#guests of the royal family for a length of time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ewanmitchellcrumbs · 9 months

Text

Anhedonia

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (third person perspective) Warnings: Canon typical sexism. Mentions of past trauma. Angst. Heavy Petting. Oral (m receiving). Smut. Word count: ~6.1k

Summary: A young noblewoman's family have travelled to King's Landing for an upcoming tourney and are guests of House Targaryen. She is excited to explore the capital and all it has to offer, however, she finds herself dismayed when a certain Prince does not share her adventurous spirit. She makes it her mission to ensure he learns to appreciate the pleasures he considers to be "depravities". Based on this request.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

A month in King’s Landing, she can hardly wait. The journey from the Vale to the capital has taken ten days, each of them feeling like they stretch on for an eternity. She hops down from the carriage once it pulls to a stop in the grounds of the Red Keep, helped by the footman, and does her best to remain poised and ladylike despite the overwhelming urge to exaggeratedly stretch her limbs after having been seated for so long. Her and her family are to be guests of House Targaryen, invited to attend a tourney being held in honour of King Viserys’ upcoming name day, a gesture of goodwill for having hosted the royal hunting party the last time they visited the Vale.

While life in the Vale is lush, green and peaceful, it is also quiet, too quiet, and she finds it dull. The only excitement she has are her visits to Riverrun to spend time with her betrothed; she is six months into a courtship with Lord Tommen Tully, but even the Riverlands do not offer the excitement that King’s Landing boasts. She longs to explore the maze-like streets of the city and immerse herself in a culture where sheep do not outnumber people.

They receive a warm welcome from Queen Alicent and the Hand of the King, Otto, who informs them that, regrettably, the King’s health prevents him from being able to greet them personally, but he sends his regards. The children that Alicent shares with Viserys all stand in a row as part of the greeting party. Prince Aegon leers at her, his eyes roaming the length of her body, making her feel self conscious and embarrassed. Princess Helaena puts her at ease, however; there is a natural slouch to her posture which lends an air of informality to her, and makes her seem more approachable than the rest of her family. She smiles easily, which is in direct juxtaposition with the stony demeanour of her younger brother, Prince Aemond. He stands straight as an arrow, arms clasped firmly behind his back and offers little more than a curt nod and a quick glance her and her family’s way, his gaze remaining fixed on the middle distance the rest of the time. She wonders if he is like that all of the time, or if he has taken a particular dislike to her presence.

Once they are settled, she is elated when she is sent to spend time with Helaena, her imagination running wild with the possibility of all the interesting things they might get up to. She is disappointed, however, when she finds that Helaena is happy to simply sit and embroider. The Princess talks dreamily about insects, as she stitches away with her needle and thread, but from the faraway look in her eye, she gets the distinct impression that it wouldn’t matter to her if she was there or not.

She slips out of the Princess’ quarters in search of something else to do, and doesn’t have to go far to find it.

“Did you tire of my sister already?” Aegon leans against an alcove, a smug smirk on his face.

She feels her cheeks heat up, she hasn’t even been here a day and yet already she has caused offense. Remembering how he’d looked at her earlier, she worries what he might do to her, her heart thudding loudly as her eyes dart around the corridor, looking to see if there’s anyone to save her. “N-no, my Prince, I simply-”

“-it’s fine,” He holds up a hand to halt her embarrassed apologies. “Helaena isn’t what I’d describe as exciting. You’ve come all this way, it seems a shame for you to sit cooped up in the Keep, when there’s an entire city to explore.”

His apparent lack of anger towards her, and offer of companionship eases her mind. and she grins at the possibility of finally getting to see more of King’s Landing. “What did you have in mind?”

“Follow me.”

Aegon leads her to what she assumes are his chambers, donning a hooded cloak, before throwing one to her. She slips it on, her eyes going wide as she watches him move a chest of drawers out of the way and push through an opening in the stone wall. They exit the Keep and head down the hill to what Aegon tells her is “Flea Bottom”.

She is overwhelmed by the sights of street performers dancing, breathing fire and offering palm readings, the sounds of traders shouting out to sell their wares, the smell of urine that seems to linger in every corner they pass, and the sheer number of people. They jostle in crowds up and down the narrow, winding cobbled streets and she grips tightly to Aegon’s hand, terrified she’ll get lost if she lets go even for a moment.

They drink brown ale that tastes like old copper coins and eat roasted meats that have been burned to the point that she is no longer able to discern their animal of origin. She decides it’s best that she doesn’t know. For every cup of ale she drinks, Aegon has three and it’s not until they reach the door of a building where the cheers of a crowd can be heard from inside, that she realises how far into his cups he is as he sways beside her.

“Perhaps we ought to go back.” She suggests uneasily, feeling apprehension begin to gnaw at her insides.

“Rubbish...” He slurs. “...come on, you’ll enjoy this.”

He grabs for her hand, tugging her through the jeering crowd and she recoils when the sight of two children hitting each other in a pit below comes into view. Her stomach turns at the sight, not wanting to look long enough to comprehend what she is seeing, the thought is simply too awful. She wrenches away, pushing herself back outside.

She leans against a wall, catching her breath and it is not until her heart rate has slowed that she notices that Aegon has not followed her. She had assumed he’d be just as disgusted as she was, and a shiver runs through her as she realises that he had intended for them to watch that, it was no mere accident, he enjoyed it.

The faces of the people on the street seem more sinister now she is alone and it dawns on her how perilous her situation is; she is a lone noblewoman in a foreign city, absolutely anything could happen to her here, and there’d be no one to save her. She breaks into a run, sprinting through the narrow streets, not knowing if she’s following the same route that she took with Aegon on the way there, but just knowing that if she keeps the castle on the hill in sight then she will make it back in one piece.

Winded by the time she eventually returns, she shuts herself away in her bedchamber and vows never to spend time alone with Prince Aegon for the rest of her stay in King’s Landing. His idea of a good time could not be farther removed from her own.

She has a troubled night’s sleep, plagued by the visions of what she’d seen in the fighting pit. She feels fuzzy headed by the time she eventually rouses from her bed, and a sadness settles over her. The month was going to be an incredibly lonely one without anyone to keep her company; her parents would be entertained by the Queen and her father, they would not want her around. Tommen could not even come to visit; an invitation had not been extended to the Tullys, it would be impolite and presumptuous for him to simply turn up.

Walking towards the window, she looks out across the city. The faint orange glow of the sun has barely begun to rise above the rooftops in the distance, it is still the hour of the rooster. A sound of steel clashing against steel draws her attention to the courtyard below.

She watches a tall, silver-haired man cross swords with a dark haired knight. Though they both fight valiantly, it is clear that the knight’s opponent is getting the best of him. It’s only when the fairer of the two turns that she notices the eyepatch. Aemond.

Though she has yet to actually speak to him, she knows all about him, all of Westeros does, she presumes; the terrible accident that cost him his eye and that he rides the largest dragon in all of Westeros, both subjects of keen interest in every noble household.

She wonders if he is as vulgar as his older brother, or perhaps possesses a gentleness that’s more akin to his sister; it was impossible to tell from his stoicism when she’d arrived yesterday. Smiling as she watches him point the tip of his blade towards the knight’s throat, she decides she will seek him out and find out for herself. Perhaps he will be a worthy companion for the duration of her stay.

Once she is washed, dressed and has broken her fast, she goes in search of the One-Eyed Prince. He has long since departed the training yard, so she wanders the halls of the Red Keep, hoping she might run into him.

It’s not until she reaches the library that she finally encounters him. He is seated at the head of a long, mahogany table with a book in his hands. He has changed out of the doublet he wore when sparring and is now dressed in a black leather tunic, his long silver-white hair falling elegantly around his shoulders.

He does not look up as she enters the library and she finds herself unsure of how to handle the situation; she hadn’t anticipated that he’d ignore her.

She draws in a breath and clears her throat, and when he still doesn’t acknowledge her she then speaks.

“Prince Aemond, it is a pleasure to meet you properly. I saw that you were part of the welcoming party for my family and I yesterday, but I wanted to formally introduce myself.”

He looks up then and she feels she may wither from the intensity with which he glares at her.

“Hm,” is all he musters, before returning his attention back to his reading.

The logical part of her knows she ought to take offense to his dismissiveness of her, however, her curiosity is far greater and she wants to know precisely why he’s so reluctant to speak to her. She walks towards him, stopping a few paces in front of where he sits, regarding him carefully.

It’s obvious that he does not enjoy the intrusion, visibly bristling and shifting haughtily in his seat. She makes no moves, determined to stand her ground until he talks to her.

Aemond sighs, closing his book and fixing her with a pointed stare. “What is it that you want exactly?”

She gives a gentle shrug of her shoulders, fingertips grazing over the smooth wood of the tabletop as she approaches him. “I thought we might be friends.”

“I don’t have friends.” He replies stiffly, reopening the tome in front of him and continuing to read.

“You must get lonely.” She watches the way his eye scans the page and smiles to herself. He isn’t really reading.

“No.” He doesn’t look up, keeping his focus firmly on the text.

“What are you reading?” She pulls out the chair next to where he sits at the head of the table and sits down.

“It wouldn’t interest you.” He says dismissively.

“Try me.” She stretches out her arms, gently drumming her fingers on the table.

He looks up then, annoyance pinching his angular features. “What do you mean?”

“Read it to me.” She fights the urge to laugh at the expression of horror that flashes across his face.

“Read to you?! Are you an infant?”

“I’m not going to leave you alone until you do, and it means you get to carry on with your book, so you might as well.”

He sighs, rolling his eye. “Fine, but I’m not starting from the beginning.”

She settles back in her chair as he reads aloud, paying rapt attention to the way his brows raise for particular sentences, the way his lips shape around each word. His voice is soothing when he’s not being petulant. A warmth blossoms in her chest at how animated he becomes. It is a history book he reads to her from, but he is almost passionate in his delivery of every word. It seems she has found common ground with Aemond, and perhaps the beginning of breaking down the walls which he appears to have built up around him.

She watches Aemond train from her chamber window every morning, and visits the library every afternoon over the next few days. Each time Aemond reads to her; books about history, philosophy and dragon lore. She finds each topic fascinating, but it perhaps has more to do with how ardently he speaks of them than her own interest or understanding. Whether he enjoys or simply endures her presence is a mystery to her, but he doesn’t turn her away and reads aloud without complaint, so she continues to come back. Each day their chairs draw closer together, until they sit shoulder to shoulder, her leaning in to follow the words along with him. He is stiff at first, seemingly unsure of her physical presence, but gradually softens, leaning into her as much as she does to him.

The day of the tourney arrives and as she is seated in the stands she looks around, noticing that Aemond is absent, despite the fact the rest of his family are all in attendance; even Viserys has made it out to spectate, though he appears to be frail and in ill health. A golden mask covers half of his face, and a maester hovers by his side, while Alicent looks on worriedly. She wonders if he’s even aware of what he’s supposed to be watching. Assuming that on account of all Aemond’s training, he will be taking part, she is surprised that as the jousting gets underway she cannot spot him.

She feels restless and bored without her new found friend, if she can even call him that, and during a commotion when a knight is unseated from his horse, she uses the distraction to sneak away back to Keep. It’s the time of day when Aemond would usually read to her, so she knows exactly where to find him.

He looks up from his book as she enters the library, the faintest of smirks pulling at the corners of his lips.

“You’re late,” He drawls. “I started without you.”

“I was at the tourney,” She replies, taking her usual seat beside him. “I thought you would be too.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” He says matter of factly.

Her eyebrows raise in shock, she’s never heard him speak so colloquially before, but she finds she rather likes it. “No ladies whose favour you’re after then?”

“No need. I’m to be betrothed to one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.”

“Lucky you! Which one?”

Aemond shrugs slightly. “I’ll choose when I fly to Storm’s End.”

“And leave three poor ladies heartbroken afterwards.” She teases with a smile.

“I hardly think so.” He mutters, stiffening with discomfort and frowning slightly.

Assuming he is being needlessly modest, she places a hand on his arm. “You must have no end of admirers.”

Aemond snatches his arm away, fixing her with an angry stare. “I do not appreciate your mockery.”

“I-I wasn’t…” She stammers, stunned by the abruptness of his reaction.

“Well, then I do not need your pity.” He utters darkly, rising from his seat and striding from the library.

She stares after him, a tightness in her chest preventing her from calling out to him. She has no idea what she has said or done to make him behave in such a way, but the urge to burst into tears is overwhelming, so she makes a hasty return to her chambers so that is able to do just that in private.

She weeps bitterly as she curls up on her bedspread, a combination of remorse for having offended her only companion in this city, and shock that such a harmless remark could have done so in the first place. As her cries subside, they give way to confusion. What had she said that had upset him so much? She had only meant to pay him a compliment. Words of flattery should not inspire such outrage. Her perplexed state gradually evolves into anger. She decides it is him in the wrong, and if he wishes to be annoyed with her then he can be.

For two days she does not speak to Aemond, fighting the urge to go to the window in the morning to watch him train, refusing the familiar path to the library that her feet long to take in the afternoons. She misses him, and the Red Keep becomes a lonely place to be without the only friend she has made within its walls. She wonders if perhaps he misses her too, but is resolute in her determination not to seek him out.

It is on the third day that she hears a soft rapping at the door to her quarters. She only ever receives visits from the Keep’s serving staff, so she calls out for them to enter. Her heart feels as though it has leapt into her throat when she sees Aemond slip through the door, softly closing it behind him.

He holds a book in his hand, and the pair of them stare at each other in silence for a few moments. She knows she should rise when in the presence of royalty, but it’s taking all of her effort just to remind herself to breathe, formalities are the furthest thing from her mind as her yearning for his company and her anger at how he’d spoken to her are at direct odds with each other.

It appears he is unbothered by her lack of formality, however, as he grips the book tightly in both hands, swallowing thickly. His right eye is almost pleading as he looks at her. “It’s been a few days…I thought I might read to you, if you’d like me to?” Though he does not say the words aloud, they are clear; I’m sorry.

She softens, unable to help the smile that spreads across her face. She’d expected him to be far too proud to have ever come to her, and yet here he was. “I’d like that,” She says; I forgive you.

Aemond seats himself next to her on the settee and begins to read. It is a volume about the Age of Heroes, and though interesting, she is barely able to register the words, just thankful to have the ease of his presence once more.

He squirms as he reads, something she is unused to seeing. Aemond is still by nature, his posture stiff and unyielding, yet he arches his back and rolls his shoulders until eventually, with a sigh, he stops reading and closes the book.

“This seat is unbearable, how can you stand it?” He grumbles.

“We could go to the library, if you’d prefer?” She offers.

“I’ve a better idea,” He says. “But you’ll need to be dressed in something warmer, much warmer. Get changed and I’ll meet you back here in a moment.”

She watches him leave, wondering what he could possibly have in mind, and why she’d need to dress warmly. It is early summer, and the sun shines brightly, regardless of this she dons her thickest clothing before Aemond returns. She notices that he too has changed, he’s wearing a long, thick jacket and leather riding gloves. Puzzled by his choice of attire, she does not have time to ask questions as he gestures for her to follow him.

He guides her out of and away from the Red Keep, the briskness of his pace causing her to break into a light sweat on account of how wrapped up she is. Her discomfort is short lived, however, replaced by a mixture of fright and awe as the sight of the largest and most monstrous beast she has ever laid eyes upon draws closer into view the further their footsteps draw them away from the center of the city.

“Are…are we going towards that?” She asks fearfully.

Aemond chuckles drily. “That is Vhagar,” He tells her proudly. “Is she not the most magnificent dragon you’ve ever seen?”

“She is the only dragon I’ve ever seen.” She replies, voice shaking slightly.

“I thought you might enjoy an opportunity to escape the Keep, and experience something more exciting than a tourney.”

“We’re going to ride her?!”

“It’s perfectly safe, I do it often. But if you’re afraid, we don’t have to.”

She chews her lip in uncertainty. The thought of flying on dragonback terrifies her, but at the same time she’d arrived in King’s Landing in search of adventure and this certainly was one. She decides to place her trust in Aemond. “I want to.”

Trembling as Aemond helps her up into the saddle before climbing on after her, she tries her best to be brave in spite of the way her stomach lurches as Vhagar takes flight. She holds onto the handles of the saddle for dear life, thankful for her thicker than usual garments as a rush of cold air gusts over them as they gain more height.

The queasiness she feels at the weightlessness subsides a little, as she feels Aemonds arms encircle her waist in order to take hold of the reins of Vhagar’s saddle. For a moment she is sure she imagines it, until she hears it again; Aemond is actually laughing. It’s the first time she’s ever heard him express such unbridled joy since she met him, and she turns slightly, taking in the view of the upward curve of his mouth, the crinkle of his seeking eye, how utterly carefree he looks. It suits him. She would endure a thousand death defying flights on Vhagar if it meant she got to see more of him like this, it is so far removed from how solemn he usually seems.

They land on a grassy cliff top, overlooking the sea, and he informs her that he has brought her to Parchments, as he helps her down, an area that overlooks Tarth and the Narrow Sea towards the Flatlands of Pentos and Myr.

“It is too loud sometimes, even in the most silent parts of the Red Keep. It’s quiet here.” Aemond tells her, shrugging off his coat and laying it upon the ground before sitting upon it. He gestures to the empty space beside him and she joins him.

“You like the quiet.” She muses, looking out sea, watching the gentle undulation of the waves as the breeze softly moves through her hair.

“It is preferable to being laughed at.”

She startles, assuming he is referring to their conversation in the library a few days’ prior. “I wasn’t–”

“I did not mean you,” He tells her, glancing quickly over at her, then returning his gaze to the horizon. “They have always laughed at me. I grow tired of it.”

She is unsure of who he means by they, but is eager to comfort him. “I think you are magnificent, Aemond, I’d never laugh at you. My compliment was genuine.”

“I know that now,” He admits. “No one has ever sought my company willingly before, or expressed that I am…desirable. It was hard for me to imagine you weren’t joking.”

Her heart aches for him. “Have you never even kissed a woman before?”

Aemond shakes his head. “Aegon took me to a pleasure house on the Street of Silk for my thirteenth name day. He said ‘time to get it wet’. I don’t really remember much of that day, just that it smelled unclean, and that when I encountered the woman I was to lay with…” He pauses, drawing in a breath. “...the sight of her spread out like that was too much. I couldn’t do it, so I turned and ran. Aegon laughed. He has always laughed. I haven’t bothered with that sort of thing since.”

She frowns, thinking back on her own experience in Flea Bottom with Aegon. “Aegon is a shit,” She tells him, earning the slightest of smiles from him. “But I am sorry that that happened to you, you deserve better. It is not supposed to be that way.”

“How should it be then?”

“You should feel safe and comfortable, it should be with someone who cares for you, who wants to take the time to learn what makes you feel pleasure.” She says wistfully, heat creeping across her cheeks.

“It sounds as though you speak from experience.” He says with a slight raise of his eyebrow.

She hesitates a moment, shame giving her pause, but she has trusted Aemond once already today and he has not failed her, so she decides to confide in him. “Yes, I am betrothed to Tommen Tully. We have…explored the various aspects of intimacy together during our courtship. If you are going to enter into an arranged marriage then it makes sense to know what you are doing, and are able to keep your partner happy.”

“Hmm, Lord Tully,” Aemond says quietly. “Lucky man!”

She giggles at the way he mimics her compliment from a few days’ prior, and they both turn their attention back to the expanse of the Narrow Sea.

It is dusk when Vhagar lands back on the outskirts of King’s Landing. Streaks of lavender, orange, pink and yellow all disappear into the horizon, slowly swallowed by the darkness of light as she climbs from the saddle with Aemond’s help.

She is taken aback when he sweeps her into his arms as she makes her dismount, pulling her close to him. He presses his lips to hers and it is filled with the clumsy inexperience that comes with the action of a first kiss, but the plushness of his mouth against hers is not unpleasant and she returns the gesture softly and slowly.

He pulls back, his eye looking deep into hers. “I feel safe and comfortable with you,” He murmurs. “And I would like for you to teach me…how to be intimate. If that is agreeable to you?”

Her stomach flutters as she stares back at him breathlessly. “Yes,” She whispers, before leaning back in again.

Aemond is a fast learner and over the coming days he becomes more confident with his kisses. He leans in to kiss her each day as he reads to her, begins walking her back to her quarters at the end of every evening so that he may kiss her goodnight, his tongue licking deftly against her own. His lips possess hers with such assertiveness that it steals her breath away, the softness of them molding to hers in a way that has her chasing forward for more with a whine when he pulls away.

She knows that she ought to feel guilty, she is betrothed to Tommen after all, but she reasons that they are not married yet, and it is unlikely that he has shied away from having fun of his own when they are apart. She is merely ensuring Aemond feels confident when the time comes for him to depart for Storm’s End in pursuit of his own betrothal. With this in mind, she does not push for more beyond what he is willing to give, waiting for him to give the signal that he is ready.

It is early evening as he walks her back from the library, his mouth moves unhurriedly against her own as he presses her back against the door to her bedchamber.

He lingers once they break apart, not bidding her goodnight as he usually would. “I thought I might…come inside, if that is fine with you?”

She nods, her breath quickening as he follows in behind her. Aemond sits himself on the edge of the bed, suddenly looking uncertain of himself.

“How do I–”

“It’s alright,” She smiles, sitting beside him. “I don’t mind taking the lead. Just tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

He nods, laying against the pillows as she gently pushes him back. Draping herself over him, she resumes their earlier kisses, deep and passionate, both savouring the taste of each other. She breaks away to trail her lips along the sharpness of his jaw as her fingers work to unbuckle his tunic. She delights in the soft sighs that he emits, unbuttoning his undershirt and admiring the hard planes of his lean torso.

“Do you ever touch yourself?” She whispers, feeling how his pulse races as she strokes her fingers over his neck.

“Sometimes…” He breathes, eyes fluttering closed as her fingertips trail across his chest.

“What do you think about?”

“Lately…” He inhales a shaky breath as her hand moves lower, toying with the laces of his breeches. “...I think of you.”

She feels the warmth of arousal pooling between her legs as she palms the hardness of him through his underclothes. Though she does not have much to compare Aemond to, he is much larger than Tommen. She cannot resist dipping her hand beneath the fabric to touch him. “And what am I doing in your thoughts?”

He hisses through his teeth as she wraps her hand around him, and she lets out a hum of satisfaction at how weighty and warm he feels against her palm as she strokes him.

“You are…fuck…you are beneath me, and I-I am inside you.”

“Is that something you’re ready for?” She questions, slowly lowering herself on the bed, mouth watering at the sight of him; long and thick, flushed pink with arousal at the tip.

“I want to be.”

“Why don’t we start with this instead…”

She licks delicately at the head of him, grinning to herself at his quiet gasp, then allowing him to pass between her lips, suckling delicately. He is slightly salty against her tongue, though not unpleasant. Releasing him, she glances up.

“G-gods…don’t stop…” Aemond all but whines, his eye screwed shut as he bucks his hips slightly.

She smirks, taking him once more into her mouth, deeper this time, bobbing her head back and forth and using her hand to stroke the length of what won’t fit. He tenses and trembles beneath her attention, his knuckles turning white with the intensity with which he grips the sheets. She readies herself as the telltale pulsation of his length indicates he is nearing his peak, swallowing as he releases down her throat with a low groan.

Wiping her mouth, she crawls to lay beside him, smiling softly as she takes in his lazy, blissed out expression; right eye hooded with pleasure and lips slightly parted.

“Can I stay with you?” He whispers.

“As long as you’d like.”

From that point on, when Aemond walks her back to her rooms he does not depart to his own. They spend every evening exploring each other, hands, lips and tongues roaming over every bared inch, before falling asleep in each other’s arms. She does not recoil when he lifts his eyepatch for the first time in front of her, instead she takes his face in her hands, turning it slightly, admiring the way his sapphire glimmers in the firelight, before softly stroking her thumb over the scar on his cheek.

He takes her that night. It is brief, as she knew it would be, a few awkward thrusts inside of her and he spills himself, embarrassed apologies uttered into the crook of her neck. She strokes his hair and tells him not to worry, they will try again once he is recovered, and they do.

She sits astride him, hips rocking back and forth, head tilted back in pleasure as the length of him stretches and fills her over and over, working at a spot inside of her that causes her to clench around him. Taking his hand, she guides it to her pearl.

“Stroke here,” She instructs, moaning wantonly as he begins to rub in tight circles.

She collapses against his chest, white hot waves of pleasure coursing through her as she falls apart, and he follows soon after.

Aemond is dutiful, fetching her moon tea without needing to be asked, and the pair fall into a happy routine of reading and dragon riding by day and lovemaking by night.

She lays against his chest, listening to the soft thud of his heartbeat as his fingers stroke through her hair.

