/readers and folks who share similar interests!
<3
#izogie fic#the woman king#fan fiction#black sapphic#lashana lynch#nomi#izogie x reader#black women first#changing to a blog I can actually use fr#pls
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Winter's King 1
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)
Characters: Geralt of Rivia
Note: this one came out of no where.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
It’s uncharacteristically grim on the plains of Debray. Rains pelt the tall green grasses, flattening them in a slanted downpour that dims the horizon. Clouds blot out the daylight and lend to atmosphere of unease in the warring lands.
Behind the castle walls, one can forget about the bloodshed staining the counties red, though it is all the dukes and his audience can speak of. The lords that bluster through those gates, sometimes at the toll of morning, some in the black swathes of night. You can’t count them all, you can name even fewer, but they come anon and leave just as brusquely.
A peel of thunder shakes the land and a dark line limns the curve of the horizon. What appears first as a storm cloud advances quickly through the fields, appearing more clearly to the naked eye, distant nonetheless. Men. Another party fast on the approach.
The alarm goes up at a man’s holler. Ethred, man at the gate hollers to the other men in mail. Niam peers out from the vantage of the tower and calls back down. A hush falls and bodies scurry all around, metal clinking and boots crunching. There’s something amiss. Something you can’t quite place.
You turn away from the window, the steam rising from the basin in your hand swirling around your head. You carry on down the corridor, wool skirts around cautious steps as you balance the swaying water in the vessel. You approach the lady’s door and give it a rap with your knee. Merinda, another handmaid, opens it from within.
You enter without a word and place the basin on the vanity table. The duke’s daughter preens herself with a painted fan, fluttering her lashes at her reflection as her curls spill down her long back. She tilts her head this way and that. She snaps the fan shut and puts it down, touching her soft brown cheeks with a devilish grin.
“Do you know what father mentioned last eve?” Jazlene asks with a vain flutter of her lashes.
“What did he mention?” Her mother, Lady Rezlyn prompts lazily as she plucks another cherry from a dish heaped in fruit.
“A husband,” the daughter grins coyly at herself, “it is well due, isn’t it, mother? Who do you think it might be? Lord Gai, perhaps? He is young still.”
“Perhaps the Earl of Mesafin,” her mother taunts back to a disgusted gasp.
“Do not,” Jazlene pouts, “I could never... I am much too pretty for that haggard beast.”
“Well, then, who might you have, precious?” Rezlyn goads.
There is a clamour in the hall that keeps the younger of the woman from answering. She rolls her eyes and darkly glare at the door. You peer back behind your shoulder as a wail goes up carrying her father’s name; ‘Lord Dustan!’
“What is all that?” Jazlene whines, “as if it isn’t enough with the rain and the winds. It is summer!”
“It’s always summer in Debray, darling,” Rezlyn scoffs, “otherwise I’d have never married your father. Pray you don’t hook yourself a winter lord.”
You peek over your shoulder as you stand near the door, in your vigil, awaiting your next order. You face the ladies again as the elder continues to feast and the younger fusses over her thick brows. You scrunch your lips back and forth, a habit that often has your jaw aching.
Jazlene turns to narrow her eyes at you, “what is it then? What has you making faces?”
You bow your head, appeasing her ego, “my lady, there were men coming. A party approaching from the north.”
“There are always men,” she shakes her head, “who was it then? Anyone I should wear silk for?”
Her mother laughs, “I warn you, daughter, that trite tongue will not endear any husband.”
“I do not know, lady,” you answer.
“Ugh, useless, must I work as my own handmaid?” Jazlene tisks, “come, pin my hair. Merinda find me a gown. Mother... wipe the dribble from your chin.”
“Eh, watch yourself,” Lady Rezlyn rises and wipes her lips with her sleeve. She wears muslin in a dark shade of burgundy, embroidered with little copper finches. “Or hope you marry above me before you lash that tongue at me.”
Jazlene merely trills with laughter. You take the pins and work at twisting her fine curls into place. Merinda brings to her a dress of teal satin and is promptly shooed away, “something pink. It brings out my bosom.”
You ignore her bawdy jest as her mother harrumphs. You work in quiet tandem with the other handmaid. You add a touch of paint to the lady’s cheeks and kohl around her eyes. You tint her lips with pigment and she pushes out her lips at the mirror. You help Merinda dress her, pulling the noble daughter’s corset tight enough to leave her lightheaded.
The pair of ladies, elder and younger, leave the chamber with you at their skirt tails. They sweep through the corridors with chins up. They are queens in their own minds. Their fine dresses and sparkling gems are untouched by the disparity of war. The lives lost are squares on a game board, tawdry talk for men in their studies.
“Lord Dustan,” Lady Rezlyn mimics the earlier call for the lord of the castle, “my husband. Dear, dear husband!”
The women go to the banister and look down upon the great hall as the flurry continues below. You and Merinda loom behind, not daring to stand at a level with the pompous nobles. You have never volunteered yourself for their impetuous lashings.
“Woman!” Dustan booms back up, “do not trouble me now.”
“Oh, has another lord come? Perhaps a suitor for our lovely daughter--”
“Cease!” The duke demands hotly, “now is not the time for womanly games.”
“Tell me it true, husband, she will be an old maid before you find a suiting son-in-law--”
“Go away to your chambers. Now. The men who come are not to be trifled with and you lot do trifle overly much!”
“Bah! Oh do not be so uncouth!” Rezlyn decries.
“Father, please, is it a husband?”
“Go before I send my guards up to put you away like thieves in a dungeon. Hear me when I warn you that this does not concern you. Not as yet,” Dustan snarls, “you would spoil this war with your puny concerns.”
“Ugh,” his wife puts her hand to her forehead, “he does tax me. All I ask of him is to take care of us, daughter. As any husband should.”
“I should have your lips sewn shut!” Dustan rebukes hotly, “be gone before I find a tailor.”
The women share an aghast look. The turn back to flutter away in their skirts. You and Merinda follow them to the drawing room, closing them in as they fall onto the velvet cushions. Jazlene reclines dramatically on the chaise as her mouth mopes on a sofa.
“Shall I be alone forever, mother?” Jazlene snivels, “why won’t he let me marry?”
“He only wants to find the right man, that is all, darling,” Rezlyn coaxes. “He is overprotective and that is good for it means he will find a husband for you with a similar bearing.”
“Such sweet words cannot convince me. He punishes me. When all my lady friends have wed and borne a whelp or two, I remain with the dust and stone.”
“Do not be theatrical,” Rezlyn girds, “you are silly.”
“I am not silly, mother. I am afraid. I am twenty and three and I have no suitor. I have only a war butchering any man who might have my hand. Why must this go on? Why must I suffer for the gripes of stubborn kings.”
“We cannot fear. This war will be won and you will have a knight for a husband. Isn’t that better? To have a warrior you can be proud of than some bookish lord in his tower?” Rezlyn stands and moves to sit with her daughter, petting her as she cooes, “oh my beautiful, no man can resist you. You will see.”
⚔️
Some hours pass with the restless women, pacing and chattering, about careless things beyond marriage and war. Like needlework and a banquet that should be had upon the truce. Would that the day would come sooner.
You and Merinda stifle yawns that pass between you. The act is contagious as you stand in the tedium of the wealthy and wait for a duty to be called upon you. The hours you spend watching the women preen and swoon make you envy the stable boys and the shit shovelers.
The noise beyond those walls continues. You heard the moat open and the clopping hooves of horses, even the clatter of carts. The voices had since hushed but footfalls carried back and forth. The wordless activity betrays an air of impatience, almost of nervousness. As the ladies within mirror the sentiment.
Finally, as the windows darken and the candles burn brighter, a knock shakes the door. The ladies snap their heads around. Merinda is asleep on her feet as you move first. You open to a man in grey and black waits on the other side. He is not Lord Dustan’s.
“The duchess and her daughter,” he garbles through a mouth that sounds full of salt.
You dip your head and look to the ladies in question. There is a tension, of unease, of unknowing, of excitement turned to dread. This is not as it has been. There is not call to the dinner table. There is no buoyant introduction of a lord Dustan met as a young scamp. There is silence and fear. Has someone died? Has a battle been lost?
The women emerge and greet the man with niceties and tight-lipped simpers. He does not pay them heed as you and Merinda exchange looks. You trail after the ladies but the man stops. He turns back, a hand on the pommel at his waist, and sneers, a furrow in his brow.
“One of ya,” he grits.
Jazlene says your name. She must’ve noticed Merinda swaying on her feet. If she even cares so much about a maid. You keep your head down and follow as they press on. Down the corridor and around the duke’s study, recently deemed his war room. You’ve never been within. It is not the domain of women.
The grey and black soldier thumps on the door. Mother and daughter clasp hands. Even they can sense the unusual frigidity. The door opens from within. It is Lord Dustan. He wears a serious look on his lined face. The ladies are beckoned in and the soldier nudges you after them as you hesitate.
Lanterns light the space from the desk at the rear of the chamber. The large table draped in maps, wooden horses, and little wooden pucks stands central on a thick rug. A figure stands behind it, head down as his burly and broad silhouette seems to sop up the shadows.
The ladies follow the duke to stand across from the man. His head is down as he slides a horse along a road on the map. He stops it and grips it tight. He looks up and the lantern light dances on his features. You suck in a breath, as the rest do, stunned by his appearance.
His hair is white, his eyes are a goldish yellow, pupils deep pools of black, and his square jaw is just as thick as the rest of him. You have never seen a man like him before, but you have heard of one. Of him. King Geralt of Rivia.
You stand in similar confusion to the ladies. Their silent confoundment is broken by Duke Dustan as he nears the table. He sniffs and presses his fingers to the table top.
“Your highness, my wife, Lady Rezlyn, and my daughter, Lady Jazlene,” he introduces.
The women glance at each other then curtsy to the white king. He watches them dully. You fold your hands, taking it in curiously. It is rather something to witness the scene. You are so unimportant as to not be a part of it.
“Your highness,” the recite, “it is...”
“An honour,” Dustan finishes for them, “of course it is. We fondly welcome you and your allyship. We hope that we will be essential in ending this war. In helping you attain the peace you have so valiantly fought for--”
The king raises his hand to silence the lord. You can’t help but quork your head. Allyship? But King Geralt, he is of Rivia, he is of the hinterland, he is the one who invaded the summer country and bid it his own. He is the foe. That is what they told you.
“Enough...” the king speaks in a silty tone that scrapes in his throat. His eyes wander over the women and narrow. You wince as your own meet his golden irises and you shy away, putting your chin to your chest. That’s a mistake. “...words.” He slaps his hand down, “you do not win wars with words.”
“Yes, your highness, you are correct. I know it well. It is why I invited you here. It is the very reason I made my entreaty. You have my men, they will win this war for you.”
The king is hardly impressed by the fact. He looks back to the table and moves the horse further before turning it back. He knocks it over and stands completely straight.
“And the daughter of Debray, your highness. To have a wife of summer’s blood, men will bend the knee. If you show them you do not mean to eradicate but to join with them,” Dustan moves to stand closer to his daughter, “isn’t she a fine queen for a fine kingdom?”
Jazlene swoons and falls against her father. She’s fainted. Rezlyn grabs onto her other shoulder and you peek up at the chaotic scene. You come forward to help, snatching a pillow from the single couch, and you place it under Jazlene’s head as they lay her down on the floor.
A shadow shifts as Dustan and Rezlyn fuss over their daughter, fanning and calling to her. You look up as darkness clusters over you. You see the king staring down at the scene. No, not them. He staring at you. Before he can reprimand you, you put your head down.
You must quit that lest you find yourself at the wrong end of a switch.
#geralt of rivia#dark geralt of rivia#dark!geralt of rivia#geralt of rivia x reader#the witcher#winter's king#au#medieval au#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series
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YOU CRYiN’ . . . ?
reblogs + interactions always appreciated :)
all works owned by kazushawty. song recs are for you to listen to while reading for extra immersion !!
| key: [ ★ ] = fan fav | 18+ | f! reader | in chronological order |
| key: [ 🔞 ] = smut [ 💢 ] = angst [ 🌀 ] = fluff
# — ONESHOTS / FICS . . !
[ ★ ] PSYCHOLOG-SPOT + approx. wc = 5.1k / estimated reading time / 25 minutes / college au! / ex-bf! gojo / tutor! gojo / switch! gojo / 🔞 /
SUMMARY: perhaps maybe having your ex-boyfriend satoru as your “tutor” wasn’t the best idea.
SONG REC: freaky deaky
[ ★ ] WWW.PIXELATED.STARBOY + approx. wc = 5.1k / estimated reading time / 25 minutes / cam! au / roommate gojo / camboy! gojo / switch gojo & switch reader / 🔞 /
SUMMARY: you wanted to surprise your roommate on his birthday but end up getting surprised yourself and find out he’s a popular camboy streamer.
SONG REC: need to know
SUNSETZ + approx. wc = 5.1k / estimated reading time / 25+ minutes / exes to lovers trope / ex-husband! gojo / angst ending / 🔞 / 💢 /
SUMMARY: maybe next time you should trust your gut instead of seeing your ex-husband in the middle of the night. save yourself the sheer heartbreak.
SONG REC: sunsetz
[ ★ ] DOUBLE-STUFFED: OREO STYLE + approx. wc = 4.6k estimated reading time / 19 mins 33 secs / college! au / roomate gojo! & roomate! getō / modern! au / crack / 🔞 /
SUMMARY: adult films are always so boring and overly dramatic. eye roll after eye roll when the woman “climaxes.” yet what happens when all three of you grow curious?
SONG REC: like that
[ ★ ] PUSSYCAT-PRIMADONNA + approx. wc = 6k estimated reading time / 22.67 minutes / modern! au / stripper! reader / best friend trope / crack / 🔞 /
SUMMARY: gojo visits his local strip club out of boredom. yet it’s his surprise to see the top paying girl is no one other than his pretty best friend, you.
SONG REC: buttons
SEVEN-DAY-SLUT + approx. wc = 4.9k estimated reading time / (?) / college! au + modern / ex! bf trope / crack / 🔞 / 💢 /
SUMMARY: you and your ex decide to spend halloween together for old times sake. yet a single watch of a videotape leads to an eerie phone call that says you both have seven days to live. might as well fuck each other for the last time, right?
SONG REC: turn off the light
# — THIRSTS / ASKS . . !
gojo with a low patience and a sassy gf [🔞]
king gojo + queen reader on wedding night [🔞]
spin the bottle feat. toji [🔞]
s!x deprived reader x gojo [🔞]
gojo with a spit kink [🔞]
stripper!gojo [🔞]
what karma thinks gojo’s loads are like [🔞]
stripper!gojo [🔞]
handsy make out sesh [suggestive]
what karma thinks gojo smells like
ridin gojo after he comes back from a workout [🔞] — ★
whiney gojo trying full nelson for the first time [🔞] — ★
turning satoru into a mess by telling him how good he feels [🔞]
this is your weak spot, right? [🔞] — ★
gojo makes a bet to make u squirt for the first time [🔞]
vampire gojo imagine [🔞]
what’s gojo tinder account
rockstars gojo & geto [🔞]
# — DRABBLES . . !
🐱drunk gojo who can’t help but touch himself [🔞]
gojo and how much of a moaner he is [🔞] — ★
gojo + mating press [🔞] — ★
gojo + prone bone [🔞] — ★
riding gojo while he whimpers [🔞] — ★
needy gojo [🔞] — ★
thigh riding gojo after he comes home from work [🔞]
sneaky link gojo with breed!ng kink [🔞] — ★
gojo squirting kink [🔞] — ★
gojo rubbing ur 🐱 aggressively [🔞] — ★
gojo eating u out [🔞] — ★
gojo fucking u dumb [🔞] — ★
gojo favorite positions [🔞]
fuckin u hard after callin him “honored one” [🔞] — ★
hate fucking w gojo [🔞]
gojo being horny + filling u up with his c*m [🔞] — ★
reducing strongest sorcerer 2 a whiney mess [🔞] — ★
prone bone w gojo + arm around your neck [🔞] — ★
gojo comes home to reader doing yoga [🔞] — ★
safe word with gojo [🌀]
gojo helps reader find g*spot [🔞] — ★
gojo manhandling 5’0 gf [🔞] — ★
post battle s*x [🔞]
gojo fucking you with his blindfold on you [🔞] — ★
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listen i know we all love steve “completely ignorant of queer culture to the point that bisexuality is a surprise” harrington being roasted and educated in turns by robin and eddie, yadda yadda, good stuff. i read “they made a horror version of rocky?” in a fic recently and cackled. also a big fan of “he knew he was bi from the start and just never talked about it” as a trope, love it excellent well done
but what about steve who realizes after starcourt that the most important person in his life now has this thing that’s a major part of her life that he knows nothing about, and what if he fucks it up? what if he says something ignorant or rude by accident, and hurts her? what if he loses her because he didn’t know the right thing to say? what if he can’t keep her safe because he doesn’t know what to look out for? absolutely fucking not, this steve says
and listen she’d never say anything, because she can tell that he can tell how much she likes teasing him and teaching him things, so he plays dumb, and she thinks it’s very sweet. but she notices when the zines she keeps under her bed that she buys at that one secret bookshop in indy when she can sneak away on family trips start going missing, always one at a time, and replaced in a few days with another disappearing. and she finds the new ones he must have gone to buy the weekend she was at her aunt’s house hidden in the back of his closet when she goes to steal one of his sweaters. and she notices when he slips more of her queerer movie recommendations into his personal take home pile rather than the movie night stack when he thinks she’s not looking.
she doesn’t notice when he drives to indianapolis after she tries to explain to him why she can’t just ask out a cute girl, tries to impress on him the fear attached to every moment of attraction that he simply has never had to feel, but later she finds a crumpled receipt from a diner in one of his jacket pockets when she’s looking for his keys, and the address is across the street from the bar the gorgeous woman at the bookstore told her about, the one she memorized the address of but hasn’t worked up the guts to think about visiting, and she knows he must have gone looking for a place like that, must have been trying to understand, must have been scoping it out to make sure it was somewhere she could feel safe, after she told him she never had.
so when eddie nearly pops a blood vessel when they clock each other and she mentions that steve is the only person she’s ever come out to before, her hackles come up. because she gets it, she does, he’s only known king steve until recently, so it makes sense that he would be afraid, be concerned for her safety.
but steve is her person, and no one- no one- has ever made her feel as protected or as cared for as he does. no one has ever tried as hard to understand her, no one has ever put so much work into making her feel safe and seen and loved. and she thinks maybe even if no one else ever does, that’s ok. because she has steve, and more importantly steve has her, and that means no one gets to question his ally credentials in her presence without a dressing down to remember, no matter how well they mean or how recently they helped save the world.
(and maybe she’s not as surprised as she could be when he figures out bisexuality all on his own, because she’s been reading all the same pamphlets he has, after all. and she’s seen the way he looks at eddie, i mean come on. maybe no one else has noticed, but then, nobody knows steve harrington like she does.)
#stranger things#steve harrington#robin buckley#platonic stobin#steddie#(if you squint)#this got away from me#i just really love love giving steve a bit more credit yk?#like yes he’s very stupid and he has a history of being self absorbed#and we love that about him#he’s very flawed and that makes him interesting#but i really feel like one of his defining traits is his need to be useful to the people he loves#combine that with his abandonment issues and i really feel like he would be scared of fucking up and losing robin#and yeah he would play dumb like he does with dustin and d&d#but i don’t believe he knows nothing about d&d after all this time and i don’t believe he would let himself know nothing about queer culture#i’m just so so attached to the idea of steve who knows that teasing him for being dumb is his friends’ love language with him#so he pretends to be dumber than he is so they have chances to explain things to him#also stobin sharing clothes is so so so important to me just putting that out there#anyway i just think they’re neat#my writing
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Those Hands.
Masterlist of fan fiction
Fandom: The Hobbit
Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Insecurity, comparison, angst, sexual references, mutual pining, idiots in love.
Comments/Notes: From the imagine, "Imagine that Thorin is in love with you (from the race of Men) but constantly compares his body and features with other men, thinking you find him disgusting." Requested by multiple readers and anons. (THANK YOU!)
I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.
Thorin watched every little interaction that you had with other males, whether they be Dwarves, Men or Elves. He couldn’t help but watch you blush, avert eye contact and use self-soothing gestures, such as touching your face, curling your hair with your fingers, or rubbing your upper arms.
