#Heavy Weighs the Crown

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Had to stop working on everything else and write a whole bunch of this instead. Usually I like to finish things that I think might be on the longer side before I start posting, but we're gonna live on the edge with this one. Expect updates in 1-2 Bearimys.

Chapter One - Sweetpea

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, Large men picking up reader like a football, No Y/N, A spot of magic, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through. This is just me having a bit of fun with a fantasy setting because it is my favourite type.

~3.4k Words - MDNI

Sunlight streams down through the light scattering of clouds above, as you carry your nearly empty basket into town to buy a few things for your auntie Kate. She’s not truly your aunt, but over the past few years it’s hard to think of her as anything less than family. She’s not warm, exactly, but she’s honest, and you know that you can trust her with anything.

Kate would usually be at your side when you go into town, watching the crowd with hawkish intensity, as though she still expects agents of the new king to materialize and snatch you away, but she’s away on business, and her wife much less paranoid. You expect that anyone who was ever looking for you has given up on you now. After the civil war, there was a time of instability, and you laid awake many nights, half expecting armed men to break into your bedroom and snatch you away, but everything is smoothed over now, and there’s no reason why Price would feel like he needed you to cement his rule.

You’re happy to just let him have the kingdom. You have more freedom as an ordinary girl, and you’re happier now than you ever have been. You were miserable living in your father’s halls, just a spindly little flower growing without enough sun or rain. And your people are happy now too. It twists your stomach something fierce, to think that your father was never a good king, but the reality is that he wasn’t. People starved while he feasted behind his walls. He sent good men to wage war on his behalf, to die in far off lands when they should have been home building better lives for themselves and their families. He allowed his chosen men to terrorize the women and children and old men living in the towns still. Things had been bad.

So yes, let Price have the crown, and the castle, and the responsibility and anything he likes. What difference does it make to you now?

What matters now is the sun on your face, and the gentle sound of birdsong around you, and the dull bite of the occasional stone through the soft leather soles of your shoes. The air smells sweet and green, although there’s a slight prickle at the back of your nose that tells you that there will be rain tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. There’s nothing to worry about aside from whether or not the children in town will like the end of the book you have tucked into your basket.

You see a young man sleeping by the side of the road on your way into town, his horse tied to a long halter while he lounges beneath a tree. As you pass by, a bird flying too close startles the horse, and it pulls up the peg it’s tied to, and bolts. The young man doesn’t stir, so you dash after the horse without a thought, dropping your basket so you have both hands free to seize the halter.

You try to dig in your heels to stop the big, white-stockinged horse, but it half-drags you a little ways down the road before finally stopping, swinging it’s head around to look at you as though you’ve personally offended it. “Come on,” you tell it, exasperated. “You don’t belong out here.”

Arms wrap around you from behind, hands much larger than yours close over your wrists. “You’re awfully pretty for a horse thief,” a voice says in your ear.

“I’m not a horse thief!” you protest. “I was trying to help!” The horse snorts, as though it intends to tattle on you for something that you most certainly were not doing.

“And you didn’t think to wake me up?” The man behind you lets go of one of your wrists and spins you around, the movement smooth and graceful, like you’re two dancers at a ball, rather than two strangers meeting along a country road. But when you look up, you find the all too familiar face of one of Price’s knights.

“Sir Garrick!” you gasp.

“Princess,” he says, smiling. He’s far too handsome, his smile bright, teeth a little bit too sharp. “How very nice to see you. I thought for sure you’d have left the kingdom by now.”

“No! Oh no.” You push against his chest uselessly. He’s strong, so much stronger than you. Despair claws at your ribs. Your nightmare-come-true may be wrapped in a pretty, familiar face, but you have no desire to return to the capital. “Please let me go. I promise I don’t want the kingdom. Price can have it— You can have it. I just want to be left alone, I swear, I’ll never—”

“Hush, sweetpea.” He tucks a few of your thin braids behind your ear, fingertips grazing down your neck. “I have to bring you in. But you can make your case to Price. Maybe he’ll let you come back, alright? Don’t fret. He’s always been reasonable.”

You’re not certain how to get out of this. Sir Garrick has kind eyes, but his grip is like steel. He lifts you up easily and sets you on his horse before you so much as think of protesting or making a feeble attempt to fight him off.

“We’re not far from the capital. We can make it there before dark,” he continues, voice low and reassuring, as though you’re worried about the travel, and not the destination.

“But— What about my aunt? I should let her know where I’ve gone.”

“We’ll send word. Don’t you worry, your majesty.”

“No, no, don’t call me that. That’s for kings and queens, and I’m neither.” I’m no one, you want to shout.

He's amused by that, amused by you, as if you're just being a silly little girl. "I suppose we'll settle on sweetpea for now." He holds his palm out and three little white birds materialize and fly off in different directions, spectral and iridescent as soap bubbles. And then he swings into the seat behind you and pulls you most of the way into his lap, wraps strong arms around your waist, and nudges his mount into a walk.

“So,” Sir Garrick says conversationally, his voice low, lips far too close to your ear. It’s overly familiar, but you’re already practically sitting in the man’s lap. “What have you been doing out here all these years?”

“Um. Gardening. Embroidery. Taking care of my chickens. Lessons, for some of the children that live nearby. Just letters and arithmetic. I’ve been thinking about organizing a proper schoolhouse.” You can feel your nerves bubbling up as you babble, thoughts coming to you disorganized and stilted. “I never realized how few people can read. It seems a shame. I do a few hours of reading around town, help out at the church. I keep busy. I haven’t any real purpose, so I have to go out of my way to make one.” You sigh, thinking of how you had left things at a particularly gripping point in a story you’d been reading to the town children. They’ll be disappointed if they never hear the end of it, but you still have hope that Price will decide you’ve become something of a country bumpkin with no place in the court, and let you go back home soon. “How have you fared? Is your family well?”

“Quite well. My sisters will be glad to see you again. They always thought you were sweet. Rosie’s opened her own dress shop in the city, and Camellia has five children now. I think Kylie and Jorah were just two or three last you saw them. My mother lives with Cam to help out.” Sir Garrick’s mother and sister used to work at the palace, and he had been apprenticed to the court wizard before he specialized in battle magic and became a knight. You hadn’t been friends, exactly— You’re not sure you ever really had friends— but he’d always been nice enough, when your paths crossed.

“And what of you?” you prompt gently. “Have you found yourself a wife?”

He laughs lightly. “I’m working on it. I’ve a girl in mind, but I think she’ll take some convincing.”

“Oh I doubt that, Sir. You’re perfectly unobjectionable.”

“High praise indeed, princess.”

The two of you chat idly as you travel, mostly about nothing, but it’s pleasant enough. Sir Garrick— Kyle, he insists you call him— is far more charming than you remember, and he makes you laugh so much that you’re certain that you’d simply fall right off the horse if he wasn’t holding onto you so securely. He’s the very picture of a romantic hero, all chivalry and smiles, handsome in the dappled light under the canopy of trees as the road carries you from farmland to forest. You come to a bridge, and he dismounts so his horse can drink, and lifts you down so you can stretch out stiff muscles. His touch lingers, strong hands resting on your hips for a few beats longer than would be appropriate, but you don’t really mind.

You part from his company so you can relieve yourself a little ways into the trees, glad he’s not concerned about you making a run for it. His assurances that Price can be reasoned into letting you go home once you’ve spoken to him is enough to make you cooperative. You’re certain that he’ll take one look at you now and send you right back home. You’ve never had any luck with the young men in town, and if that’s any indication, you’ll be back to your little bedroom in Kate’s house before the week is up.

You fix your clothes and walk back to the road, humming lightly under your breath. Kyle is speaking to a flat glowing disc that hums with energy, floating above his palm. He gives you a smile and a nod and retreats to the tree line while he finishes his conversation. You catch a glimpse of a face on the disc as he turns, searing blue eyes meeting yours for a moment. Price, certainly. You recognize those eyes.

Kyle’s gaze slips over to you again as you kneel by the creek, one arm keeping your skirt out of the water while you trail the other hand through the water idly, the cool stream a pleasant offset to the heat of the afternoon. If you were alone, you would consider stripping down and going for a swim, but as nice as Kyle is, he’s still a man, and not one you know particularly well anymore, if you ever did.

When you look over again, he’s tucking the crystal disc into the front of his tunic, and a wolf is behind him, stalking out of the woods, low to the ground and ready to pounce. “Kyle!” you shout, pointing behind him. He turns quickly, a spell glittering on his fingertips, but the wolf pounces before he can cast it, both crashing into the packed earth along the side of the road.

You rush over, although halfway there you wonder what help you expect to be, and an arm snatches you around the middle, hauling you back. You’re beginning to get a bit annoyed at how much you’ve been manhandled today, and you start kicking as you’re lifted off your feet. “Let me go!”

“Easy, sweet girl. Let the lads say hello,” a deep voice says behind you, the sound rumbling through you like a cat’s purr. “No danger ‘ere.”

You look at Kyle and the wolf again. Only there isn’t a wolf anymore, just a large, naked man laying on top of Kyle, kissing him ardently and more than a little messily. The sound of it makes your cheeks burn. “Oh.”

The man who was a wolf stands up, and you look away, too flustered by the sight of so much bare skin to do anything else. The big man puts you down and turns you to face him, putting your back to the werewolf. “Johnny, put some clothes on before you say ‘ello. We know you were raised by savages, but you don’t need to act like it,” he says firmly, his heavy hands on your shoulders.

You stare at the skull embroidered on the black tunic in front of you, recognizing the emblem, and then the black fencers mask tied around the man’s face, obscuring even the shape of his features. You see a glint of light when he drops his chin to look at you though, gleaming eyes that look at you inscrutably. You know him, by name and reputation and deep, rumbling voice, if not by his face. No one knows him by his face, but he was as highly ranked a knight as Price was, one of your father’s personal guard before the war. Often tasked as your guardian, a solemn but comforting presence always. “Hello, Ghost,” you say, cheeks burning all the hotter. “Been a while.”

“Not as long as you might think,” he says. You can almost hear the smile in his voice. “Been keepin’ an eye on you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. “For how long?”

“Knew where you were this whole time. Wun’t about to let you disappear, princess.” He tucks you against his side, keeping an arm around your shoulders protectively. “Johnny. Come meet our girl. Best behaviour.”

Johnny the werewolf grins at you as he walks up, still adjusting the drape of the tartan fabric around his hips, broad chest bare and dusted with hair, swirling blue tattoos printed on his scarred skin. His hair is shaved on the sides, a stripe of it left long in the center. “Nice ta finally meet ya, princess. Officially, anyway. We’ve bumped intae each other once or twice, but I was told no’ ta approach unless ye approached first, aye? Shame ye never did.” His smile is crooked, his too-bright blue eyes intent on yours. “Think we’ll get along.”

“The whole time?” you ask, skipping back a few paces in the conversation, glancing up at Ghost. “But Kyle said—”

“Sorry, sweetpea,” Kyle says airily. “I lied.”

“Typical tricksy wizard shite. But dinnae ye worry none, we’ll keep him honest for ye.” Johnny grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, and then to the inside of your palm. His rough fingertips push your sleeve back, and he kisses the inside of your wrist too. When you squeak, he gives you a heated look and does it again, teeth grazing sensitive skin as he opens his mouth and licks a stripe across your pulse.

You’re warm from the tips of your ears to your chest, your breath catching on ragged nerves. You tug your hand out of his grip and cradle it with your other, like you’ve been burned by his brash touch.

“Johnny,” Ghost says, exasperated. “S’that what you call best behaviour?”

“She likes it, sir.”

“I most certainly do not!” you protest.

“Oh, aye ye do. Werewolf, ye ken. Can smell ye.” Johnny taps the side of his nose and winks at you. “Ye dinnae need ta be embarrassed, sweetpea. Ye can hardly blame yerself, faced with all this.” He gestures to his admittedly impressive physique, the broad and lean shape of near-perfect manhood on immodest display.

“Let’s move.” Kyle’s hand brushes your elbow. “You can ride with me again.”

Ghost shakes his head and turns, pulling you with him. “No. Come meet Nox.” He whistles, and a huge black shape hurtles down from the sky, glossy black wings snapping open just before the creature hit the ground, flapping a few times so that it lands lightly on four mismatched limbs, stirring up dust leaves. You shrink back against Ghost’s side, eyes wide. A gryphon.

The massive beast has a raven’s head and wings, and shiny black fur on it’s haunches. The catlike tail, with it’s tuft of feathers at the end, twitches back and forth as the bird head tilts to regard you, dark, slit-pupil eyes watching you with interest.

