#in a treacherous court | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meiieiri · 3 months

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water’s edge | 03

₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au

₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?

₊˚.༄ author’s note: please don’t kill me omg this took too long. also, thank you to the warmest of messages, it really helped a lot. <33 i’ll see this through to the end. and thank you for sticking by me all this time. rbs are appreciated<3

₊˚.༄ warnings: physical harm/abuse, references to theft, adultery.

₊˚.༄ masterlist

He doesn’t want to wake up.

Not right now, when everything feels so real, so painfully tangible that he could make out her voice, her gentle breath, her plumose touch grazing his flesh as she leans in. “Satoru?” The woman in his dream whispers his name, and light seems to burst forth from that sound alone. It’s her; she iswas here, Satoru could almost touch her if he searched hard enough. If he imagined her face with just a little more effort, maybe she’d become real and not a figment of his guilt-ridden imagination. “Satoru, wake up. We can’t stay.”

I’ve missed you, I’ve missed who I could be when I’m with you.

Suddenly, he is brought back to light-hearted days when he used to sit underneath the imperial palace’s cypress, his fingers absentmindedly flipping through a book he found in the imperial archives while the love of his life sits beside him. His orbs gaze up at the chemtrails that paint the canvas of the turquoise summer sky.

He doesn’t want this dream to end. Shaking his head, he refuses her request the same way he did back then.

How cruel could she be to ask him to leave her again? He’s left her once, he wasn’t about to do it again. He hasn’t even begged for her forgiveness yet and now, she was telling him to wake up from this fantasy world his troubled mind created and to confront reality.

Don’t make me go, he begs her. Weren’t they happy here being together after being forced apart by those around them? Why would she want to go another minute without him being by her side? Did she still resent him? Stupid question, Satoru thought bitterly. Of course she does, after everything he’s put her through-

Suddenly, the hand that was reaching for her falls slack against his side. He doesn’t deserve her forgiveness, nor the very privilege of claiming to love her when every action he has ever committed said otherwise. Then, like a clock striking at midnight, the dream abruptly vanishes in a cloud of smoke.

Gojo’s eyes flutter open with a start.

“Shit,” he clutches his still asleep shoulder and sits up, looking at the empty room. How long has he been asleep? He looks at his watch — he’s an hour late — but he doesn’t really seem to care about the time. Immediately, he sends a quick text to Himiko asking where she is, only to receive a text with a picture attached of the cathedral. It seems she went ahead thinking it would only stir up more trouble if they arrived at the venue together.

Gojo’s mind wanders back to the dream before it is inevitably forgotten. Like a movie that he wants to watch over and over. He gazes at himself in the full body mirror with an empty gaze. All that is in his mind is to smash the reflective material into pieces, knowing that this is not the man his love wanted him to be: a prisoner in his own skin. When is all of this ever going to end? He huffs, slipping on his shoes and shrugging on his navy blue sash.

Not wanting to delay the inevitable any further, he turns on his heel to head to the cathedral reluctantly leaving the traces of his now corroding past behind for an even bleaker future with you as his wife.

“…Where’s Satoru?”

The entire nation is silent when only moments before, they were happily celebrating this supposedly joyful day. A reporter trains his video camera on you as you stand there motionless before an empty altar. Pretty soon, other members of the media who would get a huge scoop out of this travesty follow in his example as if you haven’t been humiliated enough by your groom who couldn’t even bother to show up at your wedding.

The empress who is seated right of the altar shoots you an apologetic look; she didn’t realize that Satoru could stoop this low. This wasn’t anything less of a transactional marriage and you thought that the prize that Satoru was promised he would get for marrying you would be enough for him to at least be civil with you. And here you thought that the earrings he gifted to you were a sign that things would eventually settle down.

Without warning, as the VIP guests start to chatter amongst themselves about how pitiful you looked, the woman you dreaded seeing bounds over to you, a solemn expression on her face. You would have believed that, despite the quiet rift between you and Chief-of-Staff Himiko Zenin, she felt a little sorry for you but her choice of wearing white on your wedding day says otherwise.

“Ms. (Y/N). I’m sorry there must have been a problem with the schedule, if you could follow me please—“ she begins to lead you to one of the cathedral’s private holding rooms before the grip on your hand tightens.

“—Suguru?” you looked at Suguru with a sad and confused expression. His heart clenches in his chest when he gets a good look of the damage Satoru dealt to you. He looks like he wants to throw something at the press for making a dogshow out of your agony — his hands are clenched into fists, his knuckles white — he takes a few deep calming breaths before he does anything rash.

At Himiko’s persistence, Suguru’s gaze hardens and he gently pulls you away from her as your feet remain planted firmly on the marble floor of the cathedral, leaving you frozen in place at Satoru’s betrayal. He hopes what he’s thinking isn’t true, but that’s proving to be a challenge since he doesn’t miss the hickey on Himiko’s neck which had been conveniently hidden by her long brown hair. Maybe she had a part in all this mess? She and Satoru had a history together after all and judging by the way you looked at her with apprehension — he doesn’t want to consider it — but perhaps you already knew that.

You are blinded by a camera’s flash and Suguru springs into action. Turning to the nearest guest, he politely asks, “Excuse me? May I borrow your suit for a second?” When the guest agrees, he shields your face with the Zegna suit to conceal you from the hounding eyes of the press who must be having the time of their lives right about now. Just one picture of the Crown Prince’s crying bride could sell for a good buck but not on his watch.

Not on his fucking watch.

Suguru looks at his father, and then his stepmother, and he couldn’t bring himself to be surprised to see them frozen in their places unable to do anything, much less act like they care. Their priority was to look good in front of all these cameras that were terrorizing you, not to comfort their future daughter-in-law. “Hey, it’ll be okay,” Suguru begins to urgently lead the two of you back to the car, his arm protectively around you while you hold the suit over your head.

“Will it?” You probably sounded like a child, begging for reassurance that all this was some sick dream but at that moment, it didn’t matter. You need someone - anyone - to tell you that everything will be alright. The question makes Suguru’s heart sink. In all honesty, he doesn’t know, but he didn’t need to make you feel even worse if he spoke the truth. So, he nods, choosing to lie to spare you from even more pain because he couldn’t count on anyone in this goddamn cathedral to do the same. He’ll have to talk to Satoru later on, this is a bad start to any marriage - no, bad would be an understatement, this is a catastrophic omen of what’s to come.

Pretty soon, Suguru requests that the roof of the car be reinstalled to hide your desolate expression. “Put it back up, please. The princess must be protected!” In his panic, he accidentally refers to you as a princess even before you are formally crowned Princess of Japan. The imperial household agents quickly get to work and pretty soon, Suguru helps you back into the car, putting up the tinted windows.

You can’t feel a thing. You don’t even know if you should harshly laugh at your foolishness or cry now that you’ve just been humiliated in front of thousands of people all across the world. Shrugging off the suit over your head, Suguru is surprised to see that you weren’t crying. You simply sat there, blankly staring at the ring on your finger.

“(Y/N)? Come on, say something…” He’s desperately trying to get you to express the tiniest bit of emotion, somewhat unnerved by your silence.

Turning to look at him, you wonder if he had been surprised by his brother’s behavior today or if a part of him expected this to happen. “He hates me.” You were numb. “I don’t know if you already knew but—“

“—-It’s arranged, I know.” Suguru scoffs under his breath, almost in disbelief that he didn’t figure it out sooner when he first heard about your engagement. Just when he thought his family couldn’t stoop any lower than they already were, they just had to drag a naive girl into their royal messes. His father and stepmother always preached about modernizing the monarchy but, their archaic ways such as actively banishing a woman of the imperial family should they marry a commoner and having some sort of proclivity for disastrous matchmaking through arranged marriages only say otherwise. “Fuck,” he buries his face in his hand, the thought of this predicament was making his head hurt.

You remove the tiara from your head, somehow feeling that a weight has been lifted when you do so. In a span of mere seconds, Suguru now appears exhausted. “I thought he’d at least wait until after the wedding to ignore me for good,” you muttered sadly. “That was fine, you know, him acting like I don’t exist; I know I never stood a chance…against her.”

You recall the way Gojo’s lips locked with Himiko’s in a searing kiss, and the way your heart seemed to disintegrate in your chest as you drove off that day, your eyes on the rearview mirror, heartbrokenly watching the both of them as you convinced yourself that you had no right to feel bad. And that is precisely what makes this situation so difficult; you feel like Satoru is cheating on you when in fact, he isn’t because he never once told you he loved you. You should be angry, furious, crestfallen at your fiancé’s betrayal, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“Himiko,” Suguru nods in understanding.

He knows her well, and while he doesn’t exactly have any hard feelings towards her, he acknowledges that having her around in the imperial family is a misstep on Satoru’s part; he’s seen her many times before cajoling Satoru into ditching his royal duties for the two of them to spend time together, he has witnessed how she blatantly disrespects the emperor and the empress, he has also been made aware of the many lustrous gifts she has received out of his younger brother’s pocket.

“Yeah.” Your shoulders slump in defeat. “I never asked him to love me, I’m a lot of things but I’m not a thief.” You begin to shed tears as you try to convince yourself that you were perfectly fine with Satoru never loving you. You were so confused. Did you want him to love you? Are you now finding yourself craving for his ocean eyes to gloss over with an emotion other than hatred, an emotion similar to love?

Suguru watches you intently as these silent questions fly over your head. “You’d never ask him to love you but you love him…otherwise, why would you be on the verge of tears all the time whenever we talk about something remotely related to him if you didn’t?”

You swallowed harshly. “Is it so wrong though? To feel cheated on knowing we were never together in the first place?” You’ve been wondering about that since the day of the public announcement of your engagement and you’ve searched your heart for answers from the minute you wake up to the moment you fall asleep on your tear-stained pillow.

Suguru looks pensive for a moment, taking a deep breath before he speaks. “No, there’s nothing wrong with that. The heart wants what it wants, it’s pointless to even try to understand it.”

“But I don’t want my heart to want him.” You shook your head. You were going to be in for a world of hurt if you even entertained the idea of falling in love with Satoru Gojo. “He’ll never forgive me for it.”

A sad smile creeps up your face at the thought of Satoru admonishing you, one day, for saying you loved him even at his worst. Being in your early twenties, this was the age of recklessly falling in love, like a car speeding on an empty highway showing no signs of stopping, while you desperately look for the brakes.

A larger hand eventually finds its place above yours, his thumb gently rubs your knuckles that have turned white as you clenched them into fists to stop you from crying and making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“It’s not your fault. To be loved by another is a privilege most people overlook.”

You glance over at Himiko again, and then at yourself: you wore the dress but you weren’t the bride. You had the ring but not his affection. Feeling your gaze, Himiko looks at you for a brief moment and an exchange of sorts occurs between you and her: two women desperately envying one another. You had the vote of the people, yet, she had his heart. Almost in condolence, she offers you a curt nod before turning away.

“You are exactly the kind of girl he needs, (Y/N),” Suguru offers you his handkerchief to dry your tears with. “He’ll need you.”

“He’ll never want me.”

At exactly 2:35 in the afternoon, two hours and five minutes after you set foot at the chapel, Satoru arrives in a proxy vehicle, disguised as some foreign dignitary who arrived late. He steps out of the car behind yours and a collective sigh of relief washes over everyone. You craned your head back to see him dressed in the attire you first saw him in, a blank expression on his face as he was approached by his courtiers who instructed him on what to do.

Suguru looks in the direction of your gaze and he hurriedly steps out, squeezing your hand a final time as he does. A confused expression flashes over Satoru’s face when he sees Suguru step out of the bridal car. What was he doing there? According to the protocol sheet, wasn’t Ijichi supposed to be the one to accompany you today?

“Suguru,” Satoru greets his half-brother. “How’s she doing?” He suddenly asks about your well-being which causes Suguru to be taken aback for a second.

“She’s been crying but I think she’ll be fine now that you’re here,” Suguru informs him, looking back at the bridal car where you were. The older of the princes pulls the younger aside for a bit. “Where were you? She’s been waiting for more than an hour and—is that—?” He suddenly stops mid-lecture when he sees a bruise on the corner of Satoru’s bottom lip. Then, he recalls the hickey he saw on Himiko’s neck. “Satoru,” Suguru bites his lip to stop him from scolding Satoru.

What irks Suguru is that Satoru doesn’t even bother to hide it with the palm of his hand or even show a scintilla of regret. Did he really just fuck Himiko on the day of his wedding? “It was a farewell gift,” Satoru shrugs. “Besides, I’m here now, does it really matter?”

“Yes, it does,” Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ve no idea the amount of trouble you caused (Y/N) today, how are you even going to begin to make it up to her?” Not like Satoru plans to make it up to you. In his eyes, you should be on your knees thanking him for showing up at all.

Satoru clears his throat, fidgeting with his left epaulet. “I did nothing wrong.” He believes every word he says. He did nothing wrong, he has nothing to make up for when it comes to you. He never betrayed you, there isn’t a relationship to ruin in the first place. “Himiko did nothing wrong to her and still, she’s suffering the consequences of my actions which shouldn’t be the case since, if I can remember correctly, if it weren’t for her intervention, if she hadn’t stepped in at the last second, you’d be visiting your own brother in jail.”

“Well, if you deserve it, I’ll even bring some snacks,” Suguru counters, earning a harsh warning glare from Satoru. He takes a second to steady himself before continuing. “Look, Satoru, what you did that night isn’t something that’s easily made up for like your little affair with Himiko.” Gojo scoffs in response to that. “You didn’t just hurt our family this time, or that man you brutalized, you hurt the entire nation. And you have to at least make some effort to clean up after yourself—“

“—By making my life a living hell without the woman I love? Forced instead to be with the likes of her? How is forcing the two of us to marry for some shitty publicity stunt any more evil than everything I’ve done in the past?” Isn’t that what they all thought of him?

“—She’s not doing anything evil, she did nothing to hurt you—“

“—She did everything to hurt me by forcing me into this marriage, ripping me from the future I dreamed of with Himiko, so you don’t dare make her out to be some saint because she isn’t.”

A hush descends on the two brothers: one who’s made it his life’s mission to despise you and one who’ll vouch for your integrity. The two stare each other down, wondering how it was possible they shared a father yet they couldn’t be more different. Perhaps, it’s the fact that Suguru was never the empress’s child, rather, he was born of a common woman – a reluctant homewrecker, which would explain, at least to Satoru, why he’s so protective of you. A whore’s son will defend a whore.

Geto doesn’t see you step out of the car, you must have heard the commotion outside the car when Satoru arrived. You blankly stare at Satoru for a good minute who seems to have just finished up a heated discussion with his brother. He looked angry, but why should that surprise you? Some of the imperial household staff encourage you to re-enter the car until the prince has made his way to the altar, but you couldn’t listen, you were simply at a loss for words.

He was here.

Almost three hours late, but he's finally here.

Satoru scowls when he sees you. He’s tried his best to be civil with you, but from what he’s heard from Suguru just now, you were clearly turning everyone against him. Sensing his anger, you tilt your head down for any crime you could have committed whether knowingly or unknowingly, but it seems more like the latter since he always finds something new to hate about you, an act that came so effortlessly to him.

“I don’t want to hear another word about (Y/N) from you.” Satoru turns his wrathful gaze to his brother who simply matches his death glare with a bored and disappointed look. Suguru lets out a tiny ‘tch’ at Satoru’s command, his hatred for you is an established fact, after all, and not just some rumor he’s heard from a jittery bride — the very sound of your name was like nails on a chalkboard to him.

Suguru couldn’t believe this. Satoru has been the one willfully hurting you ever since the two of you had that under-the-table arrangement with the empress yet, he had the sheer nerve to act like he was the one being wronged. While he understands his brother’s sentiments, you didn’t want any part in this in the first place, and whatever has driven you to this point of gambling your entire future on a man who doesn’t love you must be something that could persuade you to put up with this torture. “Is that a request or a command?” Suguru says flatly, the two men watching you get briefed by the floor director like some actress for a commercial shoot.

“A command from your emperor.”

“Fortunately, you’re not the emperor yet.”

Suguru promptly leaves to take his place beside you, nodding to Satoru to get moving and head to the altar already. You shakily take Suguru’s hand, waiting for the doors to open to restart the ceremony. “He looks angry.” You watch your groom storm to the back of the cathedral. Suguru wants to kick himself, the last thing you needed was Satoru to take out his anger on you once the two of you are alone.

“Sorry, I’m sure it’s just another one of his tantrums. He’ll cool down.” You sincerely hoped that was true. The last thing you need is Satoru getting even with you by suddenly walking up to Himiko and obscenely reciting his vows to her, though you were unaware that the two of them had indeed made a vow to continue loving one another earlier today whilst you were being publicly humiliated by domestic and international media for your failure of a wedding day.

You watch as Himiko scurries to the back of the cathedral as well, and you feel bile rise in your throat at the mere thought of what they could be doing behind closed doors. “Don’t even think about it, (Y/N). Don’t,” Suguru says firmly. “Just keep your eyes forward, and concentrate on taking one step at a time.”

“I can’t. I just can’t.” You can’t shake them out of your head no matter how hard you try. “The more I try to forget about them, the more I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Think of something else,” Suguru suggests. “Anything else.”

The last thing you need right now is imagining Himiko and Satoru obscenely murmuring whispers of love to one another, assuming that that’s the worst they could do. But from what Satoru told him earlier, Suguru might need an anti-hypertensive, enraged at the thought of those two literally screwing one another while you were out here on the verge of an emotional breakdown waiting for a groom who can’t be bothered to show up on time.

“Five minutes ‘till the doors open. Everyone, please stand by now,” Ijichi peeks out of one of the cathedral’s entrances, eyeing you particularly, as the great double doors slowly creak open, again revealing the majestic interior of the cathedral. Ijichi holds up a hand, signaling you to wait for the Trumpet Voluntary to start playing. You hold your breath then at the sound of the first chord, you and Suguru begin to walk down the altar.

It’s a long way to the front but the sheer distance between you and him couldn’t dull Satoru’s inimitable contrarian beauty, a prose you simply can’t understand. “Don’t look anywhere else. Focus on the act, focus on what you can see,” Suguru reminds you but really you get what he’s trying to say. Don’t go looking for Himiko.

And the only person you can see right now is him, Satoru, the man you are falling for at such a dangerous acceleration that if you were in a car on the freeway, you’d crash and burn in a heap of scorched gasoline in your crazed attempt to outrun these shittyass feelings.

You gulp as you continue on. How is this taking forever? Step by step, you are racing to your own demise. You just know it. But the doors are closed behind you, forever separating you from your past, there is only him. A bitter future.

“Suguru,” The two of you reach the nave of the cathedral, and just a few meters away from the altar, you stop on cue and wait for Satoru to lead you up the steps, towards the altar where the Archbishop of Tokyo is standing. “Thank you for being there for me.”

“Well, it was either me or Ijichi.”

Satoru begins to descend down the steps and a look of annoyance passes through his features when he sees you and Suguru chuckling to one another like you’ve been friends for the longest time. But then again, he can’t really seem to complain, having you off his back because you’re all too busy being chummy with Suguru doesn’t seem to be too bad. Satoru casts a glance towards Himiko and then over to you.

“Let’s go.” Satoru takes your hand and you are surprised at how he doesn’t seem to have any intention to drag you towards the archbishop. Nodding, you follow your groom’s lead. The ceremony is foreign, no other imperial couple has ever been married in a Christian ceremony so, even Satoru, who has been born to know all the imperial customs, is left trailing off and even, stuttering at some points during the entire affair.

Eventually, the two of you tide miraculously through it and in just one hour, you aren’t (Y/N) (L/N) anymore, but instead, you are Princess (Y/N) Gojo, the wife of the crown prince. The usual kiss between the bride and the groom is omitted to preserve the usual custom for an imperial Shinto wedding. As the archbishop and the other key religious figures in Japan gather behind you and the prince, your maid of honor, Utahime, solemnly bows before you with your bouquet in her hands. You turn just a bit to greet her and something catches Satoru’s eye now that your veil was no longer obstructing your features.

It can’t be.

The Tokyo Philharmonic Orchestra begins to play the recessional and you and Satoru bow before the emperor and empress, traveling down the aisle, your hands interlocked. Somewhere halfway through to the cathedral doors, you feel Satoru gripping your hand a little more aggressively than usual. “Satoru?”

He’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Surely, you wouldn’t. How on earth did you find those earrings? Unless, someone had snuck into his room and nabbed it while he was asleep earlier. Something in Satoru tells him that you probably didn’t know and that you probably didn’t do it intentionally — stealing from him — but that doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re wearing it like it’s yours when clearly, it didn’t belong to you.

Satoru never thought he’d see it again, having kept it locked up in his drawer of memories past their due date to be completely forgotten. He never thought it would ever see the light of day again. But here they were, still in mint condition, reminding him of everything that has slipped through his fingers and everything he has destroyed thus far.

“Not here,” he hisses, glaring at you and that’s enough to get you to shut up.

Satoru has been indifferent up to this point, and sure, he may be seeing someone else but he is normally civil with you, with a few occasional snarky comments muttered under his breath, but he has made every effort to keep a handle on his emotions. Not once has he ever seemed as angry as he is now. But the scary thing is, you don’t even know what you’ve done other than wrench him away from Himiko and even that was unintentional on your part.

You make it to the car and he slides up the privacy shutter so the driver doesn’t hear a word. It’ll take a few minutes for the convoy to get moving en route back to the Asakusa Palace, the imperial palace that had been originally built to serve as the crown prince’s chief residence before it was turned into a state guesthouse by the National Diet.

Settling into the seat next to you, Satoru’s breaths are ragged trying to control himself from choking the life out of you. His voice comes out, a dangerous edge to it. “Where’d you get those?” He asks this question like one wrong move or syllable could cost you dearly.

“What—?” And as expected it does when you don’t reply quickly enough, not exactly knowing what he’s talking about.

With one swift movement, Gojo abruptly yanks off the earring off your right ear causing you to gasp in shock as it shatters in his grip. “I-I don’t know what you mean…!” you pleaded with him.

“You little thief,” Satoru stares down at the crushed earrings for a while before flinging it onto the car floor. “When did you steal this? Who did it for you?” He hits you with a fusillade of accusatory questions and you whimper in fear. Just like a kicked dog, Satoru rolls his eyes at you. “Answer me!”