“Thank you,” He tells her earnestly. “For all you have done for me.”

“I have done nothing but remind you of what is already there,” She replies. “You are intelligent, you fight fiercely, you are a skilled dragonrider, anyone can see that.”

“How do I fare as a lover?” He asks.

She does not need to look at him to hear the smirk in his tone and she giggles lightly. “Extremely well. Your Baratheon girl will certainly be lucky to have you.”

She hates the pang of jealousy she feels acrid and hot within her chest as she says those words, but what she detests even more is the look of sadness that flashes across Aemond’s face, his eye glancing away as the upward curve of his mouth falters. So they speak no more of it, clinging desperately to each other and the time that they have left.

On her final night in King’s Landing, Aemond fucks her into the mattress as though he means to push her through it, his grip on her hips so tight it is sure to leave bruises in its wake. She does not care though, clinging to him just as tightly, her nails digging crescent moons into his shoulder blades as she tries her best to memorise the way that he moves inside of her.

Come the morning, he sits up in the bed, his expression sullen as he watches her hurriedly throw her belongings into a chest - a task she ought to have completed the previous evening, but Aemond had kept her otherwise occupied.

“The stewards will be here for my things soon,” She says, stuffing a dress down the side of the rest of her haphazardly packed possessions. “You should leave before anyone sees you. You’ll be expected to be a part of the official send off for my family anyway.”

Slowly, Aemond rises from the mattress, walking over to her. “Don’t go,” He pleads quietly, taking her hands in his.

She could cry from the gesture; a month ago he’d have rather flung himself from the walls of the Red Keep than initiate any form of physical contact with her, let alone a gesture so intimate.

“You can’t ask that of me, Aemond,” She tells him gently, softly pressing her fingers into his palms. “It isn’t fair.”

He swallows thickly and the sincerity she sees in his eye is more than she can stand. “But I love you.”

She feels wetness rim her eyes, sharp and stinging. “And I love you. But so what? It’s not enough. We are duty bound, you and I.”

He bows his head sadly for a moment, but eventually nods. “I hope Lord Tully appreciates what a fine woman he has.”

Smiling warmly, in spite of her unshed tears, she nods. “And I hope the Baratheon girls give you a warm welcome. Be sure to kiss them all, don’t settle for what’s offered up first.”

He huffs a silent laugh, that releases itself as a heavy exhale through his nose.

“I mean it,” She urges. “This world is too small for you, never let anyone make you feel less than what you are.”

“Thank you,” He murmurs. “For everything.”

She lets go of his hands, crushing herself against his chest as she wraps her arms around him, as he envelopes her.

“Don’t forget me.”

“As if I could.”

She stares out of the carriage window as it rolls away from the Red Keep, away from King’s Landing, away from Aemond. Though she is returning to the Vale, she knows a part of her will forever remain in the capital, a part that she has imprinted upon Aemond. It is bittersweet to leave him behind. She is comforted knowing that she has pieced together the broken man she encountered when she first arrived. The world is too small a place for the likes of the Targaryen Prince, but she has given him the confidence to realise that he holds it in the palm of his hand.

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baambastic · 1 month

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Woo Be Upon Ye:

Medieval fantasy TimKon AU where Kon is a half-dragon prince of the realm who elevates commoner Tim to the Royal Guard on a whim. Also has Bart as an apprentice mage, Donna and Cassie as Themiscyran ambassadors, many of Tim’s school friends as Royal Guards, Wildcat as a mentor, the Daily Planet staff as the royal council, and more! Planned as part one of a four-part series.

Bernard Dowd vs. The World:

After hearing Tim’s many, many, many stories about his friends, Bernard realizes that almost all of Tim’s guy friends were hitting on Tim at multiple points. Failing to convince Tim of this, however, Bernard makes it his mission to obtain written testimonies from as many of said friends as he can to support his case. Such friends include Superboy, Danny Temple, Sebastian Ives, Lonnie Machin, and more.

Two for the Price of Them:

In this AU, Tim’s 100th cloning attempt is a success, and so clones of both Kon and Bart are created. Partway through the artificial aging process, however, an agent of N.O.W.H.E.R.E. (overhauled from the same metahuman-abduction organization from the New52) attacks. Tim is forced to go on the run and off the grid with the two clone babies.

The World Didn’t Stand Still:

When Kathy Branden plugs a Phantom Zone Crystal into her teleportal and visits the Phantom Zone, she comes back with a young Krytonian boy, Chris Kent, who claims to be the foster son of Clark Kent and Lois Lane. Effectively taking pre-boot Chris from after his debut story and transporting him into post-Rebirth continuity. Part of a planned trilogy of fics centered on Chris. Guaranteed that they will not end with Chris getting punted into the Phantom Zone for an unknown length of time.

The Dichotomy of Lor-Zod and Chris Kent:

In post-Infinite Frontiers continuity, Lor-Zod begins getting flashes of a life before his own, of a life where he was family to the loathsome Kal-El of the House of El. Lor’s father, Dru-Zod, convince Lor that his affliction must be the machinations of the Justice League’s Martian Manhunter, a psychic attack meant to weaken New Kandor for invasion. Along with Non as a chaperone, Lor-Zod goes on a quest to hunt the Martian Manhunter, though he’s really on the path to restoring his pre-boot history and identity, and all the internal conflict that comes from the contradictions between his two selves. Effectively how I would approach reconciling the current iteration of Lor-Zod with Chris Kent. Guest-starring Martian Manhunter and M’gann M’orzz.

The Cola Caper:

Upon hearing the devastating news that an embargo on the island nation of Santa Prisca will halt the distribution of Zesti Cola in the United States, Dick and Tim go on a mission to infiltrate Santa Prisca and abscond with as much Zesti as they can, and maybe even the secret recipe if they’re lucky.

Stray Little Tiger:

A Billy Batson-centric fic placed in a Stray!Tim Drake AU. Selina Kyle, on her way home from a caper, comes across a lightning-struck boy in an alley. Clearly homeless and in need of help, she decides to take the boy in until he’s healed, though the lightning seems to have severely damaged his vocal cords. She doesn’t know that this boy is Billy Batson, that he’s Captain Marvel, or that there’s something deeply wrong with the Rock of Eternity. This story is told mainly from Selina’s POV, with occasional sidetracks to Tim’s POV, but never Billy’s POV. Identity shenanigans, found family, magic problems, and more.

A Single Word Spoken:

A girl in the shape of a weapon is brought to Fawcett City, where she fulfills her purpose for the first and last time.

The girl who can no longer be a weapon hides from her wielder in an old subway and finds herself transported to a place of great magic.

There, the girl who wishes to be more than she was made to be finds a Wizard, who sees the girl for her heart and not for the blood staining her skin.

The Wizard teaches the girl a name.

Cassandra speaks her first word.

And in so doing, she speaks power.

Also featuring Cass navigating the anachronistic Fawcett City, befriending Billy Batson, codependency issues, an old man who’s also a Bengal tiger, ancient grudges, a different old man who’s barely qualified to give Cass life advice, and more.

Fake it For the Win:

While on a cruise, Tim and Kon decide to fake being married in order to compete on an onboard game show for married couples. When they actually win, though, they have no choice but to keep up the act for the rest of their trip. Fake dating to real dating, with a focus on comedy.

Crossroads of Fate and Eternity:

JLI-era fic with a couple of canon-divergent indulgences. Kent Nelson, helped by Khalid Nassour, decides to take Billy Batson under his wing as a student of the mystic arts. Magic lessons, Tower of Fate and Rock of Eternity shenanigans, Bromfield family stuff, an ancient entity and an ancient demon, philosophy, and other such tidbits.

A Little Ways Along the Family Tree:

When a villain travels through time to the future and accidentally takes Robin with him, Damian Wayne must team up with Mar’i and Jake Grayson to defeat the villain and return Damian to his proper time.

A High-Speed Romantic Tryst on an Open-Water Murder Shack:

When a couple of thugs steal a houseboat belonging to one of Tim’s marina neighbors while he and Bernard are hanging out, the two of them give chase in Tim’s own houseboat. Comedy, crack treated seriously.

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lowlights · 1 year

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Sweet Reds and Starlight Mornings

Oberyn x f!reader, Ellaria x f!reader, heavily implied Oberyn x Ellaria x f!reader

Length: 3.3k

Warnings: Smut, a bit of wlw, mentions of group sex, heavy on the food play, everything gets sticky, everyone has bi switch energy, mentions of alcohol, a little bit of anxiety/worry, Feelings, praise kink, PinV sex, creampie, lots of cumplay, cum eating, a moment of breeding kink, f!receiving oral, it's implied that reader had a hard life.

Summary: The newest artist-in-residence at the Dornish palace, you have become a permanent fixture in the bed of Prince Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria. You reach a turning point on a very special night.

Happy belated birthday, @starlightmornings!! I know this is way late, but I hope the story makes up for it. This was a fic of many firsts for me- first time really writing Oberyn! First time writing wlw! First time with food play. ILY!!

You shouldn’t feel so nervous. You have been in here more times than you can count on both hands.

But not alone. Never alone.

You arranged your barely-there dress just so while you waited on the expansive bed. Ellaria had instructed you to come after dinner to Oberyn’s quarters, which was certainly not an odd ask. But she had asked that you wear a certain garment… and to come alone. These requests were highly unusual, but you would do anything that she and Oberyn asked of you. Without question.

The palace had only been your home for a few months and had quickly become your safe haven. This had very little to do with the comfortable living conditions and abundant food, and almost everything to do with the Prince and his adoring paramour, Ellaria. You were a new artist-in-residence for the royal family of Dorne and spent your days creating beautiful things.

You spent many of your nights between the arms of your lovers.

Your lovers who, at present, were nowhere to be seen. Nor were any of the other usual attendants or other guests who would be spending the evening.

The dress Ellaria had requested you wear was one of her own, something you had only seen her don but once. It was made of a see-through gauze that would scandalize even the most progressive residents of Dorne. It had intricately thin knotting decorating the shoulders and was slit all the way up both thighs. The soft yellow at the top of the garment faded into a deep orange that trailed behind you when you walked the empty hallway to their bedroom.

It was the most beautiful thing you had ever worn, a far cry from the drab clothing of your previous life. Just as you started to relax into the pillows, the wide door swung open. Oberyn walked into the room first, followed by Ellaria who had her hands over his eyes. Both wearing golden tunics, they lit up the room like twin suns in the sky.

“Lover, I have a gift for you,” she cooed to him, shaking her head gently as you opened your mouth to speak.

“Please, do not keep me waiting in such suspense, Ellaria.”

She removed her hands and wrapped her arms around him. “Behold!”

He looked at you lasciviously. “You’ve brought me my starlight? What a gift, indeed. But it is not my naming day.”

“No,” she said, “But it is hers.” She pressed a kiss to his shoulder before gliding over towards you.

Oberyn smiled at you before walking over to the wine on the far side of the room. “Ah, I see. We must celebrate then.”

Ellaria crawled across the bed to you, never breaking eye contact. You spread your legs to accommodate her, bending your knees up and reaching out for her. She leaned her cheek against your palm and ran her hands up your smooth legs. She nodded in approval, noticing the gift of oils she had left in your bath the night before had been put to use. It made your stomach flutter.

“What do you have in store for us this evening, my love?” Oberyn sauntered over to the bed holding three goblets of sweet Dornish red wine. He placed them down on the bedside table and stood next to you while Ellaria leaned down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. You tangled one hand in her dark brown curls and reached out with your other hand to Oberyn.

“My Prince.” You gasped a little when Ellaria sucked on your earlobe.

Oberyn pressed his lips to the back of your hand. “Starlight, what have I told you about calling me that?”

“Not to do it, my Prince,” you said with a mischievous grin.

Ellaria’s mouth trailed down your chest, kissing over your nipple. You could feel everything through the fabric; it was as though you were wearing nothing but liquid sunlight. Her mouth felt divine as you arched against her.

“She is hopeless,” Ellaria said with a knowing glance at Oberyn. “But as it is her naming day, I suppose she should do whatever she pleases.” With one last kiss, Ellaria pushed off the bed and stood next to Oberyn. His hands went immediately to her, as they always did.

They both stared at you with unabashed desire. It felt overwhelming to be at the center of their combined attention, but you had never felt more wanted and more safe than you did with them. You let one leg drop, opening up a veiled view of your cunt to them. You wondered if the material was already stained with the wetness you felt between your thighs.

“Well then, we should not make her wait,” Oberyn said, pushing down the sleeve of Ellaria’s dress and kissing her exposed shoulder.

Ellaria pushed her sleeve back up and shook her head. “I have gone to great lengths to ensure that you will be unbothered until the banquet tomorrow night. I have had my time alone with her previously. Now, it is your turn.”

Anticipation bubbled up in your chest. You have never even been alone in the same room with Oberyn, never mind in his bed. She bid you both farewell with a promise to return in the morning to rejoin you, whispered something into Oberyn’s ear, and took a goblet of wine with her as she exited.

“My Prince, are you alright without her? I could ask her to return,” you offered.

He shook his head. “She will return to us when the sun rises. For now, I want to make sure the last hours of your name day are filled with ecstasy and indulgence.”

This was a proposal with which you could not argue. Oberyn smiled at you before removing his tunic, letting your eyes take in the wide expanse of his strong back as he walked back to the table of food. By the light of the torches, he looked as though he had been molded from the softest sunlight; like the golden glow that filters through the forest trees at dusk.

Oberyn took his time at the table and you grew hungry for him. “Will you be coming to bed, Highness, or should I rest my eyes for the next few hours?”

He turned, hands full, with a bemused expression. “Who is this needy creature before me? Certainly, she is not the timid woman who has inhabited my bed these weeks prior.” He placed a bowl of ripe berries, a bowl of deep red plums, and a small lidded jar down on the bedside table.

“I miss your touch,” you pouted. He sat down on the bed and leaned over you, caressing your cheek. You curled into him like a lazy housecat, resting your head on his clothed thigh. “Did you miss me at all, my Prince?”

“Call. Me. Oberyn,” he scolded before kissing your nose.

“Did you miss me, my Oberyn?”

His hand wandered down your back, cupping your ass through your dress. “I always miss my starlight when she is away from me. Now, tell me. How would you like me tonight? Your wish is my only command.”

You bit your lip in thought. You’ve experienced the prince in many ways over the past months, each position feeling better than the last as you got familiar with each other’s bodies. The pressure of choosing weighed heavy on you, and it must have read on your face as well.

“This is meant to bring you pleasure, little one, not to bring you torture,” he said.

“I am having a hard time choosing, Oberyn. I…I want everything with you,” you confessed, cheeks burning. The affection the two of you shared was hardly new, and Oberyn was never shy with his adoration, but you were dangerously close to confessing what had been on your heart for a long time.

Oberyn’s face softened. “And I want everything with you, starlight. We have tonight to begin, and a lifetime of nights after this one if we so choose. There are no limits other than those we place on ourselves.”

You nodded, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Lie back,” he instructed, leaning over to the bowl of berries. “Open.”

You obeyed, opening your mouth just enough for him to slip a succulent blackberry between your lips. You sucked gently on his finger, eliciting a smile. You swallowed when he told you to and he grinned as he indulged in a berry himself.

“Again.”

You took another berry into your mouth, sucking harder this time.

“Swallow. Good girl.”

His praise was like a bolt of lightning to your core- he had never called you that before. It felt good to know that he was pleased with you, especially when he took control like this. Oberyn leaned down to kiss you, his tongue immediately swiping against your lips. You opened to him immediately, wrapping your arms around his bare shoulders. He moaned when you dragged your fingernails across his back, just hard enough that they might leave a mark for Ellaria to find in the morning.

“Do you hunger for more?” he whispered against your lips, drawing you up with him as he sat upright.

“Yes, always more of you,” you replied.

“First you must eat a bit more, to sustain yourself for the night,” Oberyn explained as he plucked a large plum from the bowl. He stared at you as he bit into the purple-hued fruit before offering you the next taste. He shook his head when you reached for it.

“Like this,” he instructed, tilting your chin up gently and leaving your neck exposed. You bit into the fruit as it was offered to you and immediately felt the sweet juice cascade down your chin and into the hollow of your throat. No harvest could ever compare to that of the stone fruits grown just for the palace in Dorne; they were more magnificent than any you had ever tasted before.

Alternating between wet kisses and soft licks, Oberyn followed the tracks of juice across your skin. You tangled your hands in his hair and tugged gently.

“Tell me something,” you began.

“Yes, my starlight?”

“What did Ellaria whisper to you as she left?”

Oberyn helped you settle back into the pillows and stood up, untying the strings at the front of his pants. “She told me to make a mess of you, and that dress.”

Your core ached at Ellaria’s words and you watched with bated breath as he quickly relieved himself of the rest of his clothes. He took his half-hard cock into his hand and languidly stroked as he tilted his head in thought.

“That garment leaves little to the imagination,” he said.

You arched your back slightly, showing off the press of your tits against the fabric. “Do you wish for me to be more covered?” you asked coyly.

“Hardly. I am fighting the urge to lean down and rip it off of your perfect body myself.” He joined you on the luxuriously soft bed.

Oberyn might be known as the Red Viper to the rest of the world, but his actions in the bedroom were more akin to that of a lion. He moved with an effortless fluidity that served him well both in the arena and in the bedroom, and while the two had very different outcomes, both involved him stalking his prey with precision. Even when Oberyn occasionally submitted himself to his amorous partners, he still exuded a cunning command of every toned muscle in his body.

“Oberyn,” you purred into his ear, replacing his hand on his cock with your own, “I want to ride you.”

“By all means, make me your stallion.”

Oberyn kept you steady as you straddled him, pushing the flimsy material of your dress out of the way so that you could slowly sink down on his thick cock. It was always an adjustment to take all of him, and he mercifully kept his body still until he felt your walls relax. You let out a deep sigh and closed your eyes, relishing in the fullness that slowly drifted from discomfort to contentment.

“You are so tight for me, always so tight. Take whatever you need from me, my starlight, when you are ready,” he told you, squeezing your thighs in encouragement. Balancing your hands on his chest, you started rocking your hips back and forth.

“Gods, Oberyn. You are so…so big,” you moaned.

“Do you feel me deeply, starlight?” he asked, guiding your hips in their movement. He must be able to feel that your skin is seconds away from combusting into a thousand embers.

“So…so…gods, Oberyn,” you gasped as he thrust up into you, making your hips stutter. You fell forward, desperate for his mouth on yours as though he were the only source of oxygen in the room. In a way, he was. You are not sure when it happened, either, this gradual pull towards him and Ellaria becoming stronger and stronger. A moth to two flames, they were all you craved.

They were in every piece of art you created. Every fleck of paint, every splash of ink in every poem, every soft curve of every sculpture. They were music and sunshine and the taste of decadent wine on your tongue. They were safety, exploration, and love.

You thought that they might love you back.

The way Oberyn was looking at you at this moment, you believed it as well.

“You look so beautiful like this.” His hands roamed your thighs and up to your hips. “How beautiful you would look round with my child, should you ever choose.”

Your hips faltered as desire shot through your veins. He had never spoken of this before. “R-really?”

In a flash, Oberyn flipped you onto your back and thrust into you with vigor. “If you wanted, I would give you a dozen of my children to carry. Fill you up every night until the maester declares you with child.”

“Now,” you gasped. “I want it now. Please, please.”

Pleasure coursed through your body. He knew every angle to hit and took delight in watching you fall apart under him when he adjusted his hips just so. Every drag of his cock brought you closer to the edge, and when he licked his fingers and reached down to rub your clit- you were gone.

The world exploded behind your eyes as you cried out his name, squeezing down tightly on him. He followed right after, belly tight and eyes closed, as he filled up your warm pussy with his cum. Maybe it would produce a child and maybe it wouldn’t, but you didn’t care. All you knew is that you were his now, forever and completely.

Oberyn collapsed with his leg slung over yours, lazily kissing you through the afterglow of each other’s orgasms.

Even in your blissful state, there was still a bit of uncertainty eating you up inside, a relic of a past that had not been kind to you before you arrived in Dorne. “My Prince, I-”

“You still call me that even after we give each other such pleasure?”

“Sorry. Oberyn. I’m…my worry sometimes gets the best of me.”

He gathered you up in his arms so that you could rest your cheek upon his chest. “You can call me anything you want, my starlight, so long as you never do it in fear.”

You snuggled against him and inhaled the scent of his spicy, sweaty skin. “I meant it when I said I want everything with you, Oberyn.”

“I want everything with you, too. And everything from you. Every last moment of pleasure I can wring from that gorgeous body. Lie on your back, starlight,” he commanded, grabbing the jar from the table before kneeling between your open legs. “Time to make a mess of this pretty dress as I promised.”

You gasped when Oberyn grabbed at your neckline and gently pulled apart the dress. It tore like it was made of the oldest, thinnest paper. He let it pool around you and gazed at you as though you were one of his favorite paintings. The night breeze wafted past the curtains and tickled your exposed skin. Oberyn couldn’t resist trailing a finger across the goosebumps that blossomed across your belly and chest, smiling at the noises you made when he pinched your nipple.

“Have you tasted the honey from the royal apiary? Only a handful of bottles are produced a year, and it is the most exquisite color.” He dipped his index finger into the jar and scooped out the glistening, dark amber honey.

“It’s gorgeous, Oberyn,” you said, transfixed as he let it slide down his hand and across your stomach. It felt warm against your skin.

“It tastes even better, you must try it,” he replied, slowly letting it drizzle across your breasts. When only a tiny bit remained on his finger, he brushed the honey across your lips. “Open.”

You sucked hard on his finger, cheeks hollowing out and never breaking eye contact. “So sweet.”

He grinned. “I think you would find something even more delicious.” He dragged his wet finger back through the honey that had dripped down your tits and across your stomach, gathering the sweet nectar before gently pushing his finger into your cunt. You wanted him to stay there, to keep that thickness inside of you. But instead, he collected the remnants of your combined spend and brought it back up to your lips.

Your tongue was tentative at first, darting out to taste the mixture of cum and honey. To your own surprise, it tasted divine. You sucked greedily on his finger and relished in the taste of him and of your own arousal. It was a debaucherous sensation and you loved every bit of it.

Oberyn had shown some measure of restraint until this moment, but seeing how much you loved the taste made him become dangerously close to feral. He pulled his finger out of your mouth and kissed you deeply, letting his tongue tangle with your own.

He kissed down your body as though he meant to clean you himself, swirling around your honey-soaked nipples and down across your soft belly. Between the honey and his saliva, it was sticky. But the gods both new and old couldn’t have pulled him off of you even if they tried-not that you would let them. He settled between your legs, pushing your thighs wide.

“Beautiful,” he murmured before licking your cunt as though he meant to devour it.

“O-oberyn...my...love…right there,” you called out, holding him against you. It didn’t take long for his tongue to bring you swiftly to your orgasm. He drank up every bit of it.

Finally, when you couldn’t take another exquisite moment, you pulled him back up to you. His chin was sticky and wet; he had never looked more pleased with himself. You, on the other hand, weren’t sure that you could move your legs if you tried.

“You made a mess,” you said as you caught your breath.

“We made a mess,” he countered.

“Fine, we made a mess. The sheets are all but ruined,” you bemoaned.

Oberyn chuckled. “Hardly the first time. It will be taken care of while we are in the bath.”

Your ears perked up. “Bath?”

Oberyn kissed your forehead. “Of course. We must clean ourselves before we indulge further, and certainly before Ellaria returns.”

You looked at him with hope shining in your eyes. “Maybe we can have a bit more fun while we are bathing?” Another first that you and Oberyn would have together. You felt a little silly, asking if he would have you as though he didn’t just make you climax with his face buried between your legs. But it wasn’t just about a bath- it was about having more. A future.

He propped you up on a stack of pillows before reaching for the two remaining goblets of sweet wine. You both clinked them together before taking a welcomed sip.

“Of course, my starlight. Anything you want, today and every day.”

#Oberyn Martell #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x ellaria sand #oberyn x ellaria x you #game of thrones fanfiction #oberyn has my whole heart ok #we don't believe in ellaria erasure here #happy birthday kaylie!!!!

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

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Jungkook: Love Letters 🔞

Royalty AU × Prince!Jungkook × Maid!Reader × Childhood friends to lovers × angst

In which Jungkook can only ever live a fever dream behind closed doors, while the world at day becomes more and more cruel.

Tags/warnings: angst, royalty, forbidden romance, so much angst, smut, jungkook wraps it up and so should you, longing, mutual pining, open ending

Length: no wordcount, short

☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

"Why do you always do that?" You ask Jungkook, who looks at you funnily for a moment, before he goes back to coloring.

"Do what?" He wonders, carefully running the tip of the red crayon over the paper.