You look up at Ghost for reassurance, and he nods. “Go on. Offer ‘er your ‘and. She won’t bite. Hey, girl?” he scratches the gryphon behind the ear, and it opens it’s mouth to make a vibrating, keening sound that makes Kyle’s horse snort nervously. “That’s right, sweetpea’s a friend.”

You offer your outstretched hand to the giant creature, bolstered by Ghost’s calm, and it sticks it’s beak under your palm, making the same keening sound again. The last of your apprehension melts away, and you step closer, smiling. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?” You scratch the spot where her beak meets her feathers, and her eyes close for a moment.

Johnny reaches for the Nox’s side, and she whips her head around and hisses at him, her throat feathers fluffing up defensively. “Och, yer no’ goan ta git my fingers, ye wee beastie. Thought ye was gettin’ soft.”

“Away, Johnny. Let the girls get to know each other.” Ghost stands behind you and guides your hands to points just behind Nox’s jaw. The gryphon croaks and leans her head on your shoulder, nudging Ghost with her beak.

“Not so scary,” you coo, pressing your face into the soft cloud of feathers. “What a sweet girl.”

“How about it, Nox? Can she ‘op up?” Ghost asks. The gryphon croaks again and backs away enough to lean her front half down. Ghost picks you up and sets you on her back, on a flat saddle that sits right behind the joint of her massive wings, which fold up over your legs like she’s holding you steady. He pats Nox on the neck and starts walking, and she follows, padding beside him, sticking her beak between the joints of his leather armor playfully whenever he takes his hand off her.

You grab the edge of the saddle, mindful of Nox’s feathers, and it takes a moment to adjust to her movement. It’s not the side to side sway of a horse, but she’s steady, like she’s trying her best not to spill an inexperienced rider. Thoughtful of her.

Behind you, Kyle scrambles up onto his horse, and Johnny hustles to catch up, positioning himself on Ghost’s other side, giving Nox a wider berth.

“Thought we weren’t supposed ta tell her we were watchin’,” Johnny said. “Price said—”

“She ought to know. I wun’t too ‘appy about it in the first place, but a deal’s a deal.”

“A deal with who?” you ask.

“I’ll let Price tell you that much, sweetpea. But if it were up to me I’d’ve dragged you back home years ago.”

You shake your head tiredly. “Home is where I was. And I’m going back as soon as this business with Price is done. I don’t know what he wants, but I’m sure we can work something out. Kyle said he’s reasonable.”

“Oh, did ‘e?” Ghost asks, amusement colouring his deep voice. “S’pose that’s ‘ow ‘e had you comin’ along purrin’ like a kitten, hm?”

The blood drains from your face as you turn to look at Kyle, but he doesn’t look guilty, or like he’d been lying to you. “Well, again, I’m perfectly happy to cooperate. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t let me go when he gets what he wants, is there?”

Johnny chuckles, exchanging a look with Ghost that’s inscrutable. “Aye, ye’ve got a point. I’m sure ye’ll have no trouble dealin’ with the old man. Born diplomat, aren’t ye?”

Your stomach twists with nerves. It’s been many years since you’ve seen John Price. You don’t know him as well as you know Ghost. You’d always found the big, faceless man strangely comforting, easy to talk at, if not to, especially when you were still young and silly. But John Price, when he fixed you with those fathomless dark blue eyes, had always rendered you speechless, turned your usually clever tongue to lead. He was a knight captain then, a natural leader of men, a hero. Not someone that your father wanted you to get close to. It’s easy for you to see why now, with your father dead in the ground and Price wearing the crown, but you were glad for any excuse to stay away.

You wish you could ask Nox to fly away with you on her back, maybe home, but maybe somewhere else entirely, where no one knows you, where you can start again without the weight of the crown hanging heavy over your head, an executioner’s ax waiting to fall.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

#Fantasy AU #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem Reader #141 x reader #Heavy Weighs the Crown #Cave Writing #This is mostly gonna be fun and light-hearted I just really enjoy fantasy and I've been watching a lot of DnD content lately #“He's always been reasonable” Kyle lies thinking fondly of his boss - the least reasonable man in the realm #Let me know if you need any content warnings in here but I feel this one's pretty light

[m3t4ln3rd]

War Orphan streaming "Heavy Weighs the Crown"

Band: War OrphanSong: “Heavy Weighs the Crown” Album: UniteRelease Date: TBD, 2022Label: Stay Gold Records The group said of the single: “We butchered a perfectly good Shakespeare quote for this one. You’ve come this far kid, keep pushing, don’t get comfortable, keep working hard. Once you achieve any part of your dream there is a temptation to stop and look at what you’ve accomplished. That is…

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#Heavy Weighs the Crown #Stay Gold Records #Unite #War Orphan

[checkmatecalculations]

@healerkissed has been formally asked to the royal ball

----

   Another ball, another dreary night of socializing, fake smiles and empty words tossed around without a care. Nobility was a façade that was worn to hide the true intentions of human hearts. . . At least, that was what Langston had come to believe over the nineteen years of his life. Not only that, but the cruel weight of the expectations cast upon him as the heir to the throne. . . Seeing how he was the only child.

      Ah. . . He often found himself occassionally ENVYING those who had free time. . . Whose parents sought to see their children smile, instead of see them perfect themselves down to the last iota. He was a genius, surely it was an easy matter for him of all people, right? But even he found himself faltering at the idea of the so called PERFECTION his father sought from him. 

   The worst part of all of this. . . Was the near crippling loneliness. People oft avoided him because of his status and those who sought him out only saw him FOR his status, and not as himself. So much had he adapted to this way of thinking, that more and more of a shell came to form around his heart. . . To keep it safe. Safe from those whose intentions were vile and conceited. 

      A room with so many people, a floor with so much mirth and laughter, as music played, and ladies tried for his attention, despite the fact it was fruitless to try to woo him -- His hand had been spoken for many years ago. Though he spent time often with the princess from the nearby kingdom, his heart was never HERS, but he knew love didn't exist for a man of his pedigree.

   Marriage was a political affair after all, not an act of love.

       Yet, after he waves off another hopeful maiden, blue eyes do come to rest upon a young woman with bright red hair. She seemed out of place here, hands nervously clasped together, emerald hues searching the room as if trying to find the nearest escape -- Only to have a couple knock into her, they not giving her a second thought. A sigh leaves him, he shaking his head a little, before he makes his way over, extending his hand out to her.

            ❝ Perhaps. . . We could both use a bit of fresh air. Come join me out on the balcony, away from this noise and chaos? ❞

#akila just had to go and make me pissed #( m. he who seeks his own path || Chrome ) #( v. the crown weighs heavy upon thine head || Prince AU )

[casterlygldcs]

who: @westerlcnds​ where: the queen’s apartments, casterly rock, the westerlands

Word was always sent ahead by a pageboy to the appointed Ladies in Waiting of the Queen's state apartments within Casterly Rock whenever the Lion King was gracing the presence of the newly anointed Queen of the West. There was no other in the realm that was as fair as she, who had climbed the highest of ranks a woman could climb within this slippery court they called home; the golden crown, gilded with rubies and diamonds, sat rightfully upon soft golden curls the day of her coronation within the Great Hall - the crowds had lined the dirt road on procession to Lannisport to catch a glimpse of the lady who now truly held no rival.

Their roles were truly golden in itself, and something seemed almost mythical about the pair of them - the Lion King and his Queen, who seemed to be heralded from a time of chivalry Westeros had not seen since the chaos of the Dance of Dragons. If chivalry included his blade being permanently tainted with the blood of those guilty only for the actions of their fathers; rotted bodies that had been buried in unmarked locations along the Ocean Road to forever be forgotten by time and history itself. The sound of his steps echoed down the hallways of her apartments, with tapestries showing various scenes of lions atop the highest of rocks and the Lannister's of Old, ornate velvet curtains hanging as gilded gold covered the ceilings. 

There was nothing she did not have, nothing she could not have.

The doors opened as he walked within her chambers, to find her quietly curtsying already with her surrounding ladies accompanying her; though not because she considered herself to be lower than him, but because it was the role they had been born to play. The level of understanding that quietly lay within the threads that bound them to one another, through the sacred vows of marriage, held a strong union; quietly strong. 

"Leave us." The man's voice was firm, yet not as harsh as it would be if he were in any other place of his court - only, within these chambers with the sound of the lute playing and the distant singing of the musicians the woman had accompany her, this was not the court of Tyland Lannister.

It was the court of her Grace, Queen Eleanore, First of her Name herself. Murmurs of majesty filled the room as the various women and pages bowed, musicians coming to a halt as they left the chambers behind various heavy curtains. His emerald orbs looked upon her for a moment, and within the back of his mind he could not always hope, always pray, that she would be with child soon. A son to declare before the world, a son to declare before the sky; as there was none other above the son of Tyland Lannister. "A strange request has come to my attention from your household." He spoke as the door shut behind them, watching as the woman remained curtsied; he said nothing else but extended his hand to raise her from the graceful curtsy, admiring the way such ornate rings looked upon her dainty hands.

"How many peacocks do you intend to bring from Silverhill, Eleanore?" His tone was utterly serious, and yet, it was not - not with her, who he had developed a sense of grounded affection for. Not blinded, not passionate, but a grounded mature sense of understanding and support he would give her - he would ensure she had everything to fulfil her role. She merely needed to do it.

#c: eleanore #eleanore 003 #and she has no rival as my queen of the west ; forever heavy is the head that weighs the crown (tyland&eleanore)

[athaexnen]

Blue orbs scanned over the men who had been slain, each face burning into her mind as she limped her way through Helm’s Deep. It was here her cousin had made it clear to her that he would not take the crown should the time come. That it would be her responsibility. Her duty. It seemed the battle had been that deciding factor for him. Voices echoed around her as she found a place to sit, the heaviness of that thought weighing down on her. Aranduriel had been a shadow to Aragorn for so long. How was she supposed to step out and now be a light for a people she had never met?

Running a hand through her messy, dark hair, a heavy sigh finally found it’s way out before it shook her body. No. No she wasn’t allowed to show weakness, not here. This was just one battle, the first of many to come. Her mind was so wrapped up in the battle it was waging on itself, she hardly even noticed the footsteps that approached her, even when she was staring at his familiar boots. Slowly, Aranduriel raised her head, eyes brimmed with tears as she found Boromir’s face.

“H-how am I supposed to do this?” Her voice wavered, the doubt dripping from each word. 

@ofthronesandrings

#; ofthronesandrings #; c: aranduriel #; v: heavy weighs the crown

[legxcybound]

tag dump.

test

test

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#{ FRACTURED TIME ;; ooc } #{ SHATTERED LEGACY ;; headcanons } #{ WINGS && EYES ;; inspo } #{ CRUEL MERCY ;; zelda } #{ BLOODIED DOG ;; link } #{ HEAVY WEIGHS THE CROWN ;; volga } #{ THE TASTE OF THE STARS ;; cia } #{ CAST ASIDE YOUR NAME ;; ryiel } #{ SALVATION IN FLAMES ;; eldin } #{ SHOUTING TO THE HEAVENS ;; promo } #{ ASHES OF A FORGOTTEN TIME ;; aes }

[applcyed]

There was a word for this, for what Lucifer was currently feeling... Was it perhaps overwhelmed? Ever since the Hotel had reopened he had been trying his best to include himself in whatever Charlie wanted him in, but having spent time just by himself in the past seven years, he was out of touch with a lot of things. It was beginning to be too much.

When it's much more quieter in the evening the king makes his way downstairs, heading towards the bar. He figured a drink could help him to unwind some and steady his nerves. Not that he wasn't enjoying any of this but perhaps he had simply taken on too much in such a short time. He needed time to adjust properly. This wasn't a concern he wished to bring to his daughter's attention as he felt he'd be letting her down and he had already done enough of that.

"Hey, Husk was it?" Lucifer takes a seat at the bar and offers the other a smile albeit a tired one, "You have any specials today or recommendations? I could go for a drink." Or maybe more.

♔ - - - - @hclluvahctel (HUSK)

#HCLLUVAHCTEL ➡ Husk #RP ➡ #LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR ➡ See I’m the king cause I got that crown #VERSE ➡ And the crown—it weighs heavy

[adventures-written]

;; @geraniumplant liked this for a starter.

He was sitting at his piano, playing an all too familiar tune, as he awaited the arrival of Vash. He had sent summons to him and he knew he wouldn't decline. Not when Knives had such news, such an idea to share with him.

Careful fingers struck over the keys, not missing a beat as they played their melody. The sound filled the room, and likely filtered into the hallway as well. The tune that they had made together long ago. Something he still played even now. As if calling Vash to him.

It was only when he heard someone enter the room that he stopped. A glance back indicated that it was his brother and he gave a soft smile. "Vash," he turned on the bench to face him, "How are you? I know we've been having our differences as of late..."

What with the human situation going on.