“I didn’t steal them!” you protest your innocence. “Please, you have to believe me!”

Satoru punches the window of the car next to you, cutting off any more of your pleas, they’ll fall on deaf ears anyway. “Did you order one of the servants? Maybe Ijichi? Who stole this for you?” He asks again.

“N-no one I swear!” you inched away from him.

A huff escapes his lips when he realizes he isn’t getting anywhere with this and Gojo finally relents after what seemed like an eternity of him holding your head underwater. Your breath comes out in shaky huffs, utterly afraid. You look even uglier now with that expression, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.” The monarch sneers at the horrified look on your face. “Like you don’t deserve any of this.”

You wanted to speak against that but he’s right. You should have known that every one of your actions wouldn’t go unpunished on Satoru’s watch when, as he unfailingly implies every time the two of you are within ten feet of each other, you’ve single-handedly ruined his and Himiko’s entire lives.

“You’re right.”

He feels a wave of annoyance at how pliant you sound, struggling to remain calm after lashing out on you like that. He looks over at you, his mind filled with a mixture of anger and just a tiny bit of remorse when he sees your pained expression. He’s aware that what he did was out of line, and while he normally gets into spats with others, he’s never one to lay a hand on a woman much less even think about doing something of that magnitude.

“You know, when you ran away that night when we met at that restaurant, you should have gone straight home.”

That way, you’d be spared from all this despair. He almost sounds regretful for what he did and what he will continue to do, but he really didn’t mind if he never knew your name in the first place.

“That would have made the most sense, yeah.” It’s quiet in the car despite the thundering cheers outside. Satoru looks pensieve, his lips pursed into a thin line. “But there weren’t any taxis that night and the empress is pretty agile for her age.”

“What did she say? Did she offer you money?” Satoru casts you a disgusted look.

You wonder if you should tell him. You doubt there’d be another chance for you to tell him the real reason you agreed to marry him. There won’t be another vulnerable moment like this, you just know it. Satoru deserved to know why you’d kill yourself over and over again in your ill-fated quest to love him, to accept him.

Somehow, you can’t help but feel you’re so dishonest compared to him, at least, Satoru had the decency to be casually cruel and brutally honest about Himiko to you, making no attempt to hide the plain fact that he doesn’t love you and he never will. But at the same time, you don’t want to make things even more difficult for him by burdening him with the truth, so you settle on maintaining your silence. He could believe whatever he wanted to believe, not that he’ll ever change his opinion of you.

“You’re not even gonna deny it?” Satoru sneers.

“Even if I do, you’ll never believe me.”

How could he? All you’ve done and all you will do from this point on is lie, lie, lie. Lie that you married him without accepting any personal favors from the empress, lie that you don’t deserve half of what’s happening to you right now, lie that you don’t feel physically sick when you see Himiko — the very woman you’ve trampled on, the woman closest to his heart — lie that everything will eventually turn out alright, lie that you’re not dying every second a hate-filled syllable falls from his lips, lie that you could ever stop this mad freeway chase of loving Satoru Gojo.

But the freeway is empty, your opponents long gone, the stoplight to doomsday is perpetually green, and all that’s left is a husband that wishes you were dead. You dejectedly take off the earrings’ pair and set it down on the seat in between the two of you, returning another thing you unwittingly stole from him.

Eventually, the convoy reaches Asakusa Palace and on the historic balcony of the 19th century Western-style palace, he takes your hand as the members of the imperial family wave to the crowd, thinking this day to be a hard-won triumph. Satoru meets your lips for the first time, you are left taken aback at the forced gesture, but there is warmth in that eternal split second that you felt his hot breath against yours, maybe some affection even.

But then again, you are known to be a delusional optimist who still believes her mother who has been in a coma for almost three years now will one day wake up.

Satoru pulls back his eyes that have been wide-open during the kiss scanning over your face and he sees nothing. Nothing at all worth loving. You were just simply you, and that in his eyes, is your biggest crime. You don’t show up to the wedding reception.

That same night, Satoru doesn’t show up to your room either. Instead, he sits in the dark of his office, staring at the earrings he recovered from you under the yellowish light of his desk lamp. His fingers brush over the ruined bejeweled earrings; no one will be able to use it now. Somehow, he feels he should apologize to you for scaring you like that. You should, he could almost hear her say.

He sighs deeply, looking over at his ashtray. Not bad, he expected he would finish an entire pack tonight, but he’s only made it to four before he started coughing. She never really liked his habit of smoking anyway.

The door to the study creaks open breaking the silence, but Satoru doesn’t look up, only one person would be brave enough to intrude in his office past dark. The crisp floral smell of top-shelf whiskey fills the air. “Got you something to drink.” Himiko sets down the glencairn on the desk, planting a kiss on Satoru’s lips which he surprisingly doesn’t return with equal devotion much to her dismay.

Her eyes then fell on the jewelry piece Satoru was holding. “Did someone else go into my room today?” That alone could explain how the highly-revered Golconda diamond earrings fell into your hands. It wouldn’t be hard to steal since the night before, whilst he was searching for a lousy wedding gift he could give you, he accidentally left the earrings outside its dedicated safe.

Himiko stiffens at the question, but she quickly recovers her composure. A hysterical woman like you could never hope to win Satoru over the same way she has. “I don’t know, I didn’t see someone on my way out,” Himiko shrugs.

“Did you at least see them still sitting on my nightstand on your way out?”

“I didn’t notice.”

Somehow, Satoru finds that a little difficult to believe but he knows she wouldn’t lie to him. “I saw (Y/N) wearing these earlier today.” He places the earrings back in their respective box, tucking it away, and making a mental note to chuck it in the safe later tonight before he goes to bed.

Himiko’s throat runs dry as she wracks her head for a response. “Oh?” She moves to sit on his lap, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. “I’m guessing you got pretty angry.”

“I did,” Satoru sighs. “But I just can’t wrap my head around one thing.”

“What’s that?” Himiko asks softly. Her heart was pounding in her chest. The last thing she needs is for her little plan to get Satoru to be angry with you on your wedding day to backfire. “Look, haven’t we already established that she’s a golddigger? Are you really that surprised she stole them?”

Satoru shrugs.

It doesn’t add up.

He understands that you might have shown interest in it, and maybe it did cross your mind to steal them, but how could you have known these pieces existed? It’s not like you ordered one of your ladies or retainers to specifically steal the Golconda earrings, it just didn’t make sense to him, even then, some of your retainers might not even be aware that such a thing existed especially since most of them have only been recruited by the Imperial Household Agency recently.

“Look, why don’t we just forget about it, hmm? We could sneak out and go for a drive somewhere. I’m sure (Y/N) won’t mind,” Himiko presses open-mouthed kisses up Satoru’s neck, her hand coming up to fondle him through his slacks. “Come on, you need some cheering up.”

“I’m not driving at this hour, we could stay here.”

Satoru’s eyes flutter close at the sensation, his hand gripping Himiko’s slender waist, allowing her to continue her ministrations. He did need some cheering up after today’s dismal affair. But at the same time, he can’t stop his thoughts from wandering away from how Himiko is unbuttoning his shirt. Damn it. Satoru can’t focus on her, it’s like his normally calculated mind descended into a valley of fog.

Himiko grimaces at Satoru’s lack of attention. She quickly stops her futile attempts at intimacy. “Just stop thinking about them. You got them back, didn’t you?” she says, a hint of frustration laced in her voice. “Besides, even if (Y/N) did steal them, it’s not like you’d have any use for them anymore.”

Something stirs within Satoru and before he could stop himself, a flash of anger appears on his usually calm and flirtatious demeanor when he’s with Himiko. “That’s not the point. You know very well what those earrings mean to me.”

He’s shared it with her before. She knows everything about him, more so than anyone who has ever known anyone else on an intimate level before. There exists a version of Gojo that only Himiko knows, and keeps like a sacred prayer. Which is exactly why Satoru is livid about her downplaying the importance of everything he keeps in his safe, his personal mausoleum of the warmest spring of his youth that he would have longed for still had it not been for Himiko.

Himiko, for once, allows herself to be vulnerable even if for just a bit. And a look of pure hurt takes over her lovestruck demeanor earlier. But that is instantly replaced with anger. Anger at Satoru for continuing to hold onto things that should have no meaning anymore because she’s here now. Loving him is a dangerous game, what else could she expect from a man who is caught between the past and the future?

“Forget it.” Satoru stands up, shrugging Himiko off his lap. “I’ll find out one way or another. You should go home.”

Himiko painfully picks up on the fact that Satoru told her to ‘go home’ and not ‘head to bed’, meaning she won’t be sleeping with him tonight. Satoru runs a hand through his mop of white hair, calling Ijichi. He knows it’s late but Ijichi should still be in the premises right now.

“Ijichi? I’m heading out.”

“What now? It’s two in the morning. You still have a ribbon-cutting ceremony to go to with the princess tomorrow.”

“Just get over here right now, I won’t take long.” He’ll still show up to that stupid ribbon-cutting at the Tokyo University of the Arts with you tomorrow. Speaking of you, he should probably refrain from doing such things again. He begins to think of ways he could, in a way, make it up to you for his behavior but that doesn’t mean you’re out of the frying pan just yet.

Just because he’s suspicious about these circumstances doesn’t mean that he believes your desperate plea earlier that you didn’t attempt to steal an integral part of his past. No one could replace the person whom those earrings first belonged to. Not even the woman standing in front of him right now, the object of his desires, the source of your pain.

“What? You’re going there again? Don’t tell me you’re still hoping she’ll answer for once.” Himiko’s nostrils flared in anger at the thought of Satoru leaving.

“Don’t push it, Himiko.” Satoru takes a dangerous step towards her which causes her to somehow, for the first time in her life since she met the prince, shrink in fear. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’re already hurting me!”

What Satoru says next is like a bullet being fired through a thin sheet of glass.

“(Y/N) is enduring far worse than you and not once have I heard her complain or throw a tantrum like you’re doing now.”

Satoru leaves immediately after, ignoring Himiko’s angry cries. He comes back at about eight o’clock the next morning to see your newly framed wedding photo shattered on the floor next to a crumpled up picture of another person whose name Satoru couldn’t even speak without bursting into bitter tears midway.

How ironic it is to be married on the day he lost her.

water’s edge taglist: @dummyf @kentokaze @esthelily @mandysfanfics @userbananababes @strawberryjimin13 @snowprincesa1 @naturallyspontaneous @kooromin @gojoist @dcvilxswish @13-09-01 @peachipeachy @iluv-ace @sawendel @helloitsshitzulover @jjuniescuderia @ackermendick @starrylibras @timetobegone @heelariously @idktbhloley @jeon-blue @8aif9sgbsnn @purpleguk @rednezvous @yeseurri @floralsightings @yoheyyosup @dontwannacry04 @dragonladyy @darling006 @ethereally-lyann @nikitopia (still open!)

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pit-and-the-pen · 5 days

Text

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart (Pt 2 to unrequited love)

A/n: HERE IT IS BESTIES!!! The official Pt 2 to unrequited love! I know the poll is still live but I’m impatient. So to make sure I’m still taking everyone’s votes into account there will be an alternate ending that should be posted right after this.

Read the Alt ending here, it's pretty similar in places

Read Pt 3 here

I'm still absolutely blown away by how well-received the first part was. This is going to be an ongoing series, all could be read individually but the "background" will be these two fics.

Warnings: Angst, Cursing, reader suffers from depressed thoughts

WC: ~3.4k

divder by @cafekitsune

The next morning I was in Rhys office. He barely even looked up from the paper strewn over his desk before I spoke.

“I’m going back home.”

He sighed, leaning back into his chair. His eyes raked over me, “Does this have anything to do with why Azriel was so huffy this morning?” His eyebrow raised and I felt the anger I’d been trying to quell since last night rise its head up like a sleeping dragon.

“Fuck off. Let him be mad if he wants to be mad.” I snapped.

“Mad isn’t exactly how I would put it,” He paused looking at me. “What happened?” The High Lord questioned. I sighed not having the strength to recount the events from last night.

“Nothing but the inevitable.” he frowned at my non-answer but didn’t press any harder.

“I’ll miss you. We all will.” He said finally. I nodded.

“You all should visit.” Not an I’ll visit. No. If I could avoid it I would never step foot into this miserable court ever again.

I was gone by mid-morning. Mor had helped me winnow the things I wanted to take with me. What they did with the rest wasn’t any of my concern. Rhys or Feyre had bought it all for me anyways, let them decide what to do with their money.

Once I had gotten settled into my room, I hugged Mor goodbye and thanked her for her help. She just gave me a tighter hug and told me she would visit soon.

It was two weeks before I could see Helion.Two weeks of settling back into my court that I loved so dearly. He was visiting Dawn court for some trade agreement that needed to be signed. I came by every day, asking if he’d returned you. His second would just silently shake her head at me. And I would stomp back to my room like an angry babe.

Two weeks of checking before I finally saw her nod her head and I had to stop myself from running into Helions office. I had the control to at least knock on the door but not much else. I quickly shut the door behind me as he called me in.

“Sunbeam!” He called out when saw my face. “I had hoped the rumors of you moving back home were true.” He walked around the desk and gave me a brisk hug. Very out of character for him.

“You’re not an easy man to schedule an appointment with, Helion.” I smiled warmly at the High Lord of my court.

“If you wanted a piece of me, you only had to say the words and I would have come running darling.” There's the flirt I remember. I thought, rolling my eyes.

“But judging by your urgency in requesting a meeting that my second expressed to me, I’m going to assume that’s not what you wanted to see me for.”

My smile dropped as I braced myself for the question I needed to ask him.

“I need you to break a mating bond”

His mouth fell open. For once in my life, Helion was speechless. “I don’t know if I can even do that. Are you sure that’s what you want?” His eyes saw right through me. I threw my head back, a sad laugh bubbling past my lips.

“Yes. No. Gods I don’t know. I just don’t want it to hurt like this forever.” I felt treacherous tears starting to fall down my face. Helion grabbed my arms gently before I could wipe them away.

“I know you well enough to know that you don’t run away from hard things.” He held me against his chest as I really started to sob.

“Helion. Every second that I’m away from him it kills me. I’m over here dying inside over some male who only ever saw me as a second option.”

“Then he’s an idiot. But the mother still saw fit to make you two mates. Give it some more thought, you’re clearly still not fully decided. I’ll do some research to see if it’s even possible and if you still want to, I’ll be here to help.” I nodded my thanks into his shirt. He takes my head between his hands and uses his thumbs to wipe the tears still streaking down my face. He gives me a gentle kiss on the top of my head before I walk out of the room.

I sat on the decision for a month. A month of volleying back and forth. Weighting the pros and cons of my choice. I had started doing my own research through the tomes in the library I had access to. My eyes widened as I finally found the information I needed.

Picking up the book I all but sprinted to Helion’s office. I didn't bother knocking as I pushed past the door. Helion looked up from his desk and raised an eyebrow at me.

Panting, I showed him the page in the book. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my whole life.” I promised him. He still looked skeptical but walked around to where I stood anyway.

“I can’t say this is going to be pleasant.” He said wearily as I laid down on the couch in his study. “I’ve never heard of anyone doing this. I’ve seen rejection but this is cutting off the magic at the source.”

I looked into the males eyes, eyes I had known my whole life.

“Please. Nothing can hurt more than this already does.” Sympathy washed over his face and he leaned over me, placing a hand to each of my temples. It felt like the worst headache I had ever had in my life. My head was being split open and I heard the whimper leave my mouth. The pressure of his hands lifted slightly and I fought to get out the words. “I’m okay. Keep going.” I couldn’t open my eyes to see his face but his hands didn’t move. The pounding broke to a burning heat. I could feel the moment it snapped, I could almost picture the scissors snipping that tight string that connected us. One last fleeting rush of pure pain pushed through the bond. And then it was gone. My head was still pounding, I opened my eyes and saw Helion panted above me.

“How do you feel?” He asked, helping me into a sitting position.

“Like I have one hell of a hangover.” I pressed a hand to the bridge of my nose. Like I could squeeze out the uncomfortable feeling. “But also lighter.” My free hand going to my chest. It would take some time to adjust to this new feeling. But I could not stop the smile that spread over my face. Before Helion could say anything else, I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck.

“I can’t thank you enough.” I said into his neck. He gave a tight laugh and hugged me back.

“You should go sleep this off. Please tell me if any of the pain gets worse.” He held my face between his hands and I nodded as much as I could. I all but floated back to my room.

I fell into a familiar routine back in the Day Court. I took up my old job as a researcher. My days were spent surrounded by the massive libraries of my home court. People would come to us with questions and it was our job to use the knowledge at our disposal to find them answers. It kept me busy at the very least, but I did have to admit that I love doing it. I felt more useful here than I ever had at the Night Court. Pangs of sadness would rip through me when someone snarked in a way that made me think of Cassian. When someone would smirk and I could only picture Rhysand standing in front of me as he beat me in chess. The art was so beautiful that I longed to show Feyre if only to see that twinkle in eye as she dissected the colors and shading used.

I smiled as the pang in my chest at the thought of Azriel held no pain. It had taken me some time to get used to the emptiness in my chest, I had grown so used to the hollow feeling of the unreturned bond but this emptiness wasn’t pain but instead it was like a weight had been taken off my chest.

Someone calling my name pulled me from my musing. One of the messengers, Dia, smiled brightly up at me. “Hey sunbeam. Helion asked me to deliver this to you.” I took the golden envelope from her. I thanked her and she turned around, leaving me back to my books.

I slid my finger under the seal and pulled out the letter. He was flirty even in a letter. He had requested that I accompany him to the latest ball he was hosting. Helion, ever the charmer, even placed boxes for me to check yes or no. I giggled to myself at the juvenile nature of it, but checked yes with the quill sitting next to me.

The ball was just a few days away and I was so excited as dress after dress were brought into my room for me to try on. The one that ended up catching my eye was a floor length glossimer dress, such a pale golden color it looked almost like sunlight itself. The bottom was dyed a light pink color that flowed into it seamlessly. It took my breath away as I smoothed out the light fabric. It fit like a glove and I knew instantly this was the dress I had to wear.

My reflection looked like a stranger. My hair was pinned to one side, sweeping down over my shoulder and my back. A golden tiara was woven into loose curls. Long golden chandelier earrings studded with diamonds almost touched my shoulders. The sun had created a sultry blush on the high points of my cheeks. I looked happier than I had in years. I sensed Helion's presence in my room and caught his eyes in the floor length mirror.

He let out a low whistle and I blushed, adjusting my tiara. I walked over to him and he held out his hand for me, twirling me around dramatically when I took it. “No one will be able to take their eyes off of you, Sunbeam.” His eyes hungirly raked over me, “If you ever reconsider my offer. I would take you to bed in a heartbeat. Just say the words.” I pushed his shoulder, I didn’t doubt his words.

“Keep your pants on Helion. We have a ball to get to.”

“I’m High Lord. I can be late.” His pupils had dilated and I rolled my eyes, pushing him out the door before I linked my arm into his.

The ball was as lavish as I had expected. There was much to celebrate and this was mostly to welcome the new High Lord. Eris. Beron had finally died a few months back and Eris had officially stepped into the role with grace. The autumn court once known for its cruelty seemed to be taking a new direction and as I talked to nobility from the court, it was for the better. I had gotten to know him over the years, his frequent visits to the Night Court, plus a few flirty exchanges that I always brushed off, while he was helping us during the war softened me to him. Learning the true events of that night with Mor.

I locked eyes with Eris across the room. He had been heartbreakingly handsome when he was just High Fae but as a High Lord? His hair had grown slightly longer, just touching his shoulders. Dressed in a deep maroon suit that showed off every single one of his muscles. The permanent scowl that had been etched into his face had been replaced with a smile that radiated comfort. My feet seemed to move without deciding to. Eris kept his eyes locked onto mine as I got closer. My cheeks heated up under his intense stare.

“Hi little sunbeam,” Honeyed words wrapped around me. “Seems like you’re no longer hiding in the shadows.” He held out his hand, eyes flickering to the dance floor. I smiled up at him and gently placed my hand in his.

His touch was firm and the warmth of his power radiated off of him. He clutched my waist, pulling me flush to his front. I felt every plane of his toned body pressed against me and goosebumps broke out across my skin having nothing to do with the temperature in the room. The two of us gilded across the floor. I could feel the eyes of the room on us but I only had eyes for the male in front of me.

“Well good thing he’s not my mate anymore.” I whispered back to him, voice breathy. He responded with a kiss to my neck. All of a sudden I felt his warmth disappear. Before I could even process what had happened, I was standing half ways across the room. Eris just smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Stand down, you overgrown bat.” The High Lord said and that’s when I heard the growl from my side, caught a glimpse of wings and sapphire blue. Before another word could leave my mouth, I was being pulled out of the ballroom and outside to the balcony.

I thrashed against Azriel’s grip on my arm. His hand wrapped around my wrist tight enough to bruise.

“What the hel was that?” He yelled at me, finally letting go of my wrist.

“You had no right!” I screeched at him. Anger seethed through me. I felt my palms heat up from the light trying to escape from them. He went to grab my arm and I ripped it back from his reach. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Please.” Was all he said and suddenly it was like that night all over again. Me pouring my heart out and all he could say was please.

“Please what, Azriel? Is that all you know how to do, beg and plead. For what? Was breaking my heart once not enough for you.”

“Stop. Just stop. I’m sure you’ve rehearsed this all before but do you actually think I’m stupid enough to believe it?” I spit out between my teeth.

“No. Gods this is coming out all wrong.” He ran a frantic hand through his hair. I clocked the shake in them “Why did you break the bond?”

I laughed at his audacity. “Why? You have the nerve to ask me why?” My voice dripped venom, “I did it because I couldn’t stand being tied to you like that. That night..” I started, he interrupted me.

“I said the most vile things I could think of. I panicked when you told me about the bond. If you could feel it too, I knew nothing good could have come from that so I pushed you away.” I shook my head, as if I could shake his words away from my ears.

“You seemed so shocked when I told you.”