Since Thorin had been crowned King of Erebor, and re-building was underway, many people visited the mountain. Bard came from Esgaroth, often meeting with Thorin in council, to discuss trade deals and assistance in building. Much to Thorin’s distain, Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, also came. Again, he joined the council to converse around the subject of trade deals in precious metals and gemstones.
Your relationship with Thorin was entirely built on trust. The two of you had been companions out on the road during the quest to re-take Erebor. He had always valued your opinion, spoke with you in private, and kept you close to him on his council of advisors. Erebor was now your home, despite you being of the race of Men. Your family were all gone, meaning that the Dwarves had now taken that place, welcoming you into the fold and treating you as one of their own.
One morning, council was busy. Neldra, one of the kitchen staff, was on hand with jugs of cold drinks and pots of tea. Then once all the drinks were laid out neatly on intricately laced doilies, she came back with a trolley of fresh pastries.
The smell was divine; you took an inhale and let the scent overtake you. Apple and cinnamon were among the selection: your favourite.
You reached out to take one of the pastries, only to feel another hand graze yours. “I apologise,” a voice came, from the direction of the hand.
It was Bard, from two seats down to your right hand side, who had stretched across to grab one of Neldra’s famous delicacies. “It was no bother,” you replied. “You first.”
“Ladies first. I insist.”
Thorin’s blue eyes studied the scene going on before him. No one else had noticed the exchange between you and Bard. Upon the impact of yours and Bard’s hands, Thorin felt a jolt in his chest. It rose up into his throat, and he closed his eyes for a brief second. The red hot sensation bore into him, feeling as if it were forming a hole straight through him. Upon opening his eyes, Thorin looked at his hands, then glanced across to Bard’s. The man’s hands were broad, but his fingers long and slender. Very much unlike Thorin’s. The Dwarf King’s fingers were short and bulky, with stubby ends. Surely Bard’s hands would have the dexterity and skill to caress your skin, drawing shivers from you. A Dwarf’s hands would be too calloused and thick to evoke any kind of pleasurable sensation upon a woman from the race of Men.
Chatter continued, along with eating and drinking. In that time, Thorin tried his hardest to push the negative thoughts from his mind, and concentrate on the conversation at hand, which involved the realms of Erebor and Esgaroth exchanging skilled workers and apprentices.
Thranduil was also present and merely rolled his eyes as the conversation got underway between Bard and Thorin. The Elven King did not like to waste his time, and being in this council meant that there were stints of time where his input was not needed.
“Would you like another drink?” you asked Thranduil, picking up the nearest china pot of tea.
“I would much prefer wine, but since I’m not within my realm, I would not say no.”
Thorin’s gaze darted over to Thranduil, and then to you. He saw you brush a piece of hair behind your ear, and then look up at the Elven King sat opposite you. Your ears were small, with one golden hoop earring in each lobe. Then Thorin looked at Thranduil’s ears; pointed at the tip, finely structured. They weren’t big, round and sticking out. Thorin’s ears were ugly, and thankfully he could keep them hidden under his long hair. Secretly, he had always imagined you whispering against them, your lips brushing them. It made Thorin shiver.
Once council had concluded, Thorin left the chamber and headed back to the royal wing. Once inside and he stood in front of his full length dress mirror, staring at the protruding ears on the side of his head. Then he studied his large hands, thinking back to Bard’s.
The males from the races of Men and Elves made you blush in a way that Thorin never had. Their bodies were more finely crafted, which complemented yours. They had finer features with smaller noses and brows.
Thorin shifted back and sat on his bed, his hands in his lap. He took one more glance at them, feeling disgusted at what he saw. They would never be good enough for you. None of his body would ever be good enough for you. Everything about him was oversized, not delicate and handsome like Bard and Thranduil. Both of them had lost their wives, and may have wished to re-marry, so they would make better husbands for you.
***
The following day and Thorin was sat in the council room, signing documents. His quill scratched loudly against the parchment.
You walked in, holding a further stack of documents in your hands. “These should be the last ones,” you said, offering a smile.
Thorin looked up at you. No blush on your face to be seen.
“Is everything alright?” you asked. There was something in his eyes, a thoughtfulness. Maybe even a sadness. You sat down in an empty seat next to Thorin. “What’s wrong?” On impulse, you placed your hand on top of his.
Thorin looked at your hands, watching your thumb gently caress his knuckle. How huge his hand looked against yours. But how right it felt, as if the size did not matter, and they were still able to fit together as one.
“There is nothing wrong,” Thorin said, forcing a weak smile. “I hear that Bard is leaving this afternoon. Will you not be wishing him farewell?”
“I barely know him,” you replied. “I’d feel it strange to do so.”
“Would you wish to get to know him?”
“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“Surely you find him handsome,” Thorin continued, pulling the new stack of documents over towards him.
“Not really. Can’t say I do. There’s some reason to you asking this, Thorin.”
“Why would I have any reason?”
“There’s always a reason to anything that you ask. I know you enough by now. Talk to me. You’ve always given me more trust than I deserve, and never questioned me liked this before.”
Thorin took a deep inhale and looked at you, dropping his quill. “Who do you find handsome? If not Bard, maybe Thranduil?”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “Why ever would you think I’m attracted to King Thranduil?” The whole idea was so comical that you couldn’t help but keep giggling. “It takes….” You couldn’t stop the giggling. “A special….kind of woman….to…..”
Thorin also began to chuckle, watching your face turn red in amusement and delight. His heart somehow felt lighter as he watched you, and that overwhelming love for you rose. It was a love that would allow him to do anything to make you happy. It was a love that would make him sacrifice his very life to keep you safe. It was sacrificial and unconditional.
You could see the glow in Thorin’s eyes and the smile which curled his lips upwards. He was the one you found handsome, above all others. The intensity in his eyes made butterflies swarm in your stomach. His proud presence caused you to shiver whenever he entered a room. His voice was enough to make your imaginations travel to another place where only the two of you were, locked away in comfort, pursuing wondrous pleasure.
You edged closer to Thorin. “You said you want to know who I find handsome?”
Thorin’s heart was hammering now and he was sure that you would be able to hear it.
“It’s you.” Your voice was a whisper. “It’s always been you. How could it not be you? Why would you ever think I’d be attracted to Bard and Thranduil?”
Thorin closed his eyes in embarrassment. “My features and body are not like theirs.”
“So why would that not make you handsome?”
“My hands…”
“Your hands?” you giggled. This time a blush did hit your cheeks, and it was even more vivid than it had ever been when in the company of any other man. “You have found out my secret.”
“What secret?” Thorin asked, shifting ever so slightly closer to you. He had never wanted you any more than he did in those moments. The very thought that it was him that you found handsome was making his whole being rise, but anticipation was now racing down his spine in shivers.
“I have had a fantasy for some time now, since meeting you, of what you could do to me with those hands,” you said, biting your lip.
Thorin couldn’t hold back any more and moved even closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek. His breath was elevated and his eyes were sparkling with so much joy, but slight fear.
His lips crashed against yours and you both groaned upon impact. Within seconds and the kiss had grown deep, your tongues both meeting. You couldn’t help but whimper as Thorin’s lips left yours and trailed down your neck. His beard tickled your skin and then as he grew more impatient, you could feel the tickle become a bristling, sharp sensation. Your hands became lost in his hair as he nuzzled at your neck, groaning and grunting.
Thorin felt your fingertips brush over his ears, and it drew an overwhelming shiver from his very core.
“I love you, Thorin,” you said again. “Now show me what you can do with those hands.”
***
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#Thorin Oakenshield#The Hobbit#Thorin x You#Thorin x Reader#Thorin x Fem!Reader#Thorin Oakenshield x You#Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader#Thorin Oakenshield x Reader#Thorin x Female Reader#Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader#Reader Insert#Insecurity#Fanfiction
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I'm reading through Anne's notes during the writing of her unfinished novel "Lestat and King Louis XIV" and I just cannot get past her summary:
First of all, how did this woman hate fan fic so much when this is just Peak Crack Fic?
And imagine asking God for a miracle, for him to send an angel to help guide you, and getting... Lestat.
This guy.
Image text: I want to use the life and personality of Louis in the novel. I see Lestat being accosted by angels and told that he has to go back in history and that he has to become the guide of Louis XIV.
Time is presented as circular. Things are going on all the time. The King has prayed for an angel and no one is better qualified for this job than Lestat.
If you'd like to read the first 7 chapters of "Lestat and King Louis XIV", @suikamelon6 and I have been editing the photographed pages into accessible text over on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53417254/
#anne when we said we wanted more louis we didn't mean THAT louis#interview with the vampire#iwtv#lestat de lioncourt#lestat and king louis xiv#tulane#anne rice#the vampire chronicles
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König mistakenly shoots you on the battlefield
König x Gender-neutral Reader
Word count: ~4500
*SLOW burn but when my writing finally has that spark this fic catches FIRE and FAST so be prepared!! 🔥🔥
*⚠️Angst Angst! ANGST!��️
*THABK YOU SO SO SO MUCH TO AZZY MY NO.1 FAN FOR THIS AMAZING IDEA!!!! 🥰🥰🥰I LOVE *YOU* VERY MUCH!! 🥹🫶🫶💞💞💞💞 💞💞💞💞💞THANK UVFOR ALWAUS LIKING MYNPOSTS AND BEING SO KIND TO ME YOU MAKE EBERY HOIR SPENT WRITING WORTH IT AS I AM ALWAYS EAGER FOR YOUR MESSAGES😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓I AM *YOUR* NO.1 APPRECIATOR IN ALL RHE GALAXIES🌌🚀✨🌠QNDVWISH U ALL THE BEST ALWAYS!!!!!!🫂🫂💗💗 THIS ENTJRE POST IS DEDICATED TO YOU !!! 🥹(,,havinf said that, i hope u arent TOO taken aback bu tje level of angst here 💀💀REALLT went overboard and I completely apologize 💔)
TWs: König is in love with you. König's sanity slowly deteriorates as the fanfiction progresses. Mentions of attempted suicide, graphic depictions of gore, potentially triggering depictions of depression. König has suicidal thoughts after shooting you. König experiences intense trauma after shooting you and has survivor's guilt.
*Reader's callsign is "King". Implied age gap. One-sided pining from König... but the ending is purposefully kept ambigous (as you, the reader, can interpret the final interaction however you like)! Can be read as a standalone if you have never read any of my works before. <3
*To clarify to those that have already read my works before, this is *NOT* a direct continuation to 1.my fluffy 2.series! This is a separate imagine, but DOES take place in the same KönigxKing microchosm. Whether the following events take place in an alternate timeline or happen at some point in the future/past is for you to decide. Idk man i just write the fics I don't do the world buidling 🗿I write sotires without thingign about the greater picture u honestly think my one shots will tie to a greater plot?☹️No 💔
...
Right from the beginning, König had a gut feeling that this mission was going to go wrong.
It was a deep sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach, making him feel queasy on the helicopter ride as the both of you with an additional three others were scheduled for contact in a few minutes' time.
You were just a recruit, and this mission was far too intense for someone with next to no experience in an active warzone for it to be their first. He knew the dangers of missions like this, knew how things could go horribly wrong in an instant.
It wasn't that he doubted your ability. Not at all. From the corner of the room he would silently supervise as you sparred another person, monitoring your movements incase your opponent had the upperhand and you needed guidance.
However, he had never needed to intervene, as he was impressed with your quick reactions and your controlled steps as you'd move on the balls of your feet, arms held up in front of your face. Ambition was in your eyes, your face scrunched up in concentration as you calculated your next move.
You'd defend yourself up until the moment you'd pounce and in a blink of an eye be on top of your opponent, your entire weight pressed on their theirs on the ground. Whether it was another woman, another man, or even a person with bigger bulk you were clearly disadvantaged by, you'd never give up, and took on any challenge with an impressionable passion of a young recruit.
Once they'd be the one to tap out, you'd immediately push yourself off them and offer them a hand, asking them "Are you alright?" in a concerned tone as you were pulling them up. "Sorry for getting aggressive there, sir/miss! I hope I didn't hurt you!"
To which they'd respond with boisterous laughter and a strong clap on your back, you doubled over as they were congratulating you for knocking them off their two feet and telling you to keep up the good work. König couldn't wipe the triumphant smile from his face, filled with pride at your personal victory.
Once you'd be the one to tap out, you'd part ways honourably, never disrespecting the person that came out on top. If anything, your loss only added fuel to the fire burning in your eyes, driven to work harder. He still admired you, and would be the one to pull you up as he dusted you off, telling you that you did a great job regardless.
"Thank you, sir!" You'd reply bashfully, face red from effort and embarassment. "Though, I'm sure I made a fool of myself with how I was flailing my arms just then..."
"Nein. Not at all," he'd say, eyes glinting with something that you couldn't quite recognize. "You did very well."
Target practice displayed your accurate aim, wool seeping out from the heads of dummies and the targets regularly replaced as the wood would cling in pieces, the center blasted into smithereens by repeated bullseyes from you.
Always lingering nearby to assist, you would gratefully accept König's help and allow him to demonstrate how to operate another gun with an appreciative smile on your face, your genuine eagerness to learn making König's chest tighten. You seemingly never knew the effect you had on him.
You were a naturally skilled soldier, he had observed, and he knew that you'd make an incredible addition to the team, he couldn't deny that.
Yet, he couldn't shake off this feeling as something more grave.
All personel debriefed and the plan disclosed a week prior, the superior went over the plan once more back at base. A large blueprint spilling over the table with weak spots and areas to beware were annotated, his forefinger pointing at different areas of interest. Sketches, photographs, and jottings were displayed from a projector for all to see as you listened closely.
König's jaws were grinding against each other in agitation, having doubts about you being deployed on this mission.
Despite this operation being portayed as an in and out extraction, König knew better. He knew what the stakes were. Intuition urged him to warn you, to confide in you about his doubts and even considered crossing your name off the list and assigning you elsewhere last minute without anyone knowing.
But the thought that he could be controlling you — a young, innocent recruit — and even considered doing something so foul didn't sit right with him.
You were your own person, and he couldn't be your shadow, couldn't act as a human shield against all that was cruel and gruesome in life. You had chosen this job, and therefore must have had at least some idea of what your responsibilities would entail, some knowledge of what soldiers go through in pursuit of glory.
Instead of being so pertubed, he should keep it together, he thought, should maintain a stoic façade. He was your superior — your colonel, for God's sake — he was someone you aspired to be, someone that should be an inspiration, a role model, someone that could have your back and be a reliable body to fall back on.
Not someone that couldn't keep it together when you around.
Especially when he shouldn't have been having feelings for you.
You, a young person vulnerable and easily influenced by people older than you, by the likes of him.
It wasn't right. He wasn't right for what he was feeling, for what he had been thinking. It wasn't right for his feelings to cloud his judgement, wasn't right that abusing his power had even crossed his mind, let alone been tempted to act upon it.
Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. "König? Are you alright, sir?"
Turning his head to face you, he nodded with false certainty, containing his worry in an attempt to appear confident for you.
"Ja, King, it's okay. Just thinking, that's all."
You quirked a brow, not convinced. "Hey."
Placing a firm hand on his shoulder, a serious expression was on your face, which caught König off guard and made his eyes widen. "If you're thinking that I'm going to get myself killed then you've got another thing coming, because I will NOT get shot by the enemy."
His back slumped over a little, averting his gaze for a moment. "Nein, sie haben recht."
"Ich sollte nicht zulassen, dass meine Gefühle mein Urteilsvermögen trüben." König mumbled something else under his breath in German, then quickly shook his head and laughed, looking into your eyes again.
Tension in his body was eased a little. "No, you're right."
A little. Because he wasn't going to dismiss the thoughts gnawing at the back of his head as mere paranoia.
You perked up. "Good, glad we've got that cleared up, sir! I want you to know that I won't disappoint!"
His heart skipped a beat at your smile, so eager to please and make him proud, that he shuffled uncomfortably, trying to get the butterflies in his stomach to calm down. Now wasn't the time.
Idly fidgeting with his combat knife as the helicopter blades hummed above, he went back to thinking over all the possibilities and different ways this mission could go awry:
...What if these were the wrong coordinates, or the helicopter would be attacked the minute they landed? The thought of an ambush wasn't an irrational one — it had happened before, he reminded himself — so he had brought a few more weapon crates than necessary for safekeeping.
...What if the helicopter's signal was intercepted and everyone including the pilot were destined for a fatal crash? Counting the number of parachutes and noting the fire exit, he could rest a little easier if an emergency like that was to arise, yet it still did little to soothe his nerves.
...What if you really did get shot? In case that happened, he had alerted some operators beforehand to serve as re-enforcements, one of those on board including a skilled army medic, under the guise of needing more manpower in case things went south. After all, this extraction could not have go wrong. It shouldn't have gone wrong.
But... what if you died? König wouldn't know how to deal with the feelings associated with your death, knowing that he had loved you from afar yet never acted on it. At least he'd be able to keep his shameful secret a secret, and you'd pass away never knowing what he truly saw you as, truly thought of you.
He had little time to figure out what was causing the trepidation to stiffen his muscles as the helicopter suddenly swerved and lowered, landing kilometres away from the designated building yet on unstable ground nonetheless. Any moment soldiers could attack it if they had known the group's location, so the blades kept spinning and the engine kept running for an immediate getaway.
König assumed authority. "Everyone remember the plan?"
Four heads nodded in sync.
"Gut. Then you all know what to do. I will enter from the side with my Lieutenant—" he said, gesturing with his head at a masked operator beside you, "—while you three—" referring to you and two others you were only vaguely aquainted with, "—storm from the back. Ja?"
König's eyes stalled on you for a moment longer than necessary. You were going to be alright, he told himself. He'd keep you in his field of vision and could provide you with cover once you regrouped when you'd really need it.
"A quick extraction," he reminded, eyes stern yet heart disbelieving. "Simply go in, get the data, and go out."
A final nod of the head from König as he and his associate separated from your group. You headed towards the back of the building, fully alert, aiming behind corner incase there had been someone waiting to assassinate you.
Doors creaking as one of the men pushed, the three of you filtered in noiselessly, attempting to be as discreet as possible and wincing when the door slammed not so quietly. Guns cocked and silencers attached, you advanced in a line, blending in to the shadows.
As you walked, there were no signs of life, and the storehouse seemed abandoned. No machinery was being operate. No voices could be heard.
All was still and quiet.
Eerily quiet.
Feeling the hairs on your arms and neck stand on end, you shuddered. You made eye contact with one of the men in front of you who had more expertise, and he looked on edge, eyebrows creased in focus under his balaclava. None of this felt right.
Suddenly, something small rolled over towards you all. Blinking once, twice, you let out a panicked scream and dived for cover.
"Grenade!"
All hell broke loose.
Bullets ricocheted over your head, guns blasting from so many directions you couldn't pinpoint their source.
Slowly recovering from your momentary shock, you gripped your rifle tight and started shooting back, hidden behind a load of wooden crates. When you saw your hooded colonel crouching in a corner, you relaxed. With an encouraging nod from him, that was all you needed to go change positions, and you lunged forward. All was going smoothly at that point.
So engrossed in eliminating the threats in front of him, however, König only came to the realisation that you weren't there when he didn't see your figure in his peripheral vision.
Panic consumed his senses and circulated through his veins. All at once, he was frantically scanning the immediate area, searching for any trace of you.
You were thrashing and kicking as you were being pulled by rough hands, your fingers reaching for your holster through gritted teeth, yet it was just out of grasp. You were thrown harshly against the wall, and the enemy towered over you, feeling high from his power trip and excited to exert authority he had never had up to now.
Just as a knife made its way to your throat, your hand finally found your side arm and shot a bullet between his eyes, body falling on top of you like a sack of potatoes.
You convulsed involuntarily, hyperventilating under his weight and the sudden situation. Noting your surroundings, your heart sank.
You were in no man's land, full view of soldiers shooting at your team. The extraction point was just in sight, exactly how and where it was illustrated on the blueprint.
So far, no one had noticed you, too preoccupied aiming down their sights to see you shuffling under a corpse. You could enter those headquarters right now, could be proclaimed a hero of this story, and make your colonel proud and finish before schedule.
The risk was too big. You were bound to get shot.
Yet, against all better judgement, you dashed for the entrance, taking advantage of the element of surprise as three men turned towards you with wide eyes, not expecting to see you enter. Two were haphazardly shoving papers into a half-open folder thrown on the table.
Three shots fired before they could scramble for a gun, you rushed towards the desk. Scanning the material, your eyes widened in shock. This was it.