"That thing, with your hand." You ask. Everytime he has to go, his mother would take his hand and lead him away. Whenever that happened, he'd always turn around, kiss his hand, and wave it towards you- a gesture you'd come to replicate by now.

"My mom said it means 'I'll see you again soon.' That's why." He explains proudly. "Woah, that butterfly looks so cool!" He exclaims, spotting what you've drawn on the same paper. You're a bit younger than him- and Jin, another servant's son and butler in training, had told you that his father had suggested you'd all enjoy the time you can play so freely for as long as you all can.

Because one day that'll all be over.

And while as kids you didn't believe it too much, you very much know now how true it had been, as you stand quietly in the corner with Jin, watching the royal family attend dinner.

Jin and you both are careful to have your eye out for anything the attending guests and family might need- your shoes quietly tapping on the floor as you walk towards the queen, refilling her glass of wine for her with well-taught movements.

You try hard not to glance towards Jungkook, who you know looks at you.

You refill his cup of water as well, not looking at him- it's forbidden, bad manners, especially with guests around, and he hates it. He wants you and Jin to even sit at the table with him, laugh and eat and just exist in the same world for a moment again, just like when you'd been kids. But that's impossible now, and he knows it.

The only way he can have you is in his chambers, late at night, when he's able to kiss you silly and steal your breath with his lips and actions.

You're so beautiful underneath him, bare body bathed in the moonlight shining through his opened curtains. He wishes you could even sleep here, rest next to him, but he knows that's too much to ask. He already has your love, owns your heart- and that's already dangerous enough in itself.

Because he's given you his own as well, and he knows it'll end up breaking.

But for now, as he brushes his lips over your collarbone, he doesn't want to think about it. He thinks about your hands on his arms, running over them and leaving goosebumps behind, as you wrap your arms around his neck. He likes being held by you. Even though you both have grown apart in physical appearance and hierarchy, you give him a sense of comfort he's never truly experienced before, not even from his own mother.

Because you love him, not his name.

And he loves you too, your entire being, as he enters you like so many nights before, condom wrapped around his length for safety- but he wishes he could one day have a family with you, marry you, but that's all wishful thinking.

You softly gasp at the feeling of his hips moving, legs wrapping around his waist underneath the sheets as you seem to need him closer. The kisses are clumsy, messy, but its okay like that.

Because that's how you love.

That's how he holds you close, speeding up his pace as he craves to see you come undone underneath him. You always cum so soft and sweet, so beautifully he can't ever get the image out of his head. You're his queen, even if reality tells him otherwise.

You'll always stay his queen.

He pushes himself in deeply, as if that would do anything for him; his seed spilling into the condom inside you whine your thighs spasm, core clenching around him as you finish as well.

You remember your first kiss in the royal kitchens, his lips on you for only a short time until Seokjin had caught you- luckily, because if it would've been anyone else, you surely would've faced dire consequences for your actions of bewitching the prince.

But he'd assured you time and time again, that it wasn't your fault.

It was no one's, he'd come to learn. Sometimes, love was fleeting, and other times, it was violent and merciless. And sometimes, love meant nothing in the eye of someone.

You leave him alone soon after he'd indulged in those intimate actions with you, breaking his heart every time, but he knows it's mutual. The true danger of your constant visits isn't set in your bones yet, it never has been, because the longing is simply too strong, overpowering any other taste of impending doom.

You've left your underwear in his room tonight.

There's nothing you'd not take as a consequence in return of his gentle touch.

But with routine comes comfort, and in comfort lies the danger of negligence. Of making mistakes, leaving traces, offering proof of your wrongdoings for others to find.

He doesn't know the problems it will cause soon. He's not yet aware of what this simple accident will bring over you both as soon as the maids come to clean up his chambers while he's out to practice and train as always. It'll devastate you both for sure, with one however at least being freed from the heavy burden sooner than the other, force of harsh reality one half of his heart as a punishment for his reckless love.

He doesn't know it yet.

But he soon will.

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#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #prince jungkook #before you wake up

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starlight-starfury · 8 months

Text

Reunited

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Characters: (F!Elf!MC) Raine Nightbloom x Tyril Starfury

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Length: 800+ words

Summary: Tyril finally reunites with Raine after one long year apart.

Tags: @lawrencebarkley @watatsumi-island @sophie-summer @lilyoffandoms @choicesbookclub @choicesficwriterscreations

Raine anxiously paced the floor of her room in Whitetower as her mind raced with questions. It was the same one she had stayed in as a guest, and she even found her belongings still untouched, another solemn reminder of how much time had passed while she was gone.

She was told that her companions likely wouldn’t arrive at the palace for at least a few days, scattered across the realms as they were. There wasn’t much else she could do aside from bide her time and worry about her friends.

And him.

She felt no different than she had when the shadow soldiers swarmed the palace terrace, but for them…

An entire year had passed. A year of her life she had missed, supposed to have been spent amongst her friends and family in celebrating their victory.

Instead she had been torn away from all of them, and she wondered just how much had changed. Were they different now? Were they still looking for her?

She sighed, rubbing her eyes as she slung the satchel she’d found in the shadow realm over the grand vanity. Hoping for a distraction, she began sorting through her newly acquired potions when a knock sounded from the door to her chambers.

“Come in,” she called, assuming it was either Kade or one of the advisors, even though it was getting late and she’d already told them everything she knew.

She lifted her gaze as the door slowly opened, and froze when she saw his reflection in the mirror staring back at her, his hair disheveled and eyes wide in disbelief.

Seconds ticked by and he still didn’t dare to step forward, almost as though he was afraid she would vanish if he came any closer.

“Tyril…” She slowly crossed the room until she was standing in front of him, reaching up a hand to gently cup his cheek. “Tyril, it’s me.”

As if her movements had broken a spell, a strangled sob escaped his throat and he launched himself forward, wrapping her tightly in his arms and burying his face in the crook of her neck.

Hot tears spilled down his cheeks as she held him just as close, rubbing her hand up down his back. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m here now.”

After a long moment, he pulled back just far enough to look into her face.

“You came back,” he breathed, still holding her firm in his embrace, worried she might disappear if he dared to move.

“I did,” she smiled sadly, wiping another tear from his cheek. “I can’t believe it’s really been a year…What happened, Tyril?”

His eyes closed as he took a deep breath, looking pained. “With no means of summoning a portal to go after you, our first course of action was to search the royal archives for any information we could find that might help us, but ultimately it was futile.”

He sighed. “We waited for the soldiers who took you to make a reappearance, but nobody has seen them since they showed up a year ago and fled.”

Raine frowned. “That might change soon.”

A dark shadow flickered across his features. “I won’t let them take you again.”

Tyril took a moment to regain his composure before he shook his head and continued. “After months of poring over ancient texts, countless failed rituals and seeking out the wisest mages in the realm, we each took off on our own in search of answers in the hopes we could find a way to bring you back. We thought we would be able to cover more ground that way, and rescue you faster.”

He clasped her hands in his, looking bitter. “In the end, we still didn’t manage to save you.”

“You’re wrong,” she said and he glanced up, surprised. “I heard you…calling out to me. You helped me come back.”

His breath caught in his throat as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against her own. “I called for you every day.”

Raine’s brows drew together as she felt a pang of guilt in her chest. “I should have been here.”

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck as she leaned forward, gently pressing her lips to his, and he melted under her embrace. Fresh tears ran down his face as he ran his hand through her hair, his free arm coming down to wrap around her waist.

He was reminded of long nights spent gazing up at the stars praying for her return, of hollow months spent longing for her smile, her laugh, her touch.

He sighed when she slowly pulled away, though his heart finally blossomed inside his chest after feeling wilted for so long. “For a year I’ve dreamt of this, of having you back in my arms.”

She pressed a light kiss to his forehead and he drew her even closer. “Kiss me again,” he breathed.

“Gladly,” she smiled softly against his lips. “I believe I have a year’s worth to make up for, after all.”

#choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #blades of light and shadow #tyril starfury #raine nightbloom #tyril x mc

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groenendaelfic · 9 months

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The plan was to post Too Up Too Grade Sunday evening, but one it has grown to about twice the length of The Upgrade and doesn't have an ending yet and more importantly ever since yesterday the time I usually set aside to write has been taken over by thoughts of rwrb's King James III.

Specifically how the most glorious Stephen Fry portrayed him as someone very likely suppressing his own (latent?) homosexual desires. That speech was personal, and not merely because his grandson was just outed. He read ALL the emails. He didn't need to, he shouldn't have, except if he was being masochistic and couldn't stop himself.

Anyway, I deeply crave King James III having to host a post S2 out Wilhelm in any way shape or form.

It can be Crown Prince Wilhelm on a 'casual' visit. After all he's his fourth cousin twice over at the very least and like, 300th in line to the British throne.

But it can ALSO be King Wilhelm on an official state visit with his beloved consort Prince (Duke/King Consort) Simon by his side, and that would be absolutely stunningly beautiful.

I desperately, urgently need King James III having to host King Wilhelm on a state visit. It doesn't matter how he feels about it personally, because that choice is not up to him, and it'll have to be done with the whole shebang. (Remember the last US President's state visit to the UK? except this time it'll be pride flags instead of protesters)

It would all begin with Wilhelm and Simon's arrival at the airport. They'd be welcomed not only by the Foreign Secretary, but also by a member of the Royal Family. The temptation would be there to make that person Henry, because fellow queer, but I want it to be Philip.

It has to be Philip. If not their mother, then sending Philip is only polite. It would be different if Wilhelm were there on a 'casual' visit or to support a/Henry's queer charity, but if he's there in his role as Head of State representing Sweden? Then sending the gay spare could be misinterpreted as something other than a kind gesture unless Philip has a really good reason for not being there.

Anyway, Philip greets Wilhelm at the airport. Formally, with all the fanfare and everything. It would be expected that he bow to Wilhelm and Simon and for Martha to curtsy. There will be newspaper articles about it if he doesn't (do it properly, which he will) and there will definitely be ones analyzing Philip's every facial expression and depending on them more articles speculating about what that means for Philip's relationship with Henry.

Afterwards Wilhelm and Simon will ride in a state carriage to where the arrival ceremony with the King will take place. They will have a mounted escort, flags and guards lining the street and everything will be very formal and fancy and public. There will be a Guard of Honor, one which Wilhelm will officially inspect, gun salutes and all the pomp, and Henry's grandfather will have to be polite and welcoming and happy, because Wilhelm is not only a visiting Head of State but also family. He can't appear homophobic and potentially sour relations with all of Sweden. Also there will be all the pride flags being waved in the background.

Later Wilhelm will get to meet with the government, there will most certainly be important business deals being signed, maybe Wilhelm will speak to parliament, and it as well as James III will have to be polite and happy about it, because again, Wilhelm is a foreign Head of State and family and he and Simon are the only ones who will not be expected to bow to Henry's grandfather, because they're equals.

Most likely there will be a bunch of other events as well, but maybe most importantly there will be a state dinner at Buckingham Palace. Those are obscenely decadent and posh and formal and usually take well over a year to prepare, and Wilhelm will be the guest of honor and Henry's grandfather will be expected to not only host him, but to inspect and sign off on every minute detail ahead of time to make sure everything is perfect for the openly queer King.

And all the while Simon will mutter all the snarky comments and silently judge, but he will also be just the tiniest bit gleeful, as will Wilhelm, out of principle but also for Henry's sake.

And have I mentioned yet that I really love the idea of Stephen Fry's James III in all his latent homosexual, homophobic glory having to happily host openly queer King Wilhelm AND his spouse? Because I do. I love it so much.

Also the Paris sex scene was perfect and inspiring, but also not what I needed to see yesterday, because Upgrade 'Verse Wilmon are a hundred percent less patient and unable to wait and I cannot take inspiration from it for Too Up Too Grade or for Museum Drift (nor for ALaWHEO because the first time in there will be a lot more awkward). Maybe for The Fate of the Upgrade? (which will be posted in, like, three years because Upgrade 'Verse has officially become my (not so loosely) connected oneshots 'Verse I'll go back to on occasion when I don't want to work on my wips or stuff with actual, proper plot project)

#has someone written an essay about Henry and his role as Counsellor of State yet?#I'm not in rwrb fandom but I need that #I liked the movie so much more than the book #there I said it #not that I think it's fair to compare the two #but the book was simply not my thing #the movie otoh was pure and perfect escapist fantasy and I loved it #King James III #King Wilhelm #rwrb #young royals #wilmon #fic ideas #random ramblings

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treluna4 · 3 months

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Snippet Sunday

Remember how I said I was only gonna write fluff and no angst at all? Yeah, I didn’t believe it either. Anyway, here’s a snippet of the triplet fic “ABC”

“Alex, we have spent the last five years going to great lengths to ensure that our children never appear in the press. They've never once had their pictures in the tabloids. For god's sake- most of the world doesn't even know their names! And now you’re saying that you want to throw them to the wolves?”

“I'm not suggesting a press tour here, Henry. Just a trip to London.”

“If people find out we are bringing our indentical triplets to Buckingham fucking palace-“

“How would they find out?”

“Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

“Yes,” Alex insists, “the press won't know we’re coming if we don’t say anything. Are you telling me that in the entire history of the monarchy there's never been a guest at Buckingham that the world didn’t know about?”

“Of course there has, but-”

“We’ll sneak in. Take a private jet to a private air strip and a private car straight into the palace. No one will see us. No one will even know we’re there.”

Henry paces in front of his husband, “This is insane. This whole idea is insane.”

“Look, I'm not saying there isn’t a risk. There is. But I think this is a risk worth taking. Henry, like it or not, the monarchy is a part of our family’s history.

Elijah, Finn, and Matteo have royal blood in their veins, same as you. They deserve to know the history they’re a part of.”

Henry sighs. Not for the first time, he laments being married to a lawyer. He knows this is one fight he's not going to win. And as much as he hates the idea, even he can concede that Alex is making a solid case.

He thinks about his mum, who visits every summer but would be thrilled by this idea. He thinks about Phillip, who met the boys once a few years ago, and his children who haven’t met them at all.

Warm hands slide around his waist and Henry turns around, sinking into his husband’s arms.

“Alight,” he says, “if this is really that important to you, we can go.”

#angst is who I am #but its light angst #sigh #i tried to write fluff and then I pivoted to healing trauma

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neotaech · 2 years

Text

100% silk | myg

genre ▸ smut

pairing ▸prince!yoongi x princess!y/n

words ▸ 1.5k

There is a time and a place for everything. It was the first thing they mentioned to you once you joined the royal family. Appearance is the top most priority even if you think no one is nearby because you married the heir to the royal throne.

You always tried to maintain a perfect appearance especially during parties and dinners but your beloved husband always tried to ruin it. Was he trying to get you on his mother’s bad side once again? Or did he just enjoy the miserable look on your face as you tried to remain indifferent to his touches.

The act alone made you even more antsy as a million pair of eyes shifted from one direction to another, hoping they’ll never land on you two. Yoongi was particularly more hands on when you wore silk. How easily the fabric could be stained if you weren’t too careful.

“Yoongi.”

It felt like you were ready to cry as his pace began to quicken and you were sure people around you could hear his fingers coming in and out of your wet lips. It was his favorite dress and you didn’t want to walk around with your copper dress stained from your excitement. You still had to do a toast after all of this and you cursed yourself for not wearing a more traditional dress. Though that has never stopped him and you’re still left wondering how some people didn’t catch on that one time...

“What is it darling?” he asked innocently as his fingers came out of you. You watched him lick his fingers and a ‘plop’ just to get a bigger reaction out of you. “The soup is absolutely delicious,” he smiled.

You wanted to hide up in your bedroom as the guest muttered in agreement and also a mixture of confusion at his actions. If you weren’t within earshot of your mother-in-law you would’ve cupped Yoongi’s balls.

“You’re really testing me right now,” you half whispered. You dance your spoon around the soup that was anything but delicious.

The party came to a close and fake smiles were plastered on both your faces as your guest bid you goodbye. You hardly bothered remembering their names because it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that they remembered yours.

It’s only been a few months since you were introduced to the public and so far the reactions were neutral. Which is not a bad thing, however, you wanted to be engraved in their minds in a positive light. A pair of hands wrapped around your waist caught your attention once more.

“What’s that pretty head of yours worrying about?” he asked, kissing your shoulder.

You shook your head, “Nothing. I do have a bone to pick with you, darling.”

He chuckled taking your hand, “Than lets go upstairs. I adore your nagging.”

You rolled your eyes and as soon as you were out of ears reached he began to leave sloppy kisses around your neck. For Yoongi, the honeymoon phase has yet to wear off. All you really did during the actual honeymoon was sex, eat and have more sex afterword. If it weren’t for the maids wondering around at every corner he would have you pressed up against the stairs.

As you entered the your shared bedroom his hand lifted the bottom of your knee length dress. “I love this dress so fucking much,” he muttered as he cupped your breast in his hand. He left sloppy kisses all over your upper body not taking your clothes of yet. You fell on the bed and tried to pull him with you but he stopped you.

He instead go on his knees and got in between your thighs. “White isn’t all that sexy but when you wear it,” he trailed off. He planted a kiss on your wet clothed sex and you gasped.

His attention turned in another direction as he began to feel you up from beneath your dress. This was one of the reasons why you adore wearing silk. It was like being enveloped by clouds, so light and soothing. You moaned as he took one of your breasts, toying with your nipple through your dress.

“You also decided to wear this dress? God I just wanted to take you up here the instance you walked downstairs,” he whispered as he sucked on your other breast.

“I knew you’d like it,” you barely manage to say. He was too gentle and slow, leaving you antsy and aching. You felt his burning cock hit your thigh and you tried getting up but Yoongi wouldn’t let you. You weren’t one for whining but he was being real selfish for torturing this long.

“Can you just fuck me already.”

Leaving you dry back when you were eating and now this. If it wasn’t for Yoongi’s hold on your wrist you would’ve relieved some of the ache in between your legs. He only chuckled, taking things even slower as he slowly flicked his tongue against your hardened nipple.

You felt your dress ride up your thighs as Yoongi placed his knee in between your dripping core. By instinct you began to rock your hips against it as you grabbed the sheets of your bed, letting out a sigh of relief. “You couldn’t wait any longer could you?”he asked.

“I was tired of you taking your sweet ass time,”you muttered.

He coaxed his brow as he leaned closer to you,”What was that?” The low tone of his voice made your desire that much more painful. You knew this could go for or against you as he straightened himself up. You rubbing your thighs together wanting to take off your panties as it stuck to your dripping core.

As if reading your mind he took them off for you. It made you eager wondering if he was done teasing you. You watched as he slid off his boxers and you could almost feel him inside filling every inch of you. It was all you wanted back when he was fingering you under the table just an hour ago. He stroked himself saying something with a mixture of your name as his eyes shut.

It was a blissful scene lighting a fiery desire within you. Seeing him touch himself was almost satisfying. If only he wasn’t such a tease you would have enjoyed this more. Selfish is what he really was for keeping you waiting this long.

His eyes finally opened once again, his normal dull brown eyes showed only lust once they met yours. The look he gave you made your stomach tightened as his hands roamed up your legs, spreading them apart once again.

He didn’t waste any time once he aligned himself inside of you. You let out a cry of happiness as you rocked your hips savoring the feeling of him. He was pleased as well because you could hear him let out a sigh as he let you take control of the pace.

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling you into his lap instead.

You gripped onto his shoulders, digging your head into the crook of his neck panting as you quickened your pace. From all the teasing you felt like you were going to burst any second. Grunting in the process of trying to keep up with you he dug his nails into your hips causing you to whimper. You could feel your stomach tighten as Yoongi adjusted his angle, his cock felt even deeper inside you as he thrusted into you again.

You tried to keep yourself steady in his arms but at this point your body felt like a leaf. You didn’t know you were moaning so loud until he covered your mouth. His forehead was glistening with sweat as his thrust started to become sloppy. The back of your thighs felt wet and the noises were much more prominent now each time you slammed down his cock.

“You’re making such a mess it even got on your dress darling,”he whispered as he sucked on your neck. You furrowed your eyebrows together as you finally came undone beneath him. It left you weak as you rested on Yoongi’s chest as he was still trying to chase his high.

You whined as he continued slamming into your now sensitive core. It felt like you were going to come again as he dug himself deeper into you as he came. It left the both of you breathless and neither of you could move.

“Are you ok darling? Was I too rough?” he asked as he laid you down onto the bed. You nodded still not finding your voice as you opened your eyes. He kissed your temple, walking over to the side table pouring you a glass of water. You gladly took it, sitting up to drink it.

“You look awful,” he joked as he sat beside you.

You rolled your eyes, ”Shut up and let's go shower. It’s my turn to annoy you.”

#bts fic #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #dawn.writes

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sio-writes · 1 year

Text

Servant and the Knight (Part 1/2)

8.6k Words - Servant to the Prince, Dain thought he’d have no chance in fighting at the tournament and winning the prize that would set his mother for months. Then, a set of living armor offers to train him, and Dain starts to think he may have a shot.

Tag: NSFW, masturbation and vouyerism, mild blood mention

The preparations for the grand tournament takes over the kingdom faster than any siege or battle could ever hope to. In the matter of a day the banners have been lifted, the barriers have been set, and the musicians are practicing for opening day.

The royal family is overseeing the festivities, which means Prince Galliant is requesting his brightest, most striking uniform. He’s thrown all the rest on the floor, and Dain languishes at having to pick up and re-fold every single item of clothing.

"This tournament will be the highlight of the year," His Majesty brandishes his ceremonial rapier in front of the mirror as Dain ties a length of fabric over his shoulder.

"Your majesty certainly looks the part," Dain replies, walking around the prince to stand by the mirror, and Prince Galliant laughs.

"Of course I do!" he points the end of the rapier at Dain's chest, not as a threat, but an acknowledgement. "I have the best foot servant in the kingdom."

Dain glows at the praise, suppressing a smile. "Is there anything else I can assist with, your majesty?"

Prince Galliant swishes the rapier again, ignoring Dain's question. That's a dismissal in Dain's book, so he bows at the waist and steps out of the range of the blade.

Dain begins to pick up the discarded clothing items that litter the floor, rejects from the prince's closet. His Majesty had wanted to appear divine, the crown jewel of the kingdom, so he'd picked out a ruby red doublet and matching pants, a golden sash and several pieces of golden jewelry.

It left many of his clothing items on the floor, like casualties of battle laid out for the singular crow named Dain to pick at.

But this is what Dain is used to. He’s been Prince Galliant’s errand boy for over ten years now, since the both of them were young teenagers. He’s nothing if not accustomed to his majesty’s peculiarities.

"Dain," Prince Galliant calls over his shoulder. "Will you be attempting the tourney this year?"

Dain stops with an armful of clothes in front of the prince. He hadn't thought about it, competing. The tournament is open to the public, and the prize money is nothing to scoff at. It could help his mother in the city; but competing is a dangerous game. Dain had seen men lose their lives trying to win.

"I hardly think I qualify, your majesty," he admits.

Prince Galliant regards him, a hand on his chin. "You don't know how to fight?"

It feels like an admonishment, and Dain grimaces. "No, your majesty."

Prince Galliant chuffs, disappointed, and Dain sinks a little further into his tunic. His father had passed when Dain was very young, and Dain's been in the castle ever since he was old enough to run errands. There's been little chance to learn the ways of the sword.

“You’d better learn, then,” his highness says. “A man’s not a man if he doesn’t know how to fight.”

Dain accepts the advice gracefully, as always, and continues cleaning up.

***

After Prince Galliant is satisfied with his ensemble, Dain is dismissed and given something he has no idea what to do with: free time.

The kitchens waved him off as they prepared luncheon for the castle, comparing him to a scurrying rat underfoot. The laundry is on rest until suppertime, and the stables are all empty— the noblemen and their guests are touring the city and riding in the hills.

Dain knows if he tries to nap that he’ll sleep well past dinner, that the library is probably filled to the brim with more nobles and honored guests, and a trip to his mother would take too long. So Dain wanders the castle grounds, without direction or purpose.

In his wandering, he winds up watching the men set up the jousting stands. The fence marking the edge of the ring is already up, and a group of several men are currently working on the stands for spectators.

Prince Galliant’s words drift back to the forefront of his mind. A man’s not a man if he doesn’t know how to fight. It’s not as if he never wanted to learn, but the time to teach him has likely passed. He should’ve started when he was a young boy, possibly learning alongside the prince himself.

One of the knights waves him down, "You, boy! Come lend us your hand."

Dain hops the fence and trots up, and the knight lowers his arm as he spots the crest on Dain's tunic that marks him as a royal serf. "Apologies, sir, I didn't realize--"

Dain waves him off. "It's no matter, how can I help?"