His head sunk down, voice small “I was shocked because no part of me believed, believes, that I deserve you in that way.” When he stepped forward, I didn’t step away. Mind too busy catching up with his words. “Please say something. “

I turned my eyes up to look at him. Hazel eyes soft sparkling with unshed tears. I wanted to rip into him. I truly did. Some sick part of me wanted to make him hurt like he had hurt me but I know that wouldn’t fix anything here. What is done was done.

“You don’t get to do this to me. You don’t get to say all the right things and just have me forgive you. You don’t get to say that you love me after everything you did.” He sighed. Leaning his head on top of mine. I frowned at the contact, but didn’t push him away, refusing to melt into him. “Whatever your reason. You said all those things that you knew would hurt me, you said them and some part of you had to believe them.”

“I know. There isn’t a day that I don’t regret everything that I said, everything I had put you through over all those years. I took you for granted and I didn’t realize how much I loved you until you were gone. Until I felt that bond being snatched away from me” I wanted to push him back but something in me let his words sink into my bones.

“I had dreamed for so long how it would feel when I finally heard you say those words, And do you know what I feel?” His eyes glimmered with hope as I took a step away from him, out of his grasp. “Nothing. I feel nothing for you. Not anger, not contempt.” Tears slipped out of his eyes at my harsh words. “Of course I remember what it felt like before. Maybe some part of me will always love you in my own way but I’m not tied to you anymore and I have never been so thankful for something in my entire life.” He flinched like I had hit him.

“Do you really mean that?” His voice was so small it almost made me feel bad for him. Almost.

“I do.” I sucked in a heavy breath. “Look, we’ll most likely still have to see each other so I don’t want to end on a bad note. You were still one of my best friends for over a century and this doesn’t undo all of that but this,” I gesture between the two of us, “Will never be anything else but that, a friendship.” He gave me a sad smile.

“I’ll take whatever you are willing to give me.” I turned to walk away and he reached for my arm, I grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before I walked back to the ball that was in full swing.

I weaved in between bodies easily. Finding Eris with ease. Despite being in the middle of a conversation, he stepped away the moment he sensed my presence. Not sparing a glance to the fae surrounding him.

“That’s all settled then?” He asked, giving me a once over. I nodded and took his hand again.

“I believe we were in the middle of a dance?” I pulled him against me, not realizing how much I missed the feeling of his heat against my skin. I placed my head on his chest. We didn’t so much as dance, more so swayed in place. Arms wrapped around each other. He tapped my chin with a gentle finger and I let him guide my mouth up to his. The kiss was soft and sweet, like holding your hands in front of a warm fire after a day in the cold. When I tried to deepen it, he laughed against my lips. I let out a shameless whine as he disconnected our lips. As I looked into his eyes, I felt the stirring of something familiar and for the first time, welcomed it as that hole in my chest was filled again.

Tagging people that seemed excited about pt. 2

@cleverzonkwombatsludge @yearninglustfully @myromanempiree @starsandsins @melmo567 @saltedcoffeescotch

#azriel acotar #unrequited love #acomaf #acosf #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel angst #eris vanserra #eris x you #eris x reader #angst #hurt/comfort #eris acotar #eris fluff #eris vandaddy

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avocado-writing · 2 months

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Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to his gn crush telling him that they're glad they had a chance to meet him despite everything they have went through? They also mentioned how they would have never met him if everything (the plot itself 😂) didn't happen!

my most gorgeous anon you certainly may!!

Astarion

Laughs, but not at you. At the situation - this whole thing, mindflayers and all, has been ridiculous.

But he takes your hand in his and holds it, looking into your eyes with a depth of sweetness you don’t often see.

“Me too, my darling. I’m glad for every blood-drenched moment of it… though maybe I’d appreciate not sleeping on ground so much.”

You open your mouth to bicker back, but he captures your lips in a kiss instead, and rests his forehead against yours after.

You know he’s happy it happened, too.

Gale

You whisper this to him in an intimate moment, cuddled up together on his bedroll.

He pulls back to look at you, studies your face to see if you’re being sincere.

Wipes some hair from your face, softly. He speaks with such reverie it is as if he is making a vow.

“I’d do it all again, my heart. Every wretched second of it, if it meant you would be waiting for me at the end.”

Kisses you deeply, and the two of you know that you need no more words for now.

Wyll

Takes your hand and holds it to his heart. Lets you feel the way that it beats

”My darling, if I had a choice, I’d never wish this upon you. I’d hope for a kinder life where we discovered each other in a time of peace, where I could court you properly, like you deserve. But seeing as we cannot change the past… I can only be glad we went through this, and that I had the opportunity to meet you.”

Kisses you so sweetly, and through that kiss you know he means every word he says.

Halsin

Holds you ever so tightly.

“My heart. Nature has created many great marvels, but none that could possibly rival you. If I could spare you from the path you’ve been made to tread, I wish I could say that I would… but I would never give up the chance to meet you.”

Buries his lips against your hair, whispers his adorations to you.

Lets you know that you are the most treasured thing in his heart, and he’d change nothing on his path to meet you either.

Dammon

Puts down his forge hammer, turns to you with the softest look in his eyes.

Takes a moment to wipe his hands before he takes yours.

”I’m so glad that I met you, too. This path has been treacherous but I can’t regret a single footstep.”

Kisses you so sweetly. You know he will help protect you for every step forwards, too.

Rolan

Pretends that he thinks you’re being overly sentimental and maudlin, but you can see the way he smiles.

“Well, I’m not sure I would do it all again… but I’m glad that you would…”

You harrumph and he pulls you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours.

“I am happy that I met you though, my light.”

Zevlor

He takes a moment to digest this confession.

Kisses you deeply, caresses your face with his battle-callused hands.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he tells you, voice thick with emotion.

You stand there, basking in the other’s love, happy.

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its-actually-minicika · 1 year

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Hi, love your works so much! Can't wait for more updates 🥰🥰 I was wondering maybe you'd like the idea where book!Aemond and Velarion!(Strong?)Reader are in an arranged marriage. But Reader just knows what to say and how to act so that Aemond is wrapped around her finger (kinda thought of Margaery and Joffrey situation, she was such a talented schemer, worthy of winning the Throne 😭). I don't really know about the setting, like if it's before, during or after the Dance... just thought it'd be interesting to see this kind of plot with our beloved Prince 🤴🏼🐉

If you don't like it, just ignore me 🙈

Dragon Sickness (18+)

Pairing: bookcanon!Aemond x Strong!Niece!Reader

Warnings: No usage of (Y/N), Greens win AU, bookcanon Greens, the obvious Targaryen incest, mentions of major character deaths (we're entering spoiler grounds, but not really), blood, gore etc.

Word Count: 3.5K+

Author's Note: I fell in love with this idea the moment I saw it! I ended up altering the plot line for this one-shot a little bit - the reader will definitely grow into the Margaery architype, but today you shall see her as she was when she just learned how to make ends meet with her newfound life at Court.

I don't know if I should turn this into yet another series, but if you guys enjoyed this, let me know

Also, thank you so, so much for your kind words ♡ i'm hugging you to the moon and back!

PART 2 IS OUT NOW ♡♡♡

Who could ever blame you for your indiscreet acts? Alliances change when the world you know suddenly turns upside down.

She remembered how weak she was. How scared she had been.

How her eyes widened into two brown specs of uncertainty, how her mouth fell agape, as she mulled over Alicent’s words.

‘You shall marry Aemond within the next moon turns. For the good of the Realm.’

The Dowager Queen had openly admitted to being against the match – of course, the prospect of her perfect son, married off to a lowly bastard of Rhaenyra's (otherwise said, her last surviving child), didn’t specifically thrill her. Much less her demanding and scornful father.

Still, it couldn’t be helped. And if the Velaryon wanted to keep her head away from a spike, she had no other choice but to comply.

Although… she wasn’t a Velaryon now, was she? Aegon the Usurper made sure of that.

His final gift to her was to strip her of all her titles. She had been openly declared a bastard – before the masses, before the Court.

With a wide smile upon his burnt lips, the “King” had told her she’d be a Targaryen instead. Driftmark wouldn’t matter, her legacy wouldn’t matter. Aemond would inherit the seat with the Usurper’s blessing, as a homage brought to his able fighting and his shown bravery on the bloody battlefield.

Never mind that he’d never partaken in a fight; save for the one that killed her stepfather, Daemon, and sent her poor mother in a downward spiral. Aemond had chosen his adversaries wisely, and managed to go through the whole war without as much of a scratch upon his silver armour.

‘I shan’t marry your son. Not now, not ever.’ Her own voice rang out.

‘You will do exactly as demanded.’

‘I would rather die than bear the treacherous children of that monstrous beast.’

A monstrous beast. That is what Aemond was.

And that is what he shall remain. No matter how many gifts he brought to her. No matter how many hours of their days and days in their weeks and weeks in their months they spent promenading those ghastly gardens.

‘You will if you know your best interests. Your own head may hold no value to you, but a single swing of my son’s sword would be enough to bring forth the ruin of House Blackwood.’

At first, she’d been restless in her attempts to escape the Keep. Her every waking hour was spent shamelessly inside the Sept, where she prayed not for the safety of her brothers’ souls, but for revenge against the mutted Greens.

The slight breeze of the cathedral mended her flesh from the heat of summer. And no one dared to approach or talk to her. The quietness was a welcomed deed.

During the first night of their betrothal, her glossy eyes scanned Aemond’s face. His hands wantonly gripped at his thighs and a slight twitch of his mouth, accompanied by an elongated hum escaped his lips.

There was no other discernable expression. And when he led her to the chambers of her early girlhood, he merely bowed and kissed her hand.

She spent the first night of their betrothal scraping her knuckles so harshly, that they broke and cracked under the stimulation of the cold water.

Her thirst for vengeance ceased after the first two months. Her wedding date was approaching swiftly, and she found herself faced with the abhorrent truth. She had no allies. No more friends at Court. The girl had shut herself in her tiny room, losing her mind with the pain and grief that flooded her at night: the faces of her mother, her brothers, her father. The sound of their screams and their endless pleas for help.

Every night, without a fail, she woke up tormented by nightmares – her throat burning with absolving shrieks of fear, exacerbated breaths of air and flimsy nightdresses, damp throughout by breaks of sweat.

The first night she lashed out onto her bedding was the night she found out Aemond had moved his Quarters next to hers. He yanked the door open and stepped into the light of her candle – looking ravished, completely out of breath and startled. Started not for his own accord and safety, but for the state that his future wife had been in.

‘Shit, it’s alright, I’m here–’

The echo of his mellow voice deterred her to let out a blood-curdling scream, that would have rivalled even the one of the late Queen Rhaenyra, after Aegon the Usurper ceased her at Dragonstone, and reeled his dragon to eat her whole.

‘Get the fuck away from me! Get the fuck out of my room!’

Her sobs pierced into the man’s heart, but his hurt expression was masked quickly with one most bitter and taciturn. He clenched his fists ruefully by his side, and spat out an apology in a low and dangerous tone.

‘As you wish.’

And how dearly he loved those words:

‘As you wish.’

'As you desire.’

Even though nothing had been, or ever will be, as she achingly wished them to.

“You could at least attempt to look happy.” His chastising tone rained upon her, as his Lady remained hammered in her seat. Maids flocked to her like lost chickens to their cock, arranging her hair and picking out dresses fit for their engagement parade.

Her face contorted into the mirror, and a faint sigh beleft her lips. Carefully she turned around, reflecting his stance with a subtle arch to her shapely brow.

“It’s bad luck to see your bride before the wedding ceremony.”

“An old wives' tale. And one that applies only on the day itself.”

“Perhaps we should encourage tradition more. Make it so we don’t cross paths at all til then.”

Just as fast as it came, the feral look dissolved over his tired face. Aemond heaved out a heavy exhale and merely settled to growl at her maids.

“Leave us. Now.”

A discontented look painted over her fair features. His niece opened her mouth in protest, to try and stop the fleeing girls from truly making their escape.

“I must remind my Prince that the engagement assembly will be held in less than an hour. I believe I should like them to stay.”

The gathered women exchanged lost and protruding glances, until the former King Regent spoke again.

“They will leave us at once.”

“They’ll do no such a thing. They must make haste to get me ready. We wouldn’t want to upset your mother.”

“I’m more than capable of lacing up a loose bodice.”

The tight expression on her face deserted her features with the leave of his smug retort. She swallowed thickly in enraged abandon, and silently beseeched her ladies not to leave her all alone.

Still ravishing her with his bold stare, Aemond stepped another foot into the cosy confinements of her tidy prison. “If I’m to turn around now and find any of you standing before me, I’ll arrange that you’re all flogged and defiled beyond the utter of salvation.”

Brisk footsteps swallowed the room, echoing wildly through the narrow dark hallways. The former Velaryon shook her head in disarray, and graced her soon-to-be-husband with a tight smile and a nod.

“Congratulations.” She uttered humorously, “I should enjoy looking like a fool tonight much more than being proper by your side.”

As if drowned below a trace, Aemond took another step in the direction of the frowning Princess. His face remained impenetrable, but as he opened his mouth to speak, his voice ran meek, unsure and hoarse.

“Turn around.” He commanded her gently, whilst grabbing a deep green garment from the cluttery made on her bed. Despite her lack of desire to abide by his request, the woman turned her back to him and muttered slowly, though much softer than intended.

“I don’t like that one. It’ll make the skirts look out of place.”

“Which one do you want, then?” His whisper had made her draw in a sharp gasp; the warmth of his breath fell soothingly over the nape of her neck, caressing her delicate skin in a way she hadn’t known was possible.

“The red one with black lacings.”

His hand came to spin her back around, and their noses nearly touched together. A smile tugged at the ends of his upturned lips, but the look inside his eye remained frigid and unforgiving.

“Your petticoat won’t be those colours.”

A conceited scowl graced her face. She reached her hand behind him and skillfully snatched one of a different design. “Fine. I want to wear this one, then.”

The obnoxious blue and silver danced across her paling skin. And if Aemond weren’t so dazed by their proximity and lack of air, he might have laughed at her feeble attempts of vexing him.

“Those are Velaryon hues.”

“Perfect. I shall honour my house well.”

“You are not a Velaryon to grace them with such a feat.”

“No, you are absolutely right. Your brother did name me a Targaryen.”

Their faces were so close to each other, that their moving lips were almost touching.

“Yet I can’t wear black and red either.” A prompted look disarmed the Prince, “It is all very confusing.”

His lone orb descended to her puffing bosom, but Aemond soon directed himself upon a more elusive image. His fingers twitched with the need to grab a hold of her – to pull away those last pieces of cloth that shielded her away from view.

“You know full well why I can’t allow that.” He hummed in unmoving disapproval, “As much as I enjoy your voice and the raptures of your closeness, I must say this conversation bores me.”

“I should be able to wear what I want.” Came her prompt and swift reply, “But of course, Your Grace, forgive me. ‘Tis not for men to pounder on laces and brims.” Her palms took to rest upon his bulging chest, and the girl nearly removed them at once, as the thrumming of his heart enterlaced with her slim fingers. Still, she furrowed her brows in a most perplexed of mockeries, and insatiably drove on, “Indeed resilient men such as yourself occupy their time much better.”

The callouses of his hands fell heavily upon her cheeks.

“Fucking their ways through brothels, getting their pricks wet, and fantasising about wars.”

The harshness of his next tug nearly broke her brave facade – her eyes widened in mistrust, and a slight recoil braced over her straightened back. Her small fingers clasped over his shaking wrist, which held onto her face with a gentleness untoward; one completely mismatching with the predatory glimmer in his eye.

The man he was, and the man he was trying to be would surely never mend to one.

A Kinslayer. A monster. A divergent freak.

Nothing more, and nothing less.

His thumb played absent-mindedly at her lower lip, and the young Princess tried her damnest not to bite him. “Did I strike a nerve with that one?”

“You are as imprudent as you are beautiful. A family trait, I assume.”

“You have my gratitude for the flattering commentary. I’m very proud of my heritage.”

His lilac orb bore into her, and the man let out a reserved laugh, “Your bastard brothers were ample proud. Look where that brought them.” The rough end of his hand gripped her own painfully, before she could make for a swing at his handsome face. “Lost in the seas, rotting at the bottom of an ocean, nestling inside Sunfyre’s belly.”

While her hands were clasped together, her mouth wasn’t sown shut. With a single and effective move, she spat harshly in his face, eliciting a groan from her broader perpetrator.

Though his nostrils flared up in disdain, the man graced her with a calculated smirk. “Did I strike a nerve with that one?” He mocked her with feigned interest.

“Fuck you,” She hissed out slowly, “Don’t you dare talk of my family – my brothers were ten times the man you are.”

“Oh, but I have every right to talk about your family. Given that I will be all yours shortly.” Once more he forced her to turn around, and kneeled over to her spasming form, to begin dressing her up; in nought else, of course, but the mundane silks of his choosing.

"Doesn't the prospect thrill you? To become my lady-wife, to finally bear a true Targaryen inside your royal womb?"

So hopeless and defeated she felt, that the youth jerked herself relentlessly, while repeating him the same plethora of words. “You cannot force me to be your whore. You cannot force me to wear this. I will not bear your Hightower green.”

Aemond could feel his patience running thin – and when her foot came into contact with his setting knee, the man let out a ferocious growl, and promptly trapped the girl in his arms, with the aid of a nearby wall.

“So you want to be difficult? You don’t want to wear this? Hmm? Well, who am I not to abide my Lady’s burning wishes?”

The sharpness of his dagger came into quick contact with the milky skin of her thighs. And she might have almost screamed, if Aemond didn’t immediately pull himself away. His hard chest grazed hers for but a moment, as the Prince cast his attention to her moving shadow.

“If you wish not to attend our engagement parade wearing the clothes I’ve chosen for you,” He muttered against her face, a scorned look adorning his own, “Then you won’t be wearing anything at all.”

She huffed out a dispensing pant and pursed her lips into a tight line.

She remained rigid and poised, until a spark of amusement swirled into her eyes.

The first crack was that of a lax smile. The next, a tremor to her lips. The calm before the storm approached, until all rattled down with a mirthed laugh cascading from her reddened lips.

“Do you mean to frighten me with this promise?” She asked through the arch of an uncertain brow, “As if every man in this cursed Keep won’t get to watch me whore myself out to you anyway, when our wedding night will come?”

His face suddenly hardened at the notion of their reality – as if he didn’t give much thought to the bedding ceremony. To his Lady being watched by a thousand other eyes but his.

Aemond suddenly darkened, and his fist came into contact with a near spot on the wall, so awfully close to her frightened, paling face.

She watched with wide eyes how his stare contorted from one of realisation to one of fury. He stiffly peeled his body away from hers, and strained himself to leave her be. The jealous and possessive knots that churned painfully inside his stomach burned his skin upon the surface, and constricted the air he brashly took in.

He nodded to her in a spry and calloused manner, and brought his hand out to touch her cheek. His knuckles had begun to bleed, busted by the force of impact that his fist had faced for him. Behind his eye danced a look of seldom shame – he gnawed harshly at his bottom lip, and pondered, for a while, on apologising to his niece; for his lack of princely conduct, for his show of impropriety – for his inability to keep himself at bay.

Still his thoughts failed to merge to words, and so the man ran his eye one final time over her defensive pose, and merely left her standing there.

As if turned into a statue, the girl barely registered the lethargic closing of the door, the hurried and heavy footsteps that travelled further and further away from her quaint and cluttered space, and the animated curse that slipped past her uncle's throat.

Did he just dare to leave her there, with her petticoat half up her legs, in nought else but a flimsy nightdress?

At first she thought that his avoidance was a blessing in disguise.

For after clashing wits with Aemond, and after his swift hurried departure, the man had barely graced her with another word.

His hand held onto hers for the whole duration of the procession. He wordlessly forced her to dance two dances, and led her to her Quarters as soon as she mentioned that she was tired.

But his palms didn’t linger on the shape of her narrow waist – his lips barely grazed her knuckles, and Aemond turned with lest a word to add after their fake sympathies were exchanged.

Had he gotten bored of her? Realised what a terrible match they made, and begged his mother on his hands and knees to break off their ill engagement?

For the first time in a while, a new notion of fear engulfed her.

The Greens couldn’t kill her. Of that, she was almost certain. It wouldn't be a wise move, and it would anger the North beyond the power of salvation. The war had had its say on every army that fought into it, yet the Crownlands were especially weak.

But if Aemond were to sever their solidary alliance, then her future would be most uncertain.

Otto Hightower would make her join with an old and withered Lord, no doubt – one with more than enough sons to further on his pesky line. One who couldn’t even get it up to her, who’d never procreate and mend their blood, who’d make sure Rhaenyra’s line would end with her.

Or perhaps she’d be sent to join the Faith – become a Septa or a Silent Sister, among the infamous Maris Baratheons of the Realm. Yet another girl who wouldn’t keep her tongue when asked.

And history might remember them as ‘the women who couldn’t be tamed’, but their lives would be thrown to ruin. Their existence would remain a sham.

No, she had whispered to herself, as she writhed into the soft bedding. If she still thirsted for revenge, she would have to marry Aemond. Keep him interested and relaxed – yearning for her voice and company.

… And if she had to whore herself to him to do it, she would obediently assume her role.

“I beg your pardon?” Aegon asked through another gulp of bitter wine, “Gods be good – I believe that now I’ve heard it all.”

Aemond paced about his brother’s room, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his face set into a deep grimace. He hummed in admission to his brother’s words, and glanced his way with the instance of a hooded eye.

“There is to be no bedding ceremony.” He repeated himself with ease, “I frightened her enough already. The girl will be plenty uncomfortable without the aid of chafing eyes.”

His brother smiled and raised his brows in nothing else but blinding wonder. A small shake of his head indicated his perplexion, and a sharp inhale his drawn decision.

“Mother insisted upon it. You know that well.” The man steadied himself in his chair as he spoke, whilst letting out a small grunt at the contact that the wood made upon his burnt remnants of skin. “I don’t see any reason to annul it. Especially now, an eve before.”

Another sip of the stinging liquor interrupted his smooth and ready trail of thought. The Targaryen brushed off Aemond’s concerns, and gleefully bided his teasing.

“It’ll do the two of you good – you’ll get to see she’s as pure as a bastard girl can be; and she’ll have no deniability that any of her future heirs are yours.” He pointed his weary digit in the direction of his stiffened form and swallowed down a hefty laugh. “Not to mention that Lord Redwyne and Tarly already placed bets on the state of her maidenhead. Would be a shame to disappoint them both, don't you think?"