Now, your only choice was to crawl back into the line of fire. Soldiers still kept shooting with their backs turned, endless ammunition right at their disposal.
You were totally helpless on your own. Just one pair of wandering eyes from the enemy and just one shot in the back of the head would be all that would take to end your life at that moment and make all of your efforts go to waste.
Although an atheist, you mouthed a silent prayer, before taking a deep breath, and sprinted.
Seeing sudden movement headed towards him, König acted on instinct, and pulled the trigger on you.
His heart stopped.
Time slowed as your body fell in slow motion, more bullets piercing through your gear.
Realising his mistake immediately, he almost vomited his own stomach out at seeing you fall lifelessly on the ground, eyes wide and body dropping on impact.
"Scheisse, cover me, verdammt!" He yelled over his shoulder, all rational thought ceasing.
Breathing rapid and strained, he rushed towards you, gently wrapping his arms around your body — growing weaker by the minute — and headed straight for the first sign of cover he could see. Behind unstable and temporary refuge that could be blown to pieces, König was at a loss at what to do.
He had expected everything, evaluated every possible scenario, every possible outcome, even prepared a lifeline for you on the off-chance that you'd be injured in action.
Yet he hadn't anticipated that he would be the one to shoot you. Never.
Shaking violently, König could barely get any words out. "—S-schatz, please please please—"
Hesistant hands hovered over your wounds, conflicted, as blood was staining your uniform, wrenching König's heart. His mind kept repeating you did this. You did this. You did this.
You needed urgent aid, and you needed it right now, yet he didn't deserve to touch you, his hands clenched into fists as he didn't want to break you further, treating you like fragile glass that could shatter into pieces under his touch if he so held you.
He was the one that did this to you. You, the young recruit he was so hopelessly infatuated with, a person who he had cherished and loved from afar, the person who made him feel good things for the first time ever in his life.
He did this to you.
He was the monster in your closet, the threat that König had desperately attempted protect you from all this time, the threat that you were told to eliminate on this mission. The enemy.
The enemy that had mistakenly shot you.
"Es tut mir so leid, I'm so sorry—" König's mind couldn't function properly, speaking in broken mix of English and German. He couldn't gather his thoughts, couldn't think.
"—I'm so so so sorry. Please don't die, bitte vergib mir, forgive me, forgive me, schatz. Forgive me. Ich liebe dich, schatz, do you hear me? I love you."
Bullets whizzed past you both relentlessly, both of you still caught in crossfire. König's lips were moving yet you couldn't hear what he was saying to you, couldn't feel anything as you slowly lost consciousness, slowly closed your eyes.
A calloused hand tapped your face in desperation, your vision blurred.
"—Nein, nein, King! Stay awake! I'm calling for the re-enforcements now! Please, don't die on me— I'm so sorry..."
Shaky yelling through the walkie-talkie, voice cracking. "This is your colonel, König! We're retreating right now! One of ours is wounded! Send the re-enforcements right now to this location! I repeat, we are retreating! I am calling this mission off!"
"What? Are you crazy, König?!" A break in character from the commander, before immediately assuming professionalism once more. "Proceed with the mission! You are on the verge of breaking their defenses! You will enter their headquarters and be able to—"
"Nein. That was an order, commander," he hissed through gritted teeth, nearly crushing the device in his death-grip. "We are retreating. I am calling this mission off."
A pause. Then: "Copy that, colonel. We are sending your re-enforcements to cover you as you exit. Your helicopter is waiting. Hold out for thirty seconds longer."
Sighing with relief, he suddenly thought his heart stopped beating when he saw you laying there motionlessly, eyes closed. Desperately tapping at your cheek did nothing to awaken you. He prayed that you'd survive, willing time to go faster.
At last, loud whirring from above gave him the only comfort. Not waiting a second longer, König picked up your limp body and dashed outside, the helicopter lifting off as the rest of the crew threw themselves inside.
Opening your vest to inspect your wounds, he saw a blood-soakes folder secured tightly to your chest.
It was the data. You risked your life for the mission. You risked everything to accomplish the task and he had shot you anyways.
"—This is your colonel, König. We have the data. Mission accomplished, I repeat, mission accomplished. King has the data."
The radio crackled with an indistinguishable response, yet König heard nothing, blood rushing to his head and ringing persisting. Medics wasted no time to wheel you into an operating room, tearing your limp body away from his arms. He avoided the celebrations and cheers for their colonel, leaving everyone dumbfounded at his reaction. Shouldn't have he been proud? The mission was a success!
Yet the mission wasn't a success, and if anything, he felt shame. No one knew why their colonel holed himself up in his room aside from himself.
The news of you in critical condition in the hospital broke König.
As much as he wanted to see you, to check on your health and be the one to see your first signs of recovery, he couldn't. He couldn't bear to witness the colour drained from your face as you laid unmoving on the bed, the slow beeping from the heart rate monitor machine the only indication that you were alive.
He just couldn't. Not when he caused this. Not when he fucked up this much.
Using the gym as a coping mechanism for a while, he trained harder and more often than ever before, only wishing to make the pain go away. When he wasn't at the gym all throughout the day or at odd hours of the night, he'd toss and turn in his bed, having nightmares about your body bleeding out below him as the shot relentlessly echoed in his head. Or worse, he'd imagine himself shooting you again, only this time he'd find the barrel of his gun was aimed at your forehead execution-style, your unassuming face suddenly exploding into bloody pieces and what was left of your bewildered expression still remained even after he had pulled the trigger.
At those, König would spring upright, screaming "No!" in anguish.
He'd be panting heavily, bedsheets drenched in his own sweat and feeling like he was suffocating with each rise and fall of his chest. When the situation sunk in, he'd clench his fists so tightly his knuckles went white, shaken to his very core. On those nights, König wanted nothing more than to hurt himself, to compensate for the injury he inflicted upon you and how he had completely disgraced you.
At one point, when he had finally had enough, in his blind craze snatched the pistol laying by his bed, flicked the safety off and aimed it at the same place he had shot you, just to break down in despair when no bullet came out, the clip hidden in his bedside drawer.
Hand tightly squeezing his heart through his soaked t-shirt, he was repulsed by the fact that he was completely healthy and could walk freely while you lay injured and dying.
Under his watch, you had been injured. Under him, your body had crumpled. And it was his fault.
In emotional turmoil, he soon lost all ability to function. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and could hardly find the motivation to get out of bed most of the time, convinced that he had killed you, convinced that he was a monster. Responsibilities were kept on hold, the next best person taking his place. No one questioned the new arrangement, despite the shared confusion from everyone on base.
He couldn't take this. He couldn't take this any longer. He would have rather died, sacrificed himself in any way possible if it meant that you could live another day, as you could make a greater impact on the world than he ever could. Could be a better person than he ever could.
It was his fault. He shot you. He had shot you. He had shot the recruit that he had hopelessly fallen in love with, yet only he himself was to blame for it for his lack of control, for his inability to be unaffected by his feelings.
One day, a knock on his door pulled him out from his trance.
Prior to the interruption, König was staring at the cement wall, his eyes unfocused, completely still and barely breathing. He wasn't himself.
Immediately straightening his legs and nearly tearing a tendon from how fast he got up despite having been so inactive for the last few days, he stomped quickly towards the door, his face glum yet eyes glinting with the merest hint of hope.
Hand reaching for the handle, he had readied himself, expecting bad news coming from a surgeon wearing a medical mask and a blue uniform, a solemn expression as they devasted him with your passing.
All but the latter was true.
"Colonel König, sir. The patient is awake. You may now visit them if you so wish."
Blinking a couple of times, König thought he had heard incorrectly.
"...P...Pardon?"
Repeated were the words that König was shocked to hear.
"King is awake, sir. Their condition is a stable one. Our team thought to notify you first since you were on the mission with them."
Gasping, König could barely breathe. He felt like he was drowning, drowning despite his head breaking out from the water. "What... I... where?"
"Ground floor, room twelve. They're on medication as of this moment yet are fully awake."
König nearly fell to his knees. You were alive!
You were alive! He hadn't killed you! He thanked the Gods, and could barely keep composed, barely able to stop himself from dashing to the center of base and yelling into the sky in pure joy.
"I— thank you... so much."
Running faster than he had ever ran in his whole life, he was at your door in minutes.
Yet, as his fingers reached for the door knob, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, hand poised mid-air.
What if you didn't want to see him after the whole ordeal?
What if you resented him, and would spit in his face the moment he walked in?
What if you hated him, and wanted nothing to do with him ever again?
Hesistantly knocking twice, he nearly had a heart attack when your voice broke through the door:
"Come in," you called simply; your voice was hoarse, but it was clearly still you.
Taking a deep breath, König pushed the door open.
There you were. He was having heart palpitations at seeing you awake and looking at him.
The light coming through the open curtains made your skin glow despite how pale you were, eyes sparkling and crinkling in happiness despite the dark circles and heavy bags under your eyes, hair splayed out behind on your pillow, resembling a halo, despite how greasy it was.
He had missed you. So much.
Then his heart sunk as he reminded himself that he was the reason for why you were here, why you were in in this state to begin with.
Seeing König, You shot him a daring smirk despite how numb your face felt. "Hey, König, sir. Did you visit me at all? I'm sure you missed me."
Waiting in anticipation, you kept looking at him excitedly. At the lack of response and his refusal to meet your gaze, it faded completely. "—Wh—what? You—"
"Not— not even once? Not—"
Tears were welling up in your eyes. "—you didn't come see me even one time?"
Maybe you shouldn't have gotten your hopes up. Maybe you should have thought that König would not have time to spare in his busy schedule.
Yet you couldn't not get your hopes up when as soon as you woke, your first thought was of König. Although the grim reality hit you hard like a bucket of cold water dumped over your head, you still wished to see him.
And yet, he hadn't wished to see you at all. He had avoided you like the plague.
"Scheisse—"
König started pacing the room, head hung low as he weighed the pros and cons. Indecision.
"—Do you really... do you really want to know why I didn't visit you, King?"
You nodded meekly, lip quivering.
He finally made up his mind.
If you rejected him, at least he'd rest easier knowing that you'd live, and continue to be happy for you from afar. He'd still support you, still be your colonel, still love you even when you found someone else.
"I... I put you in this position, King... It was all my fault," he begun, his voice barely above a whisper.
Tone softed as he finally stopped, as still as a statue, a metre away. From this angle, you saw how bloodshot his eyes were, how they sagged in sadness, how dark circles had formed from lack of sleep. His pale blue eyes were dull, glued to the ground.
"Not only did I lose sight of you on the battlefield, I also shot you. Shot my own—" Pausing, not knowing how to refer to you.
He carried on. "I couldn't live with myself. I still can't live with myself. I'm walking, uninjured, as you are laying in bed, recovering from an injury that I am the reason for. From bullet wounds that were the result of me."
Voice hitching slightly, he tried to keep his breathing under control. But he couldn't.
"How could the monster that shot you enter your room and dare to look at you? How could I watch you cling to life, while I walk freely despite causing you this— this agony? What right do I have looking at you after putting you here?"
You allowed the tears to spill down your cheeks.
He stopped, eyelids drooping, finally meeting your eyes.
"I have feelings for you, King, I—" Trembling "—I do. But... I shouldn't be feeling this way. You have your whole life ahead of you and I—"
"—I've... aged... I'm not the same man I was before. I've witnessed things far too disturbing to ever share with you. I... I know that you should be with someone better and I—"
Although still in a daze and sedated by the drugs, your thought process was still clear enough where you could be sure about this.
Reaching with a tentative hand for König's larger and rougher one, you squeezed it weakly, looking up at him with a heartfelt expression.
König smiled for the first time in ages.
Through that gesture alone, König knew that you forgave him.
He allowed his breathing to stabilise, wanting nothing more than to start over with you.
...
Note: MY FAT FUCIIJF FINGERS SLIPPED AND I POSTED THIS EARLIER THANI WAS SUPPOSED TO OJ MY GOD I AM AN IDIOT 🤡🤡
Edit next day: how tmdid this fet 100+ notes im sobbing 😭😭. thabk you everyone for readijg this angst fest!!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️
#aking10592_ ≛彡#könig#könig cod#könig call of duty#könig mw2#konig mw2#könig modern warfare#könig mwii#konig#konig cod#konig call of duty#konig modern warfare#konig mwii#könig fanfiction#konig fanfiction#könig x reader#konig x reader#könig x fem reader#konig x female reader#könig x male reader#konig x male reader#könig x gender neutral reader#könig x gn reader#konig x gn!reader#könig x you#könig x king
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The King With No Name
1. An Unconventional Princess
Part 2 here
Summary: König - the king of Caldera - has been called upon by your father to choose a bride from his daughters in order to establish an alliance to keep peace over the lands they rule. When he arrives, he is enraptured by you, your father’s eldest child - an unconventional woman by all standards. He pursues your hand in marriage, doing his best to make you fall in love with him like he has fallen in love with you - much to your dismay
Author's Notes: Inspired by the royalty fics I’ve been seeing around lately
Warnings: Arranged marriage, eventual smut, pining, dogged pursuit of reader’s love and affection
-----
Kaustav Castle was well-positioned and well-fortified and as a result, had stood the test of time and war. Built at the intersection of three rivers on a large, grassy plain, it had served as the seed of a kingdom and a city had sprung up around it.
Many kings had walked its halls and ruled from its throne. Blood had been spilled on its battlements and fires had ripped through the chambers but she stood strong through war, flood, and plague.
The times were peaceful now and your father intended to ensure they remained that way, so he had invited a guest into your home. Gates creaked open and drawbridges crashed to the ground. Banners waved and fanfare played as the king of the neighboring empire, Caldera, rode his large black stallion into Kaustav Castle’s courtyard to be greeted by your father the King, and many of his lords.
Your sisters gathered at the window above in the dining room, watching as he came into view.
“Is that him? Why is he still wearing that hood?” Sadie asked, peering around Lydia to get a better view. She smoothed her hand through her hair and fanned herself slowly.
“They say he never takes it off, not even in his castle. He must be quite the terrifying sight on the battlefield.” Lydia murmured, watching as König dismounted and shook your father’s hand firmly.
“He’s so…big. The stories did not do him justice.” Sadie murmured. Her cheeks pinkened and she giggled. You rose from where you were seated by the fire, sharpening your hunting knife, and tucked the blade into its sheath at your side.
“Let me have a look,” you grunted, pushing the curtain further aside and looking down on the scene with your arms folded. König knelt and kissed your mother’s hand through the hood - you knew she would be impressed by his chivalry.
“You still want to marry him?” you turned to Sadie and leaned against the wall, concern etched across your face.
“If he chooses me, I will go. He…intrigues me,” she said with a soft smile, blushing.
“And what if he chooses you?” you asked Lydia. She frowned.
“I know that you’ve been speaking to Lord Henry and father seems to favor him. What will you do if König wishes to marry you?” you asked. Lydia shook her head.
“I will be making myself scarce, though I do not plan to avoid him outright like you do,” she admitted.
“Father wishes for him to marry me and I wish for the same. I will charm him and distract him from you two.” Sadie said, a twinkle in her eye. You snorted.
“Oh, Sadie, what would we do without you?” you said, smiling and embracing her gently. Outside, König and your parents walked into the castle.
“I ought to leave before they get up here. I’ll be in the stable preparing for a hunt if either of you needs a break from the formality.” you offered. Your sisters bid you goodbye as you slipped into the hidden servant’s corridor and raced downstairs and towards the outside world.
You had always been different from your sisters. Your father had hoped for sons, but when you were born and quickly followed by your sisters, he had elected to raise you like the son he did not have. While Sadie and Lydia had been raised as proper ladies and were doted upon by your father, he had raised you to ride and hunt and govern and had pushed you almost to the point of being controlling.
Your mother was still unsure about her oldest daughter going about like a man, but as your father was in poor health and there were no male heirs to the throne, she was relying on you growing up strong enough to maintain power after your father’s death to protect her, Sadie, and Lydia.
When you reached the stables below you called out a greeting to the stablehand who waved back to you. Your family was beloved by your father’s people and you made sure to spend time socializing in the village to build good relationships with the people you would someday lead.
“Going out for a hunt?” a voice called out to you from the back of the stable as you brought your little tan mare out of her stall and hitched her to a post. You raised your head and made eye contact with one of the lords visiting for König’s arrival.
“Ah, good morning, Lord Marrick. And yes, I’m off to look for game before dinner. Will you be joining my father and König?” you asked.
“Call me Ferdinand, please, my lady. And yes, I had planned to - will you not be attending?” he asked, leaning against the stable wall and offering your horse a snack.
“I’m doing my best to stay out of sight of König,” you admitted with a laugh. “My father has offered him the hand of any of his daughters, after all, and even though I am not…conventional…I wish not to risk marriage being forced upon me.”
“Will you never marry?” Ferdinand asked, his voice softening. There was something in his eyes that you couldn’t read as he came a little closer to you. You hefted a blanket, then a saddle, onto your horse’s back.
“No. When Father dies, I cannot risk having the control of my kingdom wrestled away from me by a man who means to harm the people,” you admitted. Ferdinand nodded slowly.
“That is…a shame, I must admit,” he said softly. Your cheeks felt hot. You and Ferdinand had known each other since you were children and had always been close. He cleared his throat as you tightened the straps of the saddle and buckled your bedroll onto the back.
“I have a gift for you,” he admitted. You turned and smiled at him.
“Oh, Ferdinand, you didn’t have to get me anything,” you said.
“Nonsense, your birthday just passed, did it not? This might help you on your hunt today,” he said, fumbling in his pocket. pulling out an item wrapped in cloth, and offering it to you. You took it and unwrapped it slowly, gasping when you saw the contents.
A small charm on a chain laid against the leather, delicately carved from a deer’s antler and decorated with silver. It was the symbol of the goddess you held most dear to your heart - the goddess of the woods and plains.
“It’s for good luck. I had it blessed by one of her priests in town before I came.” Ferdinand admitted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
“Oh, Ferdinand, it’s lovely. I will surely have bountiful hunts with this attached to my quiver.” You embraced him warmly, smiling against his chest as he hugged you tightly.
“Here, help me put it on!” you invited, slinging your quiver off your back and unlacing the leather at the top. You held tightly to it as Ferdinand gently laced the leather through the charm and tied it into place securely.
“Get going now, before the sun sets!” he said with a laugh, smiling as you took your horse’s reins.
“I’ll come see you later and tell you stories of my hunt should anything exciting happen,” you said, eyes gleaming as you led your horse out into the courtyard and prepared to mount up.
—
König sat in the parlor with your family chatting idly with your mother and father as Sadie leaned forward attentively and Lydia busied herself in the corner of the room behind him. Movement outside of the window in the courtyard drew his eye and he watched as you led your horse outside. He was instantly enraptured by your beauty, your boldness as you waved goodbye to someone in the stable, and your strength as you controlled your horse.
“I believed you to have three daughters?” he asked suddenly, cutting off your father as he discussed local harvests. Your mother and father glanced at each other warily.
“Yes, I do. The third is…a rather special case,” your father admitted, taking your mother’s hand. König watched as your horse nosed at your pocket and you laughed, pulling out the apple you had inside it and giving it to her. His chest tightened and he leaned forward slightly, gaze fixed on you intently. He watched the horse nibble at the apple in your small hand and imagined how it might fit in his.
“She is special?” he asked idly, his gaze fixed on you as you swung the reins around and mounted up. Your father followed his gaze.
“I have had no sons. I suppose that as a result, I raised her as I would have a son.” The room lapsed into silence.
König watched as you spurred your horse forward and took off at a gallop, laughing as you raced out of the castle gates and towards the open plains. His heart thumped faster in his chest and he was thankful for the hood that covered his flushing cheeks.
“I should like to meet her.”
—
Your hunt was largely uneventful, and you spent more time enjoying the sensation of the wind flowing through your hair and shooting at random tree targets than you did hunting game. As hours passed and the sun set, you felt sure that it would be safe to return home now. Sadie had surely charmed König and he had declared his intention to marry her to your father.
After reaching the stable and untacking your horse, you sorted everything away and fed her before bidding her goodnight. Ferdinand met you at the castle’s backdoor, concern in his eyes.
“Your father is looking for you. König seems set on wanting to meet you - he kept asking after you at dinner tonight,” he warned, following you as you slipped inside.
“Seriously? Do you know what he wants?” you asked, your eyes widening.
“Just to talk, I guess. He didn’t seem interested in Sadie or Lydia at all,” he said, following you as you headed into the kitchen.