The man stutters for a moment, looking to the others pulling ropes and hammering nails into wood for the large central arena. Already the forms of the stands are taking shape into perfect angles, like stairs for a giant, where everyone will watch the tournament.

Everyone helping is covered in a healthy layer of mud, it cakes their boots and is slowly creeping up their legs the more they move. The knight sees this, glances back to Dain, then shakes his head, as if banishing the thought. He gestures to a much cleaner looking section of the market, where several sets of living armor are throwing cloth over large wooden frames. "Go set up the stalls, then."

Finally having a task makes Dain perk up. He nods once, and jogs over to the living armor. The metal of their suits glints in the sunlight, shiny and smooth. From a distance, all the armor appear the same, but as Dain trots up, he starts to make out small differences marking each individual.

Some wear the crest of the kingdom, a lion reaching towards a distant star, others have clothing under the steel colored red and black. The metal plating on each of them shows signs of battle and wear, scratches and nicks from swords, dents and punctures from a shield glancing too close to the delicate magic that keeps the armor together.

They're not the ones Dain is familiar with that walk the castle, these must be a lower rank that patrol in the city. They're still something to admire, though. Magic come to life.

"Hello," Dain calls, and waits for an answer, a command to tell him what to do. But they all ignore him, not breaking in their movements of throwing a large sheet of canvas over the framework of a stall.

Every set stands at least a head taller than Dain, broadcasting a figure that could easily pick him up and throw him over their shoulder like a sack of grain. The armor in the castle is more slim, made for parades and exhibitions, not battle. They speak endlessly of triumph and honor with no experience of it, plus they’re a bit rude.

After another moment of nothing, Dain bites his tongue and taps one on the shoulder. It stops, then turns to Dain as if to rudely ask, “What?”

This one doesn't have the crest of the kingdom, but the kingdom's colors are inlaid in the metal itself. It gives the armor colored red lines that guide the eye, from the pointed helm, down the flat chestplate, over the jointed legs and ending at the articulated feet. This one looks the most worn down of the lot, with dozens of scratches and dents, there’s even a hairline crack down one shoulder pauldron and pieces of chainmail missing.

Dain half-expects it to knock him aside. He freezes, waiting for the blow, but the armor only cocks its head to one side.

"I, uh," Dain says, eyes searching for a face that isn't there, tamping down the urge to fiddle with his hands. "How can I help?"

The armor looks to its compatriots, then back to Dain, but says nothing before continuing on with the next stall. Dain takes that as a sign that he’s meant to do what they’re doing, and steps up to join them.

So he does, stepping into the small group and falling in line. They work quickly, hammering the wooden beams and planks together before propping the completed frame up. Then they throw a large cover on top, not quite a quilt as Dain had thought, but something sewn that lays flat over the corners and even creates an opening for the vendor.

It’s easy work, if a bit boring, and Dain falls into a rhythm where he isn’t quite paying attention anymore. He prefers this group of armor to the sets in the castle. They don’t speak much, but they jostle each other, clamping hands on shoulders, knocking affectionate punches. It reminds Dain of the soldiers when they return from a campaign, the comadre and friendliness that comes with being in close quarters.

Sudden pain lances up Dain’s foot and he yelps, falling to his ass on the ground and kicking up his leg.

Son of a bitch, he stepped on a nail. It's small, barely the length of his first knuckle, sticking out of his boot. Thankfully it's shallow, but a simple brush of it shoots more pain up his leg and he holds back another yelp of pain.

Setting his teeth, Dain rips the nail free and works to take his boot off. The sight of blood doesn’t usually bother him, but seeing his own starting to pool on the grass has his head spinning. He blinks several times, and makes an attempt to stand, only for the dizziness to hit harder and drop him to the ground.

Perfect, just perfect.

Suddenly, he's being scooped up, held like a bride by one of the living armor knights, the one with the lined detailing that he’d tapped earlier.

“Wait I—!” Squirming, he tries to release its hold on him, but its arms only tighten around his knees and back, and Dain grits his teeth against the embarrassment. He's never been carried like this. The steel has been warmed by the sun, making two bands of heat through his clothes, not altogether unpleasant.

"You can put me down now," he protests, trying to climb down from the hold but thwarted again by its strong grip. People are starting to stare.

Where is it taking him—? Looking ahead, Dain sees that they’re heading towards the river, which is barely a stone’s throw away. On the sidelines behind him, Dain hears voices. Muttering, gossipping no doubt, followed by a peal of laughter. He covers his face with his hands.

This is humiliating.

He's not some swooning maiden that faints at the sight of blood. Or at least, he didn’t think he was. Apparently the sight of his own made it impossible to stand.

The armor sets him down on the grass just before the riverbank, and Dain yelps when those large hands pull his foot up, pitching him backwards so he's laying on his back and staring at the sky. The armor inspects his injury, then gently guides his foot to the water. Legs splayed open, Dain bites back a nasty retort in his head and attempts to right himself, only to be shoved back down by those strong arms.

The laughter behind him fades into the distance, apparently the ladies got their fill of this little show, and he’s left in silence. Well, almost silence. The armor clanks and clatters every time it moves, one of the hazards of being covered in plated metal from head to toe, but it’s a comforting sound. Like rain on the ground or the sound of wind through the trees, Dain’s so used to the bustle of the castle that the rough sound of metal is one he knows well.

The armor is gentle as it soaks Dain’s foot in the river, waiting until the injury seals itself up before gently grasping his ankle and setting it on the grass. While it works, Dain looks up at the sky. This is surprisingly human behavior for living armor. He probably shouldn’t be calling it an ‘it,’ now that it’s helping him. The others from the group had rough, battle worn voices, so perhaps this one is male as well.

As Dain turns his gaze back to the armor, he sees it producing a small square of cloth from its sleeve, and wrapping his foot with it. It’s plain white, with an embroidered edge, it looks like a napkin from the kitchens.

The armor makes to stand, and Dain sits up. Even though any onlookers are long gone, there’s still heat in Dain’s cheeks. He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms over them.

"...Thank you," Dain says, cheeks puffed out in a pout.

The armor nods, then stands straight and offers Dain a hand up, which he takes. The pain has lessened, and hopefully the bleeding has stopped by now. This was all rather unnecessary, and Dain hates being fretted over. Still, he should thank the armor for helping him.

"Do you have a name?"

"Warrec." Finally, the armor speaks, in a soothing baritone no less, and Dain smiles. Warrec, a man’s name.

Dain fiddles with his hands so he doesn’t have to look at his own reflection in the metal. "I’m Dain,” he says, holding out a hand to shake. “Thank you, Warrec."

Warrec starts, like he didn't expect Dain to thank him, and slowly shakes his hand. "Of course, my lord."

Dain snorts, his cheeks burning even hotter. No one's ever called him that before. "Are you going to allow me to continue setting up?"

Warrec tilts his head, as if considering him, before he nods decisively. "But please watch yourself more carefully, m’lord."

Dain laughs, already starting back to the preparations.

***

The completed stands, cloth covers and all, are beautiful and enchanting during the day, a cascade of colors and shapes like a living mosaic. But at night they turn into ghosts, a sea of specters with gaping mouths. It’s an eerie sight, one that makes Dain stop on his way to the servant’s quarters to peer out the window. Was he only setting those up just this afternoon?

As humiliating as it was, Dain wouldn’t change anything about today. It’s not often he’s taken care of so thoroughly by someone else. Had this happened in the castle, he’d have been expected to dress it up and then get back to work as soon as possible, with a note from the matron to not get blood on anything.

The rest of the armor had given the two of them a hard time about “mooning over each other,” but it only helped Dain feel as part of the group. They joked with him, they were all familiar now. They’d completed the rest of the stalls without issue, and then Dain was called to the prince’s side once more. Dain had spent the rest of the evening with his mind preoccupied. All evening he’s been thinking of glinting armor in the sun, and cool river water over his feet.

He hopes the good knight is having a nice evening.

Dain turns away from the window, and nearly flattens his nose against a plane of sheet metal. He squeaks and jumps away, caught off guard and shocked— how had this knight snuck up on him and what did they—?

Until Dain realizes that it’s the armor from earlier today, the one with the lines. Warrec, he’d said his name was.

“Oh, it’s you,” Dain says, breathing out a sigh, pushing down the feeling of being caught out, daydreaming. “You scared me half to death.”

"Are you not going to dinner, my lord?" Warrec asks, and Dain blinks at him, confused. The dinner in the Grand Hall is for the royal family, court, and guests of the crown. Warrec must think he's a noble, a thought that makes Dain smile.

"I've already eaten, good knight. I'm off to tend to his majesty's room."

The prince is a rather messy fellow, one of his few flaws. But when one has an army of servants at his beck and call, his majesty can afford to be a bit of a slob. Or a large slob.

Warrec stares at Dain as if processing his words, and then turns his head, looking out the window, then back to Dain. "I will accompany you."

Dain holds back a laugh. "It's just laundry. Very low likelihood of being attacked," he teases.

Warrec straightens, somehow making himself taller. "But not impossible."

"Wouldn't the good knight prefer to do something else?"

Warrec doesn't reply, and he doesn't make any moves to leave. Why this knight has attached himself to Dain, he hasn't the faintest idea, but he'd have as much luck arguing with a brick wall.

The living armor are always after things to do, they don't tend to stay idle as the magic keeping them upright is burning a large amount of energy. It's why they're used so frequently in battle, they'll continue moving forward until physically incapable of doing so. Watching a servant clean His Majesty's chambers hardly seems a fitting activity for such incredible magic.

And yet, Warrec remains standing in front of him, unmoving. Dain didn't think the living armor had wants, he thought they were closer to automatons, like the wind up toys the young princess likes to play with in the throne room. They make choices in battle and in matters of life and death, but this situation is neither. Maybe Warrec thinks Dain is in danger of hurting himself again.

"Well," Dain says, shrugging. "Follow me."

Warrec follows Dain through the grand halls of Castle Guthanna. It's a few minutes' walk, but one Dain can navigate with his eyes closed. He imagines Warrec hasn't seen some of the servant's passages and secret hallways that he takes en route to His Majesty's quarters, and Dain is hit with a pang of melancholy for the wonder he used to feel navigating the dank, dripping stairs that almost no commoner is privy to. Can Warrec feel wonder or melancholy like that?

“You know your way around here, my lord,” Warrec says as they ascend a set of steps. The metal hitting the chainmail is making a horrible, echoing clanking sound that can probably be heard leagues away, but Dain doesn’t mind. It’s better than the stony silence he’s used to.

Refuting the compliment would be useless, so Dain only blows a piece of hair out of his face and continues climbing. Dain pushes open the solid wood backing of a painting that opens into Prince Galliant's room, and the two step into the space, Dain without a sound, and Warrec banging enough to wake the kingdom.

The frame clicks shut behind them, and Dain turns to survey the mess. The moonlight from the windows slices the room into several even pieces, illuminating the piles of cloth that lie on the floor. Dain sighs heavily. He’d just cleaned up this mess, why had the Prince gone and emptied his wardrobe, again?

“I’ll take this half,” Dain says, slicing the room with his arm. “You take the other. Just set them on the bed and we’ll fold…everything.”

Warrec nods and turns away, and the two of them set to their task. Since the clothes are all fresh, Dain will have to fold every piece and store them instead of just piling everything into a laundry basket. It’s tedious and frustrating, but it’s Dain’s responsibility, and having Warrec as a companion makes it go marginally faster.

At least, it’s faster until Warrec starts to fold and it’s made abundantly clear that Warrec was made for battle. He’s sneaking glances at Dain over his own pile to follow along, and his folding is, well, piss poor. He’s cute, examining a garment before draping it over the huge pile and unevenly pressing sleeves and seams together. Dain has to fix more than half of them, but Warrec seems so ready, so serious about this, Dain couldn’t stand to turn him away.

“I did not think His Majesty had this many garments,” Warrec says after rolling up a pair of pantaloons and setting them next to the others. If he rolls a few more, he could stack them into a tower.

Dain laughs as he opens the large trunk at the base of the bed and sets Prince Galliant’s winter cloak— why had he removed this? It’s the middle of summer— and sets it inside. “He has more than this. These were just discarded for dinner.”

“Really?” Warrec asks, sounding genuinely surprised, and Dain laughs again.

“Really,” he says around a smile. He slips his hands under a large pile of folded shirts and breeches, stands upright, and makes for the wardrobe on the opposite end of the room.

“Would you like some help?” Warrec asks as Dain carefully balances the clothes, the pile easily past his head. But Dain shakes his head.

“I’ve done this before, I—“

Distracted by the conversation, Dain’s foot catches on the corner of the bed, and he nearly trips before he catches himself with a hop. It shifts the balance of the clothes in his arms and the pile wobbles dangerously, but with a quick adjustment, he doesn’t lose anything to the floor.

"You are quick, my lord," Warrec says behind him.

Dain laughs, flustered, as he continues to step very carefully to the wardrobe. All the while, he pushes down the urge to retaliate against the compliment. "Thank you."

If he had tripped in front of Warrec, well, it would at least have been embarrassing. Something presses at Dain to impress the armor, to earn his respect. So he makes it to the wardrobe without issue, and opens it deftly with his foot before carefully dumping the shirts and breeches onto the wood.

No one's ever paid him so many compliments, save for his mother. Dain isn’t used to them, and doesn’t know how to approach it. Shall he compliment back? Is he meant to posture?

Warrec interrupts his thoughts when he asks, "Will you be at the games?"

Dain squints. "Games--? Oh! No, no, I can't fight."

"You show promise, I can teach you."

"I— really?" That would be wonderful! If he wins the competition, the gold would set his mother for a year. Could he really compete? Did he really have a chance?

Warrec nods confidently. "I would be honored."

Dain leans forward and hides inside the wardrobe to cover his wholly embarrassed face. All that, as well that Warrec would be honored to teach him? It’s almost too much to contain.

The rest of the folding is done in silence, albeit Dain has a spring to his step the rest of the way. Not only will he have a chance at being the best at the tournament, he’s gotten a chance to prove himself, to be a man in his own right.

It’s a heady thought, one that carries Dain through the folding and back through the servant’s passages, and finally to the hallway where Warrec had cornered him. It’s the shortest way back to the servant’s quarters, which means this is where they have to part ways.

Stepping into the hall, Dain turns to Warrec. “I appreciate all your help.” And it’s only a tiny lie. Warrec wasn’t impeding the folding, just making it a little slower. They’d finished before Prince Galliant returned, and that’s all that mattered in the end.

Warrec stares at him, or he just doesn’t move for a moment, Dain can’t tell, before snapping to attention, metal coming together with a sshk!

“Glad to have been of service, my lord. Meet me at the sparring grounds at first light." And he starts to walk off.

“Before you go—“ Dain grabs Warrec by the wrist, stopping him. "This is yours," Dain says, handing Warrec the small handkerchief he'd used to wrap Dain's foot.

Warrec looks down at the fabric, and gingerly takes it in his hands, gentle despite his size. Dain had tried to wash the blood from it, but a small pink-orange stain remained no matter how hard he scrubbed. As he passes it, Warrec grabs his hands, and Dain feels the soft material of Warrec's gloves. It's leather, worked so much it's become soft to the touch, reflecting a warm brown glow from the candles above.

Warrec glances down at the cloth. "You're…giving this to me?"

Dain's mind is still focused on the contact between them, at Warrec's large hands cupping his. There's a texture to the leather, he felt it dragging over his skin in a manner that was distracting. Dain quickly pulls his hands back, hoping the darkness in his face isn't broadcasted in the low light. "I'm more returning it to you, but if you want to look at it that way, then yes."

Warrec hums, the sound echoing within his metal helm. He carefully folds the cloth and tucks it away in his sleeve. “Thank you, m’lord. I’ll see you at first light.”

***

First light shouldn’t be as exhausting as it feels. When Dain first started at the castle, he’d be up far before then and in the kitchens, or doing laundry, or any number of things. But being footman to the prince has its perks. The matron would call them drawbacks that make Dain lazy, as he only really needs to be awake when the prince is, which has allowed Dain many mornings to sleep in past sunrise.

Heaving a great yawn, Dain stretches as he walks to the training grounds. It’s empty this early in the morning, but soon it will be filled with competitors, all getting ready for the first section of the tournament— the Joust of War.

The Joust of War and the Joust of Peace are the biggest draws for the festival. The crowds that gathered flood the stands and spill into the grass, hundreds of people all in one place. Personally, Dain had never been one for jousting. It simply wasn’t a sport he’d been privy to growing up, and thus never felt attached to. It’s entertaining to watch, sure, but he’d rather view the sword-fighting.

Warrec is waiting for him in the jousting ring, two wooden practice swords in his hands.

Dain smirks. “What, no steel?”

Truly, he’s glad for the training swords. They’re meant for children, which means the wood is light and doesn’t hurt as much when it hits the skin. Hopefully he can make it out of this session in one piece. Not that he isn’t up for the challenge, but Warrec cuts an intimidating figure. Dain would be lying if he claimed not to be nervous.

Warrec tosses Dain the sword before saying, “Today is for seeing where you’re at. Tomorrow will be for learning.”

Without warning, Warrec charges at Dain, and Dain barely gets his sword up in time to block the overhead blow Warrec slams down.

“Aren’t you going to show me a stance first?” Dain asks, a little hysterical.

“We fight first, then I correct you.”

Warrec shifts his hips, and too late Dain realizes that he’s moving to sweep his feet out from under him before he’s on the ground, flat on his back, Warrec pointing the rounded edge of the blade at his nose.

“Again,” Warrec states, stepping back.

After getting to his feet, Dain warily takes a few steps back. He truly doesn’t know how to fight. When he was younger he’d imagine, in the way that all boys do, that if he’d gotten caught in a fight, his body would just…know. But the pain in his back from hitting the hard ground tells a different story.

He’ll have to try harder. Warrec clearly has no compunctions over kicking his ass.

After finding his footing, Dain charges forward and swings the sword high above his head as Warrec had done. Warrec blocks the blow with a single arm, using the other to elbow Dain’s side. Dain dodges the hit, unlocking his sword and stepping back and out of Warrec’s reach.

“At least you know to dodge,” Warrec drones sarcastically, and Dain grits his teeth. He charges forward again. He feints to the left, but Warrec is too fast and sweeps his feet out from under him again.

It goes like this for most of the morning: Dain making attempts to catch Warrec unawares, and Warrec countering it every single time. Even when Dain attempts to mimic Warrec’s posture and gait, he’s no match for the speed or power behind Warrec’s attacks.

The few times he’s managed to lock swords with Warrec, his feet are swept from under him, or the sword thrown out of his hand by pure force, each time Warrec calling out his weak spots.

“Left flank,” Warrec says before jabbing at Dain’s ribs, making contact and sending Dain sideways into the ground.

Dain hits the dirt, knocking the air from his chest, and Warrec taps his shoulder with his sword— he’s dead. Dain groans, but still plants his hands to the ground and makes to get up. His whole body aches. There’s bruises forming in places he didn’t even get hit. His lungs are on fire and his head is starting to throb from the exertion. His shirt is soaked with sweat, and Warrec still stands casually as if none of this bothers him.

Warrec steps around him, and Dain flinches, expecting a hit. But none come, and he peeks around his arm to see Warrec offering him a hand.

“You’ve done well today, my lord.”

Dain scoffs, falling onto his back and staring up at the sky. “You beat me into dust.”

“And soon, I’ll show you how I did it,” Warrec says, as if it’s a matter of the weather. “Even today, you showed improvement.”

Despite the pain starting to spread fingers over his side, Dain smiles. “Then you’ll beat me bloody some more tomorrow?”

“If m’lord wishes.”

Dain barks a laugh, then grabs Warrec’s steady hand and hauls himself up.

***

Every morning for the next week is as grueling as the first, but Dain is determined to understand Warrec’s instructions. The creature has been beating him down day after day, and Dain feels no closer to winning than he did before this all started.

But today Warrec has taken a break from shoving Dain’s face into the dirt, and is instead teaching him proper form. It’s a well-needed break for Dain’s bruised and battered skin, but the trade off is a blunted metal sword that makes his arms burn the longer he holds it.

“Shoulders down,” Warrec taps each of Dain’s shoulders with the end of his sword. “You’re so lithe, my lord, but you tense easily.”

Dain breathes out, relaxing his shoulders to where they should be, trying to ignore the small tremors working their way through his wrists. He knows, logically, that he won’t be built within a day, or even a week, but that doesn’t stop the frustration he feels at his own weakness.

Warrec switches to a single grip on his own sword, pressing the other hand to Dain’s sternum. It’s a test of balance, one that Dain sets himself against very well, while also trying to corral his wandering mind.

Warrec releases his hand, releasing Dain’s chest, and he walks around Dain to check his feet.

It’s been a very close-quarters day, with a fair amount of corrections, stances, and sparring hand-to-hand; which translated into more than enough physical contact than Dain typically gets in one day. He’s drawn in to wherever Warrec touches him, points of correction that he wants to draw a line between and then sink into the tangled mess.

Dain’s going to go insane if Warrec keeps circling him like a vulture. “I think we should—“

“One more fight, then I release you for the day.”

Warrec tosses Dain the other sword, and Dain readies himself. Right foot angled back, not too far, not too close.

Warrec rushes him without a word, and Dain watches his hands, his hips, his feet. Watches the twist of a wrist that tells him the direction he’s about to swing so he can parry, parry, and —thrust!

For the first time, Dain lands a hit on Warreck, and the chime of metal hitting metal is like the pealing of bells to his ears.

“Ah-hah!” Dain cries, throwing his arms up in victory, giving Warrec the perfect chance to rush him and throw him to the ground. It was Dain’s fault, he left himself open, but he’s still grinning as Warrec helps him back up and reprimands, “Don’t get distracted.”

It’s the first hit he’s landed! It took a few days, but he did it! And if he can do it again, maybe he can land a hit on someone else!

“Not bad,” Warrec concedes, clapping Dain on the shoulder, and Dain’s grin grows.

“Let’s go again!” Dain hops into his ready stance, sword pointed at Warrec. “Come on, give me all you’ve got!”

Warrec looks him up and down, walking around Dain as he did before. He stops behind him, and rests one hand on his shoulder, the other over his hip.

“Relax,” Warrec says, voice deep and soothing as he presses his hands to adjust Dain’s stance. The hand over his shoulder trails a slow line down his arm to his wrist, testing the strength. “You move with grace, but don’t compromise your form for speed.”

Dain swallows, his focus purely concentrated on Warrec’s hands as his heart pounds. They’re steady, guiding, and very, very distracting. The leather somehow manages to find any patch of exposed skin, leaving ghosts of touch, prickling sensations that make his face warm to think about. It all combines with the rush from a moment ago, mixing together to form a pressure behind his ribs and a large, inappropriate bubble in Dain’s mind.

Pulling Dain out of his own thoughts, Warrec takes a few steps away and readies his stance. Dain is prepared this time when Warrec rushes at him, arms poised like he’s going to swing out in a wide arc, but he feints and makes a jab for Dain’s legs.

Dain side-steps out of the way, watching for the opening that Warrec’s huge motion left on his side, and then slices towards it with all his strength. Clang! The sword hits its mark, not hard enough to throw Warrec to the side, but enough to make him stumble.

“Yeah!” Dain shouts, stepping out of Warrec’s reach and falling into a defensive position. Warrec will probably rush at him again, he needs to be ready.

“Don’t get cocky,” Warrec says, swinging wide and fast.

“Never!” Dain fires back, blocking easily. He spins out of reach of Warrec’s sword and aims a hit at Warrec’s open side.

It hits, throwing Warrec off balance again, but he quickly regains his footing and swings so quickly that Dain almost doesn’t get his sword up in time. The move locks them together, allowing Dain the briefest of reprieves.

“You’re improving,” Warrec says, voice far too level for the amount of physical activity he’s been doing.

“Not quite as good as you,” Dain says.

Warrec chuckles, and the sound shoots an arrow into Dain’s heart. “You’d have to train for much longer.”

Dain smirks. “Now who’s getting cocky?”

Dain unlocks their blades and deflects Warreck’s subsequent attack, and the two of them match each other’s moves blow for blow.

It’s an even match, until Warrec plays dirty. He approaches Dain as if to swing the sword at him again, but just before reaching Dain he drops his body low, weaving underneath Dain’s arms and tackling him to the ground. They hit the dirt and all of Dain’s breath leaves in a huff of air as Warrec’s weight piles on top of him.

Dain stares at the sky as he catches his breath. That’s the longest they’ve fought where Warrec didn’t pummel him instantly. He could actually have a chance at this.

But he doesn’t have time to gather his thoughts. Warrec is on top of him, between his legs and pressing into his groin. His helm is close enough that Dain can make out his own reflection, see the sweat rolling down his skin. The armor is cool in the morning light, shifting whenever Warrec moves.