He rose from the bench now and stepped towards Vash. "I had an idea, if you'll hear me out. I wanted to arrange for a...get away for us. Something with just the two of us. My trusted second in command can handle things while I take a few days with you..." After all, the Kingdom still had to run.

#geraniumplant #muse;; you call it madness but i call it love (knives millions) #v;; heavy does the crown weigh (side; knives millions) #tw;; plantcest #plantcest tw #tw plantcest #royal au #geraniumplant;; vash

[saintobio]

LONG LIVE THE VILLAINESS !

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), misogyny, violence, war, rebellion, suggestive, smut, gore, double life, explicit language, more to be added

♱ notes. this fic draws heavy inspirations from the webnovel ‘sister, i am the queen in this life’ and manhwa of the same name. it’s basically a fanfic of that series bc i am obsessed with it :’D

♱ status. on-going (slow updates)

♱ THIS SERIES WILL SERVE AS THE THE SECOND TIMELINE -> READ HERE FOR THE FIRST TIMELINE (ORIGINAL STORY) ♱

PROLOGUE.

ACT I. THE LADY

ACT II. THE CROWN PRINCE

ACT III. THE KNIGHT

ACT IV. THE STAR CROSSED LOVERS

ACT V. THE BLESSED

ACT VI. THE SIN

ACT VII. THE REVELATION

ACT VIII. THE ENEMY

ACT IX. THE LOVER

ACT X. THE EMPRESS

EPILOGUE.

PROLOGUE 

Like plunging beneath the surface of water and then, abruptly, breaking through to the air above—your body jolted as if awakening in a new world altogether. You drew in a long breath, your eyes fluttering open to reveal the ceiling, both familiar yet unfamiliar in its greeting. Swiftly, you surveyed your surroundings, noting with growing recognition the confines of your old room within the De Roma estate. The estate! 

You were not in the palace of Caelum, but in the estate of House De Roma. A surge of realization flooded through you as you dashed towards the nearest mirror, confronting your reflection with wide, startled eyes. 

No... could it be... that you have returned to your body, ten years prior?!

In the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was not that of the notorious wife of the tyrant Emperor Satoru, but of a 20-year-old maiden, the eldest daughter of Duke de Roma, with fuller cheeks and a more youthful appearance. You could not shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if this was all just a dream, so you reached out to touch your arms and felt the flesh beneath your fingers, trying to convince yourself that this was an unexpected reality.

Oh, you were back. You found yourself returned to your former self, a decade younger, but now armed with the knowledge of your past life's actions and their consequences. Alongside this newfound understanding, the gift of clairvoyance had also been bestowed upon you.

And for what? Why had the heavens above returned you to your body? Was it for revenge, a second chance, or perhaps punishment?

Suddenly, a loud, deafening sound pierced your ears, and a blinding white light enveloped your vision. Your body became as still as a statue, and it felt as though your soul was transported to a fourth dimension where divine intervention seemed a lot more plausible to exist.

As your soul hovered in the liminal space between life and death, you found yourself standing before a figure cloaked in billowing robes, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. This figure was Fortuna, the ancient Caelan goddess of fortune and fate, her visage austere and unforgiving.

“Are you aware of the sins that stain your soul?” 

“Have you felt the weight of your transgressions, the consequences of your actions that have wrought suffering upon your people and brought ruin to your empire?”

Her voice echoed through the realm with the divine judgment that weighed upon your conscience, while her gaze penetrated to the core of your being and demanded honesty and accountability in the face of your past misdeeds.

“Will you atone for your sins?” 

“Will you seize this opportunity for redemption, or will you squander it in self-pity and remorse?”

As you stood in the presence of the ancient goddess, grappling with the heaviness of your sins and the daunting task ahead, a brilliant light had all of a sudden illuminated the space around you. From the heart of this radiant glow emerged the figure of Archangel Raphael, his presence heralded by a chorus of angelical voices and the stirring of celestial winds.

Clad in robes that seemed to shimmer with the intensity of celestial light, Archangel Raphael's presence commanded attention, his wings unfurled behind him in a display of resolute authority. If Goddess Fortuna was intimidating, the archangel was fearsome all the more. His gaze, intense and penetrating, swept over you with a gravity that left no room for evasion or deceit.

“Empress of Caelum,” he spoke, his tone firm and unyielding, and his voice carrying a billion years of heavenly existence, “You stand accused of grievous sins, crimes that have shaken the very foundations of your empire and brought suffering upon your people.”

There was no trace of softness in Archangel Raphael's demeanor, no room for mercy in the face of wrongdoing. His presence was a testament to the uncompromising nature of divine justice, his strictness a reflection of the solemn duty entrusted to him as an Archangel of the Almighty. This, no doubt, was the face of a true and formidable executor of justice.

And you, the subject, had angered the divine beings that guarded the Caelan Empire, so much so that God himself sent the goddess of the land and one of his archangels to mitigate your rightful punishment.

“By the decree of the Almighty, you are granted a second chance to amend your sins and redeem your soul. You shall return to the mortal realm, to live your life anew and correct the sins that have stained your soul.”

“Should you fail to rectify your past transgressions, should you stray from the path of righteousness and succumb once more to the temptations of darkness, know that the consequences shall be severe and eternal.”

“For those who squander the gift of divine mercy shall be cast into the deepest depths of hell, where they shall endure a punishment of unending torment and suffering.”

In the presence of Archangel Raphael and Goddess Fortuna’s equally stern gazes, you were keenly aware of the magnitude of your transgressions and the severity of the judgment that awaited you. But even as you trembled beneath the weight of their scrutiny, you knew that their presence also offered you the opportunity for redemption, with your only task to prove yourself worthy of divine mercy.

Indeed, it was by your very hands that hundreds and thousands of Christian souls shed their blood. Innocent lives, both young and old, were cruelly taken at your command. The citizens of Caelum who fell sick from the spread of the plague. The esteemed Caelan advisors of your husband’s primogenitors, skinned alive and speared in pikes by the Tiber River. The wrongly accused maid who suffered the indignity of serving your husband, paraded unclothed through the streets and subjected to the brutality of the pear of anguish. The gallant and dignified knight, tortured mentally and physically in the atrocious dungeon. Now, you find yourself thrust back into the horrors of your former life ten years hence. A life of a noble lady who ought not to be blinded by her destructive love for the empire’s crown prince. 

Yet, could you truly navigate this life without ascending to the position as his empress?

As you tried to commune with the divine beings afore you, a haze in your vision transported you away from the heavenly space, realizing that you were already drawn back into the reality of your chamber, inhabiting the youthful frame of a twenty-year-old daughter of a duke. You found yourself too astonished to move, too shaken to speak, and too afraid to take any action in this new lease of life blessed upon you. At that very moment, your state of reverie was disrupted at the arrival of your maid, who entered your chamber in a humble servant garb.

Milena. The maid whose life was cut short by your hand in your past existence due to petty thievery. “My lady,” she spoke with a hint of respect and urgency, unaware of the ill-fate you had given her in your past life, “A visitor has arrived at the gates and requests an audience with you. Shall I show them in?” 

Too soon? Need it truly be so soon to engage with the people from your past life immediately after awakening to your old, yet younger body? Gazing upon your maid through the mirror, you asked, “Who is that intruder you speak of?” 

She bowed her head, her stance shifting into one of apologetic deference. The way she firmly stood by your door was a message to you that the intruder was not someone you could easily reject the presence of.

“The visitor is His Highness, Crown Prince Satoru.” 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

#series: lltv #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk royal au #slow updates bc sy is prio #i will not write this in archaic english anymore ITS HARD AF #but i had to put this out there so i can remind myself to write it *sobs* #might just write this on the side

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Here we go friends! These chapters just keep getting longer. A larger plot begins to reveal itself to me. I am having a lot of fun here and I hope you are too.

Chapter 3 - Reading Between the Lines

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Bad memories, A spot of magic, Voyeurism, Reader description kept pretty neutral but I kind of got slightly more specific about black hair care so you're just going to have to live with it.

~6k words

The next morning, it rains.

The pitter-patter of rain against your windows wakes you up, because it sounds wrong. There’s only one small window in your room in Kate’s house, and when weather blows in it’s the sound of water trickling down and dripping off the thatch roof that’s loudest, not the rain itself. Here the sound echoes strangely in the big space, and you wake with a start, disoriented, your heart-hammering in your chest.

It feels like your life in town is the dream, trickling away faster than you can cup your hands to hold onto it. You fly out of bed and wrap a blanket around your shoulders, dashing out into the hallway, bare feet cold on the stone floor. The king’s bedroom is directly across the hall from your own, and you stare at the door, frozen and unsure if you’re willing to risk knocking, breath caught in your throat, chest tight, anxiety squeezing your ribs until they ache.

You’re sixteen and twenty-six both, living two lives out in one panicking body. You no longer belong here and you’ve never been anywhere else. Your father is alive, angry, terrifying, and he’s dead and buried where he can’t hurt you anymore. You are a tossed coin landed on it’s edge, waiting to fall.

The door in front of you opens, and you leap back on instinct, but breathe a sigh of relief when it’s John standing there, looking at you with surprise first, and then concern. “Sweetpea?” he asks, stepping forward to meet you, but leaving space between your bodies, like he knows that it would be worse for him to touch you right now. “What’s wrong?”

You press your shaking fingers to your mouth, holding back a sob. You swallow it down, pulling yourself together enough to speak. “I thought it was a dream,” you say at last. “I thought he was still alive.”

There’s no question who you mean. John reaches a hand out, an offering, and you take it, clinging to him like a life-line. He reels you into his arms, and you lean in, the solid, warm bulk of him as reliable and real as the earth below. “He’s not,” he says firmly. “I put him in the ground myself. You’re safe.”

You nod against his chest, feeling small and silly now. “I’m sorry,” you say, although you’re not sure what you’re sorry for. For showing weakness, maybe, for being lost in your own memory, for needing reassurance.

“It’s early yet,” he murmurs against the top of your head. “You should try to sleep a little longer.”

You’re not sure you could even if you tried, and even though you’re still tired, the adrenaline leaving your body cold, fatigue dragging at your bones insistently. You could maybe sleep against John’s chest, holding onto him, his heartbeat steady and strong enough in your ear to drown out the still-frenetic tempo of your own. “I think I’ll just get dressed,” you say, pushing away. He drops his arms instantly, letting you put a little distance between you.

He shakes his head, smiling at you fondly, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Sweetpea, the sun hasn’t even risen. Go back to bed. I know just the thing to help. Go on.” He turns you toward your door and nudges you along.

There’s no point in arguing with him— You are tired, and although you suspect sleep will be beyond your reach, it’s cold in the hallway, especially now that you’re no longer pressed against John’s warm chest, and your bed is still warm when you climb back in.

Darkness presses down on you, heavy as grave-dirt, and you lay there, staring at the ceiling. You touch the crystal lamp next to your bed to light up the room, but that’s no better, really.

John knocks, but doesn’t wait for your answer before coming in, a dark wolf with blue eyes trotting in on his heels. “Go on, Soap,” he says, and Soap hops up onto your bed and lays down half on top of you, his head on your shoulder, tail wagging. John pats him on the head like he’s just a dog. “He’ll keep an eye on you.”

It should probably feel weird to cuddle up with a werewolf, since he’s really a man, and you’ll have to face that silly, crooked grin in the morning, but you need someone to cling to, and you’re to proud and cautious to cling to John. “Thank you,” is all you have it in you to say.

“He gets nightmares too. Usually sleeps across someone’s bed. I’m sure he’d be happy to stay with you while you’re here.” John says it simply, without a drop of judgment or condescension, and scratches behind Soap’s ear. “He’s a real good listener when he can’t talk back too.” He withdraws, tapping the light and throwing the room into darkness again.

You don’t even hear the door click shut. You bury your face into the thick fur around Soap’s neck and fall asleep almost instantly.

When you wake up again, it's with a very large, very naked man on top of you.

You yelp, scrambling back on your pillows. Johnny’s eyes snap open at your first movement, on high alert before he’s all the way awake. He scrambles too, and falls right off the side of the bed with a solid thud.

"Oh! Johnny I'm so sorry," you look down at him from the edge of the mattress, trying not to laugh. "I forgot you were here."

"It's alright, lass. I didna mean to startle ye. Ah shift back overnight sometimes. Price didnae remember to warn ye." He sits up and leans against the bed, forearms folded over each other. He looks no worse for wear, and like he slept as solidly as you did, those last few hours. There’s a faint imprint of lace from your nightgown on his face, and half of his hair is stuck straight up, the rest pressed flat. "Are ye feelin' better?"

“I am. Thank you for staying with me.”