“Fuck, Ferdinand, that’s the last thing I wanted,” you growled, snagging some leftovers one of the cooks had left for you and sitting down at the table in the corner. Ferdinand sat across from you.
“Just lay low, okay? I’ll warn you if I hear anything else.” he offered before taking his leave. You ate quickly and quietly, lost in thought, before rising and hurrying out of the kitchen and going into the servant’s stairwell. You thought it best to avoid the main halls for now - who knew where König may have been lurking?
When you reached your room you breathed a sigh of relief, shutting the door behind you. You had failed to see the looming shadow in the hallway behind you, and as you stepped behind the partition in the corner of the room to undress, the door slowly creaked open.
You froze - you were wearing only your underclothes - and slid your knife from its sheath on your belt which you had hung on its hook.
“Sadie? Lydia?” You called out softly, stepping slowly around the partition. You squeaked and dove back to safety as you caught sight of the looming mass standing at your door.
“Get out!” you whisper-shouted, doing your best not to wake your sisters sleeping across the hall.
“I am sorry. I had to see you…to speak to you. You are a thing of beauty.” he said, his heavily accented voice almost breathless.
“You have no right to come in while I am dressing!” you hissed, pulling your sleeping gown over your head so that you were covered and striding out into your room, your knife leveled at his chest.
“Get out!” you snarled, jabbing at him and fixing your stance to hold your ground.
“You are not capable of hurting me with that little thing, maus,” he murmured but did not come closer. Your hand trembled slightly as he drank you in.
“You are even more beautiful up close.” he breathed, eyes wide. He clasped his hands together and fell to his knees. He had not felt so flustered since he was a young boy.
“I would choose you from your sisters as my wife, maus, if you would have me. Please,” he begged softly, offering you his hands.
“Get out. I won’t warn you again. Marry Sadie.” you hissed dangerously. His heart fluttered - he was falling for you hard.
“If you will not agree now, you must come to know me and I will come to know you. Yes? I will come to see you tomorrow.” he breathed, the plea evident in his voice. You surged forward, pressing the tip of the knife where you guessed the base of his throat was.
“Out.” you snarled. König got up slowly, and taking the knife by the blade gingerly, kissed your hand as it was wrapped around the handle. You jerked away, leaving him with the knife.
“I will see you…gute nacht, maus,” he murmured, taking the knife with him as he left. Your heart thundered in his chest as you slammed and locked the door behind him.
What the fuck?
#könig#konig#konig mw2#konig x reader#konig call of duty#konig cod#könig x reader#könig cod#könig mw2#könig call of duty#call of duty#cod#konig modern warfare#konig fanfiction#cod x reader#cod mwii#cod modern warfare#cod mw2#mw2
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The King and I, Part 3
Pairing: King Ghezo x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT AND ANGST. Don't say I ain't warn ya. Mentions of violence, forceful touching. Virginity loss. PIV, Oral (fem receiving) , all consensual. Doesn't follow canon of the movie.
Summary: You continue to enjoy your burgeoning life with the King. Though there is nothing to do and you fear that your life will revolve around him and him only. He shows you more beautiful sights and you decide to take the relationship to the next level.
Word Count: 8,016k
A/N: I don't know what happened. Forgive me! I did not intend for this to be so long, but I turned my mind off and let the story take me where it would. If you need a wind down from Christmas festivities, here ya go! Merry Christmas my lovelies. Or Happy Monday to those who don't celebrate. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!
Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5
Taglist: @planetblaque @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @honeyoriginalz @gg-trini @eggnox @naj-ay444 @sheepywritesfics @westside-rot @twocentuar @pinkpantheris @tchallasbabymama @sevikasblackgf @slippinninque @abeautifulmindexposed @neawarren @monaeesstuff @blackerthings @melaninpov @1-800anklebully @mogul93 @softimgyu @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @softscorpio17 @theunsweetenedtruth
You liked kissing. You really liked kissing. You had no love for your father, but you could thank him for keeping you from this experience until your marriage. You liked closing your eyes and feeling the King’s lips against yours.
The King stole kisses whenever he could. Before and after meetings. During meals. You felt silly kissing him in front of his first wife but she only smiled or directed her attention elsewhere. You wondered if she was capable of speaking. You knew nothing about her and she offered precious little.
The King would settle your thoughts of her by kissing your worries away. His kisses always started soft as a dove’s wing. He would look at you, trace your face with his fingers, and then pull you closer. His lips would press against yours. The first joining was your favorite. When he would linger before going deeper, spearing his tongue between your lips and exploring your mouth.
Then the kiss would light a fire inside you, deep down in your core. Where it felt like you would burn from the inside out. Burn with need. That need would drive you insane but you were always interrupted before things went further. A eunuch would come to collect the King or Nanisca would need his attention or there was some council member who needed to speak with him and they would take him away from you.
One of his eunuchs came up to him now, spoke in his ear. “Already?” The King asked. The eunuch nodded. The King frowned but nodded.
He promised to see you later, but not before one last kiss. He traced your lips with his thumb, looked at your lips as if he were reluctant to leave, and then gave you that smile that never failed to make your knees weak.
Left to your own devices, there wasn’t much for you to do. You did not have babies yet so there was no reason to visit the nursery. The first wife spent most of her time there with her babies. Sometimes you’d catch them walking around the palace garden.
His sons were beautiful. They looked like they would grow big and strong like him. The lines of succession weren’t always so cut and dry. The oldest wasn’t necessarily the heir but you could see that little boy taking over for his father.
All you had was your imagination to keep you company. This afternoon, there was no meeting to attend. So you wandered around the palace with a routine you set for yourself.
You started off wandering towards the training field. The Agojie were intimidating. Sometimes you watched them through the windows. Watched them train and imagined living amongst them. In another life, perhaps you were braver. Tougher. Perhaps you would have been able to stand up to your father sooner.
Growing up in the village, you had heard plenty of vile things said about the Agojie. Old men would lament about a woman’s place and how it was not to wield swords and protect the village. Bitter women would gossip about the mannish Agojie who could not find husbands and now never would.
You admired them from the first moment you heard about them. Fierce women who were strong like men, pretty, and bonded in sisterhood. You always wanted a sister. You wanted the bonds that others seemed to enjoy. Even when sisters bickered and fought, it was out of love.
You were a lonely child. With nothing but your mother and father for company, you learned to escape away in your head. Where you had a house full of beautiful kids, a loving husband who never raised a hand to you in anger, and a life spent laughing too much and drinking too much.
What you never truly imagined though, was life beyond the wedding part. In your many musings, the wedding was part of it. You weren’t picky one way or another about what you would wear, what the feast would look like, what the flowers would be. But you knew your mother would help make it a special day, no matter how much your father would protest about every little detail.
Beyond that…you had no idea what your marriage would look like. The men your father paraded in front of you were too old, too skinny, too ugly, too mean, too…gross. The way they would look at you still made you shudder in revulsion. You could not see a life with them.
You never in your wildest imaginings thought you’d be married to the king. Not only married to the king, but kissing the king. And liking to kiss the king. You laid awake all night thinking about his kisses. His muscles. His chest. What he would look like naked.
You ducked your head and looked around you, at the empty hallway as if your thoughts were projected onto the walls. You had never seen a man naked. Had never cared to. But the more time you spent with the King, the more you found yourself wanting to. Wanting something and having the means to get it were alien concepts to you.
You were forced to sift through your emotions and thoughts as you walked the halls every day. The King was not evil. He was a man with a heavy burden and sometimes had to make decisions that seemed cruel. Kings in the past dealt with hardships, but considering the unprecedented attack across the lands, it was a wonder the King did half as good a job as he did.
Your wanderings took you to the palace gardens anyway. You walked the paths, admiring the rich reds, purples, and pinks of the flowers growing there and lovingly tended to by palace servants. Trees stretched to the sky. You sat on a patch of grass, careful to avoid any potential wet spots.
You laid back so that the sky was completely open to you. It truly amazed you that you were…free to do this. To do nothing. No one demanded anything from you. No one made you speak when you didn’t want to. No one talked bad about you to your face as if you weren’t standing right there.
And yet…you were inexplicably still lonely. There was no one to really talk to besides your servant but her job was to talk to you. The first wife was content to live in her own little bubble and you were content to let her. The last thing you would do was to disturb her peace when precious few women got that in life. You could talk to the King and he was a remarkable conversationalist, but he was still a man.
Your thoughts turned once more to the King. Lately, you thought of him more and more. Not only did he make you laugh, he also made you giddy. He made you think and challenge your thoughts. And you found yourself watching him, unable to tear your eyes away. His clothes were always finely tailored. His hair perfectly coiled and styled atop his head. His strong jaw, wide smile.
What would it feel like if he were on top of you? If he peeled your dress off? If his fingers gripped your thighs…
“What are you thinking about so hard?”
You gasped and sat up in a panic. Your head smacked into something hard and you yelped in pain. The King knelt down, cooing at you.
“I am sorry, my Queen. Surely you will kill me for this,” he said. He prodded at your forehead. You hissed and jerked away from him. He sighed and planted a tender kiss to the spot.
“The day is still young, my King,” you said but there was no real heat. You smiled at him and he smiled back.
“I am spared for the moment, then,” he said.
You fixed your crimson red robes and willed your heart to stop thundering in your chest. He could not read your thoughts and you hoped that your face did not betray you. Your hands shook at getting caught thinking something so naughty. The King has done nothing but made you feel safe and heard. But how did you let him know that you wanted to try?
“You did not answer my question. You looked deep in thought and I was jealous your attention was elsewhere,” he said.
You giggled and his smile grew wider. “How can you possibly be jealous of my thoughts?”
“They get to know what you’re thinking and I do not,” he said.
You didn’t want to lie but you also didn’t want to tell him what you were thinking. You raised such a huge fuss about him being in your room on your wedding night, you feared that if he knew he’d take you to bed right this instant. The thought both thrilled you and terrified you.
You drew your knees to yourself, as far as you were able with your tummy in the way, and bit your lip.
“If you must know, I was thinking about you.” You peeked at him and he tilted his head.
“Now you must really tell me what you were thinking. Your king demands it of you,” he said with a grin.
You giggled and shook your head. “And give up my secrets so easily? You must earn them, husband,” you said.
Surprise made his entire face open up. It was the first time you had called him such and by the look on his face, he noticed too. “How may I earn them, wife?” His voice grew deeper. It made your belly do a funny flip.
“I’m sure you can think of something, husband,” you said. This was as far as your bravery allowed you to go. You wished you were more bold. That you could rip off his gold robes and taste his skin. That his hands would roam your body in previously forbidden places and douse this inferno in your veins.
King Ghezo smiled and leaned closer, planting a kiss high on your cheek, near your ear. “I’m sure I can think of something, wife.” Shivers wracked through your body. “Come. I wish to show you something.”
He stood up and held out his hands. You took his and he helped you stand. You dusted your robes and made sure it was still secure around your body. Then, he took your hand and led you out of the palace gardens.
He asked about your day while he pulled you through the palace. There was nothing remarkable about it but he wanted to hear every bit of it. He thought your fascination with the Agojie was adorable. He told you that he liked how animated you were when you spoke about them.
“Should I be worried that you are getting ideas from my Agojie on how to kill me?” He asked.
You shrugged. “I deserve some credit. I would not choose something so obvious,” you said and smiled.
“No, you would not. I will figure it out,” he said. You giggled as you emerged on the other end of the palace, towards the path that led you to “your spot”. He had shared the cliffside view with you many times by now but it was always in the morning or day time.
The sun was setting, the giant resting its eye now as it descended in the horizon. But it was like it couldn’t resist one last peak at the world before it yielded the sky to the moon. You looked overhead. The dark purples and oranges were mixing and stars were starting to poke through.
King Ghezo tugged you to your spot and you thought he wanted to look at the sunset. Instead, he looked back to make sure there were no guards or servants nearby. Then, he moved a heavy branch out of the way revealing a sloping path downward.
“What is this?” You asked.
“Do you trust me, wife?” The King asked.
You stared at his open face. He’s had plenty of chances to kill you by now. In fact, you stopped carrying your knife and finally returned it to the kitchen. You were not in danger of that from him. He had been nothing but kind. If he truly were cruel, he would have shown his true colors by now.
So…yes. You nodded your head. “I trust you,” you said.
The King grinned and squeezed your hand. Then, he descended down the slope telling you to step where he steps. And if there was an area you were concerned about, to let him know. You followed behind him with the darkening sky to your right. It took your breath away. Though to descend the cliff, you weren’t paying too much attention to the sunset.
What was it that he wanted to show you?
At the bottom of the cliff, there was a small beach area. It wasn’t that wide, but there was enough space to feel open and small enough to feel cozy. Your feet sank into the soft sand and you gasped at the sensation.
You grinned at the King and he was already watching you. “It’s so mushy!”
“I found this as a boy and told no one. The guards and Agojie will likely close this off if they ever knew. When I want to be alone, sometimes I come here. I don’t stay for long. If the King goes missing, it tends to cause a fuss,” he said.
He pulled you onto the beach proper. Your jaw dropped at seeing the ocean up close. The sun’s light only reached so far now. The moon was high in the sky, casting a faint glow over the water. You fought tears as you looked out over the darkened water. The King continued to show you sights you never imagined.
He pulled you closer to the water. Where the water touched the sand, your feet sunk deeper still. The wet, squishy sand burrowed between your toes. The waves washed up on shore and over your feet. You squealed when the cold water hit your skin. The King laughed at your reaction.
He took your hand and spun you around in the water. You giggled as you did so, feeling silly, but it was a nice feeling. A freeing feeling. A feeling as close to flying as you could possibly get. You began to feel dizzy and stopped spinning. You swayed and the King caught you. You gazed at him, held in his arms, and feeling…happy. Strangely, wonderfully, magnificently happy.
“My King…” you breathed. You had no adequate words to thank him. This was yet another thing he was able to take for granted and he shared it with you. Distantly, you wondered if he took his first wife here too. But that kind of thinking would only make you feel sick.
“I like when you call me husband more,” he said.
You smiled at him. “Husband it is then,” you said.
“Does this earn me one of your secrets?” The King asked.
Your cheeks were going to hurt from all of this smiling. How was it that he was able to manage the land and still remember silly conversations between you?
“What is it you would like to know?” You asked.
“Have I earned your love yet?” He frowned slightly and you wondered why. You were still leaning into his arms, as close as…well, lovers. There were more shadows now and the quiet lull of the waves on the shore ensured a kind of intimacy.
The moonlight made his skin shine and you licked your lips. It would be okay to admit this in the safety of night. When your face was not fully on display and you didn’t have to worry about how foolish you looked. A wife confessing her love to her husband.
“I do love you, my King. Despite my best attempts otherwise,” you said, with a smile.
“Why attempt otherwise? Am I that undesirable for a husband?” He asked.
“No!” You nearly shouted. How could you put this?
“Outside these palace walls, there are lots of rumors about you. We don’t know you as a people, which is to be expected. And if a father is to throw away his daughter, it is at your doorstep they discard us. Filled with thoughts of rumors and whispers. I expected you to be like any other man. Cruel, greedy, and dimwitted.”
You watched his face, but it was carefully controlled. Watching you with mild interest as you tried to explain your feelings. “But you are kind, smart, and funny. You…you’re safe. And I love you for making me feel safe,” you said.
The King took a deep breath. He grabbed your hands and brought them to his lips. He kissed both. Then he pulled you into a hug. “I can die happy knowing that I’ve earned your love. I love you, my radiant Queen,” he said.
Your heart leapt in your chest hearing those words. “Husband,” you said and crashed your lips to his. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close to you. You molded your body to his so that no inch of him was not touching your body. You gasped into the kiss as you felt his dick, thick against your upper thigh.
King Ghezo groaned and placed his hands on your hips, pulling you closer still and kissing you back. Your kisses turned bruising, crashing your lips against each other with passion. Teeth scraped against each other. Tongued dueled. His hands coasted down your body until he gripped your ass in his hands.
He groaned and began to squeeze your ass with his big, rough hands. You felt him lift your ass cheeks and you moaned into your kiss. The back of your thighs tingled. If you had hoped that this raging fire inside of you would dim over time, you were sorely mistaken.
“Husband…” you said when there was a natural break in your kiss.
“Yes, wife?” He asked, his voice slightly shaking and breathy. He nuzzled your cheek with his nose, planting soft kisses along your jawline.
“Take me to bed?”
His kisses stopped. His lips lingered on your jaw, under your ear. “Are you sure, wife?”
“Take me to bed, husband. Please,” you said. The King leaned back and looked into your eyes. You didn’t know how else you could make it clear. If he asked you again, you may lose your nerve and rip his robes off here and now. If he ripped your robes off here and now, you would let him.
Your mind was cloudy with no other thoughts than you were tired of waiting. You were a wife and you wanted to experience your husband. You and your friends would giggle about sex growing up, well out of earshot of your fathers.
You thought it was a trite thing between married partners. Something only done to produce a baby. You never thought that it would feel like this. Like there were bugs beneath your skin ready to burst out if you did not find relief soon. That you would yearn for such a thing.
The King picked you up and you yelped in surprise. “Husband!” You squealed with laughter. He laughed with you but did not put you down until he reached the bottom of the slope. He went ahead of you to make sure you were safe on the jagged cliffside, avoiding rocks and slippery patches of grass.
You followed behind, holding his hand, and trusting that he would lead you to safety. He pulled you to the top of the cliffside, stopping long enough to kiss you. You laughed in between kisses, such joy trying to crack open from your chest.
The King pulled you into the palace, setting a pace that you barely kept up with. You had not thought that he would be so eager to take you to bed. Surely, he got it whenever he wanted from his first wife. But his excitement seemed to match yours.
The tips of your ears burned as you passed servants who smiled politely but likely knew what was about to happen. You shouldn’t be embarrassed to go to bed with your husband. And you weren’t embarrassed to the point that you changed your mind. You wanted to do a good job and please him. You wanted to leave him satisfied and you feared that your lack of experience would make this your first and only night with him.
What if he planted a baby inside you and never touched you again? Your heart squeezed painfully. That would break you. It would break you if your husband never touched you after tonight.
The King found your room with ease. He opened the door and ushered you inside, closing it behind you. You took to keeping your balcony doors open because it became dreadfully stuffy otherwise. The room was perfectly breezy now, the air brushing along your damp skin from the mad dash through the palace.
Standing in the room, the bed seemed impossibly large now. How different it was to stand here, not afraid of your husband or what you were about to do. You were terrified on your wedding night. Terrified that he would take what you were not offering. But he respected your wishes.
Now, your wishes were to see all of him. Touch all of him. A few candles were lit and you silently thanked Mawu-Lisa for that. You were not ashamed of your body, but you liked it better that you would do this mostly in the light of the moon.
The King brought your hand to his lips and kissed it. “I have dreamt of this many nights, wife. I will do my best. You must tell me if I’m hurting you,” he said.
“I promise,” you told him.
There was enough moonlight and light from the candles to point out most of his features. You saw him smile and then he pulled you closer. He dropped his head and kissed you. There was no more rush. The King was back to being sweet and tender, letting you get used to him being in your chambers.
He walked you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed. He slowed his kisses down, pulling away from you with a small groan. “I wish to see you, wife,” he said. His gaze searched yours for permission and you nodded.
You were so nervous, you could barely breathe at the moment. Need clawed your insides and it took all of your willpower to stand there while his hands reached for the tie at your waist. He pulled and tugged on it until the robe loosened. You took a deep breath as he peeled the side of the robe open, revealing your naked body beneath it.
You watched his face. His eyes were on your body. Eyes wide and nose flared as he looked at your exposed flesh. He let out a soft curse. “You are absolutely gorgeous,” he whispered.
You beamed at hearing his words. Many people had called you some variation of beautiful and it meant nothing to you. Hearing your husband say it was a treasure you locked away in your heart. You would trot it out for years and years and relive this moment until the end of your days.
“I wish to see you husband,” you whispered back. He stepped back and opened his arms. His robe was already open, revealing that delectable chest you salivated over. You slipped the sides off of him, revealing thick arms to match his solid chest. Here, you became shy. You knew that his pants would have to come off, in fact you were licking your lips at the thought, but you’d never seen a dick before. You weren’t prepared.
King Ghezo seemed to guess this. Maybe your face showed your fear. He stepped forward, slipping your own robes from your body and letting it pool at your feet.
“I am going to taste you, wife. Would you like that?” The King had a strange note in his voice that you could not name. Like he was enjoying your shyness.