Wasting no time, Warrec makes a sound like he’s clearing his throat before he stands, offering Dain a hand. Dain takes it, unable to look at Warrec and hoping that his disheveled state excuses his need to adjust his trousers.

“You’ve done very well today, m’lord. You’re excelling quickly,” Warrec says as Dain offers him the sword.

That’s high praise, coming from Warrec. Over the past few days, Dain has begun to follow the pattern of Warrec’s compliments. They’re short, but honest and personal. They cut through to Dain’s core like a blade, and Dain’s growing more and more fond of them each day. He strives for them, thinks about them as he performs his daily duties, replays them as he washes his wounds from that morning’s training session.

“Same time tomorrow?” Dain asks, hopeful, but Warrec shakes his head.

“First day of the tournament is tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Dain says, pursing his lips in an effort not to pout. He’d not been keeping track of the days. Was the tournament really starting tomorrow? He didn’t feel nearly ready. He’s only landed a handful of strikes on Warrec, how is he to face another knight with the same skill?

Warrec has been firm, but invaluable in his teaching. And if Dain’s being honest with himself, he will admit that he may be a touch smitten. Warrec is doing him a great favor with this training, building him from the ground up when most others wouldn’t have the patience. His instruction is curt, but not cruel, clear and concise, very much like him.

In the evening hours he seeks Dain out, following him around like a lost puppy, and Dain’s grown used to the attention. He looks forward to their sessions, imagining the ways they could go, the ways he could win. But he also thinks of things that could happen while he’s working. He thinks of ways those lovely leather gloves could be used for his benefit. They’ve been a frequent subject of a few of Dain’s wandering thoughts after Warrec bids him goodnight.

“I will be expected for the opening ceremonies. There won’t be time, I fear,” Warrec says, and Dain is sure his mind is playing tricks because Warrec seems…almost crestfallen.

“Oh,” Dain says again, no longer hiding his own disappointment. “Well then, my good knight,” he bows with a sarcastic flourish. “I’ll see you at the tournament.”

***

The first day of festivities bursts across the land like a flower in the spring. People from all walks of life park their carriages down the river, and patrons flood the grounds, the city, and the castle. Dain has never seen so many people in one place, so many different tongues and forms of dress, it has his head spinning trying to remember all the different greetings the matron lists off.

“An’ don’t look a single one of them in the eye, got that?”

“Yes ma’am!”

The chores are layered overtop one another tenfold, from food preparation to laundry, the stables and crops as well as every little task that the noblemen ask. There aren’t enough hands to go around, and Dain is pulled in so many directions that he barely has time for a sip of water.

Prince Galliant is understanding, but still requires Dain at his side for the opening ceremony. It leaves Dain anxiously tapping his fingers against his leg, going through the list of chores that go unattended the longer he sits.

Prince Galliant picks up on his mood. “Calm down, you won’t be missed for one hour,” he says, sipping the wine from his goblet. The royal family is seated on their respective thrones at a far end of the jousting loop, and Dain is sitting below the Prince, on his left.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Dain mumbles so his Majesty won’t hear. He’s not being acute on purpose, but he’s wound up from having so many directions to follow. He shouldn’t be here, leisuring while the rest of the staff are up to their ears in chores.

But his responsibility to Prince Galliant comes first, so he’ll watch the ceremonies, then politely excuse himself later.

There’s acts from across the land, from singers to acrobatics, all wearing the colors of their home, and as much as Dain’s head is full of responsibilities, he can still appreciate the theatrics. There’s buckets of talent on display, played in front of him for the royal family in a way that makes the young Princess Melody squeal in delight.

Afterwards come the knights, and Dain nearly chokes on his spit when he sees Warrec. He looks the exact same, except tucked in his belt, tied in a knot, is the square of cloth he’d used to tie Dain’s foot.

Prince Galliant hums a short note, almost impressed. “It seems one of our autonomous knights has a favor!" The Queen laughs, and Dain hears her snap her fan open.

“I see that! What a novelty!” And she laughs again, and Dain feels his face burning. He’s glad for his complexion at that moment, that doesn’t show color in his face.

The Prince twists in his seat to face Dain. “What do you think, Dain?”

Still, Dain tries not to give anything away, faking nonchalance. "That is…fascinating, your majesty."

Prince Galliant’s face lights up in a smile. "Indeed! I've never seen such a display!"

"Neither have I."

“I wonder who it is,” Prince Galliant muses. “To have captured such a hardened warrior.”

“I’m not sure, your highness,” Dain says, swallowing hard.

Dain can’t ask the Prince what he thinks of it, it would cross a boundary that he’s never been through. So Dain swallows his questions, and waits until the Prince sees something in his face that confirms what he’s thinking, and turns back around.

Relationships with the living armor aren’t completely unheard of, but it’s still not a common sight. With one as rough as Warrec at his side, Dain would certainly be the subject of conversation. But over the days that they’ve been together, Dain finds his penchant for caring what others think has gone down significantly. Being followed by the world’s loudest baby duck has quickly cooled his burning face.

So he watches the knights circle the jousting ring, keeping an eye on Warrec as they each present to the royal family. Warrec must not be aware of Dain’s presence, or if he is, he makes no moves to show it.

It makes Dain’s viewing of the rest of the ceremonies marginally less awkward, and before he knows it, Dain is excusing himself from the stands to fall into enough chores that his mind is quiet for the rest of the day.

***

Hot water for baths is a luxury when there’s hundreds of guests within the castle. The small magic stones used to keep the water hot are in limited supply, so when Prince Galliant gifts him one saying, “You look like you could use a few moments to yourself,” and Dain isn’t one to waste gifts.

He does wait until the rest of the castle has gone to bed to prepare his bath. There’s a small room down the hall from the servant’s quarters, stocked with several tubs and more than enough water to fill each of them. From his earnings, Dain’s managed to purchase scented oils and a soap for his hair, and the water is wonderfully hot as he steps in, instantly working through his sore muscles.

Running a cloth over his skin, Dain muses over the bruises that Warrec put on him. One here from the blade, another from a tackle, a third from the blade again. It’s like a map of Dain’s progress, the faded marks layered under the fresh bruises, scabbed over cuts that are already turning into scars.

After scrubbing his hair clean and changing the soapy water for more fresh heat, Dain feels the stress of the day rolls off of him in waves.

Dain sighs into the fresh, scented water, aware of the heat surrounding his body. It’s late enough that no one will come and bother him, and the walls don’t broadcast noise this deep in the castle. It’s quiet, and Dain can look through the window high in the wall and watch the night sky overhead.

It allows space in his mind for thoughts that he’d pushed down. The reminder of Warrec’s gloves over his body has been a present thought all day, one that only grew the longer he ignored it. But here, he can think freely, can dip into a fantasy all his own.

Running his hands down his body, Dain sighs out through his nose. Oh, what he’d give for one last morning session with Warrec, one where he could memorize the placement of his hands, feel his fingers dig in as they run down his arm or over his hips. One last time where he could possibly trick Warrec into falling on top of him again.

Dain’s hands travel over his torso and down his thighs, his palms and fingers just calloused enough to spark fire underneath his skin. Grasping his half-hard cock, Dain lets out a small sound of pleasure and begins to stroke.

Warrec wore that small cloth as a favor today, and as unintentional as it was, now he thinks Dain is interested. And Dain most certainly is, he just didn’t think anything would come of it. Does wearing the favor mean Warrec is interested as well?

He pulls his lower lip between his teeth and chokes out another moan, the sound echoing off the stone walls and making his toes curl.

Suddenly, the door bursts open and Dain squeals, frozen in place. A tall, foreboding shadow lingers in the doorway before stepping into the light.

"Warrec!" Dain quickly moves to cover himself, sloshing water all over the floor. Great, he's going to have to clean that later.

"I heard…" Warrec trails off, looking around the room. "I thought you may be in trouble."

Much to Dain's embarrassment, Warrec walks the room, checking for traps or anyone who may be hiding. Dain’s head falls to the rim of the tub with a thunk. “How did you even know where I was?”

Once he’s done checking the room, Warrec returns to Dain’s side and shrugs, the motion jostling his chainmail. “I saw you exiting the feast, and when you didn’t go to bed...”

“So you followed me.”

“Would m’lord like me to leave?”

"N-no," Dain says, falling further into the water. Even after being caught, he’s still half hard, he realizes. Warrec seems to realize this too.

"Ah— Ah! I see." Warrec says, and then crosses his legs and sits on the ground just outside of Dain’s tub. Dain blanches.

"What're you--?"

"Would my lord allow me audience?" He asks quietly.

Warrec says it so honestly, so baldly, that Dain is momentarily struck for words. Dain swallows hard, acutely aware of his hand on his prick, somehow growing harder the longer Warrec stares at him. And it’s a tantalizing thought, touching himself with Warrec watching. That sounds divine. Just a step below being worked over by the man himself.

"The water may splash," Dain mumbles, the excuse sounding paper thin even to his own ears. "Wouldn't want you to rust."

Warrec stands, and for a moment Dain thinks he's making to leave when he heads for the door, but he comes back with an armful of drying towels. He lays it on the floor by the tub, and kneels on one end. He stretches another over his lap, and leaves the third on top of the first, perfectly folded and waiting for Dain.

Well, that's one way to show committed interest.

Dain tries to diffuse the tension in the air. “I saw you at the opening ceremony today.”

“And I saw you,” Warrec replies.

Dain thinks of the favor tied in Warrec’s belt earlier that day, how he brandished it like a badge of honor. Warrec was proud of it, and wanted everyone to see. They feel the same about each other, so this would be the next logical step, right?

The shame burning under Dain’s skin diffuses into a promise, low and hot under Dain’s cheeks. Warrec wants to watch him, and the idea is not altogether unpleasant. So Dain shifts in the water, stretching out the leg closest to Warrec, and when he grasps his cock again, he’s already hard.

He’s so, so nervous, so he starts in easy, careful movements. The echoing of the sloshing water against the stone only serves to ground his embarrassment, and he tries to lessen the effect, with little success.

Warrec is still as a statue, his helm pointed down towards Dain’s hips, offering no reprieve. His hands are resting on his lap, and when Dain cranes his neck, slowly succumbing to the pleasure of his own hand, he sees Warrec’s hands tightened into fists. He’s enjoying this. It’s like Dain is putting on a show, and he wants to perform.

Planting one foot on the rim of the tub, Dain tightens his grip and speeds his pace, arching back into the pleasure that shoots down his spine. With his other hand he gently squeezes his balls, and the noise he makes is obscene.

The sound of water moving in the tub and pouring on the floor mixes with Dain’s breathy moans and makes him sound like he’s in pain. He squeezes at the head and it feels so good Dain knows he’s not going to last much longer. The foot propped on the edge slips over, hooking Dain’s leg and opening his hips so he can thrust up into his hand.

Dain doesn’t care about the mess right now, he can clean it up later when the full consequences of what he’s doing come down on him. What he wants to do now is impress Warrec, to burn this image into his mind. Dain doesn’t know if the armor need physical pleasure, but if they do, Dain wants Warrec to imagine him.

“You look heavenly, my lord,” Warrec says, voice full of awe in a way that makes Dain smile.

“I’m thinking of you,” Dain says, and it’s not entirely false. With Warrec in front of him he doesn’t need to imagine anything. “I was thinking of you before too.”

Dain twists his hand over the head of his cock and shuts his eyes against the jolt of sensation that curls his toes. He hears Warrec shift on the floor, shuffling closer to the tub so he’s up against the rim.

“Do you like seeing me?” Dain asks, cracking open one eye as his climax fast approaches.

“I do,” Warrec replies cooly, hands coming up to grasp the rim of the tub. “I wish I could touch you, my lord.”

With that, Dain comes with a short cry, his legs locking up, his back arching against the tub. The exposed metal is cool against his back and neck, his skin is over-sensitive and makes the water feel that much hotter, the shimmering afterglow that much better.

Dain falls back, the water splashing his stomach, and he rolls his head to the side to look at Warrec.

“Next time,” Dain says between heavy breaths, reaching his hand out and touching the side of Warrec’s helm. Warrec’s hands on the rim of the tub fall away, and Dain’s surprised to see small indents in the metal.

“You are graceful on and off the field, my lord,” Warrec says, and Dain turns away to smile into his shoulder.

“Thank you, Warrec.”

“Would you like to dry off?”

Dain smirks. “If you’d be so kind as to help me.”

Part 2>>

#nsfw.#my writing #servant and his knight #Monster writing #terato writing #living armor #Exophillia writing #Monster fucker #Still writing on my ipad so if you see any mistakes...no u dont lol #monster writing #monster fucker #Fantasci

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bit-dodgy-innit · 2 years

Text

Ballroom Blitz, Part 1

Summary: *Stefon from SNL voice* This fic has everything: parties, Khonshu possessing his avatar, ballroom dancing, a cameo by the British royal family, LAYLA EL-FAOULY, the moon boys looking like this ⬇️ , and so much more!

Basically, Sigyn brings the Moon Knight to a classy function at Buckingham Palace, and all hell breaks loose. A continuation of my fic SCARED TO BE LONELY

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Marc x Fem!OC, Steven x Fem!OC, Jake x Fem!OC, past Loki x Fem!OC, past Marc x Layla

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Here have some Moon Boys and Sigyn while I write Marc and Jake screwing their breastfeeding wife in Shape of You land. Also, what can I say? I love dressing Marc and Sigyn up and making them dance in public together. Also I made Shuri queer and gave Khonshu they/them pronouns byeeeee

I could kill him, Sigyn thought to herself as she paced up and down the hallway of Buckingham Palace, the rather unimaginative locale for where the British royalty was hosting the ball. The sound of her stilettos meeting the polished marble reverberated down the length of the high-ceilinged corridor.

The Brits were hosting the event to foster camaraderie and diplomacy between the nations that were ruled by warrior-superheroes. The Wakandans were in attendance with all of their slowly dissipating mystique and perennial grace, and naturally the Asgardians - New Asgardians, technically - were invited as well.

While at first Thor and King Valkyrie had believed that going was a waste of precious time, time they needed to use hunting down Gorr and Loki, Sigyn convinced them otherwise. They had to go, she’d implored, because if they didn’t it would raise suspicion and worry. It wasn’t time for the general public to panic just yet. Furthermore, she’d pointed out, this would give them cover to debrief the Wakandans, since Gorr’s vendetta affected them too.

There was one more reason Sigyn knew that their attendance was the right move, and it was because of her escort. It was expected for Thor and Valkyrie to arrive as a unit, the former crown prince of Asgard and his successor on Midgard, which left Sigyn’s arm bare. She refused to attend alone, therefore she’d asked Marc to accompany her. He’d accepted.

Sigyn publicly on the arm of another man would infuriate her estranged husband. This was different than she and Khonshu’s avatars having sex in the privacy of her Claridge’s suite, or the dark corners and hidden alleys they’d fuck in each time they failed to find Loki as they chased him halfway across the galaxy. Attending the ball with Marc was an overt abandonment of Sigyn’s vows to her spouse, no matter that he’d forsaken them first. She was hoping that it would make the adopted Asgardian so livid it would deliver Loki to them, ending their weeks-long fruitless pursuit.

Yet, Marc wasn’t here. Nor was Steven or Jake. They all knew about tonight’s event, she’d told them each separately, and how much it meant to Sigyn. It was a chance for the princess to recapture a portion of her old life, her life in her home universe, where she was a shrewd diplomat and gracious guest. Not only was the system late, they weren’t answering any of their phones.

“Seeg,” Thor jogged over to her, looking dapper in his tux. “They’re going to start introductions soon. I’ve already asked the Wakandans to go before us, but is there any sign of him?”

I am going to kill him, Sigyn amended her previous thought. All traces of doubt were gone. She detested exceptions like this being made on her behalf, especially when she was conducting official business. How could they do this to her? As if she didn’t already have enough abandonment issues.

His sister’s dejected expression answered Thor’s question. He put his massive palms on her shoulders. “Hey, I’ll send Val in by herself. We’ll go in together, though we may be so blond and dazzling as a pair it could drive the Midgardians mad.”

The god took the small smile his words etched across his sister’s lips as a victory. “I’ll enter on my own Thor, you and the King need to present a united front. Besides, I’m not even being introduced as a royal anyway.”

Tonight, for the first time in nearly a millennium, Sigyn wouldn’t be introduced as princess of Asgard. Instead she would be Lady Sigyn Frodisdottir, her name when she was maiden. It made sense. She was royal on a different Asgard, and it would confuse everyone if a princess appeared out of nowhere in New Asgard. They’d all think she was married to Thor or Valkyrie. Nevertheless, it was more salt to the wound Loki carved into her heart, a wound Marc, Steven, or Jake’s presence would’ve served as a balm for.

“No!” Thor protested, “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Sigyn opened her mouth to insist once again, but a member of the palace staff approached her. “My lady, I apologize, but I believe your escort just arrived at one of the service entrances.”

Sigyn’s heart soared and burned all at once. He didn’t abandon her after all, but of course Marc hadn’t listened and arrived in a car like she’d told him to. “Is your team bringing him here?”

“We are my lady,” the staff member confirmed, “But for security purposes, could you come with me to make sure it’s him?”

“Of course,” Sigyn answered without hesitation. She turned to Thor and begged, “Buy us a little more time, would you? I’ll collect him as quickly as possible.”

Her brother nodded, mission accepted, as Sigyn and the staff member dashed from where the nobility waited outside the grand ballroom. The princess was surprisingly speedy in her heels.

“My lady, are you comfortable with passing through some of the staff corridors?” they inquired. “I loathe to suggest it, particularly to an esteemed guest such as yourself, but it may be wise in the interest of time.”

“Certainly,” Sigyn consented, “I don’t mind at all.”

Sigyn met Marc in a staff hallway just outside the kitchens. He was impeccably dressed in a classic tuxedo that Sigyn had procured for him through Claridge’s personal shopper. Steven had been fronting when they’d had a fitting. He nearly lost his mind over wearing a suit that was being altered for him by a tailor from Savile Row.

But this was undoubtedly Marc charging toward her. The storminess in his eyes and athleticism in his gait was unmistakable to the Asgardian. He was clean-shaven, his hair neatly pushed from his brow with a hint of product. His appearance would’ve made Sigyn’s heart skip a beat if she wasn’t in such a rush.

He began his apology, words pouring out of him, as soon as Marc glimpsed her. “I’m sorry, so fucking sorry. I rushed here, literally flew as fast as I can, Khonshu demanded that I–”

Sigyn stopped him “Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter now, we’re delaying the introductions.”

The princess took Marc’s hand and tugged him to follow her, but now he’d been able to get a proper look at her, and Marc nearly choked on his own breath. Sigyn was a vision. She wore a simple yet timelessly elegant navy blue satin gown. It had a modest, delicate boatneck neckline, and fit the length of Sigyn’s body like a glove, the hem stopping just above the floor.

The Asgardian’s long locks were swept off her shoulders in a neat French twist. Marc had seen Sigyn without makeup plenty of times now, she was gorgeous and frankly didn’t need it he’d always thought, but there was something about the touch of smoky shadow around her eyes and an almost nude pink painted onto her lips that enhanced her divine features further.

A sparkling diamond bracelet encircled the wrist that held Marc’s hand, and two small teardrop diamond earrings fell from her lobes. Around Sigyn’s neck, a thin diamond choker. The princess looked like an old movie star, understated but still incredibly alluring.

That was until Sigyn turned around to tow Marc in the direction of the ballroom. If he was a cartoon, his eyes would have bulged out of his head and left his skull altogether. Where the front of the Asgardian’s dress rested just above her clavicles, the back was open, plunging down an expanse of bare skin to right above where Sigyn’s spine began to widen into the plump curves of her ass. And it turned out that her necklace wasn’t a choker at all, it was only a portion of a long diamond strand on which a sapphire, exactly the color of the princess’s eyes, hung at the root of her back.

Jake was so captivated by this development that he pushed to the front, forcing a switch with no regard that they weren’t alone. The palace staff hurried along beside them, but that didn’t stop Jake from grabbing Sigyn’s hips and pulling her back to him.

“Ay princesa, tu culo en este vestido”, he murmured. “Me estás dando una erección en medio del Palacio de Buckingham.”

Thank heavens the palace staff were bastions of discretion.

“You’ll never get this ass again if you make us any more late,” she warned him in Spanish.

Jake promptly released her and they resumed their race back to the ballroom, yet Sigyn only made it a few paces before her hand was captured and she was pulled into an equally hungry and earnest kiss.

“You look absolutely radiant tonight, love,” Steven professed when they broke apart.

“Thank you darling,” she melted. “But we must make haste, we’ll have time for the two of us soon.”

Which reminded Sigyn, “Whose name shall I give to the announcer?”

“Mine.” American accent. Marc. He’d switched back.

“One of these days I wish to speak with Khonshu,” Sigyn fumed. “This is outright obnoxious.”

“He thinks I’m serving you more than him lately,” Mark divulged.

That stopped Sigyn dead in her tracks. “You’re not serving me. I am your partner Marc, I could be queen of the multiverse but we’d still be partners in this venture. You know that, right?”

Marc nodded.

“That infernal ancient bird,” Sigyn swore.

Marc remained silent. He’d done his best to lose the Egyptian deity as he flew across London, but Khonshu was always watching. Marc knew that the god wasn’t exactly fond of Sigyn either and getting in between them would be nothing short of a shitshow.

They arrived back to the ballroom entrance just as the Wakandan delegation were finishing their introductions, Shuri and T’Challa the last to cross the threshold.

“You made it!” Thor crowed in delight, Valkyrie at his side. “We’ll go first, give you two a moment.”

“That violates protocol,” Sigyn protested.

“Who cares?!” Valkyrie exclaimed with playful irreverence. “On New Asgard, the protocol is whoever’s ready goes first.”

The King sent Marc a reassuring wink and soon they disappeared into the ballroom with the announcement “Her Majesty King Valkyrie of New Asgard and Thor, the strongest Avenger.”

“I can’t believe he made them say that,” Marc muttered as Sigyn adjusted his lapel.

“Do not get me started,” the Asgardian concurred through gritted teeth. She lay her hands on his broad chest. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

“This is the furthest a kid from working class Chicago can get,” Marc told her.

“Just take one step at a time and keep your gaze straight ahead,” she advised.

It was their turn. Sigyn whispered to the uniformed attendant waiting to announce them, then returned to Marc, who offered her his arm. This was it.

“Lady Sigyn Frodisdottir of New Asgard and Mister Marc Spector!”

A swell of strings from an orchestra greeted them as the pair entered the ballroom. Every eye in the massive space was on Marc and Sigyn as they descended the staircase into the room, Marc making sure to go slow so Sigyn would retain her balance.

Yet, the princess didn’t need his aid. She seemed to glide down the stairs, clearly the Asgardian noble was back in her element. Nevertheless, she covertly squeezed her escort’s arm, hoping he got the message “I’m happy you’re here with me” she meant to convey with the gesture.

He took her advice, setting his gaze directly in front of him instead of looking at his feet, channeling the confidence from knowing he was here with the most beautiful woman in the room.

Thor, Valkyrie, T’Challa, his consort Nakia, Shuri, her striking consort - a member of the Dora Milaje, plus the British crown prince and his wife were all waiting for Marc and Sigyn at the base of the staircase. The orchestra continued playing, so once they were level with the other couples, Marc led Sigyn out to the dance floor with the rest of the royals and began the waltz.

She’d given him advance notice about this part, which gave Marc time to teach himself the mercifully simple box step the dance consisted of as well as time to practice with her.

Sigyn beamed at her partner while they waltzed. When Loki first left, Sigyn couldn’t have dreamed that she’d be in the arms of another powerful, kinder, dashing man, dancing at an opulent Migardian palace in another universe. Though now Sigyn was here, there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

“I’m so glad you made it,” she told him.

“You’re throwing off my counting,” he chided.

“Please, you can do this in your sleep and you know it,” she dismissed him fondly.

“I’ll be glad when this song is over” he groused, then softened. “This is a little different from the first time we danced.”

“Only slightly,” she joked. Sigyn wanted to kiss Marc, yet they’d mutually agreed that there were to be no public displays of affection this evening. Luring Loki was one thing, but they didn’t need any Midgardian attention. It was proving more difficult in practice, what with Marc dressed to the nines, holding her near enough for the princess to smell his crisp cologne, his chiseled face so close to hers.

“I know Steven and Jake already said it, but you do look really beautiful tonight,” he offered as they sailed across the floor.

“Thank you, Marc,” she grinned again, Marc was the stingiest with compliments. It wasn’t that he didn’t genuinely mean them, but sharing them necessitated a vulnerability the Midgardian was still unaccustomed to. “You look quite dashing yourself. Now what troublesome task did Khonshu insist you complete before you arrived?”