“S’nothin’ really. Nicer sleepin’ with you than Gaz, he kicks awl night long. An’ Nox doesnae like me none, so I cannae stay with Ghost.” He grins. “Price lets me stay but he makes me sleep at the foot of the bed like a dog. Sometimes a man wants a cuddle, ye ken?”

You giggle. “I ken.”

"Really livin' up to yer name, aye Sweetpea?"

You laugh again. "Johnny, you know that's not my name, right?"

"No? What is it?" He shakes his head when you tell him. "I like Sweetpea better. Suits ye."

"Me too," you tell him. It has no connections to your previous life. It just reminds you of the pretty pink, purple, and white flowers that grow on delicate, curling vines that you like to grow over the side of the chicken coop.

There's a knock on the door, and Johnny leaps up to see who it is. You have to hold your hand up quickly to avoid getting an eyeful of things you're not supposed to see. He's absolutely shameless-- you suspect he wouldn't think twice about strolling down the hallways without a scrap on. You have a curiousity about men's bodies that you're too bashful to indulge, even if you're pretty sure that Johnny would stand still and let you look as long as you liked. Well, maybe not stand still. But you doubt he would mind.

It's Ghost at the door. He doesn't wait for an invitation to come in, but he has clothes for Johnny hung over his arm, so you don't mind. Honestly, you can bear a few overzealous men who feel entitled to your space for a few days, because after that you'll get to go home and get back to your life.

Ghost positions himself between you and Johnny, just as he had yesterday. "Price said you 'ad a bit of an episode earlier. You olright?"

"Just fine," you say brightly. "No need to worry."

"Och, let him worry, hen. He likes ta do it."

"I'm really fine," you insist.

"You want to visit the mausoleum? Might make it feel more real."

You'd be more interested in going there to visit your mother's grave, if you're going at all, but you think that you'll wait for a sunnier day. A gray, dreary morning like the one outside your windows is no balm for dark memories or old wounds. Sunshine might be. "Not today," you say. "Maybe tomorrow." You get out of bed as gracefully as possible, well aware that you have an audience. "Perhaps the two of you could step outside for a moment while I get dressed?"

Ghost glances behind him, checking to see if Soap is covered up enough for him to move, and then walks over to your closet and pulls out a screen that you hadn't noticed sitting in the corner there, and sets it up. "There you go, Sweetpea. You'll need help with all your fastenin's anyway, won't you?"

You imagine that he's smiling under the mask, more than a little smug about it, but you let it slide. "Very thoughtful."

"Try to be."

The blank face of his mask gives you nothing when you glance over, aside from that he’s looking back. It’s not the first time that you’ve wished for more insight into what he’s thinking, but there’s a gravity to his attention that you swear was never there before, and it prickles at the back of your neck even after you duck out of sight.

You choose a sunny yellow dress today, to counter the deluge outside, and remove the silk scarf wrapped around your head so you can twist your braids on each side from your brow back to the nape of your neck, pinning the lengths into a knot. You’ll have to redo them soon, but without Kate and her wife to help you, you know it’ll take hours, if not most of a day.

You walk over to where Ghost is sitting and turn your back to him so he can button it up for you. He hands you his gloves to hold while he does so, and you run your hands over the detail of white leather bones stitched on over the well-worn black leather, decoration and extra protection both. Idly, you slip one on, but your hands are so small in comparison to his that you have to stretch your hand out just to get your fingers arranged inside it properly. He stands behind you, and leans over you to gently pull them from your hands, as though to underline again how much bigger he is than you are.

The top of your head brushes his chest when you tip your head back to look at him. “Thank you,” you say.

“I’m always ‘appy to ‘elp,” he says. “I’m with you for the mornin’ anyway. Might as well make myself useful, eh?”

“Stuck minding me?” you tease, sweeping around to fold back the sheets on your bed, only to find that one of them had already done it. Ghost, most likely, judging by how neat it is. You touch his arm lightly in silent thanks, and the three of you leave your room together.

Other than insisting you eat breakfast (served in a communal dining hall, where they insist on bringing things to you rather than let you suffer the indignity of standing in a line, and watch you eat with unnerving intensity), they’re content to follow you around as you refamiliarize yourself with the castle, mapping out changes so you don’t get turned about looking for anything. You find a number of familiar faces here and there, and have an perplexingly similar conversation with anyone you know, where they welcome you back cheerfully, and grow a bit quiet and nervous when you insist that you won’t be staying long, and when you try to press them on that, you’re ushered out, told they’re too busy to chat, and that you’ll find time to catch up later.

You suspect that Ghost and Johnny are the source of their nerves, but both of them always seem to be a few paces out of (human) earshot, and minding their own business, talking about something else quietly between them.

"Where's Kyle?" you ask as you're hustled out of the the healer's work shop and back out into the hallway. It’s become abundantly clear, no matter how well they feign innocence, that your hulking shadows are making the staff nervous, and you decide not to subject anyone else to their company. If you can slip away from them later, you might be able to have an actual conversation.

“Prob’ly ‘oled up in ‘is workshop,” Ghost says. “Some weeks we ‘ardly see ‘im.”

“Wizardy shite,” Johnny adds, his tone disapproving. “As if there aren’t a thousand ways ta blow shite intae bits withoot wigglin’ yer fingers. Can blow up flour, did ye know, Sweetpea? In barrels isnae much different than black powder.”

“Still useful to have a little magic,” you say, flipping your palm over and conjuring a flame in the centre of it. It’s one of the few spells in your cache, and you’ve mostly just used it to light candles and the stove. Your lessons barely dipped beyond simple control— You’d been told that magic was no proper pastime for a lady. When you think back on it now, you think it’s more that your father never wanted you to have defenses that he could not control, or that could be used against him. A grim thought, from this side of things.

“Forgot you ‘ave a little magic in you.” Ghost holds his hands above yours, feeling the heat coming off the small flame. “Come on, pet. Let’s find Kyle. Might be enough to pull ‘is nose out of ‘is books.”

You close your hand, extinguishing the flame, and let them guide you through a few corridors and up a spiraling stone staircase.

Johnny hesitates at the door, nose wrinkling at the slight, hard to identify smell of complex magical wards that are carved neatly into the doors. You can feel the slight hum of it in your teeth. Ghost pushes the door open without knocking (you think all four of these men might be allergic to knocking), and steps inside.

You follow, and stop right there in the doorway while Ghost ventures in further. Kyle is shirtless, doing pushups over a heavy looking book. He doesn't look up, doesn't even stop when he turns the page, just continues the exercise one handed. He's in perfect shape, every muscle well-defined, putting even some of the finely-carved marble statues you've seen to shame. He has a frame for wiry muscle, but he's worked so hard that he's gotten bulky too, and although he's not as broad as Soap or as big as Ghost, it's clear that he's stronger than most men. Certainly stronger than men of his occupation have any need to be.

"What do you want, Ghost?" Kyle asks, still focused on his reading. "I'm busy, you know."

"Brought our girl by to see you, and you don't even bother lookin' up."

Kyle’s attention does snap up at that, brown eyes sliding past Ghost’s legs to you, still hovering in the doorway, Johnny a step behind, peering over your shoulder. Kyle scrambles to his feet, sending the book flying with a gesture. It settles on the desk behind him as he steps around Ghost, dusting his hands against his trousers before he takes yours, pulling you more fully into the space. His skin gleams with a thin sheen of sweat, but he's not the least bit out of breath. “Come on in, Sweetpea. Did you come all the way up here just to see me?”

“Of course,” you say. It’s a silly question, although now that you look around the space, you’re gripped by curiousity. The circular room is lined with bookshelves, each full of thick, leather and linen-bound tomes that hum with power. The whole room sings like a chorus, the sound not in your ears, but tickling the back of your mind instead. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to. I don’t want to interrupt, of course, if you’re working on something.” Although, now that you're looking, it seems like he’s working on many things, all at once. He has a carousel of research tomes open next to the desk, and neatly written pages laid out over the desk to dry, a stack of opened and unopened correspondence in a basket hanging from the side, ingredients measured out by a shelf full of bottles and jars of strange and familiar ingredients, and there are unlit candles set around the perimeter of an open area on the floor, a circle of iridescent tile set into the stone, pale and glittering.

“Nothing important this moment. Just studying while I wait for ink to dry. The mind grows dull if you don’t take the time to keep it sharp.” He glances at Johnny meaningfully, and receives a rude gesture in response.

“There’s more’n just books if ye want to keep sharp,” Johnny says, his voice flinty. “Isnae the only way to learn, ye know.”

You glance at Ghost. His mask looks back at you, blank as ever. “There’s a place for books, and a place for practical application,” you say diplomatically. “Wisdom can be found in many places.”

“In a pretty girl, for one,” Ghost says approvingly. “Would be good for you to crack a book once in a while, Soap. And for you to spend a little less time ‘oled up in ‘ere.” His head turns toward Kyle.

“I have a lot to do, you know,” Kyle says. “I can’t just shove everything to the side whenever I please.”

You drift closer to the desk, peeking at the tome he was referencing earlier, the pages opened to a chapter on illusion spells. Curious, you glance to his notes, humming with interest at the first page you glance at. It’s something about setting spells of illusion into fabric, weaving magic into the very stitches. “Are you trying to make a cloak of shadows?” you ask, picking up the page carefully by the edges, still mindful of the mostly dried ink.

Kyle looks over at you and smiles, but it’s all teeth. “Something like that. I didn’t know you were interested in magical theory.”

“She’s got a little sorcery in ‘er,” Ghost explains. “Maybe you should give ‘er a lesson or two. While she’s ‘ere.”

Your ears perk up at that, and you drop the paper back to the desk, forgetting it entirely. “Would you?” you ask excitedly. “I really would love to learn more.”

Kyle slips his shirt back on and beckons you over to one of the bookcases, smile turning sly and conspiratorial. “Can you give me a hand Sweetpea? I need something off the top shelf.”

You look up at the top shelf, which is well out of your reach. “Kyle, I think maybe you should ask Ghost.”

“Sorry, pet, I’m busy keepin’ Soap from pilferin’ alchemical ingredients.”

"Wasnae pilferin'! Just takin' a wee looksie. Isnae a crime."

"Soap," Kyle says pleasantly. "If I find anything missing we are going to have a long talk about it." He shakes his head lightly, sweet brown eyes finding yours, amused.

"D'ye think he means a good rough fuck?" Johnny asks Ghost, not quite quiet enough for you not to hear it. "Or an actual chat? Because that's goan ta change what I do here."

"I really don't think I can help," you say to Kyle, ignoring Johnny's query as much as you can. "Unless you'd like me to climb the shelves."

"Here." He crouches down in front of you and hugs your knees to his chest, other hand a higher on the backs of your thighs to hold you steady, and pops up. You let out a little shriek, and press your hands against his strong shoulders for support. "Don't worry, Sweetpea, I've got you. Now, can you grab that slim blue volume to the right? The one with no title on the spine."

Scanning the neat row of books, you locate the one he means and pick it up. "Ive got it," you inform him, laughing. "Now please put me down."

He slides you down his front carefully, adjusting his grip, your skirts bunching up and exposing your stockinged calves, and he holds you just above him for a moment. You loop your arms around his neck reflexively, holding the book behind him. He looks up at you, so dazzlingly handsome, you're almost surprised that he's real.

"Kyle," you remind him gently. "Please put me down."

“You sure?” he asks, bringing you down just a little more, so that your face is just above his own. “You look a bit tired today, princess. Could just carry you around for the rest of the day if you like.”

“That will not be necessary,” you say firmly. “But it’s a very kind offer.”

You hear a snort from the other side of the room, but you’re not sure if it comes from Ghost or Johnny. “Nothin’ kind about it,” Johnny says, crossing his arms. “Bastard just likes the idea of bein’ pressed up against ye all day.”

“You slept in her bed last night,” Kyle reminds him. “There’s no need to be jealous.”

“Ahm no’ jealous! Yer just bein’ a fandan charmer tryna cop a wee feel, an’ ye willnae admit ta it.”

You look over at Ghost, and he shakes his head. You imagine that he’s rolling his eyes, just as exasperated by the two of them as you are. He comes to your rescue though, carefully pulling you out of Kyle’s arms and setting you back down on the floor. “Thank you, Ghost,” you say archly, shaking your crumpled skirts out with one hand.

“Sorry, Sweetpea,” Kyle says, and you can’t help but note that he certainly doesn’t sound sorry. “If you read the first chapter of this tonight, we can do a lesson in the morning. This will probably be a step up from whatever paltry lessons the old wizard gave you— I know he took offence to the idea of training you at all, the closed-minded old bastard. If you have any questions, make notes, and we can go over it.” He taps the top of the book you hold. “You can write in it, if you like. I’ve scribbled in the margins a few times myself.”

You tuck the book into your pocket. “Thank you, Kyle. I appreciate that.”

“Anything for you, Sweetpea.”