“Taste me?” Did he not already taste you when he kissed you? The King only grinned and directed you to get on the bed. You did as you were told. The King’s hands grazed your ass as you wiggled onto the bed. Your skin tingled where he touched.
He told you to flip over, so you did. You waited for him to take his pants off and climb into bed. Wasn’t that the idea? You had no clue what to expect or do or feel. The bed dipped as he climbed on, his knees sinking into the mattress as he came closer.
He sat back on his knees and grabbed your left foot. He began to massage it and you fell back against the pillow as you sighed with pleasure. “Oh,” you moaned.
“This only works if you are relaxed. I know this is new. But I will be as open as possible, eh?” He asked.
“Okay,” you said. Your eyelids turned heavy as he put pressure on the heel of your foot, hitting a tender spot that shook you down to your bones. You melted into your bed, enjoying this. You wanted to catalog every second of this. If this would be your first and last time, you wanted the memories to keep you going.
He switched to your right foot, giving it just as much attention. Then he worked his way up both of your legs, spreading them wider the higher he went up. Your heartbeat began to pick up, but you were so relaxed from the massage, you screamed at your body to calm down. You did truly trust your husband.
He spread your legs and the cool air from outside hit your damp pussy. You bit your lip, looking away from him. Nothing about this should feel embarrassing and yet that’s exactly how it felt. No one had ever looked there and it made you nervous. Did he like what he saw? Was that a thing? Did it please him that you were wet for him?
A dark light entered his gaze. He stared at the very heart of you. Your pussy clenched and unclenched around nothing, somehow growing wetter under his intense scrutiny. His fingers tightened around your knees.
“Husband?” You asked.
“I’m trying to be gentle, but this is…proving very difficult.” His voice sounded hoarse as if he had been running for miles.
“I am yours, husband. However you wish,” you said.
His eyes snapped to yours. “Do not tempt me,” he said with a wicked grin. Then he flattened himself on the bed, scooting in between your thighs. Your eyes rounded as he seemed to be aiming his mouth for your pussy.
You were about to ask what he was planning to do, when his tongue swiped out and licked your pussy! “Oh!” You wailed. The sensation was completely foreign to you. You had nothing to compare it to. No basis to make you understand.
Your pussy was warm, his tongue was warm, but the minute he retreated, the cold air swooped in and swept across your exposed core. He licked you a few times and you could not stop the avalanche of moans tumbling from your lips. It felt divine. It felt weird. It felt amazing and you did not want him to stop.
“Are you okay, wife?” King Ghezo asked.
“Yes! Yes! Keep going!” You prayed. You prayed with all your might that you would get to experience this many times over. Your fingers played with his soft curls as he went back to licking you. His nose separated your folds as his tongue went lower, to your entrance, and he drank from you there. His slurps were loud in the chamber and you worried about the noise.
You gushed onto his face and you ought to feel some way about that, but all you felt was pleasure. There was tightening low in your belly but you ignored it in favor of feeling his wondrous tongue encircle your pussy. He groaned around you and it triggered your own groan.
When he hit a spot that you particularly enjoyed, you yanked on his curls. You immediately loosened your grip, not wanting to hurt him. He lifted his head from your center and looked at you. “Do what you must, wife. You will not hurt me,” he said.
You giggled nervously as you saw your essence dripping down his chin. All of that came from you?
You nodded and he returned to licking and tasting you. You moaned and dug your fingers into his curls, yanking and pulling. Your curses reached the ceiling and bounced back towards you.
The tightening got worse and worse until it almost felt like you were about to use it on yourself. You became worried that you would do just that, so you began to push at his head. His eyes flicked towards yours but he did not stop.
He kept going, keeping his gaze trained on you while that tightening became overbearing. “Oh, my King, I–”
A tidal wave of pleasure rolled through you and dragged you under. You moaned as that tight feeling dispersed, sending pinpricks of rapture to course through your body. You shook and jerked, your body completely out of your control.
The King moaned as he continued to taste you through it. “Taste so good. Love tasting you,” he murmured into your pussy. Your thighs gripped his head but still he kept going, until the last shiver left you panting against your pillow. Your sweat gathered there creating a weird mix between hot and cold from the open balcony.
“What..was that?” You asked.
“Climax,” he said.
“Climax?” You asked, rolling the word around your tongue.
“It’s what people do when they experience great pleasure.”
“So you will do it too?” You asked. How did people not spend every waking moment doing this? Now that you had experienced it, you never wanted to leave this bed!
He grinned and nodded as he ran his hand down his face, wiping away your arousal. He climbed up your body, planting kisses here or there to your tummy, until he reached your breasts.
“Are you alright, wife?” The King asked.
“Yes, husband,” you whispered. You couldn’t look at him. You were too full of love and basking in that wave of bliss. He chuckled as he kissed your belly.
“I’m going to kiss your breasts. Would you like that?” He asked.
“Yes!” You wanted to experience it all. You wanted all of it. Your hands caressed his thick arms, feeling his muscles bunch under your wandering hands. The King grinned and his mouth latched onto your nipple, suckling it into his mouth.
“Oh! Ouee,” you moaned. You had no idea that they could be so sensitive. When your cycle came, you only knew that they grew heavy and sometimes painful. But sensitive during this was fascinating to you as he rolled your nipple around his mouth. You watched the total concentration on his face.
Your hands played with the hair at the nape of his neck while he switched his attention to your other nipple. Your hip jerked violently and your pussy clenched, feeling strangely empty. In theory, you knew what sex was. Your mother had that particular talk with you. You knew that he would stick his dick in there but after everything else, you weren’t sure you could handle that. But you wanted to try.
The King kissed his way up your chest, kissed your neck, and then moved upwards to kiss your lips. You tasted and smelled yourself on him and it caused you to moan. You liked marking him in such a way. That it was your essence on his lips. That you belonged to him as only a wife could to her husband.
“I am going to enter you now, wife. I will go slow, but be patient with me.” You nodded. You had no clue what he was on about but you enjoyed everything else. You were sure you would enjoy that too.
King Ghezo scooted back and got off the bed. You missed the heat of his body instantly. The cold breeze from outside ran over your body and you shivered. The King smirked at you while his hands went to the waistband of his trousers. He lowered them off of his hips and your eyes watched his every movement.
The pants slipped down and exposed him and your jaw dropped open. His dick was huge, wide, with a defining mushroom head that your eyes zeroed in on. There was no way that would fit inside of you. Absolutely none!
He palmed his length, rubbing his hand up and down. “Like what you see?”
“You are…big,” you asked. Not that you had anything to compare it to. Surely, this was above average? Maybe this was why no one did this fifty times a day. If women were getting split in half by the likes of that, they wouldn’t be able to get any chores done! Ever.
The King chuckled as he climbed back onto the bed. He laid next to you. “Would you like to touch it?”
“I won’t hurt you?” You asked.
The King grinned and shook his head. You knew you were being painfully stupid, asking these questions and acting like a skittish animal. How could you not? Why did no one prepare you for this shit?
If you ever had a daughter, you would absolutely prepare her for this by detailing exactly what happened. No matter how awkward and painful it may be for the both of you, you would not send your daughter out into marriage without giving her some notion.
You reached out your hand and wrapped your fingers around his length. You gasped. “You’re so soft!” Yet hard at the same time? The skin was smooth to the touch, with faint veins on the side. Yet his dick was also hard, unyielding. What would it feel like inside of you?
The King began to kiss you while you stroked him. He groaned and moved his hips while you became bolder, gripping onto him harder, and loving the way he responded. He moved on top of you and gently moved your hand away from him.
He gripped his dick and ran it through your folds, coating himself with your arousal. The tips of your ears burned but it felt good and you found yourself sinking down into a more prone position.
He placed his dick at your entrance and took a deep breath. He looked into your eyes as he began to slide in. Your mouth dropped open as he stretched you. It both hurt and felt good as he worked his way in.
“Wait!” The King paused. He wasn’t even partially in but it felt like was stabbing you with a knife.
“It will get better, I promise,” he said.
You nodded and took deep breaths, but fuck! You held onto his wide shoulders as he began to move forward. He retreated until just the tip of him was at your entrance and then he dove back again, getting deeper with each stroke. Your nails dug into his skin, leaving half-moon marks in it, as the stretch was too much for you to bear.
Something wonderful began to happen, however. It hurt, yes, but you were growing accustomed to it. Your body welcomed him in, your arousal helping the slide of him. He was about halfway in, getting deeper and deeper. He hit a particular spot and you screamed, slapping at his shoulder.
“Shh, shh, you have to relax.” He kissed you, trying to take your mind off of the splitting pain inside of you.
The kissing helped and he kept going. His strokes were gentle but you knew instinctively that he had to work himself inside of you. He said it would get better and you truly hoped so.
The King’s arms shook as he held himself on top of you, mindful to not put all of his weight on you. “Are you okay, husband?” You asked.
He huffed a laugh. “I should be asking you. You feel so good. So tight,” he whispered.
You whimpered as he finally bottomed out, fully seated inside of you. He lay still, kissing your jaw, your lips, your cheek. Any area he could reach with his lips. Sweat gathered on his brow and you kissed his forehead when he dropped his eyes to look at where you were joined.
You followed his gaze. Somehow that giant thing between his legs fit inside of you. “I’m going to move now,” he said.
He moved out of you and then slowly pushed back in. This time, it wasn’t as painful. The more he did it, true to his word, the more it started to feel good. Really good.
The mushroom head of his dick glided along your inner walls. It dragged ragged moans from you and King Ghezo dropped his head. “Fuck,” he groaned.
His hips snapped as he increased his strokes. “Oue, oue, more, more,” you begged. You didn’t know what you meant, but he seemed to. He snapped his hips faster. He lifted one of your legs to straddle his hip. It opened you further and you moaned as he sank even deeper inside of you. You felt his dick twitching.
Your belly tightened and you knew now that it was a climax. He stroked long and deep, pulling inhuman moans from you.
“Come on, wife. Come on,” he cheered.
You turned watery eyes to him as the climax finally washed over you. It burrowed into your bones, turning your insides to jelly, and melting you from the inside out. Your body was out of your control, your mind blissfully empty as you focused on nothing but the pleasure in your veins and the way he looked at you. Devoted. Cherished.
He moaned low and deep in his throat before something warm coated your insides. His dick pulsed as he snapped his hips as far forward as possible. He was completely buried inside of you as that warm, squishy feeling filled you to the brim. You felt incredibly stuffed.
Was that his climax? You were too nervous to ask. It was a strange sensation but you loved the feeling of him moving inside of you. He groaned and dropped to the left of you. He kissed your shoulder.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He asked. You shook your head. Your body trembled as you recovered from your climax. The King grinned sloppily and kissed you gently. He pressed his lips to yours and lingered.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you,” you responded.
He began to soften inside of you. Wait, so that wasn’t how he was normally?! You felt stupid. There was so much you didn’t know. And who did you have to ask? Absolutely no one.
He pulled out of you and something slipped out right after him. Did you make a mess of yourself? You leaned up on your elbows and looked at your pussy. A white, creamy substance leaked out of you. Your eyes widened. That must have come from him.
You ran your fingers through it and it was silky and sticky. You looked at the King who watched your curiosity like it greatly pleased him. He rubbed your belly.
“Are you truly alright, wife?” He asked.
You nodded. “Will we do that again?” You asked. You flipped onto your side and faced him. He matched you and rested his head on his hand.
“As many times as you wish,” he said with a grin.
You opened your mouth, ready to say something, but a yawn escaped you. The King chuckled and caressed your cheek.
“Thank you. That was…everything,” he whispered. He pulled you closer for a kiss. “Let’s sleep,” he said.
He rolled you over onto your other side, facing away from the balcony. He wrapped his arms around you, one arm going under your head and the other around your middle. He scooted closer to your back, pressing the length of him along yours. His dick nestled into your ass and you wiggled.
His hand flexed on your hip. “Careful. Before I flip you back over.” His voice was gruff. His breath fanned across your ear and neck. You giggled and kissed his arm.
You would get good at this sex thing. You would make sure that he continued to feel good when he was with you so that you could do that all the time. You snuggled into the oppressive heat of his body and drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, you awoke to a cold bed. You leaned up, your bleary eyes scanning the room for the King. It made sense if he had to go back to his own room. A part of you wish he had stayed.
As if she were connected to you, your servant entered the room carrying a green dress in her hands.
“Good morning, my Queen. The King has requested you join him in the council room.”
“No breakfast?” You asked.
“It will be served after,” she said.
You nodded. You couldn’t fathom what the King would want before breakfast. It was unusual to have a council meeting this early. Maybe the Oyo have grown bolder and require more diligence in dealing with them.
There was only one way to find out. You got up from the bed but you were deliciously sore. Your heart was light, airy, filled with so much love you wanted to cry. His spend had dried between your legs so your servant handed you a wet cloth and you cleaned yourself up.
She helped you dress and fixed your hair into something presentable. You couldn’t stop grinning and giggling. You were a bit worried about this meeting. You hoped it wasn’t something mortifying. Like the King announcing that you had sex and was hoping for another baby soon.
Feeling and looking good, you left your room and headed to the council room. You were beyond to see your husband. You were the last to arrive. The King smiled when you entered. He, Nanisca, the first wife, and members of his council were standing in a circle with their backs to you.
Nansica was the closest to you. She turned around and bobbed her head. You nodded back towards her. The King held out his hand.
“Wife, come meet Sade.”
Your throat dried instantly as the King stepped aside and a lovely woman, with long braids stood beside the King. She had deep ebony skin, low cheekbones, and small features. She looked like a doll standing next to him.
Your smile froze on your face as you looked from the King to Sade. Your steps turned wooden as your stomach hollowed out. You stopped a few feet from them both.
“We will be married before the week is out as a union between our kingdom and her father’s,” The King said.
Your stomach roiled with acid. You knew this day would come. You knew that you could not possibly be the last of his wives.
“It’s nice to meet you,” you managed to say around the dry lump in your throat. Tears gathered in your eyes but you blinked them away. You would not cry and snivel like a little girl. No matter how much your world was crashing down around your ears. No matter that your heart beat painfully against your rib cage. You wished to carve it out and throw it away.
You touched your hand to your chest, shocked not to find blood there already. A stab wound would hurt less.
The past few weeks had taught you to lower your defenses and enjoy your newfound freedoms. Had you truly been free? The armor you donned every morning to survive your weak father and ineffective mother and their childish marriage schemes was not needed here. Or so you thought. You pulled on your resolve. You pulled on every ounce of strength you had to look that woman in the eyes.
It was not her fault that she was traded to the King for an alliance. It was always done that way. You looked at her and only saw yourself. In another life, you would have been from a rival kingdom. Sold to a different land with different customs, food, dress, and manner of speaking. Outcast and foreign and you would have looked as she looked. Confused, relieved with such a handsome king, and yet desperately seeking someone to understand and reach out a hand.
You had no hands to give. You hated her instantly at that moment. Your rival. Was this how the first wife felt? You looked to her and she only smiled at you and the King and Sade. How could she stomach this shit?
You looked towards the King. He watched you, a slight furrow in his brow. How could he do this right after the night you spent together? After confessing your love for each other? Would he enter her bedroom on their wedding night and plant a baby so easily inside of her? Or would he wait as he did for you, coaxing you into bed, just so he could leave for the next one?
Your body shook without your permission. You trembled with rage and you hated showing even that much. You placed your hand against your belly as you flushed with heat. If you pressed hard enough, this terrible dream would end. You would wake up in the circle of his arms and laugh this dream away.
“Are you alright?” The King asked.
“I’m going to be sick.” You fled from the room. Fled from the circle of people who welcomed this new bride into your lives. Fled from the stupid, childish notion that he would have stopped with you. That it would have just been you and the silent wife.
You wanted to laugh. You pitied the first wife when you got here. You felt sorry for her that she had to watch you come along, kissing at breakfast like lovesick fools. Now you were asked to do the same. To share the love of your life with another. Someone newer, younger, daintier. You had wished for him to find someone more wifely. Ha! Who was more wifely than someone likely raised with the knowledge that she would be given away for a political alliance?
She was likely raised and taught to speak well, think well, with knowledge of subjects you could only dream of. She likely knew how to run a household, to help ease the burdens of her husband. As a wife to a King? She probably already had knowledge on how to please him. How to make him laugh.
She was completely refined and you were no more than a common village girl who no one wanted. Tears finally streamed down your cheeks as you rushed down the hallways. The pale color of the walls only served to make you sicker, weaker. You ran to your room, slamming the door behind you. You locked it and then ran to your balcony.
You could only see part of the lands from here. The view before you was mostly jungle. You folded your arms around your stomach, trying to keep your insides intact. Trying to keep your emotions in check. You quaked with unreleased grief.
You survived your childhood. You survived your hateful father. You survived disgusting people with wandering hands and twisted words. You would survive this too. It hurt like hell, but you would survive this.
You were not weak. You were not small. You were not so dumb as to believe that you would have ever mattered to anyone but yourself. You were born alone and you would die alone. And that would have to suffice.
The Secret King Ghezo Files | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5
#Megaminds Secret Files#The Secret King Ghezo Files#King Ghezo x Black!reader#King Ghezo x Black reader#King Ghezo x Fem!reader#King Ghezo x Fem reader#King Ghezo x reader#King Ghezo x you#x Black reader#The Woman King fanfic#The Woman King fan fic#The Woman King fanfiction#The Woman King fan fiction#King Ghezo
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Gentle Lights Ch) 1
I have clawed my way back from the depths of Hell, reborn and with fics in hand.
TW: Death/ Description of death. and some angst...
Inspired by some amazing works from @shanas-baby @droopycoquette and @zeezeecave
~***~
Pain. It was all consuming, blinding, paralyzing pain. The wailing figure above her blurred in and out of focus. Yet Izogie could recognize her. Yet her thoughts were rushing at impossible speeds. This was death. She was dying.
What should she say? What could she say? A million emotions ripped at her heart and she was running out of time. The darkness was already creeping into her vision.
“Nawi…Y-you move l-like a ssloth…” Izogie gurgled before she succumbed to the darkness…
~***~
Time is an odd thing. Sometimes, if one is unlucky enough, its true twisted and warped nature is revealed. Izogie seemed caught adrift in one such limbo. Darkness that spiraled forever and a gentle rhythmic pulsing were her only company.
A stagnant calm, heavy and static weighed at the warrior’s limbs as Izogie floated in the vast nothingness. Yet something nagged at the back of her mind. Something important. Her mind insisted and made her vaguely aware that somewhere in this odd space, pain thrummed from a distant unknown source.
It annoyed and unnerved her.
“Where was it coming from?”
Occasionally in the static, sounds would slip through the veil of darkness. They warbled and bounced through the cavernous void and Izogie would puzzle over them. At even rarer times light would rip through limbo in thin slices.
Visions would flash in Izogie’s sensitive eyes. A twisted pile of broken bodies, a bloody hand, a sandy shore. None of it made sense and all the while, something somewhere was in pain.
“Where was it coming from?”
With little else to occupy her time the warrior often turned to her thoughts. So this was death? It was more underwhelming than she’d thought. Disappointing even. Despite the numbing calmness, Izogie felt strangely bitter about the thought. And try as she might, she couldn’t help but worry. Had Nawi been captured again? Had she failed that girl yet again? That made the warrior angry. Her… blood? Boiled at the very thought.
thump…
What kind of a mentor was she? To let down a sister, her sister, and abandon her… Guilt tore through Izogie, fueling her rage.
thump… thump…
How weak of her… Nanisca would be disappointed in her, if she weren’t already!
thump…
Thump… Thump…
Rage, guilt, sorrow, and pure stubbornness lit a fire deep in Izogie’s heart. The darkness seemed to shake and warp. The illusion of stagnant comfort was broken. In its place was a murky unease.
She shouldn’t be here…
~***~
#izogie#lashana lynch#izogie angst#izogie fanfiction#the woman king#fan fiction#fanfiction#fanfic#the void#angst fic#multiple chapters#chapter 1#I drink god's horrified tears with ranch#I'm sleep deprived again#here I go killin again
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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 12: And I'm Just The Boy Who's Had Too Many Chances]
Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…
Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), snack time for Sunfyre, dream sequences, murder, sad sad children, the return of an old friend, a road trip (boat trip??)! 🥰
Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.
Chapter title is a lyric from: “A Little Less Sixteen Candles, a Little More Touch Me” by Fall Out Boy.
Word count: 6.2k.
Link to chapter list: HERE.