Marc opened his mouth to answer, but instead of vocalizing, his eyes glowed a pearlescent white, his posture stiffened, and his head tilted back slightly. Miraculously, he didn’t miss a step as they danced which could only mean one thing…

“Why don’t I tell you myself, hm? Since you are so eager to speak with me.”

Khonshu.

“Your timing is impeccable,” she commented, her tone dripping in sarcasm.

They twirled her, Khonshu’s agility taking Sigyn off guard. Marc had mastered the box step but not much else.

“It would behoove you not to wear your emotions so plainly on your face, little princess,” the god admonished her. Khonshu’s voice was unmistakably deeper than Marc’s and more sonorous.

They no longer shouted like they had the first time they’d puppeted Marc’s body with the Ennead. Now that Marc had experienced it before, Khonshu had a better grip on modulating his avatar’s volume.

“Typical man, telling a woman how and how much to feel,” Sigyn scoffed.

“I am a god.”

“That may be true, but you’re still a man,” she quipped.

“It has been a while since I was corporeal,” they rumbled, pressing Marc’s groin into her hip.

Sigyn recoiled so quickly, the normally balletic Asgardian tripped over her shoes. Khonshu steadied her, disguising her stumble as a dip on the dance floor.

It wasn’t fair that the mangy falcon was wearing Marc’s skin. The face she gazed upon, the arms that held her, did things to Sigyn. Involuntary things. Primal things. She tried to superimpose the beaked image of Khonshu Steven had shown her over Marc’s features and tamp down on the defiant arousal stirring within her.

“What are you doing here?” her glare full of flames, “Why now?”

The deity straightened, bringing Sigyn with them. “Because you’ve fallen in love with my avatar and he’s falling for you. Every damn one of him.”

“I don’t–-I’m not in love with Marc,” she instantly denied as they resumed the waltz. What if he could hear her? She went on, “I do care about him however. His safety and wellbeing is a matter of importance to me, which is more than you can say.”

Khonshu snarled in a harsh whisper “How dare you insult me.”

“I do not fear you,” Sigyn looked them straight in Marc’s eyes. “In fact, you ought to be thanking me, putting yourself in my debt. I’m trying to save you.”

“And yourself,” the god pointed out, “I will not allow you to pretend as if you're performing some great act of charity on my behalf. I enable your intergalactic travel, lest you forget. You are serving yourself just as much as you’re entreating my avatar to serve you.”

“All the stars above, they are not–”

A slackening in the body’s posture stopped the princess mid-sentence.

“Sigyn?” Her name was spoken in a British accent instead of Khonshu’s dark timbre.

“Steven?!”

Steven heaved as if he was holding the god back with all of his physical might. “So sorry love…we’re trying to get him out of here, but he’s too power–”

His eyes glowed once more and his shoulders went rigid. Khonshu had returned.

Sigyn exhaled an exasperated sigh at their reemergence. “Do they give you consent to use their body like this?”

“I own this body,” Khonshu replied simply.

“Well, that response clarifies perfectly who is in service to who.”

“And yet they do whatever you tell them to, then lick your quim afterwards,” the deity fired back.

“You are wildly fortunate that I enjoy your avatar’s face,” her voice lower and more menacing than any of them - Jake, Marc, Steven and Khonshu - had ever heard it, “because otherwise I would punch that smirk clean off of it.”

“Little princess–”

“No more,” Sigyn demanded. “I want my escort back. Now.”

“And why should I listen to you?”

“I won’t ask again.”

When Khonshu refused, still swaying with Sigyn, she began in the same ominous tone, “You know tonight is important to me, which is precisely why you decided to make your entrance now. I must hand it to you, Khonshu, it’s your most breathtaking act of sabotage towards me yet.”

She was right. The Egyptian deity knew Sigyn wouldn’t make a scene in front of so many fellow royals and prying eyes.

“However, Marc, Steven, Jake and I, along with Thor, King Valkyrie, and the buffoons at S.W.O.R.D., we may fail. Gorr may kill us all,” Sigyn continued, “Or if Loki rises to power, he’ll likely spare me. We’re still married according to most cosmic law, and he’ll want heirs. Legitimate ones. Norns, he’s wanted children for the past two centuries now.”

Sigyn leaned in close to Marc’s ear and murmured to Khonshu, “What do you think he’ll do to you if that comes to pass? Better yet, what do you think I will do after your insolence tonight?”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Perhaps I am,” Sigyn conceded, “Or perhaps I’m not. Are you going to risk discovering which it is?”

Khonshu pulled away so they could see Sigyn’s face. She sneered at him, “You will continue to permit your avatar to partner with me to stop Loki, and provide transport for us whenever we require it. Now return my escort to me.”

In lieu of a verbal reply, Khonshu merely cooperated, the body nearly collapsing on top of Sigyn when it was returned to Marc.

“Marc, darling, are you alright?” She held him close to her.

“Yeah…” he was panting as if he’d run a marathon, “yeah I’m fine. Can we sit down?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” she cooed. The Asgardian and Marc rarely used pet names with each other, but in this moment after witnessing Khonshu’s cruelty, Sigyn couldn’t help herself.

They left the dance floor. Marc sank down onto one of the plush red velvet couches that were dotted around the edges of the spacious room.

Sigyn sat with him, rubbing his back. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I will be,” he assured her. “Just need a moment.”

Sigyn removed her hand to allow Marc his space. She kept quiet and flagged one of the servers, requesting a glass of water for her partner.

“Thank you,” Marc said when the server returned with the glass.

She surveyed Marc expectantly. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Marc answered honestly. “He’s done it before, but only when the Ennead convenes. It’s something I can’t get used to though.”

“I’m sure.”

Marc sent the princess a wry grin. “You were pretty fucking formidable back there.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” she teased. “How do you think I was able to keep Loki in line for as long as I did?”

Her quip prompted a question from Marc. He tried to make it sound nonchalant. “So you two are still married?”

“Only legally. It’s similar to that term you told me, for when spouses have decided to no longer stay together but yet to properly divorce.”

“Separated,” he supplied for her.

“Yes, we’re separated.”

“Would you take him back if he won? If he became the sole god in the multiverse?”

“If it meant protecting those I care about, yes. I would.”

Marc respected her honesty. “You know I always wondered why you two—you…you didn’t have kids.”

“No child of mine will ever be used as a pawn, and that’s exactly what they’d be if we’d had one,” Sigyn explained. “In my universe Thor, much like the one here, is still unwed and childless. So I knew, no matter how much he’d deny it, that if I gave birth before Thor married and had an heir of his own, Loki would use our child as a bargaining chip to ascend the throne before his brother.”

“I can see why you wouldn't want to bring a kind into that,” Marc sympathized.

“I appreciate that,” she managed.

The two watched the other couples dancing in silence. Marc was surprised at how light the hulking god of thunder was on his feet.

Marc leaned over to Sigyn, “For the record, I don’t think I serve you.”

The Asgardian was diffident. “I’m glad.”

“And I really want to kiss you right now,” he confessed.

“We promised we wouldn’t.”

“That was before I saw you in this dress.”

“You think it’s been any easier for me with you looking like that?”

“Sigyn,” he rasped, crowding her space further.

The princess was on the verge of succumbing to Marc, breaking their mutual promise, when Thor strode up to them and interrupted, “Thankfully that’s over!”

Marc and Sigyn sprang apart. The Avenger pretended to be oblivious and continued, “Did anyone else feel the weird energy out there just now? Marc, my man, you’ve been holding back your dance moves!”

“What is it, brother?” Sigyn unsuccessfully masked the irritation in her voice, refusing to take her eyes off her escort.

“Valkyrie’s rounding up the Wakandans, it’s time.”

Ah. That. Sigyn turned to Thor. “Marc should come.”

“Marc should stay and be eyes on the ballroom while we’re away, like we discussed,” Thor was doing the thing where he sounded overly upbeat to mask his frustration.

Marc could sense it. He pecked Sigyn’s lips, effectively kissing the pout off of her face. “We should stick to the plan. I’m fine here.”

At last she agreed and rose from the red cushions. “We won’t be gone long, and you’ll pay for that, Spector.”

Marc winked. “I sure hope so.”

As Sigyn and Thor departed, the god whispered, “You said it was casual.”

“It is,” she countered, looking anywhere but Thor’s face.

“You two are acting like you’re square in the sexily-denying-their-feeling-for-each-other phase of any good rom-com,” Thor shot back.

Sigyn glared at him. “You need to lay off the Midgardian entertainment, I think.”

***

Marc set about sweeping the room in his date’s absence. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a server, not to drink, but as a prop for a very fake casual stroll around the room. Sigyn had warned him that Loki was a shapeshifter, so he did a lap to see if anyone, even the most innocuous attendees, perhaps the Queen herself, was tailing or watching him.

Who Marc found instead knocked the wind out of him. He blinked in disbelief, sure that the vision in front of him was in fact a hallucination. It wasn’t though, because once they locked eyes, she made her way over to him instead of disintegrating before him.

It was his ex-wife.

Where Sigyn had opted for a timeless subtle elegance with her gown, she had eschewed tradition and wore a much more modern ensemble. A cap-sleeved orange crop top showcased her broad shoulders, then stopped at the center of her rib cage, revealing a delectable strip of tawny skin at her midsection. A voluminous matching orange skirt bloomed from her waist, everything accented by the dainty gold jewelry she wore.

She looked gorgeous. He was going to need that champagne after all.

“Layla?!”

“Hi Marc.”

He tried not to betray just how much he was reeling at her presence. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same about you. Of all the colonizer palaces in all the cities in the world…”

A nervous laugh escaped Marc at her Casablanca reference. He took a pull from his champagne flute to ease him. “Sorry, I sound like a dick for asking, but why are you here?”

“I've been consulting for the Wakandans on recovering stolen artifacts,” she informed him. Layla kept her voice carefully guarded and aloof. It stung to realize Marc was no longer privy to Layla’s adventures.

He attempted to wheedle them out of her anyway. “What, you going to use the party as cover to make a play tonight?

Layla ignored her ex-husband’s question and sipped her respective champagne instead. “The reason you’re here made it pretty clear when she paraded you in earlier.”

Marc’s cheeks burned. Layla knew how much he hated pomp. “It’s…it’s not like that. We’re working together.”

Layla shot him her signature “don’t bullshit me” look but Marc doubled down.

“Seriously, there’s a threat involving an alien and a Norse god and I’m helping the Asgardians track them down before they can do too much damage.”

Her laser gaze intensified. Layla knew him too well, and knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth. She cursed the dark, masochistic part of her that wanted to hear Marc say that they were sleeping together.

Marc didn’t feel the need to. Instead, he swore, “It’s casual. I don’t think either of us know what we are, or care to. No labels, no commitments.”

“You committed to learning the waltz.”

“You look great,” Marc changed the subject, one in which he could actually tell the truth.

“Marc—“

“Are you still working with Tawaret?” Marc pressed.

“Do you miss me?”

Yes, said his gut. He hated himself for it. The divorce was final, Marc still considered Layla as his wife. Deep down he knew he could fuck Sigyn six ways to Sunday and still a little part of him would miss Layla. It wasn't fair to his Asgardian lover, and it was bloody painful for Marc.

Marc searched for an adequate answer. He did miss her, and after everything they went through in Cairo, they thought they could give their marriage another chance. But Marc couldn’t shake the guilt that he’d condemned the person he loved most to the same servitude he entrapped himself in.

Though Tawaret was much kinder to her avatar than Khonshu to him, it also wasn’t lost on Marc how she blossomed in her new role as Cairo’s resident superhero. Not to mention the discovery of Jake threw him for a loop. Ultimately, he filed the divorce papers again because Marc believed he needed to allow Layla to enter this new chapter of her life unencumbered with his baggage, his DID, his love for others to exploit to get to her.

While Marc’s thoughts raced, Sigyn rushed to his side, putting a hand on his shoulder and melding herself into his side with a blind fluidity.

“Darling, Thor’s insisting that you sit for the Asgardian delegation photograph, and he won’t listen to me when I insisted we’ve put you through enough this evening. It’s his attempt at a fraternal gesture, I suppose, but we must—“

“Sigyn, this is Layla El-Faouly.”

The princess faltered, taking in the sight of the caramel skinned, raven haired beauty before her. Her mane of dark curls were reminiscent of a regal lioness, her eyes inquisitive as a hawk’s.

Sigyn felt her heart fracture and jealousy bloom in its cracks. Khonshu had been more right about her feelings for Marc than she’d cared to admit. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And yours, my lady,” Layla responded without missing a beat.

“Call me Sigyn, please.” The princess searched for something more to say, something safe. “Are you enjoying tonight’s festivities?”

“Very much so.”

“Yes, the British certainly know how to entertain their guests.”

“As well as subjugate and steal from other cultures,” added Layla.

Sigyn’s eyebrows shot up. “I ought to have done more research on our hosts it seems.”

“Didn’t you say you two needed to be going?” Layla asked in a deceptively airy tone, zeroing in on her ex-husband.

Sigyn also looked to Marc for help. He felt like a deer caught in not one, but two, deadly hunters' crosshairs.

The Asgardian broke the silence. “Right…well, I could always tell Thor that I couldn’t find you Marc, if you two have more to discuss.”

“No, let’s go,” he answered at last. The decision to leave with Sigyn hurt Layla more than if Marc had stabbed her in the heart.

Sigyn turned to the exquisite Egyptian. “It was lovely meeting you.”

“And you, Sigyn.”

The princess waited until they were far enough away to remark coolly, “She’s stunning.”

Marc tensed. “Sigyn...”

“Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she mused, drinking in the figure Marc cut in his tux. “You two make a beautiful couple.”

“Stop.”

Sigyn glowered at him. Marc moved in closer, put his hand on the bare skin of her back, just under where the sapphire dangled. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know, Marc, are you?” she shot back, angling away from his touch. “You said all of nothing back there.”

“I don’t want to do this right now,” Marc huffed.

“How fortunate, neither do I,” Sigyn parried, her mounting anger causing her to walk faster, “So if there’s one of you in there who hasn’t been with her I would much rather speak to them.”

That was despicable, she thought as soon as the words had left her mouth. Sigyn had no right to speak to Marc like that, to treat him as interchangeable, to demand a more convenient alter at any given moment. Yet before the Asgaridan could apologize, a pair of arms pulled her back against a solid torso just as they had earlier that evening, causing the blue gem she wore to dig into her spine.

“Estoy aqui, nena” Jake murmured into her ear.

“You were never with her?”

Jake laughed, his trademark humorless bark. “She doesn’t know I exist.”

“He’s furious at me, isn’t he?” She inquired about Marc. “He should be.”

He shushed her in a soothing tone. “Don’t think about that right now. Be here with me. I’m more fun at a party than the two of them combined.”

Sigyn walked out of his hold, though she kept her hand clasped in his. “They’re still waiting on us. Can you pretend to be Marc for the next five minutes?”

“Claro que si,” Jake assured her, following her. “Then we leave.”

“Not that soon,” Sigyn countered. “But soon enough.”

Jake growled in her ear with excitement. “Por favor princesa, let’s leave now. I’ll take you to a club where we can really dance.”

But they were already entering the opulent meeting room where the photographs were being taken, Thor booming “There you two are!” at their arrival.

READ PART TWO

A/N: I need everyone to know that I adore Layla and May Calamawy sooo much so that every OC I write must be intimidated and jealous of her because she is truly a goddess among us. That being said, I harscore ship Layla and the Moon Boys in canon, wanted to make sure NO ONE thinks I’m a hater!

Taglist: @starfirette @twwcs

Translations:

Ay princesa, tu culo en este vestido - Ay princess, your ass in this dress

Me estás dando una erección en medio del Palacio de Buckingham - You’re giving me an erection in the middle of Buckingham Palace

Estoy aqui, nena - I’m here baby

Claro que si - Of course

Por favor princesa - Please princess

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nightki11er · 8 months

Text

Hm… I haven't posted something for a very long time and decided to write a fic for you. I apologize.

So, this fanfiction will be dedicated to Glen, Glenda and Chuck. The twins, who are also a young prince and princess, wanted to find out how their father became king.

Let's get started!

It was a normal Saturday night. It was about 7:45 pm and the young prince and princess got bored. The twins decided to go to their father to entertain them somehow. So, after leaving their royal chambers, they went to a very luxurious living room. The house in which the Ray family currently lives was more like a very rich house than a castle. It was very beautifully decorated both from the outside. so it is inside. There was a swimming pool, a children's playground… So, something took me the wrong way. So, the twins left their room, walked through a long and beautiful corridor decorated with various paintings, and went down the stairs. we passed by the kitchen. where their mother, Queen Tiffany Valentine Delilah Ray, was cooking something, and they went into the living room where their father, Charles Lee Ray, was sitting. Glen was the first to speak:

"Dad, entertain us somehow."

Hearing his son's voice, Chucky put away the book he was reading and put his kids on his lap.

"How can I entertain you?"

The king asked with a certain grin. The children fell silent. No one knew what to say, and so Glenda asked,

"How did you become king?"

The question caught Chucky off guard. He perfectly remembered how he got to the previous king and queen, how he learned to be a worthy ruler and in the end… How he had to fight with his foster father to get the crown.

"Well, I'll tell you how I got my crown."

- the king began.

It was a very difficult day for the royal family, as the young Prince Charles Lee Loman Reinhardt Ray was being prepared for tomorrow's battle. These were the rules: if the future king did not justify his crown in battle and fell, he would be exiled. So. Chucky knew. that if he loses, he will be lost. But he was strong. He went to training every day, including weekends. Everyone came to this battle: the subjects, the royal family, and other rulers. So, the arena. Everyone is making noise, everything is buzzing. The king enters the stage. He was wearing protective clothing. His shoulder-length red hair fluttered in the wind, and His posture was straight. His gaze fell on his opponent. His opponent was his son. Chucky was also wearing protective clothing. His long dark red hair was braided in a ponytail. A minute of silence. Suddenly the Queen's voice is heard:

"Dear guests! I'm glad to see you! Today we will find out if the young prince is ready to accept his crown. May the strongest win!"

- After these words, a roar sounded, and the battle began. The King attacked first. Charles defended himself. It took literally 2 minutes, and Chucky noticed his girlfriend Tiffany among the trebunal. He was distracted by her, and at that moment the king struck. The sword slid across Charles' left eye and blood gushed out of the wound. The prince clutched at his eye. but he continued to defend himself. The king took hold of the handle of the sword with both hands, swung and… Didn't hit? Yes, that's right. Charles's sword was across the king's sword.

"Now it's my turn."

Chucky said in a low voice and pushed his father away from him. The fight started again. Unexpectedly for the prince, the king knocked Charles's weapon out of his hands. Charles was stunned… Then he looked at his father. Suddenly, a menacing roar sounded. The roar was like a lion's… Rather, it was a growl. Charles has multiplied his sharp fangs. His nails became sharper, and his right hand turned completely black. A tail appeared from behind. It was all about voodoo magic.

"Hi! I'm Chucky! Wanna play?"

- Chucky said something childish and attacked his opponent. Thunderclouds appeared in the sky. And now, already tired opponents are walking around each other. The king's sword had been knocked out of his hands long ago. And then a blow. The blow was made by the king with his hand. He slapped his son in the face, which caused his nose to bleed. Charles wiped away the blood and thanked his father in return. The blow was made with the back of his hand. The king has fallen. There were voices in the stands. And abruptly everyone shouted and clapped for the new king. Charles is already scared. Suddenly someone jumped on him and grabbed him by the neck. He recognized the jump. Tiffany. he turned to her and was just about to say something when she kissed him on the lips. The kiss was gentle. Chucky put his arm around her waist. The kiss stopped. Both turned to the former king and Chucky helped his father to stand up.

"This is your new king now!"

Albert said with joy in his voice. Everyone welcomed the new king.

"Long live the King!"

"That's how I became king."

Charles said with pride in his voice.

"And that's how you got your scar."

Glenda said, pointing to her father's left eye.

"Yes."

#chucky #glenda #glen #tiffany

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starboundanon · 1 year

Note

IWM, Vader on Alderaan for the actual wedding

OHHH MYYY GODDD. I'VE BEEN HANKERING FOR THIS SCENE FOREVER. Imperial (Wedding) March by @trashikin is genuinely god tier, fuck.

Send me a missing scene!

As far as royal weddings on Alderaan go, this is a small and sad affair.

Not that he's an expert, of course. The opposite, in fact. He could care less how much money and manpower the Organas waste on this farce. A quick, professional, forgettable ceremony suits him just fine. The less time he has to spend on this grassy rock, submitting to his Master's bidding, the fewer messes there will be to clean up when he returns to his flagship.

The Organas, thankfully, seem to agree.

Very few are present for the wedding itself. The Queen and her husband, of course, as well as the officiant overseeing the exchanging of the vows — an Imperial officer their Emperor commanded them to use, who has spent the better part of this ordeal sneaking smug smirks at Senator Organa like a petty child.

Next to the Queen and her consort is her heir, the future Queen, Princess Leia Organa, who has yet to look away from Vader's mask for even a single moment. Her dark eyes bore into him from across the arch, earth brown irises wreathed in flames. A pity, that Bail and Breha's furious little spitfire is not Force sensitive. What a remarkable Sith she would make.

And then, of course, there's Vader's bride himself. The decidedly unremarkable Prince Luke.

The boy makes far less of an impression than his sibling. He is dressed, not in white, as some cultures might prefer, but in dull grey and drab robes, a wrap over his shoulders that gives his frame a stocky, uninteresting shape. His hair is braided and coiled against his skull so tightly, Vader hadn't noticed the uncommonly long length of it until Luke was right in front of him. Perhaps the boy wished to appear more masculine, standing between his regal mother and striking sister. A pathetic, useless attempt.

Beside Vader, his own required witness, Captain Piett, stands firmly at attention, eyes on the officiant. Beyond that, the grand courtroom of the royal family is cold and empty. No decorations, no throngs of guests. Vader is glad of the quiet, of the clinical nature. But the attempted insult to his Master's whims is irksome all the same.

"We will now exchange your vows," the officiant says, grinning wide at the disgusted expression that Bail Organa fails to hide. "Lord Vader, you may begin."

The words belt from his lips like wood on a chopping block, in quick succession, accentuated by the pure vitriol in his voice. This is as much a punishment for himself as it is for Breha and Bail, he knows. Words that were never meant to be meaningless, that had been sacred to him for over two decades, become tainted as he spews them at this dull-eyed little waif, to cherish and protect, to guide and support, leaving the taste of ashes in his mouth.

The officiant smiles when he finishes, the only person in the entire cavernous room to do so.

"Your turn, Your Highness."

The boy raises his eyes, but doesn't meet Vader's gaze. Few are capable of doing so through the dark lenses of his helmet, but somehow, it feels intentional.

He doesn't bother to listen to the droning recitation of the younger man's vows, until Luke drones his way through, "...to cherish and protect, to guide — " and the officiant suddenly raises his hand, halting his speech, mid-word.

"To cherish, protect and obey," he corrects, entirely too pleased with himself. "This is a lifelong commitment, Your Highness. I must ask that you take it seriously."

Something flashes across Luke's face then, just a spark, and then it's gone. Vader looks at him for perhaps the first time, really looks at him, noticing how white he's gone along the square curve of his jaw, the flame-blue chill of those wide eyes, narrowed into a glare.

Leia Organa's brother, after all.

"Pardon me, my Lord," he grits out, between clenched teeth. "To cherish, protect and obey, to guide and support, from this day forward, til death do we part."

The smile on the officer's face turns unmistakably cruel. "Indeed, Your Highness." He hands Vader a datapad, the certificate staring up at him mockingly, watches them both sign, their displeasure a matching set. "I now pronounce you wed. Lord Vader, you may — "

"No," he barks, snatching the datapad from Piett the moment the man scrawls his signature, shoving the offending object into the officiant's chest with the Force. "This ceremony is over. We will be taking our leave."

That flash crosses the young prince's face again, gone as quickly as it came. Vader braces himself for the tantrum, for the screaming retort, the wails of this beautiful, loving family ripped apart.

Instead, that curious expression flares and dies back into a familiar mask of neutrality, a face Vader now knows is as much a farce as this entire wedding has been.

"Lead the way, my Lord."