You hesitate, a bit nervous to ask a favour when he’s already agreed to take time out of his day to give you a lesson in something you’re not sure you have enough talent in to warrant. He’s cleary a busy person, and you don’t want to waste his time.

Kyle senses your hesitation, and reaches for your hand, squeezing reassuringly. “Anything,” he repeats, brown eyes oh-so earnest.

Your ears feel hot. Flirting comes as easily to him as breathing, and even though you’re sure he means little by it, by his relationship with Johnny and the claim that John has laid on you, it’s hard not to grow flustered when he directs the full force of that sunshine smile at you. “Did you ever, um, help your sisters with their hair? I’d like to have a bath this afternoon, and wash my hair, but it’ll take me ages to rebraid it alone. I would really appreciate an extra set of hands if you have a spare minute tomorrow.”

He grins at that, pleased to be able to help you with something that Ghost and Johnny are ill-equipped to. The scar on his cheek dimples slightly when he smiles this hard, the slight flaw in his complexion more a dashing accessory to his charm than any detractor. “Would be happy to help. Do you have everything else you need? Oil? Curl cream?”

You hadn’t thought to check what was in the cupboard in the bathroom. “I’m not sure,” you admit.

“I have some. I’ll bring them by your room later this afternoon, just in case.”

Ghost offers to walk you back to your room, leaving Johnny behind to discuss something with Kyle, although as soon as the door closes, you hear a crash and a series of colourful swear words. You glance behind you as Ghost ushers you down the stairs. “Should we—”

“No. Trust me, Sweetpea. They’re just fine, and not doin’ anything you want to see.”

“Oh.” The implication warms you from the tips of your ears to somewhere in your belly.

“You’ve got the lads all worked up,” Ghost adds, as though you needed more context. “Competin’ with each other to get a smile out of you. Let ‘em blow off a little steam.”

“I don’t understand why they’re so concerned with me, if they have each other,” you say, trailing one hand over the wall, feeling the bumps of cool stone and seams between the cut blocks as you descend. “And John has made no secret of his intentions.”

He touches your arm to halt you, and moves past, taking a few extra steps so he stands below you, the near-hidden gleam of his eyes on level with yours. The two of you are alone here, where the curve of the stairs create a private universe, a pocket of stone and crystal light casting meagre shadow. "What are your intentions?" He asks. "Are you goin' to just let 'im take what 'e pleases?"

"I intend to go home," you say. "I won't be staying."

"Olright, maybe you do go 'ome. And what'f Kyle or Johnny came sniffin' round to court you themselves?"

"They won't."

"Why wun't they? You're a ray of sunshine sweet girl. You're the only one that don't see it."

"Ghost--"

"No, hush up for a moment, princess. You've got the wrong idea. I personally threatened every man that so much as looked your way. For years. Din't think about 'ow that'd make you feel. You're beautiful. Enough to chase, enough to go to bloody war for." His body is still, save for the slightest twitch of his fingers. “I don’t know why you can’t see it. You make us all crazy.”

The surety that John would really let you go slips as Ghost speaks, something fundamental about your footing in the world shifting uneasily beneath you. You had found comfort in the idea that you were quotidian, unremarkable. That the crown alone was aggrandizing, and you could pass unnoticed without it. Now you wonder if you’ve ever gone unnoticed, or if it was just that you had been too obtuse to see. “It doesn’t matter,” you insist. It’s easier to reject what he says outright, even if Ghost has never lied to you, never given you a reason to doubt his words. The ground settles. “I will be going home in a few days, and once John has my official endorsement none of you will have to keep an eye on me again.”

“You won’t rid yourself of me that easily,” he says firmly. “Keepin’ you safe’s one of the only jobs that I do that’s worth doin’. I promised your mum I would, an’ I don’t intend to break my oath just because you don’t think you’re worth it.”

“My mother asked you to?” You had always thought Ghost’s orders had come from your father, setting the quiet, faceless, black-clad knight on your heels, as close as a shadow, only leaving your side when the king sent him off to fight, somewhere far and away. “Why?”

“Figured she could tell I ‘aven’t got an ounce of ambition in me. Used to, before I came ‘ere. Didn’t do me any good. Can’t trust my own head, sometimes. But if I can trust what’s ‘ere—” He puts his hand to his chest, head tipped slightly to the side. “— Then I know I can trust what’s in there.” He lifts his hand and taps his finger against your forehead lightly.

You blink at him, surprised by how much he’s said all at once. Abruptly, he turns around and continues down the stairs, finished the conversation. You spur yourself back into motion, sweeping your skirts up with one hand so you don’t trip. There’s no doubt that you could trust Ghost to catch you, but the risk of sending you both tumbling down the long spiral staircase has you moving cautiously.

He stays with you for a bit, offering help unbraiding your hair and unbuttoning your dress, and leaves without protest when you ask him to. Predictably, he’s quiet the entire time, as though he used up his daily quota of words all at once in the stairway.

You lay out everything you need close to the tub, and sink into a hot bath, sighing. This is perhaps one of the few things you really did miss about castle life— Hot running water. If you wanted a hot bath in town, you would either have to go to the public bathhouse, or spend a good hour boiling enough water to fill a tub at Kate’s house.

You hum happily to yourself, which turns to singing out loud, the acoustics in the tiled room too good to resist. You sing your way through a number of folk songs as you run a cloth over your skin and scrub your hair clean, hot water and soap washing away what little of the darkness from that morning that company and distraction hadn’t banished, clinging shadows in the corners of your mind scoured clean again.

You pull the plug and let the water start to drain, and stand up, wringing your hair out before you reach over to the towel you’d set aside for yourself, bracing you hand on the side of the tub.

“What are you two muppets doing?” John’s voice coming through the cracked open door startles you. And it startles Johnny and Kyle too, because they tumble through the door onto the tiled floor, landing on top of each other in a heap.

You clutch the towel to your front, unable to keep yourself from letting out a surprised shriek. It takes a moment for surprise to give way to anger, your shocked, wide-eyed gaze traveling from Johnny’s red face to Kyle’s guilty expression to John in the doorway, a complicated mix of stony anger and surprise in his blue eyes. Both emotions fade as his attention lingers on your exposed legs, crawling up slowly.

“I came to drop off— But he was—” Kyle starts to try to explain himself.

“Dinnae try to blame tha’ on me, ye fuckin’ roaster, Ahm no’ a’ fault for what yer doin’,” Johnny cuts him off angrily, shoving Kyle off of him. “Yer no’ better than me just ‘cause ye weren’t here first.”

“I wouldn’t have—”

You level a glare at him that has his mouth shutting so fast that you can hear the click of his teeth. “Get out.”

The two of them scramble up and nearly fall over themselves trying to get out as quickly as possible, mortified to have been caught. They start sniping at each other before they’ve even gotten out of earshot.

John, however, doesn’t budge from the doorway. You direct your fury at him. “John. Get out.”

He doesn’t scramble to obey like the younger men did, as is he has any more right to be there than they did. “Sweetpea,” he says evenly, as though he expects to be able to talk you down from your very justified anger with a few measured words.

“Now,” you snap. “Before I lose my temper.”

He hesitates a moment longer, but the look on your face makes him reconsider trying to have a conversation with you for the moment, and he leans into the room just enough to grasp the door handle and pull it closed behind him as he retreats.

You look at the ceiling for a long moment, swallowing down the urge to scream.

By the time Ghost comes to fetch you for dinner (unsurprising that the other three didn’t have the nerve) you’ve mostly calmed down, untangling your emotions as you do your hair. You hope that John will have news of your cousin’s witness, so you can count down the days. The longing for home has intensified, and all you want is to curl up in your bed in Kate’s house and cry. If it will be weeks, you’ll ask if you can go home in the interim, and come back when the time comes to make your speech.

Ghost helps you button up your dress. You’re so tired of needing help from them. Your ire bleeds over, and you’re snappy with him too, annoyed that you’ve had to spend so much time with men lately. Aggravated that you’re forced to rely on them for something as private as getting dressed, when they shouldn’t even be alone with you in your room to begin with.

You apologize on the way down the stairs, however. Ghost just chuckles in response. “Even when you’re snappin’, you’re a peach,” he says. “Don’t think you missed a single opportunity for a please and thank you. Can’t ‘elp yourself from bein’ sweet.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything,” you say. “I’m not angry with you, I shouldn’t be rude.”

“Think it would be a bit of a lark, you bein’ rude.”

You laugh, and it clears away some of the lingering bitterness, like sediment washing away downstream. You feel remarkably clear-headed when you enter the dining room and face the three sets of guilty eyes.

All three of them start to speak at once, and stop as soon as you raise your hand. “I don’t want to hear it,” you say firmly. “All three of you are grown men, and you should know better than to behave so shamefully.”

John frowns, not happy to be receiving the same share of the blame. “Sweetpea, I wasn’t—”

“I am not finished.” You cut him off with a sharp look. “I know I do not need to chastise any of you. All of you were in the wrong. But I share some of the blame too, allowing you all free access to my space in the first place. So here is what will change. One, I would like a lock on my door. No more popping in without permission. Two, you will all learn how to knock. Three, I would like a lady to accompany me for the rest of my stay here. It is not appropriate for me to accept assistance from any man with dressing, and I do not require shadows following me everywhere I go.”

Ghost shifts beside you. “Now ‘old on,” he says. “You need protection.”

“I need no such thing. I do not believe there are assassins waiting around every corner for me.”

“I should be with you,” he insists. “If somethin’ ‘appens—”

“What do you expect is going to happen?” you ask hotly. You’ve lived on your own for years, and your hiding place was apparently well known to everyone. If an assassin was coming to dispatch you, they would have already come. The opportunities had likely been plentiful.

“Ghost is right. You need to be kept safe.” John holds up both hands when you look at him, half a surrender and half a plea for you to hear him out. You raise your eyebrows slightly, waiting. “A compromise. A fighting woman. Someone that can help you with anything you need, and can defend you if something were to happen.”

You incline your head. It’s a reasonable compromise. “That would be acceptable.”

“Farah?” Kyle asks.

“If she’ll say yes, she’d be the person I trust most with Sweetpea’s safety.” John glances at you, and offers you a little smile, like he’s not sure that you’re entirely done scolding. “You’ll like her. I’ll have her meet you in town tomorrow. Want you fitted for something nice to wear for your speech.”

“There is a closet full of perfectly nice dresses in my room,” you say. “I do not need anything else.”

“Indulge me. Your cousin’s man will be here tomorrow night, and the day after we’ll have you make your statement.” John’s smile widens, turning the slightest, inexplicable bit smug. “Want you to look your best, if it’s to be your last day as a princess, hm? And then on to better things.”

You sigh. It can't hurt to give in on this matter, since you won't have to stay much longer. “Very well, John. Although I think it’s a waste.”

The look in his deep blue eyes is inscrutable, but his smile doesn't slip. “I disagree. Nothing you let me give to you could ever be a waste.”

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Divider by CafeKitsune

#fantasy au #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem reader #141 x Reader #Heavy Weighs the Crown #These bastards really are just the worst #I love writing AUs where Ghost is the most well adjusted one #Send my man to fantasy therapy (learning a trade) and see what happens #Re: Use of the term muppets - Uhhhh Muppets exist in this universe and they travel around doing Punch and Judy type shows #Coming soon to a market square near you lmao #Ye Olde Jim Henson's Workshoppe

[queenshelby]

Sweet Possession (Part 4)

Pairing: Very Dark! Thomas Shelby (32) x Innocent! Reader (19)

Warning: Age Gap, Smut

"What is going on, Tommy?" you asked when he came back inside,  still feeling a little uneasy about what you had seen outside.

Thomas hesitated, his eyes darting around the room before settling on your face. "Just business, Love," he said dismissively, but there was a guarded look in his eyes that made you think he was hiding something.

"But what kind of business?" you pressed, your voice tight with apprehension.

"Business that I cannot discuss with you,"  Thomas replied, a hard edge to his voice.

You flinched at this, recoiling slightly from him. "Can't, or won't?" you asked, your eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Thomas sighed heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. "Can't," he said firmly. "It's better that way."

But you couldn't let it go. Something in your gut was telling you that there was more to this than he was letting on, and you were determined to get to the bottom of it.

"I am your wife, Thomas. You made me a promise on our wedding day to always be honest with me. I deserve to know what's going on," you said, crossing your arms over your chest in a defensive gesture.

Thomas sighed and walked over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He took a long sip before setting the glass back down on the table with a heavy thud. "I have been asked to export certain things on behalf of the Crown. Things that the Crown cannot itself be seen  to be involved with," Thomas finally admitted, his voice tense and low.

Your eyes widened with shock as you absorbed his words. The Crown? Exporting things that they couldn't be seen to be involved with? What on earth could that mean?