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She is the third prisoner you have visited in the dwindling hours of their life, as if you are a dark omen, a giver of last rites, the Stranger. Otto was resigned. Baela was overconfident, unsuspecting. But the woman behind the iron bars now—the one the people of Westeros are calling the half-year queen—is restless and pacing like a trapped animal. Her gown is black velvet with gore-scarlet accents. Her long silver hair hangs tangled and limp. You reach into her cell to place two items on the stone floor: a piece of bread, a cup of tea.
“Poison?” Rhaenyra says, sharp, derisive.
“No,” you answer truthfully.
“Why not?”
“Because that would be painless. And I want you to suffer.”
“What happened to you?” she whispers, stunned.
I lived, I died, I was resurrected. “I’m a different person now. We all are.”
“You have aligned yourself with the Usurper. You must have, you would not be permitted to visit me alone otherwise. You have betrayed me. You have betrayed House Celtigar. How could you? I remember how gentle you once were, how kind. I remember your father telling me how you begged him to let you serve in the war as a healer. You just wanted to stop people’s agony. You would tend to men of any allegiance. You were harmless. You were a saint, an angel.”
“The world clipped my wings, it seems.”
“Where is my son?” Rhaenyra demands.
“Wherever the king wishes for him to be.”
It leaps into Rhaenyra’s face: terror, helplessness, desperation. She rushes towards you and grabs for your hands, her arms jutting through the spaces between the iron bars until the metal digs into her shoulders, until the rust leaves stains on her gown. You rip away from her, feeling no mercy at all. “Please,” Rhaenyra whimpers. “Please. Don’t harm my son.”
“It is not my decision to make.”
“He’s all I have left.” She is weeping; she is lurking in the doorway between reason and insanity. “The people turned against me. They killed Syrax, they killed Joffrey. The Dragonpit is gone. My family is gone. Daemon is gone. The prince is all I have left now. Please, please…”
“You could have stopped this,” you say, cold like a blade. “When your father died, you refused to yield the throne. When you captured King’s Landing, you refused Alicent’s proposal to split the realm between you and Aegon. And even now—hated by the smallfolk, staring death in the face—you refuse to surrender. You refuse to kneel to Aegon and send the Stark men back to the North and end the slaughter. Every drop of blood spilled in this war is on your hands. You are filthy with it, you are nothing but red. You took them all from us. Jaehaerys, Maelor, Otto, Helaena, Autumn’s baby, Everett, Criston, Daeron, Aemond. I charge you with their deaths. Your life is the only possible repayment for the debt.”
“Help me and I will give you anything you want,” Rhaenyra pleads. “Free me. Assist me and my son in escaping Dragonstone. I will go to Cregan Stark, he will shelter me, and when he has won the war for us I will lay the world at your feet. I will give House Celtigar dominion over all the Crownlands, you will be second only to the Targaryens in regard. I will appoint Clement to my Queensguard and name you the head of your house. You can spend your wealth as you see fit. You can marry anyone, or no one, or marry a man and push him from a cliff and then marry again. None of it matters to me. Help me now, and I will make you free forever.”
“I won’t help you murder Aegon.”
“He’s dead either way. Only Aemond and Vhagar could stop the Northmen, and they’re gone.”
That’s not true. That can’t be true. “Enjoy your last meal, dragon queen,” you tell Rhaenyra as you turn away. “The king has a fitting end planned for you.”
When you cross through the dungeons into the main castle—your gown fluttering around your ankles, vivid red velvet like fire, like blood—Lord Larys Strong is waiting. He trots after you as quickly as he can, his cane striking loudly against the stone floor. “Your Grace, I must implore you to beseech the king to spare the boy’s life.”
“It’s for Aegon to decide what to do with him.” Presently, Rhaenyra’s last remaining child is locked up in the bedchamber once claimed by Prince Aemond. He is young, afraid, watchful, old far beyond his years…but he is unharmed. Two servants and two guards have been assigned to the boy to ensure his needs are attended to and that he cannot escape. The small entourage that Rhaenyra landed on Dragonstone with—expecting to be greeted by Baela and Moondancer, and swiftly disappointed—was executed immediately.
“He is an invaluable asset to our cause,” Larys insists. “The king needs an heir. Jaehaera, as a girl, cannot inherit. But if she was married to Aegon the Younger, they could unite the warring factions and end any enduring ill-will. Their union could pave the way for peace that will last generations.”
“And that’s what we fought for, so little girls could go on being traded like horses and shoved into whichever marriage bed promises the rest of us the greatest advantage.”
Larys is hurt; you have chastised him for something he has no control over. “That is the way of the world, Your Grace. Marriages are arranged. Women are bartered with. The poor die for the rich and cripples are overlooked entirely. There is no changing any of this, it is madness to try.”
“Oh, are any of us not mad yet?” you quip back, sweeping into Aegon’s bedchamber. Larys breaks away, leaving you and the king alone.
Aegon is standing in front of his mirror. He wears all black, his sword and dagger at his belt, his scars on his face, the Conqueror’s crown glinting with rubies. He rubs at his lower back and winces without realizing he’s doing it. His kidneys, you think with dismay. Aegon says as he stares at his reflection, only half-joking: “Who is that?”
You go to him, lay two fingers on the line of his jaw and turn his face to yours, kiss the rough red scar tissue of his right cheek and then his lips, wet with wine. “I think you should spare the boy.”
“So he can marry Jaehaera someday?” Aegon replies cynically.
“No.” You touch your forehead to his and close your eyes. “Because mercy is increasingly rare, and once the last of it is gone what made us ourselves will be too. He’s just a child.”
“So were Jaehaerys and Maelor. So was Autumn’s son. The Blacks murder children.”
“Yes. But you don’t have to.”
Now Aegon is quiet, gentle. “Show me your hand.”
You give it to him, hastily scrubbed and bandaged the night before. He unwraps the linen and examines your palm, split down the center with a shallow gash surrounded by rusty smudges of dried blood. Aegon presses your hand to his face and inhales deeply, then cleans the maroon stains from your skin with his tongue. He grins, dazed with wine and milk of the poppy. “I can’t waste a drop of you.” And when he kisses your lips he tastes like copper and dreams and the ancient salt of the ocean that breaks against the rocks outside.
Aegon staggers around his room collecting items you once used to save his life: linen, vinegar, rose oil. He wants to take care of you this time, he wants to mend the flesh that once patched his back together. He remembers the steps, you observe; he reenacts them with reverent care.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you away last night,” Aegon says as he tends to your hand. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I’m sorry.”
“You were in shock. You were grieving.”
“What did the witch tell you? You said that’s why you harmed yourself.”
Horrible things. Unbelievable things. “She swore she didn’t know what would happen to Aemond. And that their son will become a knight of House Whent.”
“House Whent? I must have slept through that lesson.”
“For once, your educational apathy is not at fault. It doesn’t exist. Not yet, anyway.”
“I’ll scorch the rubble of Harrenhal,” he says, dark and low. “I’ll have her tortured to death. She took Aemond from us.”
You reply softly: “Killing Alys won’t bring him back.” And if her son is real, he is the only piece of Aemond we have left.
Now there are tears in Aegon’s eyes; he blinks them away so he can see well enough to finish bandaging your hand. “He was there when I was burned. He was there when I broke my legs. He was there for me when I had nothing to give him in return. He shouldered the burdens of ruling without ever trying to take the throne.”
“Yes, he did.”
“I never told him what he meant to me.”
“But he still knew.”
Your hand is your own again. You braid a lock of Aegon’s short silver hair, remembering the first time you ever did: he was a dying adversary, you were a Black loyalist destined to marry Cregan Stark. “The boy can live,” Aegon decides. “But he must learn the price of treason.”
Down on the beach, the guards have driven a stake deep into the sand. The midday sky is thick and tumultuous with dark clouds; the waves of the Narrow Sea thrash and roil, lethal undercurrents, surging riptides. Aegon insists on descending the craggy stone staircase himself, not like an invalid but like a king. He moves haltingly, clutching at the wall for support. By the time he reaches the shore, Aegon’s legs are trembling wildly and his face is flushed, agonized, drenched with sweat despite the metallic chill of winter in the air. One of the maesters fetches Aegon a cup of milk of the poppy and he gulps it down so urgently that opalescent beads of liquid escape to roll down his chin. Lord Larys appears to stand beside him, both hands laced over the handle of his cane.
Now the guards are roping Rhaenyra to the stake. She wears the same gown she arrived in: filthy, ripped, ruined from travelling. She does not fight them; she only asks: “Where is my son? Where is the prince?”
And then she spots him. His tiny hands are clasped by guards. The wind rakes at his silver hair. He is confused, frightened, peering around with huge glistening eyes that are a murky blue like the king’s. He must be about five years old now. He has been led to the beach to watch his mother die. You glance uneasily at Aegon. He does not notice; he attention is fixed on Rhaenyra.
“How did it feel, sister?” Aegon calls out to her. Something glows fierce and mindless behind his eyes, something devours ravenously like fire.
Rhaenyra watches him warily, not understanding. At the edge of the beach, curled in on himself and breathing in slow rattling heaves, Sunfyre glares at the half-year queen.
“My father’s love. I never knew it.” Aegon lurches closer, grinning without any humor, baring his teeth like an animal. “I knew other things, sure. I knew his indifference. I knew his fury. I knew his boots and his contempt. But I never knew his love. Neither did Aemond, though he worked for it, worked himself bloody. Neither did Helaena or Daeron or my mother. Did it keep you warm, Rhaenyra? Did you spend your childhood so instinctively aware that there were always hands waiting to catch you?”
“I had my trials too, brother,” Rhaenyra says, her head held high and defiant. “I lost people. I was compelled marry against my wishes.”
“And you found solace in the arms of others, the same as I did!” Aegon roars. “And Father defended you! He saw proof of your failings—obvious, indelible proof—and he didn’t just forgive it, he erased it, he made it a crime to mention it, your sons cut out Aemond’s eye and still all Father could bring himself to care about was your honor, your wellbeing! Well, he’s gone now, Rhaenyra. Your protector is ashes but I’m still here. The throne is mine. The retribution is mine. And your life is mine too.”
“You will not live a month after me!” she hisses into bitingly cold wind. “The wolves are closing in. Winter is coming. Cregan Stark is the Kingmaker now, it is a title he wears with great pride. He will not pardon your treason. He will have the Boltons flay you alive.”
Aegon cackles; he is toying with her. “Why would the wolves want my skin? It is not so handsome now. Shall I tell you what it was like when Meleys burned me at Rook’s Rest? It was the worst pain imaginable. I begged to die. But I didn’t. An angel brought me back from the dead. And now it’s your turn to burn.” Aegon shouts something to Sunfyre in High Valyrian. Sluggishly, the dragon uncoils himself and ventures towards Rhaenyra, sniffling, salivating. His claws sink into the wet sand; his belly drags on the ground. His golden eyes glint with wounded reptilian wrath.
“Mama!” her son wails, struggling against his captors.
“No, no, don’t cry,” she soothes. She is beginning to sob. “Don’t look, baby. Close your eyes. Don’t cry. Mama isn’t scared. Mama loves you. Now close your eyes and don’t open them no matter what you hear—”
“It’s such a shame that our uncle Daemon is at the bottom of the Gods Eye,” Aegon taunts Rhaenyra. “You two were made for each other. Treacherous, grasping, scheming, beloved by Father in measure that far exceeds your worthiness. What a fated romance. You built such an infamous legacy together. You should have been set ablaze together.”
“Mama!” the little boy screams.
“Dracarys,” Aegon commands Sunfyre. The beast growls at Rhaenyra but does no more than that. He is weak, he is dying. Aegon tries again, almost manic with pain: “Dracarys!”
You lay your bandaged palm on Aegon’s forearm to calm him. “Let Sunfyre smell her blood,” you murmur, and with trembling hands he gives you the dagger that he uses to cut his hair, that you opened your flesh with to summon Alys Rivers and her terrible prophesies. You cross the sand to meet the Black Queen.
“Don’t hurt her!” Rhaenyra’s son shrieks. “Mama! Mama!”
Rhaenyra is bound around her legs, waist, and shoulders; her lower arms hang free and useless. You take her left hand, turn it over, and press the point of the dagger to her wrist. You have done this once before, when you tested Baela for a pulse; now it comes just as easily. As you glide the blade down Rhaenyra’s wrist and open her veins, Rhaenyra says, hushed and venomous: “You have sold your soul, Lady Celtigar. And in the service of a dead man. I hope it was worth it.”
Still gripping the dripping dagger, you leave her and go to her son. Behind you, you can hear Sunfyre snarling and Rhaenyra moaning in dread. As the boy bawls, you wave the guards away and pull him to you, embracing him, shielding him. “Don’t look,” you whisper; and he clutches you like you once held onto Aemond on this beach after Aegon’s legs were shattered, not because he wants to but because you are here, and because you understand the weight of horror like this, the poison that replicates in the marrow of your bones, the debt that can never be paid.
There is heat, a blistering inferno, and a scream that Rhaenyra cannot bite back. You squeeze your eyes shut and breathe in the sickeningly sweet miasma of seared human flesh, and suddenly you are back at Rook’s Rest as Aemond dragged you through the burning woods where embers fell like snow, into the tent of green canvas, to the table where Aegon writhed and suffered and pleaded for death. There are sounds of tearing and crushing. There are dry snaps that can only be Rhaenyra’s charred bones splitting between Sunfyre’s jaws. The dead woman’s son clings to you, and you look across the beach at Aegon. He gazes back, and something flits across his eyes, glassy with pain and exhaustion and wine and milk of the poppy, and he knows he’s done wrong. There is shame. There is an apology, not to the boy but to you. To all the bright, benevolent mercy that his war has carved out of you. Then the king collapses, drained and unconscious on the cold sand.
Aegon is carried to his rooms. The child—in shock, in hysterics—is dosed with a few drops of essence of nightshade by the maesters and put to bed. You go to the castle library and pour over books searching for how to cure ailments of the kidneys, for any scrap of wisdom you might have missed before. You read until you fall asleep with your cheek resting against pages chronicling the signs of doom: paleness, weakness, no appetite, swelling in the hands and feet, pain in the lower back, blood in the urine. Night descends like a wave that pulls you under. Candles flicker on the table. Lord Larys leaves you bread and wine and a bowl of crab soup in case you wake hungry before dawn.
You don’t know that by the time you rise in the morning, the Master of Whisperers will have received word that Borros Baratheon’s army seized the capital for Aegon and sent out calls for the king in hiding to return to the city. It’s time to sail across Blackwater Bay to King’s Landing. It’s time for Aegon to go home.
~~~~~~~~~~
On your last night in the gloomy, beast-haunted walls of Dragonstone, you dream of Alicent’s youngest child Daeron. You are walking on the beach outside, and you know this isn’t real because the sand is warm and golden, and the sky is a cloudless blue, and winter is nowhere to be found, it is summer now and it will be tomorrow and it will be forever after that as well. Daeron soars down to where the serene crystalline waves meet the shore on Tessarion, and the swanlike Blue Queen waits patiently in the frothing surf as her rider strides over to meet you. He stands tall and proud; his long white-blond hair whips in the sunlit wind; he is beaming. His cape billows out behind him like the sails of a ship. He is clothed in bright cheerful seafoam green, just like he was on the day he died.
“I’m so sorry, Daeron,” you say as the sunshine beats down like heavy rain. “You were too young. You deserved more time.”
But Daeron just grins, crooked and cocky. “Do not mourn for me, sister. I was blessed with a hero’s death. There is no better way to leave this earth than in battle. And I roasted as many of those bastards as I could before the end.”
“Why have you come back?”
“I have a favor to ask,” he says; and only now do his large blue eyes go soft and misty. “When you return my cape to Mother, ask her to burn it. She will want to bury it in accordance with the funeral customs of the Faith of the Seven, but I want to be laid to rest as a true Targaryen. There’s no chance for my body. Your wolf threw me into a mass grave.”
“I don’t belong to Cregan Stark.”
“Someone should tell him that.” Daeron sighs. “I miss Aegon. We all do. Things are clearer where I am now. Things like disappointment and bitterness are just words; we’ve forgotten how to feel them. But we do know absence. And we see how he suffers.”
“What can I do to heal him?” you ask, you plead. “I’ll do anything. What can I do?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Daeron says. Then he treks back to Tessarion and they vanish together into a clear summer sky, a fleeting glimmer of ethereal blue like a comet.
~~~~~~~~~~
Aegon is kneeling by Sunfyre, his hand on the dragon’s clever, angular face. The beast is dead. He ceased his labored, clattering breathing in the night and was gone long before the king struggled out of his nest of blankets; Aegon is always cold now. Sunfyre is at peace, he is reunited with the fallen creatures of his kind, Tessarion and Vhagar and Dreamfyre…but the world has so much less magic in it than it did before.
“Your Grace, we must leave now,” Larys nudges, sympathetic yet insistent. At the end of the pier, a small ship bobs in rough slate-grey waves. Everyone else is already aboard, the servants, the guards, the maesters, the captive child. You touch Aegon’s shoulder, knowing what he is thinking: Everything I own, everything I’m given…it is destroyed, gets killed, goes mad. I ruin causes. I ruin people.
“He can’t be gone,” Aegon says numbly. “I don’t know how to live without him. I can’t remember a time before he was mine.”
“He held on as long as he could for you,” you tell Aegon. “He saved your life more than once. He lived and died in your service.”
“I want monuments built for him,” Aegon says, sniffling and swiping away tears. His ring—gold wings, jade eyes—flashes under scant beams of muted sunlight. “And for my brothers, and for Helaena, and for Criston and Otto and the children. Daeron’s statues should be laughing, and Aemond’s should be fierce, and…and…”
“Anything you want, Your Grace,” Larys agrees. “But first we must go home.”
There are jubilant crowds waiting to welcome Aegon into King’s Landing, and not just Baratheon soldiers whose fortunes are staked upon his victory but bakers, butchers, blacksmiths, tailors, potters, drunks, orphans, widows, actors and madams and whores. They do not flinch away when they see his dragonfire scars or his slow, painful gait. They only cheer more deafeningly. They see in him what they all have known: the feeling of being broken, the hope of being resurrected as something greater. They believe he can win the war for them. They believe he can keep the wolves at bay. Meanwhile, Larys smuggles Rhaenyra’s child into the city in an enclosed carriage; he does not want the masses to rip the Blacks’ heir apart piece by piece.
In the Red Keep, Alicent flies through the corridors to rush into the unsteady arms of her last living child, her only son. She is skin and bones, an auburn-haired ghost with translucent skin and fingers knobby with arthritis. She kisses his face and weeps and spills out a litany of mourning for Helaena, Daeron, Aemond, Criston. Aegon tries to soothe her, but he doesn’t know what to say. There are no clocks to turn back or nightmares to startle awake from. This is the world now, there is no escaping it, what is lost will forever remain ashes or earth or bones at the bottom of the Gods Eye.
Along with Alicent emerges Jaehaera, much the same as you remember her, a bit taller, grave for someone so young, but still with Aegon’s oceanic eyes and high cheekbones and the gentleness that he used to have so much more of. The girl does not seem to have much interest in her father—if she recognizes him at all—but smiles and waves timidly at you from behind the skirts of her protector. And this is a face you remember too: a wry smirk, hazel eyes, skin milky and freckled, framed by long coppery ringlets.
“I’m glad you’re still alive, my lady,” Autumn says. “Have you bought me a castle yet?”
~~~~~~~~~~
When you dream of Helaena, she is sitting on the rim of a fountain in the gardens of the Red Keep. Her gown is a soft butter yellow and her hands are crawling with butterflies. They perch on her fingers like rings: ruby, sapphire, amethyst, moonstone, emerald, gold. It is warm, it is summer. It is always summer in the land of ghosts. You join Helaena, and butterflies form a kaleidoscopic blizzard in the air. The water spouting from the fountain trickles cool and clear.
“I didn’t know you were going to jump,” you tell her. “I would have stopped you. I’m sorry I was too late. I’m sorry I looked away.”
“Things are better where I am now,” Helaena says. “It’s miles and miles of gardens. Jaehaerys and Maelor are there. Daeron and Aemond are there. Grandsire is there too, and we all eat supper together each night, and no one ever argues. Everett is there with Autumn’s baby. He is a joyful little thing, he sleeps and smiles and never cries. Everett carries the baby as he walks through the gardens. At night, Everett reads to us. He loves to read. He and Aemond have struck up quite the rapport. And there is no killing. Everyone is already dead.”