“What mother thinks is of no consequence. And the amusement of the Realm matters not to me. There will be no bedding ceremony.”

“Nonsense, Aemond. It is our duty to upkeep the Realm – and to entertain its inhabitants if need be.”

When his reckless teasing was met with glacial silence, Aegon sighed as he briskly leaned forward. He watched his sibling with an indiscernible expression across his scorched veneer, and yawned greatly at his indisposed behaviour.

“Of course, we’re here to talk it out. But after so much time spent in your company, I fail to see the necessity for such a thing.” A sly smirk danced across his puffy lips, “Are you concerned that she won’t bleed? Or that you’ll be too cunt-struck by her to last enough to make a statement?”

Aemond’s fists descended upon the polished wood of Aegon’d desk. He thrashed his brother with a defiant glare, and hissed through his gritted teeth, and tight-set jaw.

“There will be no bedding ceremony for my niece and I. Tell that to every Lord that wishes to glance upon my wife – if they do so much as to cast their hands on her, they’ll be fucking their own wives with a wooden cock.”

Amusement laced with grave concern – the finality of Aemond's words ought to have vexed him, irk the King in his sibling's weighty insolence. Instead Aegon nodded, pushing back the feeling of dread that settled deep within his bones. His head jerked towards his closed oak door, signalling to his brother that his visit had been overstated. “What sort of brother would I be, to not grant you with this simple whim?”

The younger Targaryen mirrored his stance, and turned abruptly on his heel after a low grunt of gratitude.

His hand reached for the golden handle, but Aegon's words deterred him to a halt.

“But be careful with that one, Aemond. She’s brash and wholly unpredictable. Make sure the blood that stains your sheets come morning isn’t somehow your very own.”

Perma Tag List: @welcometothelioncage @kravitzwhore ♡

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visenyaism · 14 days

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what triggered the daemon riverlands suicide bender again? like did he have a falling out with rhaenyra?

well the book doesn’t say a ton about what happened between them and it’s all made more confusing by the fake historical perspective and weird misogynistic characterization of rhaenyra and mysaria but. fire and blood unserious as it is establishes basically this sequence of events:

-once daemon and rhaenyra get to king’s landing he brings mysaria to court. they’re fucking every night which rhaenyra is seemingly fine with (surprisingly this bit is not a mushroom quote)

-rhaenyra makes a plan to end the war that includes daemon and nettles going and finding aemond in the riverlands to go kill him. unclear whose idea this was or whose idea it was to bring nettles also.

-daemon and nettles hole up in maidenpool because they can’t seem to find the worlds largest dragon actively terrorizing the countryside anywhere. they are weirdly close. because he’s grooming her. they cannot find aemond so theyre stuck like this for weeks. in my mind this is where daemon starts to lose the plot and just not have an exit strategy.

-two of the other dragonseeds betray rhaenyra and join up with daeron the not appearing in this narrative to sack tumbleton. rhaenyra reacts by charging up about 5% of the bastardphobia within the heart of the average team green twitter user and is like okay they are treacherous and base due to their bastard nature they all have to die right now.

-including nettles. rhaenyra sends a letter to the lord of maidenpool saying hey you have to kill this child my husband is obsessed with who is living under your roof i don’t care about guest rite i don’t care about him retaliating against you for this i am literally the king you gotta do it. don’t kill daemon though. xx rhaenyra

-this alienates daemon from rhaenyra permanently though he does take the time to call mysaria a whore and blame her for this too. what an upstanding guy.

-anyways the next morning nettles takes off out of the narrative on her lonesome and daemon tells the lord of maidenpool “this is the last you are ever going to see of me. tell aemond i’m at harrenhal” we can tell at this point there is no exit strategy but for:

-daemon engages in murder-suicide with his nephew who thinks they’re having a fight.

what do we learn about daemon from this? well that he has problems and also doesn’t ever have a long term plan

#i don’t understand the ‘she was like his daughter’ anti-grooming defense because like. yeah he has a thing for younger female relatives #a 16 yr old peasant girl going on an unsupervised indefinite field trip with a 50 yr old prince is what we would refer to as a problem #asoiaf #hotd spoilers #(?)

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milswrites · 2 months

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Out of the Mountain

Rhysand X Reader

Summary: It has been 50 long years since you last saw the man you love. With Amarantha's tyrannous rule finally at an end, Rhysand returns to Velaris. Only he's not the same male as he was when he left and with the discovery of his newfound bond with Prythian's saviour, it's time to learn the true meaning of letting someone you love go free.

Warnings: Angst and sadness :(

You were the last to hear the good news. Amarantha was dead. Prythian had been freed by a woman from the mortal lands. Rhysand had been freed.

It had been fifty torturously long years since you last looked into your love's violet eyes. Fifty years since you last felt his comforting embrace, since the promise of seeing you soon left his tender lips before he winnowed away, never to be seen again. Until now.

It had been agony. Trapped in the hidden paradise of Velaris, unable to go and help your love, never knowing how he was faring in the depths of that wretched mountain. Spending each tedious day wondering if the male was thinking about you just as much as you were him.

You were convinced you were dreaming when Mor showed up at your door. A crooked smile on her face as she told you it was over, that her cousin had finally returned, that he was safe in the proximity of his court once more. But her dark eyes told a different story, one of bleak suffering and heart-wrenching sorrows. That Rhysand had returned, but he was not the same man who had left.

This you had anticipated. You had always suspected that if Rhysand was fortunate enough to return, to leave the mountain with his life intact, that he would no doubt be baring the scars, both mental and physical, of his years entrapped in the soul-sucking caverns.

It took you an hour to compose yourself, to allow the tears you didn't want the male to see run dry. Tears born from both the joy of his return home and the fear of what you were about to witness. The thought alone of someone you love being in pain felt like a treacherous stab to the gut.

Once you were ready, with watery eyes and a sniffling nose, you made your way towards his room, to where Mor said he had escaped to. To where he was waiting for you.

You inhale deeply, attempting to quell your tears at the sight of his door. At what was once your door too before you found yourself unable to sleep in the room without him during his absence. The haunting smell of citrus and night-blooming jasmine was enough to make you feel nauseated, the thought of you being safe in his bed while he laid trapped in another was too overwhelming.

And so, for the first time in fifty years you found yourself pushing open the heavy wooden doors, eyes scanning the inside of the room for the familiar sight of your love.

"Rhys?" you called tentatively, stepping inside and drawing the doors to behind you. Moving further into his room before noticing the shadowy figure standing on the balcony outside.

"Rhysand?" you repeated his name, fearful of startling him, not knowing just how deep trauma’s grip on him was.

The male turned to face you as you glided through the glass doors to join him outside. The cooling, fresh breeze of night kissing your cheeks, helping some in quelling the rising wave of anxiety inside you that began to swell after Mor's appearance.

"Hello love" Rhys cracked a small smile as you cautiously walked until you were next to him, standing on the edge of the balcony as you overlooked the glistening city below.

You made to hug him, but stopped yourself, afraid to be the one to initiate contact, just in case the action was too much for him for handle.

The male sealed the distance for you, pulling you into a warm embrace as you wrapped you arms around him in turn. Nose pressed deeply into his chest as you absorbed his smell, exactly half a century and that hadn't changed at all.

You must have stayed in his hold for almost ten minutes. A few pearlescent tears being shed between the pair of you, but otherwise you stood in silence. Senses consuming every bit of him they possibly could.

It was Rhysand who pulled away first, arms falling from you as he instead moved to rest them on the edge of the balcony, you following suit as you placed yours beside his on the stone.

"I suppose we better talk" he said with a melancholic sadness, violet eyes unmoving from the city below.

A simple yes was all you could respond.

A few somber minutes passed before Rhys spoke again, his eyes now moving from the scene below to watch you next to him. "I missed you" he said the words you had longed to hear. The three words that told you he had thought of you just as you had him. But instead of the yearning in his voice that you had dreamt of hearing, there was only sadness.

"I missed you to Rhysand" you confessed, "I was so mad at you. For the wards you placed. I would have come running right after you if they didn't stop me from leaving."

"I know...I know" he flashed you a pitiful attempt of an appreciative smile, "That's one of the reasons I had to do it."

"It's really over?" you asked seeking reassurance, needing to hear that he was really here to stay.

"It's over" he confirmed, moving his supportive hand over yours on the cold stone of the balcony, "I'm not going anywhere."

Releasing a sigh of relief, you allowed your tense body to relax slightly. Hearing the words from his own lips were the only confirmation you needed. "Your back" you allowed the slither of a smile to cross you face as you said this, allowing yourself to momentarily celebrate the return of the man you love. The one you're hoping still loves you.

"I'm not the same" he stated, that ever-present sorrow still pouring from his shaky voice.

"No one expects you to be Rhys"

And it was true. Not a single one of you expected your laughing, carefree Rhysand to be the one who escaped from the mountain, the shadow of the man he used to be will always remain deep in the tunnels of Amarantha's stone cage. But there was always the hope that with time, with the love of his family, you may be able to draw the light out of the shell of the man before you.

But now, standing on the balcony next to him, you weren't too sure. A dreadful realization of truth burning in your chest, you would not be the one to mend Rhysand. To pick up the pieces and lovingly sew them back together for him. No, his expression told you that much.

"I found my mate."

There it was. The cursed words that you felt hovering in the air the moment you were in his presence. The truth that hid in his sorrowful face when you first saw him, the darkness that found it's home in Mor's eyes at your door.

There was always the possibility that he would have moved on in the years you were apart, perhaps needing a crutch to get him through his darkest hours. You had just prayed that the Mother was gracious enough not to allow it to be so. But it appears the cauldron had already made that decision for her.

"What's she like?" you asked, swallowing your sob, allowing the nip of the chill in the air to distract you from the pain you felt inside.

"Beautiful" he said wistfully, eyes turning to the stars that were dancing above you, "Stubborn, determined. In love with another male." His words turned to venom as he spat the last statement from his lips.

"Does she know?" you questioned, unable to stop your curiosity from seeking the answers you desired. Maybe...maybe if she knew and she were in love with another man there was still the chance this wasn't over. That this conversation was just the confession of a hurdle Rhys needed to leap over before you could truly be together again.

"No" he answered simply, jaws locking as he refused to tear his eyes from the stars which he had no doubt missed in his time under the mountain.

"Oh" was your response, unsure of what else to say to the male.

Rhys released a deep sigh as he squeezed your hand with his, you could tell he was trying to find the words he needed to say.

Taking the initiative you said them for him.

"We never had a chance did we?"

His thoughtful eyes searched your dejected ones, eyebrows knitted together as he spoke carefully, "I think we did. A long time ago. But a lot can change in fifty years...a lot has."

You nodded along with his words, a silver tear slipping down your cheek as it was your turn to cast your watery gaze to the sky in order to avoid Rhys's penetrating eyes.

"We were fun weren't we"

A sad laugh tore from your lips as you spoke. Your vision, which was locked on one singular bright star in the sky, began to blur.

"Yeah, we were" Rhys smiled softly, once more squeezing your hand in comfort, "We've shared some great memories."

"It's just time to make our own...separately" you mournfully stated, drawing your hand from his to wrap your arms around yourself, trying to protect yourself from the increasingly colder chill which was settling in your bones.

"Separately" he confirmed, "...You'll always be my what if. But this, whatever this is, I have to chase it."

The tears now flowed freely, liquid moonlight running down your shaking cheeks as you struggled to stay in control of your cries, "I hope you get your happy ending Rhysand. I really do. I can't think of anyone who deserves it more."

His violet eyes flashed with pain, lip trembling as he replied, "you too my love. I wish you everything and more."

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand imagine #rhysand acotar #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand angst #rhysand fanfic

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dark-and-kawaii · 3 months

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༺ 𝐹𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒽𝑜𝑜𝒹 ༻

Raphael & Being A Father

Summary: Just a few random Headcanons about Raphael being a father. Some can’t see him being a dad, but I on the other can. More specifically, a girl dad.

Notes: Please enjoy these headcanons xoxo

While he still holds himself in the highest regard, this little girl becomes a living extension of his pride. In the quiet moments when she's curled up on his chest, the Devil experiences a fond fondness he's unaccustomed to, a protective warmth that's both foreign and intoxicating. His narcissism, rather than being diluted, has found a new focus in the form of his child. He sees her not only as his progeny but as an extension of his greatness and power. He also sees her not just as his heir but as his greatest achievement, a testament to his own perceived perfection.

In the quiet moments when the screams of the damned are far below, he sits upon his chair, with his daughter curled atop his chest, and for once, the twisted smile that touches his lips is not borne of malevolence but of a father’s pride. He reads to her from ancient tomes of contracts, grooming her to be as formidable in mind as he is, ensuring his legacy will carry on through her.

As a father, Raphael is surprisingly indulgent. Every whim or desire his daughter expresses, he strives to fulfill, not solely out of love, but because in his eyes, she deserves the world due to her being his creation.

Raphael knew he was protective over you, but the protectiveness he had for his daughter surprised even himself. With the crown of Karsus in his possession and the future ruler of the Nine Hells just within his grasp, he is feared and revered. But with his daughter, a new narrative begins.

He is her guardian, her shield against the political machinations of the infernal court. Any devil, damned soul, or ambitious underling who dares to even glance in her direction with the wrong intention finds themselves facing torments unimaginable. His daughter will grow under his watchful eye, trained to navigate the treacherous politics of Hell, and any who pose a threat to her ascension are removed with ruthless efficiency.

When he can’t keep a close eye on her, Korilla is always there.

He has grand plans for his daughter, envisioning her as a true cambion princess who will help rule the Nine Hells beside him. He invests in her the knowledge of infernal magic and the cunning required to maintain power in a realm where betrayal is as common as brimstone.

The birth of his daughter was not foreseen in his grand scheme, but now that she exists, Raphael cannot imagine his House Of Hope without her. It helped that she was quite the silent baby, never fussing, and when she did you were there to help calm her little nerves.

Haarlep, ends up developing an unexpected fondness for the tiny heiress. Their role becomes that of an uncle almost, indulging her with whatever it is she wants. When Raphael is away, tending to the endless affairs of Hell, Haarlep steps in alongside you. Their mischievous nature can come out to play without any hesitation, the little child loves it. They teach her how to summon implings for her amusement, Haarlep loves when she yanks their tails.

In the absence of Raphael and you, Haarlep becomes the child's protector. They are surprisingly protective of her, a sentiment that has become a source of amusement to the other devils, who never thought they would see the day when an incubus would be so devoted to anyone other than their own pleasure. But Haarlep takes this duty seriously, understanding the importance of the heir he watches over considering this is Mephistopheles blood as well.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #tav #haarlep #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav #raphael

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kaiser-author-san-iii · 2 months

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Star Light, Star Bright | Fatui Harbingers x (Fem) Creator!Reader

A/N: okay okay. I'm very sorry for this overdue chapter. I've been busy farming for primogems and playing Stardew Valley. I have joined many other fandoms, especially with the release of the Spider-Man Across the Spiderverse movie, and have been collecting the comics. Sue me /j. I have a lot of stories that need updating haha. But anyway, thank you so much for the support you guys have given me. It's fantastic! I'll be sure to continue with the updates whenever possible! Any questions, please DM. Any suggestions, DM me!

Summary: Caring for children is hard, but it's especially harder when around the Fatui. Getting isekaied was the last thing on your mind after landing in the icy tundra of Snezhnaya all while your nephew is with you. What will happen when you encounter not only the Fatui Skirmishers but the Fatui Harbingers?

Tags/Warnings: female reader, Creator!reader, Cult Au, contains spoilers of the Archon Quests and World Quests (read at your own risk)

Not edited or beta read, we die like Signora

Chapter 3 | To Be Aware and Be Prepared

<<<First <<<Last Next>>>

MASTERLIST

OPERA EPICLESE, FONTAINE

It had started as a normal day. As normal as it could possibly get with the centrism of Lady Furina and the citizens of Fontaine. There was a pause before it then burst. At first, it was seemingly unnoticeable, but then the forests and the landscape became livelier. It seemed brighter and adventurers saw a decrease in Hilichurls, and slimes, and even the Abyss Order stopped whatever they were doing to... dance? It was certainly a strange sight, but at least there was less activity where civilians were being harmed. In fact, this was being seen all around Teyvat thanks to the Adventure's Guild insight and informing each nation's current ruling governments and Archons.

The archons themselves felt a different presence. A presence they have felt once upon a time ago. The same could be said with a certain Court Judge of Fontaine, a certain fellow dressed in blue, his long platinum blond hair and stoic expressions, he definitely felt a power he thought wouldn't be seen again in all of Fontaine.

A being almost as old as Teyvat themselves, but nowhere as powerful as the one that gave them life.

Before he could even make a decision as tremendous as the one all nations must follow, he needed more information.

He needed to send out anyone to locate their Beloved Creator.

Neuvilette felt to go himself and search for Them, but he had his duties. He simply couldn't abandon them. He is a powerful figure in Fontaine and everyone would be suspicious of his actions if he were to leave his office. They would be asking questions.

No.

This needed to be done in an orderly fashion.

If they were indeed in Teyvat, they would appreciate a calm and happy welcome instead of chaotic and frantic for their faithful followers.

Himself included as he needed to prove he, and Fontaine, would welcome Them with open hearts.

The Divine Creator... has finally descended onto Teyvat once again.

---

LIYUE HARBOR, LIYUE

The trembling of the mountains. The color in front of him wherever he faced. The weather the past few days was beautiful and the people, especially merchants who traveled through treacherous waters to make it to Liyue were grateful for calm waters.

But he knew of the reason why everything seemed so... calm, so perfect as if Teyvat themselves was behaving its absolute best. Especially with word from other nations that the monsters and even the Abyss Order had ceased their attacks on villages and cities. They had seen these beings celebrate nonstop and were quite stumped about what was happening. But the former Geo Archon knew all too well...

Zhongli, better known as Morax or Rex Lapis, had felt it within the very rocks around him. As a devout believer and follower of the Divine Creator, he was quite familiar with the power and aura They possessed.

It's said that the Sovereign Dragons were the very first to proclaim their loyalty to the Divine Creator and when their time of rule ended, the Archons and Gods followed in their footsteps. As an Adepti in the form of a great Dragon, or Exuvia, he would be loyal to his beloved Creator, a form he greatly prided in thanks to the words of the Divine Creator many centuries ago.

But now they were here.

They have descended at long last like they promised.

His many years of patience and loyalty were finally being rewarded with the very presence of They themselves.

Zhongli, the devout follower he is, must find them. Were they alright? Yes, they were an all-powerful being, but recalling correctly, even the mighty have weaknesses and with the importance of the Divine Creator, there's always a danger no matter how beloved you are. He had to go himself to find him.

No.

He could ask the other Adepti to relentlessly search through all of Liyue, to leave no rock unturned and locate where their Grace may be.

---

ZAPOLYARNY PALACE, SNEZHNAYA

The days have gotten warmer and brighter in Snezhnaya.

What with the presence of the Divine Creator that is. It was all that the Fatui and even the citizens of Snezhnaya were talking about. There was nonstop activity in the palace as everyone scrambled to perfect it all for the Divine Creator.

You.

Though it wasn't as overwhelming since your nephew was right beside you, who happily took everything with stride and awe.

He even became attached to the very people that he spoke with on the first day here. And there was no way to separate them or to even have the heart to tell him not to speak with them since he took after his parents and family. Stubborn little nugget.

He especially favored Childe and Scaramouche. He was quite heartbroken when he left and never came back. But, he has been receiving gifts 'anonymously' once in a while.

Meanwhile, you spoke more with the rest to know more about this world. They all unanimously agreed that the mortal body you and your nephew both have currently is due to the fact of the long absence from Teyvat you had. Since your nephew hasn't set foot in Teyvat until now, it might take him longer to adjust to his birthright powers and titles. But he was nonetheless Heir of Teyvat.

The Little Prince.

"They're working really hard, aren't they?" His voice echoed in the halls as you and him were on their way to play outside yet again. He was still a child and with no video games around, it was good for him to be active. Childe once made comment about how strong he was and what a potential warrior your nephew could be with proper training. However, you had the last say and it was not yet time to think about that.

Snezhnaya is still a cold nation so even with Teyvat making it slightly less cold, you and your nephew had to bundle up. This is where Pantalone's gifts came in handy. While you were still bedridden due to your injuries, he called in all the tailors of Teyvat to create a wardrobe fit for you and your nephew: The Divine Creator and the Heir of Teyvat.

It was a sight to behold all the boxes and bags that arrived at the palace - clothing made from rare beasts and cloth. All for you and your nephew.

"If there's one thing you don't question about other people, Nugget. It's their beliefs. It has a certain power that a lot of people have yet to understand." You commented, stopping to adjust his personal Harbinger Coat. It was one of the few items Pantalone commissioned - with the Heir of Teyvat present, might as well commission a child-sized Harbinger Coat.

"I think Mister Pierro and Mister Pulcinella said something about that. I don't know... it's not our birthdays though. We're just people, aren't we?"

"I'm not certain either. We're a long way from home and it might be a while before we can go back. But don't worry, we're together and that's all that matters. All we have to do is-"

"Go with the flow?"

"Ah. I taught you so well." You laughed, quickly moving to playfully pinch his cheeks before resuming your brief walk outside. Everyone else had their duties and you didn't want to disturb them. They all seemed to be important in the political and military worlds.

That was something that kinda threw you off. Something like this world seemed like in the past. Like maybe 1800's innovative past since there were snipers and even giant mechanical machines that can move on their own or by being piloted. It was definitely fantasy - like a dream.

But even in a fantasy world, with aspects aimed at child entertainment, there is danger. Arlecchino and Columbina were telling you all about it with a brief history lesson and a bit of current information about Teyvat today. It was definitely something to think about if you plan to travel Teyvat with or without the Harbingers, especially with your nephew.

"Your Grace. What a pleasant surprise." The voice was ahead and looking up, you could see the masked man, the Doctor. Dottore was the one who ended up healing you from your injuries from the accident. They never did find the person responsible for your accident. Though they never will.

The healing process went smoothly and tended to you alongside your nephew.