"What kind of things?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

Thomas hesitated before finally answering, "Weapons. Guns. Ammunition," Tommy explained, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"Illegal things," you gasped, your heart twisting with a mix of fear and disappointment.

"Not illegal, just controversial," Thomas replied, his voice still low and tense. "And necessary. It helps fund our operations and the facilities we support, including the orphanage you want to work in," he told you and you stared at him, your mind reeling with the implications of his words.

"So, it is legitimate? Because you are doing this on behalf of the crown?"  you asked, struggling to make sense of the information Tommy had just revealed to you.

Tommy nodded. "It's a delicate matter but, of course, I wouldn't do anything illegal. You know that, right?" Thomas asked, his eyes pleading for your understanding.

You nodded slowly, taking in the weight of this new information. "Of course. I trust you , Thomas," you finally whispered, albeit with some hesitation.

Thomas let out a sigh of relief at your words, pulling you into a tight embrace and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I love you," he murmured.

But as the night wore on, you couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that something was still amiss. The idea of Thomas being involved in such controversial and dangerous business left a bad taste in your mouth, and the thought of him endangering himself for the sake of others weighed heavily on your heart.

The following morning, however, you went on with your day as if nothing had happened. It was your first shift at the orphanage, to which you had agreed last minute as someone else had, apparently, called in sick.

Isiah, was again, tasked to drive you to the orphanage and, when you told him that he could simply drop you off and then pick you up later, he shook his head.

"No, I need to stay with you Mrs Shelby," he  replied, his voice brooking no argument.

You sighed inwardly, not wanting to cause a fuss but also slightly annoyed at the thought of having your every move shadowed by Isiah.

You couldn't shake off the feeling that he was keeping tabs on you for Thomas.

But you swallowed your pride, knowing that it wouldn't be wise to defy Thomas given everything that had happened the previous night. You assumed that he was just being overprotective of you and this was kind of sweet, you thought. 

The orphanage was buzzing when you arrived and a young man, around 25-years of age, greeted you in the grand hall of the big building. His name was James McKinnin , a well-known social worker of the city.

"Hi, it is so nice to meet you. I'm Y/N Shelby, Thomas' wife," you said with a smile, extending your hand towards him.

James clasped your hand firmly and shook it. "Mrs Shelby, of course. I heard that you we were coming," James told you , his voice full of enthusiasm. "Mr Shelby called me yesterday evening, at around midnight, to let me know that you would be joining us and it was quite a surprise, you know. Mr Shelby donates a lot of money to our organisation and I would not have expected his wife to volunteer with us as well," the man continued, his tone earnest as he led me down a long corridor.

"It's my pleasure and a little selfish really. I miss the work but, since I moved in with Thomas, I gave up my employment, so I have become rather bored," you said honestly and James smiled at my response.

"That's very commendable Mrs Shelby, but let me ask you, do you have any experience in a setting like this? Without meaning any disrespect, being Mr Shelby's wife, I had expected you to be a little older,"  James asked, his words laced with polite curiosity.

"No, but I am eager to learn, and I am certainly not afraid to do some hands-on work. Before meeting my husband, I worked in a factory and then in a pub, cleaning up after drunk men, so I am no stranger to hard labor," you replied with a small chuckle.

James smiled warmly at your response, clearly impressed by your determination and down-to-earth attitude. "That's fantastic, Mrs Shelby. I'm sure you'll be a great asset to our team. Let me give you a quick tour and introduce you to the other staff members," James said as he led you further into the orphanage. "Michael, one of our duty managers, will be looking after you and explain everything you need to know,"  he added as he spotted Michael in the distance.

Michael was a tall, slender man in his mid-twenties with short, curly brown hair and warm hazel eyes. He greeted you with a friendly smile and shook your hand firmly, welcoming you to the orphanage. He then gave you a brief orientation and introduced you to the other staff members, who were all friendly and welcoming as well.

As you worked there, you began to realize just how much need there was in the community and how much of a difference your husband's donations were making.

You felt proud to be a part of it, even in a small way.

That day, Michael showed you everything you needed to know in a commercial kitchen setting, which is where you wanted to work. It was your passion, cooking for others and Michael appeared to be an excellent source of information.

Isiah, however, always stood in the corner, observing your interactions with the tall man who, for his liking, occasionally came to close to you when working in the kitchen.

"Here, let me show you," Michael said on one occasion as he approached you from behind, taking the knife from your hands. "This is an easier way to prepare the herbs for the soup," he said, brushing your arm ever so slightly and causing Isiah to intervene. 

"Everything alright here?" Isiah said, his tone stern and disapproving.

"Yes, of course," you replied, flustered at the intrusion. "Michael is just teaching me how to prepare the herbs for lunch," you added in an attempt to defuse the tension that had suddenly filled the air.

Michael nodded a greeting towards Isiah, who continued to glare at him with suspicion but nodded nonetheless.

Isiah then intervened a few more times over the next few hours, insinuating that Michael was getting too friendly and, eventually, you couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable with his presence.

Despite this, however, the day had been productive and fulfilling for you. You had made new friends, learned new skills, and felt a sense of purpose that had been missing in your life for quite some time.

As the sun began to set, Isiah drove you back to Thomas' luxurious home and, just after Frances greeted you and Isiah, you made your way to Tommy's office.

"You are late," was the first thing he said , not looking up from the documents in front of him. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek before settling into the chair opposite him.

"I am sorry, I didn't realize the time," you answered with a small smile. "I was just so engrossed in what we were doing."

This seemed to appease him, and he looked up and smiled at you, reaching across the desk to take your hand in his. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said softly.

"I did," you answered, squeezing his hand.

"I really did. I never knew that working in a kitchen could be so fulfilling."

Thomas smiled at your enthusiasm, his eyes softening as he leaned back in his chair. "I'm glad," Tommy smiled before asking you for Isiah's whereabouts. 

"He is downstairs," you said. "Shall I send him up?"  you asked, your voice laced with a hint of caution. Thomas' demeanor had shifted again since that morning, and you couldn't quite put your finger on why.

"Yes, I have some business for him to take care of," Thomas replied, his tone curt and dismissive. You nodded and stood up from your chair, making your way to the door. But before you left, you turned back to Thomas and looked him in the eye.

"Is everything alright?" you asked, searching his face for any signs of distress. 

"Yes Love," Tommy said, forcing a smile onto his face. "Everything is fine," he added, although his voice didn't quite ring true.

You frowned at his response, not entirely convinced. But you nodded anyway and made your way to the door, calling for Isiah to come upstairs and, unbeknownst to you, what Tommy really wanted from him was an update on your day. 

"How was it?" Thomas thus asked as soon as Isiah walked into his office and closed the door behind him.

"It was fucking boring ," Isiah replied with a sigh, leaning against the door. "Just a bunch of kids and their annoying chatter," he explained to his boss who, of course, had some more questions.

"And what about the employees. Did they treat my wife with respect?" Tommy asked , his voice low and tense. 

"Of course, they did," Isiah replied with a shrug. "They were all very friendly, although, one of them was a bit too friendly in my opinion," he went on to say , causing Thomas's eyes to narrow.

"How so, Isiah?" Thomas asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Just one of them kept getting a little too close to her," Isiah replied with a shrug.

"Too close how?" Tommy queried with a steely glint in his blue eyes. He didn't like the sound of some man invading your personal space after he had secretly made sure, for many years, that you were shielded from these kinds of advances.  However, as Thomas pressed for more information, Isiah's response was casual and nonchalant.

"Just talking to her a lot, and touching her arm on occasion," Isiah finished, still leaning against the office door.

"He touched her?" Thomas repeated, his voice deceptively calm.

Isiah nodded. "Yeah, a couple of times," he confirmed before, explaining to Tommy again that the employee in question had only touched your arm. "Her arm, Tommy. Nothing else," Isiah clarified, sensing Thomas' growing tension. 

"Did you get his name?" Thomas asked, his voice low and growly as he clenched and unclenched his fists in an attempt to conceal his anger.

"Yeah. His name is Michael Grosvenor," Isiah told Thomas, his voice steady despite the dangerous look in his boss' eyes.

"Michael Grosvenor, eh" Thomas repeated, testing the name on his tongue. He would remember that name. "Did my wife seem interested in his advances?" Thomas then asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Isiah shook his head. "No, she seemed a little uncomfortable with it after it happened a few times, but she didn't say anything," he answered honestly.

Thomas nodded, his mind already racing with plans of how to handle this situation.

He had always made it clear to the men in town that his property was off-limits, but now it seemed that some of them had forgotten that rule.

"I see," Thomas said simply, his voice deadly calm. He stood up from his chair and walked around the desk to stand in front of Isiah. "I want you to keep an eye on my wife whenever she's at the orphanage. Do you understand?" Thomas ordered, his voice low and commanding.

"Yes, boss," Isiah responded, understanding the gravity of the situation. He nodded once, before turning and exiting the room, leaving Thomas alone with his thoughts which began to race incoherently until, eventually, he snapped out of it and walked downstairs to the reading room where he knew he would find you.

"Y/N, may I have a word?" Thomas said, his voice rough and low as he entered the room. He closed the door behind him with a definitive thud, before walking over to you, the sound of your own heavy breathing filling the air around you. 

"Of course," you responded, your voice a breathy whisper, your heart pounding in your chest as Thomas knelt down before you and pulled your legs apart, his gaze fixated on the lacy underwear you were wearing, catching you off guard. 

"Thomas," you gasped, your fingertips digging into the plush armchair you were sitting on as he placed a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh, just above where your stockings met your skin.

"Isiah tells me that one of the employees at the orphanage got a little too close to you today," Thomas growled, his voice gravelly with desire.

You let out a soft moan as he traced his fingers along the seam of your underwear, the lace already damp with your arousal.

"No, oh god Tommy, it was innocent," you moaned , your head falling back as he pressed a tender kiss to your clit through the thin fabric.

But Thomas wasn't having it. He was insanely jealous and protective of you, and the thought of some man touching his property made him see red.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and tugged them down your thighs, baring you to him. He growled as he saw how wet you were, your pussy glistening in the soft light of the room.

"Innocent, eh?" Tommy groaned. "Just like you were, just days ago, before we got married,"  he continued, pinching your clit firmly between his thumb and forefinger.

You cried out at the sensation, arching your back as you clung to his shoulders, digging your nails into his muscular arms.

"Tommy," you whimpered, your hips bucking involuntarily as he teased you with his fingers. "Please," you begged, not sure what you were asking for, but knowing that you needed more.

"Please what?"  Thomas rasped, his mouth hovering over your pussy as he waited for your response.

"Fuck me," you whimpered, unable to hold back the words any longer. 

"But why should I?" Tommy asked. "You let some stranger touch what's mine and now you want me to give you what you want?"  Thomas growled, his fingers still teasing your clit. 

You whimpered as you processed his words, but the ache between your legs was insistent. 

"He didn't. I mean, he touched my arm. Oh god, please,"  you moaned, pulling his head towards your core, desperate for some kind of release.

Thomas chuckled and obliged, pressing a tender kiss to your clit before slipping a finger inside you. You gasped at the intrusion, your back arching off the chair as he began to pump his finger in and out of you, his thumb still teasing your clit.

You felt yourself building towards your release, but just as you got close, Thomas pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty and unfulfilled.

"No, don't stop," you begged, your voice breathy and desperate.

Thomas smiled at you wickedly, his fingers still slick with your arousal. "Tell me who you belong to, Y/N. Who owns you, eh?" Thomas repeated, circling your clit with his thumb as you writhed beneath him. "Say it."

"You do," you gasped, your breath hitching as he stroked your aching core with deliberate slowness.

"Be precise," he demanded, his voice low and raw with need.

"You own me. You own my body. I'm yours," you moaned, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate plea.

Thomas smiled, a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes. He held up his fingers, still slick with your arousal, and sucked them into his mouth, groaning at the taste of you.

"Good girl," he praised, his eyes dark with desire as he reached for his belt.

You watched him undo the belt, your breath caught in your throat as you waited for what was to come next.

Thomas pulled the belt from the loops of his trousers, the sound of the leather slithering through the buckle echoing in the stillness.

"Tell me again," he commanded, his voice rough and ragged with desire as he approached you, the belt coiled in his hand like a snake ready to strike. "Who do you belong to?"

"You, Thomas," you panted, your eyes wide and fixed on the belt in his hand. "I'm yours. Only yours," you confirmed, your voice heavy with desire.

Thomas' eyes blazed with a primal hunger as he lifted the belt and brought it down against your inner thigh with a sharp crack.

You gasped at the sudden sting, your eyes watering with a mixture of pain and pleasure. Thomas watched you carefully, his eyes searching for any signs of discomfort or distress. But all he saw was your desire-filled gaze locked onto his, inviting him to continue.