#herbie asks #ask game #tw darkfic #vaderluke

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faerii-shin · 10 months

Text

"Concealed Destiny" Part 2/2

Shinsuke Kita x Fem! Y/N

Part 1 | Part 2

summary : “My life is nothing without you in it. If you were not here, I wouldn’t have a purpose.”

warnings : none

genre : Royalty AU, sfw ( fluff & soft )

word count: 666 words 3,674 characters

a/n : Sorry for being away with not a single notice! Here's a mini storyline before I post Part 3 of my Oikawa series. Tysm & Enjoy 🤍

meanings: p/n - prefecture ( place ) name | Hyōgo - where Inarizaki High is from

Due to the pull she turned to face him, but ended up tripping on the fallen rain. However, that stormy night Y/N got lucky because she was caught right on time. Without even giving him her name or even anything at all, she quickly handed him his cloak and ran inside, dripping wet. time skip Though the encounter was sudden, both of them couldn’t stop thinking about each other. His stares and how it triggers a certain memory. Her voice and the way it echoes through his mind. A prince and a peasant — surprisingly, they have one thing in common. They thought loving was scary. The fear of letting your heart go like that. Never truly knowing if it would be shattered to pieces or become louder than it already is. To them, it just feels like you’re running in slow motion. Continuously wandering in the middle of a really bad dream. They were of different areas in social economics. It was a concealed destiny that they met, Kita thought to himself. You have everything, all the luxuries. All the most magnificent women were presented to you, yet it never felt enough. People just plan your future out how they want it. "Prince Shinsuke! Sire! The girl you will be taking to the annual Masquerade Ball is here for the first meeting. She’s better than the others, I promise. Please hurry downstairs to the main hall." His Assistant called. He sighed as he reluctantly did his best to look presentable in order for their guest to not get the wrong idea. Fixing his layered attire, he went to the main hall. "Hi." He said waving. He knew it was her. It had to be her. "Prince Shinsuke, Good Morning." Y/N replied, bowing without breaking formalities. A single mistake facing a member of the royal family would be crucial and fatal. "Please, no need for formalities." Although he was used to this, she just felt special to him. "Oh my sincerest apologies…Alright, if you say so. Pardon my manners, I haven’t even introduced myself. Y/N L/N of the P/N Prefecture." "Well I assume, you’d know me by now and introductions wouldn’t be necessary." He replied. "Sorry to interrupt, but here’s your schedule for today." His Assistant said while opening a file on the device she was holding. "Attire Fitting in 2 hours, Ballroom Assessing right after that and" There it goes; the list continued to lengths as to what seemed like forever. time skip "Finished. That’s all. Any questions, concerns, clarifications or maybe moving of dates or time?" She asked. "No, none at all to be said." They told the assistant in unison. She nodded her head, bidding them farewell. This initially meant that they were free for the rest of the time before Attire Fitting. Kita was very relieved that he was right all along. He felt like he could get along well and become good friends with the young lady. "Time flies very fast, huh?" He mumbled under his breath. "It really does, actually. The world keeps spinning with us upon it and we never notice." She said with a light chuckle, knowing that he wouldn’t expect her to hear it. With her words, he got an idea. "Y/N, let’s go somewhere. Come on!" He told her all of a sudden. "Wait, where exactly?" She questioned him, but it was too late. She was already following him, running to a place she didn’t know about. They both had lies that were hidden, lies that were said. Being no compasses, no time. Were there clues they didn’t see? The moment they reached the place, her eyes lit up. The pale blue sky reflected in her vision. He saw her expression, for once in his life somebody made him happy. He brought her where his eyes could take them. A single sentence, a single idea — made him bring Y/N here. Go, where no one else is. If you do seek freedom, run from it all.

The End. Thanks for choosing to read this!

#kita shinsuke #kita x y/n #kita x reader #kita x you #shinsuke kita #shinsuke kita x reader #haikyuu fic #fem! reader

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wardenparker · 2 years

Text

Necessary Arrangements: ch 4

Will Miller x female Reader A Princess Diaries inspired Triple Frontier AU Co-written with @steeevienicks

Upon returning from Colombia with one fewer member of his former special forces team, Will Miller is met with the revelation that his absent father is dying and Will is expected to take over the family business. Which would be fine, if the family business weren’t the running of an entire small nation. This is Will’s chance to start over and do some good in the world - but how will he cope with his new life and the woman he is supposed to spend it with?

Rating: Teen, but as always this blog is 18+! Word Count: 9.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series include family death, cursing, and food descriptions.* The usual cursing, food, and fluff here. Mention of break ups and of Frankie’s addiction issue, but nothing too heavy. Summary: The Delta boys descend on the royal palace, and some of them might start to get comfortable in Freidlyn a lot faster than they ever thought. Notes: Love is in the air and we are making absolutely no apologies for it 💖

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3

The next day feels like an unruly marathon despite how orderly it is. The morning church service ended up being a free-for-all of paparazzi trying to get photographs of the new king, and when Will had instinctively reached for your hand to bring you inside the building away from the flashing bulbs, chaos had ensued.

At least his friends’ travel plans had all gone steadily. The private jet normally reserved for diplomats or special visitors had been dispatched last night so it could land in North Carolina and refuel before the morning. All three men and little baby Xiomara Morales were safely on board and on schedule. Almost all of Will’s day after arriving back at the palace has been spent with the royal tailor being precisely measured and fitted, or with the palace interior designer, saying yes or no to the hundreds of tiny decisions about what the redecoration of his suite will look like. It is immense, and by the time you appear in his sitting room at half past five, he looks like his eyes are about to cross from being overwhelmed. “I’m very sorry to interrupt, Madame Tetroux, but his Majesty needs to change for dinner. His guests will be arriving soon.”

Will perks up at that. This day had been a lot for sure, and while he was prepared for paparazzi that morning, he was not prepared for that many. Will gets up and goes over to the closet, his suit hung up and ready to be worn to dinner. It fits like a glove, and he can’t help but admire how it looks in the full-length mirror. The pants and jacket are black and the white button up and green tie complete the look. This is definitely the most expensive thing he has ever put on his body. He grabs the emerald cufflinks from a little wooden box and walks out of his closet to where you’re sitting. “Could you help me with these?” He asks timidly.

“Of course.” Cuff links are easy enough for a second person, and you settle them in place quickly. “You know, it might make your life easier if you took on a valet sooner rather than later,” you hum, straightening his tie just a smidge. “Let someone else pick out your clothes and make sure you don’t have a tag sticking out by accident? It’s one less thing to worry about.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” He chuckles. “Do I look okay? I like the suit, but I’ve never worn anything so…perfect before. So I feel a little…I don’t know. Uncomfortable? No, that’s not it. Out of place, maybe? Which, ha, I shouldn’t be considering all of this.” He thinks once he sees his friends, he won’t feel so strange, like having familiar faces will put him at ease. “You look beautiful, by the way.” He glances up and down noticing the dress you have on for the evening. Fitting perfectly and the shimmer of your jewelry suiting your skin tone and eyes beautifully.

"You look very handsome." And that is the absolute honest truth without a hint of embellishment. "If it helps, try to think of these clothes as your uniform, for now. I'm sure you were uncomfortable in your uniform when you first joined the military, but you grew used to it. This is no different." With a small smirk, you lift up your ankle a little to show him your high heeled shoe. "These have been a part of my uniform for so long that I barely ever feel pain from them anymore."

“I don’t know how you ladies ever get used to those death traps, but I have to say they look very good.” He’s always admired a woman in heels, no matter how much it hurt his ankles just looking at them. “That’s a good point though. I was uncomfortable in those scratchy uniforms at first but after a while you just kind of forget about it. See, this is one of the many reasons I need you around – you just make things make sense to me.”

"Probably the most uncomfortable you'll be in your own clothes from now on is when you have to wear a dress uniform." There is a small piece of lint on the lapel of his suit that you pick away easily, offering him an encouraging smile. "Although that will be at both our wedding and coronation, so I promise in advance to make sure you have your favourite things to sleep in when you finally get to sleep those nights." You have no intention of breaching the topic of sharing a bed, but you can at least make sure he is taken care of. Consummation will happen whenever it happens. You've only known each other for two days.

“What would I do without you, Plum?” He asks. He has also thought about sleeping arrangements, but isn’t sure how or when to bring that up to you. Ultimately deciding that it would be your choice whether or not the two of you would share a bed. “Seriously, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for how kind and gracious you’ve been these last few days. I probably seem like a fuckin’ idiot, but I’m trying, and I’ve actually been learning a lot.” He grabs your hand from where you’ve been picking the small pieces of lint off his label and brings your hand to his lips, leaving a lingering kiss there. There’s a moment where the two of you are quiet, just looking into each other’s eyes; a peaceful moment in the chaos of the last two days…which is interrupted by a brisk knock on his door.

“Sire? Your guests have arrived.” It’s Minna.

“Thank you, Mlle. Thorn.” The spell of the moment is broken just like that, and you offer the other woman a grateful smile. She has been working herself ragged since the car accident and you are more appreciative of her help than you can say. “We’ll be down directly.” If you can have just one more stolen moment of his sweetness, you will certainly take it.

“Are you ready to meet my brother and friends?” Will asks, squeezing your hand one last time before letting go. Out of habit now he offers his arm for you to take, smiling when your arm loops through his perfectly. “If they ask something you don’t feel comfortable answering, please just tell them to fuck off. They’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be slightly more articulate than that, but I don’t have any trouble expressing myself.” You tease, offering him an encouraging grin. The walk from the residential wing of the palace to the formal dining room takes a few minutes but you and Will are both brisk walkers when you have reason to be. He’s excited to see them, that’s obvious, and to be honest you find it very sweet. Now all you can do is pray they like you.

Benny, Frankie, Xi, and Santi have been escorted to the dining hall – all of them, except Xi, who is passed out on her father’s shoulder – are looking around with wide eyes. None of them have ever seen anything like this in real life before, and never imagined a place like this actually existed.

“I told you I wasn’t bullshitting.” Will laughs as he walks up and hugs each of his friends and brother. “Thank you for coming. It’s good to see you all.”

“This is—” Benny would normally whistle but he doesn’t want to wake Xi, so he just blows out a long breath. “This is un-fucking-believable. No wonder Mom was always so cagey about your dad when we used to ask. Jesus…”

“Yeah, can’t say that I blame her.” Will laughs, patting his brother on the back. “I don’t think either of us would have kept quiet about this place had we known when we were kids. How was the flight?”

“Beat the hell out of every bare bones transport we ever took,” Frankie laughs. “Xi didn’t like take off, but we took turns reading and playing with her and she knocked out somewhere over the Atlantic. Woke up again over England and we started the whole thing again. Now she’s…” He shrugs a little bit but is careful not to disturb his sleeping angel. “She always falls asleep on a car ride. It works like a charm.”

“I’m glad little miss got some sleep. Hope you did too.” Will smiles as he holds his arms out for the small baby. A gesture that makes your heart flutter. He takes Xi in his arms and cuddles her against his broad chest – he looks like a natural with her, and she settles into him quickly. “Someone missed their Uncle Will.”

The quiet moment is the right one, you decide, and extend your hand to Will’s younger half-brother, introducing yourself informally and knowing that formalities will come later. “I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you,” you tell him honestly.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Benny says as he steps forward to hug you. He wraps his arms around you like he’s afraid that if he squeezes too tight, you’ll break and says your name. “You’re stunning. My brother is a lucky guy.”

“That’s very sweet of you.” The fact that he ignored your hand and hugged you instead speaks volumes to you about his willingness to embrace his brother’s new roll and you give his shoulders a slight squeeze in return. “I’m afraid you’ll be seeing rather a lot of me in the weeks to come. Your brother and I have quite a lot to discuss with you.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Benny chuckles. “I’m looking forward to getting to know all about you and,” he gestures around him, “all of this. This is so cool.” He turns to Frankie and Pope. “These are our friends – Frankie Morales and Santiago Garcia.”

Both men offer their hands to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, su Majestad.” Santi winks. “You’re beautiful.”

“It’s still your Ladyship until next month.” You tell him with a grin, so very thankful that they seem to be excepting and embracing everything with ease now threat they know it isn’t a prank. “I’m afraid there is rather a lot to talk about, but I’m so glad you could all come.”

“I’ll be honest, Will and Benny had me for a while.” Santi admits. “But after being picked up in that plane? Wow. Sorry for doubting you, hermano but to be fair they’ve pulled fake wife pranks before when we were in basic together, so…” He laughs.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing fake about me.” The friendship they all have is something that will be to Will’s great advantage in the coming weeks, you’re sure of that. He will need their support.

“Excellent. Frank, you gonna say hi or are you going to keep looking around like a lost puppy?” He teases. “Frank’s the quiet one of the groups so he shouldn’t give you much trouble.” Santi squeezes your shoulder before stepping back and nudging Frankie forward.

“Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Frankie says quietly. He’s overwhelmed, it’s easy to see, but he’s trying his best to make a good impression.

“Thank you for making the trip.” You shake his hand firmly, something he seems surprised by, but you find out a moment later that it’s only a surprise because he, too, is a hugger. “I know travel with a child isn’t easy, but please if there is anything you or she needs, do not hesitate to ask. I’ve arranged for her to have a place in the palace daycare whenever it is needed for as long as you are here.” When the door to the sitting room opens once more, Will’s mother and Elsie are announced, and you practically grin at your friend. She loves the rare occasion of a formal dinner because the kitchens are amazing, and also because she gets to pull out her best dresses. Even with the palace in mourning, a simple gown is always beautiful. “You’ll all know Sandy Miller,” you guess, watching Benny light up and give his mother a hug. “Elsie is the palace’s head librarian. And my best friend, so if you want the truly silly stories of my youth, she is where you get them.”

The boys all flock to Sandy, wrapping her in their arms and offering condolences and forehead kisses. As far as she’s concerned, these are all her sons and she’s so happy to see them. “Thank you for coming, boys. It means a lot to us that you were able to drop everything and make it all the way out here, now give me that baby.” She makes a silly grabbing motion at Frankie holding his daughter.

Frankie looks away from Sandy and Xi and notices Elsie standing in the background near you. Even in heels, she’s short and her soft black dress fits her wonderfully. She has dark hair, big green eyes and the prettiest smile he had ever seen. She looked as nervous as he felt. “Hello, everyone.” She raises her hand in a small wave. “Welcome to Freidlyn.”

“Put your tongue back in your mouth, Fish.” Pope chuckles under his breath as you lead his friends further into the room, exchanging words with a man in a uniform as you go.

“Let’s all go through to dinner,” you suggest, knowing that talking over food is always infinitely less awkward. “I’m sure our travelers will be happier once they have a glass of wine and a solid meal in their bellies.”

They all agree – they had been offered food on the plane, but that had been hours ago and they were starving. They follow you to the main dining room, eyeing the ornate carvings and decorations along the walls.

“So how are you feeling?” Benny asks as he walks a few steps behind his brother.

“Surprisingly okay,” Will says. “There’s still a lot that needs to be done and I still feel like I’m in over my head, but Plum here has been such a big help.” He smiles at you.

“Plum, huh?” Benny chuckles.

“When he was four, Klaus and I took him to see the royal ballet perform The Nutcracker.” Sandy explains, a melancholy smile softening her features. “He told me he wanted to marry a fairy one day.” The kindness in her eyes turns to you and her smile deepens just a little. “So I think Sugarplum is a very fitting nickname.”

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” Elsie giggles, imagining this giant, broad man as a small boy, eyes alight with wonder and the magic of the Nutcracker. “I’ve always thought you were a fairy princess.” She says to you, nudging you with her shoulder gently. “We all think it’s a good nickname.”

“Who’s ‘we all’?” You ask Elsie, raising an eyebrow when you look down the table at her where she is sitting in the other side of Will’s brother.

“Oh, me, Minna, Lisette, Sandy.” Elsie lists off. She gives you a smirk, “And apparently everyone else at this table.” She says as she lifts her wine glass to her lips.

“I knew you would get Lisette in on this.” You groan softly, offering Will an apologetic expression. “Our other close school friend is one of the palace pastry chefs. Those amaretti cookies you loved last night? They are one of her specialties.”

“My compliments to her.” He says. “So if at any point I wanted more…all I’d have to do is ask her? And she’d just make them?” He laughs, taking a bite of the first course.

“Yes,” Elsie says as she spreads the cloth napkin over her lap. “She’s always willing to bake treats for anyone at the palace. I think she’s more passionate about baking than I am about books, and I love books. Clearly.”

“Good, I think I’ll want another batch soon.” Will smirks.

“She made the petit fours for tonight’s dessert course,” you tell him, grinning when Will lights up with excitement. “And truly, you know all you have to do is ask for anything and it will be provided. I know you’re still getting used to that, but it’s true.”

******

Dinner continues to go well, everyone laughing and exchanging stories. Will had learned that you had quite a wild streak in your early teens and had snuck out multiple times with Lisette and Elsie and another friend when you should have been studying for exams. You had flushed wildly when Elsie told the story, reliving the memories with your friends. Minna had joined later in the evening after the final course to remind everyone of where their rooms would be located and offered to take them herself if need be.

“I will take you up on that.” Santi smiles at her. You noticed the look on her face when she saw Santi and smiled, raising your eyebrows and nodding at Elsie to see how he had seemingly affected her.

“Great, I will be right outside when you’re ready.” Minna offers Santiago Garcia a smile perceptibly warmer than her usual.

“Bro…she’s cute.” Benny jabbed his side. “Don’t be a dickhead.”

“Me? I would never.” Santi huffed.

“She is also his Majesty’s personal assistant, so please be on your best behavior.” The last thing Will needed was to lose a remarkable assistant like Minna because of a temporary affair, but you’re also not their – or her – mother. “That being said? Her favorite flower is tulips and sending an occasional snack to her office with a note would do wonders for someone interested in her.”

“She has never said no to chocolate.” Elsie pipes up. “I have a stash of cute little greeting cards in my desk if you’d like one.”

“Chocolate, snacks, tulips. Got it.” Santi says as he snaps his fingers and looks to where Minna had walked away. “Anything else?”

“Just be kind. She works very hard and deserves nothing but the best.” Elsie responds. “She also appreciates people being direct – she doesn’t care for…what’s that phrase? Oh! ‘Beating around the bush’.”

“Behave yourself, Santiago.” Sandy pats his arm in her most maternal fashion. “Will needs that girl. She’s been invaluable.”

“I really, really do.” Will says. “So please, for the love of this kingdom and my sanity, do not fuck this up.”

Santi rolls his eyes and crosses his heart. “You guys really need to have more faith in me.” He laughs.

“Well, we would, but…” Frankie chimes in, leaving the sentence hanging in the air. “We like giving you shit too much.” He decides to leave Colombia out of this. This is a time of celebration and starting a new chapter. For more than one of them, potentially.

“If only all of us could hang out together, outside of this.” Benny said absentmindedly, bringing his fork to his mouth. “Could be fun to let loose with you all.”

“We have a hard week ahead of us.” You tell him honestly, sipping the glass of port that was served with your dessert. “Once we’ve passed the funeral and Parliament’s formal announcements, then I’m sure we can arrange something.”

“Sounds good.” Benny says. “Can’t wait to do some exploring. This place is incredible.”

“I can arrange for someone from the palace staff to give you all a tour tomorrow morning, if you would like? After breakfast?” If you knew more about the history of this particular palace you would do it yourself, but there are literal professionals who have dedicated themselves to the study, so you won’t insult them by trying. “The king will be occupied for about an hour with the royal portraitist, but at least it’s just photographs for now. Sitting for a painting is excruciatingly boring.”

“I can do it!” Elsie volunteers. “I have two hundred years’ worth of knowledge tucked away and I have time tomorrow morning. A lot of the staff will want to be present for the portraits so they can get a glance at the new king, and I already know what he looks like so…” She offers, hopeful for this opportunity to get to know Will’s friends better, especially Frankie.

“King.” Benny shakes his head at his brother. “I still can’t believe that.”

“Thank you, Els.” If she weren’t so far away, you would reach to squeeze her hand, but you still offer her an appreciative smile. “I have a round of interviews tomorrow that I already wish was over with, so unfortunately I won’t be able to join you.”

“It’s no problem, really.” Elsie puckers her lips and blows you a kiss. “I figure we’d do the rose gardens, orchards, and the main throne room as well as my library. That should take up a good amount of time during the portraits and interviews.” She glances at her phone. “If you’ll excuse me though, I have some reports to prepare for this historic event. Goodnight, everyone.” She gives a smile before turning and leaving the dining room. Elsie always was a busy body, ever since you could remember.

“She is adorable,” Santi comments. “Bet she has a lot of great stories about this place. So," he hums your name. "What do you think of our boy so far?"

“I’m assuming you mean as a man and not as a king?” You raise an eyebrow in Santi’s direction. He’s a straight shooter – as the phrase goes – and you appreciate that about him. It would be easy to just suck up incessantly and heap overt praise on his friend, but his compliments are never empty and his praise always accompanied by anecdotal evidence. “I know the concept of an arranged marriage isn’t easy to wrap your head around in the twenty-first century.” You tell the group of Americans. “But please understand that Will has my absolute loyalty and support. They say that a successful marriage of any kind is built on trust, and a successful arranged marriage is one where you become close friends, with a bond greater than any temporary passion.” The man in question sits to your left at the head of the table, and when you look back over at him you can see the smile on his face. “I don’t think it is a stretch to say that we are friends already. And that bond can only get stronger with time.”

“I have full confidence that this girl right here is going to be the greatest friend I’ll ever have in my entire life,” he reaches for your hand. “Sorry guys.” He hopes it will be more one day, he really does, but he won’t push it – Will would never dream of making you uncomfortable.

“You’re saying all the right things, sweetheart.” Santi smiles at you and raises his glass. “While I can’t say I understand it, I do support this. Will, you know I love giving you shit but I can honestly say I know you’re a great leader and that you’ll do great things. To you.” He toasts. Everyone else raises their glass as well. Even Xi sees her father raise his and follows suit by slightly raising her little fist in the air, making everyone laugh.

“Long live King William.” Is your reply, with your glass raised in the air. It is a toast you will be making for many decades to come – hopefully – and you will never miss the opportunity for it.

“Long live King William!” Everyone toasts. Will smiles, feeling the love flow through the room. With you and the people he cherishes the most in the room, he’s confident he can do this.

******

Breakfast the next morning is an event, the informal serving in the small dining room apparently a much more comfortable time for the king’s friends. The late king’s valet had agreed to return to his position under King Klaus’s son, so wardrobe was no longer an issue to be dealt with, and the housekeeper had menus for the rest of the week laid at your place at the breakfast table to be approved. “I’ll be approving the menu for the state dinner after the funeral tonight.” You tell Will as his friends begin to chat amongst themselves and coo over baby Xi. “Unless you have any objection, I’d like to make it a menu of your father’s favourite things.”

“I think a menu of all his favorite things is a good choice. A small way to honor him.” Will smiles before yawning. He had stayed up late with his friends last night, catching up and playing cards. You, of course, were the hot topic over the many games of poker. Everyone had been thoroughly impressed with you and were excited that you would be at Will’s side.

“Stayed up late with your friends?” You glance around at the trio but don’t make it obvious that you’re talking about them.

“Oh yeah. I won so many pretzel sticks though.” He chuckles. “I’ll be sure to share the wealth with you if you ever find yourself needing airplane baggies for a snack. How was your night?”

“I went through Elsie’s coronation research, reviewed applications for a lady’s maid and an assistant, and signed off on having the things from my apartment moved into my suite. I’m leaving all my furniture with Elsie in the apartment, so it won’t be as much of an ordeal.” You had been exhausted by the time you got into bed, but getting the work done was essential. Your own assistant starts today and you’ll need them just as much as Will needs Minna.

“Wow. That’s…way more than we did. If you need stuff moved over me and the guys can help.” He offers, knowing they would not say no to helping you out. “Santi had a lot of questions about Miss Thorn and Frankie blushed like crazy when their tour with Elsie was brought up, so, that should be interesting to see if anything happens there. That’s allowed, right? Or are there rules for staff and…regular people?”

“There are rules of conduct for staff and royalty, but nothing otherwise. Your father lifted most of the remaining rules when his valet – your valet – fell in love with the prince’s governess. It would have been a scandal if the king hadn’t blessed the marriage.” And even that was fifteen years ago. Attitudes have greatly relaxed since then, thankfully. “It all has to do with the ability to balance life and work. It just so happens that Minna and Elsie have more demanding jobs than most.”

“I can’t imagine what that’s like to have those roles, but I can tell they love their jobs. I’m glad they’re on our team.” He pauses, “Pope will definitely shoot his shot with Minna but Frankie? I’m not sure. He’s shy and embarrassed about what’s going on with him, so I’m sure he’ll just pine from afar.” He shrugs sadly. Frankie didn’t deserve what he had gone through after Colombia. “If it works out though, I’ll be happy for them. If not, I’ll make sure it doesn’t affect anything going on here.”

“I admire and fear Minna in ways I cannot quite say.” You laugh softly, shaking your head. “But Elsie is my best friend in the world. Frankie seems like a nice man, and whatever they choose to start is up to them, but I will protect her to the ends of the earth.” The way you tilt your head at him is an honest question and nothing more. “Is there anything she should be aware of? A divorce is nothing to be embarrassed by.”