"My nephew wanted to play outside again. He saw everyone was occupied and didn't wish to intrude so we thought we could walk for a bit."

"The Heir has no worries. If he or your Grace has a request, we're bound to stop and fulfill your wishes."

Your nephew didn't need to be told twice and quickly marched his way over to the blue-haired man, took his hand, and started walking to the exit to face another cold day.

"Doctor, please play with Auntie and I."

Dottore was quite the character. The others filled you in on what they have done and their opinions of each other. Dottore was the one with the most negative background but no one could deny the intelligence or genius in his mind. But to think this wasn't even his true form. The man was quite the genius that he made a number of clones of himself of each stage of his life. As a scientist, as a pursuer of knowledge, even the kind that's better left alone, he thirsted for it.

"Of course, Your Highness. Your Grace, would it be troubling to accompany you two?"

He also performed...some experiments that in this world were unethical, from what you heard. But...they weren't the worst. No, there was definitely worse. You weren't justifying what he had done, you weren't one to stand on a higher moral ground than anyone else, you at least attempted to understand why. That is exactly what you concluded when you decided to speak and interact with Dottore.

"Not at all. My nephew has grown attached to you and the others."

The walk outside didn't take long. It was short and slow to appreciate the snowfall and the area around. Various Cryo Crystalflies quickly flew their way to your nephew and he gave chase all while a variety of animals appeared and decided to play with the Heir. Teyvat knew the little Prince's love for animals. You made sure he didn't stray too far, your eyes never leaving his form while Dottore kept the same pace as you, taking a few glimpses at you every now and then. There was a small silence - but it was comfortable.

"Why?" You broke the silence and Dottore turned his head, his mask hiding any expression he could have made.

"Pardon?"

"The Fatui. Why was it formed? I want the truth." Your eyes still focused on your nephew who danced along with the Crystalflies, laughing and happily throwing snow in the air before then falling and making snow angels.

Your reason for asking is with who you two have been identified as, and with a seemingly unknown way of going back home, you two will probably be dragged into this world's politics. Before you get involved, you have to see what it is all about. Would it be worth it? Are you currently with evil people? Misunderstood people? What is their goal?

Would it be dangerous to involve your nephew?

"There is quite a lot that a mere moment is not enough to disclose the Tsaristas and our organization's goal."

"Then I shall listen. I hear talk and before I pass 'judgment', I want to understand. I hear talk of other gods, but the mere mention of them besides the Tsarista, it's with contempt."

Dottore, like many of his colleagues and subordinates, has heard the stories, the creation of Teyvat that was retold by the very dragons they created and had them oversee Teyvat. And then Celestia arrived. They had become power-hungry, drunk from the love and attention the Divine Creator gave to them before. When the creator left, Celestia took over and everything changed. Teyvat became different, peace wasn't an option.

Wars started, innocents perished...

Nations demolished.

"The Tsarista fell in love with the idea of how Teyvat was before you left. A Teyvat where all lived in peace. Then Celestia came. Thousands of years ago, they proclaimed that seven gods would be chosen to rule over one of the seven nations. From the thousands of Gods that fought, along with mortals who fought to survive another day, Seven were indeed chosen to represent their following element. But even for Celestia that was not enough. Your Grace was fond of a nation, Khan'ri'ah. Khan'ri'ah was a nation that ruled without the intervention of a God, an Archon. So.. one day, Celestia proclaimed Khan'ri'ah to be sinners, a nation that went against the Divine Creator and was thus destroyed. The Tsarista understood, her eyes opened to what was being done, and isolated herself, to find people who shared her opinions on Celestia and the Divine besides you, Your Grace."

That was just a brief summary that you recreated after your talk with Dottore. He was quite honest and with a few words, you were able to piece together everything. And to think he was kicked out of the Akademiya because of his practices and the murder of a fellow scholar.

This was clearly a case of the black-white-gray morality.

Things aren't always what they seem.

"Several weeks ago, I thought I was human. A mortal who lived a mundane life who loves her nephew like her own. I'm here and I'm told I'm the God that created your world, but I somehow have no recollection of it."

The walk continued as your nephew seemed to head further away from you and Dottore. Dottore was listening. He knew you weren't done talking and he couldn't wait to hear. Would he hear criticism of the divine from the very being who created it in the first place? What kind of wisdom would she bestow that may rival the God of Wisdom herself.

"Pierro and the Tsarista mentioned that my memories of such events and my divinity would come back to me slowly. Especially for my nephew. He's still young, curious but young."

"Your Grace, you need not fear. The Fatui, us, the Harbingers, will be by your side for we and The Tsarista are loyal to no other than you and the Heir."

"But what if I am not who you think I am?" You asked, looking down at your arms, remembering the injuries and the blood that oozed. You remembered the color and thought it wasn't proof enough, but the gold blood was there. You even requested to see the bloodied gauze that had a clear gold color. The sparkle it held, the amount of power that it had.

"Highly unlikely. Every man, woman, and child knows firsthand that the Divine Creator's blood is unlike any living being in Teyvat. Eyewitnesses from your first time here have written quite a bit of information of you. There is no mistake. The Tsarista would have been the first to know."

"Auntie! Doctor! Look!" Your nephew shouted and quickly ran to you, the heavy atmosphere dissipating as your nephew smiled, his hands cupped to hide what it was that he was bound to show you two. Slowly, he opened his hands and a small light blue glow appeared and in the blink of an eye, a small Cryo Crystalfly appeared and took flight, joining the other Cryo crystalflies that surrounded the three.

Creation of new life.

A power only found in the Divine.

What kind of world did she find herself in?

TAGLIST:

@lizzhearthz, @yoshikuno, @anonclyde, @khalhaimdad, @ellenoir

@yunsblog030, @lsleepysimpl, @potol0ver, @kitty-chan33, @nasidibakar, @yoriichi-second-wife, @lilybythevalley, @esthelily, @liansh3ng, @bubbles-lounge, @chidouna, @okecaiditmemay, @angelofdarkness2, @emmbny, @vxsire, @mmeatt, @fybfjn, @nickey-diano, @reende-29,

If I missed anyone, let me know! I tried tagging some people, but tumblr must be weird. I probably will be posting this on Ao3 too. Thank you so much for your kind words, everyone! I hope to write more!

#genshin impact #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #Genshin impact cult au #fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #dottore x reader #pierro x reader #pantalone x reader #sagau cult au #sagau reader

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inexplicifics · 1 month

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Morvran Voorhis, first-ranked prince of Nilfgaard, has been sent to Kaer Morhen on a diplomatic mission. His tasks are twofold: first, negotiate a nonaggression treaty between the wild barbarian Warlord of the North and the Nilfgaardian Empire. And second, ingratiate himself with the mysterious Warlord’s daughter and heir apparent, Princess Cirilla.

Sir Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, a Vicovaran knight, has been assigned to protect young Prince Voorhis on this mission. Prince Voorhis may be the best of a bad lot, but Cahir’s still not looking forward to the threats or the temperature of a winter in the distant North.

They both know their mission is a dangerous one. But they don’t know where the true danger lies…and while they know how to navigate Nilfgaard’s treacherous court, they are not prepared for Kaer Morhen. This is a mission they might not survive…and if they do, they might be changed beyond all recognition.

#accidental warlord au #flung to catch a star

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redheadspark · 2 months

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Never Let You Go

Summary - It was tradition in your family: to go on a night flight

Warnings - Just some good ol' fluff :)

A/N - Part of my Ocean Eyes Series, this is where Alec is 3 years old!

As soon as Azriel opened the door gently, toeing off his boots to put along the shoe rack that was against the wall, he heard the soft pattering of feet running his way, having him break into a smile so wide.

"Daddy!"

He looked just in time as his legs were locked together by tiny arms, chuckling as a tiny body was against his legs and a pair of bright blue eyes looking right at him in excitement. He beamed, seeing the tiny Illyrian boy peer up at him as if he hung the moon. It was the same boy that he would work long hours for, go on treacherous missions with his life on the line, merely to give him a bright and safe future.

His 3 year old, Alec Rhysand.

"I've missed you, daddy!" He said in his tiny but mighty voice. Azriel's smile was massive now as he scooped up his son in his arms, tickling his side to hear Alec giggle while he held him close.

"I've missed you more, Alec. Were you good for your momma?"Azriel asked him as his son nodded.

"Uh-huh! I got to help her plant some flowers from Aunty Elaine today!" He said in excitement, "They're called sunflowers, they're Aunty Elaine's favorite!"

"That's nice of you!" Azriel said in a hum, placing his son back on the floor, "Where is your momma?"

"She's working on your birthday present!" He said excitedly, but he then slammed his mouth shut and covered his mouth with his fingers "I wasn't supposed to tell you! It's a surprise!" He said in a muffle behind his fingers.

Azriel kissed the top of his head, "Your secret's safe with me, buddy. Promise. You wanna go tell momma I'm home so I don't peak?"

Alec nodded excitedly, rushing off with his little feet down the small hallway to the shared bedroom as Azriel shrugged off his leathers. There was something about this little life, coming home after being away for hours on end to see his mate and son, having a small little home to hide away in from the chaos around him, he never thought he would ever want this. Truthfully, he never thought he could have this life, it seemed like a fever dream to him for centuries. To watch his loved ones have their families, to have their fairytale lives, Azriel coveted them at times.

Not anymore, not with this life he had now.

He inhaled your sweet scent as you walked into the living room, seeing you brought another wave of happiness as you grinned widely at him. He pulled you in his arms, breathing you in to breathe in the scent of soil and lavender along your skin, along with the coffee you recently had. You hummed, kissing his cheek as he peered at you lovingly.

"I've missed you today," he hummed.

"As did I," You replied, then pausing as you searched his eyes, "Feyre told me you were doing some recon today?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, trust me" He reassured you, seeing the small hint of concern as he squeezed your hand in his, "Just whispers that Rhysand wanted to confirm were true,"

You knew he would never lie to you when it came to his Spymaster duties and what he had to do, but you also knew that he could only tell you so much before the rest was confidential. Azriel was more than capable of taking care of himself when it came to spying or going on missions, he's done far too many for you to keep track. Then again, knowing him for so long and seeing him become the Spymaster of Night Court, you have also seen him get into way too close calls. Even coming home shaken to his core or a bit bloody from a mission going wrong, you still trusted him. There was no other being in any court that you trust more than your mate.

"Whispers?" You repeated, Azriel smiling and leaning in to kiss you sweetly. You hummed against his lips, feeling him pull you in a pinch closer to take your breath away. You had to give him credit, he knew how to distract you, which was a good tactic for a Spymaster to use to get what he wanted.

He barely pulled away, his lips brushing against your own as he grinned, "Whispers. I promise you,"

Though you eyed him you finally grinned and playfully pushed him away, hearing him laugh as you placed your hands on your hips, "I have dinner nearly done in the oven, and Nesta wants us to join her and Cassian at the House of Wind for dinner tomorrow night,"

"That should be fine," Azriel hummed as he ruffled his hair and followed you into the kitchen, seeing you poke your head in the oven to check on the chicken that was roasting and shift around the vegetables with a spoon, "Nesta's far along with her pregnancy isn't she?"

"She's due very soon," You explained, "I'm going to get some herbs together for her and cook her some meals too since I know it'll be harder for her to do it herself,"

"My wife, the saint," Azriel joked with you, though he ducked his head just in time as you threw a hand towel in his direction. He admired you wanting to help Nesta with her pregnancy, the news was a shock in all of the Inner Circle when Nesta made the announcement. After the shock diminished within a second, it was replaced with pure joy and happiness for her and Cassian, who was beaming with pride and giddiness. Nesta had plenty of questions and concerns about being a new mother, even with you and Feyre giving her plenty of advice and wisdom to soothe her worries. In the end, as her belly grew, so did her love for her unborn child.

She was determined she was having a boy, but Cassian shook his head at that theory, "It's a girl, I just know it,"

After Azriel and Alec washed up and helped set the table, the three of you were sitting around your cramped table and enjoying the dinner you made as the moon was slowly rising over the mountaintop, the stars finally making their appearance while the sun was now set over the bay. You watched Alec attempt to take a massive bite from the chicken, giving him a stern look as he was about to tear it with his teeth.

"Remember to use your fork, okay?" You reminded him calmly, seeing him nod as he grabbed his utensil.

"Sorry, momma," He replied, you then ruffling his hair as Azriel cleared his throat.

"Alec, Aunt Nesta, and Uncle Cassian invited us to dinner at their house tomorrow night," he informed your son, who perked up at the mention of his Aunt and Uncle, "You think we can bring them some food too?"

"Sure! I can make them the stew Aunty Nesta likes!" He said with a smile, "Is Aunty Nesta gonna have her baby soon?"

"It's almost time for that, buddy," You explained to him carefully, "But it's getting harder for her to do things now, so we're going to help her out as much as we can before the baby comes,"

"Oh, I can lift things for her since I'm strong! See?" Alec asked, flexing his tiny muscles in his arms. You giggled as Azriel smiled widely.

"You're quite strong, Alec. " Azriel hummed, reaching over to touch his arm and looking at his son in shock, "I think you're stronger than your Uncles!"

Alec laughed and hid his smile behind his tiny hands, you watching your mate and son having their interaction together with love in your eyes. Your meals together were always like this: light and filled with laughter of some sort. It was on purpose, of course, both you and Azriel loved making your meals with your son joyful. No matter how crazy your days were and how cramped your schedules were, dinner time was sacred for the three of you. A time to reconnect and to catch up on each other's days, a time to lean on each other when times were a little together.

But most of all, it was a time to simply fill each other up again.

"Daddy, can we go flying tonight?" Alec asked as he took a smaller bite from his chicken, Azriel eyeing him first before he looked over at you. You smiled, taking a bit from your plate as your son was waiting for an answer from his father. You felt it in the bond, the feeling of excitement and joy your mate was feeling with the thought of flying with his son in his arms. It was one of his new favorite things to do with Alec, almost a tradition of sorts. Once Alec was big enough to not be in a sling or strapped against you, either you or Azriel would hold him close and fly with him amongst the stars along the countryside. He was far too small to be taken high in the sky, but you both would take him high enough to see the city below and to look at the sea.

"Are you sure you wanna go fly?" Azriel asked, almost in a teasing tone since he knew the answer right away while Alec nodded his head rapidly and you hummed fondly.

"Remember what we talked about, Alec. It's up to your dad and if he wants to fly since he's been working all day today," You reminded your son, who looked at you earnestly and then back at Azriel. You could see from your spot at the table that Alec's eyes were shining in hope, a small little tactic that he would use on either one of you to get his way. Although he wasn't a spoiled child, nor was he rude, he was cute and would use that to his advantage from time to time.

"Please, daddy? Please?" Alec asked him, his blue eyes shining under the dining room light and the look of pure innocence on his face as Azriel smiled from ear to ear. If he could, he would give his son the world and then some, simply because he loved his son far too much. Far more than himself. To see his son grow every day, to watch him develop and make his path with the guidance of his mother and father, Azriel could not be more proud of Alec.

"As long as you help clear the table, then we can fly," Azriel said to him with a nod, Alec nearly jumped straight up in the air in glee as he fell out of his chair and rushed to Azriel. He hugged him close, Azriel chuckled as tiny arms were around him.

"Thank you, Daddy!" He said against Azriel's shirt, then grabbed Azriel's finished plate and walked a bit too briskly to the kitchen sink. You eyed your mate, seeing him slightly shrug from the stare you were giving him.

"You can't say no to him, can you?" You asked him in a teasing manner, though Azriel knew you meant well with your words.

"I don't have the heart to," Azriel confessed, you two gazing at each other as if you were young lovers all over again. However, the moment was short-lived as the sound of clattering dishes in the sink was heard.

"Sorry, Momma!" You heard. Both you and Azriel trying to contain your laughter.

"Alright, you got your jacket on?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Remember, what are my rules about flying with me?"

"I can't let go of you, I can't wiggle too much, and….and…". Alec paused, concentrating a bit too hard while he stood right in front of your cottage. You were shrugging on your jacket as Azriel knelt to tuck in the jacket Alec was wearing a bit more. He smiled at his son, who was now looking at his father for the last rule.

"Have fun, remember?" Azriel asked him, Alec giggling as he nodded his head, "And remember what I tell you every time we fly?"

"That you won't let me go!" Alec replied with no hesitation. Azriel felt his heart swell from hearing his son say that, ruffling his hair as he peered into his son's eyes.

"I will never let you go," He reassured Alec.

It was the first thing Azriel ever said to Alec when he took him flying for the first time. When Alec was a small babe, swaddled in his arms and looked up at his father in wonder as Azriel peered down at his infant child. He loved holding Alec when he was younger, finding every excuse to keep his child tucked close to him and feel his heartbeat and warmth. You remembered the very first time, Alec was a few months old and was acting rather fussy for you since you were trying to put him down for the night. It was his suggestion to hold him while flying, though he saw you were petrified at the thought of your son being so high up. So he opted to simply hover over the ground, the soft rhythm was making Alec beyond sleepy as he fought to stay awake and watch his father with immense love in his eyes.

Azriel kissed the top of his infant son's head as Alec fell asleep, whispering against his head, "I'll never let you go,"

Azriel picked up Alec, his hands under his armpits as Alec already shot out his hands in preparation. Azriel's wings were out and stretched at the ready, Alec already kicking in excitement while you were standing near the small garden that was to the side of the house.

"You ready?" Azriel asked, Alec giggled and nodded his head. Azriel then took to the air with one swoop of his wings, Alec laughing as he was now soaring by the tops of the trees and dipping downwards to catch some speed. Azriel made it look so easy, the way he would glide in the air with swift movements and precise turns, yet at the same time he wasn't going too fast for his son who was laughing and screeching.

"Go Daddy!" You could hear Alec yelling in delight as Azriel was getting a bit higher now, right over the cottage as he was making massive circles around the clearing and grassland where your home was. Alec had no sense of fear, not when he was protected by his father and flying with him. Though you loved flying with your son just as much, you knew deep down Alec would pick his dad over anybody else.

Perhaps you were taking a bit too long watching them in the air, or you were lost in your train of thought, but Azriel flew back down to hover in front of you, Alec sporting the biggest smile on his face as he gestured at you.

"Come on, momma! Come fly with me and Daddy!" He said to you, almost in a plead as you stretched out your wings. Azriel held his son a pinch tighter against his chest as you were getting your wings ready. You finally felt yourself lift off the ground, the crisp air against your skin and within your hair, the shining moon that was now hovering right over Velaris, it all felt perfect as you were now joining your mate and son in the air.

You too loved to fly, not being able to as much since you were tending to your son. But still, flying was second nature to you, a soothing sensation felt all over your body as you would take to the sky and let your wings carry you. Before Alec came into your life, you loved flying with Azriel side by side amongst the stars and on the darkest nights. It was a sacred time for you two to share and unwind together after a long hard day or a day filled with grief.

To share it with your son, was memorable.

As you held a sleeping Alec in your arms, taking him into his bedroom to change him into his pajamas and tuck him into his bed, Azriel was right behind you to watch with love in his hazel eyes. Seeing his son asleep and content in his mother's hold, being nestled into his blankets and already snoring away as you kissed his raven hair. Azriel wanted this for the rest of his days, a simple moment of seeing his son safe in his bed and already dreaming of new adventures. Then he pulled you in his arms, and you both walked across the hall to your bedroom to undress each other into your own pajamas and hold each other close in your bed.

Azriel watched you asleep, head on his shoulder and your lips slightly pursed as your light hair shined from the moonlight. He counted his lucky stars daily, more than once a day, that you were there with him and loving him through the good and the bad. There were plenty of times in the past when he thought you would indeed walk away, a bad choice on his part of a too-close call with a mission he was on. Azriel knew the sacrifice you made, and he wondered from time to time if being with him was the right choice.

He could only lean over to kiss your head, you humming and wrapping your arms around his waist to pull him in closer as you whispered with your eyes closed, "Sleep, my love. All is well,"

Azriel fell asleep to those three words, knowing they were true.

The End

Tagged - @valeridarkness @impossibelle @acourtofbatboydreams @prettylittlewrites @fxckmiup

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targaryen-dynasty · 8 months

Text

GUILELESS.

Daemon Targaryen x Martell!Reader

The streets of Flea Bottom most definitely were not the place a noblewoman like you should seek out at night, but tonight marked one of the last nights you got to enjoy your freedom for you were to wed in four days.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; CNC, DUB-CON, p in v, roleplay, profanity, tiddy fucking, degrading, punishing, humiliating, public sex, slight oral (m receiving) and overstimulation, blink and you‘ll miss the breeding and size kink, vague description of fem!Martell!Reader (dark hair, dark eyes, small body)

WORDS: 2.6 K

NOTES: Killing two birds with one stone with this thing. Written for this and this request.

The streets of Flea Bottom were in an uproar with hundreds of gold cloaks roaming around to restore law and order in the foulest and most lawless district of the Westerosi capital. It most definitely was not the place a noblewoman like you should seek out, but tonight marked one of the last nights you got to enjoy your freedom for you were to wed in four days.

Your reddish gown had been replaced by the clothes of a boy. A wide, black tunic and gray breeches hid your body, and your long, brown curls were covered by a black cloak. The boots you wore were surprisingly more comfortable than the sandals you wore around court, yet they were not at all appropriate to be paired to the finest, dornish silk you usually donned.

On your way through the dimly lit alleyways, you bumped shoulders with more than one commoner that fled the scene you were too eager to see. Coming closer to the source of the agonizing screams, you stopped just short of the crowd, barely out of the alleyway.

To your left was a pillow house, the ornate lamp of gilded metal and scarlet glass swung over the door casting you in a red light. You tried to move further and squeeze past the wall of curious bystanders, before your wrist was seized by something firm that caused you to gasp.

“A lady like you should be careful wandering the streets alone at such hour,” a deep voice drawled out. As you turned around, you immediately noticed who had you in a tight hold, the long, silver strands of hair peeking from beneath the helmet a dead giveaway–just like the surcoat depicting the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen that none of the other gold cloaks around you wore. Daemon Targaryen, Lord Commander of the City Watch.

You straightened your back, and decided not to show any of your emotions. Especially not the nervousness that soared through your veins. “I shall have you know that I am no lady,” you replied sternly, though there was a slight tremble in your smooth voice, “I am to be a princess soon.”

That seemed to amuse the man, your intimidation tactic clearly not working. “Oh, you most certainly are,” he replied with a mocking tone, “that is why I have found you in Flea Bottom, hm, dressed like what… a little boy?” Now there was a slight hint of uneasiness accompanying his words and presence, which had a shiver running up your spine. “As your princess, I command you to let go of me,” you pressed, trying to tug your arm back – but to no avail.

“You are a feisty little thing,” the gold cloak murmured with a sly smile. “It is a shame you are nothing more than a pretender. You would have made an excellent wife.” He didn’t even allow you to give him a reply, before his hand found the back of your neck to shove you into the pillow house to your left you had examined not long before.

Upon stumbling inside, you noticed that it was no pillow house but a simple brothel instead. Older wenches with more flesh to their hips and a used appearance did not hone the low quality the common room presented itself in. Considering the size of the crowd in front of the etablissement, it was surprising to spot not so many patrons inside.

“I–What–”

“I shall have you punished for those treacherous antics,” he barked, effectively cutting you off. The light tap he gave your rear caught you off guard, however, it was solely a ruse meant to distract you from both his hands grabbing the waistband of your breeches and undergarments to rather forcefully tug them down your body. It was nothing else than luck that the tunic you wore was long enough to cover your cunt for anyone that dared to catch a glimpse.

You gasped, and seized his hand on your hip that threatened to dive forwards between your legs. “My lord,” you protested, pretending that you did not know whose chest was pressed flush to your back, “you should not– I–”

Before you could protest even more, he had hauled you up against the breastplate of his armor, and you could merely look at him from over your shoulder, your dark eyes filled with lust. You started to struggle against his hold, yet his muscular arms snaked around your frame made it obvious you didn't stand a chance.

“Please, no,” you whimpered.

“Silence,” he bellowed, carrying you through the common room of the brothel to an alcove that granted you just some more privacy. While you were dropped unceremoniously on a chaise standing nearby, he brought a large hand up to the back of your neck, applying a good bit of pressure so you were kneeling on the chaise with your arse up and face down.

From behind you, you could hear a satisfied groan, no doubt spotting the glistening shimmer on your cunt from how aroused you were. When his calloused finger dragged through your soaked mound, you could not stifle a moan to leave your lips.

“Please, stop, my lord, I am still a maiden,” you whimpered, trying to get back up only to be pushed down again forceful enough to have you grunting just once. “Stay,” he warned, and you were foolish to not obey his command. You could faintly hear his hands fumbling with the buckles along the breastplate of his armor, your heartbeat pounding in your ears loud enough to almost drown out every other sound, removing them and allowing the steel to fall to the ground – piece after piece following in its wake. “I am betrothed,” you tried to reason.

You gasped as his hand served a firmer slap to your arse this time, the gentle rubbing of his palm not at all mending the stinging pain. “And you still will be once I am done with you,” came his stern reply. He dragged two fingers through your mound, from your entrance to the little bud, retorting to rubbing mindless patterns over it that had you pushing your hips against his fingers for a moment to chase the friction. Despite the moans that left your lips, you tried to snake your hand between your thighs to cover your cunt and arse, but he was quick enough to capture both your hands, bringing them together behind you to pin them to your back with one hand.

The gold cloak was skilled enough to unlace his breeches one-handed, freeing his cock out of its confines. “I shall refrain from spending my seed inside of your cunt for I do not desire to dishonor your betrothed,” he mumbled, his voice taking on a rougher edge.

“Do not do this, please,” you released a shaky breath, and every protest that threatened to follow caught in your throat the moment he dragged the tip of his cock through your swollen folds, resuming the movements he had previously made with his fingers.

The attempt to resist him was cut short when his cock breached your core, pushing into you at a teasingly slow pace that had you drawing in a sharp breath. “Your betrothed might get to breed you, but I took your maidenhead. You do best to remember that when he lays his filthy hands on you,” he groaned. The moment you stretched around him, all you could choke out was ‘yes, yes, yes,’ being in a stupor because of his cock.

With his hand still around your wrists, he pulled you onto his cock until his hips pressed against your rear, taking his time to adjust to your tightness. The ‘Gods’ he muttered under his breath didn’t go unnoticed by you, and it appeared that he didn’t know where to place his free hand as it squeezed your arse, tugged on your hair and eventually settled in the curve of your waist.

He pounded into you with reckless abandon, the tip of his cock brushing the spot inside of you that had your vision grow blurry over and over again. With your face pressed into a pillow resting on the chaise, you were not able to spot the feigned anger and jealousy blazing in his eyes. The only thing that made you aware of the amusement he found in that situation was the tone of his husky voice, making it more than clear that he had a smirk on his lips. “When I am done with you,” he rasped, bowing forward to put more of his weight on your small frame beneath his. “You shall desire no one else’s cock but mine.”

“Yes–” he interrupted your answer with a hard, percussive thrust, and then another, and another, until you couldn't focus on anything else but the delicious pressure inside your cunt. You pushed your hips back against him, and he reared up to pull you back with each of his thrusts, meeting him halfway which resulted in the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin bouncing off the walls. The position you were in, with your face pressed into the pillow, granted you some sense of feigned privacy, because otherwise you would have noticed some curious eyes lingering on you two whenever one of the customers or whores decided to prowl the scene unfolding.

“Let’s see how much you desire your betrothed’s cock after this.”

When his hips stilled, and the pleasure in the pit of your belly eased, you propped yourself up on your hands with his vice-like grip suddenly gone. You looked at him from over your shoulder, and if you were not so lost in the sight of him behind you, you would have pouted when he gripped the neckline of your tunic to rip the linen to shreds as if it was nothing, exposing the last bit of your body to the sticky air of the brothel.

His skin was glistening in the dim light the candles granted, small beads of sweat highlighting his muscles. His upper body was defined by numerous cuts and scars, a testament to the dangers he had survived in his short life already. As he glanced down to where his clock disappeared inside of you, strands of his silver hair fell into his face, framing his chiseled features. You were so focused on enjoying the view that you did not immediately catch on to what he had said to you, the words not registering in your mind.

It seemed that his patience was not infinite as he grabbed your waist and hoisted you up as if you weighed nothing, settling you down on the cold floor so you sat on your haunches. He sat down on the chaise with his legs spread, his thick cock flush against his lower stomach, and straining as he leaned back, hands resting on his muscular thighs. You tilted your head, affecting a look of defiance. His eyes flickered over your frame, taking in every exposed inch of skin, and he couldn't help but smirk. “I said I shall not dishonor your betrothed, did I not?” he said, and almost dismissively waved his hand in order for you to continue.

You took that as your cue to use your hands and mouth to coax him towards his peak, however, when you reached to grasp the base of his member, the dragon in front of you merely tsked. Without saying a word, he bowed forwards and brought his paw-like hands to the sides of your breasts, squeezing them together. At the realization of what he had in mind, your eyes widened in surprise, and when he raised an eyebrow with a slight tilt of his head, you knew what was expected of you.

While his hands merely released your breasts to allow you to lean forwards, it was your hand that fisted the base of his cock, still thoroughly lubricated with your arousal. You positioned yourself so his cock rested in the Vale between your breasts, only for him to squeeze them together around it again. “Good girl,“ he praised, and you craned your neck to give a teasing lick along the slit at the tip of his cock, which prompted the prince to take in a sharp breath.

He replied by bucking his hips up, his cock bumping against your slightly parted lips. While he smirked at you in a smug manner, you released a surprised gasp, your eyes flickering between his violet ones and his cock. With his hands on your breasts, he kept them pressed tightly around his member, using the crevice between them to race for completion. You raised and lowered your body in rhythm with his hips, licking and kissing the tip of his cock whenever it came close enough to your lips.

His fingers pinched and brushed the perky buds of your breasts, causing you to release one whimper after the other. It was a titillating sight, watching how your expression shifted to a more focused one as you moved your body for his pleasure, ignoring the throbbing at the apex of your legs as best as you could.

“What an obedient, little wench I have found on the streets of Flea Bottom,” he groaned, his voice raspier, indicating that he was close to reaching his peak. “So willing to please the Lord Commander of the City Watch. Do you like watching me fuck those perfect teats of yours?” You couldn't help but whine, a slight blush creeping onto your cheeks at his words like they were the most embarrassing thing you had ever heard. Dornish people were known for their sexual licentiousness, but that man in front of you seemed to top just that.

“Will you claim me, my lord?” you asked, innocently batting your eyelashes at him. But with his peak approaching him rather quickly, the last threads of his patience seemed to snap as he growled a ‘Tis husband for you’ in return, the thoughts of your well-schemed ploy long forgotten at the aspect of spending himself all over you, claiming you. With a strangled groan, Daemon reached his completion, his cock spurting between your breasts and onto your chest, throat, lips and even your tongue. The pinch on your perky buds turned painfully tight with the pleasure soaring through his veins, causing you to squirm a bit, and it took a moment for the tension to slowly subside.

He watched with hooded eyes as you licked his seed off the skin your tongue could reach, and when your hands came up to peel him off of you, there didn’t come any objection from him. You wrapped your lips around his cock, and took as much of him down your throat as possible. He breathed heavily as he bowed forwards, looming over you as he took in the debauched sight in front of him.

Daemon shivered and grunted as you cleaned him up, the overstimulation making him sensitive to your touch, and he fisted your hair to pull you off of him. With the remnants of his seed still on your chin, you smiled up at him, and you could see his flaccid cock slowly growing hard again. You rested your cheek on his thigh, staring up at him as you lazily tugged him to full hardness again

“Gods,” he groaned, the bump in his throat bobbing in anticipation. “I love you, t–,” you replied, the last word catching in your throat as he hoisted you up to straddle his hips. His hard cock was nestled between your bodies, and your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, fingers entangling in the strands of his silver hair.

“I am going to make you peak, and then I am fucking you until you can no longer walk and you are carrying my child,” he mumbled into the curve of your neck, sucking in your skin to leave some faint marks. “Just to show you how much I love you, wife.”

General Taglist: @aemondx @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1

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meiieiri · 6 months

Text

water’s edge | 01

₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au

₊˚.༄ author’s note: thank you so much to @angstbot2000, my awesome beta-reader for sitting through this 9.07k word count monstrosity of a first chapter! and with that, here we go~!

₊˚.༄ masterlist

He was every bit the worldly man portrayed to be by the media and that alone is enough to terrify you, even as you sit about a full foot apart from him, feeling the pinprick of his ice-cold demeanor pierce your skin like a thousand needles.

“Your Highness, how have we never heard of your relationship with Ms. (Y/N) before unlike your previous ones?”, a correspondent from the NHK Broadcasting Corporation asks from the crowd of reporters, surprisingly at their most civil and dignified behavior before their future emperor and empress, literal gods in mortal form, embodiment of unadulterated divinity on earth in Japan’s distinct imperial past, one much different from today’s democratic and liberal political climate.

Gojo’s eye twitches at that.

It was a simple question, but it struck a nerve in him, angering him more than you ever could by merely existing. Though it was a valid inquiry, all of Satoru’s relationships have always been well-documented by the media, save for one. His supposed relationship with you.

You move to clutch his hand in an attempt to calm him down, having sensed his discomfort, but he only shrugs his hand away before you could even come within a quarter of an inch of touching him.

“My apologies, your Highness,” the reporter apologizes quickly when Satoru doesn’t answer right away, turning to the woman in charge of the press conference, situated by the podium displaying the seal of the imperial family. “Sorry, may I rephrase that?”

She turns to look at the prince, subtly asking for his permission. With a slight nod of his head, Satoru doles out his merciful forgiveness towards the reporter, keenly aware that it would only take him a second to have his staff contact the NHK Broadcasting Company and have them fire him before he could even return to the office.

“Thank you,” he bows gratefully. “Rephrasing my earlier question, would your Highness mind if you share a few words about how you and Ms. (Y/N) met?”

Satoru Gojo is a man who goes by many identities, as attested by tabloids and reputable newspapers alike; they agree on the fact that Satoru Gojo is a womanizer, a card shark, and the harbinger of disaster to the imperial family. He never sleeps with the same woman more than once, oftentimes leaving a poor naive girl entangled in a mess of sheets even before the morning sun filters through the motel’s bedroom windows. The crown prince isn’t entirely heartless though, he is quite known to leave a generous sum of money tucked neatly in a small envelope as a “thank you” gift to all the women he’s been with.

Not that it dulls the sting of humiliation, of course, it still hurts like hell to be treated as an expendable commodity that’s only good for a one night stand.

Funny how that grotesque description is starting to sound like you.

Another rumor about Satoru Gojo is that he’s a reckless card shark; one who goes to fine hotels during after-hours when the bar and lounge is reworked into a gambling den for the ultra rich and wealthy, closed to the unsuspecting plebeians, only frequented by those whose morals fall within the scope of gray and obsidian black. The young prince has been rumored to religiously go to these kinds of establishments to play high stakes poker games more often than he ever visits the family shrine where his ancestors are entombed in an uneasy eternal rest. The poor Emperor Meiji must be rolling in his grave seeing the imperial family’s impending doom at the hands of his great great grandson whose only real ambition in life is to waste it on the vulgar things that high society hedonistically craves.

One last thing to keep in mind about your fiancé is that he is a consummate actor, having honed the talent of keeping up appearances since his first public appearance as a child of only seven years old, alongside his mother and father during the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics which Tokyo had been selected to host earlier that year.

He squeezes your hand, despite rejecting the compassionate gesture earlier, and looks deep into your eyes with false fondness, fully aware that he was imagining the face of another in place of yours.

His nails bitterly dig into your skin as the cameras go off, capturing the tender moment between the two of you. To anyone outside the circle which you and Satoru unwillingly find each other entrapped in, the two of you were the quintessential picture-perfect couple, gazing at one another as if the world the two of you had found yourselves in would spiral out of its orbit had one of you dared to look away, The tabloids have even begun to call your unexpected engagement a modern-day fairytale unfolding before everyone’s eyes.

But that was just it, this entire arrangement — you and Satoru Gojo were nothing more than unwilling participants in a fabricated Cinderella story.

“Well, we met informally a few times before, during the national shamisen competition held in Kyoto two years ago and the awarding ceremony of our very own national artists where she received the title of ‘national treasure’ earlier last year–”

The many reporters scribble this information down on their bullet journals or tablets, hoping to piece together the exact timeline of this relationship. It is rather peculiar for the crown prince to suddenly reveal he is getting married, and to some mystery woman at that — not that the press was unfamiliar with you,with most of them being very much aware of your identity as a renowned traditional Japanese instrumentalist, but what eludes them is the manner in which you found yourself suddenly romantically involved with Prince Satoru Gojo of all people, whose affairs are heavily publicized by the media. The grotesque manner in which it is publicized is a different story.

“But we first met formally during His Majesty the Emperor’s silver jubilee. His Majesty is a benefactor to the Japan Arts Council and is a patron to many music conservatories in the country, and as such, is very interested in the fine arts. It just so happened that Ms. (Y/N) had been invited to play for us on the night of the Royal Gala.”

That was typical; the prince first meets the princess in a ball, looking upon her absolutely enthralled as she enters the ballroom, captivated like he was under some form of trance. His eyes would stay glued to her as she danced along to the crescendo of the string quartet, the hem of her gown fluttering about her form like a gentle stream of star-fall as she twirled gracefully under the bright chandelier lights. His lips would be parted, dazedly wondering who the girl could be and if they were ever fated to meet again.

But alas, one has to remind themselves that the age of dreaming of such hopelessly romantic nonsense, especially at twenty-three, is long over.

FLASHBACK: His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee Gala

The Chrysanthemum Throne should have died the day the envoys of the late Emperor Shōwa, Foreign Minister Mamora Shigemitsu and General Yoshijiro Umezu, ascended the gangway of the USS Missouri to sign the unconditional surrender of the Japanese Empire to the allied forces that laid waste to the Japanese islands. With the allied powers marching onwards to the capital city of Tokyo, having left nothing in their wake but the ashes of an empire that had been brought to its knees by the fires of merciless destruction that rained from countless air raids, the narrative should have moved towards the abolishment of the entire imperial system and the immediate execution of the emperor. But in a bid to refashion the emperor as a symbol of continuity for Japan, General Douglas Macarthur’s decision to not hold Emperor Shōwa accountable for the war crimes committed in his name during the height of World War II allowed the last remnant of Japan’s imperial past to survive. Save for the removal of the emperor’s political power, the oldest monarchy in the world was left relatively unharmed.

Still, despite the fact that the imperial system had been effectively humbled after the war, this was not so evident as you walked through the imposing halls of the imperial palace.The Kita-Damari north lobby you passed through earlier gave an impression of uncontested refinement; the entire floor had been constructed from the most exquisite granite from Yamaguchi prefecture, and the walls embellished with cedar wood that can only be found in Kumamoto prefecture. If the lobby was meant to portray elegance, then, the Houmei-den State Banquet Hall exuded an air of absolute power that could make anyone tremble in the face of such magnificence; you could recognize the tapestry work of the legendary artist Gakuryo Nakamura as the main decoration piece for the walls, and even more rare stones and wood from Japan’s many prefectures serving as the foundation of the gargantuan hall.

It was half past nine when you accidentally locked eyes with the crown prince that night. This entire time, you’ve envisioned the imperial family as images on your phone screen. You didn’t think for one second that they could be real and that Satoru Gojo, the crown prince of your nation, despite all the disturbing rumors surrounding him these past few years, would be so ethereally beautiful, like he had been fashioned from pure celestial moonlight.

You avert your gaze immediately upon catching yourself staring at him, knowing you weren’t supposed to as part of royal protocol which you’d been thoroughly briefed on the moment you received the invitation to perform for the imperial family. You uneasily remove yourself from the hall in search of the lavatory to touch up your makeup when you come face-to-face with the empress who also excused herself from the festivities to get some air.

She doesn’t notice you at first as she continues to take a drag from her cigarette, staring blankly at the koi fish that swam about the courtyard garden’s pond. From afar, she looked to be an ordinary woman, not the untouchable monarch you thought she was alongside the rest of her family, her ivory hair was neatly pulled back into a tight bun, several crystal hair pieces dotting her silky locks. You quietly made your way towards the powder room, your pace slowing down as you inch closer to the empress not really knowing what to do.

Should you let her be while she’s having a moment to herself or do you intrude on the hallowed ground of her presence as protocol dictates with a low curtsy?

“Your Royal Highness,” you greet her, in a soft voice, stopping to curtsy as you pass by and she kindly hums in acknowledgement.

“Ms. (Y/N),” she turns to face you, discarding her half-finished cigarette in the jade ashtray. “Forgive me for smoking in front of you, do you mind?”

Secondhand smoke.

From that statement alone, though brief as it is, sheds light into the empress’s character as being empathetic, and compassionate. You shake your head, subconsciously playing with your clutch bag. “Thank you.” She reaches into her clutch bag again to pull out her pack, slotting a cigarette between her lips. “How are you enjoying the banquet so far? I hope it is to your liking.”

“I don’t think what I say should really matter. After all, I’m only a guest.” Your meek character causes the empress to let out the tiniest of laughs. A smile plays at your lips seeing her face morph into a soft chortle, her earlier troubles seemingly leaving her mind for a bit as she speaks with you. “But, in all seriousness, your Highness, I think the banquet is going well. Most of the other guests seem to feel the same way.”

The empress nods, relieved. “That’s good to hear, by the way, I hope your performance goes well,” she says. “His Majesty and I have been looking forward to it all evening.”

A blush paints your cheeks. As the only guest artist who will be playing a traditional Japanese instrument, the tsugaru shamisen, you were the odd one out among the other distinguished national artists who will be playing Western instruments such as the piano, the harp or the violin and many others. “That means a lot to me, your Highness, thank you,” you bow forty-five degrees.

“Well,” the empress says warmly, wrapping up the surprisingly refreshing conversation. “I wouldn’t want to keep you now, I’ll see you back inside,” she picks up her pearl-embellished clutch bag, and re-arranges her diamond tiara before excusing herself. As she makes her way back inside the reception hall to rejoin her family, she thinks back to the girl she just serendipitously met with a small smile on her face. Ms. (Y/N), she thinks to herself, recalling your name with a certain lightness in her heart.

Just then, her son, Satoru walks up to her, righting his lapel and the medal of the Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum pinned to the left breast-pocket of his full royal uniform. “Mother,” he greets her formally, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. Gojo’s face falls when he sees his mother’s watchful eyes anxiously scouring the room for a particular person. “Mother, what is it?” he asks, concerned at her expression. Suddenly, his mother stiffens when she finds the exact person she is looking for, obvious displeasure painting her features.

Satoru tries to calm his mother down, his voice as soft as a feather’s touch, “Mother…” he trails off.

“You brought her here?” the empress whispers harshly, almost in disbelief that her son would be so insolent enough to do such a thing — by ‘such a thing’, she meant unscrupulously bringing along his Machiavellian Chief-of-Staff, Himiko Zenin, who seemed to relish in the attention being gallantly given to her by the many foreign heads of state in the banquet hall.

“And what is she wearing?”

Her face contorts into one of annoyance when she sees Himiko parading around the unmistakable Akoya pearl necklace only to be worn by members of the imperial family on her neck. The empress is not one to use unsavory words even for someone she dislikes with every fiber of her being, but she could not help but liken Himiko to a bitch brandishing a new expensive collar. She swears the sight alone is enough to make her vomit. “Is she a member of the imperial family now, Satoru, what on earth—!”

“She’s not hurting anybody,” Satoru’s eyes narrowed into slits at his mother’s reaction.

“She’s hurting you!” the empress hisses, begging her son to see reason. Satoru has been made well-aware of the fact that keeping Himiko around was not good for his public image, yet, he still insists on fanning the flames that could sooner devour his pipe dream of inheriting his father’s crown.

Satoru glares at his mother, before proceeding to spare his radiant Chief-of-Staff an amused glance, a sense of pride forming in his chest seeing her alluring charm at work as she mingles effortlessly with his father’s guests. He often argues that Himiko is the blueprint of the perfect future consort — she comes from the Zenin political clan that has made Tokyo its political stronghold since the 1970s, she is intelligent in all ways from being fluent in many languages to knowing the law from inside out, charming and charismatic, and most of all, easy on the eyes. A smirk forms on Gojo’s lips when he sees Himiko sharing a laugh with the wife of the Russian ambassador as if to prove his point.

“Let’s just go,” he ignores her pleas, gently pulling his distraught mother away to take their seats next to his father, nonchalantly condoning Himiko’s brazen-faced behavior.

As long as he was around, no one could harm her, not even the empress.

“Acknowledging the representative correspondent from Nippon News Network, Mr. Nozomi. You may ask your question now,” the floor adjutant says into the microphone.

“Thank you,” Nozomi stands up, momentarily adjusting his press ID. He flips through his leatherbound notebook in search of the query he hastily wrote earlier. “This question is directed to Ms. (Y/N).” A spiteful quiet scoff escapes Satoru’s lips, sending waves of hurt in your chest. What could you possibly contribute to this already awkward conversation? And what did you even know about the imperial system’s traditions?

“Ms. (Y/N), I’d like to know your thoughts on marrying into the imperial family at this delicate time. As you probably know, many of our citizens are questioning the relevance of the imperial system now that our country has embraced democratic values over pro-imperialist ones, thus, leading to the formation of staunch anti-royalists groups. Do you believe that your marriage to Prince Satoru would bring about a positive change to Japan’s current political landscape?”

Your thoughts stutter. “Political…landscape?” you think aloud, and Satoru only smiles/smirks in cold amusement, taking a sip of his sparkling water and eyeing you from his peripheral, seeing you pathetically struggle to conjure up a coherent answer. You haven’t exactly gotten to learn about your duties yet as Gojo’s future wife and a future princess, and he was eager to see how you’ll worm your way out of this one. Of course you neither understood the intricacies of the world you were marrying into nor the unknown minefield you dared tread; most women who throw themselves at Gojo’s feet, kissing the soles of his shoes deplorably begging them to marry him, are like that — naive, unintelligent — he looks at your plain features again and rolls his eyes severely disappointed — and criminally boring to look at in comparison to the standard he has set.

“My apologies, Mr. Nozomi,” a soft smile graces Satoru’s lips when he hears her melodious voice cutting through the awkward tension in the air as you wrack your head for an answer. “But, it seems you’ve caught Ms. (Y/N) off guard there. Perhaps, you have another question that’s a bit…easier to understand? We are, after all, here to bear witness to an engagement, not a political fora.”

Himiko steps forward from her spot next to the member of the Imperial Household Agency who was facilitating this press conference, her dainty hands clasped in front of her in an immaculately proper posture befitting the crown prince’s Chief-of-Staff and his rightful future wife, or so Gojo thought. How he wished it had been her who sat next to him today, with the diamond encrusted engagement ring he reluctantly gave you adorning her ring finger instead. Gojo’s intrusive thoughts swarm in his mind as they tempt him to kiss her in front of all these cameras and single handedly destroy his engagement to you in a single, gut-wrenching blow. But he is quick to stop himself when he remembers his mother’s words earlier this morning.

“This is your last chance, Satoru. This is the last thing I can do to save you, please don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

At any point in time, he would have succumbed to his desire to expose his relationship with his beloved Chief-of-Staff, but this was a pivotal moment that could spell the end for him and his ambitions if he does so much as make a single move that could anger his father. And what’s worse was he might not be able to guarantee Himiko’s safety if that happens. Satoru, therefore, resigns himself to continue holding your hand, albeit reluctantly, his fingers finding the gaps of yours.

The reporter nods at Himiko’s backhanded request.

“My apologies, then,” he ratifies his question to make it more suitable for someone of your caliber. You couldn’t help but shrink into yourself, feeling that you are being patronized by everyone in this room — from your frigid fiancé to his Chief-of-Staff who was severely outclasses you in eloquence, refinement and sophistication and to all the members of the press that had been invited today whose reception to your engagement to the crown prince has been lukewarm at best. “My question then is—“

“—I am sorry for taking too long to answer your question, Mr. Nozomi.” Satoru’s eyes flicker over to yours, taken aback when you speak up. “I, unfortunately, am not yet that familiar with the current situation concerning these said groups, and,” you bite your lip, thinking of what to say next. “I don’t think I’m qualified enough to give an objective opinion on whether my marriage to his Highness will bring about a positive change to our nation.”

Gojo grimly scowls as he watches you make amends with your forthcoming destiny as his future wife, and heaven willing, empress of the nation.

“And I cannot promise that I will lead this country to greatness. I cannot grant laws to uphold and promote justice, I most certainly cannot lead our defense forces to defend our nation, but…”

You think back to why you came here in the first place, your heart pounds violently in your chest as adrenaline rushes through your entire body.

“But I can do this: I can dedicate my entire life to making this country a better place for our people, though, I still do not quite know the way. But I will most certainly do my utmost to try.”

FLASHBACK: His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee Gala

You don’t know how they do it — standing in front of a multitude of people under the glare of the limelight, about a thousand pairs of eyes trained on you as if at that moment, you stood at the very center of the world without cracking. This was the life they were born into, a life that overflowed with the contrasting worlds of luxury and duty, power and powerlessness, indulgence and deprivation. The women of the imperial family were dressed in the most luxurious of gowns with hundreds of precious stones sewn onto the fabric, and the men wore their dignified navy uniforms. All of the people in the hall have gathered far and wide to bring good tidings to the emperor and his family, bringing gifts of jewels, national treasures, and promises of a stronger alliance with Japan. Yet, something felt off about them — their faces, although trained and poised to smile, were pictures of discomfort.

The white-haired prince you had locked eyes with earlier, the one who watched you intently throughout your performance as you skillfully struck the strings of your shamisen with the bachi producing a sound that resonates deep within the primal past of Japan, stared at you with an unreadable expression as he clapped his hands. You offer him the smallest of smiles to be polite just like you did with the empress earlier when you found her smoking outside the banquet hall, but he does not reciprocate the gesture, his eyes devoid of any warmth unlike his mother. Standing before the crowd of many world leaders and the imperial family, you bow reverently before your public, your shamisen strapped to your body, while your calloused fingers gripped the bachi of the instrument.

The crowd thundered with applause, most of the foreign dignitaries rising to their feet, giving you a standing ovation as you finished your piece. You bow again when the applause continues for another minute or so.

Satoru grimaces when he hears his father whisper to his mother. “Isn’t she amazing?” he marvels at your performance, showering you with more praise for that brief number than he ever gave his son for the majority of his life.

The empress senses Satoru’s growing ire, and nudges her son’s arm, consoling him despite their earlier disagreement about bringing Himiko to the gala. Satoru doesn’t know what to feel. Despite all his shortcomings and his active efforts to build an impenetrable steel wall between them, his mother still does everything in her power to meet him halfway. As his hand reaches to find his mother’s, however, he spots Himiko exiting the hall, stopping mid-way to stare at him with her irresistible fox-like eyes, tempting him to follow her like a siren beckoning an unfortunate sailor to surrender to the abyssal depths.

“Satoru,” his mother says under her breath, holding onto the belief that her son could muster up the willpower to resist Himiko’s whims. The emperor was about to give his courtesy address, and having the crown prince walk out at this moment would be severely inappropriate, not to mention, damaging to his already bad reputation. “Satoru, please.”

His father ascends the steps, each stride evoking a deep sadness and longing in Satoru. Somehow, the crown prince hones in on the clicking of his father’s shoes against the granite floor, the same ones he’d have to fill someday when his father grows weary of their ancestors’ throne. The speech is pretty uneventful with his father going on and on about preserving the peace and harmony of his reign, his so-called Reiwa era, and vowing to continue his public service, which he had begun as a young man in the august of his own father’s reign, until the twilight of his days.

Harmony, Gojo thinks bitterly, a sneer appearing on his face. What did his old man know of such a word when all he’s done, so far, is sow the seeds of discord in his family?

“On that note, I’d like to express my deepest gratitude to all of you, our dear guests and to my fellow fathers and mothers of your own respective nations, who have so kindly come here today to renew our vows of selfless service to our peoples. May we all be imbued with endless wisdom in our pursuit of the greater good.”

The cameras go off like little flashes of lightning spontaneously piercing the dark, moody space of the reception hall.

What a fucking joke, Satoru scoffs into his champagne, the golden liquid staining his throat and holding back words of contempt towards his father. What did his father know of being a father when he had spent his entire life tearing apart his own family in the name of the throne? What did he know of harmony when he had done nothing but sow discord in the imperial house?

The emperor gives a slight nod of acknowledgement to the gracious applause he receives, and promptly makes his way over to his family who are in the process of arranging themselves for an official picture in front of the late Emperor Taisho’s magnum opus, his calligraphy painting that read: 永遠の恵み (Eternal grace) which is the imperial family’s personal motto and central dogma, to commemorate this momentous occasion. Satoru stands next to his father, his breath shallow as if being anywhere near his father could suffocate him.

“I see you’re still acting like the petulant child you are,” his father spat having already spotted Satoru’s little plaything in the crowd earlier tonight, despite the well-rehearsed smile on his face as the official photographer snaps photos in quick succession.

The tongue that Gojo has been holding finally breaks free from the dam that’s been holding the waters of resentment from bursting forth. “And I see you’re still an ass.” Hopefully, the photographers couldn’t hear their tense conversation lest it be the cause of another scandal;, the rumor mill didn’t need any more ammunition for yet another mudslinging campaign against the imperial family.

Oh, but wouldn’t it be interesting if Satoru made a scene to ruin his father’s special day by lewdly kissing his Chief-of-Staff for the entire world to see?

As if sensing her forbidden lover’s thoughts, Himiko saunters over to the official photographer, putting on the air of a devoted servant of the crown prince, ever present within ten feet from her master, when just minutes prior, she acted like she could replace the empress herself.

“You insolent—“ his father grits his teeth at the sight of Satoru’s tramp, absolutely furious.

“Please stop,” the empress spoke under her breath, close to tears. Why is it that whenever their family is together, which is a rare occasion in itself, it always ends in such painful conflict?

“If only we had another son-” the emperor continued his tirade against his only living son, the only legitimate child that he had been blessed with after years of trying to produce an heir with his wife. But there was not a scintilla of anger in his voice; that had long passed when the empress had effectively quelled the fury in his heart with her broken plea, instead there is only longing for things that cannot be.“-if only…Suguru had been our boy, our prince-”

And just like that, something breaks inside Satoru akin to a glass goblet imploding when it hits the floor. It was almost as if his father wished that he had never been born.

…”Fuck this,” the white-haired prince moves to leave, but his mother’s delicate touch catches his arm.

“Satoru, my little light.”

Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat when his mother calls him by his old childhood nickname. Little light. That’s what they wanted him to be since the moment his cerulean eyes first opened as a baby who has been unwillingly burdened with the weight of centuries of tradition on him the minute he was conceived. His name had already been predetermined to mean ‘enlightenment’; everyone wanted him to be a light for the nation, a hope for the people. The imperial family may have been reduced to mere powerless symbols of the constitution, but they are the embodiment of their people’s hopes and dreams for a better Japan. It took twenty years for the emperor and empress to be blessed with their little light, but now, it seems that everything is growing disorientingly dimmer at such an accelerated pace.

But the empress will not just stand by and watch the light get extinguished. “Please don’t do this, we need you.”

Of course he always craved to be beloved by the people, to become their bonafide and benevolent prince. It had always been his dream to inherit his father’s crown, to fill the impossibly large shoes of his ancestors. But, what is truly his dream or was this a dream unjustly forced onto him?

The wind howls more violently and the final flicker of the imperial family’s light loses the battle, as the candle that had first been set alight by their forebears is now reduced to a pool of wax. Satoru’s eyebrows furrow, utterly spent from all of this, and yanks back his arm from his mother’s grasp.

“You need your prince…but when will you ever need your son?”

And with that, he leaves, his free hand ripping off the Medal of the Order of the Chrysanthemum once he is a good distance away from the gala’s venue. Himiko stays behind for a few minutes to make sure that she isn’t giving off the impression of being so eager to follow the prince and condone his tantrum. Instead, she stares directly at the empress, emerald and sapphire clashing violently with one another, as she wordlessly celebrates her victory.

Mr. Nozomi, though known by his colleagues to be a no-nonsense kind of man, seems satisfied with your answer. It lacked some academic background, but it was a statement that was sure to bring comfort to the people. “Thank you, Ms. (Y/N). This is comforting to know,” the stout man with graying hair offers you a reassuring smile. It had been so long since many people, particularly and most especially in his age group, had ever had the honor of seeing such a warm-hearted future monarch whose words could almost easily calm others, and he dare say, even the violent Sea of Japan whose fury has long been felt in his freezing hometown of Hokkaido since time immemorial.

Satoru forces a smile at that, literally grinning and bearing it — by ‘it’, he meant your little display to outshine him, your future husband, the Crown.

“Any more questions?” the imperial house’s official speaker calls out as the room is filled with the sound of pen tips scratching on paper as the members of the press write down notes. This was going to be the wedding of the century, and they’d be damned if they couldn’t make a good story out of it. “None?”

“Actually, I have one.” Himiko gives the microphone to the correspondent from The Tokyo Times, the most reputable newspaper in the country. “I hope that this question doesn’t offend His Royal Highness, but if you may indulge me for a bit, don't you think the timing of this wedding is too sudden? I mean,” she clears her throat momentarily. “His Highness had only recently been allowed to appear before the public after he got arrested the other week, and now, he’s getting married.”

Just when you thought that the brutal questions would start to mellow out, one of the more hardened reporters all but crushes your remaining hope of this press conference ending on a good note.

All color drains from your face at that question. It was, indeed, warranted. If you had seen all this unfold before your very eyes, during your time as a commoner, the whole marriage would appear rushed, not to mention, fishy especially after the many Lesé-Majesté that had victimized the imperial family lately due to Gojo’s recent and very frequent scandals.

You look at your fiancé, heart pounding in your chest. What were you supposed to say to that? It’s not like you could be downright blunt about the whole reason why you’re getting married in the first place, that would only paint your soon-to-be husband’s family in a worse light; right now, people only challenge the relevance of the imperial family in a free democracy like Japan, you really don’t want to reach that point of no return when they start to despise the very notion of paying taxes to an institution that they feel is morally ambiguous.

Not to mention, such sentiment could put you and your fiancé in danger.

Satoru takes a deep breath through his nose, desperately calming himself before he says anything damning. How he wished he could have this petulant woman dragged out of there for such an offensive question but that would only prove her point.

Fortunately, Satoru is well-prepared for this, no matter how irritating his current predicament is. Having to be reminded of the greatest source of his humiliation is infuriating, but it could also provide him with the perfect opportunity to rewrite his public image and regain his footing in the act of succession currently being drafted by His Majesty, the Emperor.

All of a sudden, he rises to his full height, his hand not letting go of the sleeve of your white wool coat as he does. He casts you a disgusted look, seeing the expensive fabric hug your form; how is it even possible that you were wearing a high class outfit and still look like a cheap imitation of all the women he’s been with? He couldn’t begin to compare you to Himiko whose fashion sense and overall aura outshined yours; it would be like comparing rust to the Hope Diamond.

“Satoru, what are you doing?”

“Just follow my lead and drop that stupidly lost face you make all the time,” he hisses into your ear. “Now, stand up,” he commands, pretending to help you to your feet like the head-over-heels-in-love fiancé he’s meant to be and not the stone cold man whose last name will be the heaviest burden you’ll have to carry for the rest of your life. Well, by your life, you meant the snake pit that you now found yourself in with a fiancé who wishes you to fade from the fabric of existence and the prying eyes of the world keenly watching the drama that is yours and Satoru’s impending marriage.

Satoru smooths out any wrinkles on your dress before turning to the cameras. Gasps fill the room at what he does next. “Y-your Highness?” a journalist puts a hand over her mouth at the sight of the crown prince’s display of humble contrition: a bow, a plea for the forgiveness of his people. Following his lead, you also bow, your palms pressed against your thighs.

“I am sorry,” his tenor rings clear like the ringing of a shinto shrine’s suzu when a pilgrim first sets foot on the hallowed grounds of the temple. “As your prince, I understand that I have failed my family, His Imperial Majesty, the emperor, and Her Royal Highness, the empress. I have, in my recklessness, failed my ancestors, and the throne itself. But most of all, I, through my reckless actions, have failed each and every one of you who are probably watching this.”

Sincerity oozes out from each word, and you wonder, does Gojo actually mean any of this? Or was this another one of his well-rehearsed theatrics? And if this, his first public apology for all the atrocious things he’s done, is all conjured from the distorted playwright that is Prince Satoru Gojo, then, you could only pray that he takes pity on you and does not make an actress out of you.

FLASHBACK: The Imperial Palace of Tokyo (An hour after His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee Gala)

Satoru painfully eyes his mother who earlier tonight had cruelly given him the false hope that she would always advocate for him only to avert her gaze, screwing her eyes shut as if by doing so — all of this — all the undue hurt that her son had caused the family would magically go away. “Mother.” Is she even qualified to still be called that when she has proved tonight that she would abandon her son in his time of need without a moment’s hesitation?

What his father says next is so hypocritical that it makes even hardened criminals look more honest and self-aware than him. “Don’t use that tone on her, don’t even dare.”

Satoru scoffs angrily, he can’t believe this. “I didn’t know you’ve recently decided to be a devoted husband now,” he snarls but his father doesn’t budge, he was not going to entertain his foolish son’s tantrums today. The emperor only pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily, desperately seeking out the reason he has been dealt the unfortunate hand of having such a heathenous son.

“I don’t even know what to say.” What can be said when face to face with such a vile predicament? Normally, his disagreements with Satoru would be tempered by his wife’s intervention, pleading with him to spare the heir to the throne of unforgiving punishments that brewed within a wrathful father’s mind; the last time was Satoru’s humiliating suspension from his public duties and the instance before that, a severe cut in his monthly salary as a public official funded personally by the people he blatantly betrays in his acts of wanton avarice. The difference between those times and this unfortunate situation is that in the past, one could still detect some semblance of remorse in Satoru’s demeanor.

All that is gone now. If one were to compare Satoru to a criminal, he is already a hardened one, desensitized to his wrongdoings.

The steel handcuffs which hugged the skin of Satoru’s wrists prove that, at this point in time, the heir to throne’s character was in serious jeopardy. “Your Majesty, you can reprimand your son however you’d like, but, please do not have him chained up like some animal.” She knows such a request is wrong. Like a dog released from a painful muzzle, Satoru would only grow more rabid with his actions. In the past, he was fueled by a desire for attention, now, after this night, he would be fueled by spite.

Other than the imperial family, three police officers who came from the Kabukichō district where Satoru had been reported to be physically assaulting a fellow gambler when a high stakes poker game had turned in favor of his opponent are in the room, witnessing all this happen with bated breath. It took at least five officers to pry Satoru off the bloodied middle aged man who had a foot in his grave by the time the crown prince was done obliterating his face, and another five to escort him into the police mobile.

All of this transpired on the night of the silver jubilee gala. Mere hours after Satoru took off.

A horrified silence had befallen the entire banquet hall when the news broke out, immediately going viral on every social media platform.

The emperor contemplates his wife’s words for but a passing moment when he decides otherwise, turning to the men in blue, his voice is authoritative and could make any devil tremble in their boots. “Thank you for reprimanding my son,” he sighs. “I can assure you that—“

The Tokyo metropolitan police officers alongside the imperial police await the decision of the emperor, but have already begun to pull out the keys to Satoru’s handcuffs thinking that His Majesty would have him released.

“—All charges pressed against Satoru Gojo will proceed accordingly and—“

And for once in his life, Satoru feels the unmistakable emotion — terror. “—What?” Satoru is livid at this point. “Father!”

He merely ignores Satoru, his eyes trained at the shocked faces of the many officers whose feet are still planted to the ground.

“—And that I will be allowing all concerned members of all law enforcement units who responded tonight to take him into custody until the date of his full criminal trial should any take place. As such, I now declare Satoru Gojo’s claim to the throne as null and void, and his title of crown prince forfeited in favor of his brother, Suguru Geto—“

It was at this time that Himiko once again barges in just as Satoru is being led away, surprisingly, she was now wearing her usual uniform of a black suit and pencil skirt. She immediately throws herself at the feet of the emperor. Where was the bravado she so proudly displayed at the jubilee gala by indirectly confronting the empress? Gone. Where were the pearls she had practically worn without authorization of the people who were permitted to wear them? Now replaced with her fake 12-karat gold necklace that she wore since childhood. “Your Majesty,” she kneels before him like her pleas would reach the emperor’s stony heart. “Please don’t do this—“

The emperor and empress angrily turn towards her, their eyes ablaze. What was she doing here? “I have half a mind to have you arrested too, Ms. Zenin!” the emperor growls. Himiko was there at the scene of the crime, after all, and having her arrested would greatly destabilize the hold she possessed on the imperial family through her illicit affair with the crown prince. “Now, drop it!” the emperor yells at the sputtering girl. “I have allowed you to lead my son astray for too long and now it is time for me, his father, to discipline him, unless, of course…you’re willing to take his punishment for him.”

“Yes,” Himiko nods frantically. “Please do whatever you want with me, I-I will gladly accept it all.”

“No!” Satoru resists against the officers, as the imperial guards begin to restrain Himiko who makes a pained sound when she, too, is given handcuffs of her own. “Don’t hurt her! Please don’t hurt her!” It was the plea of a being in love, seeing his lover take all his father’s bullets. “Father! I’m begging you—!”

“—And how long have you made the empress and I beg for you to straighten out your life?!”

“—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Satoru was exhibiting signs of mental distress at this point, his eyes brimming with tears like he were a child who had been told he was grounded. “Your Majesty,” he reverts to calling his father by his official title. “Please…please. Just let her go.”

How incredibly touching: two sworn lovers protecting one another to the bitter end, selflessly taking the fall for the other, shielding their beloved from any danger that might befall them. Only problem is…this toxic partnership between a prince whose life’s purpose is to stupidly follow his heart with gross disregard for those around him and a woman whose negative influence is demolishing her beloved’s reputation.

While the country is reeling from an economic recession, here Satoru and Himiko were indulging in yacht trips, while the impoverished scrounge for food in Tokyo’s many landfills, the crown prince and his girlfriend attended lavish state banquets left and right, while the homeless sleep under a resin-roofed bus stop at the height of winter, Satoru gifts countless of properties to Himiko as if one home couldn’t possibly be enough for the woman he so desperately loves.

“Satoru,” Himiko sniffles as she is slowly taken away, defiantly calling him by his name rather than his official title in front of Their Majesties. As if by doing so, that would help hers and Satoru’s case.

Gojo shakes his head furiously, his eyes welling up with tears. “Mother, please don’t do this.”

If this was going to be the end of them, then, Satoru hoped that his family would, at least, allow Himiko to return to being a private citizen, to walk away from all of this a free woman, free to live out the rest of her life away from the schadenfreude of the imperial court. Even if it meant never having to see her again, feel her warm touch against his skin the same way the sun bathes the earth in its resplendent glow, kiss her with the passion of someone who could have been a devoted husband to her had they been born in different circumstances, he will do anything. He would count the very stars in the sky if he could, die a thousand deaths if he must, if it meant allowing Himiko to be spared the pain of being branded as a criminal and placed behind bars.

“I’ll do anything, please just don’t hurt the woman I love.”

If only Satoru put more effort into earning the love of his people the same way he’s now willing to humbly bow his head to cossett the love of his life. Akiko Gojo gasps quietly when her prideful son falls to his knees in supplication. Suddenly, she is filled with memories of a younger Satoru who was once chastised by his courtiers for tripping on his own feet while he frolicked and played in the palace gardens, and how she didn’t think twice to comfortingly lift him into her arms while his retainer had been so content leaving him on the ground, his scraped knee ailing him as he struggled to stand up.

The empress’s feet seemed to have been possessed by a mind of their own, as she took one step forward, her sorrowful eyes trained on her crying son. “Satoru,” she gently crouches down next to him. “Oh, my little light,” she calls him by his childhood nickname. “Please don’t cry,” she weeps as she wipes his tears away with her thumbs. She shouldn’t be doing this, knowing that Satoru would only take advantage of the knowledge that she’s always going to be there for him regardless of what he does and what monster he becomes.

But seeing her child, her only boy, in the thralls of desolation is too much for her frail heart. So, she makes the choice for him, standing firm before her husband who has always taken the lead in their marriage. “Your Majesty, I beg you to not make a criminal out of Satoru, and reconsider restoring him to the succession. Please have mercy on your son.” His only legitimate heir. If Suguru were to inherit the throne, it would only throw their family into more chaos, and with the events of tonight, the imperial house could benefit from letting Satoru’s recent mishap die quietly. It would be disastrous for everyone if, on the anniversary of his father’s coronation, Satoru were to be unceremoniously thrown out of the palace.

“Akiko,” the emperor involuntarily utters his wife’s name, surprised at her sudden decision to stand up for their degenerate son.

From the moment the 2.3 pound Meiji tiara first touched her head, she relinquished all sense of self to the crown — her surname, her childish desires to lead a normal life, her civilian antics, everything — but now, here she stood before him, not as Empress Akiko but the liberal-minded woman that the emperor fell in love with as a young man. She may have given up everything to forge herself anew as empress of the country, but there is one thing that she has kept under lock and key so that the crown may never hope to steal it from her: her unconditional love for her son.

“Your Majesty,” she glances at Satoru’s kneeling form, her heart clenching in her chest. I’m sorry, my little light, she silently apologizes to her son, the last thing she wants is to seek the impossible from him, but if this was the only way that his future will be secured, then, she’ll just have to be the awful mother that Gojo thinks her to be. “I have a proposition for you.”

A journalist looks up from his laptop, dumbfounded at what he’s witnessing. “…No way,” he says under his breath. It wasn’t everyday you see a monarch bow before his people begging to be pardoned, but then again, no other monarch in the world is more problematic than Satoru Gojo.

Satoru clutches the fabric of his slacks, his knuckles turning white as he does so. This was so humiliating for him, having to apologize to mere nobodies whose existence wouldn’t even make it to the footnotes of history books to be written a hundred years from now. “I know my words mean nothing after everything I’ve done and the people I hurt, but still, I am sorry,” Satoru utters the apology again as if by saying it a second time, it would hasten his godforsaken sentence that is to be locked in a vile marriage with you.

He’s made it clear earlier by his gestures that he wants nothing to do with you, but perhaps that was only because you hardly know one another, you don’t exactly run in the same circle as him, you don’t have the slightest connection to any political dynasty — not by affiliation, and most certainly not by blood — nor were you some heiress to some long standing conglomerate that the imperial family is closely acquainted with. Perhaps it was just that. All of this animosity stems from the disturbing fact that you couldn’t even call yourself friends now here you were betrothed to one another announcing your engagement to the world.

But, something doesn’t feel right.

Shouldn’t awkwardness between you and Satoru be the worst thing that could come from this shotgun arrangement? You understand that this situation is uncomfortable for him as much as it is terrifying for you but is this truly enough to warrant his hatred? It’s not like you actively volunteered for the part, after all, yet he acts as if you had been the prime instigator of this marriage. You find yourself caught between wanting to keep him at arms’ length to advocate for tense but peaceful silence in your marriage and wanting to become his true and altruistic wife to get to know him better but at the expense of your emotional well-being knowing that he’ll probably hurl new insults at you.

At this point, the former seems to be the safest option, but there is something so deeply intriguing and captivating in Satoru that you ignore all the warning signs altogether.

Satoru ends the press conference by re-announcing the date of the wedding which will take place next week. You follow him out of the hall, meekly walking three steps behind him. Suddenly, he stops in his tracks, burying his hands in his pocket, adopting a more casual posture. You expect him to berate you for some unknown faux pas you’ve committed during the press conference but instead, you are met with something else. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

He turns around to face you, he doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look too invested in the conversation either. He just seemed indifferent. His eyes dart around the expanse of the corridor, someone could be listening in to this conversation — the palace has eyes and ears everywhere after all — he needs to temper his tongue lest he angers the emperor or the empress, despite every nerve in his body tempting him to spew more vitriol at you.

Waving a dismissive hand, you shake your head, instantly forgiving him earlier. “No, I must have overstepped my boundaries, I understand and I’m sorry.”

Gojo sighs heavily, offering you a small nod. “Let’s just forget about it,” he says. “It’s getting late,” he notes the time on his watch. “You should probably head home to rest.” That was…surprisingly kind of him.

“A-actually,” you unconsciously play with your engagement ring. “I wanted to ask if you were free tonight so we could…have dinner together.” The empress encouraged the both of you to get to know each other, after all. “I know it must be difficult being engaged to me when you don’t even know me.”

Satoru lets out a weak laugh. He wasn’t at all interested in getting to know you, frankly, he couldn’t give two shits, but it was amusing for him to see how delusional you are.

“I see,” he notes in a business-like manner. “Well, perhaps another time since I have an urgent appointment tonight and I’m already running late.” You can’t even pretend to not be disappointed when you’ve already taken the liberty of reserving seats for the two of you at a nearby restaurant you frequently visit. He plants a parting kiss on your cheek, but something about it feels so detached and hollow, but who were you to expect more when he didn’t harbor an ounce of affection for you? You nod against the kiss, curtsying as he walks away.

“What a day.” You discard the many hair pins that neatly gathered your hair into a half-updo, grimacing at the stickiness of your locks from the copious amount of hairspray that had been applied to it. Sighing, you get into your car, removing the standard four inch pumps you’ve been instructed to wear, as per the dress protocol set by the Imperial Household Agency for female members of the imperial family when they attend public events, in favor of your more laidback ballet flats.

As you drive out of the main compound of the palace, you are surprised to see Satoru, accompanied by what looks like eight bodyguards, hastily making his way to the official car used by the emperor. He waits as his chauffeur brings the car around, but for some reason, he does not look impatient for someone who is supposedly running late for an urgent appointment, he is leisurely tapping away on his phone. Suddenly, something catches you off guard. A boyish grin appears on Satoru’s face when he is approached by a figure that looks like a woman.

An awfully familiar one.

You don’t know if it must be the heat from your car’s air conditioning unit but — you feel your heart in your throat, no, to be accurate, you feel like you’ve been winded by a punch to the gut — you understand why she would be with him given her position and all, but why was Satoru draping his suit over his Chief-of-Staff’s narrow shoulders?

…

And…why is she kissing your fiancé’s cheek?

water’s edge taglist: @dummyf @kentokaze @esthelily @mandysfanfics @strawberryjimin13 @mat71201 @snowprincesa1 @naturallyspontaneous @kooromin @gojoist @dcvilxswish @13-09-01 @peachipeachy @iluv-ace @sawendel @helloitsshitzulover @jjuniescuderia @ackermendick @starrylibras @timetobegone @heelariously @idktbhloley @jjuniescuderia

#fic: water’s edge #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru x reader #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo x you angst #geto angst #gojo x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader angst #gojo angst

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pit-and-the-pen · 5 days

Text

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

A/N: Part Two to Requited Love

I know people have been waiting for this. And the poll is still active but I couldn’t wait any longer. There are two endings and this is the unofficial (in terms of my ongoing Sunbeam series) Azriel ending but… just bare with me

Read the other ending Here

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort , implied smut (not with Az)

WC:4.4 K

divider by @cafekitsune

The next morning I was in Rhys office. He barely even looked up from the paper strewn over his desk before I spoke.

“I’m going back home.”

“Fuck off. Let him be mad if he wants to be mad.” I snapped.

“Mad isn’t exactly how I would put it,” He paused looking at me. “What happened?” The High Lord questioned. I sighed not having the strength to recount the events from last night.

“Nothing but the inevitable.” he frowned at my non-answer but didn’t press any harder.

“I’ll miss you. We all will.” He said finally. I nodded.

“You all should visit.” Not an I’ll visit. No. If I could avoid it I would never step foot into this miserable court ever again.

Once I had gotten settled into my room, I hugged Mor goodbye and thanked her for her help. She just gave me a tighter hug and told me she would visit soon.

It was two weeks before I could see Helion.Two weeks of settling back into my court that I loved so dearly. Helion

He was visiting Dawn court for some trade agreement that needed to be signed. I came by every day, asking if he’d returned you. His second would just silently shake her head at me. And I would stomp back to my room like an angry babe.

“Sunbeam!” He called out when saw my face. “I had hoped the rumors of you moving back home were true.” He walked around the desk and gave me a brisk hug. Very out of character for him.

“You’re not an easy man to schedule an appointment with, Helion.” I smiled warmly at the High Lord of my court.

“If you wanted a piece of me, you only had to say the words and I would have come running darling.” There's the flirt I remember. I thought, rolling my eyes.

“But judging by your urgency in requesting a meeting that my second expressed to me, I’m going to assume that’s not what you wanted to see me for.”

My smile dropped as I braced myself for the question I needed to ask him.

“I need you to break a mating bond”

“I know you well enough to know that you don’t run away from hard things.” He held me against his chest as I really started to sob.

“Helion. Every second that I’m away from him it kills me. I’m over here dying inside over some male who only ever saw me as a second option.”

Helion was powerful, but apparently not powerful enough to break a mating bond. Many had tried but no one had ever successfully achieved it without one or both parties dying. As much as I resented Azriel, I didn’t want to kill him, nor myself to be rid of him. So I would just keep ignoring that little golden feeling in my chest, the feeling that seemed to be growing more everyday.

Worst of all, I truly did miss Azriel. Time had given my anger less of an edge. Thinking of him didn’t hurt the way it once had. Didn’t have me spiraling in on myself until I was nothing more than sobs. I still wasn’t ready to forgive him but I wasn’t angry anymore and that had to count for something right? And it had nothing with the small feelings I would occasionally receive from the other end of the bond. I don’t know if he was consciously doing it or if it was purely because of the depth of the emotions he felt.

I stopped looking for ways to sever the bond between us. Content with just letting it sit unreturned in my chest for the rest of my very long life.

The ball was just a few days away and I was so excited as dress after dress were brought into my room for me to try on. The one that ended up catching my eye was a floor length glossimer dress, such a pale golden color it looked almost like sunlight itself. The bottom was dyed a light pink color that flowed into it seamlessly. It took my breath away as the last button snapped into place. It fit like a glove and I knew instantly this was the dress I had to wear.

Facing the mirror, I was blown away by the person standing in front of me. I didn’t recognize her. My hair was pinned up into a flowing updo at the base of my neck. I caught eyes in the mirror and whirled around to see Helion racking his eyes over my figure.

“Keep your pants on Helion. We have a ball to get to.”

“I’m High Lord. I can be late.” His pupils had dilated and I rolled my eyes, pushing him out the door before I linked my arm into his.

“If I had known you danced this good, I would have pulled you out of that miserable court a long time ago.” He spoke into the shell of my ear. “I’ll never understand what the Shadowslinger was thinking, even I could smell the mating bond on you. Plus, one look at me with those beautiful doe eyes and I would have been putty in your hands.” He nipped at my earlobe and I felt it deep in my stomach. But I couldn’t help that twinge in my gut that made this feel wrong. Even with all of him pressed up against me. Eris would only have to say the words and any fae in Prythian would be on their knees before them. Even I had to admit he was devastatingly handsome. So I fought against that little voice screaming at me and leaned into his touch more.

Before I knew what had happened, I felt Eris’ warmth leave me. I shuddered at the new chill in the air. When I looked around, I saw shadows wrapped around my torso, lovingly coiled around my waist. I almost smiled at their weight.

“Keep your hands off of her.” Azriel growled at the High Lord woh did nothing but smirk at me as I was pulled from the room onto a balcony just outside the ballroom.

“You had no right!” I screeched at him, wrenching my arm from his grasp. Anger seethed through me. I felt my palms heat up from the light trying to escape from them. He went to grab my arm and I ripped it back from his reach. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Please.” Was all he said and suddenly it was like that night all over again. Me pouring my heart out and all he could say was please.

“Please what, Azriel? Is that all you know how to do, beg and plead. For what? Was breaking my heart once not enough for you.”

“Gods. What do you want me to say?” He ran his hands through his hair. He looked like he was about to lose it. Good. “Do you want to hear how I was fucking terrified. How any good thing that I had ever received had been taken away from me? That when I felt that twinge in my chest, that I knew what it meant but prayed to the gods that it wasn’t that.” I went to start in on him again. “No. Not because of that, because I knew that you were the one person who could utterly destroy me. Mor was a pass time. She was convenient and it would have made sense for us to be together in some capacity. Then Elain showed up. I saw so much of her in you, she was sweet and kind but she wasn’t you. Looking back, I don’t even know why I was so hung up on her. I’m not saying I wasn’t stupid because I was and I said some awful things to you. I said them because I knew that was the only thing that would get you to realize I would never deserve you.”

“Stop. Just stop. I’m sure you’ve rehearsed this all before but do you actually think I’m stupid enough to believe it?” I spit out between my teeth.

“No. I don’t think you’re stupid at all. The exact opposite. Yet for some reason you never ended up breaking the bond. Which would have been the smart thing to do. You deserve that, I deserved that.”

That made me pause. “How did you…Did Helion tell you?” Angry at the idea of Helion running to Azriel with that information.

“Helion told Rhys who passed it on to me. Rhys explained what would most likely happen if you decided to break it and before he could tell Helion he had lost his mind, I told him if that’s what you wanted to do I would accept that.” He said plainly. A part of me knew he was telling the truth.

“Don’t be stupid. You would have died if I broke the bond. It wasn’t the same as rejecting it. That type of magic broke the very part of you it formed to.” I couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth right now.

“I know. And I figured that if you were in enough pain to take that risk, to risk you dying, then I should be willing to risk it for a situation I had put us both in.” My mind was reeling at his words.

“That night..” I started, he interrupted me.

“You seemed so shocked when I told you.”

“I know. There isn’t a day that I don’t regret everything that I said, everything I had put you through over all those years. I took you for granted and I didn’t realize how much I loved you until you were gone.” I wanted to push him back but something in me let his words sink into my bones. Because the moment I looked into his eyes I felt the other side of the bond snap into place. I gasped at the feeling I had spent so long ignoring. The bond seemed to sing in the air around us. My own sunlight flickering under my palms as I felt the sincerity of his words pump through the bond. The feeling was foreign but warm. It wrapped around me like a blanket, soothing my tense muscles. I didn’t realize how much the empty bond had been weighing on my shoulders.

“You know this doesn’t change anything.” Was all I said and as he looked at me again, I knew that was a lie. “We can’t start over. There's no way to take back everything you said, everything you did” I said once I regained my ability to talk. His face sank completely.”I won’t break the bond. But I’m not accepting it either.” I ignored that kernel of hope I felt from him.

“I’ll wait as long as it takes.” He leaned closer to me, taking my face in his hands. I didn’t fight him as he tilted my head up to meet his eyes. His eyes flickered to my lips but he just pressed a chaste kiss to the top of my head “I would cut off my own wings if you said it would make you happy.” He swore. A shudder racked through at the sincerity in his words. I pushed out of grasp and walked back down to the ball still in full swing.

--------------------------

A strong pair of arms wrapped tighter around me as I started to rouse from my dreams. I snuggled deeper into the blankets tucked around me and laughed at the hand starting to creep higher up my naked chest. Rolling over I was met with baby blue eyes. Sol smirked at me as I stopped his wandering hands. “Was last night not enough for you?” I joked and he beamed at me. He rolled me over so I was underneath him

“How could I ever get enough of you?” He started kissing a trail down my neck and I groaned as a rush of desire flooded my veins. Ignoring the tug of anger that followed it. I hooked my leg around Sol’s waist and pulled him down to me.

I smiled as I walked into work, willing the flush in my cheeks to tame itself as I settled amongst the books still sprawled across my desk.

“Busy morning?” Aurora said, covering her mouth as she tried to hide her smile.

“Very.” I returned, laughing at her faux scandalized look.

“I don’t know how you manage to pull yourself away from him. If that was me I would ri-”

“Aurora!” I chastised her. Smacking her arm playfully. My mind drifted off to the activities this morning. While we weren’t official, it had become a recurring event of Sol and I waking up tangled in my sheets. I was lucky to get out of the door on time those mornings. He kept pushing for something more solid. But some nagging part of me just couldn’t do it. I hated the idea of leading him, and that wasn’t my intention when this all started. He had caught my eye after that conversation with Azriel at the ball and it took one flirty joke before my lips were crashing against his.

Sol was sweet and kind. He had been patient with me as I sorted out all of my own shit. Never giving me push back when I shut down the conversation of what exactly I wanted from this. Which I truthfully didn’t ever have an answer for. He put up with me pulling him into my bed night after night but I knew eventually he was going to grow tired of this arrangement. My stomach churned at the thought of now spoiled memories of his hands roaming over my body. I sighed, laying my head against my desk. Letting the cool wood calm my nerves.

It came later than I had expected it, honestly. He was kinder than I deserved for the months I had led him on. His mate. I could laugh at the irony. But I wished him well with one last searing kiss and that was that. I truly did want the best for him, and I knew that wasn’t me. Not at my current state.

I retreated into myself after that. Maybe there's something wrong with me. It was hard to keep those thoughts at bay. Everyone always found better things than me. Always the second choice. Those words I had spilled to Azriel had come from the deepest part of my soul. All the cruel things he said to me were replaying in a loop until I felt tears spilling down my face.

A frantic knock at my door pulled me from my despair. I didn’t even have time to wipe away the tears before I saw Helion standing in my doorway. His face held none of his usual charm. No, standing before me was Helion, not the playboy but the High Lord.

“It’s Rhys.” That was all he had to say for me to take off sprinting along the halls. Helion could barely keep up with me and I wretched the door to his study open.

Rhys didn’t so much as look up as I barreled into the office. I reached him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“What's wrong?” And Rhys just broke in front of me. He explained about Feyre’s pregnancy. The wings that would most likely kill her. I felt my stomach drop to my feet.

“How can I help, Rhys?” I saw the pain in his eyes.

“Just try to find if this has ever been attempted. Or if there's a way to make this safer for her.” Rhys looked like a shell of himself and I knew I would do whatever I had to do to never see him look so broken ever again. I knew what I needed to do as hard as the words were going to be to get out.

“I’ll come back with you.” He looked like I had grown three heads. “Between my research and healing, I’ll be the next best thing after Helion to help Feyre with this. Please. Let me help her survive this.” His eyes welled with tears as he just nodded.

“I can’t thank you enough.” He wrapped his arms tightly around me. The laugh that left my lips was tense.

“Thank me once we save her.”

“Of course. It’s the least I can do after you helped me so much.” I placed a hand over his shaking one.

I didn’t pack much. Most of which was as many books that Helion could bother parting with. All on various topics, Illyrian anatomy, childbirth and healing. I’d been healing since I was a child. With Madja by my side, even if we couldn’t find a way to safely deliver the baby, we could prevent Feyre from bleeding out.

Rhys came the next morning to winnow me to the Night Court. I said goodbyes for now to my new friends. Helion had given me a tight hug as he thanked me for doing what he could not.

Feyre greeted me exuberantly, crushing me against her as well as she could at the bump jutting out from her stomach. She was glowing. From the look of her, she didn’t have too much longer to go and I felt lightheaded at the thought of how much research I had to do in not much time.

I was standing up on the roof, looking out at the lights of Velaris when I felt him behind me. I didn’t turn around as he joined me near the railing.

“Thank you for being here. Rhys already seems more comfortable, more like himself.” My nod was the only acknowledgement I gave him that I had heard him. He signed and stayed looking out at the skyline.

“Look...” He started. I cut him off.

“Don’t do this again, Azriel.” There was no anger in my voice this time. Just the voice of something who was so broken, broken because of this man. “We can’t go back and change the past. We can’t start over and you’ll never be able to undo the pain you caused. “

“Let me try. Please. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” His tone was just as raw as mine. And something in me broke. The part that was tired of pretending my feelings went away. I knew deep down in my heart that this was another chance.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to love you the way I did before.” I risked a glance over to him and I was blown away by the breathtaking smile that graced his face.

““I’ll take you any way that you’ll have me” I knew he was telling the truth. It was there under the stars I realized, though it wouldn’t happen over night, loving Azriel would be as easy as breathing.

#acomaf #acosf #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #acowar #azriel x reader #unrequited love #azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #yall please dont be mad at me

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