He raised the belt again, bringing it down on your other thigh with an equally sharp crack. You whimpered at the sensation, your hips bucking up towards him as you begged for more.

Thomas' eyes narrowed as he dropped the belt to the floor with a thud, his hands going straight to your hips to hold you in place. He tugged your legs apart wider, his gaze locked onto the glistening folds of your aching pussy.

"You're so fucking wet for me," Thomas rasped, his fingers tracing the slick seam of your core.

He spread your arousal over your clit, the sensitive nub throbbing under his touch. "And all mine," he growled, his eyes flashing with a primal hunger as he pushed down his pants , his hard cock springing free.

You moaned as he positioned himself at your entrance, notching the tip of his shaft against your slick folds. "Yes," you hissed, digging your nails into his shoulders as you arched your back, ready for him.

Thomas thrust into you in one swift movement, filling you to the hilt. You cried out at the sudden invasion, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as he buried himself inside you.

Thomas groaned as he felt you tighten around him, your walls clenching him like a vice.

"Fuck, Y/N," Thomas growled, his hips pistoning in and out of you in a punishing rhythm. He reached down between your bodies and found your swollen clit with his thumb. He pressed down on it, rubbing it in slow circles as he continued to thrust into you.

You moaned as he touched you, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts.

Thomas was merciless, his hips slamming into yours with a force that left you breathless. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed through the room, mingling with your gasps and moans.

Thomas reached down and wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing gently as he powered into you. You whimpered at the feeling of his hand on your throat, your pussy clenching around his cock in response.

"You like that, don't you?" Thomas growled, his voice low and raw with desire. He had never taken you like this before, so possessively and it quickly became overwhelming for you.

The hand around your neck, the unyielding thrusts, and the sound of his hips slapping against yours. The pleasure was so intense that it bordered on pain. But, before you knew it, your orgasm was already creeping up on you. With every circling motion of Thomas' thumb on your clit, you felt yourself getting close to the edge.

"Come for me, Y/N," Thomas rasped through gritted teeth as he continued to thrust into you at a relentless pace.

"I want to feel you come all over my cock."

Your breath hitched as the heat within you coiled tightly, ready to unravel at any moment. Your legs shook around Thomas' waist, trying to keep contact as he hit your sweetspot over and over again.

With one last, hard circle of Thomas' thumb on your clit, you cried out as you toppled over the edge. Your orgasm tore through your body like a freight train, leaving you panting and trembling in its wake.

Thomas groaned as he felt your walls clench around him, milking his cock as you came. He continued to piston in and out of you, chasing after his own release which came much faster than he had expected.

Pulling out of you quickly, he cupped your mound, his fingers massaging and teasing the sensitive folds of skin as he watched you come down from your orgasm while he stroked his cock.  He was so turned on by the sight of your pleasure that he couldn't help but take his own.

"Touch yourself, Y/N," he growled. "I want to watch you make yourself cum again, Love," he told you and so you did. 

Your fingers hovered above for a moment before brushing over the sensitive nub of your clit.  You gasped at the contact, your hips bucking as you felt yourself growing more and more aroused.

Thomas' eyes blazed with desire as he watched you touch yourself, his hand continuing to stroke his cock in long, languid movements. He groaned as he saw your pink flesh flush a deep red, your arousal unmistakable.

"Yes, just like that," Thomas rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Make yourself come again."

You whimpered at his words, your fingers moving faster over your clit as your pleasure mounted.

"Oh god, Thomas," you gasped, your legs shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Thomas groaned, his hand moving faster as he watched you touch yourself until, finally, he too came, hard and fast.

He grunted as he spilled his seed onto your stomach, the thick, white ropes of his release painting your skin in a primal display of possession.

You watched him, your chest heaving as you caught your breath, your pussy still clenching in aftershocks of pleasure. Thomas' eyes met yours, the dark desire in them sending another flush of heat through your body.

"Jealousy suits you , Tommy," you whispered, your fingers still stroking your sensitive clit.

Thomas chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made your stomach flutter. "I'm not jealous, Y/N. But what's mine is mine and  I won't have anyone else touching it," Thomas growled, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip as you lay panting beneath him, his tone determined. 

"Nothing happened," you reassured him, your voice softer than a whisper. "It was just a small touch. It was inadvertent, innocent and it meant nothing."

Thomas nodded, but the tension in his shoulders didn't ease. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, before pulling up his pants. 

"I can't help it, Y/N," Thomas admitted, his voice low and rough. "I need to know that you're mine.

Only mine," Thomas rasped, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh. 

"I am," you whispered, looking up at him with doe eyes that made him weak at the knees. "I've always been yours, Tommy. Only yours," you repeated, emphasizing the words that seemed to drive him wild and, whilst you had boyfriends before him, none of these relationships really lasted.

One of the men you had been with before meeting Tommy was killed in a fire following your second date while the other had disappeared without a trace, as had your brother. Men seemed to always have abandened you until now.

Until Thomas Shelby. Thomas had been a constant force in your life. Never leaving, never giving up on you and always making sure that you were safe and secure. But as much as you belonged to him, he belonged to you too. 

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#cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #tommy shelby #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction

[arcielee]

Fare Well

Photo credit.

Summary: You visit Aegon after another council meeting ends. Paring: Aegon Targaryen x female!reader Word Count: 1600+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, knifeplay, object penetration, kissing, p in v, creampie, using intercourse as an escape from reality. Author’s Note: Listen, the new trailer came out and our muses are buzzing again. This smutty piece was inspired by this story by @valeskafics as well as this beautiful edit by the beautiful @bucknastysbabe. The title is from Hozier, as you all should come to expect now, and this can also be read on ao3. This is dedicated to @f4ll-for-you, my wonderful Tumblr kindred spirit who made me into the Aegon girly I am today. 💜 A huge thank you to @targaryen-dynasty for beta reading and making sure this all made sense. 💜 Enjoy!

“What troubles you, your grace?”

You had remained in the shadows and listened to the voices grow louder, though still muted through the walls, with their worries of what was to come next. They exited one by one, the morose men chosen to serve the king’s council, with the lord commander of the kingsguard escorting the queen dowager donned in green, her eyes downcast and her expression etched with her perpetual worry since her lord husband had passed. The lord hand was the last to leave, his face lined and wearied, his slow gate returning him to the tower where he would–as Aegon confided to you–continue to pen letters to garner support across the realm. 

It was only then that you dared to enter the room. You saw Aegon was seated at the head of the table, his violet gaze placed on the Valyrian dagger in his hands, the iron and rubies that once belonged to the Conqueror gleaming above him. 

The sun was streaking through the windows behind, giving him a kingly glow. His hair was a shade lighter and his cheeks sunkissed from the hours aback Sunfyre; despite the threat beyond the horizon, you knew that Aegon enjoyed patrolling the skies with his brothers.

It was these little confessions that he shared with you in the clandestine moments stolen within the walls of the Red Keep. He told you how he wished to be distracted, to allow a reprieve for his mind that weighed heavy with this anointed crown, and you were just this distraction, flesh and blood pulsing with your desire. 

It was then he looked up to see you still shyly posted in the doorway. “You seemed troubled, your grace,” you repeated with kindness, with concern. 

“I am now always troubled, it feels,” his smile was forced. “It seems to be something that comes with the weight of this.” He removed the crown and it echoed dully as he dropped it on the table. “But perhaps you can serve your king.” 

Your foot pushed the door until it closed soundly, and you took a step towards him. For a moment you saw the boy you had grown up with, mischievous and smirking, peering up at you from beneath the title of king. “This is why I am here,” your reply was sultry, and you saw how the black began to swallow the color of his eyes. “To serve, your grace.” 

Aegon sheathed the dagger and set it aside his crown before slouching back to spread his legs wider in the ornate chair he sat. Your stomach tightened at the sight of his thick outline against his thigh, pressing through his slacks, and you felt the flutter of that desire trilling your spine, spilling back into your veins. 

Your heart vibrated beneath and his lips curled upwards when he noticed where your eyes fell. His large hand patted his thigh. 

The gesture summoned you and you moved within his arms reach. He pulled you onto his lap, his face burying into the curve of your neck with a groan, a deep inhale that tickled. “Your grace,” you giggled, squirming in his hold, your blood warming your skin. 

“It is only us now,” he murmured against your skin, “and all I wish now is  to tear away these layers, lay you on this table, and have what lies beneath your finery.” 

“You would not dare,” you whispered, your eyes bright. 

His fingers dug into your hip while his other hand snaked under your thighs to lift you up from his seat. You giggled again, your arm quick to wrap around his neck to brace for his step forward as he set you on the edge of the table. His hands pawed at your layers, searching to find the dagger and he began to slice through your fabric.  

Your surprise spilled from your lips. “Aegon!”

He did not falter, but sheathed it and set it back down so his hands could grab fistfuls, tearing away the fabric to allow you room to part your thighs and welcome him. Your hands moved from his chest and combed through his hair, smoothing the indent left behind from his crown. He hummed from your touch, his hands moving from your hips and following your curves to your backside, pulling you closer so he could tilt his chin forward and capture your lips. 

His kiss devoured you wholly, pulling the air from your lungs with the dizzyingly desperation of his lips against your own. Your arms wrapped again around his neck and you rolled your hips for friction against the warmth he emitted through his royal garb, your fingers clawing at the fabric. 

You could feel his smile against your lips, his fingers returning to his hold on your hips. The outside of his palm rested on the dip and his thumbs pressed to the bone, eliciting a pleasure that jolted through you. You moaned softly and his mouth broke away, wet kisses that now trailed along your jaw, his teeth nipping at the slope of your neck. 

“Aegon,” you could not help but whine, and you tightened your legs around his hips. 

He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable, flushed. For a moment you were lost in his heady gaze, only brought back once you felt his hand trailing the detailing of your bodice and pressing until you laid back on the table. His other hand retrieved the dagger once more and your smallclothes were cut away, the air crisp against the slick between your thighs. 

“So wet for me already,” he clucked his tongue, “and I have barely begun.” 

Your stuttered response only further goaded him. His brow cocked. “What was that?” 

“Please,” you licked your lips. “Touch me, Aegon. Please.”

The darkness in his eyes glittered with the sunlight, and his satisfaction curled across his square jaw. “No. Not quite yet.” 

Before you could protest, you felt the pressure of something that was smooth, almost cool to the touch. You peered down to see the sheathed dagger pressed sideways to your bare cunt, the ruby stone sliding against the slick, the blossom of your arousal allowing him a circular motion of the gemstone against the bundle of nerves.  

You shuddered in response, your skin rising on your thighs and chest, and your head fell back, your hands pressing flat on the polished wood to anchor yourself. The unfamiliar touch began to build a familiar sensation, something that fluttered throughout, catching your exhale in your throat. 

“Aegon,” you cried, his name spilling sickly sweet from your lips, an endearment with the desperation of your tone. 

“Let me,” he soothed, his voice rasped with his intent focus. 

He moved the hilt and its decorative ridges rubbed along your swollen nerves. You squealed with the touch and then the intrusion, feeling his palm press to the inside of your thigh. “Trust me,” he whispered, his eyes boring between your thighs. You relaxed to his touch, feeling the curve of the handle pressing sweetly within you.

It sparked lights before your eyes and Aegon was pleased. He moved his thumb to replace where the gemstone rubbed enticingly before, matching the tandem of the hilt that now pulled you upwards to the prior peak and then past. It filled your chest, a bursting euphoria that pulsed your walls around the handle.

“Sȳz riña,” his voice low with his praise. Good girl.

Your head lifted, drowsy, and you saw him touch the glossy shine that now covered the hilt, his fingers showing the sticky web of your climax. His eyes met with yours as he showed you, and his eyebrows raised when you pushed to sit up, your hand gently covering his own to pull it towards your lips, licking the ruby and tasting yourself.  

It clattered to the cobblestone and his free hand now grabbed the nape of your neck, his lips finding yours with his returned desperation. Fingers collided to loosen his drawstrings, your hands pulling his cock free and guiding his blunt head to press against your silk entrance. 

His large hand wrapped around the base and you cant your hips, angling yourself so his cock can slowly sink into your wet warmth. You mewled from the delicious stretch and he shuddered once he was fully buried between your thighs. Aegon paused, stealing a kiss, a taste of tenderness on his lips as he began to rock against you. 

It started slow with a low groan spilling from his kiss swollen slips as he watched his cock disappear inside you again and again. He savored the lewd sounds, your soft cries as he pushed deeper within you, your fingers grasping to hold yourself upright, to remain as close to him as possible. 