“You’re a good friend, Plum.” He takes your hand. “Frankie’s situation is…tough. We kind of think he only married Jess because he felt like he had to. She gave him an ultimatum and then she got pregnant, so he felt like he was doing the right thing for the baby. I think what bothers him the most is that she up and left while he was gone, and he came back to a completely empty house. Jess just…packed her shit and dropped the baby with Frankie’s mom.” He sighs. “He’s had some addiction stuff too and lost his pilot’s license because of it so he’s not working right now, but he’s trying. That little girl is his entire world and…I don’t know, I think he’s embarrassed because he’s 42 and just lost everything. He’s a good man, he just feels lost right now. I don’t know Elsie’s situation, but I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he’s looking at her.” Will smiles sadly. “That was a lot, I’m sorry. Short answer – yes, but he’s working on it.”

“Els hasn’t had it easy, romance wise.” Holding your coffee cup delicately in front of your mouth to keep the conversation discreet, you turn to give Will your full attention. “She was engaged after college. The wedding was half planned, dress bought, invitations sent, everything. And then she caught him cheating. It pretty much destroyed her confidence for romance for a long time. She’s only just starting again.”

“Poor girl,” Will hums, adding some sugar into his coffee. “All Fish wants is a happily ever after. I know he can seem tough and grizzly looking on the outside, but that man just wants someone to come home to every night. He’s always said that caring for him is a chore, and he needs someone that won’t make him feel that way and now with the baby…it might be harder for him, especially because she’s so young.”

“She’s young, but doesn’t lack maturity.” Twenty-eight must seem forever ago to Frankie – possibly even to Will – but you don’t let that stop you from running your thumb reassuringly over the back of his hand. “And Xiomara is a delight, not a chore. Anyone who would leave that little girl behind doesn’t deserve her, or her father.”

“She’s precious and deserves absolutely everything in the world. Really the only good thing to come out of that relationship. Jess was just…cruel to him; used to hold Xiomara over his head constantly. I can see him and Elsie together, but they need to figure that out for themselves.” He smiles again. “When the time for children comes for us, I will love them unconditionally. They’ll never go a day doubting they have their daddy’s whole heart.”

“How odd do they think it is?” You ask him honestly, glancing at his friends again. They must have talked about you last night – if you had sat up with Elsie and Lisette, he certainly would have been the main topic of conversation the whole time, too. “For your sake I would truly prefer that they not dislike me…I’m just not quite sure what to do besides show them you have my loyalty.” If one day he was also to carry your heart, it would be a miracle worth celebrating in marriages like yours. That he already has your affection is more than you could have asked for.

“They do think the situation is strange, but they have nothing but good things to say about you. They think you’re wonderful and so do I.” A lightbulb goes off in Will’s head. “…Would there be any way for all of us to spend some time together off the property after the funeral? Like go to a pub or something? I think they’d really enjoy that.”

“If Minna finds out I helped you sneak out of the palace, I am toast.” Frowning at the idea of disappointing him has far more to do with the fact that you’ve finally admitted to yourself that you’re smitten with the man than saying ‘no’ to a king. “Give me a little time to work on her…pitch the idea as letting you get to know your people informally. I don’t think I can manage to have us free of guards, but I think I can talk her down to a couple of guards in plain clothes. Would that…be something you might enjoy?”

“Well, I don’t want to risk you getting in trouble, so whatever you think is best for us.” He agrees. “Just let me know where to be and when and I’m your guy. Got something in mind?”

“What are you two whispering about?” Frankie asks, as he sways Xi in his arms. She sometimes hated sitting in one place for too long so he often times had to walk in circles to get her to keep calm. This morning was a bit of a struggle though with her sleep schedule being disrupted. “Shh, mija it’s okay. Do you want Uncle Will?” Xi looked at him with her big brown eyes. “Guess that’s a yes,” He chuckles, handing the baby over. “He’s a natural.” Frankie winks at you.

“We were debating the merits of a little social outing for all of us.” You tell the older man, choosing to ignore the way your stomach flip-flops at the image of Will with a baby in his arms. “After this week is over he’ll have more free time at night, and he thought you might all enjoy something less formal.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be great. As long as someone can watch Xi? I guess I could ask Sandy. Would um, would Elsie be going too?” He asks shyly, reaching out and adjusting the lopsided bow on his daughter’s head. “Not that that’s a deal breaker or anything…”

Will laughs at his friend. Frankie was a lot of things, but subtle was never one of them. “Fish…calm down. We’ll hash out plans later.” Will says as he adjusts the baby in his arms.

“The daycare is attended twenty-four hours a day, but I’m sure if you asked Sandy to look after Xi, she would not mind.” Will’s mother had elected to have her breakfast on a tray in her suite this morning, and you would have to remember to check in on her later and make sure she’s not feeling ill. More than likely it’s just a bit of melancholy or a headache, neither of which would surprise you. Losing her ex-husband cannot be easy on her by any means. “And I’m sure Elsie would be glad to be invited.” You’ll also be checking in on her, of course, to see what sort of interest she has in Frankie. A lot has happened in a very short space of time. “But gentlemen…” Turning slightly lets you address the whole group. “I do have a bit of a favor to ask of all of you, if you don’t mind.”

“Anything, Plum.” Will says quickly – chubby little hands suddenly on his face. It melts your heart to see him with Xi, and how easy it seems to come for him. How despite there being no relation, the two of them had a close bond already.

“Yeah, whatever you need.” Santiago sits up a little straighter in his seat and Benny nods in agreement.

“I’m sorry to have to insist.” And you really do have to insist, if you want things to go perfectly this weekend. “But the royal funeral, state dinner, and the parade are all official functions of the crown. It is a nuisance, but my assistant is having some suits brought in and a tailor, to make sure each one of you has appropriate clothing for official events. As I said to the king last night, think of them as a type of uniform. Formal attire like you once wore in the military.” Many eyes will be focused on the new king’s closest friends, and you trust them to understand the importance of propriety. If Will is seen as wanting in any way, it will severely hinder the peoples’ embracing him and that would make his first year on the throne unnecessarily difficult. “I’ve even asked for a few things for Xi, in case she was feeling fussy and needed to be near her Papa.”

“You’re having suits made for us?” Benny asks. “Like real, fancy suits? Hell yeah. I promise not to spill anything on it.” He salutes you. The other boys agree – most of them had never worn anything fancier than their dress blues, and aside from that really only considered khakis and a button up to be their best clothing.

“Not precisely,” you admit, a little sheepishly after their enthusiasm. “I’ve reached out to a Freidlych designer with a studio here in the city and asked him to bring a few ready-made suits and tuxedos that he will then tailor to fit each of you. It’s normally something we would ask the royal tailor to undertake, but his Majesty is having an entire new wardrobe made, so he is understandably busy.”

“Still,” Benny replies. “That’s pretty fucking cool. Can we keep them?”

“Benjamin, please.” Santi laughs, placing a hand on Benny’s shoulder. “Try to stay calm.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just really excited. Not for the funeral, but if anyone deserves this kind of life, it’s my brother, you know? I’m really excited for him to have this life.” Benny had always looked up to Will since he was small.

Will quickly hands Xi back to Frankie and wraps his little brother in a tight hug. “Thanks bud, I love you too.”

“Forgive me for interrupting, your Majesty.” Minna’s appearance in the doorway is quiet as a cat and just as quick. “The photographer will be arriving any minute and I’m afraid Lady Rochegnac is wanted in the Morning Room.”

“No interruption at all, honey.” Santi smiles. Minna tries to keep a neutral expression on her face, but you can see the tint to her cheeks, know Santi has her attention.

“Right. We should go.” Will says, offering his arm.

“Have fun you two.” Santi smiles before waving at Minna. He watches the three of you make your way to where the photographer will be set up shortly. He bites his lip and turns to his friends. “God she’s incredible.”

“Leave it to Pope to be sexually attracted to organization.” Benny laughs, nudging Santi the way only a little brother really can.

“Can you blame me?” He deadpans. “She looks like she’d steal my soul in all the right ways and then organize my entire life. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“She could step on you in those high heels of hers and you would thank her for it.” Frankie laughs, gently bouncing Xi in his arms. “I’d rather be snuggled than stepped on.”

“She does and I would.” Santi agrees. “Elsie and those sweaters? Girl looks like she’s begging to be snuggled. Go for it, Frank. Bet she’d let you lay your head on her lap and she’d read to you.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“Will’s fiancée’s best friend?” The way Frankie winces is fully dramatic but not insincere. “I don’t have a death wish, man. I mean she’s completely my type but that is a whole messy situation that—” He shakes his head, refocusing on his little girl. “She’s outta my league, hermano.”

“Oh come on, I saw her looking at you during dinner last night.” Benny says. “Frankie, I know you’re dealing with a lot right now with Jess being a massive cunt, but you can’t let her continue to dictate your life. What if this girl is the perfect match for you and you just let it slip by because you’re afraid? That’s not fair to either one of you.”

“He’s right,” Santi chimes in. “What if…what if all of this happened because all of us were supposed to be here? Will is obviously where he’s supposed to be and with who he’s supposed to be with. I’m convinced those two were made for each other with how they act. If I didn’t know the situation, I wouldn’t believe that they’ve only known each other for three fucking days. It’s insane.” He says as he sits on a loveseat.

“You would just pack up your whole lives for this place in a day?” It’s not that Frankie doesn’t see how good this place is. Or how well matched you and Will are. He gets that. But it feels a hell of a lot like rebounding with the cutest girl at the bar after getting dumped. “Look, I’m not saying the Palace and new clothes and gorgeous women aren’t nice. I’m just…just not counting any chickens before they hatch, that’s all.”

“Just be open to it, that’s all.” Santi insists. “And who knows, if I had a reason to stay, I’d sure as hell take it.” He shrugs. They all sit in silence for a few minutes before Elsie comes in. “Good morning,” She smiles warmly. “Minna is busy with the photographer currently, so she asked me to let you all know the tailor is here. We’ll have to reschedule my tour, unfortunately, but that’s alright because evening is the best for a tour of the rose garden anyway.”

“Do we stay in here for do we need to go somewhere else?” Benny asks.

“The tailor is setting up in an empty suite that is big enough to accommodate everyone.” She says. “Oh, and I have a few dress options for the little one.” She said as she lifts up the tiny garment bags in her hand. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

“Where are the portraits being taken?” Santi walks alongside Elsie easily, wanting to keep her chatting and let Frankie relax a little.

“The throne room. Every king and queen have been immortalized in that room for the past two centuries. If you get a chance to look at the portraits you’ll notice the similar art styles up until 100 years ago. They stopped the oil portraits with King Edwin in 1920 and moved to photography since it was easier and the royals didn’t have to sit for so long, but the frames are all custom made by the family that made the originals! They’ve been making ornate frames for the palace for so long, it would feel criminal to go with anyone else.” She smiles. “The garments chosen are all created by a long family line too. Freidlyn is filled with creatures of habit, I suppose.”

“So they’ll have to take more once the coronation happens?” Benny already feels like this royalty stuff is going to make his head spin in circles, but he wants to get it right for his brother. “Once she’s queen, I mean? Like a portrait of both of them?”

“They will! After these initial portraits as well as the wedding portraits, they’ll need one more set, until they have children. The post-coronation portraits will have them with the royal jewels and crowns of Freidlyn. Those portraits will be used on our postage and displayed in government and official buildings here as well as souvenirs, kind of like how England has the royals on those decorative plates and teacups. It’s silly, but the tourism board thinks it’s good for us.” She shrugs as she continues to lead the men to the designated suite. “Oh, I took the liberty of getting a playpen and some toys from the daycare center for the baby so you can have a break.” Elsie tells Frankie.

“Thank you.” Frankie still isn’t totally okay with leaving Xi with strangers yet, no matter how well trained they are, and he’s grateful that Elsie spared the extra thought for him and his daughter. It’s more than her own mother would have done.

“Mademoiselle Poincaré, thank you for delivering these gentlemen safely.” An elegant-looking person in an expertly tailored black suit with a black silk shirt underneath and spiked-heel black leather boots bares the same authority holding a clipboard than Minna Thorn does, but with several extra inches of height. “My name is Jules Sorten, I am Lady Rochegnac’s assistant, and there is lots to do, so I thank you for arriving quickly. Monsieur Miller first, s’il vous plait?” He gestures to a slightly older man picking his way through a variety of suits. “This is Monsieur Ronan. He will be fitting all of you today.”

“My pleasure, Jules. I’ll be over here if you need anything.” Elsie says.

“I am ready. Measure me.” Benny walks up to Monsieur Ronan with his arms open. “Make me fancy.” It’s almost adorable how excited Benny is for his new suit, and he’s determined to take good care of it.

Frankie places Xi in the playpen and she’s instantly enthralled with a canvas doll dressed as a princess. Elsie sits near the playpen, but far enough away to not interfere with Jules’ work. She thinks of what could have been had her fiancé stayed faithful to her – maybe she’d have a little girl of her own to dote on. She smiles at the small baby patting the doll to her chest and Santi notices with a smirk on his face.

“Looks like your alterations will be minimal.” Ronan says with a pin between his lips once Benny is in the suit picked for him. “This is good.” A few pins in place and Benny’s suit is nearly perfect – the alterations would be done quickly and easily.

“Hear that guys? Minimal and good.” Benny laughs, standing as still as he possibly can.

“I could make a joke…” Santi says, “but there is a lady present, so I’ll hold off.”

“Monsieur Morales?” Ronan beckons the next man forward while helping the king’s younger brother out of his carefully pinned jacket.

“That’s me.” Frankie says, stepping around Santi and onto the little platform that sat in front of the three large mirrors in the suite. He slips on the black jacket easily, standing still while Ronan puts the pins in place.

“So,” Santi sprawls out in a chair beside Elsie while he waits his turn. “What exactly does a state dinner entail? Am I going to have to keep these monkeys in line by force?”

“Well, the king and the future queen will be at the head of the table and parliament will take this time to introduce the future king to everyone as well as go over what his duties will be, and which of King Klaus’ business he will have to continue. It’s fascinating, really, and there will be so much food you won’t know what to do with yourselves.” Elsie pauses. “…do you think you’ll need to keep them in line?” Will’s friends had seemed well-mannered and nice so far, but would there be an issue?

“A gentle reminder that whooping and pounding the table probably isn’t appropriate in a palace,” Santi smiles reassuringly. “We’re fairly informal guys, and we want to make sure everything is perfect for Will, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah I don’t think Parliament would particularly care for anything other than polite applause or an ‘allez’ during a toast.” Elsie stands quick to check on Xi, who was still enthralled by the little doll. “So maybe letting them know that would be a good idea.” She says, reaching down to brush back some of Xi’s wild curls - definitely inherited from her father.

“Frankie’s a pretty good dancer.” Santi throws it out there hopefully, watching Elsie dote on his goddaughter with a smile. “His sisters made sure of that. I don’t know if there’s dancing at these things, but he can hold his own.”

Elsie blushes, “Oh, I mean there will be some musical accompaniment but it’s not often that people will get up and dance, but maybe?” She giggles. “Why? Did he say something about wanting to go dancing? I can recommend some places nearby.”

“Not exactly.” He admits, clearing his throat a little. “But I know that if you wanted to show him some places, he’d love to go.” There’s just no way Frankie will get his ass in gear and actually ask Elsie out unless they’re here for like six months, and Santiago Garcia considers himself an excellent fucking wingman when his buddies need him.

“I could definitely think of some places to show him.” She smiles shyly. Frankie was handsome and she wanted to get to know him better. “You know, if he wanted to find a job out here it would be so easy for him…” Elsie glances over at him. “All of you, actually.” She adds quickly before getting flustered. “Just, you know, if you found it difficult to leave after being in such a beautiful place for a while.” She chuckles.

“Honestly?” Santi shrugs and places a kiss in his goddaughter’s hair. “Most of us don’t have a lot to go back to when we leave here. Benny’s lifeline is his brother, and Frankie’s whole life is this little bebita. My family is all over the world and I’m already at my fuc—sorry,” he grimaces. “At my wit’s end with this new job. We could stand a little bit of all this Freidlych goodness.”

“Well, should you all decide that Freidlyn is where you belong, I can help with housing. The palace owns some cottages on the outskirts of town that are meant for noble and royal family members, but I think Minna and myself can talk parliament into letting you move into them, if you’d like. They’re all fully furnished and have solar panels. Actually, here.” She pulls out her phone and opens up an album. “I have photos on my phone if you’d like to take a look.” She hands the device over to him. “They’ve all been maintained really well since they were built in the early 1800s.”

“Jesus…Is this where you live?” Santi whistles low, scrolling through the pictures of the gorgeous estate houses. “Ya know…my great-great-great-abuelo a few hundred years back was Spanish nobility. Think that gets me an in?” He jokes, unable to take his eyes off the photos. “I mean, I’m descended from his mistress, but it’s gotta count for something right?”

“Oh, no I have a flat in town.” Elsie says. “I don’t think it would count for you, unfortunately, but maybe Minna can work her magic. That woman can make anyone say yes to her. It’s amazing.” Santi hands the phone back to Elsie and she checks her messages – there’s one from you asking how it was going. She types a quick reply that it’s going well, and the suits are fitting perfectly as far as she could tell.

“Wouldn’t take me much to agree to whatever she wanted.” The line is out of Santi’s mouth with a wink, and he saunters off when the tailor calls his name.

Elsie laughs and shakes her head. Men are impossible, she thinks as Frankie walks over to her. “The suit looked great on you.” She smiles. “I laid out the options for the baby if you’d like to take a look at them.”

“Thanks.” Frankie blushes, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously before looking over at the nicest baby clothes he’s ever seen in his life. Are there designer baby clothes? Because that’s what all of this looks like. “You’re really an angel for helping with all of this.”

“It’s no trouble, really. I enjoy it.” She tells him honestly. “I was just telling Santiago about housing options here should any of you fall in love with Freidlyn enough to stay. “I think I can convince Minna to be on board if you, Santiago or Benny decided to live here…Freidlyn is a wonderful place to raise a child.”

“I’m sure it is.” He’s only seen the airport and palace so far, but if his baby girl’s life included a palace then things would be pretty fucking good. “Santi’s all ready to just pack it in and move. I think the second he laid eyes on Minna, that was the clincher.”

“Oh, I suspect it’s mutual admiration. Santiago is exactly the type of man Minna Thorn goes for.”

“He’s a good guy.” Frankie nods his head, playing with the hem of a black linen baby skirt that had a matching onesie with a cute little collar on it. “They all are. We give each other crap but that’s only out of love.”

“You are too.” Elsie places her hand over his. “I can tell you all love each other like brothers, and it’s really nice to see. Everyone has noticed how much the king appreciates you being here for him. He lit up as soon as he knew you all had arrived.”

“Will’s been there for all of us through everything.” Frankie explains, trying not to stare at the place where she’s touching him but somehow also not able to look away. “Didn’t even tell us when his fiancée broke up with him a couple of years ago because Benny had lost a fight pretty bad and was taking it really hard. He put everything into training with his brother and ended up telling us two weeks after it happened when Pope opened his big mouth to ask if Stacy was coming to the next fight.”

“His selflessness is what will make him a great leader and greater partner. He's so much like his father in that way.” Elsie squeezes his hand. “I have to ask though…he’s fond of her right? I’m not imagining things? The way they look at each other is just…” She looks away with a dreamy look in her eye. “Romantic. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me the way William looks at her.”

“He was practically moping last night when Benny told him he thought it was too soon to make a move.” Frankie confides. Though Ben Miller wasn’t typically known for his restraint, he had reminded Will that this woman was the rest of his life and he needed to think about the long-term. “He had us brainstorming proposal methods during our poker game.” Frankie sighs, trying not to look at Elsie too directly when he does so and give himself away. “You’re young, Elsie. You’ll find someone worthy of you. And if you don’t, I’m sure there are plenty of unworthy guys who will still line up around the block for a chance.”

“Thanks, Frankie.” She smiles at him. “I’m glad William is taking this seriously. She’s very smitten with him and he’s really good with her, and for her, if I’m being honest…so what were the proposal methods?” She gets up quickly and walks over to a small cart near the door, pouring herself and Frankie fresh cups of coffee.

“Santi said he should do it in bed.” Frankie rolls his eyes after thanking her for the coffee – whatever it is they brew here is seriously amazing. “Which completely goes against the slow-and-respectful theory. Benny said an after dinner walk in the garden, which is sweet, but Will thought he could come up with something more creative.”

Elsie laughs at the look on Frankie’s face. “Hm, well, while the bed idea is interesting, I don’t think it’s probable for this situation. If it were me, I think I’d opt for the rose garden, or up on the lookout point up in the mountains. You can see the entire palace grounds and the city from there. There’s also the option of a carriage ride around the lake, or a nice boat ride…” She pauses. “Sorry, I’m a bit of a romantic and I’ve thought of scenarios like this a lot. She’ll happy with anything though, as long as he asks with his heart. That’s all that really matters anyway, right?” She takes a sip of her coffee.

“Sure it is.” Frankie eyes her with soft amusement over the confession to being a romantic. They could all tell that right away – just from the way she talked at dinner last night – and it cracked his poor, deadened heart in ways he hated to admit. “But you’re her best friend. You’ve got to know her fantasy proposal, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t laugh, okay?” She gives him her best puppy eyes. “There’s a butterfly conservatory not far from here that we’ve been going to since we were little and it has really nice walking paths throughout, and at the very end there’s a big fountain with a waterfall and she always comments about how perfect this spot is. Every time we’ve gone a butterfly has always landed on her shoulder. She thinks this spot is where she’s ‘supposed to see her fate’ so…maybe that’s it. Maybe a proposal in front of that waterfall with all the butterflies and fairy lights is the fate she’s been destined for.” Elsie tells him confidently. “Or Disney World, but there’s no time for that, unfortunately.”

“Elsie, you’re a genius.” Frankie beams at her, striking out on instinct to give the small woman a tight hug. “He wants it to be so right for her. To show how much he appreciates that she’s sticking with him.” He doesn’t let go quickly, the hug lingering for just a moment. “He thinks it should be her on the throne, and he’s determined to make sure she gets it.”

She’s surprised by Frankie’s hug, but grasps onto him tight, not wanting it to end too soon. He’s warm and smells of laundry detergent, cologne, and something just Frankie. “I can make some calls and have it reserved when he’s ready to ask. It’s beautiful at night with all the lights on.” She pulls away but doesn’t break eye contact. “They both deserve to be on that throne.”

“He doesn’t know his own worth sometimes.” Frankie swallows, forgetting for a split second if he’s talking about himself or his friend. “I think the right person will help him remember. Hopefully it’s her.”

“I have a good feeling about it.” Elsie says, and maybe she means about her and Frankie as well. “I think it’s a good match; written in the stars and all that poetic imagery.” She smiles.

“I hope so.” He smiles just a little bit more softly, pulled away by the babbling insistence of his baby girl.

“She’s absolutely beautiful, by the way.” Elsie gets off the couch and kneels down in front of the playpen where Xi is babbling. “Aren’t you?” The baby girl reaches her arms out like she wants to be picked up and Elsie pauses for a second before picking her up and settling her on her hip. “What dress do you think, little princess?” Elsie points to the dresses laid out near her father.

“She’s just lucky she didn’t get my nose.” He huffs, watching as Xi continues to babble and grab at a black romper onesie with lots of ruffles and frills.

“But your nose is wonderful.” Elsie tells him as she grabs the frilly romper for Xi. “This one? Yeah, this is a good one.” She coos at her.

“Are you seeing this?” Benny whispers to Santi, the two of them on the other side of the room sipping their coffee after being done with their fittings.

“I don’t think they have any idea that anyone else is still here.” Santi shakes his head, knowing his friend was just as gone for Elsie as he was for Minna.

“You guys are all gonna get married and ditch me.” Benny pouts, refilling his coffee cup again.

“Never, little man. Never gonna happen.” Santi ruffles Benny’s hair. “I’m sure there’s a stunning girl out here for you too. That can be one of our final missions, yeah?” He chuckles.

“You and your damn missions, Pope.” Benny shakes his head.

“Hey,” Pope smirks. “This will be a damn good one, okay? Benny’s true love is out there somewhere and it’s our job to make sure she doesn’t get scared off too fast.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri

NA: @absurdthirst @peachtreemoonshine @xoxabs88xox @luminescentlily @babypink224221

My Masterlist!

#Charlie Hunnam #Charlie Hunnam character fanfiction #Charlie Hunnam fanfic #Will Miller #Will Miller x reader #Will Miller x you #Will Miller x female reader #Triple Frontier #Triple Frontier fanfic #Princess Diaries AU #Royalty AU #William Ironhead Miller #Freidlych for Life #Freidlyn #arranged marriage

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