You watch her, a tenderhearted sunlit spirit. “What do you need from me, Helaena? Why have you come back?”
“I was not able to be a good mother in life. But now I see my children as they truly are.” She gazes at you with urgency in her eyes like rainwater, orchids, aquamarines. “Jaehaera is so young, so vulnerable. To be a woman at the mercy of men is a terrible thing. She will require a champion in high places.”
And you picture her: the little girl who looks so much like Aegon, the child who is sweet and compliant and forever trying so hard to be brave. “I’ll always do what I can to protect her.”
“You must whisper into the right ears. You are believed to be merciful; you must be seen to act out of mercy, not for love of who her father was.”
Who her father was, not is. Was. “Helaena—”
“If she is seen as a rival, she will be put to death. Please don’t let them kill her. Please let one of my babies grow up.”
“I promise I’ll help Jaehaera, but Helaena—”
She leans in and grabs your face with her right hand, butterflies still gleaming on her fingers like jewels. “It’s time to wake up now.”
And you fall backwards into the fountain that turns from water to air to the feather mattress of Aegon’s bedchamber.
~~~~~~~~~~
“After Rhaenyra killed my boy, I knew where I had to go.”
When the Baratheons took the city and freed Alicent, she arranged for Helaena’s old rooms to be given to Autumn. You sit by the crackling fire with her as Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger play with wooden blocks across the bedchamber, speaking to each other in tentative, bashful murmurs. They do not comprehend that their families slaughtered each other. They are two lonely, profoundly wounded children, building kinship out of loss and ignorance. Rhaenyra’s son has swiftly become attached to Autumn; he trails after her everywhere, clutches at her skirts, reaches up to ask her to hold him. She has lost one silver-haired child, yes, brutally, horribly; but she has gained two.
“Everett helped arrange for me to escape to Storm’s End,” Autumn continues, sipping hot apple cider to warm her as winter bears down upon the Crownlands. You have a cup too; steam curls up from the amber brew like smoke from a dragon’s jaws. What dragon? you think. They’re nearly all dead now. Autumn looks at you with sad, shining eyes. “You have to believe me when I say that I never loved the king. But I grew to love the baby we made together. And when he was taken from me…when he was dragged out of my arms, still wet with blood from the womb, I…I…” She shakes her head, swallows down the longing that will never quite leave her. “I felt that if I could not be with my own child, at least I could be with his sister, a girl who was so alone in the world.” Now Autumn smiles. “I know I called her an inbred little freak before. That was cruel of me. She isn’t so bad. I love her to death, actually. I would break bones for that kid. She never complains. She tries her best at everything. It’s not her fault she’s inbred.”
“Borros Baratheon let you stay in Storm’s End?” you ask; he is not known to be a generous or trusting man.
Autumn shrugs. “Jaehaera recognized me. She was able to confirm that I had been a handmaiden to the Greens. Lord Borros took some convincing, but…no harm was done. We came to an agreement.”
“I’m so sorry, Autumn,” you say solemnly. “I wish I could have done more for you. But things are different now. You’ll never have to sell your body again.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. The wolves will be knocking on our doors within the week. Whichever way it goes, I intend to survive. I always have, I always will. Whatever it takes.” She peers through the window at dim grey skies, at bare tree limbs. “You heard about what happened to Everett?”
Alys’ vision flares in your skull like lightning, like dragonfire. “Yes.”
“I can’t even blame the people,” Autumn says. “They hated Rhaenyra, and rightly. They hated her for Helaena, for Jaehaerys and Maelor, for my son. They didn’t know the difference. They thought one Celtigar man was just as guilty as the next. Now Everett is dead, his body parts squirreled away in a hundred different households as souvenirs, and from what I understand when Rhaenyra was driven from the city Clement rode north to join Cregan Stark.”
“Of course he did,” you mutter bleakly.
“Angel, the king…he’s…he’s not well, is he? He doesn’t look well. He looks like a dead man. He’s so pale, so slow when he walks, and his eyes are sunken way down in their sockets—”
“He’s healing,” you say, and Autumn just stares at you. “He’s been through suffering, terrible suffering, but when the war is over he’ll finally be able to rest. He’ll get better. He has to get better.”
“Of course,” Autumn agrees; but she bites her lip and takes your hand and holds it so tightly it hurts.
That night as Aegon crawls into bed—the same bed that was his when you were first brought to King’s Landing, the bed where you healed his burns and massaged rose oil into his scar tissue and ensured that the milk of the poppy he received was enough to kill his pain but not his body, the same bed where you fell in love with him—he gathers you into his arms and draws you closer, closer, your head against his scarred chest, his heartbeat slow and drumming beneath your fingerprints.
Aegon says: “Someone finally remembered that Corlys Velaryon was locked up down in the dungeons and set him loose. He has joined my cause in exchange for our assurance that Rhaena will never be mistreated. I’ve told Corlys that Daeron killed Baela and Moondancer. He has accepted this as one of the many tragedies of the war, and he harbors no resentment towards you. And don’t think that I’ve slandered Daeron. He would gladly take the credit if he was here.”
“I’ve done so many unforgiveable things,” you marvel.
“Yes, for me. Only for me. I bear the weight of those sins, not you. Now let me distract you from them.”
But he can’t do it, not any of it; he’s too weak, he’s bloodless, he’s empty. He’s panting out apologies and calling himself useless. You’re trying to console him. You kiss his face, his throat, his chest, all the ruined pieces of him. You tell him you’re not disappointed, that you can try again later.
“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry—”
“Shh, shh. It’s alright, Aegon.”
“It’s not,” he moans, eyes closed, already plummeting into unconsciousness. “But I don’t have a choice.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Aemond is in the rookery of the Red Keep, scrawling letters at the writing desk. Ravens squawk and paw at the bars of their cages. He wears a deep ancient green that makes you think of pine trees, swamps, snakes, lizard-lions. His silver hair is tied back in a single thick braid, as if he might be hurrying off to ride Vhagar into battle soon, as if he might roast the Northmen in their armor. But of course, Aemond can do no such thing. Not anymore.
“It’s cold at the bottom of the Gods Eye,” he says without looking at you.
“You’re still there?”
“I’m everywhere and I’m nowhere. It’s strange. Sometimes I’m in the water. Sometimes I’m in the gardens. Sometimes I’m watching Alys. Sometimes I’m watching you.” He turns around, and you see that he is grinning. His eyepatch is gone and his sapphire glittering, just like it was that night on Dragonstone. “But perhaps that is not so welcome a thought.”
“I wish you would have listened to us,” you say, not with anger but with deep, desperate sorrow. “I wish you could have understood the worth you had and stopped chasing phantoms.”
“I believed that by redeeming myself, I could save my family. You think if you take enough lives Aegon will get to keep his. We’ve all made mistakes. But now the debts have been called in. And there’s nowhere for us to go but down.”
I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to imagine it. “What do you need from me, Aemond? You need something. Everyone does.”
“Please do not harm Alys,” Aemond says, calm, courteous. “She was good to me. She loved me, and I loved her, even if that love was woven of dark, destructive threads. And my son…” Aemond smiles, proud and wistful. “He will have a part to play in what comes next.”
“I miss you,” you say, almost like an apology. “More than I thought I would.”
“I did not always treat you fairly. I did not always conduct myself in the most honorable manner. It is a regret of mine.”
“I’ve already forgiven you.”
“I know,” he says with his sly, taunting smirk. Then he stands and crosses the rookery, and just as he strikes out to catch your forearm you startle awake in a cold, dark room. You roll over, move closer to Aegon, watch his chest so you can tell if he’s still breathing.
~~~~~~~~~~
In the morning, Aegon wakes up alone. This is not unusual; he sleeps at least twelve hours a day now, and when you rise you go about your tasks until he catches up with you. He fumbles for the cup of milk of the poppy that you left for him on the bedside table and takes a swig. It’s enough to bring the pain in his legs and his back and his soul down to an ache, but he is never rid of it. He wonders, as he twirls the drained cup between his fingers, just how much it would take to kill someone. He wonders how much you gave to Baela in the dungeons of Dragonstone.
Aegon tries to climb out of bed but ends up stumbling to the floor instead. He tries to stand and can’t manage it. Groaning, hating himself, he scrabbles around under the bed for the porcelain chamber pot. He grabs it just as the situation is about to get even more mortifying, kneels on the floor, and relieves himself, sighing deeply. He yanks back up his cotton sleeping trousers and ties them snugly around his ever-shrinking waist. Then he looks down.
“Oh fuck,” he exhales in a whisper, hidden like a crime. The chamber pot is full of blood.
I have to throw it somewhere. I can’t let her see it. He peers around frantically. Out the window?? Into a potted plant??
He doesn’t want the servants to deal with it; they might gossip, she might hear them. Aegon is still thinking—no simple undertaking through the haze of milk of the poppy—when he hears footsteps in the doorway.
“Seven hells,” Autumn gasps. Her horrified gaze darts from the bloody chamber pot to the king and back to the porcelain bowl of blood, a bright and unmistakable and murderous red. “I’m sorry, Your Grace…I was looking for extra blankets…the children have never known a winter before and they are cold, and I…” Her eyes snag on the blood again like a fish on a hook. “Oh. Oh gods.”
“Don’t tell her,” Aegon pleads. “She can’t cope with it. She doesn’t want to believe it. I haven’t figured out how to tell her yet. Please don’t say anything.”
“Of course I won’t,” Autumn replies, tenderly now, tears brimming in her small hazel eyes. She knows exactly what it feels like to lose the man you love. “Here,” she says, pointing to the chamber pot. “Let me help you get rid of that.”
#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon targaryen ii#aegon ii#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader
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❍ the 2k event: jeonghan + empire
vote for this fic in the poll!
alternative title: burn, palace, burn
pairing: prince!jeonghan x f!empress!reader
genre: historical au, empire au, enemies to lovers, angst
word count: 1517
warnings: mentions of blood, war, death, manipulation, imprisonment (yeah,,, this ended up a little dark)
event taglist (send ask to be added): @slytherinshua @rubywonu @pepperonijem @amxlia-stars @weird-bookworm @hannyoontify @my-moarmy-heart @suminsfav @minhui896 @haocovr @lockburn-castle @jeonwonwoo
War is never something you’ve enjoyed.
Bloodshed is horrifying, and the amount of lives lost, often futilely, make your stomach churn and your heart ache. The effects of war are almost always felt for generations after, staining child after child and traumatising the land beyond belief, the blood of enemies and allies and victims painting nightmares into the soil.
What a shame that your hands are dripping in that very blood.
You sigh, straightening yourself in your throne, brushing at the delicate golden chains dangling from your headdress as they touch your shoulders. However, you’ve been brought up by a tyrannical family, hell-bent on controlling their people. It’s always been your greatest desire to undo that damage, create a prosperous society, but that has proved near impossible.
That was a lesson your advisors had taught you, early on in your reign. As a woman, you’d have little power but to do as the men before you had done.
“Your Imperial Highness! The Great Sun of our land! Your imperial army returns from their latest battle!”
The doors to the throne room burst open, and in strides the head general, helmet under his arm, chest puffed, cheeks splattered with blood. It makes you feel sick.
But what makes you even more ill is the fact that he’s not alone. Behind him, two other soldiers drag in a man, tugging on his chains and forcing him to kneel before you. His head his bent, once-rich robes tattered and torn. There is a crown on his head, but on closer inspection, it looks to be a crude imitation of one, fashioned from tatty cloth and rotten sticks.
“We have returned from our conquest in the East,” your Head General says, proud. “The Kingdom of Thae has fallen to your mighty reign.”
Another kingdom acquired by your crown, you think weakly. Another kingdom for your advisors to lord over. Another kingdom for you to play at being empress to.
“Well done,” you say, and try to hide the discomfort from your voice. Masking it should come easily, given the countless times you’ve done this, but your horror at what has become of you never ceases to fade. “The Imperial Crown thanks you for your service.”
The Head General nods in acknowledgement, and point to the man kneeling beside him. “We have brought the prince of the Thae Kingdom here to you. Though their King and Queen have been slaughtered, Advisor Kim relayed that you would enjoy certain… spoils of war, if there were any left.”
Your head spins. This is horrific. You want to leave.
“Yes,” you manage to force out, as gracefully as possible. “Thank you.” You look down at the man, and his head is still bent, but his chained wrists shake from the way he clenches his fists tightly. “Pray tell, what is the prince’s name?”
The Head General smirks, and steps back. “Would your Imperial Highness like to take a look at him?”
It’s posed as a question, but you have no choice.
You rise from your throne, (lies, it’s not yours, it’s always belonged to anyone but you—) and descend the steps, kneeling before the man, the heavy silks of your skirt fanning out beneath you.
With one finger, you lift up his head, and your breath catches.
He’s beautiful.
“Prince Yoon Jeonghan, Your Imperial Highness,” your Head General introduces for you, and even his name is beautiful.
His hair, raven-dark and mussed up, is still velvet-soft as you tuck a lock behind his ear, mesmerised by his beauty. His eyes are like black diamonds, so dark that you could fall into them and yet endlessly bright and sparkling. His skin is pale, and he looks so small and delicate and you wish for nothing more than to whisk him away from this horrible, horrible world.
Jeonghan snarls, and his teeth sink into your wrist.
Immediately, the guards around him pull at his chains and tug him back, tug him so hard that he falls back, head crashing painfully on the cold stone of the floor.
“Oh!” You don’t even register the stinging teeth marks on your wrist, bleeding red beads, standing up and rushing to his side, holding the back of his head, even as he swats angrily at you, chains clinking. “Are you alright?”
Jeonghan stares at you as if you’ve gone insane, wrestling himself from your grip and receiving more harsh tugs for his actions.
“I gather that Your Imperial Majesty is pleased with this prince?” the Head General says, and the sick pleasure in his tone makes you look up.
“Indeed,” you say, with all the authority you can muster. “Now, leave us.”
There are little benefits to being a puppet empress, but at least the people still have to respect you.
Once they all leave, and the room is empty, you fall to your knees beside him once again, brushing at his robes, seeing if he’s alright. But Jeonghan pushes your hands away again, hissing.
“Leave me alone,” he snaps, and his voice is cracked and hoarse but the anger pulsates, ever-present and unable to be hidden. “I refuse to be your boytoy.”
“Let me help you,” you beg, noticing the bruises along his arms, the dried-up blood on his neck. “Please. I could— I could give you a good life here. I promise.”
Jeonghan’s eyes darken, icy flames dancing in his irises, every blink oozing hate. “Your promises mean nothing to me,” he spits. “I refuse to bow down to a bully like you. You’re a killer, a manipulator, and I want nothing to do with the likes of you.”
Every word is a steel shard struck straight into your heart, and it’s startling how much the hate stings you. You’ve conquered countless kingdoms before, albeit not by your own choice, and you know that this is how people must view you. And yet, it hurts, to hear the venom and calculated rage pouring out of this prince’s mouth.
“I’m not those things,” you say quietly, voice echoing meekly within the large throne room.
Jeonghan scoffs, opening his mouth to retort, and you rush to carry on.
“I’m not the one in charge. I have no power, no control here. I’m—I’m as much a prisoner as you are, a prisoner to my people, to my advisors, to my court. They prod me and push me around as they please, and I can’t do anything against them without being killed. Please, I— just let me help you.”
The hate does not waver in Jeonghan’s eyes. His delicate, pale face is contorted into an expression of such loathing that it makes you shiver in fear.
“If you’re all those things,” he says venomously, “then how can you help me?”
“I can keep you alive,” you say. “I can make sure you won’t die any time soon.”
Jeonghan freezes, and then slumps. He’s sitting on the floor of your recently polished throne room, satin robes torn and charred and splattered with blood. The floor shines, and his blackened fingers curl into the stone, fingernails scraping painfully.
“I just want my parents to be alive,” he says, quietly. “I want my life back.”
His words hit too close to home, and your heart constricts. It takes you several deep breaths before you manage to compose yourself again, and you rest a hand gently on his own.
“I can’t give that to you,” you admit, “however much I want to. I… I can’t even do that for myself.”
Jeonghan looks up, and there’s a question there, amongst the flickering flames of derision and fury and sadness.
“But I can give you a life,” you say. “It won’t be your old one, but it’ll be a life all the same. If you work with me, I can… I think I can free you. Free everyone.”
Jeonghan’s brow furrows, and a sheen covers his eyes as he thinks it over. He’s tattered and underfed and probably suffering several wounds, and yet he is taking the time to think of your offer, and part of you wonders faintly if Jeonghan, before all of this had happened to him, had been someone intelligent and calculating and revered by his people.
You feel even more ill for what you've done to him. For what others have done to him in your name.
“Very well,” Jeonghan says finally, and your eyes widen. His chains clatter once again, and he holds his hand out. “Help me, and I help you.”
You smile, and take his hand, gently helping him to his feet. “I promise.” You prod at the chains on his wrists. “I'll free you. I will."
The beginnings of a smile tug at Jeonghan's lips. He tugs at the golden threads of your crown, and you let him, let him push it off, let it crash to the floor in a tinkle of expensive and heavy metal.
"How noble of you, Empress," he says, but there's a light in his eyes, devious and cunning. He's a fighter, Jeonghan is. You can tell. He grins.
"Let's burn this empire to the ground."
#fairyhaos.works#the 2k event -- fairyhaos#k-labels#svt#seventeen#jeonghan#seventeen fic#jeonghan fic#svt fic#svt jeonghan#svt x reader#jeonghan x reader#yoon jeonghan#jeonghan x you#seventeen x you#jeonghan x y/n#seventeen x y/n#seventeen x reader#seventeen jeonghan#seventeen yoon jeonghan#svt yoon jeonghan#svt fluff#seventeen fluff#jeonghan fluff#jeonghan imagines#seventeen imagines#seventeen fanfic
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she's everything... and he's just mick ! mick s. x ofc (filipino!nanny!ofc)
summary: in the first race of the season, the vettels made their appearance as a family of three (or four) as kimi vettel debuts as the newest vettel of the grid and a mick schumacher fan. OR let me introduce barbara elisandra 'barbie' blanco - the woman that the vettel couple fostered for years who now takes care of the two year old boy alongside kimi's uncle mick.
content warning: smau + article. quality kimi vettel (oc) content, some hater getting ratio'd, lewis is a retired king (yes king get that rest), everyone loving kimi, barbie and mick = barbie and ken, three racing team admins fighting on the comment section, drivers also fighting in the comment section (ate = term of endearment)
note: i told y'all i'm gonna continue on with the kimi vettel/crazy rich wife saga 😭 and to all of the users who made my favourite f1 fics— i see you 👀 i’m here and i’m lurking and i’m enjoying
masterlist
barblanco posted a story !!!
tagged mickschumacher, belongvettel
liked by barblanco, georgerussell63, lewishamilton
mercedesamgf1 to answer your question: YES, we got our new mercedes ambassador not one- but TWO mercedes cars. uncle mackie said to get him one, but uncle toto said make it double✌️
lewishamilton those are some nice whip, kimi! you don't mind if you take them for a spin with roscoe, do you? 🐶🥶 liked by mercedesamgf1
mercedesamgf1 kimi has a lot of furry friends, but the vettels said there's always room for one more!
user1 as we said: BEST VETTEL IN THE GRID
user2 mickschumacher is slowly transforming kimi vettel into a mini mick schumacher and i am here to sit and admire 🥰
mercedesamgf1 like father, like son 🤗
georgerussell63 still upset he wouldn't let go of mick 🙂 liked by mercedesamgf1
mercedesamgf1 there's always a next time george!
mickschumacher look at my boy!!! ❤️🤍 liked by mercedesamgf1
belongvettel we started seeing double when he wore that race suit 😅 thank you so much for your warm welcome! kimi definitely loved being around you all and we're looking forward to attend a couple more rounds! 😍 liked by mercedesamgf1
mercedesamgf1 anything for our newest favourite vettel!!!
tagged belongvettel, scuderiaferrari, mercedesamgf1
liked by barblanco, mickschumacher, landonorris
user1 how many outfit changes did he have to go through this week what 😭😭
user2 i think some photos were taken in different days 🤔
user3 bel's nightmare is seeing him in a race suit and a powered car 😂 makes me wonder how it went for the first few days
user4 i'm looking forward to seeing the vettels' gridwalk interview!!
f1 us too! 🥰
scuderiaferrari his name is KIMI and VETTEL for a reason f1
redbullracing ur so silly 🤪
mercedesamgf1 no you two are 🤣 scuderiaferrari redbullracing
user5 why are these teams fighting in the comment section?
landonorris he'd look nice on a papaya suit tbh
mickschumacher nah uh
georgerussell63 absolutely not.
maxverstappen1 look at him! can't wait to have a rbr sebastian 2.0 in the grid
mickschumacher ❌ wrong try again ❌
carlossainzjr false news max ❌
landonorris you couldn't be any more wrong lad ❌
charles_leclerc i disagree verstappen ❌
alex_albon belongvettel which team do you think kimi would compete for?
belongvettel none of them because seb won't take him racing on such dangerous places 🙂
mickschumacher boooooo that's not mercedes 👎
tagged belongvettel, barblanco, ginaschumacher
liked by landonorris, georgerussell63, estebanocon
ginaschumacher i actually came to see barbie and kimi but maybe mom went to see you? 😺
mickschumacher 😑
estebanocon its getting so obvious mick 😭
user1 what is getting obvious??? estie???
landonorris s-tier simping tbh 🙃
user2 y'all telling me mick is simping for kimi's nanny? 😏
user3 seb's about to act up frfr 😉
belongvettel my two boys!!! liked by mickschumacher
user4 HER TWO BOYS??? MICK REALLY IS A VETTEL 😍
barblanco you did sooooo good getting those points, mick! (i'm only learning about f1 please don't be mad) ❤️👏 liked by mickschumacher
mickschumacher thank you, liebe! i'm sure seb and i will be able to teach you more about it!
user5 no because it really is obvious 😺
user6 reading the fast lane daily article, i agree that she lives up to her name barbie bc she really can do anything 😻 i dont blame u for liking her liked by mickschumacher
user7 "liked by mickschumacher" LMAO OBVIOUS MUCH?! this man is giving "wahpsssshhh" energy fr
#formula one fanfiction#formula one fic#formula one imagine#formula one x oc#formula one smau#f1 imagine#f1 fic#mick schumacher imagine#mick schumacher x reader#mick schumacher fluff#mick schumacher instagram au#mick schumacher ig au#formula one ig au#formula one social media au#formula one fluff#formula one instagram au#f1 ig au#f1 fanfic#f1 social media au#f1 instagram au#f1 x reader#formula 1 fic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fanfic#mick schumacher au#mick schumacher smau#mick schumacher social media au
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𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝔾𝕠𝕛𝕠 𝕊𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕦 『2』
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ: ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄʀᴜᴍʙʟᴇ
Blessed energy comes with a price of unwanted memories. Sukuna may have kept [Name]'s ancestor locked away from her true lover. But in this life, it wasn't going to happen. Satoru and [Name] are a perfect match like Shoko said.
Song used in this fic: Davy Jones by Fia Orädd
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Leave a request in my inbox or a comment down below for more!
“Satoru, this is a lot of stuff,” [Name] tried to stop Gojo from presenting her with so many gifts. Yet the man did not agree with her. His sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose to gaze into her pretty [e.color] eyes.
“I need to make sure you have everything for your new garden. Shoko will have you divorce me if I don’t provide you with things you need for your hobby.” He set the fertilizer bag down on the floor and walked back to the entrance of the grand estate.
Yes, [Name] was quickly moved into his house and her servants were also moved into the place. The lonely heirs were welcomed to make a home with each other. She found it best that Gojo was the only one for her. They were friends in high school after all and [Name] would be lying if she said that she didn’t have a crush on Gojo.
“Well, that was towards different men, Satoru.” [Name] followed her fiance to the backyard and the size of it caught her eyes. It was a blank slate, with only green luscious grass planted for her imagination to take over.
“It’s amazing, huh?” Gojo startled her and he set the multiple bags of fertilizer down on the grass. “It didn’t take a long time to get rid of whatever was back here. Some trees, ugly boulders, old fountains…and more. I couldn’t wait to get rid of the old stuff and see what new things you can make.”
[Name] smiled happily and wiped the tears out of her eyes before Gojo could see them, but he was already teasing her. “You cryin’, pretty girl?” He leaned in front of her face and smirked at her.
“No,” [Name] stubbornly denied and looked into his sparkling blue eyes, “again, thank you, Satoru. You’re doing a lot for me now.”
Her genuine thanks pulled him out of his teasing and he backed up, ignoring her piercing gaze. “Yeah, it’s no problem at all. By the way, we should talk about marriage stuff.”
“Oh yeah,” [Name] ran into the house and came back with a blanket to set on the grass. She fixed it up for both of them and sat down on her knees looking up at Gojo expectantly. Gojo followed and sat across from her. One leg was stretched out to her and the other was bent so he could rest his elbow on his knee.
“Obviously the old men want an heir from my family and yours, so it’s hitting two birds with one stone. But I don’t want to be rushed and I know you don’t either. When we have a kid on the way, we should expect them to try to make the leash on us tight. Well they can try to tame me, but you,” Gojo took his glasses off and set them in between his legs, “You need to fight them off. I don’t want you to take orders from any of them.”
“Satoru, that’s easier said than done. You actually have the will to fight them,” [Name] looked away from him and focused on his glasses, “I’m just a woman in their eyes.”
“You’re different, you’re my woman. You’re Gojo [Name] now. The same way I belong to you, you belong to me. The same way I argue with them and flaunt my strength, you can as well. Don’t be afraid of them, they can’t do anything to you.”
His words made her heart flutter and a blush fanned across her cheeks. She looked up at him and sighed. The blush went away with the thoughts that clouded her mind. .
“There’s something you should know, Satoru. About my family and why I’m the only one alive.”
[Name] let her hand hover over the grass and let it tickle her palm, “My mom was a reincarnation of the King of Curses’ concubine. Her name was [L.Name] Nami and it’s said that Nami was Sukuna’s favorite. My mother told me that the blessed energy we carry is because Nami prayed to God for protection from that abomination. And God has seen how faithful she had been to him and he sealed her gentle spirit in a red rose.”
“Red rose? You mean the flower at the center of the garden at the school contains [L.Name] Nami’s spirit?” Gojo curiously asked, he turned on his side and put his head in his hand. He watched [Name] nod her head and she confirmed it, “Yeah, no one can get past the blessed glass if they are not a [L.Name]. I am the only one capable of releasing Nami’s soul, but I was only told to do so if she wanted it.”
“And how would you know if she wanted it?”
[Name] shrugged her shoulders and whispered, “My mother passed away before she could explain it. But I was tasked with keeping Nami at peace by singing, dancing and gardening. I love flowers just as much as she did. I planted as many flowers and cared for them as much as Nami did. I sing any song she wishes and I dance like she used to do. It allows her more freedom than Sukuna ever granted her.”
Gojo sat up and held her attention by saying, “Well then, my dear [Name], to make the mood lighter. I have a gift for you!”
“Another one, Satoru?” [Name] asked, relaxing her shoulders and raising an eyebrow in question.
Her fiance laughed and showed off a box that contained a sparkly diamond ring inside. She could see how hard he tried to keep the simplicity for her, but she saw how hard it was for him. Because the ring was anything, but simple. “Oh, Satoru, a simple band would have satisfied me,” She placed her hand over her chest and could feel her heart beating fast in excitement.
“Nope!” He disagreed and set the box on the floor to pull her closer to him. His large hands rested on her waist and he dragged her forward, her knees in between his legs. Gojo picked the ring out and held his hand out for hers to be placed in it.
[Name] beamed in happiness and set her hand in his. She felt his thumb rub her knuckles and take a firm grasp onto her hand. With the ring, he slid it onto her ring finger and picked her hand up to witness it dazzle in the sun’s light.
“It’s perfect, Satoru.”
Her voice called out to him and she interlocked her hand with his and she leaned forward. Her nose touching the tip of his own. “Satoru, do you remember our first kiss?”
“I do,” He whispered with a childish grin, “You were practically begging me with those pretty eyes of yours. I couldn’t resist.”
“Are you going to resist today?” She asked innocently.
Gojo slipped his other hand behind her neck and shook his head, “I never can.” Then he planted his lips onto her waiting ones. This blooming love was going to grow this time, Gojo promised within. He wasn’t going to let his regrets and sorrows hold him back. He pushed her away once and she never fought back.
Now that he had her, he wasn’t going to let her go.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Gojo was showing Yuji around the school after he was allowed to freely walk the school grounds. He was excited to start a new life at this school and make new friends. His new teacher was babbling about life at Jujustu High when a voice growled at him.
“Oi, brat.”
Yuji could hear his sensei’s voice fade away when Sukuna spoke to him. That cursed being was louder than his own. It was quite annoying.
“What is it this time? Gojo-sensei irritating you again by-”
“Shut up and listen.”
Yuji closed his mouth and there was a soft melody that caught the attention of his ears. It sounded nice and peaceful. Before he knew it, his feet were taking him in the direction where the soft melody was playing.
And his eyes looked at the entrance of a garden. There was an archway of sunflowers while the main entrance was filled with different colored rose bushes. A bench was on the right side with a trash bin, then the stone path led into a maze-like area where more flowers were planted.
“Wow, who knew the principal and Gojo-sensei could take care of a garden like this.”
“This isn’t the work of stupid men. This is a woman’s touch.”
Sukuna growled in Yuji’s head and the teenage boy could agree with him a bit. Was he going to admit it?
“You don’t have to. I can hear your thoughts.”
Yuji rolled his eyes and continued to go into the garden. Although the soft melody stopped, he felt that he was going the right way because of the atmosphere. There was something that was calling out to him and Yuji felt at home the closer he got to whatever he was looking for.
After a few minutes of walking in the maze, Yuji’s eyes scanned the new area he was in. If he was right, he knows he’s at the center of the garden with the hedges towering over him. The area was circular with shallow pools around the smooth arches. He spotted koi fish swimming along the lily pads and dragonflies resting on them.
The smooth pebbles crunched beneath his shoes as he walked along the path into the center. What caught his eyes the most was the single red rose that sparkled in the glass container on a stone pillar. He was so mesmerized by the image and he walked closer to it.
His hand reached out to the glass container and he pulled back instantly when a voice spoke to him.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
He peeked around the single rose and saw a woman kneeling down on the pebbles behind it. She was wearing a red blouse and black slacks with her red heels by her bag of fish food. “That glass container is surrounded by blessed energy, it’ll hurt the demon inside you a lot.”
“Ah, I’m so sorry for intruding!” Yuji bowed a million times and the woman chuckled with her hand lifted up to her smile. She pushed herself off the floor away from the koi fish that begged for her attention. She grabbed her heels in one hand and walked to the pillar that showed off the rose.
“You can touch it if you want though. It won’t hurt you as much as it will for him.”
Yuji tilted his head in confusion while Sukuna snapped, “You better not! I’ll kill you!”
Yuji looked from the flower and back to the woman who proceeded to give him a kind smile. She gestured to the flower with her soft hands and cooed, “I promise you it’ll just be a tingle of electricity for you, Yuji.”
He didn’t question how she knew his name. Instead he reached his hand out to the glass and palmed the top of the oval shape. Yuji chuckled and felt the tingles of electricity traveling up his arm and looping around his whole body. “Whoa~ You’re right! It’s like waking up my foot when it falls asleep! It’s so weird!”
[Name] hummed and asked, “How does Sukuna feel?”
Yuji released the hold on the glass and wiped his hand on his uniform. He wasn't hearing anything from the cursed king. “Uhhh, he’s not saying anything actually. He’s very silent right now.”
[Name] pressed her lips in a thin line and said softly, “Good, that tends to happen when blessed and cursed energy clash. Blessed energy will always overpower cursed energy, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. With blessed energy, I can exercise curses with a swipe of my hand. I can heal wounds inflicted by curses. But it takes a lot of energy out of me. Lowering the barrier for you to interact with the glass was a risky move, but Sukuna is weak right now.”
The woman laid her hands on the glass and a flash of gold blinded Yuji to which he covered his eyes quickly. Then he blinked a few times to see thorny vines rise up from the ground to wrap itself around the pillar then the glass which the red rose was in.
“Please, don’t touch this glass anymore. The barrier is much stronger and the electric shock can stop your heart.”
Her voice was gentle, but the warning was harsh. Yuji swallowed the lump in his throat and he looked around the area awkwardly. He didn’t know what to say next. He doesn’t even know how to leave the maze.
“So what’s your name?” He asked stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“My name is [Name], but respectfully, it is Go-”
“Sing that wretched song, whore.”
Yuji slapped the mouth that appeared on the side of his cheek suddenly and he looked at [Name] nervously. “It-It seems Sukuna is back from the dead…aha..”
[Name] stared at Yuji with wide eyes as she walked up closer to him. Her hand laid gently on his and she pulled it away from the smaller mouth that cursed at her. “And what song is it that you want to hear?” She asked and resisted the urge to poke Sukuna’s one eye ball underneath Yuji’s eye.
“Traitorous bitch, you should know what song I’m talking about. The melody you played to catch my attention and led me into the garden. That song.”
“Ahh~” [Name] whispered and backed away from Yuji, “that song is for her lover. It’s not meant to be sung for you. I only played that melody on the music box to ease her soul. She felt you, you know? Your disgusting energy doesn’t mix with her holy one.”
“Sing that song!”
Yuji flinched from the outburst Sukuna had and he was surprised to see the woman stand tall and confident in his presence. Without saying anything, she pulled a small music box from her pocket and set it on the pillar. [Name] twisted the knob sticking out and let the melody play.
She walked up to Yuji and took his hands into her own. She laid his right hand on her waist and kept his left hand in her right one. She began leading him into a dance and Yuji fumbled a bit while Sukuna scolded him, “Don’t mess up the flow. She won’t connect with us if you don’t follow her lead.”
“What are you talking about? I seriously have no idea what’s going on!” Yuji silently yelled at Sukuna as he watched the woman’s [e.color] eyes flicker with a hint of gold in them.
“Cruel and cold, like winds in the sea.” [Name] sung softly to Yuji and Sukuna leading them in her dance of song.
“Will you ever return to me?” Yuji subconsciously followed [Name]’s footsteps as he began to lose himself in her beautiful eyes.
“Hear my voice, sing with the tide.” They danced around the red rose and it was starting to glow the same golden color that was in her eyes.
“My love will never die.” Yuji looked back at the woman and the scenery changed around them when he did. The air around them was warm and he felt his bare feet dig into the sand below him. “Wait, where are my shoes?” He questioned and looked around him again.
They weren’t in the garden instead they were at a beach and the woman was kneeling down in the sand holding onto a red rose desperately. “Sukuna, where are we?’
“Shut up and pay attention.”
Yuji stopped asking questions and from the corner of his eyes he watched a man with white hair approach the woman with [h.color] hair. The woman didn’t stop singing nor did she acknowledge Yuji’s presence anymore.
“Over waves and deep in the blue.” The man with striking blue eyes raised the woman to a standing position.
“I will give up my heart for you.” The woman smiled up at the man and handed him the rose with a loving look in her eyes.
“Ten long years I’ll wait to go by. My love will never die.” The man accepted the rose and pulled her in for a kiss until they both stopped to look straight at Yuji. The woman’s eyes were full of fear while the man was full of anger.
The man put his hands on her face and sang to her, but it was still the woman’s voice, “Come, my love, be one with the sea.”
“Rule with me for eternity.” The man was pleading with her as he tried to shake her from her stupor. But she couldn’t keep her eyes off Yuji.
“Drown all dreams so mercilessly and leave their souls to me.” The warm atmosphere was turning cold and Yuji felt a shiver run up his spine. The once blue sky was turning into a deep red color and the sea was dark and murky.
“Play the song you sang long ago.” The man with white hair released her and stood in front of her protectively. His deadly blue eyes staring directly at Yuji to instill fear in him. It worked, Yuji was afraid, but his feet dug deeper into the stand.
“And wherever the storm may blow, you will find the key to my heart. We’ll never be apart.” The man raised his head up high, challenging Yuji to take away his woman. But the teenager wasn’t that dumb. There was no way- What the?!
Yuji’s body started moving on its own towards the couple and before the two could start fighting, the woman stepped in between the two with tears in her eyes. Yuji could see her giving up herself to him to save her lover from his rage.
Yuji roughly grabbed onto her arm and dragged her across the sand. He was suddenly stopped when the woman was grabbed by her lover. The white haired man stared into the woman’s eyes and sang, “Wild and strong, you can’t be contained.”
Yuji watched the woman look up at her lover and harshly jerked her wrist away from his tender gaze and grip. “Never bound nor ever chained,” The man reminded her and tried to get her to stay with him. He put the rose back into her hand.
But inside, Yuji knew she wasn’t going to let a war break out because of her choice. The man stared at her with his hair shadowing his eyes and his hands crackling with electricity, “Wounds you caused will never mend and you will never end.”
Yuji successfully took the woman away from the stranger and the scenery changed. He saw mangled corpses of humans littered across the floor and houses were destroyed in his wake of rage. When he saw his temple, Yuji tossed the woman into a cell and she sang the last part of the song. She crumbled to her knees, not even casting a glance his way.
The red rose was still in her hand, blood dripping down her arm as she clenched the thorny stem in her grasp. The blood ran down as fast as her silent tears did.
“Cruel and cold, like winds on the sea. Will you ever return to me? Hear my voice, sing with the tide. My love will never die.”
Yuji blinked and he was back in the garden with the woman staring at him with mild surprise. “That was all new for me. I’m sorry Yuji for letting you see that old memory of sorrow.” She apologized and bowed her head down in regret.
Meanwhile Yuji waved his hands and pointed at his cheek where Sukuna would pop out from, “If anything he should apologize! Seriously, don’t worry about it! To be honest, I had no idea what happened. Was I…Was I Sukuna?”
[Name] nodded her head and stared at the floor, “What you and I saw was a memory of the spirit that resides in that rose.” She pointed at the guarded rose and continued to explain to the teenage boy, “[L.Name] Nami was considered to be Sukuna’s lover by many sorcerers. They were further from the truth as Nami did not love Sukuna back and Sukuna could never love anyone. Instead she loved that man we saw at the beach. He was a powerful sorcerer and he rivaled Sukuna’s strength. He loved Nami more than she loved him, though she did love him immensely.”
Yuji felt extremely light headed as she explained the memory in depth. He saw quick flashes of the pictures again. “That man was willing to put his life and other lives at risk in order to save her from Sukuna. Yet she did not want that to happen. Nami did not see war as a solution, so she resigned her fate to be left in Sukuna’s hands.”
“That…How did her soul get sealed away in the rose?” Yuji asked feeling remorse for Nami. He couldn’t imagine the horrors she witnessed being locked up in a cell and being used by Sukuna.
[Name] placed her hands on her hips and looked at the rose intently, “God heard her pleas and provided her comfort in the thing she loved most beside Him and her lover. He let her soul rest peacefully in the red rose she cherished.”
“There you are!”
[Name] looked up and saw her fiance standing next to Yuji with his blindfold over his eyes. He clamped a strong hand down on Yuji’s shoulder and dipped down to his height to ask with a hint of a threat, “What did you do to my wife to make her blessed energy flicker in stress? You didn’t let Sukuna out did you?”
“Satoru,” [Name] spoke up for Yuji, “All Sukuna did was ask for me to sing a song. And my stress came from a memory Nami made Yuji and I see. I was afraid that this would harm Yuji, thankfully he is okay.”
Gojo removed his hand off Yuji’s shoulder and he walked up to [Name] with his hands holding her face. He looked down at her with deep admiration and…love? Yuji blinked and saw the couple at the beach before flickering back to reality. Was [L.Name] Nami’s old lover a member of the Gojo Family?
Yuji heard Sukuna chuckle darkly saying afterwards, “I’ll rip her from his hands again. Then I’ll show her who she truly belongs to.”
Yuji clenched his hands into tight fists and his eyes glared at the floor. He wasn’t going to let that happen. His sensei looked happy with [Name] and he was going to keep Sukuna far away from her.
“Satoru, please, not in front of Yuji,” [Name] bashfully backed away from Gojo’s kiss and the grown man pouted.
“Just one kiss!” Gojo shouted and [Name] quickly pressed a delicate kiss on his cheek.
“That should be enough for you,” She said, ignoring her pestering fiance who squeezed her in a giant hug demanding for more.
“It’s weird,” Yuji thought, analyzing the couple, “they look so much like the couple, but they’re different. [Name]-sensei is happy and full of life while Gojo-sensei shows no anger or murderous intent.”
That was only because Sukuna was not in their life. In this life, they could be together with no one separating one from the other.
#x reader#anime imagine#manga imagine#x female reader#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#jjk gojo#jjk x reader
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