Your body still simmered with your prior release and it did not take much to build again. His hips snapped against yours with the wet sound of skin to skin, and your walls began to flutter. It is a breathless chorus, your soft gasps and his low groan, your pleasure pulling with a creamy spill of passion that tightened around him, his cock pulsing hotly within you. 

You fell back to your elbows, trying to catch your breath, and Aegon slumped over, his damp brow pressing to yours, the mess of his golden waves falling across your face. His scent washed over you, exotic oils that were sent as gifts and the sheen of sweat on his skin. 

The council chambers are noiseless now, and you hold still under the dimming candles lit for the chandelier above. It is another clandestine moment stolen, where your hearts thrummed in unison before slowing back to their regular pace, pulling you back to the heavy reality that settled in the quiet.

It lingered in the shadows, the faraway thought, the threat beyond the horizon, the echoed worries returning of what will come next. 

Tumblr kindred spirits [taglist]: @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes @qyburnsghost @namelesslosers

#house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x you #aegon x reader #aegon x female!reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #female!reader #fare well

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

Stygian Sun: Total Eclipse - WIP

DEMO TBA

After the deaths of your four oldest siblings, taken from you by war, your older sibling, Nour, once fifth in line for the Solar Imperial throne, is now the heir. 

This day never should have happened. 

As recompense for the ravages your kingdom’s war has inflicted upon the Lunar kingdom of Celestyl, and as assurance it will not happen again, your sibling is to be sent to Celestyl to marry the Lunar King’s heir. An arranged marriage, meant to unite the kingdoms. Or, at least that’s how everyone prefers to phrase it. But you all recognize this for what it really is: a guise. Your sibling will be a political hostage.

And—Theia, grant you guidance—you have had a premonition this is not the worst to come. Should your sibling go to Celestyl, they will not survive.

So you will take their place.

Stygian Sun: Total Eclipse is a dark fantasy interactive fictional story where you play as the sixth child in the proud and grandiose Solar Imperial Dynasty and leave your homeland for a foreign country, where you will take your sibling’s place in an arranged marriage to the heir to the Lunar Kingdom. But something sinister simmers on the horizon—you have felt it in your premonitions; apprehension crawls beneath your skin, foreboding pricks at the back of your neck, dread sinks low and heavy in your stomach. Theia is warning you—of what, you know not, but you have seen the way the Lunar King looks at you. His stare, the dagger, and you, the sacrificial lamb on the altar.  Beware the wolf, little lamb.

Content Warnings: "Stygian Sun: Total Eclipse" contains many upsetting themes, such as arranged marriage, child abuse, child neglect, death, murder, sexually suggestive scenes, optional sexual content, suicidal ideations, and more. "Stygian Sun: Total Eclipse" is intended for mature audiences 18+. Viewer discretion is advised.

Customize your MC's name, gender, pronouns, appearance, personality, and sexuality. Play as straight, gay, lesbian, bi, poly, or asexual.

Shape your personality through your choices and see how it affects dialogue with other characters.

Navigate through the difficulties of court life in a foreign country.

Develop your magic—powers bestowed upon you through your divine bloodline.

Romance one or more of five romantic options, including your betrothed, the Lunar heir; your charming and overly flirtatious retainer; your acolyte, a priestess in training; a kind yet darkly mysterious Celestylian noble; or a peculiar and chaotic mage.

Develop deep and lasting friendships or make enemies.

Kill some parents.

Uncover a sinister plot that threatens everything you hold dear—and decide what you will risk to protect it.

Nour al’Teia, your older sibling. (Gender dependent on MC’s. She/her. He/him. They/them.) Non-RO Once fifth in line for the Solar Imperial throne, Nour was perfectly content to play a supportive role to Parim, first in line, and the rest of their siblings. Now first in line for the throne, Nour is doing their best to step into a role they were never prepared to fill. Despite their best attempts to reassure you, you can tell this weighs more heavily on them than they let on.

Kieran Zeleskas, the Lunar Heir. (Gender Selectable. She/her. He/him.) RO The Crown Prince/ss of Celestyl. Though not of noble birth, events put into motion by their father have elevated them to this position, one they seem to have adapted to rather well by all appearances. Stoic and aloof, they seem less than pleased about this arrangement between the two of you. You’re inclined to agree.

Alektis de Celestys, the lone princess. (She/her.) Non-RO The adoptive sister to Kieran. The slaughter of her family during the coup that brought Kieran’s father to power has rendered her irascible and hostile to most everyone. Though she mostly keeps to herself, with only her retainer, Nihm, for company, you often find her tumultuous glare trained on you, a complex look on her face you can’t quite decipher. (Character portrait coming soon.)

Nihm de Circené, the guardian. (They/them.) RO Devoted retainer to Alektis and last surviving member of House Circené. Kind and sociable, Nihm is well-regarded in both noble and commoner social circles alike. However, their warm and affable disposition cannot completely hide the apprehension in their gait, nor the trembling in their hands. Still, they do their best to welcome you in a place where everyone seems dead-set on hating you. (Character portrait coming soon.)

Aurynn Anouar, the retainer (He/him.) RO Seeming to have appeared from out of nowhere, Aurynn rescued you from a dire situation during your first battle experience, and afterwards was appointed your retainer and has served you as such ever since. Charismatic, laidback, and flirtatious to a fault, Aurynn tends to either charm or annoy everyone he meets. Despite his insistence that he is an open book, sometimes you can’t help but feel the opposite; indeed, everything about him seems shrouded in secrecy. 

Samira Nahdiri, the priestess (She/her.) RO Certain events left her family deeply shamed and nearly destitute until her exceptional accomplishments as a healer elevated her to the renowned position as your acolyte, drawing upon the power of your blood to learn healing magic in her pursuit to become a priestess. Strong, loyal, and compassionate, she is devoted to caring for her family above all else, and she counts you among them.

Lilith/Lucien de Arcanis, the mage. (Gender Selectable. She/they. He/they.) RO The adopted heir to House Arcanis, a line of powerful and highly skilled mages. Wild-eyed with a wolfish grin, their peculiar and eccentric mannerisms tend to unsettle their peers, leaving them rather isolated in social circles—a circumstance which doesn’t seem to bother them one way or the other. For better or worse, it appears they’ve taken a rather intense interest in you.

Poly Routes (subject to change): Kieran/Aurynn, Samira/Aurynn, Lilith/Lucien/Aurynn.

#interactive fiction #twine wip #twine if #twine game #twine interactive fiction #twine story #if wip #fantasy #dark fantasy #interactive game #interactive story #wip if #upcoming if #romance #status: wip #if: intro #stygian sun: total eclipse #stygian sun total eclipse #sste-if #sste #sste: kieran #sste: aurynn #sste: samira #sste: nour #sste: alektis #sste: nihm #sste: lilith #sste: lucien #sste: mc #interact if

[casterlygldcs]

who: @westerlcnds

setting: the apartments of the queen of the west within casterly rock, within a private dining room. this is prior to cedric tyrell's wedding to illya oakheart, and before the west has travelled to the reach. the king and queen of the west are sharing a small, private dinner together whilst ladies remain beyond the veiled curtains.

it was known that the lion king visited the chambers of his queen, both by those cursed writers as well as the general gossip of casterly. and yet, he knew that in itself cemented her position in one of favour. they would know the queen of the west had the favour of her husband. "the court will soon depart for the reach, considering the war of the roses has come to an end. how are you feeling about your first appearance beyond our borders?" and yet, there was something that needed to be asked. for he heard nothing regarding a certain matter. the most important matter. it took time. he needed to give her time, for he was sure the gods looked favourably upon this union. for she was not like his last.

#c: eleanore #and she has no rival as my queen of the west ; forever heavy is the head that weighs the crown (tyland&eleanore) #eleanore 004

[bluismie]

The crown it weighs heavy

#hades game #zagreus #sketch #fanart #myart #drawing #procreate #art #illustration

[bombuni]

contains: poly!ateez x gn!reader, soft ateez taking care of u, non-verbal and self-isolating reader, implied depressed/chronically ill reader

you: babies i think it’s better if you don’t come over tonight

joong: Everything ok?

minmin: but im hungry and u said u’d make dinner :(

woo: WE’RE HUNGRY!!! OM NOM NOM

you: just not feeling it tonight. sorry

You shut your phone off with guilt weighing in your heart. You had promised your boys a nice home-made dinner after a hard week full of non-stop practicing. You knew they’d been looking forward to it the entire week, the stress-free time they’d get to spend with you, but, there’s a pit in your stomach that’s been growing the past week and now it’s big enough to stop you from doing anything else but wallow in your thoughts. Now the guilt just adds to it.

There’s times when you don’t have energy for anything. Not even for your favorite people on Earth and it’s simply your body’s fault. At least you try to tell yourself that.

There’s no response to your last message and you sent it an hour ago. Usually you’d be suspicious about the lack of whining and bickering, but you’re just too tired to worry as fatigue fogs your senses. You’re set for a night of self-pity when your front door unlocks, myriads of voices barging in and breaking the calm of your apartment. You already feel a headache coming on as Wooyoung, like usual, argues about whatever hill he’s chosen to die on.

You want to get up to greet them, but somethings stopping you. The pit in your stomach almost weighs you down, your limbs too heavy to move now. You sigh and surrender to your body’s fatigue.

Seonghwa watches you with a sad look on his face. He knows all the tell-tale signs of your sad ruts by now, the most obvious of all being when you go out of your way to isolate yourself. It hurts him because he wants to help you, but he‘s not quite sure how to do it right with you.

“Sweet thing,” he coos quietly and lays a gentle hand atop yours, “how do you feel?”

His attention turns a switch on in you, feeling yourself melt against his soft touch and caring voice. You shrug, feeling a loss of words. You don’t really have any to describe how you feel. Or rather, there’s a boulder in your throat stopping you from even attempting to say anything.

Hongjoong and San walk over, the latter immediately scooping you up into his arms despite Seonghwa’s protests. Hongjoong leans over the back of the couch, carding his fingers through your hair and tutting at the state you’re in.

“You’re not getting rid of us that easy, you know,” he mumbles.

San looks right at you even if you won’t meet his eyes, trying his best to communicate the worry he has because he knows words don’t work with you when you’re like this. Seonghwa flicks San’s forehead, pulling a loud noise of protest out of him, “Aren’t you supposed to be helping in the kitchen?”

San responds by pulling you tightly against him and closing his eyes in bliss. Seonghwa grumbles something about disrespect, but walks away to help in the kitchen himself. It’s starting to feel a little warm with San’s irresistible need to touch you and Hongjoong’s eyes not once leaving your form. It gets unbearably hot when you feel Mingi’s lips against the crown of your head, Wooyoung doing the same and immediately jumping into gently scolding you for pushing them away.

Hongjoong wants to agree but he knows it’s not what you need right now. He shushes Wooyoung, “Did you take your meds yet?”

You shake your head. Yunho walks up to you, bending down to hand you your medicine with a kind smile on his face. He takes your hand in his when you swallow your pills, kissing each of your knuckles gently, as if he fears scaring you away.

“Here.” Yeosang passes you a glass of water. There’s eight pairs of eyes on you and you can feel each one. It’s like they’re watching a zoo animal on display and you’d laugh at the thought in any other circumstance.

Jongho stands across you, intently staring you down, “You know you can’t just expect us to leave you alone, right?”

San pulls your head into his chest and throws protective arms over you as if you’re a kid getting a scolding, “Don’t be mean.”

Jongho is about to retort before Seonghwa stops him, “Ok! Ok, what Jongho means,” he kneels down next to Yunho with a gentle expression aimed at you, “Is that we want to help you, sweetheart. And it’s hard to do that when you don’t allow us to,”

Yeosang scratches at his neck as he finds the words, “We know it’s hard for you to do that, but…”

Hongjoong continues for him, “We’re just asking that you try at least. Okay?”

You hesitantly nod into San’s chest and you feel him let out a sigh of relief. Wooyoung speaks up from behind you, “You’re hogging ‘em, Sannie,”

He shakes his head violently and hugs you tighter, “No ‘m not.”

Mingi grimaces, “You totally are.”

It’s all-out war again and your body shakes between theirs as each one tries to take you for themselves. San’s still got a good grip on you as Yunho, Seonghwa, and Jongho fight to pull him off of you. Wooyoung and Mingi stand back and argue with San, really the only thing they’re good for. Hongjoong and Yeosang grimace and watch the events unfold, only waiting to step in if they notice you get overwhelmed.

But you don’t. You feel warm and loved and happy, and there’s a bubble of laughter forming in your throat and surpassing the boulder that was stuck in you before. You’ll take it one step at a time, and they’ll take that step with you.

bom note: this is for the gays with chronic fear of being emotionally vulnerable. i tried to make readers issues as vague as possible for u. Also realistically i would not want 8 men all up in my space when im in one of these moods but it’s fantasy ok shhh

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #poly ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader