#richard madden fic

[alloftheimagines]

mason kane | you are a memory

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

words: 3000+

warnings: set during citadel ep3, angst, pain, blood, nothing more than what's in the show

prompt: Reader/oc is a spy for citadel too but she known she was a citadel spy she was safe when the fall happened and when the train event happened and reader thought that they would let mason live a life without the spy life and them so she would continue help out with rebuilding citadel back up etc. maybe building some assets etc then when Nadia and he goes to the safe house they meet back up there some way or another if that makes sense to like Nadia some how got in contact with reader??  tag: @thefictionalgemini

It feels like you’ve waited centuries for that sound: the door opening. For years, you’ve lived in the safe house alone, never stopping your search for other Citadel members and doing what you can to aid them when needed. But few of them survived, and even less had reason to come to you. 

But you knew, somehow — or at least hoped — that he would come home. That you’d see him again. 

It feels like a dream, then, when Nadia steps through the threshold, offering you a crooked, familiar smirk before shifting aside so he’s in full view behind. There’s a sorrow in her eyes you don’t dare unpack, not yet. For now, your gaze crawls across his frame. He’s barely changed. Hair still short and brushed back, eyes still that unbearably bright blue. Laughter lines bracket his cheeks along with rough, red-tinted stubble, and it feels like no time has passed at all now. An eternity shrinks between you in a second, and your heart restarts, your world turning to colour. 

“Mason,” you whisper, voice cracking, tears brimming. You want to run to him, fall into him and never let go, but Nadia is watching and… he is, too, with furrowed brows. Confused. 

A cold wave crashes through you as you look at Nadia again, and her nod confirms your fear. He doesn’t know you. 

Mason clears his throat, dropping the case to the ground and rubbing his hands together as though trying to warn him. “We know each other, then. You’re the one Nadia told me about. Y/N?” Your name twists across his tongue like a stumbling dancer in their first lesson. Unsure of the steps. Unsure of how it should sound. 

Something inside you cracks, but in all your solitary years here, you’ve never allowed yourself to succumb to all the pain and grief dwelling inside you. You’ve never let yourself give up, not on him or on Citadel. So you tip your chin and hope it doesn’t wobble. 

“I guess you could say that. I was usually in your ear.” You tap an imaginary earpiece, feeling awkward and stiff and lost. More lost, more alone, than you have in this empty house for years. “I worked on communications in Citadel. Never usually in the field.”

“I can’t believe you’re here after all these years,” Nadia said, voice soft as always. It’s clear that while Mason has lost his memories, she has found hers just fine, and you wonder how that’s fair. How it came to be.  “How did you know we were coming?”

“I didn’t. I’ve been here since we went dark ten years ago.”

“Are there more?” Mason glanced around, rubbing the back of his neck. “More people waiting for us?”

You shake your head, a pang of well-hidden grief shooting through you. “No. Just me.”

His gaze snaps to you without warning, piercing and all-consuming and utterly surprised. “You’ve been hiding here alone for the last decade?”

“Yep. So if I start talking to myself, don’t be too worried. I’m not used to company.” You smirk and turn away from him, rubbing your aching sternum. “It was Carter who told me to head here. Said he’d be in contact. We were back and forth for years until he went dark, too. The only connection with Citadel I had left. I tried to track him down, but… I don’t have the field experience. Not like you. Think he’s alive, though.”

“You know where he could be?” Nadia asked. 

“I have my theories.”

“As much as I’d love to hear them, I need a shower first. That okay?”

“Knock yourself out.”

She traipses up the stairs with a final, pointed glance as though to say “You’re welcome" for leaving you alone with him. But you’re the opposite of thankful. In front of Nadia, you might be able to act professionally. Unaffected. But it’s just the two of you now, and the man you love doesn’t even know you, and he’d always had a knack for completely unravelling you. 

The silence is stifling. You motion to the living room, to the couch. “You should sit. You look like you’ve had a rough time of it.”

His smile is wry. “That’s one word for it.”

You follow him in, and he sighs as he plonks himself down. He pulls a lighter from his pocket and begins flicking it, and for a moment you’re certain that you were wrong; that he knows himself, knows you. It’s such an old, familiar habit. So many times you listened to that metallic click, let it soothe you as you figured out a plan today. 

He catches you watching, then, and hope is washed away as quickly as it came. There’s none of that old fondness in his eyes, even if natural confidence still oozes from him like blood from a wound. 

He’s Mason, but he isn’t your Mason. 

The man you’ve been waiting for, the man for whom you prayed over and over to be alive, is not here anymore.

“Didn’t Bernard ever contact you?” he asks finally. 

“No.” You narrow your eyes, wishing you were comfortable enough to sit beside him. Wishing you could reach out, touch him. Ask him where he’s been. You’re not sure you want to know. A lot can happen in ten years, especially to a man who doesn’t know his own name. “Should he have?”

“He’s the one who came to me. Told me who I was. He needed my help.”

That bastard. He’d left you in the dark. Disposed of you. You want to believe that he walked away too, that he needed it to be this way to keep any agents still living safe, but… He could have contacted you. Could have found you here. This safe house is one of the few Citadel-owned places left untouched, unknown by your enemies. Perhaps the silence had protected you, but it also drove you crazy. You’d felt like a prisoner most days, always waiting for your computer to ping or an agent to show up and liberate you. 

You’d wasted your life waiting. For Bernard. For Mason. For Citadel. 

Your fists clench at your sides, and you can no longer look at Mason. “I didn’t think you’d made it out,” you admitted, voice thickening just slightly. “I thought you were dead.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly. “They just left you here, no contact with any of us? Why?”

“Maybe they didn’t want anybody finding out about this place. It’s the only sanctuary we have left. They wouldn’t compromise that by communicating with me, and honestly, I didn’t know what else to do. Citadel was my life. I had to keep trying, keep hoping…” 

It’s a lie, of course. Mason was your life. Citadel was a close second. Bernard had known that; perhaps that’s why he hadn’t bothered to find a way through to you. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted you to know that Mason was still alive, because you’d never been discrete about your feelings for him. You wouldn’t have let him go without a fight, and they’d needed their entire operations to become invisible. 

They needed him to forget while you stayed here, a ghost in a house much too big for one person. They’d known that you’d wait for eternity if it meant the chance to see him again.

You finally sit in the armchair across from him, folding your hands on your lap as anger glows like embers in your gut. “I thought you were dead,” you admit. “Carter told me about the train, the explosion… He told me you were probably dead. Both of you.”

Mason looks down at his hands. “I can’t get my memories back. They were destroyed. Gone. I know that I should know you, but I don’t.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I guessed as much.” 

“There’s no other way, right?”

You shake your head solemnly. “Not that I know of. Then again, nobody tells me anything, clearly.” You can’t help the bitterness seeping into your words. 

He rubs a thumb across his chin. “It’s weird. I feel like…” He trails off, and you lean forward curiously. 

“What?” 

A shrug. “I’ve seen your face before. I got flashes sometimes — memories, I guess. You were in them.”

Your heart lifts just a little. 

“And your voice.” His volume lowers. “I heard it. I never knew whose it was. Thought I was going crazy. But it’s yours. It was you.”

Your fingers begin to tremble. You don’t know what to say. It feels cruel, somehow, him telling you this. Dangling hope in front of your face. He can’t know how much it hurts, of course, but it makes you grit your teeth all the same. 

“So where did you end up all these years?” you ask, hoping the answer might give you some closure. Some truth. 

“I went by Kyle. Got married. Had a daughter.” His mouth upturns at the corners, and it makes you want to die. 

He got a new life. You were here, rotting, waiting, and he was making a family. 

“Where are they now?” 

“Back home,” he says. “With Bernard’s wife. Safe.”

You nod. It’s an effort to keep your features smooth as your gaze snags on a bloodied tear in his jacket. “You’re hurt.”

In an instant, you’re up, heading into the kitchen to grab a first aid kit. When you get back, you motion to his jacket and he takes it off obediently, wincing. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

A deep one, clearly made by a bullet. You sigh and perch beside him, forgetting that you should probably ask before getting this close to him. Forgetting that you’re not the one who should be tending to his wounds anymore. 

He hisses when you dab the saline-soaked cloth to the graze. 

“You used to be tougher,” you tease. 

He smirks at that, crooked and warm if not steel-edged as a knife. Electricity buzzes through you, because you’ve missed the way he tries not to laugh at your shitty jabs. The way he tries to hide his humour, but it comes out through his cracks all the same. “I wouldn’t know.” And then: “Will you come with us to find Carter?”

The question throws you off-guard, and you look around. This prison is also your shelter, and you’re not sure you know how to jump back into the real world, a world of crime and violence and him. He’s married. He isn’t yours. And why should you aid them, when Bernard cut you away from the rest of the group so cleanly? 

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I’ve been hiding for a long time. I think I’m more useful here.”

“We could use all the help we can get.” 

The cloth comes away red, but the bleeding has stopped. You get the bandages ready and hum, pretending to deliberate. 

He stops you with a hand across yours. “I mean it. I don’t remember how to do this.”

“It’ll come to you.” You snatch your hand away; keep unrolling the bandage. Maybe it’s weak, maybe it’s cowardly, but you need a moment to breathe after this. Need a moment to adjust to a world where Mason isn’t dead, but still isn’t Mason. You need to figure out if keeping this house safe, keeping Citadel and its missing members safe, is worth it after the way they’ve pushed you aside. 

“We need you.”

“You did okay without me for the last ten years,” you snap, wishing immediately you could take it back. 

Overwhelmed, you abandon the bandages and the wound, averting your gaze because even now it feels too heavy, too dangerous. Like he could strip your skin and bones away if he wanted. Like he could leave you raw. 

You used to like that about him. Now you hate it. More so because he doesn’t even realise he’s capable of it. 

“I was living a lie.” His voice is firmer now. Raspier. “I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t choose it!” 

“Neither did I!” you erupt. “I thought you were dead, Mason! I was here, alone, always wondering if you were. Wondering whether anything would ever change! And now you’re here and you don’t know me, but you’re asking me to be somebody I haven’t been in a very long time. What am I supposed to do with that? How the hell am I supposed to be okay with it?”

A wrinkle burrows between his brows. For moments, he remains unreadable until he finally looks up at you. “We weren’t just working together, were we?”

You can’t answer him. You don’t want to have to tell him that you were in love, that everything that made life worth living had been snatched away the day he went missing. 

“Tell me,” he demands, standing up. “Tell me, Y/N. Were we together?”

Your chin wobbles, and you can’t keep pretending. You can’t keep ignoring the hole in your chest. “Yes.” 

It’s clear he doesn’t know what to say, and you know that there is nothing he could. Nothing that would make it easier, at least. You are cursed, the one who will remember. The only one who longs for endless nights tangled between the sheets and stupid back-and-forths through his earpiece. You’re the only one who remembers the rush you felt when you worked together, him in the field and you safe by your computer. 

You’re the only one who remembers the night he told you he loved you, and the morning you said it back. He gets to move on, gets to feel nothing but indifference, while you carry a decades’ worth of grief and yearning and pain on your back. And you could deal with that before, when your days were made of aimlessly checking for messages or signs of Citadel activity and scrambling your eggs and staying in your pyjamas because nobody saw you anyway, but now he is inescapable and you find yourself wanting to shut the door in his face just so you don’t have to look at it and see the man you used to know buried under the haze and amnesia and this new life you have not been apart of. 

Eventually, he steps forward — and somehow looks apologetic. “I wish I remembered,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. But do you honestly want to stay here, alone? There must have been a reason you stayed. It wasn’t just for the view, right?”

For you, you want to say. I was waiting for you.

But he’s right. Your memories might remain intact, but you were once much more than this. You were quick, determined, unrelenting. It had taken years before you stopped searching for sign of Mason every day. But you had. You’d dwindled. Perhaps you’d given up without realising it. 

The person you used to be would never have grown this despondent. You would have stitched your own broken heart back together and yanked back your power, proving to Citadel you’re a worthy asset. The only one skilled enough to perform what they needed. To fight terrorism and organised crime from behind a screen. 

You miss that fire in your belly. Now, it's no more than ash. 

Finally, you turn your hardened stare back to him. “No. It wasn’t just for the view.”

He nods as though he knows your mind has changed, determination sharpening his own face. “Then you’ll help us.”

“I’ll help you,” you decide. Even if it hurts. Even if you’re not sure you want to anymore. 

The back of his hand brushes yours, and your skin tingles. You look down and know it was no accident; his fingers twitch from the impact like a bird stunned after hitting the window. When you lock eyes, you see a flicker of him. Your Mason. Arrogance and softness all at once. A lion ready to pounce because he’s never known how to stay still. How did he manage it, being a family man? 

What did he think when he saw glimpses of you?

It doesn’t matter. Your Mason might be gone, but so is Kyle. He’s someone new now, and you’ll just have to get to know this new version of him. 

Just as he’ll have to get to know this new version of you. You’re not sure who you’ll be yet, still scarred and unsure, but you think that if he can walk through your door and find you against all odds,, maybe you can find him, too. 

He keeps his eyes on the view behind the window, eyes turning the same forest green as the trees outside. Still, his arm is warm against yours, his broad shoulders squared and ready. 

“Good,” he mutters, sending you a half-smile. “Because I’m going to need somebody to tell me who I really am. Who Mason Kane is.”

That, you might just be able to do. “An asshole,” you quip dryly. “Mason Kane was an asshole.” And god, did he love it when you said so. 

As though it’s ingrained in his muscle memory, Mason lets out a chuckle — half-joy and half-disbelief. He raises his brow, flirtatious though you’re not sure he knows it yet. “That right?”

“Yep.” You cross your arms over your chest and try to stifle your hope, but it’s no use. It comes anyway. “With a capital A.”

This man might not be Mason, but he’s a hell of a lot like him. For now, that has to be enough.

#imagines #multifandom imagines #x reader imagines #x reader #multi fandom imagines #multifandom #fanfiction #mason kane #citadel on prime #imagine masterlist #masterlist #citadel #richard madden #mason kane imagine #mason kane x reader #richard madden one shot #richard madden imagine #richard madden x reader #richard madden fic #citadel imagine #citadel fic #citadel x reader #mason kane x y/n #richard madden x y/n #citadel fanfiction

[beananacake]

The Accidental Princess (Part 12)

Prince Kit x Reader

Synopsis: A contract has been found after twenty years, bearing your name and the Prince Kit's... bound in matrimony.

Chapter Synopsis: You awake and see how everything has changed since your vanishing

Word Count: 13.6k words

Warning: angst, violence, mentions of death and blood and murder, period-typical misogyny, long and maybe a bit of a boring chapter?

A/N: Hello my loves. I'm so sorry it's been so long. I promised you I wouldn't abandon this fic and guess what, TAP 13 is also finished! I just need to write the Epilogue and we're all gucci ;) I love it when you leave me little comments of your thoughts so please, don't be shy to leave some! I love it when you reblog this fic too! As usual, not beta'd, all mistakes are mine. Enjoy Part 12! (13 is coming a week or so after this!)

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Epilogue

The storm had taken a turn for the worst.

The once-calm sea had become violent in a matter of seconds and it had sent the crew of the ship into a frenzy, with incoherent orders barked from one sailor to another. Some had hoisted the sail, some had turned the mast and turned it whichever way the wind blew, and some had taken the supplies back to the deck below. Your father had grabbed hold of the helm along with the captain, doing their best to steer the massive oceanic vessel with the storm. You learned that fighting with the storm was futile; to go against it was instant death. You knew of no one who had gone against it and had survived.

Your grand blue skirts brushed against the barrels, halting you in your steps. You had always changed into your shirt and breeches whenever you were in your travels but now, you had failed to do so because your mind had been preoccupied with his smile and laughter and the way he answered the archbishop—

You could not change into different clothes now, especially so when the sailors were struggling with the strong winds and would not care less for how you appeared.

You spied one crewman floundering with his end of the rope, holding on to it for dear life, as the wind blew on the sail. No one seemed to have noticed him and so you rushed to his aid, grabbing hold of the hemp rope with both of your hands and gave the mightiest tug you had ever given.

“Y/N!” You heard your father cry out to you.

You lifted your eyes to the stern where your father stood with the captain, unable to shield your eyes from the rain as both of your hands were holding on to the line. He was pointing towards the cabin, shouting orders that were drowned by the crashing waves.

You knew what he meant, that he wanted you to return to the safety of the cabin, but you could not find it in you to leave the crew to brave the storms themselves. You were not some helpless lady, prone to fainting at the sight of something unseemly, and you did not wish to be alone if—or when—the ship turned into a watery grave for you and the rest of its passengers. No, you did not want that. You shook your head wildly at your father, hoping he saw it through the thick curtain of the rain and in the bleakness of the sky, and heaved once more as you pulled on the rope.

“Miss!” said the sailor beside you. “You must return to the cabins!”

“No!” you told him. You grunted with effort as you pulled on the line, hoping all that you were doing had an effect, even if it were small as compared to theirs. “I will not leave you!”

“Miss Y/N, the storm will only blow you away—”

You planted your heels against a barrel, the wind quite literally sweeping you off your feet. You hoped he did not see the coincidence of his words. “I am quite all right!”

Arms grabbed at your waist. Your sudden abduction made you drop the rope and you squirmed to break free. The arms were tight against you, knocking the air from your lungs and you could not voice your protestations despite the many of them that came to mind. It hauled you with him, moving you farther away from the once-struggling sailor, bringing you to the safety and dryness of the captain’s cabin.

“Please, Miss,” pled the sailor before he locked you within.

You tried pulling the door open but to no avail. The crewman had indeed locked you in with no intentions of setting you free whilst the storm was still raging. You would not stand for that. Your fists pounded at the door and you pled with whomever was outside to release you so you would help. Your request fell on deaf ears.

The ship gave a mighty lurch along with the wave and it sent you staggering backwards, landing heavily against the corner of the captain’s dresser. Pain erupted on your side and you cried out at the surprise of it. And before you could recover, the ship crested once more. This time, it rose much higher than before.

You were flung backwards, the force of the sea too strong for you to counter. It sent you flying back against the south wall, along with the many items that were scattered on the captain’s desk. A lit lamp flew by your ear and shattered upon impact, plunging the cabin into darkness. Maps and charts were tossed to your person. A large tome nearly hit you on the head, and an inkpot missed your hip by an inch. And when you thought it over, you heard the peculiar creaking.

It was a different type of creaking, one that made the hairs on your arm stand in fright, one that was unlike the usual sound of the squeaking doors. You had not one idea where it could possibly come from and you paid it no heed until the next shifting of the sea vessel. You had not moved from your position in the south wall—a mistake because the unusual sound had been the loosening of the bolts that held down the captain’s mahogany desk to the floor. With the ship’s near vertical ascent, the heavy woodwork came barreling towards you and in a matter of seconds, had you pinned against the wall, momentarily seizing you of your breath upon impact.

You gasped at the force; pain nearly blinding. The mahogany office trapped the lower half of your body along with your left arm, rendering you immobile, save for your other arm that you used to thump against the desk.

“Help! Help me!” You shouted as loud as you could with the piece of furniture pressing down on you. Your palm beat the desk until it hurt for you to do so, and still, like before, no one had come through the door to your aid.

“Help! Help, please!” You cried out. You labored your every breath, the motion of the ship not helping you because every movement only pressed the large desk closer to you.

Another wave hit the ship. The force of it moved the desk, giving you and it a wide berth, enough for you to move away. Whilst successful, you had not accounted for the other furniture in your haste to get away. As you moved closer to the door, you tripped on the raised carpet edge and the same dresser that you had fallen on before, now fell on you. Or rather, fell on your leg.

You gave a howl of pain, at the heft of the solid mahogany dresser and its attempt to squash your ankle flat. You knew the joint had broken upon impact and as you tried to pull away, you somehow felt your foot detaching from the rest of your leg. You felt sick to your stomach at the mere idea of it.

You grappled blindly before you, grasping for anything you could use to haul yourself from under the heavy woodwork. Your nails scraped against the wooden floor until your hand found purchase on a strewn piece of rope. You held onto it tightly and with all the strength you had left, pulled yourself from under the furniture.

“Help!” You cried as you dragged yourself. “Please, anyone! Help me!”

From your position on the floor, you felt even the minutest of all actions about the ship. There were the hurried footfalls of the crew. Their shouts of orders reverberated through the floor. You felt the crashing of the waves against the side of the ship and how it rattled both the bones of the vessels and yours. Even the swooping and falling of the boat was intensified from your place and each motion made you sick to your stomach.

You willed your churning stomach to calm down lest you start retching. With all the strength in you, you pulled on the rope, working with the actions of the waves and the boat, only moving when the cabinet lifted with the ship. Your hands ached at the hard strands of the hemp rope but you paid it no mind; you wanted to be free. You needed to be free.

Outside, the winds bellowed. The cabin lit from the lightning and shook with the thunder.

You pulled yourself free from your trappings when the dresser lifted with the surging of ship. You swung your injured leg away from any other furniture in danger of falling over and tucked it under your dress, hoping against hope it was still useful. You clung on to the rope and used it to pull yourself closer to the door. You banged and pounced, crying for help, and no one still came for you.

There was a loud, inhumane moaning, one that made you pause in your desperate attempt to call the sailors’ attention. You felt the ceasing of the motion on the ship. No more rushing steps. No loud calls of order. No sound of the storm, even. It was as if everything stopped. Everyone stopped.

A breath caught on your throat at the thought of your father. You pressed your ear against the wooden door, listening intently for whatever sound that could tell you of the state of him but there was nothing. The gentle sloshing of the water against the sides of the ship were the only sounds you could make out.

You slammed your body against the door, putting all of your weight to it to push it open. It took you three tries—and with each try, you grew weaker—before it burst open. You fell on the floor as it broke free, the effort knocking the breath from you.

You sputtered and coughed but the gasp that came from you was not because of the impact. It was because all the men of the ship had vanished, save for the figures before you. Two of them laid on the floor, bathed in red liquid, and the other stood with its back to you. The other was a that of a woman, her body turned to the standing man, waiting. For what, you were fearful to find out.

“Father?” you called to one of the figures, hoping it was the one standing although the silhouette did not look like him.

You scrambled to the nearest body, dragging your own behind you. You harshly grabbed at the head and turned it to you, breath halting at the sight of Kit.

Kit. The prince. Your former husband.

His ocean eyes were unseeing. There was a deep gash that ran across his neck and it oozed blood like the brilliant scarlet ribbon you often saw the Princess of Zaragoza sport in her hair.

You did not know he was aboard the ship. You did not know that he had followed you especially after—

“Kit?” You pulled yourself closer to him, cradling his head on your lap, not minding that your skirt was being stained of his lifeblood. You slapped at his cheek, watching as your tears fell on his lifeless face.

“Kit! No! Please, do not be dead!” You begged of him, shaking him, slapping, pinching, doing whatever you could to rouse him. “Please, my love. Please!”

His azure eyes—eyes that once beheld you like you were the most precious thing in all the land—remained empty.

You cried as you curled against him, embracing him, refusing to believe he was gone. “Oh, Kit. I love you. Forgive me. I did not know. I did not know…”

The harsh clattering of shoes sounded stark against the absolute silence. You did not relinquish your hold on him as you looked up at the source of the only sound.

“Ambitious girl,” it snarled.

You swallowed at the dread that kissed your back. You knew that awful voice and yet, you refused to acknowledge it.

“You thought you could save him from me but you’re mistaken,” the Grand Duke snapped.

He grabbed a hold of your face, turning you to him harshly, trapping your chin in one of his hands. His other was turned into a fist and was raised in attack.

“You’re next.” And his fist came down.

.

Your eyes flew open.

Kit. You had to find Kit. You had to see him—

You tried moving but there was a weight that stopped you. It was not as heavy or as solid as the furniture had been but it was rather plush, almost downy, but still quite hefty against your tender body. You attempted to lift your injured leg in hopes of knowing if it still had any use to you, but it felt as though it were caged in something. You could not twist it at all. It only laid motionless and the thought of paralysis scared you. You were immobile. They could easily get to you if you were immobile.

Was this some sick, cruel punishment conjured by the Grand Duke? Had he hit you and you had died upon his fist’s impact to your head? Was this the afterlife? What of Kit? Of everyone aboard the ship?

Your heart beat terribly in your chest, quick short gallops that made you fear it would burst from your ribs. You breathed shallowly and loudly, like gasps that racked your whole body. You felt your palms slick with sweat. It was too bright. It was too cool and warm at the same time. It was—It was—

You protested against your bindings, squirming to make space for you to move and be free but it was impossible. Your own body limited your movements because every squirm, every effort, made it hurt with an ache you had not experienced before. Your head had started to swim with the motion you were doing. You wanted to stay strong but your own body was weak and tender.

This had to be a part of the Grand Duke’s designs. He had failed in killing you when he had thrown you in that small hole and now, he had returned for you, returned to make good of his threats. He had bound you in these ties that were impossible to escape from.

“H-help!” You groaned weakly. Your voice scratched at your throat; the effort making you cough out the dryness. “Help! Help me!”

You thrashed and called out for help at the same time; not making any progress on either. The ties that bound you were tight, as was the vise that held your leg. You tried crying louder for help, hoping someone not employed by the awful nobleman would come to your rescue.

But when the doors flew open, all hope dissipated from your chest.

Princess Chelina entered through the doors, frantically looking about before her eyes landed on you.

You shook your head at the sight of her nearing you. She was his kin. She was an accomplice. She had to be. There was no reason for her to come barging to your room other than to inflict some kind of torture until you gave up living.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” she asked as she approached you. A forbidding feeling sat at the pit of your stomach.

“No. No, please. Not you,” you pled. You turned from her and yelled out. “Help! Please!”

“I am here to help!” She exclaimed over the loudness of your voice. “Tell me what is wrong—Guards! Get the physician!”

Efforts proving successful, you scurried from her, finally able to move your sore body and you landed on a heap on the floor beside your bed. The slamming of your injured foot against the floor, coupled with your already-bruised body and aching head, made you howl out in pain.

“Guards!”

You knew you had to get away from her lest she tied you back to whatever torture device her uncle had chosen for you. Your efforts were piteous; you tried dragging your body to a corner, hoping to become small enough for her to ignore but instead, you moved at a snail’s pace. You could not even pull your body because it ached by just being there.

“Y/N, let me help—”

You looked at her, eyes wide in fear. “Please,” you rasped and begged of her, tears pooling in your eyes. “Please, stay away from me.”

The look she gave you was one of dawning horror. She moved closer to you—you flinched away and she stopped herself from even nearing you after that.

“I would never hurt you,” she said. She crouched before you and reached out a hand to you like you were some spooked animal. “I am not my uncle—”

Your body shook at the mention of the man, at the memories of what he had done to you. A tear rolled down your cheek as you shook your head when you refused her attempts of helping you.

“Please. Please.” You did not know what you pled for but you felt in you that you had to.

“You must get back to your bed,” she said instead. “You are injured. You need to heal.”

“He wanted to kill me,” was all you said.

“I know,” she whispered achingly. “I’m sorry.”

“He killed the queen,” you told her.

She did not react in the way you expected. She only nodded sadly and still held her hand out to you. “I know. Please, Y/N, you must return to your bed.”

You disregarded what she had said after she told you she was aware of the man’s actions. She knew? She knew her uncle had committed regicide? Queen Amalie had passed the year before and yet her uncle has not been apprehended since?

“You knew?” you asked her, fear leaving you momentarily. Taking its place was disbelief. “You knew he killed the Queen?”

She nodded. “Yes. I was told of his sins.” She bent closer to you, face imploring. “Please. Let me help you back to your bed.”

You shook your head as you moved away. “No. Stay away. Please, I beg of you.”

A familiar face appeared behind the princess. Abigail arrived, looking harried as though she had been running, and rushed to your aid. You clung to her and let her lift you from the ground, shaking your head to ward off the nearing princess.

“Abigail, please, please, don’t let her near me!” You exclaimed, almost crazed with fear at the thought of suffering again.

“Miss?” your maid asked, sounding confused at your request.

“Her uncle! The Grand Duke! He—He—he killed the queen!” You looked at your friend, grasping at her small body as yours shook with desperation to be heard, to be understood. “Abigail, I must find Kit. I have to make sure he is safe—”

Your maid nodded at you. “He is, Miss. The prince is safe. You must not worry.”

“What?” you asked weakly. “Kit is safe? Where is he? I must see him—”

“You cannot, Miss. He is attending the Grand Duke’s trial. He will not return until nearly nightfall,” cooed Abigail. She had helped you back to your bed, gently brushing the hair from your forehead. “I will inform him you have awaken once he arrives but for now, you must rest.”

Your eyes flitted to the Zaragozan princess who stood rooted before your bed. It had only occurred to you that you were not in the ship anymore, that you had been returned to the palace, in the same room the king had given you upon your first arrival.

But the ship? Was it a dream? you thought to yourself confusedly. It was too vivid to be anything but, too lifelike especially when the dresser had fallen on you. But only, it did not fall on you and instead, you have fallen from a great height and your body had ached upon the impact.

It slowly came back to you, of the riotous storm and the rising waters, the jagged stones that pricked and stabbed at you, of the darkness that you feared would have made you blind. You had been feverish too and had hallucinated to comfort yourself.

But you could not recall anything of when you were rescued, no face nor voice at all to tell you who it had been that had saved you. You remembered singing the lullaby your mother had sung for you when you were a child. The hallucinations of her felt real, like she had indeed come from beyond the grave to comfort you. She had kept you company and you knew you would have gone with her if she had urged you to, if you had not been found by whoever recovered you from that dark space.

If your being on the ship was a dream, then none of that had happened. Kit did not—What Abigail said of Kit’s being in the trial must be true. He is safe. He is safe, you assured yourself, trusting Abigail’s words.

“The physician will see you now, Miss. I will leave you with the Princess—” Abigail turned to go but you grabbed at her hands.

You shook your head a little too wildly than normal, tightening your grip on your maid’s hand. “Do not leave me, please.”

“Princess Chelina will—”

“No.” You pulled Abigail closer to you, clinging to her like you were a small child. “I do not want to be left alone with her.”

The look she shot the princess was stricken. “Your Royal Highness—”

“It is all right, Abigail.” came the Princess’s reply. It sounded defeated and mournful; nothing at all how you remembered her to be. “I shall be in my chambers if there is need for me.”

Abigail bobbed a curtsy and turned to you. She brushed the hair off your face, nodding comfortingly. “I will remain, Miss, but the physician must have a look at you.”

The royal physician came and examined you; he deemed you safe from your bout of fever but he remarked that the bruises and aches you felt would remain for some time. The broken bones were the result of your fall and while the physician had done all that he could, the rest was left for nature to heal you. There was only a dull ache when he pressed and prodded at the once-tender parts of your body, a sign that he deemed you were near recovery. Your falls while attempting to leave the hole resulted in scars around your body; most were small scratches but the deeper ones had been healed and had scabbed over.

Your foot, however, was another matter entirely. He postulated that you had fallen on top of it and the weight of your body broke your ankle. He had placed your foot in a splint to prevent you from unnecessarily moving it and would remain so for months or until the bones and muscles had properly healed. The swelling had gone down—he told you it looked far more grotesque when you were rescued—but it still, it had not gone back to normal.

And your hysterics—you hated the term he used but you knew those were that—were the result of the mental trauma. Do not think of the man or his deeds, Miss, the physician said but you knew it was far easier to be told of that than to do it. You could not help that your nightmare of the Grand Duke having slayed Kit on your ship was fresh on your mind and had haunted you ever since you woke. You also could not tell him that the sight of Princess Chelina had triggered the great anxiety from you or else you risked sounding rude towards the Zaragozan princess.

“Your mental fortitude is strong, Miss,” the physician said as he mixed a vial of medication to your cup of tea. “I have had patients go mad when they were forced to face those who tortured them. I do not think you are in any danger of that.”

You could only look at the man, refusing to respond because you were at the brink of insanity with every passing moment you could not see Kit.

“But for now, you must rest once more. The ordeal of waking up and with your anxiety has taxed your mind and body.” He passed the teacup to you and you downed the contents like a parched castaway, drinking the bitter concoction to the dregs. You had not enough time to comment on the extreme tartness of it because sleep overtook you.

When you came to, the curtains were drawn to reveal the dark night sky. The rains had ceased and the full moon illuminated the grayness of the clouds as they floated by. Your room was kept dim, the only light coming from the crackling fireplace. Two shadowed figures spoke in hushed tones before it, heads bent as if in deep conversation.

You craned your head sideways to look for your maid, hoping she was still present in your chambers but from your position on the bed, you could not find her. You rose with the use of your elbows, the ache resonating all over, pain nearly forcing you back down the bed but you carried on, and you grunted as you felt your muscles lock. Your actions rustled the thick covers that were laid on top of you. The conversation between the two figures stopped and both heads simultaneously turned to you.

“Y/N!”

It was Louis who approached your bed first, a wide and relieved smile about his face. You sank back and watched as he sat on the edge before taking your hands in his.

“Imagine our relief to hear you have awoken. I was beginning to doubt your maid’s word because when we arrived, you were still asleep like how you had been the week past.” He gave your hands a gentle squeeze.

Your attention moved from the Duke of Granville to that of the other silhouette, who now rose from the seat and marched its way to you. The figure stopped at the foot of your bed, watching you with its sapphire-like eyes. Kit.

Kit was here.

Kit was alive.

You only beheld the man you loved, wanting nothing more than to run in his arms but knew it was impossible because of your broken body. He looked as how you remembered him from your waking moments and from the nightmare—eyes as blue as the calmest seas and the clearest skies. Shoulders broad and strong but now they dropped as if from exhaustion. Face handsome as ever but he appeared gaunt as though he had not had sleep for days. Kit remained at the foot of your bed, watching you with his tired but hopeful eyes.

“Must we call for the physician? Your foot has been rendered immobile by the good doctor. He said it was to ensure its proper healing. If it is hurting, we must tell the man at once.”

You turned to your dearest friend and looked at him blankly, had heard him but you did not comprehend his words because your thoughts were preoccupied with Kit.

“Why aren’t you speaking? Have you gone mute? Good god! Will a high fever make one voiceless?” He frowned at you now, frantically searching your face, still holding your hands in his.

Despite the heaviness you were feeling, a chuckle bubbled from you at the duke’s panicked ranting. It was a harsh sound but a sound of happiness, nonetheless. You squeezed his hand, assuring him that you were well. “How will I talk if you did not give me leave to speak, Louis?”

He laughed at that, enveloping you in an embrace. He was gentle against your sore body, cradling you in his arms like you were a newborn babe. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling his tense shoulders relax when you reciprocated the action. Your heart sang out for the duke. You could only imagine the horror they went through to find you and to wait for you to wake once they had.

When he drew back, he smiled at you with the same jesting smile you came to love.

“Always with that smart mouth of yours,” he told you. “You have to be careful with your investigation from now on, pet. I am not always present to save you,” he japed once more.

You rolled your eyes at him in a show of affection. “I thank you, oh my knight in shining armor.”

“I was not wearing an armor then when we rescued you. And my silk shirt was drenched and ruined when I plunged into the lake to search for you.” He sulked rather childishly and you chuckled at the absurd sight of the handsome, charming duke.

“I’ll be sure to ask the tailor to round up two fine silk shirts for Your Grace.” You said with false gravity. Oh, how you missed this!

“Very good.” He grinned. He sobered as he took your hands once more in his. “Pet, you must know I did not call for you to go in the library. It was not me.”

Your heart thudded against your chest, losing the lightness that came to you instantly. You gave a sad smile, disguising the shiver of fear for one of coldness. “I surmised as much,” you rasped and you cleared your throat. “But it hardly matters now.”

Louis squeezed your hands once again. “Chelina told me that you refused her presence.”

You drew your hands back and kept them under your covers, hiding from them the way they trembled at the princess’s name. “She—” You frowned and harrumphed, swallowing the hard lump that now resided on your throat.

“She is his kin,” you told the duke in a small, shaky voice. “She had no reason to be in my room or come to my assistance.”

He gave you a sad shake of his head, disagreeing with what you said. “She is also his victim. And she has kept watch of you while Kit and I attend the trial. It is her penance, she said, because she is his niece even though she is faultless in all that has happened.”

You had not thought of Chelina as the Grand Duke’s victim. It was jarring to know the nobleman’s manipulation knew no bounds—his machinations were not exclusive to Kit and his family. Even his own family he deceived, all because he could. Gooseflesh rose from your skin and you rubbed at them.

“And yes, he is in trial. He will not harm you any longer.” Your friend assured you.

You nodded absently, hoping his words to be true. Your dream felt ominous.

Louis looked back at his cousin, who still stood unmoving in his position, before his eyes returned to you.

“He was insufferable when you had vanished,” the duke said and you heard the jesting in his tone.

You gave a weak smile at Louis’s attempt to joke. Your eyes then flicked to Kit’s, who only watched you quietly.

“I shall take my leave. Kit has been hoping to see you awake since your rescue. I would not want to make him wait any longer.” He took your hand and placed a delicate kiss atop it. “Call for me if you wish for better company, pet.”

The jolliness of the duke was infectious and, even as you were still reeling from the mental torture the Grand Duke’s attempts of killing you had inflicted, you could not help the smile that graced your lips. He gave you a brotherly kiss on your forehead and whispered that he was glad to see you awake and nearly back to your pesky self, to which you replied that you only gleaned it from his behavior. With a laugh and a pat on his cousin’s shoulder, he left your chambers.

You watched Kit from your bed, at the way he did not move to near you. He only beheld you with warring expressions; from anger to pain, disbelief to assurance, from the way his eyes seemed steely with memories before it melted and made way for the familiar love you saw in them. The relief that emanated from him was near palpable and it bled through you, easing your mind and calming you.

The lifeless Kit only belonged in your nightmare. This was the truth. This Kit before you, he was real and alive and—

“Are you all right?” you asked when he still made no move to come to you.

“Are you?” he countered, voice quiet.

Despite you wanting to answer in the affirmative, a whimper escaped your lips. The emotions that assailed through you were too much to bear. You loved Kit, loved him more than you could ever love anyone, and to see him before you—in the flesh and not as some febrile hallucination or in your nightmares—brought out all the frustration and fear and pain in you.

Your tears spurred him into action; his arms were now around you as sobs racked your body. They were pitiful sounds, not unlike the same tears you cried at the announcement of your separation. You clung on to him, leeching off of him to appease yourself. He was the salve to your pain, the comfort to all your aches, and if he let you take what it was that he offered to heal you, you greedily accepted it.

He drew back from you and his thumbs swiped at the tears that tracked down your cheeks. His cerulean eyes looked at you with all of the love and worry in the world, a frown marring his handsome features and morphing his face into that of utmost concern.

“Are you in pain?” he asked of you, ache lacing his voice.

“I was so scared,” you choked out in between sobs. “I thought I would not return to you. I thought I had lost you—”

He shook his head with an intensity you had not seen from him before, as if he would not allow you to entertain such a thought. “Do not think of that, my love. I will always come find you wherever you are, never doubt it.”

In spite of all his assurances, more tears welled in your eyes. You let them come, basking once more in the comfort of your love’s arms. Kit only held you flush against his chest, murmuring assurances that you knew were for the both of you. You clung to him tightly, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, felt him tremble as he embraced you with such ferocity that it made you weep some more. Once you had spent all the tears, you pulled from him and almost shied away if he had not taken your chin softly by his fingers. He turned your face to him, his ocean-like gaze soft and loving.

“I love you,” he said. “Never think otherwise.”

You nodded, knowing you would not.

And like the capricious seas, his gentle eyes turned stormy. Gone was the fond expression and in its place was that of tortured pain. The emotion clouded his eyes, changing his entire face, and he turned from you to hide it.

“Forgive me for not coming for you sooner,” he said and you heard how he choked on his words as well. “We were gathering evidence as quick as we can but it was not fast enough. And the Grand Duke refused to tell me where you were. It had only been by his mistake that he revealed you would have drowned if we were too late. And… And while we were not too late when we found you… Louis and I…”

Your chest ached when he failed to continue, as if voicing them would bring him more pain. No matter how he tried, he did not follow through his words. He now looked at you with his troubled eyes, eyes that had seen horrors you would not be able to comprehend.

You placed your palm flush against his chest, felt the thundering beats of his heart so similar to your own. You longed to take the pain from him, to return the warmth he gave you as he calmed the fear that once laid in your chest. Kit suffered enough. You would not allow anything to hurt him anymore.

“You were calling for your mother,” he said in a voice so hushed, it was nearly drowned by the sound of the crackling of the fireplace. “I knew she was gone; I had seen the shrine your father built for her, but you were holding a conversation with her. You were answering questions only you could hear and I—”

A tear glistened as it slid down his cheek. He swallowed thickly and you saw the lump as it worked on his throat. “It reminded of my mother. She had been delirious on the day she died. So when you called out to your own mother, when you only looked past me when I finally had you in my arms… I thought I was too late. I thought I was bound to lose you too.”

“Oh, Kit.” Your own eyes burned with tears and you felt them fall down your cheek. It must have been difficult for him, to have seen you in that state and be reminded of how his own mother had died. But you did not pass unlike his mother. He needed assurance that he arrived just in time for you.

Your hand that was on his chest moved to cup his cheek and you wiped the tear with the pad of your thumb. “You found me. I am here.”

“But I was too late—”

You shook your head at him gently. “No. No. You were not. I did not drown. I did not perish.”

Taking his hand, you used it to cup your cheek, leaning into it as if to say you were not a mere illusion. That you were present because of him. You hoped you brought comfort to him like his presence had with you.

“All I could ever think of was you,” he told you. “Even when my father was recuperating from his own brush with death, all that worried me was finding you.”

“All I could think of was you, too,” you said as you looked at him.

Kit's lips met yours in fiery desperation, hungry to feel you closer, wanting to absorb you into his very being. His hands moved to your face, cupping your head as his lips danced on your. You tasted his tears along with his relief and frustration, savored the salt and the sweetness of his lips. You threw your arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer than ever, hearts beating in time with each other as your chest pressed against his. Your fingers vanished in his thick hair on his nape, grabbing a handful of it when he suddenly deepened the kiss. Your own mouth moved with his, a new bravery coming to you and you ventured on, even tasted more of the salty tears that had now come from you. Kit was real, this was real. You had found each other. It was all that mattered.

You loved Kit, you could not deny it any longer. You loved him above everything you held dear in your heart. You loved him mightily, loved him with your whole being and you wanted nothing more than to remain in the protection of his arms. You survived to love him, this much you knew. And love him, you will. Without constraint. Without a second thought. Without a care for the judgement of others. He loved you and you loved him. It was all that mattered.

You cried out when his hands pressed against your bruised back, and he pulled his mouth from you, seeking your eyes for any pain. You only buried your face on his neck, breathing deeply and inhaling his scent and found comfort in it from everything that ailed you.

“I love you,” you whispered against his skin. You laid your hand on his chest and felt the fast drumming of his heart, rhythmic with your own. “I am yours to undo, Kit.” you said, repeating the words he had said to you.

He kissed your crown gently. “I love you,” he whispered against your hair. “I will love you forever.”

You remained in each other’s arms after you kissed, sharing no words between you. It was the unsaid that spoke volumes, of the words that did not need saying but you both knew what they were.

It was after a while that you asked how and where he found you. He had replaced you back in your bed, a mountain of pillows behind you as it propped you upright. He still clasped your hands in his, refusing to forgo any contact with you. His thumb brushed gently across the skin of your knuckles, a soothing action that put the both of you at ease.

“The lake we were searching sat near the mountain ridges that held the mines. Something called me to them. It told me to come and seek there. I thought it had been my mother’s spirit, calling to me to rest my head before I go for another search of you. So I went.”

He then told you of how Louis refused to follow the singing voice but reluctantly helped him when Kit told him he was free to leave. It had been your singing that led you to them, and your hallucination of your mother dangling a ribbon to you had been Kit, dangling his own rope to haul you from the deep well. It was his voice that instructed you to tie the ribbon to your waist, the one who asked that you kept singing so you would not be scared. Kit’s eyes were the familiar blue you remembered seeing before everything turned black.

“I am glad you are awake, my love. I would not know what I am to do without you.” Kit told you as you both waited for dinner to be brought to your chambers. He had told the butler and your maid that he and you were to sup in your room; he refused to leave you even for a while.

You gave a wan smile, recalling the nightmare that prompted you to wake and shuddering from it. Your reaction did not go unnoticed by Kit, who took your hand again in his and brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles to calm you.

“I dreamt you died,” you whispered, watching as he stiffened against your hand.

He only looked at you with pained eyes, unmoving but did not let go of you. You held on to the warmth that came from him, feeling it strengthen you to tell him of your horrific nightmare. You felt the need to tell him of it, felt that you had to show that it frightened you into waking.

You struggled to gather your thoughts, not wanting to relive the mental torture but you knew it must be said. “I was on a ship,” you told him. “There was a strong storm and the crew were having a difficult time navigating the seas. We could not dock because there was no land in sight.”

“Where were you going?” he asked quietly.

You frowned and swallowed an impossibly large lump on your throat. “Anywhere away from you. I—I could not bear to see how happy you looked when you had married Princess Chelina. I refused to see you smile and not be the one to receive them.”

You let out a shuddering breath, shivering when you felt the phantom heaviness of the dresser against your crushed ankle. It was a dream, Y/N. It was only a dream, you told yourself. You told him what had happened in your nightmare, of the storm that appeared so suddenly to when you were pinned beneath the furniture. “I was able to free myself from the cabin and when I emerged on the deck, there he was.

“The Grand Duke.” You whispered shakily.

He pressed your hand against his cheek now, holding you close, and you felt the roughness of the growing stubble about his skin. The sensation was new but welcomed—anything else was welcomed compared to the pain you felt at the memory.

“The crewmen were gone. No trace that they had even been there at all. There were only four figures; the Grand Duke was standing there and had been holding something in his hand that he dropped at the sound of my voice, and the other two laid on the deck with blooding oozing from them. I do not know who the other one was but it was a female. I called out to my father, hoping he had been the one standing but I received no answer. Then I turned the head of the body closest to me and it was you.”

Your eyes burned. Tears blurred your vision as you looked at Kit’s blue eyes that had become your home.

“I did not know you had followed me when I left. I did not know why you did when you had looked content to be married to the princess but I was too late to ask all of those questions because the Grand Duke had killed you. Your eyes were open but they were glassy; they only went through me without seeing me. You did not rouse when I tried waking you. You did not—”

You sucked in a desperate breath, feeling your throat constrict as your nightmare flashed before you. “You were dead. He killed you. And he wanted to kill me too.”

Kit’s arms wrapped around you once again and he made a soothing sound as he ran his hands in your hair. You released another wave of tears, crying at the sight—at the mere idea—of the Grand Duke coming after the prince. You were defenseless with your still-healing body; although you knew the possibility of your dream coming true was low, it was not an impossibility for it to happen.

“The Grand Duke is under Captain Thibault’s custody now. His trial before the Magistrate is afoot.” Kit told you as he soothed you. “Prince Frederick will ensure we get the justice we deserve.”

You nodded quietly, accepting all that had been said. You relished to be in his arms, to feel the love that radiated from him, basked in it until you were spent from crying.

“Will you stay with me?” you asked of Kit. “I do not wish to be alone with my thoughts and my dreams.”

He pulled from you and gave you a soft smile, brushing his knuckles across your cheek to wipe away the tears. “My love, I will do anything you ask.”

You were anxious when the food arrived. It reminded you of the last time you ate at the Dining Hall, of the time when the king had ingested hemlock. You would have taken it absently, given how emotionally fragile you were then. Kit noticed your reluctance in eating and he sampled everything in your plate and his to show you that the food was harmless. He assured you that the Cook had also been held in custody for her alliance with the Grand Duke.

All other accomplice he had had been captured and kept, he had said, they will not harm us any longer.

Dinner was brief. You had taken only a few bites, despite Kit’s attempt at making you eat more, and you filled the rest of your empty stomach with tea. Kit only frowned but wisely did not comment. When dinner had been cleared away, you offered the space beside you on the bed for him to lie on. He refused, told you that your foot still needed healing and was mindful enough to take into account the many bruises on your tender body, and that he would stay on a chair to keep guard of you. You were exhausted by the end of that conversation and would have engaged in more if your eyelids had not shut close immediately after he assured you.

When you awoke in the morning, Abigail had taken Kit’s place on the chair and was mending your pink dress. She noticed you were awake and passed to you a note and a small bouquet of flowers. You left the bouquet on your lap and opened the missive, finding Kit’s elegant script informing you why he had gone so early.

My love,

I must see to matters of the kingdom while Father is resting. My Cousin and I will be absent for the day. Forgive us for not being able to spend much time with you. Princess Chelina has told me she is at your disposal come this afternoon, should you wish for it. Your maid Abigail will devote her time to you. She will not leave you until I arrive, perhaps by dinner or after. Let her be your hands and feet while you are taking your rest.

I had picked the flowers from the garden. I hope it will keep you company until I return.

All my love forever,

Kit

The bouquet was small: irises, begonias, daisies, and lavenders haphazardly put together and tied with a length of twine. You found amusement in the bouquet, arranging it in a way so they were not crowding against one side. You knew he took extra care in picking out lavenders as they were still plump and full of its sweet-scented buds, unlike the rest of the bunch that look as though they were merely an afterthought. But altogether, however, they were beautiful. You had asked Abigail to put them in a vase beside your bed.

Breakfast was much like dinner; Abigail sampled your food before you ate it and you only nibbled on eggs and bread before telling her your appetite had gone. Tea calmed your churning stomach and you plied yourself with the liquid every now and then, sometimes with sweetmeats when you had gotten hungry. Your maid did not comment on how little you ate but she often looked at you with worry.

“What news of the king?” you asked her when you had tired of looking out your drawn curtains and to the soft rain that was once the riotous storm.

“The king is well, Miss, but the physician says he is to rest until he regains his strength,” Abigail dutifully replied. “In the meantime, it is the prince who oversees the matter of the kingdom.”

You nodded. You wrung your hands on your lap as you asked her nervously: “And of his upcoming nuptials to the Princess Chelina?”

She dropped her mending to look at you, conflicting emotions on her face. She looked in part happy and hopeful, and she also looked sad and piteous at your question. You did not know which emotion was for you.

“They are not to wed,” she replied.

You frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“There are rumors, Miss, of the prince refusing the princess’s hand in marriage, especially after everyone learned of her uncle’s treachery.”

“Rumors?”

She nodded. “The King and Queen of Zaragoza arrived early today. The prince and the princess were called to meet them. We could only assume it is for the dissolution of their engagement since we have not been told to prepare for any festivities.”

“But the king has been insistent on them marrying.” He divorced me from his son for the sole purpose of him marrying the foreign royal, you wished to add but refrained from it.

“If so, they were to be married upon the arrival of her parents. The Head Housekeeper has not ordered meats and breads and flowers for us to prepare, and it takes an awful long time to do them, Miss.”

You remembered Kit’s missive, of Princess Chelina’s availability only in the afternoon. Your heart gave a wild thump at the coincidence of Abigail’s words and his letter. Will they really meet with Princess Chelina’s parents? Did he truly refuse to marry her? A hopeful voice in you asked. Kit would be free to marry whomever he chooses.

But do not assume it will be you, another voice said, this one a tad derisive than the other. The king insisted he wed a princess, not a country girl or a diplomat’s daughter, especially one who has brought on more trouble than what she’s worth.

You refused to acknowledge the evil voice in your head but you knew the words were true. Even if Kit and Chelina’s engagement were to end, his father would only find another princess for him to marry. And you were not. The king had made it glaringly obvious, most especially during your last dinner with them.

“Is the princess an accomplice of the Gr—her-her uncle?” you asked slowly, unable to express the words without feeling the kiss of dread on your back. Just the mere thought of the man sent you into a spiral of anxiety.

But Abigail shook her head a little too solemnly. “No, Miss. She has been frightened of him since learning what he had done to the queen, the king, and to you. She had kept watch of you ever since your return, all because she wishes to apologize for what he had done.”

Perhaps you had misjudged the princess when you awoke. In your dreams, she was Kit’s newly wedded wife, as was the king’s plan for her. And the ribbon that she often wore on her hair looked so much like the terrible gash on Kit’s neck that leaked his blood. If Abigail spoke the truth, then when the princess burst into your room to heed your pleas for help… You cringed. You were monstrous to her. Louis was correct in saying she had been a victim of her uncle too.

You and Abigail talked of other matters and you were glad the topic was diverted into something else other than the awful man. She was enchanting company; she talked of her days with the Captain of the Guards and how the Head Housekeeper nearly caught them cavorting with each other. You were happy that she was happy with Captain Thibault and you decided that you were to ask for Kit’s help to bring them much closer together. And Abigail, loyal as she was to you, she decided then and there that if you were to leave the palace once you have recuperated, she would wish to be in your employ as your lady’s maid.

“Although,” Abigail had said as brushed your hair. “I wish you could remain here, Miss. The palace has become lively with you in it. It is like the days before Queen Amalie’s death has returned.”

You left your conversation at that.

Kit arrived by dinnertime.

“I hoped the flowers sufficed during my absence,” Kit said as he returned to his seat. He looked much improved since seeing him yesterday, as though your awakening had done wonders for him. He appeared to be jollier as well, making him look nearly identical with his cousin.

“They were lovely.” You smiled at him as he reached for your hand. “Thank you.”

“Louis shall join us shortly,” he informed you as he slipped his fingers in between yours. “How was your day?”

“Uneventful. I cannot leave my bed, even if I wanted to.” You gave him a sarcastic smirk, of which he returned with a laughing one. It was refreshing to be this open with him; a marked contrast after all the times you were forced to keep your love for him to yourself.

You watched him, debating on asking him about his and Princess Chelina’s engagement but you caught yourself. You were not in the position to ask him of such; it was his and the princess’s business. Despite the newfound candour you had with him, his relationships were a line you dared not cross.

“No one will stop you if you spoke what’s on your mind, my love,” Kit urged. “Tell me. I shall answer however I can.”

You bit your lower lip, wanting to ask him but at the same time, wanting to remain ignorant. What if the rumors were incorrect? That Kit and Chelina only met with her parents because they wished to push forward the wedding to an earlier date? That they only wanted a small ceremony so as to not draw much attention to how sickly the king was? What if they had already been married in secret?

“Y/N?”

“Is it true?” you blurted. You could not bear to remain in the shadows any longer. “That you and the princess will no longer marry each other?”

“Ah.” was all Kit said. He leaned back on his seat, stretching his legs, but he did not let go of your hand. “Yes, it is true.”

A wave of relief washed through you. But it was short-lived. His father will still want a princess for him, he had told you as much. You dared not hope.

“I was not present to watch you wake because we spoke with the King and Queen of Zaragoza today. Chelina and I told of our plan to not marry each other. They were quite peeved at the turn of events but they concurred when we told them the truth.”

You cocked your head to the side, watching his face. There was no regret on it and he only spoke as though it was all purely for business and for the kingdom. In that moment, he looked quite princely as he spoke.

“What truth?” you asked.

“That the engagement was her uncle’s machinations. The Grand Duke wished to install Chelina and control her once she becomes queen.”

You shivered. You would have guessed the nobleman was misogynistic if only his ire and disdain had been directed at other women as well, not just you.

You felt the gentle pressure of Kit’s hand against yours, belatedly realizing that your hand shook at the mention of the ghastly noble.

“While they maintained that they were unaware of his plans, they still urged us to honor the engagement since Chelina is already present in the kingdom.”

Your eyes flicked to him, at the wry twist of his mouth. You refused to name the way your heart broke at their suggestion. Surely, a prince and a princess could not decline such a suggestion, especially when it came from monarchs of a powerful kingdom?

“I have never seen the princess be so determined until earlier today.” Kit told you, now in amusement and awe. Your heart gave a painful thud at the admiration you saw that sparked in his eyes. “During the times she was here, she had been docile and aloof. When we spoke to her parents, there was a fire to her spirit. She told them it was her decision to not marry me because I had been through enough heartache and she would not want to saddle me with herself, seeing as I do not love her. She said it would be cruel of her to force the two of us to such fate when there is a solution to mine.”

You only kept watch of him, of the soft, loving smile that graced his lips as he now beheld you. Princess Chelina advocated for the dissolution of their engagement? Because she knew he did not love her? It was an absurd argument. You knew of other kingdoms whose kings and queens did not marry for love and yet their kingdoms thrived under their rule.

“In that moment, I knew she would make for a great queen.” Kit said proudly. “Just not mine.”

You were quiet for a while, letting the soft brush of his thumb against your hand fill your senses. “I have seen how Louis and Princess Chelina are fond of each other,” you said casually, looking for his reaction.

He chuckled heartily before he kissed the top of your hand. “Fond? They are in love, much like you and I.”

Oh. You smiled, unable to name the way your heart filled with happiness for your dearest friend. It seemed as though his longing stares were not one-sided as you had thought.

Conversations halted when the food arrived. You were famished from not having enough food throughout the day, having eaten only tea and sweetmeats, that you did not wait for Kit to sample your food for poison. He only smiled affectionately at you as you attacked your meal with vigor. Louis arrived when you were half-way through with your meal, smiling as he commented on how ravenous you were. You decided to ignore how unladylike you looked as you ate.

“Have you had your dinner?” you asked when he settled beside his cousin, a cup of tea in his hands. There was a tiredness to his face and you recalled the letter Kit had penned, of Louis helping him with matters of the kingdom.

“It was like a state banquet, pet,” he replied, stretching his legs and crossing it at the ankles. “I dined with my uncle and the King and Queen of Zaragoza. The only topics of conversation had been politics and economics.”

You smiled.

He looked at the cup in his hand, swirling the liquid in it. “I confess I miss having tea with you. Kit is surly whenever we have tea and I cannot seem to get your concoction right. Mine are always bitter or too floral to the senses.” He crinkled his nose for added effect.

You chuckled. “Perhaps he is surly because your tea does not taste pleasant.”

“You do not have to mince your words around me. You can tell me it is horrid; I heard Kit say it so. I know I do not possess a prowess for tea blending.”

You smiled. “Only for tea drinking, I fear.”

Louis erupted into guffaws. “Oh, pet, it is nice to have you back.”

The conversation carried on until the rest of the night. You learned that Louis had taken the role of adviser to Kit while he took care of the kingdom’s business. The matters of the kingdom had increased in number since the start of the trial. The devastation the storm had wrought added more to the already waiting pile of work that was left by the king and his perfidious adviser. But Kit and Louis did not protest their work. They merely talked of it as though it were an everyday conversation topic.

They had asked of your opinion for some of them, asked how it had been in other kingdoms and lands and if their plans would benefit the people more than burden them. Your inputs were appreciated by them; often times they would turn to each other and exclaim that you had found the solution they were looking for. Your heart warmed at the casual conversation. As the night wore on, you found yourself blinking and yawning more than you had in hours. You fell asleep as they were talking of the mines and the gemstones.

The days that followed were mundane at best. Kit had gone before you awoke but he always picked a small bouquet to leave you, always with lavenders. Abigail had brought an embroidery project so you were not weary of the same days. You were able to finish two cushions in a week. For someone who thrived on travelling and meeting new people, your confinement to your bed was like a punishment. You were a creature of adventure; keeping you in one place was almost physically painful to you. The pains in your body had gone, leaving you only with scattered dull aches and healing bruises, mostly from the places where you had broken your fall. Your foot was healing as expected but it was still not strong enough to carry your weight.

Come dinner, you were often accompanied by Kit and Louis would arrive soon after, telling you of more stories he heard from the Zaragozan royals during their supper. The skies had turned for the better; no more storms and if there were rain, it was only a spray-like mist that often entered your open window.

On the very week after you had awoken, you promised yourself you would speak to the princess after you had your lunch. You were not in any position to snub royalty and you felt you must apologize for your atrocious behaviour towards her. You believed you were well enough to face the kin of the man who wanted you dead without feeling any anxiety.

Princess Chelina arrived in your chambers, looking as haunted as when you had first seen Kit when you awoke. The pallor of her skin worried you, as were the tearstains that tracked down her hollow cheeks.

“Miss Y/N.” Despite her appearance, her tone was happy and relieved. “I see you are faring better.”

“Your Royal Highness, please forgive my lack of curtsying. The physician warned me against using my foot and he would not have me out of the bed before it is healed,” you said.

You saw that she kept a respectful distance from you. You gestured for the chair nearest to your bed. “Please, Your Royal Highness.”

When she sat, you motioned for the tea set that was beside her. Abigail had poured and prepared everything for your conversation with the princess. “Tea, Your Royal Highness?”

She graciously declined the biscuits but nursed her teacup in her hands. She watched you expectantly, still as regal despite the sadness that lurked behind her eyes.

“You must forgive my reaction to your coming into my room, Your Royal Highness. I thought—”

She raised a hand and halted your words. She gave a gentle shake of her head. “You must not apologize. It is I—”

“But you are a victim as well,” you said, frowning.

“As were you.” She sipped the tea, turning to look at the cloudy summer sky. “My uncle, he did horrifying things to you and to Kit’s family. I could not apologize enough for his transgressions.”

“It was not your fault, Your Royal—”

She turned to you, a soft smile on her lips. “Please. You must call me Chelina.”

You paused to smile, nodding smally at her request. “You must not burden yourself with the sins of your kin, Chelina. It was not your doing. You were unaware that such a thing happened. I apologize for making the mistake of thinking you were involved in his plans.”

The smile she gave you was polite and one of absolution. “I feel terrible for what he’s done. It wasn’t right. And he planned to marry me to the prince only so he could control me.” You saw the shiver than ran through her frame. “He is hideous. I cannot fathom the darkness that goes through inside his mind.”

“It is one darkness I would not wish upon you,” you told her gravely. “You were lucky to escape his clutches.”

“I truly am sorry, Miss—”

“Y/N, please,” you offered.

“Y/N. I am sorry you had to endure those days in the well. I could only imagine the pain and suffering you had gone through.”

You swallowed the lump that formed on your throat. Your palms had started to sweat and you wiped them on your covers. You breathed evenly for a few moments, steadying your heartbeat that started to drum in your ears.

“Those days are gone now. I am found. He is in trial. All will be well in the end.” You told her. You reached for her hand and gave a squeeze. “If forgiveness is what you seek for his crimes, then I forgive you even if you have no fault on the matter. Forgive yourself, too, for the sins that are not your own.”

She squeezed your hand in return and gave you a grateful smile. Her shoulders lifted as if your pardoning her removed the heavy burden from her. But still, you knew in yourself that the tears she shed were not for her uncle. They were for another matter entirely. You would have asked if she had not spoken first.

“Why did you not tell me you were wed to Kit?” Chelina asked as she drank from her cup.

It was bound to be brought up, you surmised. “The king wanted us to be divorced. It would not have mattered if you knew because our marriage would have been dissolved before your wedding to him. It would have been a great scandal if the people knew.”

The soft clanging of the cup against the saucer was the only sound in the room.

“Why?” you asked her. “Why will you not marry Kit?”

Chelina gave a tired, mirthless smile and ran a hand down her skirts, straightening it. “The queen’s premature death was by my uncle’s hand. I do not think the people would take kindly to his niece being the kingdom’s future queen. I will be unpopular with them and I will not serve my purpose if they do not want me to lead and serve them.”

“All for diplomacy, then?” you asked. “Not because of a certain duke, particularly one from Granville?” you ventured.

She stiffened in her seat and the sadness that lurked behind her eyes now resurfaced. Her lips quivered as a tear rolled down her cheek. She drew a hand to her mouth to shield away how it trembled at the mention of your dear friend.

“I am to leave tonight, for Zaragoza.” she whispered brokenly.

“But you love him—”

“Love has no room for princesses.” The scorn in her tone reminded you of her uncle but whilst his was of anger, hers was resigned and a resentment of her stature.

The composed façade she kept upon her entrance had finally crumbled. Gone was the regal Princess of Zaragoza and in its place was another lovelorn woman, regretful and mournful of the love she was to leave. You knew how the heartbreak felt—knew of it firsthand—but for someone in her stature, you could only fathom that it hurt a hundredfold.

“He is not a prince. My father and my mother will not choose a mere duke for me. They will find another royal in desperate need of a wife and they will offer me,” she spat hatefully although you could hear the surrender in them. Her tears flowed now but she made no move to wipe them.

You could only nod, words evading you. You let her cry, gave her leave to show the emotions you knew she would only hide from her parents.

“Have you said your goodbyes to him?” you asked quietly after she stopped her tears.

“I cannot,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I cannot face him. I… I cannot bear to see the pain on his face.”

You reached for her hand again and gave it a squeeze.

“I do not want to see him lonely.” She closed her eyes briefly and a frown marred her features. “It is not like him, to be sad. He is the epitome of jolliness and carefree leisure. It would be unnatural to see any other emotion on his face.”

You gave her hand another squeeze, in agreement to her words.

“Do you think he will be angry at me for leaving without saying my farewells?” She looked at you now, eyes wide and tearful once more. “Perhaps it will make it easier for him to forget me if he is angry with me. Perhaps it would be easier for me if he hated me.”

You shook your head passionately, pained that she would even consider such thought. “No. No. Louis is nothing of that sort. He will only hurt but he cannot hate you. He will never hate on someone he loves.”

Her lips trembled once again but she held herself. “How would you know? You and he are good friends. I doubt there was a time you deliberately hurt each other.”

You smiled sadly at the memory of the moment he knew of yours and Kit’s marriage and pulled back from holding her hand. “Oh, I had. When I did not tell him his cousin and I were married, he felt betrayed. It was the angriest I had seen him but he never hated me. He understood why I could not tell him. He would be understanding to your plight as well.”

Chelina took a sip of her tea and replaced it on the saucer clumsily. She took a shuddering breath and when you thought she had finally composed herself, another tear fell from her eye.

“Still, I cannot bid him goodbye,” she whispered achingly. “I do not want to remember his face and be reminded that I had been the one who put the pain there.”

You only nodded your head, understanding her. You would have done the same if Kit had married Chelina. “I understand.”

She took another sip of her tea.

“Would you like me to convey your goodbyes?” you asked of her.

She shook her head. “I do not know what to say.”

You watched her, wanting to pity her but refrained from doing so because you knew she would not let you. You had not known the princess long—had been avoiding her so she and Kit may spend time to get to know one another—but you knew she would make a great friend. Chelina was loyal and kind. And Kit was correct; she had the makings of a great queen. You could only hope the prince her parents would choose for her was kind and loyal as she was. Or the prince they would choose was a duke instead.

She deposited the cup and saucer on the table beside you. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“What for?” you asked.

“For your kindness to me despite what my uncle had done to you.”

You gave a smile, heart clenching at the sad tone of her voice. “It was not your fault. You must not burden yourself with his sins.”

If she were trying to smile, it ended looking much like a grimace.

“Would it be amiss if I were to ask you to be my friend?” you asked her.

You watched the stunned look at her face before it softened into one of graciousness. “I would be honored to call you my friend, Y/N,” she said

Your smile turned brilliant, as did hers. There was an instant camaraderie in the both of you. “I promise I shall write to you when you leave. I hope my letters will make do until I am well again to travel.”

“I shall look forward to them.”

You talked of other things for the rest of the day, learning that there were similarities between the two of you. She would have loved to travel if given the chance to and you felt the passion she had for music in the way she spoke of it. She talked of other personal matters, thoughts and ideas she had not shared to anyone except to you, her new friend. You, in turn, shared your other secrets that were unknown to Louis or to anyone else. You conversed as though you were old friends, and as the day went on did you realize that the princess had never been given the chance to become this animated with anyone else.

Your conversation was only interrupted when the royal physician arrived. Princess Chelina bid you farewell—almost reluctantly, you noticed—and left with a promise to show you her kingdom when you were to go there.

Kit arrived for dinner the same time as he had everyday for the past week.  

“Did you know they were leaving tonight?” you asked as soon as he sat on his chair.

He did not need elaborating because there were only a handful of people who were bound to leave the palace that night. “Yes. It was decided when we talked to them a week past. The seas would be calm for them to travel safely.”

“Does Louis know?”

He paused. “No, I do not think so.”

You frowned. Surely, Louis would have heard talks of the Zaragozan royals’ leaving that evening. He would be privy to some gossip as he could charm anyone he wished.

“I heard you talked with Chelina earlier today.” Kit said as he took notice of the vase that held his daily floral pickings. You had not thrown any of the flowers he had given you, combining his old pickings with the new ones you had received earlier today.

“Yes, we both apologized to each other.” You replied distractedly, mind resolute on the matter. “Kit, Louis does not know she is leaving?”

He shook his head as he turned to you. “No. If he had, he would have mentioned it.”

“It will break his heart.” You almost saw how it would devastate him.

“I know.”

“He will be the surly one now.” And how unusual of him to be so!

“I know.”

“He would grumble and be insufferable about it.” Given how peeving he already was, it was no question how much more grumbly he would become.

“I know.”

You directed your grimace at him. “Kit, I cannot believe how nonchalant you are about this. He is your cousin. Have compassion on the man who is about to have his heart broken.”

He sighed, looking ruefully at you.  “Forgive me, my love. You must know that I do care for him. Will you believe me if I said I had tried all that I could to convince her parents that he will suit Chelina despite his lack of royal title?”

You sobered. It was wrong of you to assume Kit did not care for his cousin. You sighed as well, apologetic. “I only worry for him. You know how much I love Louis despite how vexatious he could be.”

He took your hand and kissed it. “Of course. You are each other’s dearest friends. But the King and Queen of Zaragoza are resolute. They only want her to marry royalty. I could only do so much in my power.”

You did not doubt of his words. Chelina had said as much during your conversation earlier that day. And you knew Kit, knew he would resort to pleading if he had to, for the sake of his loved ones’ happiness.

You curved your hand on his cheek and felt the prickling of a stubble that was forming on his chin. You had become bold in touching Kit, dashing propriety for the sake of comfort. You and he always sought each other after the end of every day and had been inseparable since. “I’m sorry I’m being churlish. I cannot help but worry for him. I haven’t seen him in love but now that he has, he’s chosen the forbidden one.”

“Our love was forbidden as well but the world has conspired to bring us together after it tore us apart.” He smiled and you ran your thumb against his lips. He gave it a little kiss. “But her parents are set on their decision. They cannot be swayed. I can only hope they will choose right for her.”

You nodded. One could only hope for the time being. You smiled at him, smoothing the tired lines beside his beautiful eyes. “How was your day?”

He leaned into your palm. “Quite the same. More matters that needed seeing. The miners are trickling back to their mining village and will be hard at work soon. Our trade with Prince Frederick’s kingdom is slowly coming to fruition. The trial is also progressing as it should.”

You smiled at his accomplishments then bit your lip when a thought occurred to you. “If I take up your time that you can use for business, I would understand—”

“No,” he said as he shook his head. “Never. I always look forward to the time I would be spending with you.”

“Kit…”

“I finish quicker whenever I think of sharing my evenings with you.”

“But still—”

He raised an amused brow at you. “Is this your way of saying you’ve grown tired of my presence?” he joked, grin impish.

You chuckled at the unexpected joke. Now, you saw how he and Louis were related. “Oh, no! Never! I would never tire of you. I would always want to be in your presence. And you are far less vexing than your cousin. I find he speaks a lot. I would rather have you than him or any other person after a long day.”

“Good. I would hate to compete against someone for your attention.” He kissed your palm again. “I am a jealous man, my love. I do not think I would take kindly to the other person who vies for your time and affection.”

“Then you are in good luck because there is no one else but you.” you told him with a smile.

The smile that came upon his face was beautiful and splendid.

When Louis arrived, there was nothing on his face that told you he had any idea of the princess and her family’s imminent departure. He only appeared his jolly self, bearing with him a tray of tea tins and a steaming pot of hot water. His entire demeanour was one of blissful ignorance and you loathe to be the source of his heartache. You kept silent on the matter.

Louis would understand, you thought, convincing yourself that you were only acting in his best interest. The charming duke had been understanding before with your predicament. How different would this be?

#richard madden x reader #prince kit x reader #prince kit #cinderella 2015 #cinderella #richard madden #richard madden x y/n #prince kit x y/n #marvel eternals #ikaris #ibiza netflix #leo west #leo west x reader #got #robb stark x reader #bodyguard netflix #david budd #david budd x reader #richard madden fic #richard madden imagine #the accidental princess #the accidental princess fic #beananacake writes

[writingformadderton]

Blissful hours

Pairing: Taron Egerton x Richard Madden

Word Count: 3129

Summary: Taron gets home tired out from work and gets surprised with a warm bath and dinner. Richard knows exactly how to take care of him and relieve the tension...

Warnings/Tags: fluff, Valentine's Day, cuddles, smut

A/N: We hope you like our fic🥰🥰~Nati and Miya💜

Taron came home about mid-afternoon, tired out from a long week. He had been working 12 hour days for the last 3 weeks, consistent of filming, wardrobe meetings, and interviews. Thank god he has a break for the next week. He kicks off his shoes and stands still for a moment, embracing the quiet atmosphere. "Richard?" he calls out softly. His boyfriend steps out of the kitchen soon after.

Richard’s face softens seeing his mate, a compassionate smile spread across his lips. "You're still wearing your jacket, bub." he chuckles softly. He walks towards the Welsh, warm and welcoming.

"Don't care. Need you." Taron speaks just barely above a whisper and falls into his arms. He buries his face in his chest and holds onto him tightly. God, how he loves being in his arms.

Richard wraps his arms around him and gently rubs his lower back. "Tired, darling?" he asks and T just nods. He plants a soft kiss onto his temple and softly glides his fingertips over the back of his neck. "We should get you to bed early then. Looks like you could use the rest."

"M'tired but not sleepy." he sighs, hands holding onto the comfortable fabric of Richard's sweater firmly.

"I'll soothe your mind and body enough for you to sleep, I promise. Why don't you go and take a shower before we eat?" he suggests. Richard had prepared their dinner a good while ago while Taron worked. He just needed to put on some finishing touches and throw it in the oven.

"Join me?" Taron asks and looks up at him with the best puppy look in his eyes he could manage. He knows very well that Richard can rarely resist that look. Those green orbs enlarging and his pout sending him over the moon.

Richard smiles softly and unzips Taron’s jacket, giving in to his request. "Of course. I'll just put our dinner into the oven. I'll be with you in a moment"

Taron nods and makes his way to the bathroom upstairs after kissing him on the cheek. He opens the door and his mouth falls open in surprise. The bathtub is filled with water at the perfect temperature, bubbles and color added. Candles illuminated the room with a warm hue and a soothing lavender scent lulls him in. What was be occasion? Had Richard already planned for this?

"Baabee?" he asks, walking back downstairs to Richard. "What's with the candles and lavender?" he questions and sees the already set table with some wine glasses and everything. Once again, his mouth falls open in shock at the gesture. He looks at his boyfriend with eyebrows raised. Did he miss his own birthday again?

Richard closes the oven and walks over to him, a slight chuckle leaving his lips. "Well first off, it's Valentine’s Day and you had to leave and be on set before I woke up. So we can continue the celebrations now."

Taron nods and gently takes his hand. "And?" That couldn’t just be the only thing.

"And you've been working so much lately that you come home all exhausted. It breaks my heart a little." Richard gently wraps his arms around his waist. "Which is why I wanna pamper you a bit, ease the stress a little at a time." His lips curl into a small smile as he looks into his lover’s eyes.

Taron's face softens hearing that. "Aren't you the sweetest?" he breathes out and wraps his arms around his neck. He has been working really hard days with this new film, but it was worth it coming home to the person he loved every day. Seeing Richard’s smile and holding him tight every night made it all bearable.

Rich smiles and leans down, kissing him lovingly. The two savor the kiss for just a moment and enjoy each other’s warm embrace. They make their way upstairs to the bathroom and remove their clothes, getting into the water. Taron takes his chance to cuddle up against Richard, his back on his chest, and closes his eyes. He relaxes into his soothing touch as Richard takes cares of washing his body gently. He lets him rest a little while he shampoos his hair lovingly. Once finished with Taron, Richard cleans himself up and the pair carefully get out of the tub. Richard dries Taron off after wrapping his own towel around his body.

Taron insists on wearing some of Richard's clothes when they leave the bathroom, as he always does when he is exhausted. It provides a great comfort to him, whether Richard is there or not. They decide to have their dinner in the living room tonight. T is sitting on Richard's lap, a plate for both of them on his own lap as they eat carefully. "Mm I needed this." T hums happily as he digs into the lasagna Richard made. He could never get over how great of a cook he is.

"I hoped so." Rich chuckles softly and kisses his cheek.

-

Taron groans softly and turns onto his back, looking up at Rich with a frustrated pout. "I can't fall asleep." he says annoyed. They had finished their dinner almost a half hour ago and Richard told Taron to rest. So Taron repositioned himself on the couch and tried just that.

Richard gently runs his hand through Taron's hair, who's head is resting on his lap. "Got too much on your mind?" he asks and T hums, answering his question.

He grumbles and rubs his eyes. "I can't stop thinking about all the stuff I have to do and-." Stopping mid sentence, he sits up and huffs tiredly.

"Taron, tonight starts your week off from working so hard. Okay, there's nothing you have to do." he says softly, but firmly. "I'm home for a few days as well, so we can actually do nothing all day." he smiles.

Taron smirks and straddles his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. "That sounds almost too perfect. Am I dreaming?"

Rich chuckles softly and pulls him into a loving kiss. "You're adorable."

"Can we go and cuddle in bed?" Taron asks sweetly. Of course he truly wanted to cuddle, but there’s an underlying ulterior motive to the cuddle session.

"Of course." he nods and they get up from the couch. Richard folds the blankets they were using, and Taron couldn’t resist. Rich is caught by surprise when Taron kisses him again, a soft moan escaping the Scottish man’s chest.

Taron wraps his arms around his neck and stumbles back a few steps, his back hitting the wall behind him. He stops and looks up at him with lust momentarily gleaming in his eyes.

Richard grabs his waist and pins him to the wall, looking down at him. The sudden need in Taron’s eyes catches him by surprise, and slightly overwhelms him. "I think I know exactly what you need to put you to sleep." Rich chuckles softly.

"Maybe." he says, a blush quickly coating his cheeks and ears.

Richard smiles at the reaction and gently caresses his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too." Taron smiles softly.

He leans down, connecting their lips. They share a passionate kiss and Taron pulls him closer to his frame. Holding each other close and slightly tighter with each movement.

Taron smiles and a quiet moan falls from him as their lips touch. He kisses him passionately, breath hitching as Richard's hands caress his sides.

Richard notices the change and gently grabs his hips. "Maybe I know what you'll need to relieve the tension, darling."

T raises his eyebrows at him, holding back a grin. "I'm all ears."

"You want me to take care of you?" he asks and lets his hands slip under Taron's sweater, gently touching his skin. His touch felt like fore, but send goosebumps all over at the same time. Taron yearned for more, ached for it even.

"Please." Taron answers quickly and buries his face in Richard's shoulder, blushing at how desperate he sounds. He truly did need to get the tension out of his body from the long nights. But he wouldn’t dare turn down an offer to have it handled by Richard.

He chuckles softly and kisses his head. "I love you, darling."

"Love you too" he says softly, feeling his lips curl into a smile. He lets out a giggle as Richard guides them away from the wall and onto their big sofa, lying Taron down and hovering over him.

-

He couldn't fully believe how good it feels. Though they have done this multiple times now, Richard seems to know every little thing that drives him crazy and pushes him closer to the edge. Somehow, they had moved upstairs after a very steamy make out session. And now here Taron was lying on their bed, clothes gone, legs open, and Richard moving towards where he needed him most. His hands are gripping the sheets, trying to steady himself before he lost his mind. He can’t muffle the sounds leaving his throat as Richard kissed his body, and usually he would have been flustered about it. Taron was always vocal in bed, but for them to be barely starting, it’s almost embarrassing. But this time, he doesn't even have the time to think about it, and Rich doesn't seem to mind. His whimpers are needy as Richard's lips wander up his inner thigh again. He takes one hand and rakes his fingers through Richard’s dark hair, gently tugging on his scalp. "Rich... Babe...Pleasee."

"Patience, darling." he mumbles against his skin and places a delicate kiss onto his hip bone. "We haven't even started yet." A devious smirk flashes over his lips as he sneaks a glance in Taron’s direction.

Taron chuckles weakly at that, but moans softly as Richard's lips wander down his thigh, teeth gently grazing his skin. Then, he finally feels Richard's fingers pulling down his boxers. Only seconds later, his hands are wrapped around Taron’s thighs, spreading his legs open wide. All he can see are Richard's dark curls when looking down. He takes the opportunity to run a hand through them once he feels his tongue push against his hole. "Fuckin' hell..." he sighs deeply and his eyes flutter close at the feeling.

Richard's tongue works wonders along the area and the sounds coming from his lover are music to his ears. Taron writhes underneath his hold on his thighs as Richard’s tongue laps at his entrance. Richard takes a second to place two fingers in his mouth, preparing them with as much spit as he could, before slowly sliding them into Taron one at a time, opening him up just right. A groan erupts from Taron at the sudden again, but it’s pure bliss as his boyfriend slowly works his fingers inside him. But he doesn't stop there as he wraps his lips around his length, sucking softly at the tip. Taron melts as he is taken into Richard’s mouth. The warm and wet sensation is not foreign to him, but it comes as a relief as Richard slowly moves his head lower and lower with each dip of his head.

Taron gasps at the feeling and arches into his touch. Richard's fingers curl up against his prostate whilst his mouth works wonders on him at a steady pace. Already being worked up, Taron is struggling to keep his release at bay. He’s feeling every sensation Richard is giving him. Every tongue flick on his needy length, every time he hits the back of Richard’s throat, every curl of his fingers, every time Richard hallows his cheeks. Every action bringing him closer to the edge and building up that fire in his body. It quickly becomes too much for him to bear and all he can do is gasp and moan louder than before. Unable to warn him of what’s to come, his eyes flutter closed as his orgasm washes over him, leaving him whimpering his name and pulling at his hair. Hot ropes of cum paint the inside of Richard’s mouth and he moans around his length at the feeling. Once he finished, he swallows and slowly pulls away from his lover, giving the tip one last playful lick. Taron comes down from his high, panting softly and a crimson blush settling on his face. "God, I'm sorry." he apologizes breathlessly. His mind was so clouded in pleasure that he couldn’t focus on speaking.

Richard watches him, eyes darkened with lust, and smiles softly. "Nothing to be sorry for." he tells him and wraps his hand around his own cock, stroking himself and moaning at the much needed friction. "I’m gonna make you feel so good. Just like you want, darling." he promises, a devilish grin coming across his features. Taron’s eyes enlarged at his words, and a blush paints itself on his face, his ears hot to the touch. His boyfriend instructs him to move up towards the headboard and he complies. As he settles comfortably on the bed, Richard makes his way towards him, hovering a bit. He reaches into the bedside table and retrieves a bottle of lube. He squirts some into his hand and spreads it over his length, smirking because he catches Taron watching his hand work. The younger man licks his lip, biting down softly after. Richard applies more to his fingers and rubs them over his boyfriend’s entrance, slowly pushing in to coat his walls as best as he can. Taron holds his own legs open with a groan, patiently waiting for more than just his lover’s fingers inside of him.

Richard gently removes his fingers and positions himself over the younger man, holding his length in his hand. Slowly, he begins to make his way inside. Taron whines as Richard pushes into him, finally connecting their bodies. He arches into the movement and groans satisfied when Richard sinks in deep. One hand rests on his shoulder, the other is tangled in his hair, trying to steady himself. Richard gives him time to adjust, spreading kisses all over his neck.

Richard pushes in deep and slow, really relishing the fact that they have all the time in the world for this. It's just them and their love. Something about this slow, loving pace makes the atmosphere soo much more intimate. Makes their moans sound sweeter with each thrust.

Sure, rough sex was amazing too. Dominating your partner in bed while they submitted to your will, all in part to both getting the pleasure desired. The sucks, bites, and slaps that encompassed the moment. Hearing your partner beg for a release after holding out for as long as they could, or that was allowed.

But this moment, this slow and steady rhythm heightens both men’s senses in a way like no other. Their touched gentle and warm as their bodies are engulfed in warm embraces. Kisses so passionate and soft, it left them craving for more with each separation. Bodies intertwined in the most blissful of ways, while swallowing earned moans from the other. It makes goosebumps rise on their skin, but sweat slowly build and trickle down exposed areas. Their bodies move perfectly together and neither wants to stop anytime soon.

They share sweet kisses, muffling each others moans. Tears of pleasure run down Taron's face as Richard's length massages his prostate in a steady rhythm. His next moan is so broken up it makes Richard glance at him a little alarmed.

"Are you okay?" he asks gently and slows down the pace. He gently caresses his face and kisses his jaw.

"Mmm so good..don't stop, Rich." he nods quickly and closes his eyes, mouth falling open with a moan. Taking his word for it, he continues on, matching the speed of his previous pace. "More, pleasee" he begs a little.

Richard decides to change positions, knowing his boyfriend all too well. He pulls out and giggles at the protesting sound that leaves Taron's lips. He sits on his knees and hold his hands out for Taron. "Come here, my love."

Taron gets the hint and takes his hands, sitting up and moving onto his lap, easing him in slowly. He wraps his arms around his neck, legs around his waist, and moans deliciously as he sinks down onto his cock. Moving his hips, he starts riding him in a steady pace. He kisses Richard passionately, nipping and biting at each other’s lips until he slides his tongue into his mouth. Their tongues dancing aggressively with one another.

Richard's hands caress down his sides, settling on his hips to steady him as he thrusts up into him. He moans loudly as Taron rolls his hips down to meet him. It’s pure ecstasy in the air, as both of them had been waiting for this moment for a couple days. Their skin electrifying the other with touches, grips, and tight embraces. Every kiss and bites sending goosebumps. The moans, groans, and whimpers becoming music to their ears, and they will do anything to keep the song going. If only they had been recording this to look back on later. It’s only about them in this moment, which makes it all the more passionate and sultry. It doesn't take long for Taron to find his rhythm and bounce faster on him, moaning obscenely loud as he chases his high. His release had been building steadily. But now, it’s right there, ready to be let go. "Oh God, ohh I'm gonna-." he doesn't finish his sentence as a gasp replaces his words. Richard wraps his arms around him and sends him over the edge with only a few strokes.

Taron groans out his name and cums all over their chests, sloppily moving his hips as he rides through his orgasm. The thick, white ropes painting a picture on their skin. His head sinks onto his shoulder once it washes over and he whimpers a little at the overstimulation.

Now, its Richard’s turn. "Come on, darling. Cum for me." Taron says soft and breathlessly, lovingly fondles through his hair. "My beautiful, handsome, love." he praises him. Richard was very close and all it takes is for Taron to clench around him. The action sends Richard over the edge, a low gutteral groan leaving his swollen lips as he coats his walls with his cum. Taron moans softly at the sound, kissing his neck and jaw as he rides out his orgasm.

They collapse onto the matress together and pant softly. "Tired now?" he asks laughing breathlessly. He looks over at him lazily.

"Absolutely." T smirks and lazily grabs his hand, squeezing it. "Happy Valentine's day." he says softly after a moment.

"Happy Valentine's day, love." he smiles at him sweetly.

#richard madden fic #taron egerton fic #madderton fic #richard madden fluff #taron egerton fluff #madderton fluff #richard madden smut #taron egerton smut #madderton smut #taron egerton #richard madden #madderton #fluff #smut #Valentine's Day #requests open

[sideblogofhell]

a dance with the enemy

summary: ikaris is recruting eternals in hiding but you're unwilling to take him without a fight pairing: ikaris x male reader word count: 1.4k warnings: 18+ warning, oral and anal, reader is an eternal (non specified powers but they can absorb energy) ikaris is a villain here duh, hate sex? a/n: the writer's block is killing me send help

masterlist | the repentant's corner

His hands on your wrists were tight, fingers digging deep into your skin, creating coils of red. You looked up at him with your varied height, his blue eyes now a bright gold. You tried to escape him, writhing underneath his grasp. His brown hair was tousled and wet, the lone streak of gray plastered on his forehead.

"Why do you have to make this so difficult," he said. 

He was stronger and faster. You knew that escaping him would not be possible. The only way to get free of him was to use his own weakness, his pride. "Arishem's golden boy, have you come to finally kill me?"

"Not kill. I need you to join me," Ikaris said, his face so close you could feel his breath on your lips.

"And leave my life behind?" You pleaded. "No."

"I never wanted this for any of us," he said, pulling away. You massage your thumbs on your aching wrists. He stopped, panting while his eyes faded to a light blue. "But it needs to be done."

"Then show me why I should," you said. Ikaris swiftly cups your face, his lips crashing onto yours. His lips were warm and plump, his hands large and strong against your cheeks. You wanted to pour yourself onto him, let your mind and body betray you just for once.

But you pushed him away. His lips were swollen and shiny against the lights, his eyes bloodshot and welling with tears. Your heart pounded, almost painful. You tried to whisper a word, but unidentifiable syllables came out. 

Let go, you thought. You crashed back into Ikaris' embrace, his arms around your waist while your lips met his. The stubble of his jaw pricked your skin as his kiss fell on your neck. Teasing and nibbling with his lips and tongue. The wetness on your neck, mixed with the air, made you shiver. Ikaris chuckled under his breath, a teasing laugh. 

"We shouldn't," he whispered. He's right. Nothing about this is sincere. Nothing about it is birthed from affection. It's simply a temporary pleasure, a scratch to an itch. It shouldn't feel right. 

You pushed him hard against the wall, cracks forming. You kiss him again, this time more rabid, lip-biting, nails digging into his shoulders. His hands were firm on your waist, pushing hard enough it could break human bones. "We really shouldn't."

Your lips kiss down his stubble neck, your flesh hit against his jugular. A hand guiding your way. You could bite him now, strangle him, take a knife to his veins, and finally end him. Instead, you suck on his skin, a moan leaves his lips, mouth agape from pleasure.

He takes off his jacket, leaving a tight blue shirt that shapes around his muscles. Your hands find the hems, seeking what is underneath. You smooth your palms against his taut abdomen, littered with soft hair. Your fingertips trace each ridge. 

You go on your knees to give his skin a kiss and have a taste of his pale skin. Your tongue teases the hem of his jeans, the barrier between modesty and eroticism. You palm the growing bulge. He takes over and unbuckles his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping so he can take out his sex.

"Just take me in," he pleaded. He pulls your mouth in with much force. The walls of your mouth envelop his well-endowed sex. You gag from the sudden movement, eyes welling with tears. His hands smooth on your hair, gripping on it as he fucks your mouth. 

Saliva coats his cock, which is aching hard. He would occasionally pull out, the head aching red and the tip leaking. There was no regard for your body. You were simply a means to pleasure. 

You back out, coughing up saliva while the roof of your mouth aches. You stagger to find balance. Ikaris' eyes are dark, his lips taut. 

"Where's your bed?" He asked. 

You find yourselves naked on top of each other, limbs entangled, hair messy as your bodies are drenched with sweat. Ikaris' body casts a shadow on top of you, his broad shoulders perfectly flexed as his arms pinned yours. Your legs placed on his waist, his erection teasing your hole. 

He spits on his hand, lubing his cock before pushing it in you. There was a sharp pain, eliciting a loud shriek from you, your hands wrapping around his neck. He takes a few moments to make you settle on his size. He is panting on top of you, his hairy chest rising and falling, his muscles contracting and relaxing. 

He moves his hips, his head falling on the crook of your neck as he thrusts. "You're so tight," he moaned. You gasp from the pressure. You swore you could feel your body tremble. He pushes again, and this time, your body finally acclimated. He hit a spot inside you that drew out a moan of pleasure. Your sex ached hard on your abdomen, leaving a drop of pleasure.

He wrapped his arms around you, large biceps around your body, your fingers scratching at his broad back, leaving lines of red. For a second, you thought of the embrace as a result of love, something couples would do in sex. But then he forces a strong thrust, a gasp leaving your mouth. And suddenly, it was just sex. 

It took a great deal of restraint on Ikaris' part. His strength could crush you. He felt his body lose control, his eyes becoming warm and lighting up in gold. Your body felt so fragile in his arms, so delicate and feeble. 

You cursed under your breath, your eyes rolling back in euphoria. Intricate patterns of gold laced your hands. You could burn him if you wished. Cosmic energy laced your bodies and, if uncontained, could send ripples of destruction around you. 

He pulled onto you so you could switch positions. He took time to straddle his muscular thighs as he slowly guided himself in you. You palmed his chest, a hand finding his throat. You pressed your fingers in, wrapping around his neck, constricting his breathing.

His hips ram into you at an accelerated pace, and your body does the same. You rode him until he was tearing through the sheets with his hands, the bed creaking, his form sinking into the mattress. He lets out exasperated groans, the veins on his neck more prominent, his face burning red. 

You feel each other's climax coming. Ikaris pulls you back into a kiss, a greedy kiss, one that is meant only for the finality of the act. He pushes deeper as you ride him, his tip hitting the sweet spot inside you that only draws your pleasure to excess. 

"I'm gonna cum in you," he demanded. "And you'll take it like the good boy you are."

"I'm not your good boy," you said, pulling on his brown locks. You were on high ground. The command is with you, not him. "I'll finish whenever I like."

His face contorted into a headless cry, his eyes shut, and his lips open. You were close, too close. Teetering into climax like an overflowing glass of water. "Fuck," Ikaris groans. "I'm so fucking close."

"Look into my eyes," you said. 

"I can't," he said, the veins around his eyes a glimmering gold. 

"Fine," you said. "I'll just leave you like this," Ikaris slowly opened his eyes, a hazy gold. You moved your hips in sync with his. His grip grew harder, his body more flexed. You could feel the energy burn through his eyes. If he let go, he could easily hurt you. 

Ikaris cursed as he came inside you. Shining bright light through his eyes that burned through the ceiling. You shuddered as you came as well, your hands glowing with gold as you sucked in his power. Slowly, Ikaris' light faded, coursing through the veins of your hands. The increased energy surging through your body crashed into you like a potent drug. 

Ikaris passed out long after. The strongest Eternal, asleep in your bed. The room was obviously a mess, sheets torn, bed broken, ceiling burnt. He looked peaceful, though. His long lashes lay softly on his cheeks, his lips barely pursing to let out air. A slight pang hit your chest when you took the call.

"I have him," you said. You finally have the enemy. 

#ikaris #ikaris smut #ikaris x reader #ikaris x reader smut #ikaris x male reader #ikaris x male reader smut #eternals fic #eternals x reader #eternals smut #marvel smut #x male reader #x male reader smut #richard madden

[luvinescent]

Stealing Time

Pairing: Modern!Robb Stark x fem!Reader

Summary: Weddings should be an event full of joy and happiness for everyone involved. Especially for the bride and groom, who are the main focal point of it all. So, what is the reason for celebrations if they both have gone missing?

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, sexual content, smut, p in v, dirty talk, etc.

Word count: 3933

Additional: M/H/N stands for Maid of Honors Name.

A soft melody of a strong quartet could be heard through the air like a soft breeze as more guests continued to arrive. The venue was decorated with fairy lights that cascaded down, a crystal chandelier in the middle of it all, creating an inviting and dreamy atmosphere. The celebratory music pulsated on the dance floor, enticing visitors to sway and swirl in a joyful celebration. The air was filled with laughter and lively discussions that mixed with the sound of glasses clinking as toasts were being offered in honor of the newlyweds.

The only problem was that neither one of them were present in the room.

Catelyn Stark, mother of the groom, stood scanning the room next to the wedding planner— a young girl who looked to be on the verge of pulling out her hair. Catelyn could hear the small anxious mutters of “we’re off schedule now” as the girl kept analyzing the clipboard she held in her hand. Excusing herself from the girl and her husband, Catelyn went towards the hallways connecting to the venue. She was stopped in her travels by a distant relative on her husbands’ side, smiling at the old man.

“Catelyn!” he greeted heartily. “Where is that boy of yours? I haven’t seen him or the new Mrs.”. He let out a great laugh, holding onto his rounded beer belly for support. Catelyn returned the laugh, nodding at his question, “I was just about to go get him. I’ll be right back”.

She turned around; the sound of her heels clicking on the shiny floor echoed, causing any guests in her path to quickly shift aside. Catelyn walked with a confident stance, her chin up, shoulders back, and a big smile covering her face. A smile that was very deceiving and Jon Snow knew this when she came faced with him.

“Where is your brother?”

He stared wide eyed at her, caught off guard by her presence and her question. His face was a ballet of nervousness, revealing the false confidence he was trying so hard to keep up. “I-I, uh… I don’t know...”, Jon shrugged his shoulder, wincing a little at the look she gave him. Catelyn smacked her lips, grabbing a hold of Jons ear, “Don’t lie to me. Where is Robb? The nerve of that boy! Disappearing at his own wedding, and you covering for him. I thought I raised you both better than this!”. The entire time, the bride’s maid of honor had stood next to Jon, witnessing him get a scolding from his mother, but Catelyn could care less about his embarrassment. Before Catelyn could continue her interrogation, she was stopped by the sound of a familiar voice within her distance. “Have you seen Y/N?”.

Turning around, Catelyn saw the mother of the bride asking a family member before she turned and saw her. “Oh, Cat!”, the mother rushed towards her, “Have you seen my daughter? I can’t find her anywhere”.

Putting back on that wide smile, Catelyn turned her head to Jon and the maid of honor. “What a coincidence. I can’t seem to find my son either.”

The two looked like deer’s caught in headlights. Both their words jumbled out fast, inaudible to the human ear. Thinking fast, M/H/N leaped into action, her words both a hasty attempt and holding a somewhat truth to them. “Y/N went to go change from her wedding gown to her reception dress”. Jon nodded vigorously in agreement at her explanation, “A-And Robb wanted to change his shoes”. M/H/N whipped her neck and gave Jon a glare, his add on not helping as Robb did not bring extra shoes. Y/N’s mother did not have time to question any of what they said—being brisked away to go greet a great aunt.

Catelyn stood in front of the two adults once again. She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by their statements.

“Y/N went to go change?”

“Yes”, M/H/N said instantly.

“And Robb went to go change his shoes?”

“Yes”, now it was Jon.

“…and they went together?”

“…yes”, they both replied. Humming to herself, she continued observing them, knowing very well they were hiding something. “How long ago did they leave?”. They once again exchanged looks with one another, face flushed with embarrassment, “Uh, not that long ago…they’ll be here soon”. Catelyn’s skepticism deepened, her eyes darting from M/H/N awkward performance to Jon’s increasingly guilty expression. Letting out a sigh and rubbing her temples, she turned to return to the party, “Fine”.

With one hand tangled in his auburn curls, you panted against Robb’s lips, “mm you’re insane”. Robb chose to ignore your words, his lips choosing to instead attack your neck and his fingers gripping hard on your thigh— surely to leave bruises come morning. Craning your neck back for more easy access, you tried reasoning, “they’re probably looking for us now—“. You couldn’t even finish your sentence, his cock having thrusted into your walls so deep it left you gasping for air, “f-Fuck, Robb!”

He groaned against your neck, his hips moving in rhythm against yours, “Who cares what they’re doing when I get to have you like this to all to myself”.  You almost bit your tongue when his hand slipped between the two of you, fingers rubbing at your sweet spot, “Fuck, I love it when you moan my name”.

It was almost close to an hour ago when your maid of honor took you to change out of your wedding dress into your reception dress. Coming out of the dressing room, you were met with both your newly brother-in-law and newly husband. While M/H/N and Jon engaged in some conversation about the band arriving soon, Robb and you took to wrapping each other up in arms. With a huge grin on his face, he planted small kisses all over your face, “My gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous, wife”. Laughing at how his stubble tickled against your face, you laid your palm up against his cheek, “Aye, watch the makeup”, quickly giving him a kiss on the lips before pulling away and looking into his blue eyes, “but thank you my very handsome, good-looking, very very very attractive husband”. You two shared a moment of silence and intense gaze before you both broke out in giggles, capturing each other’s lips in one another, moving tendering and deeply. Pulling away, Robb stared down at you, both love in his eyes but also a hint of something else.

“You know you really do look gorgeous. You look equally as beautiful in this dress as you did in your wedding dress”. You thanked him once again but gave him a puzzled look when he said he had other opinions, however.

“And what other opinions are those?”, you said, smiling while waving at a cousin who just entered the building. Turning back to Robb, you noticed the way his eyes had slightly shifted in emotion; something more carnal behind them. Bending down his head towards your ear, he whispered softly, “If we weren’t in public right now, I’d have you naked with my head between your thighs”. His voice brought chills up your spine as he blew a soft gust of air on your earlobe before going back to height. Biting your lip and playing with his tie, you titled your head to the side and chuckled softly “You would, huh?”. His only reply was a nod, watching your every move like hawk and gulping as your fingers started to trail along his neck now. Robb was being unfair; he knew just how much his words had an effect on you. But yours did too. Bringing him down by his tie, you’d thought best to return his teasing—fighting fire with fire.

Slowly, you leaned up, “…I want you inside of me. I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do right now”. You could hear his breath hitch behind his closed mouth. Both of you were once again stuck in an intense stare down, this time only desire and want in your gazes. You were quick to fix yourself up, distancing yourself a bit from Robb and plastering on an innocent smile as more guests arrived, “Hi. Thank you for coming”. You snickered to yourself; feeling Robbs eyes on your back as he hadn’t moved a single inch from his spot. Jon and M/H/N ended their conversation and turned to face you both, nodding their head in the direction of the main area, “Alright, let’s get going”.

You took one single step before Robb came up behind you, grabbing you by your forearm and pushing you towards his chest. “Actually”, he started, “Y/N told me her dress is bothering her”. M/H/N had stepped up, examining you from head to toe, “Oh, let me help— “. Robb had interrupted her by raising his hand and shaking his head, “No, it’s fine. I got it. Besides, we want to spend some quiet time together, don’t we babe?”. Looking up at him, you quickly assessed the situation and nodded along, “R-right, yeah. We’ll be right back. You guys go and have fun. Who cares about us anyways.”

Jon and M/H/N didn’t have time to argue back— the new couple running down the halls of the building, hand in hand with laughter being echoed throughout it. Jon tsked his tongue, shouting at his brother and sister-in-law who were still in view, “What do you mean who cares about you guys?! This is your wedding!”. They both turned to flip Jon off, turning the corner and disappearing to the next connecting hall. Sighing, Jon rubbed his face as M/H/N came to stand next to him in silence.

“You know there was nothing wrong with her dress”. “… Yeah”.

And that’s how you found yourself with Robb in some random office room in the building of your wedding reception. Robb’s patience was running low as he pushed you up against the wall and against the corner of what some seemed to be some bookshelf. Both your lips hungrily going at each other very frantically. A loud moan was swallowed by his mouth when his fingers went down, pushing your panties to the side and starting to play with your wet folds and opening. Wasting no time, you trailed your hands down towards his belt, quickly trying to undo it. Robb pulled away entirely from you, using the distance to unbutton a bit of his dress shirt and to take off his belt. Breathing heavily, you grabbed him back down by the neck for another kiss, biting his lip and sucking on his tongue. Pulling away, you raised an eyebrow at Robb with a smirk present on your face and his lips darkened and wet with saliva, “I’m almost positive this kind of tradition is reserved for tonight. You know, after the reception, not during”. Robb laughed slightly, pushing up against you and grabbing a hold of your thigh, wrapping your leg around his waist while the other stood for balance. His other hand was used to bunch up the fabric of your white party dress and to pull down one of its straps. “What can I say”, he bit along your neck, “you’re just so damn beautiful. So damn sexy. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold myself back when I saw you walking down that aisle”. His lips returned to yours. This kiss was messy with teeth almost clashing and tongues fighting. Both your hands were everywhere they could be felt; his on your thighs, ass, hips, breasts, and yours on his chest, neck, and back. Pulling away, Robb looked at you from head to toe and gave you a teasing smile, “And what’s all this?”. With both your body movements and clothes shifting, Robb had finally taken noticed of the white lace lingerie you had underneath the entire time of both your wedding dress and your reception dress. Rolling your eyes, you gave him a pointed look, “It was supposed to be for tonight. Way to ruin the surprise”.  He pouted mockingly at you and let out a small chuckle, kissing your forehead before his previous lustful look returned, “We can keep it on for now. And for tonight, I’ll just pretend it’s my first time seeing it”.

The way he spoke and stared at you had sent something straight to your burning core and had made you shifted closer to him unconsciously. “Such a gentleman”, you spoke running a thumb along his bottom lip and started kissing him again. With his belt already undone, it only took a few seconds to push down his clothing layers just enough to free his cock. As a brief warning, sliding your panties to the side, he slid his tip through your wet folds for a couple seconds. The whine you let out was all he needed before he pushed entirely inside you. You gasped loudly and screwed your eyes shut as Robb gave you a few seconds to adjust to the sudden fullness. Shaking your head, you bit down on your lip, “Don't be gentle with me—I like it when you're rough”. Robb wasted no time, gripping your thigh and fucking deeply into you, “Ah, fuck”, he moaned out, “you feel so fucking good. My good girl. My fucking wife”. He moved his lips along your collarbone, groaning and biting down. “Mm, fuck” you muffled out as your pussy clenched around his hard cock with every thrust he made. Robb took a second to look down, watching the way you took him in and your sleek and arousal that coated him every time he reentered. He was in heaven. Looking back up, you stared at Robb whose pupils were dilated in rapture with a little sweat coating his forehead. You probably looked the same to him as well. Your standing leg was starting to lose balance, causing you to slightly shift. Robb was quick to grab a hold of you, causing the tip of his cock to hit your most sensitive spot and just what he was looking for. “Hmm!”, you moaned out, “fuck Robb, right there!”, you truly felt like you were seeing stars. He started to fuck into you even faster and harder, increasing his movements, your pussy clenching even more, indicating your release. Eyes rolling back, you let your head fall back against the wall as you let out a mixture of curse words, moans, and Robbs’ name. Your body filled with warmth and pleasure, trembling as Robb held onto you and continued trying to reach his own climax. His movements were starting to get sloppy; you knew he was reaching his dissolve soon. However, he had to stop his movements abruptly; the doorknob to the room shaking vigorously.

Despite having locked the door beforehand, it was Robb’s natural reflex to reach over and hold onto the knob. At the same time doing so, he had let out a groan, and you a squeak as he slightly pushed you with his body. You were caught off balance but were able to hold onto the corner of the bookshelf, giving Robb a glare while he raised his finger up to his lip.

“Is somebody in there?”

Both your eyes widened in mutual shock; mouths agape as you two exchanged a horrified glance. You both recognized that voice as Robb’s Aunt Lysa.

She started banging harshly on the door now, “I know that someone is in there. I can hear you! This is a private event! If the cops need to be called, I have no problem- “.

“It’s me Aunt Lysa”, Robb spoke out, slightly cringing. Your face was flushed red; both because of your current activities and because of shame. Looking down, Robb’s left hand still had your thigh wrapped around his waist and his cock still buried inside you.

“Robb?”, Lysa questioned, “Is that you? Your mother has been looking everywhere for you! What are you doing in there?”

Robb gave you a once-over before clearing his throat, “I’m just…changing”. Your grip on the shelf was losing itself, causing you to readjust and move — which caused you to slightly sink down onto Robb’s cock. He was quick to bite his lip to stop the moan coming from his mouth, almost drawing blood in the process. Robb knew you too well and covered your mouth with his hand, knowing you would do the same. The only probably was that he wasn’t as quick.

“Now, hold on,” Lysa loudly said from the other side of the door, “I can hear another person in there and it sounds like a woman. Robb Stark you may be my nephew but I swear to God if you’re doing what I think your doing - “

“It’s me Mrs. Arryn”, you finally spoke out too. There was a moment of silence from the other end before Lysa started speaking again, “Oh, Y/N. Of course… Your mother was also looking for you…”. There was some awkwardness to her tone as you tried your best to clean up the situation, “I’m just changing too. Robb’s helping me”. Another awkward silence passed, “Of course he is…”. You and Robb gave each other a side glance; it was clear she didn’t believe you two and knew what you two were really doing. “Well”, Lysa began, “I best let you two get back to uh…changing…oh, um, where are the bathrooms?”. Robb was the one to answer her question, “On the other side of the building”. With a quick thank you and goodbye, you could hear the distant sound of her heels from the other side before she was gone entirely.

Turning back to Robb, you slapped his chest, groaning into your hands, “Ughhhh, that was so embarrassing”. He only laughed, making you peek at him from the gaps of your fingers. “What are you laughing at? You heard her; our parents are looking for us, so we better go”. Robb’s only response was to kiss you sloppy, pushing back once more inside you. You gasped into his mouth, his tongue playing with yours. Robb then pulled out of you completely, making you whimper from the sudden emptiness. Grabbing you by the forearm, he dragged you towards the desk in the room, bending you over it, pushing your dress up and your panties down— exposing yourself fully to him. He caressed your ass before smacking it hard; making you huff, “Let them wait a few more minutes”, his fingers played along your glistening folds. Standing up behind you, he pushed himself back into you, thrusting in, and out, and in again. Each time rougher than the other as he stretched out your cunt. Grabbing ahold of your hair and arching your back for him, he spoke into your ear, “This is our special day, isn’t it?”. Your only answer was a loud moan, his fingers being placed in your mouth to suck on. “Besides, I’m not fully done with you”.

About twenty minutes later (some of which took up of M/H/N fixing your makeup and concealing your bite marks), you and Robb entered the main room holding arms. Guests were raising their glasses up to you in cheers— some already clearly starting to get tipsy. A close friend of yours came up to you both, hugging you and giving you your congrats while Robb shook hands with her boyfriend. Once they pulled away and moved aside, you both had clear sight across the room of the one person who was looking for you two the most: Catelyn Stark. To make matters worse, she was also conversing with her sister; both whispering and giving you two the side eye.

“Crap” both you and Robb said in unison, watching Catelyn with her wrath make her way towards you. Your sight was cut off by the wedding planner standing stressed and tired in front of you, “Okay, we can get back on schedule if we just follow with the original plan. Bride, it’s time for the father-daughter dance”. Your ears perked up at the familiar sound of the music you had chosen for this occasion and turned to see your dad already on the dance floor. Turning back to Robb, you gave him a sheepish smile, “Would you look at that… gotta go”. He was quick to grab a hold of your hand, “You can’t leave me. You vowed to be with me through anything”. Pulling your hand back, you raised both hands up in defense, “I had my fingers crossed when I said that”.

Seeing his pouted puppy look made you laugh, quickly blowing him a kiss, “I’m kidding. I love you”, turning to go dance with your father. Robb didn’t even have to turn around— already feeling his mother’s presence behind him. Wrapping arms with him, many passersby would see the scene as a mother coddling her son. But Catelyn was actually pinching Robb’s side, and hard. “You are so vulgar I swear. At your own wedding Robb, really? You couldn’t wait until after?”, she spoke through gritted teeth.

Robb winced a little at the pain, but his eyesight was also focused on you. Smiling and laughing with your father. “Why are you getting only me in trouble? Y/N was equally in on it”. Catelyn could only roll her eyes at her sons’ immature response, “Please, knowing you and knowing her it was probably all your doing”. Staring up at him to continue her scolding, she stopped momentarily at the look in her sons’ eyes. Following his line of vision, she was meet with you. A tender smile graced Catelyn lips. Nothing short of captivating was the way he gazed upon you. His unspoken proclamation of love seemed to go beyond words, and his eyes radiated an undying commitment. “Are you happy?”, she asked Robb. The song was coming close to the end. Robb turned to face his mother, a stern look on his face and nothing but seriousness was his tone, “Yes. I am”. From the corner of his eye, Robb could see your father leading you to him. Standing up higher, Catelyn gave him a quick peck on the forehead, “Good. That’s all I’ve ever wanted”. You and your father came face to face with the both of them, Catelyn giving you a peck on the cheek and your father handing you over to Robb, “She’s all yours’ son,” he patted his shoulder, “take care of her”.

Robb led you to the dance floor where the band had started to play a slower and more romantic song. Swaying to the tempo, you spoke up, “So, was she angry?”. Robb let out a small chuckle, smiling down at you. “She was,” he began, “but she said she’d forgive us if we gave her a grandchild”. Staring at him agape, you slapped his chest with a small gasp, “She did not say that!”. Now you both were laughing. The world around you two seemed to fade into a soft blur as you moved, lost in the embrace of your love. Resting your head against his chest, you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I love you”, Robb spoke up, his hand tenderly placed on the small of your back. Sighing deeply, inhaling his scent and allowing yourself to bask in his warmth, both of you feeling safe in each other’s embrace, you let him know your feelings, “I love you too”.

Enjoying the moment's beauty, you both stayed in each other's arms as the music softly faded into the night. You both understood that this dance was only the start of an endless journey together.

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[asongofmarvelanddc]

Duty PT6

PAIRING: Robb Stark X Reader

WORD COUNT: 5642

WARNINGS: none :)

SUMMARY: The Queen considers whether it is time to move on with her life, but the past is not so easily buried.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 4 ½ | PART 5 | PART 5½

MASTERLIST | ROBB STARK MASTERLIST

A/N: All will be revealed in time 👀 Please reblog, comment or send an ask so I can hear what you think! Really hope you enjoy this one 🫶🏾🥰

The rain up North is nothing like the summer showers you experienced back home. This rain stings and bites at your skin as it falls, but it doesn't send you back inside under the shade.

Today is the first time in a few days that you have been outside, breathing in the fresh air. Your moon blood came particularly harsh this time around and left you bedridden for two days. It was a terrible ordeal, but it allowed you to see another side to your husband.

This morning, you awoke with no pains. Although your body is still tired and weak, here you stand, in the rain, embracing the Northern cold and eagerly awaiting nightfall because surprisingly, you have missed spending your evenings with Robb.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Amiria calling your name.

"My Lady, what are you doing out in the cold?" she sounds panicked as she wraps a blanket around your shoulders, "Seven hells! You'll make yourself ill!"

You chuckle as you welcome the blanket and follow her back under the shade, "It's alright, I wasn't out there for long."

Amiria runs the blanket over your damp hair. "It is a good thing I found you. Any longer and you might catch a fever," she presses the back of her hand to your cheek, "You have just been unwell, you should not tempt fate, my Lady."

"I apologise, I did not mean to worry you," you smile warmly and give her a short hug to reassure her, "Found me? Were you looking for me?"

"Yes, Lady Stark has requested your presence in her quarters."

You're taken aback by this. Lady Stark, though pleasant since the wedding, has never once asked to speak to you alone.

"Did she tell you why she wants to see me?"

Amiria looks up at you and chuckles when she sees the nervousness that has settled into you.

"Don't be afraid," she says in a tone that suggests your anxiety is amusing to her, "She did not seem to be in a terrible mood."

"That is good," you breathe a sigh of relief, but your eyes remain apprehensive.

Amiria smirks and takes you by the arm, pulling you towards your chambers, "Come. Let us get you dry for the Queen Mother."

***

As soon as you enter the parlour, Catelyn rises to greet you at the door, embracing you before you even have a chance to curtsey. When she releases you, her smile turns into a frown as she cups your face with her hands.

"You still look a bit unwell, darling," she says, looking between your eyes, a hint of pity in her voice, "Come and sit, let us have some tea. Perhaps it will help you feel better."

You follow her to where a small table is set with all your favourite treats and a teapot to share between the two of you. She takes a seat in an armchair on one side of the table and you sit opposite her on the other side of the table. Without a word she begins to pour the tea for the both of you.

"Does it normally trouble you so?" she asks as she hands you a cup.

You take a grateful sip, smiling when that familiar warmth begins spreading in your chest. "Sometimes the Mother offers mercy and my bloods pass painlessly," you say, "Other times I am confined to my bed chambers for some days."

"Poor girl," her forehead wrinkles when she frowns, "I'll speak to Maester Luwin about giving you something that might take away your pain."

"Thank you, my Lady."

There's a pause in the conversation as you sip the mint tea and enjoy the warmth of the fire burning. Your worries begin to fade away as you relax in Catelyn's company.

“I see you’ve been spending much more time with my son as of late,” she says, breaking the silence, “I hear you’re with him in his study into the late hours of the night.”

It's an abrupt turn from your initial conversation, but you suppose it is normal for her to ask about her son.

“We talk mostly. Sometimes I sew while he works.”

A thin smile forms on Catelyn’s lips as she hums in response, “And what is it that you talk about?”

The question catches you off guard. It’s a bit impolite to ask about private conversations, but you would never dare to point out such a thing to your good-mother.

“I tell him about my family, what it was like growing up in the South,” you say hesitantly, “He talks about you, his family…his father and sisters.”

You can’t help but pity her when you see how she deflates at the mention of her lost family. Her eye twitches as she looks away, trying to stop her mask from slipping.

“He tells me stories about all of them as children,” a tender smile forms on your lips as you think back to the conversations, “It makes me wish I had siblings of my own to fight and play with.”

Catelyn nods again, but her smile seems even more strained than before. Your brows furrow in concern as you reach out to touch her knee.

“Lady Stark?”

She presses one hand to her lips, taking a moment to collect herself. Not a single tear falls from her eyes, though they come close. After only a few seconds, she blows out a breath and sits up properly in her chair, composed once again.

“He rarely talks about them with me,” she whispers, eyes downcast.

“I think he finds it easier to talk about them with someone who doesn’t know them,” you reassure her, “I assume it feels more like recalling a fond memory to a stranger than it does reminiscing about loved ones he’s lost.”

She nods her head, though she seems unconvinced. You can’t imagine the pain and fear she must be feeling knowing that her son has made an enemy of the same family who have her daughters in their grasp. That he is in open rebellion against the King who took her husband's head.

"He must trust you quite a bit."

You consider it for a moment, "I hope so. I would like to think he does."

"How have you been finding all of this? Being here, married to Robb?"

It is not a simple question to answer. In truth, you did not expect this much time to pass with your heart still refusing to fully open to Robb, nor his to you. Your mother always told you that falling in love is quick and simple, and in the past you found that to be true. But for some reason, it is slow and difficult with Robb.

A month since your wedding and you still hold each other at arms' length, merely allowing glimpses into your souls on occasion.

Instead of telling her an outright lie, you choose to focus on the good. "Your family have been so accommodating, as has Robb," you plaster a smile on your lips, "It has taken some time to adjust, but everyone has been so kind."

Judging by the look on Catelyn's face, she knows that you are hiding something. She doesn't come across as the kind of woman who is fooled easily.

“This may be crude of me, but I must ask," she begins, leaning forward ever so slightly, "This is your second time on the bloods since the wedding?"

It only takes you a second to decipher what exactly she is asking. You nod quickly, suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Have you and Robb–?"

"We have not."

"The marriage is unconsummated?"

You nod again, averting your gaze in embarrassment. Catelyn looks off to the side, deep in thought. Each passing second only serves to make your stomach turn and your palms sweat.

Eventually, she turns back to you, but there is no anger nor shame in her eyes, only determination.

"I truly do not wish to make you uncomfortable, but I must stress the importance of your consummation." She speaks in a matter-of-fact tone that is only slightly intimidating.

"Your marriage is not valid until the act is done. And I need not remind you of your duty to each other as husband and wife, and as rulers of the North."

Children.

"I understand."

"Then why, may I ask, are you waiting?"

This time, there is a hint of frustration in her tone. She looks at you with eyes so piercing that for a moment you forget that you are not a child being scolded by her Septa. Yet, it is somehow worse because the person asking the question is your good-mother.

"We only wish to know each other better before we–" you cut yourself off to find the right words, "There is still time–"

"There is no time," Catelyn's patience seems to have worn thin, "Robb will return to the frontline before long. And only the gods know if he will come back."

That thought sends a chill down your spine. Robb may not be some great love, but the mere idea of his demise makes your heart sink to your stomach.

"I have been in your shoes before, Y/N," she says, her tone softer, "I did not know Ned very well when I first met him. I certainly didn't love him either. That comes with time."

Her words are optimistic. Reassuring. And they get you thinking.

"We all have our roles to play. It is time you and Robb started doing your part."

***

"She wants us to consummate."

Amiria sits on a stool beside your bath, washing all the grease and dirt out of your hair while you soak in the warm water.

"But His Grace said that you do not have to if you don't wish to, no?" she asks.

You sigh deeply, "That is true. But I'm starting to believe that she may be right."

The longer you think about her words, the more they cut deep. You have been ignoring the reality of your situation, going through the motions and capitalising on Robb's busy schedule to avoid hard truths.

Robb is your husband now, and the North is your home. That will never change. This is not King’s Landing where you will have to endure for a time and be rescued. This is your life, forever. And deep down in your heart you know that if you are to start a new life, you must let go of the old one.

Without warning, tears begin to well in your eyes and blur your vision. This is not the life you imagined for yourself. To never experience love, you were prepared for – you always knew that your marriage would be arranged, and if love never happened with your husband, you would’ve been content given he was kind and gentle.

But this? To have loved and lost it? To know what it feels like and know that you will never have it again? It’s a pain you would not wish on anyone.

And Robb. He is kind, and he cares…somewhat. But he does not love you. And if he loves Elyse the way you have loved, then you know he will never love you. That is the hard truth.

You bury your head in your hands and let the tears flow. Amiria crouches down beside the bath and wraps her arms around you, letting you sob into her shoulder.

"I hate to see you in such pain, my Lady," she says, her voice thick with emotion.

The day you left King's Landing, your heart was shattered. A part of you has been holding on to him for so long because it is a reminder that what you shared was real. And how could you repay the love he gave by letting it go?

Selfishly, you want him to be happy, to have moved on. You pray that he has forgotten you. Maybe then you would not be riddled with guilt over letting him go. The truth is, you have responsibilities that you can shirk no longer. And you cannot be a good wife with him still in your heart.

With a deep, shaky breath, you pull away from Amiria and wipe your eyes, splashing your face with the bath water to calm yourself down.

Once your heart stops racing and your breathing relaxes, you turn to Amiria, "Could you fetch my robe, please?"

She hesitates momentarily before doing it. You climb out of the bath and slip on the robe, walking to your dresser with Amiria following close behind.

"Help me dress."

Your sudden switch from distress to being resolute is alarming to Amiria. She stares in bewilderment as you begin to get ready. "Where are you going?"

"I always visit Robb in the evenings," you say, "It is the perfect time to raise the topic of consummation."

Amiria places a hand on your shoulder to grab your attention. She looks straight into your eyes and asks sincerely, "Are you sure that you are ready to take that step?"

You know that you are not ready, but you also know that it is time to stop living in the past. It is exhausting, and it hurts you more than it makes you happy. You want to believe that you can be happy here, if you only give it a chance.

"Yes. I'm sure."

***

It’s not a question that Robb has a face any woman would love to look at. You see the way women giggle and blush when he smiles as he walks past them. The way they always seem to crowd when he spars with Ser Rodrik. You understand, you like to look at him too. He’s really quite…beautiful, but it’s more than that.

His guard is never lower than when he is in this solar working, and you like to watch the way he does things when he is not concerned with appearances. These are the moments when you see the truest version of him. His brows knitting together when he reads something particularly unpleasant, the way he occasionally looks up at you and offers a sweet smile. He curses sometimes. It used to shock you, but you find it amusing now.

Your admiration grows the more you see him like this, constantly fighting through mental and physical fatigue to lead his people and be there for his family. When he talks to you about them, you wonder if he has even had time to properly grieve his father, or if that is yet another thing he has pushed aside for the sake of his responsibilities. It breaks your heart to think so.

Most mornings you wake up alone because he is up by the crack of dawn. And at night, you leave him here in this study, working into the late hours. You see the bags under his eyes and the way he pauses every so often to massage his shoulders and neck. He takes on…too much.

Sitting across from him tonight, all you can think about are Catelyn's words. How do you even begin to discuss such a sensitive topic? Especially when he is under so much pressure?

Your mother says it is time we consummated our marriage. Shall we start making love?

Ridiculous.

Robb stops his writing for a moment to crack his knuckles and stretch his back, and as he puts down his writing quill, he looks up and catches you staring. You quickly tear away your gaze, returning to your embroidery and ignoring the rising heat on your neck and chest.

Robb knows you well enough now that he can tell when there is something disturbing you.

"What is on your mind?" he asks, leaning forward to give you his full attention.

This is your opportunity to broach the subject, but for some reason, you are unable to form the words. So you tell him something else.

“Just that I...forgot to tell you something. I went into town the day before I fell ill.”

Robb sits up a little, visibly concerned, “Alone?”

“No, Amiria went with me. And a few guards.”

He relaxes then, leaning forward once again.

“We took some food and clothes to the homes sheltering the children orphaned in this war,” you say, “I wanted to be sure they’re being taken care of.”

He looks pleasantly surprised. “That is very kind of you. I had not thought to do that yet.”

You wave a hand and shake your head. “Of course not. You already have so much on your plate,” you gesture to his cluttered desk, “I have never ran a household much less an entire castle before, so I leave it to your mother. I’m just trying to do what little I can to support your efforts.”

You return to your embroidery, but Robb doesn't take his eyes off you. He knows there is still something eating at you and yet you refuse to say it. Suddenly he's full of regret. Perhaps, if he had not been so determined to dislike you at first, you would not still hide behind your wall.

Eventually, he looks away from you with a sigh, picking up a letter from his unopened pile and breaking the seal. You glance up at him, relieved that he has broken his scrutinising stare.

“What are you reading?” you ask, attempting to change the topic.

“A report from our scouts.”

You sit up properly, now curious, “How goes the search for Arya?”

Robb puts down the letter a little forcefully and run his hands through his hair in frustration. That about tells you all you need to know.

"Have you thought any more about what I suggested? About the Owls?”

This is a conversation that has already been had before. Multiple times. Robb turned down your father's offer, and he has rejected yours as well each time you've brought it up. At this point, he is tired of reiterating his position.

“I have already told you that I have no intention of using them,” his tone is clipped when he speaks, and he attempts to busy himself with other work to end the conversation.

His efforts are futile because you refuse to let it go, “They would be inside the Red Keep within hours of receiving your letter–“

“I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

“–and they would have Sansa on the road back to Winterfell within days.”

“I am not going to use spies.”

“Sansa is not–,” you pause mid-sentence to gather yourself, “Sansa is not safe with Joffrey.”

Robb sighs deeply and rubs his tired eyes with his hands, "Do you think I am unaware of that?”

“I just don’t understand why you won’t use them,” you press, “Do you doubt their capabilities?”

“No, I am sure they are very capa–“

“Because they managed to smuggle me out of King’s Landing without issue,” you cut him off, “Daenerys Targaryen is alive in Essos today because of them.”

“Enough!”

You flinch at the sound of his raised voice. Instantly your heart starts racing, the hairs on your body standing on end. For a second, only a mere second, you are back in King's Landing, and you are terrified.

“I am fighting this war with honour,” he continues, his voice now back to normal, “This is the last time I will have this discussion, do you understand me?”

He stares you down for a few seconds until he thinks you have dropped it. You wait until he relaxes some before speaking.

“Your enemy would pay a starving child two coppers and a loaf of stale bread to poison your supper,” you say in the calmest tone you can muster, “Spying ought not be where you draw the line.”

You rise to your feet and walk to the door, ignoring Robb’s burning gaze. As you place your hand on the handle, you turn to him once more.

“I don’t suppose you will be retiring for the night?”

He begins shuffling some papers on his desk, “No, I still have much to do before the morn.”

You don’t believe him, but you nod anyways. “Very well, then. I shall bid you goodnight.”

Once you step outside and close the door, you lean against the wall of the corridor, sucking in the cold air and placing a hand over your chest to slow your heart. Hot tears burn behind your eyes – not of sadness, but of anger.

It took one word – one little word – and you were back there at the lowest point you've ever been. It's a reminder that all the pain and hurt inflicted by that monster is still inside you. And it hurts that Robb was the one to bring it to the surface.

***

When Robb eventually retires for the night, he half-expects you to be waiting for him, ready to continue the conversation from earlier, so he's surprised to find you curled up under the blankets on your side of the bed.

A few of the candles in the room are still lit – he knows you left them burning for his benefit. He uses the dim lighting to make his way around the room, removing his jerkin shirt as he does so. It gets hot in the room because even with the natural heating from the hot springs, you still insist on having a fire built every night before you sleep. Robb doesn't object to this because he knows you can't sleep in the freezing cold – but it does mean he now sleeps in as little clothes as possible.

He hears you stir when he walks to your side of the room and blows out the candles there, but he ignores it and returns to his side before climbing into the bed. As always, he turns his back to you, stares into the darkness and listens to your breathing.

Steady.

"I know you're awake," he says after a moment.

He's not sure you know that you snore when you sleep. It's not bothersome at all, the sound resembles the light purring of a kitten. On nights where sleep eludes him, the sound helps to calm his mind and lull him into a slumber.

That is how he knows that you are only pretending to sleep.

You don't stir, and after a while he assumes that you are choosing to ignore him. The moment he closes his eyes, he hears your voice call out to him.

"Robb?"

He hums in response, not wanting to seem too eager to reconcile.

"Don't ever raise your voice to me in that manner again."

Your tone is flat and unemotional, but the words are extremely sobering for Robb. He's rendered speechless, and no other words are spoken by either of you that night.

***

The bridge connecting the Great Keep to the Armoury offers the best view of the courtyard in Winterfell. That is where you go to forget your troubles, distracting yourself with the activities happening below you. But even watching the bustling of people fails you this afternoon. All you can think about is the night before.

Deep down you know that you provoked Robb into having that row, simply to avoid having a difficult conversation. You did not realise that was what you were doing until you had some time to yourself. And yet, you cannot seem to stop yourself from thinking about Robb's reaction.

He has never presented himself as a man who is quick to anger.

Neither did Joffrey. Not at first.

You shake those thoughts out of your head almost as soon as you have them. Robb is not like Joffrey, of that you are certain. He is...attentive, in the ways that matter.

Not a single stew or soup has been served to you since you told him about your unusual diet. He found out you enjoy lemon cakes, and before long there was a lemon tree growing in the glass garden. And not once has he complained about the fire you keep burning in your chambers before you sleep even though you know he despises the heat.

Joffrey was never that way, even before he revealed his true colours.

Perhaps this is all you will ever have, you don't have to love him to bear his children. A kind husband is more than most have. Shouldn't that be enough?

It is at this moment that Robb arrives at the top of the bridge, emerging from the armoury with Lord Umber in tow. He sees you standing there, right in the middle of the bridge, looking out onto the courtyard. There's a distant look in your eyes as you stare down, and Robb knows exactly what is weighing on your heart.

You don't notice him or Lord Umber until they are only a few steps away from you, at which point you quickly stand up straight.

"Your Grace," you curtsey to Robb as you always do around other people.

Lord Umber bows his head to you, "Your Grace."

"My Lady, this is Lord Umber. You might remember meeting him at our wedding feast?"

His face is unfamiliar, "My apologies, Lord Umber, I met quite a few people that night."

"No need to apologise, Your Grace," he laughs heartily, "The ale flowed freely that night, I'm not sure I remember our meeting either."

All three of you share a laugh at that, but before the conversation can continue any further, Robb turns to Lord Umber.

"Lord Umber, might you wait for me by my solar? I would like to speak to my wife in private."

"Of course, Your Grace." he bows his head to you both and walks past you towards the Great Keep.

Robb turns to you once you're alone, but he does not speak. He notices that the smile you put on for Lord Umber has faded, and the sadness in your eyes has returned. Your words from the night before play over in his mind, as they have been all morning. He knows that your upset at this present moment is because of him and only him, and for that, he's ashamed.

After a moment, he turns to face the courtyard, arms resting against the railing. You watch him, curious about his troubled expression, before joining him. Your forearm brushes against his as you stand next to him, waiting for him to speak.

"I'm sorry for raising my voice at you," he says, eyes downcast, "I did not mean to frighten you, and I will never do it again."

You didn't expect an apology, not for this. Many men have done worse to their wives without a second thought, but as you glance at Robb out of the corner of your eye, it is clear that he is remorseful. It warms your heart.

"Thank you," you whisper, "And I am sorry too."

"What for?"

"Picking a fight," you look up at him, "I should not have taken your decision so personally."

Robb nods briefly, accepting your apology – one he is surprised to receive because he knows that you still believe he is making the wrong choice.

"I'm trying to be like my father," he explains with a heavy sigh, "I want to fight this war in the most honourable way I can. And if I resort to spying and trickery to win, how would I be any different to my enemies? To Joffrey?"

At those words, you turn your head sharply to look at him. Your eyes soften when they meet his.

"You are a good man, Robb. Nothing like Joffrey."

The hint of a smile plays on his lips.

"I know you don't believe this, but I truly do value your advice," he says, "Even if I don't always agree, I would still like to know your opinion on those choices. Don't ever hesitate to tell me what you think."

You stand side by side, overlooking the courtyard. Down by the guest house, a little boy and girl are wrestling in the mud. Within seconds, a woman who you assume is their mother appears by their side and begins scolding them over their spoiled garments. She pulls them away from the scene by their ears, the two children giggling as she does so.

You and Robb both laugh as this unfolds, revelling in the innocence and mischief of childhood.

"They remind me of Arya and Bran," he says, a mournful look in his eyes.

The same urge to console him when he first opened up to you about his father overwhelms you once again. But instead of drawing back, this time, you place your hand over his, and he welcomes it without hesitation.

You lean against his shoulder and give his hand a comforting squeeze as he absent-mindedly strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. A simple touch but it’s enough to make you wish things were different.

"Do you think we will ever be happy?" you suddenly ask, "The way my mother and father are? The way yours were?"

Robb doesn't know how to respond to that. Mostly because in the midst of this seemingly endless war, he has been unable to envision life beyond it. But judging by your question, you may have started to, so it may be time for him to start as well.

He looks down at you with a thoughtful expression. "I don't know," he answers honestly, "But I hope so."

That makes you smile. You hold his gaze for a moment, only tearing your eyes away when the deep blue of his begin to grow too intense for your comfort.

You chuckle nervously and nod your head towards the Great Keep as you stand up straight, "Lord Umber must be waiting for you."

Robb blinks as if the fact had slipped his mind. "Of course," he says quickly with a bow and you regret that he chose to be so formal.

You watch him as he walks away, but he stops after a few paces and turns back to face you.

"I'm going into town later, I thought you might accompany me if you'd like," his tone is cheery, "I have some business to attend to, but you can visit the market while we're there?"

It is a kind offer, but you simply want to be alone with your thoughts for now.

"I'm afraid I'm not feeling up to it today," you say apologetically, "But I thank you for the invitation."

Robb is disappointed with your answer to say the least, but he does not let it show. Instead, he nods in understanding with a wistful smile and heads back inside, leaving you alone on the bridge.

You turn your attention back to the courtyard, resting your arms on the railing and letting out a deep sigh. That is when you notice the very familiar silhouette of a man.

His back is to you while he talks to another man just outside the armoury. Even though he's far away and you cannot see his face, he looks too familiar.

There is absolutely no chance.

You lean so far forward that only a few inches more and you'd fall over the railing. The man throws his head back and laughs. Instantly a pit forms in your stomach.

You know that laugh.

Your body begins to move faster than you can think. Within seconds you've hitched up your skirts and ran back into the Great Keep. Your heart is beating out of your chest with every step down the stairs. There are no thoughts in your head. All you hear is that laugh and the thumping of your heart.

In the courtyard there's people bustling about everywhere. You want to scream at them to stop moving so that you can see. To stop talking so that you can think. Your shoes and the bottom of your dress are caked in mud as you run from one end of the courtyard to the other, frantically searching for him.

The armoury. He was standing in front of the armory.

You take off running in that direction, stepping in puddles and all kinds of dirt and muck on the way. Once inside, you stop to catch your breath, panting heavily as you look around, hoping to catch sight of him. All you see are large, oily men carrying pounds of steel, shields, armour and all sorts.

You begin to wonder if you only imagined seeing him. Your mind playing some kind of sick trick on you. It wouldn't be surprising considering everything that has happened recently.

Just as you are about to let it go, a hand grabs your shoulder and turns you around.

The black hair. Those blue eyes.

You forget how to breathe for a moment. Completely frozen in shock. It's like the whole building goes silent and all you can hear is your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You're sure he calls your name, but you find yourself incapable of doing anything but stare at him in confusion and awe.

This is not real. This is not real.

You cannot allow yourself to believe that this is happening because the devastation if it's not real is not one you will recover from easily. With a shaky hand, you reach out to touch his face. Before you can even cup his cheek, he takes your hand and leans into it.

A stuttered breath escapes your lips as tears start to flow freely down your cheeks.

"Gendry."

*

Special thanks to these lovely people (and extra shoutout to everyone who called it 😉) Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 💞 (@’s in bold I can’t seem to tag :/):

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[itsgameofthronesimagines]

Black of Hair (Part 6)

(Gif not mine)

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Warnings: On the Citrus Scale, I’d say we’re at a lime. So PG-13. First time mentions (for now). Describing past sexual events. Mentions of murder, animal cruelty, etc. Crude jokes told by Theon, so that deserves a warning.

Word Count: 5,193

Tags: black of hair got

Summary: War is brewing... and your family is behind it.

Series Masterlist: Here

Taglist: @way-too-addicted-to-anime @akaward-potato @fuckoffupstairs @soleil-dor @depressedcuppatea @thegirlwithoutaname87 @taylorsfilms @100kindsofblake @quietlycalum @lustgardn @thebitchinleo @coffeethenink    @theminiestofmins @callmefroggie @greinch @icemanhoneybadger @ietss @theminiestofmins @qhbr2013 @savingprivatecass @fossilisedtreeresin @freshfreakoaftrash @sarcasm-n-insomnia @a-lil-bit-nuts @megzdoodle @gruffle1 @burninggracesandbridges @dead-pool-simp @sonnensplitter @flowercrowns3438 @bport76 @apollonshootafar @serenefreakgeek @hybridlamb @kittykylax @johnmurphys-sass @magnitude101999 @pughslov @fall-winter-heart97 @plumes-de-nuit @spid3rgwen @gwyneirastorm​

VERY IMPORTANT A/N: Please please PLEASE if you want to be added to the taglist, please pm/ask box me! Some have slipped through the cracks because they comment/ask on individual chapters and it’s hard for me to scroll through those notifications and keep track of them. Thank you, lovelies! Comment, like, and reblog! That'd be appreciated!

(I do not consent to my works being reposted/copied)

~~~

The next couple of moons after your wedding were more wonderful than you could have ever imagined.

Your first night as man and wife was awkward, to say the least, but it was informative and full of reassurances for the future of your marriage. Robb was, as you observed before, eager to please behind closed doors as well as in public. He was attentive and eager to learn. And in return, you also tried your damn hardest to learn and be instructional for both of your sakes. While a part of you wasn’t expecting anything out of your first time, it was enjoyable, despite not fully finishing. It still felt nice, despite not feeling the way experienced ladies in your uncle’s company once explained to you when you were younger. Your mother nearly killed Tyrion when she heard about this incident. It wasn’t Tyrion’s fault. You were little and snuck after him when he went into a whore house. He didn’t know you followed him. But those ladies also mentioned that the first time is usually never the greatest time.

So after consummating your marriage the first night, both you and Robb didn’t feel the need to rush anything else from then on. For the first couple of days, the weight of expectation was a weight that no longer dragged your shoulders down. You were content with how your life turned out, despite having to say goodbye to your Uncle Tyrion.

With a heavy heart, he left on the fourth morning after your wedding. Your only family left in the North, gone by the end of the day. He promised to write throughout his journey so that you would know he was safe, and the thought of still being in contact with anyone outside of Winterfell comforted you.

To distract yourself from feeling so alone, you asked Robb to be your husband again that night and he accepted without question. Listening to the voices in your head, you were able to communicate your wishes to Robb even when you had trouble forming words between breathless gasps. Listening to your voice intently, Robb followed your instruction, and this time, with slight adjustments, you felt that climbing anticipation you have only heard of. He gladly undid your fears and inexperience with careful hands and slow ministrations that pushed and pulled you into bliss several times throughout the night. You weren’t sure what caused the walls to crumble, but by the next morning, you felt like you knew more about your husband than your own mother knew about your father. Before he could get up to dress for the day, he bedded you once more and it was just as blissful as the night before, even leaving you comfortably sore throughout the day.

All of a sudden, Robb was able to read you inside and out, or more specifically, your body. Your emotions and inner thoughts are still endeavors he has yet to explore, but now he’s exceeded all expectations you had in a husband and more. As you’ve said before: Robb is full of surprises.

It both excited and terrified you to realize your heart started speeding up every time he looked your way, or when your face felt warm when his lips touched your hand every morning at breakfast. The thought of you falling in love with him did cross your mind, but you pushed that thought down and delayed it to the best of your ability, not yet wanting to acknowledge it.

You busy yourself during the day with your tasks, both personal and political. You read and write letters, now sealing them with your name and your husband’s sigil. You read and take account of the stocks before coming up with a solution to make more before the upcoming winter. Rickon loves to make your duties a challenge, but you welcome the distraction. The little lord is bored beyond measure with the majority of his siblings gone from Winterfell. He busies you with games and stories and often begs you for a ride around with your horse. Fawn was still young and could be trained to deal with children, so you happily taught Rickon how to take care of her.

Today was one of those days as you hand Rickon an apple to gift your noble steed. He was jealous over breakfast because Bran’s special saddle was finally finished per Tyrion’s instruction, and Robb wanted to take the boy out to ride for the first time in months. Theon tagged along, but you were tasked with distracting Rickon.

You were teaching Rickon about how to rig a saddle onto a horse when the gates opened. Looking up, your eyes widen as alarm bells start going off in your head. Bran was no longer on his saddle, instead, Robb was carrying his little brother as one of the boy’s legs continued to bleed. Theon had the horses’ reins in one hand and a rope meant to act like a leash in the other, the woman attached to that leash looked wild, with her hair and eyes unhinged with fear and possible rage.

You rush forward, stepping toward Robb and Bran, “What happened?!”

“We were attacked by wildlings,” Robb explains as he moves to sit Bran down on the nearest bench and allowed you to tend to the boy. You kneel in front of the younger Stark boy while touching the knee that was injured.

“Bran? Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” he nods, “I can’t feel it.”

Your heart hurts when you hear the disdain stitched close in his voice. He looked away as you press your handkerchief to his wound while you instruct Rickon to fetch Maester Luwin. Once the little boy returned with the maester, you step away to reach for your husband.

“Are you injured?”

“No, I’m fine,” he smiles gratefully, extending his arm in the direction of Theon and their prisoner, “We killed all but one. She begged for servitude in exchange for her life.”

“You best bow to your knees,” Theon snapped at the wild woman, pushing her forward, “You’re in the presence of a princess.”

“What are wildings doing so far south of the Wall?” You questioned Robb with curiosity.

“I don’t know, but they appeared desperate to take Bran’s horse and head further south of here... like they were running from something.”

The phrase chilled you in a way you couldn’t describe. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good as you watched the wildling woman’s back as Theon dragged her inside.

~~~

A week goes by and she doesn’t say much, at least in your presence. You’ve seen Theon cause her grief -though she appeared to take it in stride- and you’ve scolded him for doing so. It was awful enough to watch her walk around with those chains dragging around her ankles. Robb assured you that the chains were to prevent her from running away, but you countered that the chains just made it easier for men to catch her. Theon laughed and made a horrible comment that you didn’t dare to repeat, but Robb caught sight of how disgusted you looked and snapped at his friend. Theon frowns and doesn’t speak for a while after that, making you wonder if he and Robb were fighting.

You try not to think about mending that conflict while your mind still wandered off to the wildling girl, who was technically a woman, a few years older than yourself. You find her one-morning sorting hay, distributing bits throughout the stables, "... What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't say." She said plainly, not even looking up from her work.

"Can I know what it is then?"

"... Osha."

"Osha,” you smile, despite the other woman never acknowledging your presence, “My name is Y/n."

"So it's not 'Princess' then?" She asked sarcastically.

You laugh under your breath, "I would hope not. That would be a stupid name.”

You catch a glimpse of a smirk under Osha’s wild, matted hair, so you continue, “I apologize on Theon's behalf. He's become a bit... reckless as of late so I hope he didn't hurt you."

"I've had worse men than him try to scare me. He's nothing but a pup."

Her voice was confident enough for you to take the words to heart, "I believe you."

She finally turns to face you, having trouble glaring you down behind the matted hair in her eyes, "... What do you want?"

You tilt your head, feigning innocence, "Why do you assume I want something?"

"No one here talks to me unless they want something."

She was blunt and quite the observer. Osha was well aware of her place among these Stark people and you had to respect that. The stories tell of how wildlings were-- well, wild, but the stories never talk about how smart and cunning they were.

"Well, Osha... I want to see you properly clothed and fed. I want you to be able to actually see where you're going if your hair was properly groomed. I want you to have a warm bath next to a fireplace and a feather bed to sleep on."

You threw her off, you could tell, from the way Osha’s mouth opened and shut while trying to form words. Finally, she settled on a skeptical expression, trying to intimidate your smile, "... Why?"

Your smile only widens, "Because even though my husband says you're a guest here, you're not exactly being treated as one. And as the lady of the keep, it's my duty to host and care for all of the guests of Winterfell."

"Duty. Is that why you want to help me?"

"It's a part of it, but so is the kindness of my heart, believe it or not. You're a clever woman, Osha. You're definitely not stupid,” she almost looked proud, squaring her small shoulders as you continued, “Your eyes are sharper than Theon gives you credit for. But I will be honest, Theon doesn't give most women credit. I believe he entertains me only because I'm his best friend's wife... and because my father wears a crown."

Osha continued to suspect an ulterior motive from you but doesn’t protest when you order a room made up to her liking. The chains remained on her ankles unless she was given a bath and changed out of her clothes, but even when temporarily freed from the chains, you kept a close eye on her. Theon and Robb must have reconnected as friends again when you weren’t looking because they both agreed on how Osha was not to be trusted when you told them what you did, but you waved them off. You assured your husband that even though Osha was alone in her room, you weren’t stupid enough to leave the door unguarded. You left one of your own soldiers in front of Osha’s bedroom door and when Robb questioned the window, you scoffed.

“That window stands high above the ground. No one could survive a fall from that distance.”

You purposely said this when the two of you were alone, not wishing for Bran to hear your comment. Robb considered the matter settled after that. Osha remained a guest in chains but was more comfortable in her surroundings. You even took some time out of your mornings to help braid her hair out of her face. In a strange way, you understood her. You understood what it was like to be trapped in a place you weren’t familiar with, so you tried to make Osha feel comfortable.

Also, it didn’t hurt to gain friends in a strange place.

~~~

Weeks pass and Tyrion has not sent you a letter for some time, so you began to worry. You write to King’s Landing as soon as your paranoia sets in, anxiously waiting for a reply. To no surprise, you get a raven within days, and it's with the Master of Whisperers' sigil. As your eyes scan the words within the scroll, Varys describes how Tyrion Lannister was taken prisoner by Catelyn Stark under the Hand of the King’s orders. The events that followed were the effect of this scandal. Your Uncle Jaime openly attacked Ned Stark out on the streets, killing his men and leaving him injured before Jaime fled the city, likely to rally beside his father at Casterly Rock as they prep for war.

You see red, and before you could think properly, you raced to Robb’s chambers and shook the letter in his face, screaming in a fashion that you could only have inherited from the Queen, “By what right does your mother have to arrest my uncle?!”

“Y/n, I...”

“No! Don’t even try to lie!” You snarl, “I know a liar when I see one. I know the way people look whenever they are hiding secrets from me. I grew up in King’s Landing, boy. I know how people whisper!”

Robb’s face falls from empathy to one of venom, “Do not call me boy!”

“Or what, boy?" You demanded answers, "Is that why your mother left Winterfell? Is that why you were so cold to Tyrion? How dare you and your mother conspire against my family?!”

“Your family?” Robb echoes with an accusatory tone, “Your family were the ones who conspired to kill Jon Arryn and then pushed my brother out of a tower window!”

Silence. The room still felt tense, ready to snap given the word. Your anger froze, your eyebrows scrunching together in denial while trying to search for the lie on your husband’s face. Your chest felt tight, unable to expand for air as the words come out quieter than you intended, “... Wha... What?”

With your confusion comes with Robb’s deflating anger, sighing deeply as he spoke, “I knew you wouldn’t know about it. At first, I thought you wouldn’t know of such things because you were a child but now... now I know that you wouldn’t do something as horrible as trying to kill an innocent boy because you have a good heart. You’re not like your mother or brother. You’re not your uncle.”

You swallow, choking as your throat constricts. You want to scream or demand an explanation, but as of right now, all you can think about is your poor uncle trapped in a cold cell somewhere. The words that spilled out of your mouth were pleas, “... N-No, my uncle is good, too. Tyrion is good. He’s always been good,” the man in front of you scoffs, looking away until you stepped forward, a hand resting on his cheek to keep your gaze locked, “Please, Robb, listen to me. Even when I had nothing, I had my uncles. Now I know that where you’re from, killing a king or being a whore lover is honor-less, but the Kingslayer and the Imp are my family, and believe it or not, I prefer them over my own mother and father. I don’t know what you’ve heard but whatever you believe my uncle has done I can promise you that it wasn’t him. I know him better than my own father. In fact, I consider Tyrion to be what my father could not.”

Robb’s expression softens, but the doubt was still hiding his eyes, as clear as day. You wet your bottom lip, blinking before deciding to confess, “You know... before he left for the Wall, my uncle made me a promise. A deal, a bet, call it what you will. The deal was that if he didn’t make it to our wedding, I wanted him to take me away from here,” Robb’s eyes widen for a fraction before reverting back to normal size. Blink and you would’ve missed it. He let you continue without interruption, “I wanted him to bring me back to King’s Landing. But, if he did make it and I lost the bet, he didn’t want bragging rights or for me to do as I’m told and be your wife. No, if my uncle won, he wanted me to make a choice. He wanted me to do whatever made me happy, and that would make him happy. Everybody wins. He said that if I wanted to go home, then he’d bring me home. And if you remember our wedding at all, my Uncle Tyrion did, in fact, attend the ceremony and even gave me away to you before your gods, might I add. I lost the bet. And when the time came for me to pay my debts... I couldn’t. Not fully. In the end, I realized I didn’t want my uncle to take me home... because this is my home now. And even though I didn’t know you enough then, I knew you and this place could make me happier than King’s Landing ever could. I’m telling you this in confidence because you are my husband and I am begging you to have your mother release my uncle. Have no harm come to the only man who deserves to be my father, please.”

A war was going on in Robb’s eyes, conflict meeting conflict. You had to wonder if all Starks were good at brooding if a distant memory of his bastard brother served you right. Your hand, still resting on his cheek is finally acknowledged when Robb reaches up to take it in his own hand while glancing back at you, “And what if he is guilty?”

“He’s not.”

“And if he is?”

Your worry your lip, your own thoughts brewing a mile a minute before answering, “... I don’t know. If he is... kill me alongside him. I would defend him until the very end.”

He sighs, leaning forward until your foreheads touch, his eyes closing with a wince as if in pain, “That wouldn’t make me happy.”

Your heart skips at the words, your breath was involuntarily stolen from the man in front of you. After a moment, Robb squeezed your hand tightly before releasing you, stepping out of your space, “Y/n... even if it wasn’t your uncle, someone in your family killed Jon Arryn and tried to kill my brother. If not Lord Tyrion, then who?”

“I... I don’t know that either. I just know it’s not Tyrion.”

Robb nods, gaze hardening once again as he kept his gaze locked with yours, “And what happens should we find the Lannister who did these unforgivable crimes?”

He closely watched your expression shift with hawk-like eyes, clearly testing you and your loyalty. Ice settled in your veins, your eyes widening in disgust. You were appalled by his accusations and his suspicion of loyalty, wondering if you would choose between him and your family. With this conclusion, you let your heart harden again as you glared right back at your husband, “Then swing the sword yourself... and look me in the eyes as you do so.”

~~~

Some weeks later, you receive a letter from the Eyrie. Confused as to why anyone from House Arryn would want to speak with you, your hands carefully unravel the scroll. Once your eyes first settled on the handwriting, you breathed a sigh of relief when realizing the letter to be from your uncle.

Y/n,

I am safe. I was mistaken for an assassin and brought to the Eyrie to face judgment. It’s a long story, one of which I do not want you to worry about, but I will now be heading for Casterly Rock. Wish me luck. All that I ask is once you read this letter, have it burned. Do not question it. Just know that it’ll keep our family safe as long as no one else reads this. Stay quiet and stay safe, but most importantly, be brave.

Tyrion

Without hesitation, you walked across your room and threw the letter into the fire, watching the flames until they completely engulfed the parchment to the point of indefinable. That evening, when you entered the Hall for dinner, Robb, Theon, and Maester Luwin were already there, huddled around each other until you approached. Theon and Maester Luwin eyed you with a weary gaze while Robb kept his expression neutral, a scroll unraveled in his hands.

“My mother has set your uncle free. He had won his freedom in a trial by combat.”

“I see,” you dare not react, keeping your head held high as you stared down your husband, “Then the gods must have found him innocent on all charges.”

“There was another letter, Princess,” Maester Luwin decided to break the tension between you and Robb, drawing your eyes to stare at the old man, “Addressed to you. And another to Lord Stark.”

Both you and Robb take your respective letters, opening them up simultaneously. You recognize Varys’ words and read them to yourself. All eyes watch as your jaw visibly tightens and your eyelashes flutter. Your eyes struggle to focus as they slowly lift from the page and you swallow something building up in your throat as you spoke, “King Robert is dead. Killed in a hunting accident.”

The room grows silent. Robb wants to say something but instead watches as you stare at the floor, the letter now hanging loosely in your hands. Robb decides to fill the room with the sound of his letter crinkling as he starts to read the words, recognizing the handwriting to be Sansa’s. At first, he remains stoic until it slowly crumbles away to confusion and betrayal. He stares at the maester then back at the parchment in disbelief, “Treason? Sansa wrote this?”

“It is your sister’s hand, but the Queen’s words,” your head rises at the information, bewildered as Maester Luwin explains the letter, “You are summoned to King’s Landing to swear fealty to the new King.”

“Joffrey put my father in chains, now he wants his ass kissed?”

Spiraling, you don’t think rationally before snatching the letter out of Robb’s hands to read the words yourself. It was true. Robert was dead and now Joffrey has taken the Iron Throne. One of his first decrees was to have Ned Stark arrested and the remainder of his men and loyal servants killed. Sansa, now a hostage, spoke as Luwin described: with your mother’s words. You knew them all too well, to the point your hands began to shake at the thought of it.

Maester Luwin bows his head, “This is a royal command, my lord. If you should refuse to obey--”

“I won’t refuse,” both you and Theon look up at Robb’s words, watching as his eyes harden with determination, “His Grace summons me to King’s Landing, I’ll go to King’s Landing. But not alone.” He takes the letter from you, crumpling it up before handing it back to the maester, “Call the banners.”

Theon smirks while Maester Luwin appeared shocked, “All of them, my lord?”

“They’ve all sworn to defend my father, have they not?”

“They have.”

“Now we see what their words are worth.”

Luwin smiles in approval before walking out of the room. You, now have suddenly lost your appetite, retreat back to your chambers, nearly out of breath by the time you closed the door behind you.

You sit down next to the fireplace when your legs felt too weak to keep you standing. Still in shock, you watch the world move outside your window, swarms of ravens flying past with scrolls attached to their legs. Dozens of those black birds, bearing the call to war for all of House Stark’s bannermen sent an uncomfortable roll of your stomach to flip as you watch them all fly away.

The thoughts kept you from peace and quiet. Your father was dead. He may not have given you much notice, and sometimes he may not have remembered your name day, but he was still your father. A part of you felt disgusted, however, when you barely felt grief over his death. Perhaps a part of you was always prepared for this to happen. Your father was a fat drunk who loved to hunt to avoid his responsibilities... and naturally, those two things don’t mix.

Your brother is king now... that one bit of news involuntarily sent a shiver down your spine. Joffrey wasn’t a good person, and that was only putting it lightly. For most of your lives, Joffrey would try to be cruel to you, but it normally backfired. You were born first and were naturally taller until he finally hit a growth spurt. After that, he was horrible to you. Hitting you, tripping you, pulling your hair, and always when no one else was looking. He even threatened to cut open Fawn once and knowing what happened with one of Tommen’s cats, you couldn’t take that chance. That day, you politely asked your Uncle Jaime to take your horse out on one of his evening stakeouts outside the Red Keep, coming up with the excuse of how guilty you felt not being able to let your dear Fawn stretch her legs as often as you should. Jaime gladly took her, none the wiser. After that, you always strategically sent out the stable boy to tend to Fawn whenever Joffrey’s whereabouts were unknown.

Growing up with Joffrey was like walking on eggshells, so you could only imagine what the weight of the Seven Kingdoms will do on that boy’s shoulders before he snaps. He’s already imprisoned your husband’s father and is currently keeping his sisters captive. Suddenly, your room felt smaller than it was, as though your alliance marriage was about to start wearing thin as a thread. More than ever, you felt like an outsider... a Baratheon and a Lannister daughter... surrounded by wolves.

It wasn’t long before Robb walked in and interrupted your thoughts, silently closing the door behind him. He only makes a few steps in before speaking, “Y/n--”

“I hope you had a letter sent to your mother,” you keep your voice strong while staring into the flames, avoiding whatever tone Robb was pitying you with, “She deserves to know.”

“I had Maester Luwin write one up. She’ll get it by tomorrow morning.”

“Good.”

Silence fell through the room, beside the crackling of the fire. After a moment, careful, slow footsteps draw near to you, “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes shoot up when you felt his presence lingering over you, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed the sympathy in his expression, “For what?”

“For your father.”

A scoff escapes your lips before you could even think about it, your eyes averting back to the fireplace as your husband sits in the seat next to yours, “You should not apologize for something that was bound to happen. I should be apologizing to you. My family has half of yours held hostage in King’s Landing.”

“Not for long,” his voice deepens with determination, “Once the bannermen get here, we’ll leave immediately.”

“But what about your brothers?”

“Maester Luwin will stay and watch out for them... as will you.”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his, and you nearly felt a laugh bubble up in your throat in response to his confidence. You stood your ground, “No. I’m going with you, I’m not staying.”

“Yes, you will,” he meets you head-on as if he believed this was a battlefield he has practiced for, “I--”

“You, what? You command it?” His mouth shuts, and the sneer from before appeared on your face, “You’re not my king, Robb. And I’m not just a lady who knits and sits behind a castle wall waiting for her husband to come home from war! You need me with you in King’s Landing if you intend on rescuing your father from my family’s clutches. My brother sits on the Iron Throne. My mother is Queen Regent. My grandfather and my uncle are raising an army to go to war for her against you. The only way you can safely bring home your father, mother, and sisters are if I go with you and beg my family for forgiveness without too much bloodshed!”

Robb looks away, deciding that the fire was more interesting to brood over. Your posture relaxes, guilt taking over as you slowly reach your hand to touch his arm. You decide to try and win him over by softening your words, “I know you’re no fool, my love... You know I’m right.”

His curls bounce with his nod, his eyes firmly staring at his hands as he closes them together, leaning his elbows against his knees, “It shouldn’t be this way. If none of this was happening, we could stay here.”

“And do what?”

The side eye you receive is playful; mischievous, “I could think of a few things.”

You entertain a small laugh with him, forcing down the heat threatening to rise in your cheeks, “I suppose as Acting Lord of Winterfell, you are due for a couple of heirs.”

Robb’s gaze softens, turning his face fully to you, “There’s no need to have children so soon, Y/n. My father is still alive and even if something were to happen to me tomorrow, he still has two legitimate sons.”

The words fester before your lips turn down. Apparently, a part of you did not like the idea of Robb dying. Even if you despised him, which you didn’t, you wouldn’t wish an early grave for him, “Don’t speak so low of yourself. You are his firstborn son and heir. Now that you are married, it is your duty to ensure your father’s legacy will live on.”

“... His legacy might be in danger... if King Joffrey decides to murder him and we go to war. Do you think your brother is capable of such a thing?”

You wanted to laugh at how silly the question felt when hearing it out loud, but you quickly remember that Ned Stark was at your brother’s mercy, and you decide not to spare Robb the details, answering his question with honesty. Your words were soft and grave, retelling a distant memory with disdain and horror, “When Joffrey was little, he cut open a pregnant cat and proceeded to show our father all the dead kittens, lifeless in his small hands,” Robb’s eyes widen but otherwise said nothing, so you continued, “Robert was disgusted by it, yelling at Joffrey until the boy wet himself... the King summoned me to his chambers that night, and I was scared that somehow Joffrey had pinned this whole horrible incident on me. Of course, Robert was drunk when I arrived, but for some reason, he wanted to spend some quality time in my company.”

You smile unconsciously, starting to feel a small bit of sadness as you clung to one of the few good memories you had of your father, “I don’t think he meant it, but I remember him plainly stating, behind his wine goblet, that I should wear his crown, that Joffrey didn’t deserve it, but unfortunately it had to be this way. Unless he wanted to repeat the Dance of Dragons, he could never name me his heir.”

Robb doesn’t say anything, and since you weren’t looking, you didn’t see the thoughtful blue eyes scanning your face. Your words seeping into his skin, he tried picturing a younger you, sitting beside a fat, old Robert while he drunkenly confessed wanting you on the Iron Throne instead of Joffrey. Robb’s mind was spinning at the picture. A pretty, far-off picture. You, a woman grown, wise and just, sitting on that throne of smelted swords, chin high and eyes fierce, wearing a beautiful gown of your family’s colors and a smaller size of your father’s crown settled onto your head.

The picture in his mind was so clear, part of him wondered if it wasn’t much of a thought, but a vision. Other thoughts began brewing in secret, but they betray the small smile on Robb’s face, fire twinkling in his eyes.

~~~

A/N: I like adding small sentences into certain monologues that sort of remind me of Easter eggs. For example, Y/n Baratheon never considered herself as even half-Lannister and the smallest things she does proves that. When she says that she couldn’t repay her debt to Tyrion, I wanted to further prove that she wasn’t a Lannister, since we all know that ‘Lannisters always pay their debts’.

Again, PLEASE ask/pm me if you want to be added to the taglist! DO NOT comment underneath each chapter! I won't see it right away or I might even miss it. It'll be easier if every ask was sent to me in one place so that I can easily see it.

Also! Feel free to ask questions about this story! Send a raven in the pm, but no questions regarding spoilers 😉

#black of hair got #robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark fic #robb stark #richard madden #game of thrones #got #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones imagine #got imagines #got imagine #tyrion lannister #theon greyjoy

[countrymusiclover]

The Last Velaryon

Haelesa is the last daughter of the Velaryon tree, and her house is in danger of dying out. So her father decides to convince Tywin to make her and Jaime wed. Yet when she rides North with the royal family, she can't help but fall for the young wolf Robb Stark.

1 - The Arrangement

2 - Swords and Winterfell

3 - The Feast pt 1

4 - The Feast pt 2

5 - The Wedding I Didn’t Choose

6 - Revealing Letters

7 - The Waring Battlefield

8 - The Truth of Jaime Lannister

9 -

???

Comments / reblogged thoughts really appreciated ❤️

Tag list @rise-my-angel @cdragons

#the last velaryon #house velaryon #house lannister #house stark #robb stark fanfiction #robb stark fanfic #robb stark x oc #robb stark x reader #robb stark #richard madden #game of thrones fic #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones x oc #game of thrones masterlist #game of thrones smut #got x oc #got x reader #got fandom #got fic #got fanfiction #wattpad fanfiction #ask box is open for feedback #please reblog #reblog stuff #comments really appreciated #tyrion lannister #jaime lannister #robb stark smut #robb stark fluff

[cdragons]

"La Vie En Rose" - Ikaris x Eternal!Reader

Summary: You and Ikaris are finally ready to take a big step in your relationship. The two of you hare details about yourselves to really show how much you two have loved one another throughout your entire existence and since the failed Emergence.

Warning(s): MDNI 18+, very heavy smut in the beginning, loss of virginity, Persephone!Reader/Sephia is demisexual, spoilers, talk of WW2 and its aftermath, mention of suicide, Druig and Kaety are mentioned, almost character death, author tries to talk about music but has no musical background

Author's Notes: I think this might be the longest Ikaris oneshot ever on Tumblr, with a whopping 9.2k word count. For context, I would go to this masterlist, and read the very first post. I would like to thank Grammarly for making sure I don't write like a hill-billy. A huge thanks to @ethereal-athalia for her help. A lot of these ideas could not have been done without her input. I hope y'all have a wonderful Valentine's Day! I also plan to make a Valentine's Day for Druig x Hecate!Reader

Inside the Ritz’s Suite Chopin in Paris, clothes were sprawled across the room. Your dress had pooled on the ground where Ikaris zipped it off you as soon as the door closed. His suit jacket and tie had been removed before you two entered the room. Despite how frantic your movements may have seemed on the outside, you and your lover knew that this moment had been long overdue.

The blue rings in his eyes thinned as his pupils widened at the sight of your strapless bra with its matching lacy cheeky-cut underwear and garter belt. After you ripped his dress shirt and buttons flew across the room, you marveled at the mass of muscle and heavenly skin by softly revering his body with your touch.

You traced every scar and line on his body as if handling a priceless painting. Ikaris sharply hissed at the feeling of your feather touch ghosting over his body. He responded by lifting you in his arms and wrapping your legs above his hips while he kept a firm grip on your soft, ample bottom. He felt your muscles tense before relaxing, and your body melted into his embrace as if the two of you were bodies were born to be together.

“I love you,” he whispered with each kiss he pressed on your skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Ikaris,” you panted, “don’t stop. Please don’t ever stop.”

Trailing kisses down your neck, your lover never took his lips off yours as he carried you across the living room to the boudoir covered with pomegranate flowers. Laying your body gently on the goose feather duvets, Ikaris stood utterly captivated by how your hair framed your face like an ethereal halo.

The sight was nothing short of heavenly.

The luminosity of the moonlight shining through the overhead window gave your form a celestial glow. Your divine figure, added with the contrast of colors from the blossoms on the stark bedspread, made him wonder if this was all a wonderful dream instead of his cruel reality.

Sensing his fear that you were only an illusion, you sat up and took Ikaris’ hand from his side to press a gentle kiss on his palm.

“Ikaris, I am here. I am with you. We are together – now and forever, forever and always.”

Overwhelmed with happiness, your immortal paramour felt a mountainous burden topple down as the relief of knowing this moment was not a figment of his imagination. His Adam’s apple bobbed as tears welled up in his iridescent blue irises.

Ikaris brought his other hand to cup your other cheek before lowering himself to plant a feathery kiss on your forehead. He closed his eyes – savoring the feel of your skin on his lips as he tried to memorize the scent of your hair with the fragrance of the pomegranate flowers surrounding you.

“Ikaris,” you softly begged, “please kiss me.”

And who was he to refuse such a sweet request?

Pressing his lips to yours, Ikaris felt you lower yourself until your back was fully pressed against the bedspreads underneath them. No matter how much his lungs clenched for air, he refused to part for even a breath of air. But you softly pushed him back. Ikaris opened his eyes – prepared to ask if you needed to stop. But he stopped himself at the sight of your lust-filled eyes with the blush on the apple of your cheeks. You reached behind your back and unclasped the hooks of your brassiere before removing the rest of your undergarments.

Time slowed down frame by frame as Ikaris watched you further reveal yourself to him. A part of your hair fell forward to cover your breasts as you lowered your head and fixated on your gaze on the silky scarlet petal of the flower you rubbed between your fingers. Scars and marks dotted your body from battles between deviants in the past. Ikaris knew he was the only man you let see so much.

You sighed as you couldn’t help but feel like shrinking into the shadows as he stared.

“I don’t…I know I’m not as pretty as most of the women you’ve slept with. My body is a bit…, and I’m not as willowy and lovely as Kaety or Sersi. Even Thena is so beautiful and strong. My hips have a weird dip and –” You felt like crying for ruining the moment. “I’m making this so awkward – I’m so sorry.”

Ikaris quietly sat across you for a moment. Then he tipped your chin, and you were forced to look at his stern expression but heated gaze.

“Sephia, your body…it’s lovely. There isn’t a woman or creature more beautiful than you.”

You scoffed inelegantly, but Ikaris shook his head.

“I’m serious. Sephia, I – everything about you is so mind-bogglingly wonderous and beautiful. I have thought so since we first met on the Domo. Who could possibly have given you the idea otherwise?”

You leaned into his chest and let out a deep sigh. “It was no one in particular. I just noticed that men continually gawked at my chest whenever we settled into a new location. They would always stare when I wasn’t looking. Sometimes, when they were drunk, they would tug on my dress and comment that I was either too big or too small. It’s why I preferred to wear their clothing. I thought I attracted too much attention from my Olympian Attire, so I hoped to be noticed less in their garbs. I tried telling Ajak, but she told me not to pay attention to their actions since they were only curious. But it didn’t stop until I told Kaety.”

Hearing your explanation, Ikaris’ hold on you tightened. Once more, he was in your friend’s debt. How dare those lowly men cause you so much strife? Had he known of your troubles, he would have ensured that those fools feared for their lives. But he knew if you were aware of his thoughts, it would only push you away – so he remained quiet.

Instead, he planted a gentle kiss on both of your cheeks and whispered to you how honored he was for this moment. His hands caressed your thighs, and he had your legs straddled on his hips as he made sure you were comfortable on his lap. He let you take the lead by wrapping your arms over his shoulders and groaned at the feeling of you pressing his chest against your bare bust.

The way he moaned your name made your stomach clench. “Sephia. Thank you. I will show you how beautiful to me– tonight and every night from now on if you’ll permit me.”

You nodded your head against the crook of his neck. You didn’t trust your voice to convey your love for the man with you tonight.

But Ikaris needed more. “Say it, Sephia. Look me in the eye and tell me if you want us to continue.”

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your head to show your trust. “I want you to continue.”

Bringing you in for a heated kiss, Ikaris and you explored each other’s bodies with your hands as your lips were locked in a familiar embrace. He then trails kisses down your chin and travels down your neck and across the tops of your breasts. You wondered if he could hear how hard your heart was beating against the confines of your rib cage as you panted for air.

Ikaris used one hand to cup one of your flushed breasts covered in love bites and kisses. On the other, he put his mouth on your puckered nipple and swirled his tongue around the areola.

You slowly rocked your hips and whispered for more. “Ikaris, Ikaris, Ikaris – more, more, please.”

Your body was his paradise, and you were his angel. Everything about you – the perfume of your skin, the silky luster of your hair, the addictive scent of your arousal – it was both all too much and never enough.

Switching breasts to continue his services, Ikaris wondered if he could get you to cum without directly touching you down there. He felt emboldened by the challenge with the breathless praises spilling from your lips that were swollen and red from his kisses.

He traveled down to your navel while continuing to trace his tongue and lips across your skin until he stopped at your navel. Dipping his tongue into your navel region, your initial reaction was a giggle, but then he used both of his hands to reach for your abandoned mounds to massage them. The rough calluses on his fingers gave way to new sensations unbeknownst to you, making your laughter change to moans.

Arching your back, you called out his name with your sweet voice. “Ikaris- Ikaris! It’s too…it’s too much!”

As you arched your back, you pushed your chest further into his hands. He tendered cupped them before giving them a hard squeeze and then used his fingers to pinch your nipples. Twisting and tugging them brought tears to your eyes as the pleasure from the attention he granted to your bosom with the swirling of his tongue in your navel.

The feel of Ikaris’ hot tongue contrasting with the cooling spit from his saliva only added to your rapture. You felt your stomach tighten into an invisible coil as you clawed and grasped onto the bed covers to ground you. The coil became tighter and tighter until your lips started to tremble as your core clenched around nothing, and your mouth opened to let out no noise as your vision went white. Your body squirmed, and you clamped your legs to unsuccessfully quell the sensations.

Ikaris’ mouth traveled down to your nether lips as he removed his hands from your breasts to spread your legs and put them over his shoulders. Although the sight of the Eternals’ strongest fighter between your legs was certainly an arousing view, you couldn't contain snorting at the absurdity of it all.

Your cerulean-eyed beloved raised a quizzical brow to showcase his offended feelings.

“And what, pray tell, do you find so amusing right now, flower?” he asked in a monotone voice.

“I’m sorry-” you couldn’t stop laughing “-I’m so sorry – I just never imagined being in this situation with you – with anyone.”

He gave you a flat look for you to continue.

You went on with your explanation. “For so long, I have never felt this way. You- you aren’t the first person I’ve been with – romantically, at least – but I could never feel myself wanting to go further. It always felt like something was stopping me. For so long, I thought something was wrong with me. And then, after talking with Kaety and Phastos, I thought I might be asexual. But it hadn’t been until those moments we spent in the field outside the village that I- I felt a bond transform from friendship to what I didn’t realize to be love to- to this.”

You stopped laughing and lifted your torso on one elbow to reach him. You cupped his face with one hand, and Ikaris nuzzled his face into your palm – welcoming the feel of your silky touch. In your eyes, there was enough love to make the world outside this room disappear.

“I haven’t felt this way for anyone but you. It was such an unexpected surprise, but I wasn’t scared. I think it was because- well, despite everything, I never felt unsafe around you. Ikaris, the years I spent with you after Thanos’ Snap and before the Emergence were some of the happiest years of my life. I don’t think there are words to describe how much I love you.”

It was only when you stroked your thumb on his cheek that Ikaris realized he was crying. As Ajak’s most trusted and loyal soldier, he had an image of stability to maintain. Before his suicide attempt in flying to the sun, he could count the number of times he cried throughout his life on one hand.

The first was when a deviant managed almost to sever his spine. The pain was so terrible. It took the efforts of Ajak and Kaetlyn to stop him from bleeding out and close the gash, but not without a garish scar across his back.

The second was when you left him and what remained of the team after Kaetlyn and Druig left in response to the genocide of Tenochtitlan citizens from Spanish conquistadors. He was hurt and felt betrayed. He called you weak and naïve to believe that you, Kaet, and Druig had better judgment than Arishem for humanity’s future. While your leaving broke his heart, his sobbing resulted from the pained look on your face from his words. He cried for three days after your departure.

The third time was after he killed Ajak. It broke his heart to kill the one he admired and followed for so long. She wanted to stop the Emergence and stop Arishem’s Grand Design of the birth of a new Celestial. But to do so was to condemn you to a slow and painful death, and Ajak knew that. The Avengers destroyed your regained health when they brought back the rest of humanity.

Ikaris knew that destroying the planet you loved so much would have brought you more pain than your illness, but it was humanity that weakened you so much from the beginning. If the Emergence must occur, Ikaris was sure he could ask Ajak to convince Arishem to allow him to keep his memories. If he had, he would have been able to love you from the beginning of everyone’s rebirth.

But he failed, and it nearly cost him you and your sister. The memory Druig implanted in his mind would haunt him forever. It was so unnatural to see Kaety so lifeless, so cold. The sight and Aisling’s screams with Laoise’s cries made it worse.

The fourth was when he stood before Sersi as her frame kneeled atop Tiamut’s emerging body. You lay unconscious as you allowed your new leader to use your cosmic energy to kill the infant Celestial but also to use your body as a medium to use the Celestial’s infinite amount of cosmic energy to revitalize the Earth. Standing in front of his sister as she kneeled next to your body, Sersi was ready to accept her death at her brother’s hand. But Ikaris could not steel his resolve to aim his heat vision at her heart.

He could not kill his sister – not when she was the one person he could ever love as much as he does you. She was the only person who trusted more than anyone in the world. She knew all his secrets and was the first to realize his love for you.

Just as Kaetlyn was your sister, Sersi was his. And so all he could do was let himself be used to destroy Tiamut, give one final goodbye to his sister, and give you one final kiss before he flew to the sun.

Your voice broke him from his thoughts. “Ikaris? Are you all right?”

“Yes, flower,” he answered with a smile. “Thank you.”

“‘Thank you?’ Whatever for?” Your confused expression was so utterly adorable.

“Everything, I suppose,” he said while shrugging. “Sephia, you said you never imagined making love to anyone for thousands of years. But for me, it was all I could think about with you. As I said that night on the balcony, ‘I was made to love you.’ And I will say these words and show you how much I mean them for however long you permit me.”

Your heart sang out to his at his sweet words. You reached to pull him down for a kiss before whispering in his ear.

“Ikaris, will you make love to me?”

“Yes,” came his immediate answer. “But first, I must prepare you.”

“Has that not been what you’ve been doing so far?”

Your immortal worshiper gave you a lascivious grin in response. “My petal, this had only been the beginning.”

Your hands clenched his hair in a feeble attempt to get him to ease Ikaris’ feasting. But all your actions brought were him spreading your legs further apart. The feeling of his tongue flitting over your clit as he drove fingers to furiously thrust inside your cervix to the point of making you weep in ecstasy.

It started with one, then it became two. Soon, he added the third, and the pain from the stretch quickly drove you to a state of nymphomania. It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak, and it was far more intense than its predecessor. You felt your body spasm for a little bit before relaxing into the mattress as Ikaris languidly stroked your walls to carry out your climax for as long as possible.

This wasn’t the first time he had eaten you out, but it was the first time he could do so without interruptions.

As your essence spilled on his tongue, Ikaris let out an obtusely loud, close-mouthed groan, and its vibrations added to your overstimulation. Your body’s nectar was ambrosia worthy to be tasted only by gods. It was addictive enough for an Eternal such as himself to get drunk on it and crave its taste for all eternity.

He removed himself from the bed before frantically unbuckling his belt and stripping himself of his black slacks and boxer briefs. The way his shaft sprung out and its head hit Ikaris’ naval region made your eyes widen. It must have been around eight inches long, and the sight of it made you unconsciously clamp your legs close. It was pulsing dark pink with veins running along its length, and its head looked so swollen and red that it neared to purplish hue with a pearly white bead of precum leaking out.

You’ve seen corpses and anatomical diagrams. Kaety was the more explicit one out of the two of you. She had no qualms sharing even the most graphic details of Druig’s…thing.

But this was the first time you saw it in person, and you didn’t realize men could be so…big.

“Does it hurt…being like that?” you hesitantly asked as you reached forward to touch it. But he softly grasped your hand from getting too close.

Ikaris chuckled at your innocence. “It doesn’t hurt per se, but it is very sensitive. And if you touch it, I cannot promise you that I will last long enough to enjoy it.”

Kneeling on the bed, he carefully grabbed his length and positioned it just outside your soaking womanhood.

He cupped your cheek and brought your eyes to him. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Don’t think about me. Do you want this?”

Looking into his eyes, you drowned in the overwhelming sea of love that was his beautiful blue eyes. You admit you still felt a twinge of fear. But more than fear, more than lust and desire, you felt safe. What you shared with Ikaris was more than how you ever hoped to feel with someone. It was real – what you shared with this man was true and went beyond physical attraction. Your bond with him had only grown stronger since his return; nothing would ever change that.

“I’m ready,” you whispered as you felt the increasing rate of your heartbeat. “I love you, Ikaris. With all of me.”

He positioned his cock until its head had just entered you. You sharply sucked in a breath.

“I’ll do my best to make it as painless as possible. Take a deep breath if you need to. I won’t move until you feel like you’ve adjusted to it. We can go as slow or as fast as you want. I promise.”

“I know,” you replied. “I trust you.”

He gently pushed himself inside you inch-by-inch. The stretch of your walls around his manhood was almost painful. He was halfway inside you when you asked him to pause with two thin trails of tears running down your eyes.

“I just -” you gasped, “- I just need a minute.”

Ikaris softly stroked your cheek before catching a tear under your eye. “It’s okay. Take all the time you need.”

When you nodded to show you were ready, Ikaris continued to insert himself inside you until he fully bottomed out slowly. When he reached his hilt, he let out a mighty groan and husky rasp as you took a sharp and loud intake of breath. Despite how well-lubricated you were, the stretching of your cervix to accommodate his size was more than you expected. Thankfully, your lover did not move for the sake of you being able to adjust to the feel of him inside your tight walls.

Ikaris propped himself on one of his elbows as he hovered above you. He bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his moans, but the feeling of him being swallowed by your warmth was more euphoric than he could ever dream it to be. He lowered his head enough to kiss away the tears from your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered so sweetly. “This discomfort will pass, my love. I will not move until you are ready.”

Thank the stars he prepped you earlier. If he hadn’t, you weren’t sure you would have been able to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. It was the strangest sensation. You felt so full – as evidenced by the slight bulge protruding from your lower stomach – but the fullness was almost comforting.

It was evidence that you and your love joined bodies and became one.

You slowly wrapped your legs around Ikaris’ waist. Despite the discomfort, you wanted to feel as close and connected to the beautiful man hovering above you as possible. Soon, the pain lessened to a sting, and it dulled further before shifting to pleasure. It was not long before you craved the friction from Ikaris’ shaft moving inside you and slowly began grinding your hips against him to ease the ache inside you.

Ikaris could feel the fluttering of your cervix and your walls becoming more slick from your increasing arousal. Feeling your hips moving against him, he couldn’t stop the teasing leer at your squirming and the soft moans and whimpers leaving your lips.

“Does it feel good? I wonder how it would feel if I did this–” he pushed his hips to give a shallow thrust and reveled at the way your back was so beautifully arched.

Your cries were no longer laced with pain but adorned with shock from the unexpected pleasure.

“Oh? You like that?” he chuckled in smug amusement. “Fuck, your body is so responsive. You have no idea how much your sweet cries add to my ego.”

“I-Ikaris!” you stammered as you frantically moved your hips. “Please!”

“Please what, my flower?” he teased. “You know I can’t do anything until you provide explicit instructions.”

You wailed in frustration. “You know what I mean, you cruel man! I-I need you to m-move! I want to feel everything! PLEASE!”

Throwing all inhibitions to the wind, Ikaris gave you precisely what you wanted by giving hard, powerful drives. The squelch of your folds from each thrust was downright sinful and caused you to cry out his name. The slapping of his hips against your thighs, coupled with his gruff grunts and your high-pitched mewls, made for the most erotic symphony.

You felt so embarrassed by your reactions, but there was no use in holding back your reactions. You put your arm over your eyes to maintain some semblance of dignity, but Ikaris pinned it down to the side of your head. You opened your eyes to see if your lover was as out of control as you.

You were shocked to see how nearly black his eyes were, with almost no evidence of his lapis-lazuli irises. His lips had a thin, wet sheen of film covering them, and his hair was wholly tousled and unkempt from his usual militant style – a result of you running your fingers through it and yanking it.

“Oh no, don’t you dare cover your face,” he rasped. “I’ve waited for this moment for seven thousand years. All those years of watching those men stare at you with lustful eyes – every soldier, king, even fucking Thor. And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it – what right did I have to do so? But tonight- tonight, I ensure that you will never want anyone else but me.”

You shook your head. “No…only you- I only want you, Ikaris. I swear!”

“Gods, you’re so beautiful,” he cooed. “You feel so perfect – gripping me so tight. Do you feel as good as I do, my flower? Can you feel how I was made for you? As you were made for me? Can you feel how greedy your cunt is for me – I fit so perfectly inside you.”

The euphoria between you two reached such a crescendo that your bodies were frantically rocking against each other at an erratic tempo. You reached forward to cling onto his shoulders as you brought him in a close embrace. The only thing that mattered to you was the man above you and the love overflowing between you. The only thing that mattered to Ikaris was the feeling of you under him and knowing this wasn’t a dream.

The rest of the world disappeared, and the noise from the festivities of the City of Lights became white noise. The only sounds you could register in your lust-hazy mind were Ikaris’ hoarse groans and hushed gasps. The only sounds Ikaris could hear while in his bliss-intoxicated state were your breathless whimpers and sharp cries.

The two of you looked less like the gods humanity regaled in myths and legends and more akin to wild beasts. The sight of your legs tightly wrapped around Ikaris’ waist and the vulgar rings of the slapping of skin from him pounding into you was sinful. The feel of your full and soft breasts rubbing against his hard pecs only heightened the pleasure.

The familiar coil in your stomach returned, and its intensity was reaching a point of almost unbearable pleasure. All you could do was continue to cling to your lover with your nails dragging down his back as he continued to slam into you. Ikaris cursed under his breath at the feeling of your nails scraping long red marks on the skin of his back. He felt your walls start to tighten to show that you were reaching your peak. He increased his tempo to a relentless pace as he felt your walls continue to grip him.

With his newfound vigor, you became all the more aware of how he dragged each and every inch of his cock in and out of you. Your cunt wept at the way his new pace made you stretch even wider to accommodate for all of him. His rough patch of curls around the base of his cock hitting your swollen clit made your mind go blank.

“Ikaris!” you wailed. “Slow – slow down! I think – I think I’m going to – oh, FUCK!”

“Let go, Sephia,” Ikaris grunted. “I want to feel your cunt gripping my cock. I want to feel your walls creaming around me as your womb begs for my cum to fill so much that it leaks.”

Refusing to part from you, he snaked his arm to the space between your legs to press your swollen clit. The pressure from his fingers pinching your nub broke the dam inside you as your juices sprayed and soaked Ikaris’ manhood and naval region. Your back arched, and your legs trembled while the rest of your body pathetically spasmed from the intensity of your release. Your vision went white, and your mind was filled with blissful static as drool dribbled out of your mouth, hanging open at the sheer shock from the release of pressure.

When you came around him, Ikaris gripped the sheets so hard that he heard a faint rip as he felt a mass of textiles clump in his hand. If the fluttering of your cunt was heavenly, then the feeling of your walls clenching so hard around him as you sprayed your essence around him was euphoria. Using both hands, he unhooked your legs around his waist and spread them wide apart until your feet dangled by his head. The new position allowed him to reach so deep in you that he felt the tip of his shaft hitting the entrance of your womb.

He chased the end of his release as you senselessly babbled – your mind was too far gone from your climax, and all you could do was take all of him until he was done himself. It was not long until he felt his body tense, and he thrust himself into you to the hilt and came with a thunderous shout that echoed with your loud cries. The shift of all his weight ramming into the warm and wet hole that greedily latched onto him brought you a new sensation so pleasurable that it rocked on the edge of pain. The spilling of his hot seed inside your womb made you further cling onto him as tears streamed down your cheeks – as if melding your bodies into one being.

Ikaris completely let go of all of his tensions as he lay on top of you – panting for air. Your heart was racing as you tried to catch your breath. For a few minutes, the two of you only wanted to bask in the feel of you together in the aftermath of your lovemaking.

Not wanting to crush you with his weight, Ikaris gently tried to pry himself off you. He thought it would be best to grab a wet rag to help clean you or at least give you some water, but you refused to let go.

“I like feeling you inside me,” you whispered, your voice was a bit hoarse from your screams and cries.

His voice sounded more gruff than usual as he chuckled. “You shouldn’t say such things unless you’re prepared for another round. And by the looks of it, I think you’ve had enough for one night – especially for your first time.”

Ikaris stroked your cheek as he smiled at the sight of you. Your hair was tousled, and your skin was flushed to a lovely hue. There was not a patch of your neck that was not completely littered with red splotches from his bites and kisses. Your eyes were wet from the tears that streamed down your cheeks, and there was a small trail of drool from your mouth.

You were the very image of erotic perfection – only to ever be seen by him.

“…Was it good?” he hesitantly asked. “How do you feel?”

“I feel…at peace,” you replied after a few moments of thinking. “I don’t really feel any different from before. I certainly wouldn’t object to doing it again. But I just feel…content- and happy. Does that make sense?”

You felt your love’s feather-soft lips press against your hairline. “Yes, it does. But are you sure you don’t want to clean yourself? I know your thighs will feel…sticky in the morning if we don’t wipe it off.”

You shook your head. “No, I just want you here with me.”

“At least let me get you a glass of water,” he reasoned. “Believe me when I say you’ll be grateful for it in the morning.”

“Fine,” you relented with a pout. “Hurry back.”

He lowly chuckled as he lowered himself to plant a soft kiss on your temple.

When Ikaris returned with your water, he found you bundled under a cocoon of the bed’s sheets and covers. Shaking his head in amusement, he placed the glass on the nightstand on your side of the mattress. He carefully lifted the covers, not to wake you from your well-deserved slumber, and crawled under them before gently shifting your body in his arms.

As Ikaris closed his eyes and felt the beckoning lull of slumber reach him, he swore he could hear the tune of a trumpet blowing as a rich timber voice sang a familiar song that held a special place in his heart.

Quand il me prend dans ses bras Qu'il me parle tout bas Je vois la vie en rose

With a peaceful smile on his face, Ikaris dreamt of a dear memory. It happened in Paris only over seventy years ago. He recalls the day he first heard the phrase ‘rose-colored glasses’ as if it were only yesterday. Unbeknownst to him, you were playing the same memory in your sleep.

Paris in February 1948 was a less-than-ideal time. The weather was dismal, and the air was filled with smog and cigarette smoke. The snow surrounding him more resembled ash blown from a forest fire than frozen ice particles falling from the heavens. People were still hurting from the losses they suffered in the war. The industry was ruined, food was severely rationed, and housing was in short supply. The once luminescent City of Lights and her people were living in misery.

But Ikaris’ longing to see you was greater than his misery.

You had been visiting the graves of soldiers and victims across France every February since the signing of the Paris Peace Treaties in 1947. While there were thousands of unmarked graves, you knew the names of each fallen soldier and nameless body. The Earth whispered each person's tale as their blood spilled to the ground. You would breathe their name to a single red poppy before laying the bloom on the ground. It was too little while also being too late, but you wanted to show your thanks.

Your heart ached at the thought of anyone crossing over without someone remembering them. You walked these hallowed grounds because these brave men and women had fought for that privilege. You walked to honor and thank them.

It was what Kaety and Phastos would have wanted. It was what James would have wanted.

Feeling a sudden shift in the air, you did not need to look to know who had joined you.

“Hello, Ikaris,” you greeted your friend while still kneeling on the ground. “What brings you here?”

“I just wanted to see you,” he replied. “Is that not what friends do?”

You bitterly laughed under your breath. You finally stood from the ground to face your old “friend.” It hurt to see how beautiful he remained despite how he impassively stared at you – as if you meant nothing to him.

“Are we still friends?” you asked. “After everything?”

If your questions hurt him, Ikaris had not let it be shown. But he at least had the decency to soften his tone and look down at his feet, slightly admonished.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he answered. He looked up to face you once more. “Sephia, I…I missed you.”

A new wave of tears threatened to spill as you scoffed at his words.

“Cruel man,” you inwardly wept. “Cruel, cruel man.”

“Forgive me for my reaction,” you scornfully replied. “But I find that a bit hard to believe, considering how we left things between us last time.”

The last time you had seen Ikaris was over fifty years ago when he visited you in the small open field outside Kaety and Druig’s commune. It was your usual meeting place for the past two centuries. It was close enough to the village that Kaety still felt your presence but far enough to ensure your meeting remained private.

The first time he came, you were so happy to see Ikaris. You were terrified at the idea of him forever hating you for joining Kaety and Druig in seclusion. He had criticized you for going against Arishmen’s orders. He told you it mattered little of what you and Kaety did – humanity was doomed to fail.

The last you heard from Kingo was that Ikaris had disappeared from Earth. No one had seen him since Ajak sent all of you away – not even Sersi or Sprite.

His reaching out to you over everyone else meant so much to you. Perhaps it was selfish, but it made you happy to know your talks and meetings with Ikaris were done without anyone’s knowledge. Not even Kaety knew of his presence. You two would talk about the world that was changing around them while reminiscing about the world that had passed.

With each talk, you felt your bond with your friend strengthen. With each meeting, your attachment to Ikaris became more profound as you often craved to see him just hours after he left. Your feelings grew to the point where you could no longer contain them. It felt like you had laid your entire heart on the line.

“Would you stay here?” you softly asked. “Would you stay here with me?”

And then he left, leaving you in the field by yourself.

“Did you hate the idea–” you hastily inhaled to stop your voice from breaking “– of staying here so much? Could you really have not found any joy in what I do here for those people?”

Ikaris reached out to hold you in his arms.

“No,” he whispered in your hair. “No, Flower, that’s not it. I swear… I swear that’s not it.”

He should not have come. If he were a better man, he would have let you hate him until you could forget him. But he knew you were alone, and his selfishness won out in the end.

“Then why?” you cried. His shirt muffled your words, but your voice broke his heart. “Why did you leave? Why didn’t you come back? Every year, I waited in that field! Because I thought our friendship meant something to you! But you never came!”

“Sephia,” he explained, “I could have never been who you needed me to be for those villagers. I have nothing to offer them but my combat skills.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you tell him. “Everything you told me that night – you were right. It doesn’t matter what any of us do. Humans will destroy everything themselves. Just look where we are now.”

You and he looked at the thousands of white crosses that stood from the ground. You still had nightmares about the bodies surrounding you as hundreds of soldiers entered your tents – only to pass away from their fatal injuries. So many graves without names were men and women you treated before you had to bury them.

Kaety still woke up every night screaming at the horrors and abuse of the victims of Unit 731. What remained of the records of Ishii Shiro and his use of anthrax and the plague as biological warfare would haunt her for the rest of her life. Her thrashing had almost gotten to the point where she ordered Druig to sedate her if she ever accidentally hurt herself or him.

Phastos was practically left in a continuous catatonic state after leaving the site of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. But during the times he came back, he could only weep out apologies to the millions of victims for his interference with humanity’s technology from the beginning.

“Was everything we thought we were building for nothing?” you asked. “Was this planet and its people doomed from the start?”

Ikaris only stood silently. He wondered if he was more cruel not to tell you the truth of Arishem’s grand plan after Ajak told him so long ago. But he wanted to see your smile for however long he had left. You were so proud of your creations, and rightfully so. Not knowing what else to do, he figured to let his actions speak more than his words.

“Can I show you something?”

He took you in his arms when you nodded. He lifted the two of you to a dark alley in Paris next to the Seine. The lights surrounding them with the people walking along the river bank made the night cold winter night less cold and desolate than the hopelessness you felt in your heart.

It was a pretty sight, but the view couldn’t have been the only reason why Ikaris brought you here.

“Look around you.” He spread his arms to emphasize his point. “What do you see?”

“…Litter and pollution?”

“Besides that.”

You tried to look harder. “Ummmm…people?”

“Exactly, people who are alive. A florist who sells flowers in the spring to young lovers because she wants to share the fruits of your labor with the world. Families who tour the Gardens of Versailles because they want to bask in the splendor.”

You understood Ikaris’ point. You were the one who tried to explain it all to him for so long, but everything seemed so hopeless now.

“Sephia,” he spoke your name to break you from your thoughts. “What you brought into this world was not for nothing. It never was. You are why people can find beauty and joy in the simplest pleasures.”

You wanted to say something – anything. But words failed to come to you. They always had during the most important events. Suddenly, you heard the melody of one of France’s favorite songs creep into your ear. You felt your Ikaris softly grasp your hand as he gently led the two of you to the direction of the melody.

It was a mixed jazz band playing in the middle of a packed Place Vendôme. They were playing La Vie En Rose.

The symphony of clarinets and flutes made for a beautiful melody. The saxophone altos, French horn, and trombone gave the song a homophonic texture. But the real star of the ensemble was the trumpet. It added a sense of joy and lightheartedness that so deeply contrasted the past decade.

“A favorite demon of yours told me this song was all the rage in France a few ago,” he quipped. “Care to show me why?”

You rolled your eyes. “You really need to stop calling Kaety that. She’ll bite your head off for being unable to think of a new nickname after seven thousand years.”

Ikaris took a few steps forward before turning to you and held out his hand. You only stared at it before realizing the meaning of his gesture. You stared at his face with wide eyes and a gaped mouth to represent your shock.

“You,” you choked out, “want to dance? In the middle of the square?”

Ikaris only shrugged. “Why not?”

“But…but, there’s just – there’s so many people around!” you stammered.

“That’s never stopped you before in Reykjanesskagi.”

“That was during the Maiden’s Day festival!”

“You know, you’re starting to hurt my feelings with how long you’ve kept my arm like this.”

You huffed out a breath in annoyance before you reluctantly reciprocated the gesture. Ikaris must have known that you wouldn’t refuse a dance, especially a dance to one of your favorite songs. You hated bringing attention to yourself, but you loved to dance. You didn’t know what it was – but you could always lose yourself in the notes as your body moved in tandem with the tune. Whenever there was a festival or celebration in any city where the Eternals were stationed, you and Kaety would disguise yourselves as peasants or low-born nobility to fade into the background. So often, you would lose yourself in joy that you would accidentally make flowers bloom around you, even in the harshest winters.

Des yeux qui font baisser les miens Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche Voilà le portrait sans retouches De l'homme auquel j'appartiens

Ikaris pulled you close to his chest. One hand was placed on the small of your back while one of your hands clutched on his shoulder. But the other was firmly clasped in his other hand. Before you began, you saw a few other pairs sway to the band. It eased your nerves to know that you and he were the only pair dancing in the historical square.

Quand il me prend dans ses bras Qu'il me parle tout bas Je vois la vie en rose

Il me dit des mots d'amour Des mots de tous les jours Et ça m'fait quelque chose

Everyone around you seemed to be dancing in slow, expressive, rhythmic steps, resembling an American-style bolero. Given the time and place, it was only natural that Ikaris took the lead. You were prepared to offer instructions, but he surprised you again by showing how comfortable he was in the role and steps.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you remarked.

Ikaris looked slightly embarrassed as his cheeks reddened. “Sersi taught me. She basically threatened to castrate me if I refused to dance at a speakeasy we frequented in New York in the 20s.”

“Sersi?” you snorted out as he spun and dipped you. “Sersi threatened you? Our Sersi? Lying is a very unbecoming quality, Ikaris. I didn’t think you’d be one to develop it.”

“Oh, if only I could make up such a tale,” replied Ikaris as he grabbed your waist before lifting you without struggle. “Sersi’s can be downright terrifying if she wants to be. Ask Kingo – he’s the only other person who’s seen her like that.”

You couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling out of your throat. And as the band continued to play, you and Ikaris swayed, dipped, and spun for hours. Over three hours had passed by the time the band was finished for the night. When you stopped, all you could do was stare into your friend’s eyes in a rose-hued haze before a thunderous round of applause broke you out of your dreamlike state and into reality. A sizable crowd had surrounded the two of you – hoots, hollers, and whistles accompanied the applause. Your impromptu performance enchanted men, women, children, and even pets.

“Bisou!” called out from a random face in the crowd. It wasn’t long before the call became a chant.

“Bi-sou! Bi-sou! Bi-sou! Bi-sou!”

Feeling suddenly emboldened, you cupped your Ikaris’ face and kissed his cheek softly. The following whistles and cheers would have made you wish to disappear – had it not been for the sweet peck Ikaris placed between the furrow of your brow.

All of a sudden- without even knowing it at the time- the world seemed brighter, and the air started to smell like roses.

Ikaris woke up to the feeling of gentle poking on his cheek. Hearing the swallows sing and feeling the warm sunlight on his skin, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at peace. He turned his body in your direction before opening his eyes. He was immediately blessed with your bright eyes and sweet smile. Raking his eyes down your body, it looked like you wore his dress shirt from last night.

He adored the way it draped over your curves – especially with how it showed off your legs.

“Are you ready for your Valentine’s Day present?” you asked with poorly contained excitement. Judging by how your smile went ear-to-ear, you practically bounced out of your skin.

Ikaris furrowed his brows in puzzlement. “Was last night not my present?”

You rolled your eyes. “Why would sex be your present? I thought I made it pretty clear that I hadn’t expected the night to turn in that direction.”

“Well then,” he chucked in amusement over your flushed cheeks and pout, “what is my present?”

Your eyes shone in delight as you lightly kicked your feet against the mattress. “You’ll have to get out of bed for that! Come on!”

You dashed into the next room while Ikaris wrapped the sheets around him before locating his briefs and grabbing a pair of gray sweatpants in his luggage. Once putting them on, he stretched out his back and arms from behind the balcony window before opening it and letting in some air to freshen the room.

When he crossed to the piano room, he was mildly surprised when he saw you seated at the pianoforte. You pressed the keys to carefully listen if the instrument needed any additional tuning. Satisfied that the pitch wasn’t flat, you turned to Ikaris, who was leaning under the doorway.

“Are you ready?” you asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” he replied.

You positioned your fingers over the right keys while straightening your posture. Clearing your throat, you began to play at Adagio. Your body swayed to the melody as if you had become one with the instrument. Every key you lovingly caressed let out a note sounding so beautifully as if the music came alive just for you. You closed your eyes before you began singing.

Des yeux qui font baisser les miens Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche Voilà le portrait sans retouches De l'homme auquel j'appartiens

Quand il me prend dans ses bras Qu'il me parle tout bas Je vois la vie en rose

Ikaris’ eyes widened. Were you playing…had you –

But his thoughts were interrupted as your rich singing broke through his stupor. Your sweet voice was soaked in honey and laced with the roses from the song.

Il me dit des mots d'amour Des mots de tous les jours Et ça m'fait quelque chose

Il est entré dans mon cœur Une part de bonheur Dont je connais la cause

For a moment, Ikaris truly hated that his French wasn’t as proficient as yours. Had it been, he would have been able to appreciate your singing that rivaled the voice of angels properly. Was it possible for one to sound as rich and effortlessly fluid as sweet syrup?

C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie

Et dès que je l'aperçois Alors je sens dans moi Mon cœur qui bat

Your fingers lightly danced along the keys to give your voice a brief intermission. And for a few moments, it felt like Ikaris’ soul had returned to his body. And although he expected you to stop, you began to sing the English translation.

Hold me close and hold me fast

The magic spell you cast

This is la vie en rose

When you kiss me, heaven sighs

And though I close my eyes

I see la vie en rose

Whereas the original French version required a slower and softer pace to grasp the ballad's meaning and beauty, the English version required a slightly quicker tempo. It brought a more joyful mood and tone compared to the lovely but melancholic French version.

When you press me to your heart

I'm in a world apart

A world where roses bloom

And when you speak, angels sing from above

Everyday words seem to turn into love songs

Give your heart and soul to me

And life will always be

La vie en rose

When you finished, Ikaris was once more completely and utterly entranced. You turned to face him with hopeful eyes. You long memorized this song since that night in Paris over seventy years ago. When you began to learn how to play the piano, you did it because you never wanted to forget the ballad’s meaning and how it touched your heart from that night on.

“You once asked me why this song was so popular,” you began to explain. “Édith Piaf wrote ‘La Vie en Rose’ in 1945 and released it as a single in 1947. The song’s popularity quickly reached global success as jazz artists began to sing its covers. Louis Armstrong played it on March 2, 1948 – at the same Jazz Festival you took me in Salle Pleyel.”

You stood up as you tenderly traced a single black key that released a soft C sharp when you pressed it.

“As you remember, all of Europe was in chaos and misery after the war. Everyone lost someone fighting. So many men and women who returned became shells of themselves. People were starving and homeless from the constant airstrikes. But Édith wrote this song to remind Paris to never lose sight of the happy times and good things in life. You shouldn’t forget the bad times, but you also shouldn’t forget to look at life without seeing the beauty of everything around you.”

You walked towards Ikaris before standing before him and wrapping your arms around him. You laid your cheek against his chest and smiled at his beating heart's steady and strong rhythm.

“That night- when we danced at the Place Verdôme- the song they played was stuck in my head for months. Whenever I felt sad or disheartened, I would put on the record I bought to listen to it. I know you have your doubts about humanity. You always had them, as had I. We were never the ones who loved humankind, especially after the atrocities they had committed. I hated what they did to the Earth, how much they polluted it, but – Oh, Ikaris. I made you cry again.”

Touching his cheek, Ikaris realized that he was indeed crying. That’s twice in less than twelve hours, a new record. Just what in Arishem’s name had you done to him?

He shook his head. “Never mind my tears. Continue.”

“Listening to that song, I finally realized why so many of our family kept faith in humankind. Kaety and Druig have their twins and remain in their village. Phastos and Ben have Jack. Sersi has loved and lost more than any of us, first with Jane, but now she’s with Dane. Kingo lives among them effortlessly and adores them. Even Makkari remains joyful because she keeps looking at life and seeing its beauty.”

You paused for a moment before standing only tip-toes to press a kiss on his nose.

“Ikaris, you don’t care much for humans. But that night, you reminded me why I did what I did in the war. You reminded me that there will always be people who will take comfort in the most simple pleasures- a rose’s bloom, the crisp bite of an apple, or even the sound of a child’s heartbeat. So, for just a few minutes, I wanted to give something to you the way you have for me.”

Words failed to convey the love Ikaris felt for you. All he could do was tightly hold you in his arms and never let go. For the first time since he came back, he felt it was alright to love you. That he wouldn’t pollute or ruin you the way he had done with everything else in his life so many times. Ikaris knew that it was his destiny to love you. But you- you chose him. You chose to love him. And that fact alone was enough to make him die without regrets.

“I hope children have your voice,” he murmured into your hair before facing you with wet eyes. “And I hope that they have your heart.”

He cupped your cheek, and you kissed his palm softly. “Only if they have your eyes and your art skills.”

Ikaris must have heard you sing your rendition of ‘La Vie en Rose’ a million times. You sang and taught it all your children— Laurie, Aggie, and Ari – on the piano or tucking to bed. But that first time he heard you sing it- that morning when the sun pooled into the room as pink roses and red asters suddenly bloomed- that will always be his favorite.

Thank you if you if finished the story! Let me know if you enjoyed it, and make sure to like, comment, and reblog!

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Let me know if the comments if you want to be included in future Eternals posts!

#marvel eternals #ikaris smut #richard madden smut #eternals x reader #marvel x reader #ikaris x reader #druig imagine #ikaris imagine #ikaris x female reader #ikaris x eternal!reader #ikaris x oc #eternals fic #richard madden x reader #eternals au #eternals smut #demisexual!reader #demisexual eternal #lgbtqiia+

[ladyviserra]

telling robb stark you are pregnant

A/n: Let's leave the war alone for a bit, ok...

Before either of you knew of the joy you were to have, Greywind did

That direwolf would stand in front of you, not letting Robb to touch you, leaving you both confused

Then you figure out you haven't bleed in a while and the thought popped in your mind

Everything your mother told you about being pregnant was slowly becoming real

You saw how your stomach grew

When you told him, he was so happy

His face would light up and a smile played on his face

" You are? " " Oh my, Y/n we will be parents. "

He would tell his family about it, getting congrats and excited cheers

Theon would be a big tease about it, asking you some uncomfortable questions which you got used to from before so it didn't affect you

Robb was more protective over you, telling his best friend to stop it and how it's no place for him to know those things

" I will find that out from you or kid. " If he couldn't tease you, Robb was his victim.

He didn't mind it, the joy of knowing he will be a father were too big for him to even care what Theon was saying.

#robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark imagine #robb stark fanfiction #robb stark #richard madden #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #asoiaf fic #game of thrones #asoiaf imagine #got imagine

[navybrat817]

Are the Barnes Triplets different actors or characters?

Hi, nonnie! The Barnes Triplets are not different Seb characters. So they aren't Bucky, Nick, and Hal, for example. They are different versions of Bucky and their names are James, Jeremy, and Jordan. ❤️

If I were to do an AU where Bucky had different brothers or cousins, it would be fun to use other Seb characters. Or OC's who could pass as being related to Bucky, brothers or cousins:

Love and thanks! ❤️

#navybrat answers #character ask #bucky barnes #the barnes triplets #james barnes #jeremy barnes #jordan barnes #future fic #sebastian stan #richard madden #thomas doherty #jamie dornan #sweet nonnie #sending love ❤️ #asks are always appreciated

[beananacake]

The Accidental Princess (Part 11)

Prince Kit x Reader

Synopsis: A contract has been found after twenty years, bearing your name and the Prince Kit's... bound in matrimony.

Chapter Synopsis: Kit does all that he could to find you

Word Count: 13.3k words

Warnings: angst, violence, mentions of murder, period-typical misogyny, poorly translated German, if I miss out on anything lmk

A/N: Hiya! Long time no update! So, I'm very very sorry it took me this long to write it. And I'm also sorry that I said it would be one large chapter but as I'm looking into it, it felt like a lot was happening to just have it in part. So, here is 11. There would be a 12 and an Epilogue (let us hope I stick to that the next time I update). As per usual, I love hearing your thoughts. They fuel me to write more! Your comments, suggestions, requests (and reblogs) are so very much welcome! Not beta'd, mistakes are mine. Here is Part 11!

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Epilogue

“Did it help?” Louis asked as he handed his cousin a goblet of wine. “When you threatened him?”

Kit sat by the fireplace in his father’s room once more. He drank the wine he was given, prolonging his reply to his cousin’s question because he would not give him a satisfactory answer.

It did not help him at all. He thought that if he were to threaten the man with death, he would spew all his knowledge of what he had done. Instead, the man took pleasure in watching his outburst and only inflamed it with insults of him and you. He would not tell him of where you were, only goaded him of the possibility of your demise if he did not find you soon.

The nobleman was the devil incarnate.

He killed the benevolent queen to gain riches of a kingdom that was not his, killed his mother just because he could. And he praised you for uncovering his plot but did not disclose where he had kept you. The man only held contempt for the two women in Kit’s life and he took great joy in eliminating them to seat a woman from his life to be the queen of the kingdom. Kit had to remind himself that Chelina had not known any of her uncle’s plans, and therefore was not at fault for anything that had happened.

“No.” Kit replied in a gravelly voice. “It did not. It only made me angrier at him.”

Louis sighed, taking a seat before his cousin. “But you held back as much as you could, cousin.”

“If you had not been there, I would have killed him.” He watched as the flames danced in the fireplace. The way it flickered mimicked the cacophony of the rain outside, swaying here and there with no definite direction nor rhythm. It shadowed the turmoil in the prince. The flames, he could douse. The tumult inside him, he cannot.

“And I would remain as clueless as I am now as to where Y/N is.” Kit took his eyes off the fire and looked at his cousin. “Thank you for stopping me, Louis.”

“Sometimes I think I was born to keep your head level, cousin,” he said jollily as he sat back on his seat.

Kit felt himself smile weakly at his cousin’s jape.

“You must rest,” Louis insisted after a while of silence. “Chelina would not hear of me going out to investigate without proper sleep. I feel she would want you to do the same thing.”

He shook his head. “I cannot sit by while she is out there in the storm. I need to find her.”

“Kit, it is nearly midnight. I do not think you would be able to see anything with the darkness and the storm.” Louis told him, turning towards the window and his cousin followed his action. The trees swayed violently, fat raindrops battered against the window. The storm rattled the glass as it grew in intensity by the minute. The whole room shook when new thunder roared after a crack of lightning lit the gloomy sky.

Kit had never feared the storm more than he had at that moment.

“So would she.” Kit insisted.

“My men and yours are already looking for her.”

“It is not enough.”

“I know it isn’t but it is the best we have at the moment.”

“Not if I join them.”

“Kit. Cousin.” Louis sighed. “I myself would have gone out there, even in rougher conditions, to help find her but I do not think I would be of any help while I am tired. I would only slow down the people looking for her.”

He knew his cousin was right. Kit was not fit to search for you, especially now that he felt the start of his hunger and fatigue. While he did not want you to wait, he needed to rest his body so he may be better prepared to join the party in search for you.

“Get out of your wet clothes, cousin. A warm bath will do you good.”

Kit heeded his cousin’s advice without any further arguments and took a bath in his chambers. The warm water cooled his chilled bones but it did not assuage the coldness he felt with you being gone still. He longed to have you in his arms, enveloped in his embrace as he promised to never let harm come your way. He wanted to spare you from all the evils in the world. He would keep you with him so he may defend you from anything that would hurt you.

If only he found you.

Kit rested his head against the edge of the tub, looking at the ceiling as he thought of the last time you had been with him. He should have prolonged the kiss, should not have minded Abigail’s presence and continued his sweet ministrations to your lips—and more, if you had been as enthused with the idea of it as he was—in the carriage as you were heading home. If he hadn’t brought you to the Great Study, he would not have seen the heartbreak in your eyes at his father’s news of the nullification of your marriage. It was the last thing he had seen before you left him to go to the Grand Duke. He would not want that to be his final memory of you.

He stayed in his bath for as long as he could, until the water had gone equally cold as his room. He could not move, would not move because if he had, he would have scoured the whole kingdom for you. To search for you was the only thing he was to do; the Grand Duke was in custody and would not cause any further harm, his father was recuperating well, and all pieces of evidence were with Thibault, where he would arrange them to make the case against the nobleman more compelling.

When he returned to his father’s chambers, he found his cousin poring over paperwork at the long table. Princess Chelina sat next to him, equally busy with writing her own missive.

“I will be in the study, cousin,” Kit told Louis, who had looked up. “There are some businesses I must be getting back to.”

“Of course. We will keep watch of my uncle.” Louis nodded.

“Do not forget to rest, Kit. You must keep your health if you wish join the search for your wife.” Chelina told him.

Kit thanked them both. He ordered the footmen standing guard outside his father’s room to call for him should any need arise. He also ordered a maid to bring more refreshment and snacks for his cousin, the princess, and the physician.

Kit walked to the study with slow steps, mind occupied with thoughts of how to torture your whereabouts from the nobleman. As much as it would ease the torture, he thought against using cruel devices, knowing his cousin would disapprove of that. And the Grand Duke would have welcomed the pain, seeing as he was not afraid of the sword against his neck when Kit had confronted him earlier that night. The man was demented.

He entered the library first, with the intention of searching for the book you had written in the letter. He trusted his cousin’s report of not having seen it but he knew in him that he must look for it himself, just to confirm that it was indeed missing. He remembered the shelf where you had returned it but, true enough, the space was devoid of the book. The dark, empty gap stood stark against the colorful spines of the other books. He searched through each of the books, hoping it had been kept in another place but he could not find it. He was disappointed by the lack of it but he was hopeful for the other evidence they have gathered.

He went on ahead to the Great Study, to the table he claimed for his own use and found the paperwork the nobleman had left for him to peruse. They were for the transfer of the ownership of the ridges and islands from his father’s name to the Princess Chelina’s. Beneath that mountain of paper sat another marriage contract, this time bare of the names of the parties to be married. Kit knew it was for him and the princess. The Grand Duke wasted no time in seating and establishing his niece to be the new queen of the kingdom. Ambitious man, Kit thought bitterly.

Kit disregarded those papers and resumed on different matters. For the rest of the evening, he pored over businesses of the kingdom, signing treaties, and implementing laws that he knew would better the land. He also worked on his mother’s proposal, now without the constraint of the Grand Duke’s objection. He continued on until the room had grown considerably cold and dark.

He went to the fireplace with intentions of adding more logs to the dying embers when he saw a slip of blue in all the ash and soot. Taking a fire iron, he pulled out the blue piece. What came with it were pages of texts and botanical illustrations. He turned the burned book over and read its title, only to stop when he realized what it was.

His mother’s German herbology book. The very one he had been looking for.

The Grand Duke had burnt a piece of evidence against him.

Bringing the remnants of the herbology book with him, Kit headed for Captain Thibault’s offices. The Captain looked up in surprise at the prince’s sudden appearance.

“Your Royal Highness.” Thibault said as he rose from his seat to bow at his friend.

“I found it.” Kit dropped the book on the table.

“Is this the—”

“Herbology book, yes.” He turned it over and showed the Captain the creased spine, luckily unburnt given the state of the rest of the book. “The reason why my cousin could not find it was because it had been burned in the Great Study’s fireplace.”

The Captain inspected the book, flipping the pages to see what had remained. “The crease does indeed open immediately to Digitalis purpurea but half of the page, and most of the book, is burnt.”

He pointed at the title of the illustration, at the words Digitalis purp-- and looked at the prince.

“But isn’t what matters is I had found it burnt? It is the Grand Duke trying to burn any evidence against him. How he knew of the book, I could not care less but now that we have it, wouldn’t it make for compelling evidence against him?”

“That is not for me to say, Kit, but I will present this to the magistrate, along with the others that you have gathered.” Thibault said.

That satisfied the prince. He sat heavily on one of the seats, mind exhausted. He refused to return to the stuffy, cold Great Study and so he stayed in his friend’s office as he rested his mind.

“The Grand Duke hasn’t confessed to anything more,” Thibault told him.

“Where is he kept?”

“In the first cell of the east dungeons.”

Kit nodded. “Have you searched him for any personal effects that he might use on you or the guards?”

“We did not find anything but we gave him a change of clothes so that we may inspect his garments further. He had no complaints.”

“Keep any sword or dagger away from his cell.” Kit commanded. “And starve him. Do not give him any food or water, not until he confesses to whatever else he has done.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.” Thibault closed the burnt tome and added it to his pile of evidence. “The apothecary has agreed to testify against the Grand Duke. Once I send all the evidence to the Magistrate, they will schedule a trial.”

“Good.”

And it was, Kit thought as he started to pace the length of the Captain’s office. He had found all of the proof against the man, the apothecary was willing to testify, and with enough persuasion, so would the former royal physician. He had everything to indict the man and make him pay for his transgressions.

It was nearly done.

All that was left was for you to be found.

“There is still no news of her,” Thibault told him, as though he could read the direction of the prince’s thoughts. “But do not lose heart, Kit—”

That stopped the prince’s pacing. He speared the Captain with a look, not of anger but of desperation.

“She has not been found, Thibault! What if we are too late! What if all they can find of her is her corpse?” he cried passionately. “I cannot bear to be without her. I do not think I can live without her. She is my wife even when that damned paper says otherwise!”

He sat heavily on the seat and cradled his head in his palms, the exhaustion of the day finally dawning on him. He had finished his tasks and he should have been happy with the result but the one task that mattered the most to him was yet to be resolved. He could not function without you; he knew that much to be true. He had to find you, for your sake and his.

“I have failed her. I promised her father I would take care of her and I did not—have not.”

“We have our best men out to look for her. She will be found. I promise you that.”

He felt a fat tear roll down his cheek and he wiped at it, shaking his head desolately. He was a failure as a husband to you.

“My mother… I was not able to save my mother from the Grand Duke. And now my wife…”

Kit swallowed thickly. He did not like the picture his mind had conjured.

“I would not forgive myself if we are too late.”

Thibault did not speak. Kit was silent for the remainder of the hour, only sat there as his friend finished his business. He was not disturbed in his musings—for that, Kit was thankful of his friend—and when it was time for him to leave, the Captain only bid him a good night.

The storm had lessened significantly as the night progressed. Kit hoped you had found shelter and that you were safe, even if the conditions were not favorable. He wished someone had found you and had offered to house you until the storm had passed. He hoped and wished and pled. It was all he could do for the time being. But the moment the Grand Duke would reveal where you were, he would come for you himself.

He entered his father’s room and was surprised to see his cousin and the princess still keeping watch of the king. They had a game of cards between them, perhaps in a way to keep awake until he returned.

“I will look after my father now,” Kit announced to them. “It will be safe to return to your chambers. The Grand Duke will not be a threat to us. Thibault has him kept in the dungeons.”

“I can stay, cousin—” Louis said as he put down his cards.

Kit shook his head. “You have done enough, Louis. Please, rest. I shall see you again in the morning.”

Louis sighed but he relented. He helped the princess to her feet.

“You must rest as well, Kit.” Chelina told him as she placed her hand on the crook of Louis’s elbow. “Call on me to look after the king when you shall be taking your rest.”

“Thank you,” he told her, having no intention to disturb the princess’s slumber, and bid them a good night.

He watched them leave together. He then walked to his father’s bed and kept vigil by his side. He did not know of what to speak with his father. Whilst they were candid with one another, with the king’s current state, Kit did not know if telling him the truth of his mother’s death was ideal.

“Father.” Kit sighed as he held the king’s hand. He had kept watch of his father for an hour, no words spoken until the weight of his burden became unbearable.

“Father, I… I do not know what to do.” He watched the gentle rise and fall of his father’s chest, listened to his rhythmic breathing, and timed it with his own.

“I am unprepared. I am at a loss of what else should be done. I know that you have prepared me for when this time will arrive but I am humble enough to admit that I cannot take this on without your help. So, please. I beg of you, wake up. I need all the help you can offer.”

The king did not respond. The prince did not expect him to.

“You cannot give me your adviser. He has done a great sin to the kingdom but most especially to us. I cannot tell you while you are asleep but even when you are awake, as imperative it is for you to know, I would not want you to relive the hurt you felt upon mother’s death.”

His father remained unmoving on his bed.

Kit sighed deeply.

“He has stolen Y/N away from me. It had been a day and I fear that she is somewhere unsafe. The storm aggravates my thoughts but even if it were not raining, I would still worry for her welfare. Unless she is beside me, then I will continue to worry.

“I love her, Father. More than my life. More than the crown I will be wearing if you decide not to awake. If you will shun me, then I have no choice but to accept it. She has become my life in the short time I have gotten to know her. I cannot be without her.

“You must forgive me if my wishes do not align with yours. My only sin was to love someone I should not. She is faultless. Do not blame her for the love I have for her.”

He squeezed his father’s hand. The king did not return the gesture.

“Have I told you how wonderful she is? She treats everyone with kindness and fairness. She does not judge. She thinks of everyone else’s welfare before her own.” He gave a soft, sad chuckle at the memory of your first time in the square with him. “I believe I have not told you of the time she refused a free apple because she did not want the man to lose money for not selling it. It might seem insignificant to you but to me, I saw the goodness in her heart. She did have told me she wanted the whole of the kingdom to succeed, even the smallest of us.”

Kit squeezed his father’s hand once more. Every memory of you ached in his chest.

“It was her who discovered the truth of mother’s death.” The prince said in a whisper. His throat worked. “She had offered to help the kitchen staff label the tea leaves and it was how she found the poison that killed mother.

“She discovered it all on her own, Father. Just from the tea leaves, she deduced mother was murdered and she launched an investigation. I have it all in her writing. She gave a detailed account of her findings in the letter she was smart enough to leave with Louis before the Grand Duke had discovered what she knew of his sins.

“She is the reason you survived. When she plunged her hand in your throat, it was because she knew you were poisoned by hemlock. The emetic she was to use for herself, she used on you so you may live. She has done many things for us that we do not know.”

Kit yawned and felt the heaviness come down his eyelids.

“Y/N may not be born a royal, Father, but she is my princess. I will not marry anyone else but her.”

He folded his arm atop his father’s bed and rested his head on it. He looked at his father’s sleeping form once more, praying, hoping that he would soon wake.

“I love her, Father. I will marry her again, with or without your blessing.”

He closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.

Kit felt a gentle brush against his forehead, stirring him from his slumber. He peered from his position, turning to the finger that had parted the hair that hung on his forehead, and saw his father watching him. He sat up immediately, not minding that his back had been sore at the improper position he had slept in. He could not care less for himself, especially now that his father was awake.

“Doctor!” he called.

He grasped his father’s hand in his again, smiling in relief at the sight of him with his eyes opened.

“Kit. Why are you asleep here, my boy?” the king rasped. “Why are you not in your room?”

The prince could only chuckle and squeezed his father’s hand tightly. “We were worried for you, father. You had been asleep for more than a day.”

The physician came over and began his medical ministrations about the king, checking his overall health. Kit ordered a footman to announce to his cousin and the princess that the king was awake.

“What has happened while I was asleep?” the king asked.

Kit hesitated to tell him, not wanting to send his father into another fit at the revelations of the days past. But he knew that prolonging the inevitable would only hurt his father more. And the king was bound to know the truth.

“You have been poisoned, Father.” he said.

“Poisoned?” the king echoed confusedly.

Kit nodded, grim as he told his father all that had happened that night. He spared no information and did not mince words as he told him of the treachery the Grand Duke had done. He watched the emotions that came upon the king’s face. There was betrayal and anger but it was mostly despondence and despair upon the truth of his wife’s death. The king was silent when he listened to his son but there was the unmistakeable anger in him that even the prince was afraid of.

“Where is the Grand Duke?” the king asked as he moved to stand from his bed.

The physician denied his efforts and gently pushed him down the bed, telling him that he would need to keep his health up before he could resume his business.

“We have him in our custody in the dungeons. I would be speaking with him later to know where he had kept Y/N.” Kit said. “We are yet to find her. Louis has sent his men, so had Captain Thibault but there is still no news of her.”

“Kit—”

He held up a hand to stop the king from speaking any further. He would not want to hear his father dissuade him from finding you.

“No, father. You cannot sway me.” Kit told him. “I want her found. I will join the search party if I have to. I have done everything you had asked of me before but if you now tell me to sit by and call off the search, then you must forgive me when I disobey you. This is my wife we are speaking about. She has saved you. She has discovered the reason of mother’s death. She has risked her life to deliver proof to us. If you do not think her worthy of me, then I am inclined to think that you are not worthy of her. She is twice more than I will ever be because she is kind and courageous.”

The king watched his son’s impassioned speech and he was reminded of his own youth, when he had told his father of his love for an unknown princess. He and his son were so similar yet so different with one another. His own father had denied him his freedom to choose a bride and he was forced to marry Princess Amalie, who he had the good fortune of falling in love with. But to see his son Kit so passionate of you, the king knew he could not be like his father, would not force his son to face the same ordeal as he had. While the Princess Chelina was the obvious choice as queen of the kingdom, he would not want his son to be unhappy in his marriage.

The king held his son’s hand and squeezed it. “Find her.”

“Father?” Kit asked, confused. He had not anticipated his father to be convinced so easily, especially when he had been adamant of his betrothal to Chelina.

“Find her, Kit, and bring her back.”

Kit entered the Grand Duke’s cell and stood opposite of the man who was shackled against the wall. The Grand Duke watched him with unimpressed eyes and did not move to bow when he had been addressed. He gave no greeting but taunted him instead.

“So, you have me shackled because you are afraid of me,” the nobleman said as he shook his wrist. The chains clanged loudly against each link, echoing in the damp, dark dungeon.

“I am not afraid of you,” Kit replied. “But you should be afraid of the things I will do to you until you tell me my wife’s whereabouts.”

The man’s laugh was short and sarcastic.

“So you resort to violence when you do not have your way? You and I are not so different after all, Your Royal Highness.” The mad man made a grand gesture of bowing at the prince.

“We are different.” The prince ground out. “I am nothing like you, hurting innocents for your own personal gain.”

He snorted when he regained his position. “‘Innocent,’” he said disdainfully. “Your mother was hardly innocent. Did you know how many people she had crossed when she did not want to sell the mines? Or that insolent girl, Y/N? You think her innocent after she has trapped you into a marriage you do not want? They are not so faultless as you let yourself believe.”

“The mines are not any concern of yours. It was the queen’s prerogative to do as she pleased with her property.” Kit advanced to the man and stood just an arm’s reach away from him. “And do not insult my wife. She has discovered what you have done. She was only an innocent investigator and you stole her away from me.”

“That chit has disrespected me—”

“And you surely have disrespected her long before she stood up for herself. Before the divorce, she was a princess and I had never seen you treat her as such. For a nobleman such as yourself, that would be remiss. For the devil that you are, however, I think it in character of you to do so.”

The Grand Duke only glared at the prince. Guards arrived at the confining cell and flanked the man.

“Bring him to the Chapel,” Kit ordered as he watched the Grand Duke be taken out of his shackles.

“Am I to repent for my sins?” the man asked sarcastically as two guards pulled him away. “And I thought you called me the devil.”

Kit ignored him and followed as they went further down the dungeons.

The Chapel was no house of God. It was, ironically, a torture chamber. Built by his predecessors, the torture room was one part of the palace that had remained unchanged in centuries. It boasted of vaulted ceilings reminiscent of those in churches, with trusses from which more shackles swung from where they were hung. It had no windows for light and air to pass through. However, it had a vast array of torture devices covering the walls for any of the Royal Guards to use on criminals.

“Kit, there is still time for you to back—” Thibault said as soon as Kit arrived in the Chapel. The Captain had seen the prince in the battlefield and knew him to be ruthless as a warrior and as a tactician. He knew Kit would not soften every blow he was to deliver just because he had been the king’s adviser.

“I will not back down,” he told his friend, tone unyielding. “I will not lose my soul upon the torture of a clearly deranged and guilty man.”

Thibault only nodded, knowing he could not sway his friend, and stepped aside.

The guards had bound the Grand Duke’s wrists and ankles to the chair in the middle of the Chapel. Kit had taken off his coat and neared him, bringing with him a bucket of water.

“You mean to drown me with a bucket full of water?” The Grand Duke taunted with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “My, my. What an ineffective means of torture.”

“Where is she?” Kit demanded.

The nobleman only looked at the prince before he shrugged his shoulders impassively.

Kit splashed the icy water on him forcefully, causing the man to gasp and sputter in surprise. When the water had drained away, he only looked up at Kit with an unconcerned air.

“You stole her from me! Where is she!” Kit yelled.

He dropped the bucket he held and leaned in closer to the malicious man, spearing him with a hateful glare. The nobleman challenged his stare and said nothing. It only irritated the prince further.

“I will not be kind the next time I ask, Grand Duke. Tell me now—”

“Or what? You will untie me? You will set me free?” His laughter erupted from him and the sarcastic sound grated against Kit’s skin. “What will I get out of my telling you where I had left her?”

“Nothing—”

“Then I say nothing.”

Kit fought against his need to resort to violence and his fist made contact with the nobleman’s gut. The Grand Duke sputtered and coughed yet again but did not reply.

“I did say I will not be kind.” Kit drew back his fist for another pounce.

The Grand Duke eyed him disdainfully.

“Now, I ask again. Where did you take my wife?”

“Aren’t you delusional, boy? Did you not hear what your father told you? You are not married anymore. That girl is not your wife.”

Kit socked him hard in the ear. The force sent the nobleman tumbling, falling heavily on his side, still in his seat. The prince crouched down to the man, seething with anger. There was a small trail of blood that trickled from the man’s ear. Kit did not feel an ounce of remorse at his actions.

“I am not in a gaming mood!” Kit yelled. “Tell me where she is!”

The Grand Duke did not crane his neck to address the prince. His eyes only turned to him and he looked far more sinister in this position than when he had been upright.

“You have the Princess Chelina to marry. Are you willing to defy your father’s wishes, all for your misguided notion that she is in love with you?” He chuckled darkly. “You are foolish, Kit. Of course, any young woman will fall for you. You’re the prince. It is your title she wants, not you.”

Kit drew back in derision for his words. The Grand Duke only spoke of falsehoods and yet, he spoke with assurance that the prince momentarily believed his lies to be true.

You never cared that you were a princess. You hurt when the news of your divorce broke. You returned his kisses when he kissed you. You understood his aches and pains and your very presence took all of those away because you loved him. You loved him.

The prince stood to his full height, sneering at the man, and nodded at the guards. “Sit him up.”

Once the Grand Duke was upright, Kit turned to the man again. He gave a sarcastic smile of his own, at the nobleman’s words that intended to hurt him but it only made him pity the man.

“Of course. Of course, it must be my title, much like it was yours when you took a maid to be your lover.” Kit said. “It is no question she is merely using you to gain a higher status in the household. She holds no love for you and because of that, she will have no qualms in telling us of all the sins you have committed.”

The Grand Duke’s mouth remained shut. His eyes only grew more and more crazed as the hours went by. Kit inflicted whatever torture he could think of, hoping with each one that it would force a confession from the man. The noble held strong, keeping your location a secret. It went on for a while, with Kit unrelenting in his tortures and the Grand Duke not giving any indication of your whereabouts.

“Do you want to know why I did it?” The Grand Duke asked after hours of water torture and strikes to his person. It did not seem to bother him that his pristine white shirt was now tinged pink with water and his blood.

“Why I killed your mother?” He asked it so casually that it renewed the anger in the prince.

Kit’s body grew colder at the mention of his mother. He did not like it when the subject was broached, most especially by the man responsible for her demise.

“You told me it was for the riches.” Kit spat as he glared at the man.

Despite the swelling that nearly closed the man’s left eye, there was a diabolical gleam in them, one that told Kit he enjoyed the game they were to play. “Most of it was because of that, of course. Am I to just kill her because I liked to? Yes, but I much rather I get something from it.”

The prince fisted his hand, drawing it back to charge and punch him. This time, the nobleman took the hit to the jaw. The man’s face had been battered enough, to the point where Kit’s fist ached for having caused it. He would not show it because he could not afford to show weakness to the man whose answer holds your salvation.

“You see, I do not like it when women have more power compared to me.” The crazed gleam returned in his eye. “They are feeble-minded creatures, so easily swayed with simple gifts and ideas. Whoever thought a kingdom needed a queen was clearly not of sound mind. A king is capable. Man is capable. Women? They are not.”

Kit only watched him. He did not move from where he stood—would not move because if he did, he would easily kill him.

“Your mother was no exception. She was readily persuaded by my gifts. She’s a simpleton, you see. Quite the opposite of what you and the kingdom make her. You think her brilliant but she is not. Simple laws just to please the people. Nothing to advance it to greatness.”

Kit knew the words from the man’s mouth were all lies. He refused to believe to any of them.

“And you have something to offer for the kingdom’s advancement?” he asked instead, humoring the man in hopes of finding his answers.

“I offered my niece.”

“Ah, yes. Another woman for you to control and be rid of as you wish.”

The smile that graced the Grand Duke’s face was patronizing and proud. “Ah! Now you see my point!” he crowed in delight.

Kit glared. “I see your sinister plans. Chelina is not for you to control. So was my mother and as is my wife. They were never yours to do as you like.”

“And yet I still did. Such is the power of men, don’t you think, Your Royal Highness?”

“You forget that the reason you are here is because of Y/N. She pieced together all of what you had done to my mother. It took a woman to defeat you, Grand Duke.”

“And I defeated her. Wherever I had left her, she will not survive. She might even be dead, now as we speak.” He gave Kit a challenging look, smirking as though he enjoyed this game they were playing. “I still win.”

A muscle jumped at Kit’s jaw.

“You will thank me one day, Kit. You do not need that chit whom you fancy yourself in love with.”

The self-satisfied smile remained on the nobleman’s face. Kit wanted nothing more but to wipe it off.

“Were you ever loved, Grand Duke? Is this where the hatred comes from?” The prince asked and watched as the smile fell of his face. “Because, clearly, you have never loved. I do not think your heart has the capacity to hold such emotion.”

“Love,” he spat disdainfully. “Holds us back. It gives us nothing—”

“It gives satisfaction and contentment; two things you will never find if you scorn the very emotion from whence it came.”

“I have no need of it.”

“I am sure you don’t. You’ve displayed contempt for anything akin to that.” He looked directly in the man’s eyes. “Your parents, they favored your sister, did they not? Loved her above all else, above you. This is why you loathe women.”

The Grand Duke’s eyes blazed in anger. Kit picked more at the wound he had just opened.

“So you despise them as a lot because they reminded you of what you did not receive when you were younger—”

“I was the heir but they did not care for me! They wanted my sister for the opportunities she could bring us!” The Grand Duke strained against his bindings. Veins had made themselves apparent on his neck. “From the moment of her birth, she had been coddled and loved! They had given her everything that was supposed to be mine!”

Kit bit back a triumphant smile and regarded the angry man impassively. The noble struggled to break free in his seat, livid at having been caught the cause of his vulnerability. The muscles on the man’s neck jumped as he seethed at the prince.

“Love did not bring them satisfaction and contentment. It made them weak. The moment my sister was of age, they married her off to that pompous Zaragozan prince and used all of my money as her dowry! They left me desolate and poor, all because they loved the weak one.”

“So you chose to not love?”

“I chose to be strong. That blasted emotion will only weigh me down. I had been successful without it because I was not held back by that foolish emotion.”

Kit swore he saw the muscle at the man’s jaw twitch but it did not frighten him. He had the upper hand. The Grand Duke looked at him with all of the disdain and fury in the world.

“I am nothing like you, so desperate to save your loved one from drowning. With the unending storm, you will be too late. You will never save her. Love will not save her. It will only make a fool out of you.”

Kit prepared a rebuttal to his verbal attack but halted when he realized what the man had said. The Grand Duke had not mentioned of you drowning in any of the times Kit had asked for you. He never gave your location nor did he give any clues as to where you were kept. If he said you were to drown… then it could mean you were near bodies of water.

The Grand Duke seemed to have noticed his mistake and kept his mouth shut. He said nothing further, only looked at the prince with as much contempt and anger he could muster.

“Why would she drown?” Kit asked as he neared him once more.

The noble did not speak.

Kit fisted the front of the man’s shirt dress. His anger and desperation provided him with enough strength to hoist the man up, chair and all.

"Tell me where she is!" he demanded. “I had played long enough with you, Grand Duke. You are to answer my questions if you want to survive.”

He only looked at the young royal, unblinking.

“Where did you leave Y/N?”

Silence.

“You will not be given food until you tell me where my wife is!”

“Then I would much rather starve.”

Kit dropped the man unceremoniously and turned to the Captain.

“Return him to his cell. Do not feed him. Do not give him any water. Make him suffer until he confesses where she is.” He commanded. “Get your best men to search at any bodies of water. Tell them not to return to the palace without my wife.”

“What will you do, Your Royal Highness?” Thibault asked after he had commanded his men to do as the prince ordered.

“I will look for her myself.”

The rains were relentless. It had not stopped since and you worried for the rising waters. You had not attempted to climb out of the hole again, what with your broken ankle having swollen twice its size. You could only scream out but your voice had gone raspy at the effort. The hope of being found was slowly waning every passing second.

Your will to survive was strong but your body grew weak. You had developed a fever from being submerged in water and also of the numerous broken bones and bruises you had procured upon the Grand Duke’s attempts of your disposal. A rest would have renewed your strength but in your current situation, the best you could do was recline against the jagged wall. The sharp stones did not faze you anymore. They had become your companion and only source of proof that you were still alive and awaiting rescue… if they ever knew you were gone.

You could not tell if a day or two had passed. There was only constant darkness. Your eyes had grown accustomed to it and you feared you were on your way to permanent blindness after having not seen the sun or light for so long. But despite that, when you close your eyes, vivid color and memories abound.

You saw the palace, the king having tea in the gardens and the prince training with the Captain of the Guards. You saw the jolly Duke of Granville, proclaiming sonnets with his usual flair. The Princess of Zaragoza was in the town square, perusing the gemstones of the kingdom. Your father, sailing the high seas. Your mother, smiling at you through the mirror and singing as she combed your hair…

You were sure the vision of your mother was a hallucination. You had been but a child when she had passed. It was impossible to have a memory of her with this older version of you, smiling encouragingly, lovingly. But you clung to that hallucination, to the song that had brought you comfort when you were young.

The water poured, urging you to rise to your feet. You kept your back to the wall, hands feeling the stones. Your ankle protested at the sudden added weight and you hummed to yourself to distract yourself from the pain. Your eyes burned at the discomfort but you were unsure if tears had fallen because there was only constant rainfall in your small hole.

If the rains did not stop, it would fill the space with enough water to drown you. Your dress weighed you down, your feet were useless with the injury, and even if you could try and swim, it would be futile if the hole was not filled to the brim.

Another thunder cracked the sky. You shut your eyes and started singing weakly with your mother the lullaby you knew that would calm you. You allowed yourself to be enveloped by the hallucination, of your mother’s comforting strokes against your hair as she lulled you to rest.

“Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly. Lavender’s green. If you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you…”

Kit shared the revelation to his father, to Chelina, and to his cousin. His father had seen what an unstoppable force he had become in his pursuit of you and allowed him to join the search, provided that his cousin come with him. Kit protested, told them that his cousin had helped him with the errand of gathering information the day before but the king would not hear of it. Despite Kit’s many protestations and insistences, Louis became the last member of the small search party he headed.

They journey east, to the largest lake of the kingdom that ran adjacent to his mother’s mountains. The storm remained strong in that part of the kingdom and it already posed a danger to them as they rode towards it. To be in the middle of it, however, was a challenge in and of itself.

Kit ordered the guards to tie themselves to the tree once they start their search in the waters. The currents had become too strong for them to dive deep. The tree would serve as an anchor for them to not be carried away.

“As much as I want to find her,” Louis said as he neared his cousin. “I only wish she is not here. Even the best swimmers could not survive such strong waves and currents.”

Kit could not help but agree with his cousin. He knew how much you had loved travelling by boat but the fickle nature of that lake was nothing compared to the serene waters of the seas. Even if he was desperate to find you, he would not have wanted to be presented your corpse for trying to brave such conditions of the lake.

He watched as Louis tied the rope around his waist and to the tree to join the search underwater. Kit did the same, tying himself to the roots of the tree and swam as far as he could with his length of rope. He fought against the current, diving deep and groping whatever he could that resembled you. Every attempt proved ineffective and Kit rose from the waters, much more frustrated than when he had started.

One by one the guards went up from their search, each looking at the prince apologetically at coming up empty-handed. Kit only thanked them for their efforts and commanded them to search for you in another part of the lake.

He knew his cousin had started to worry when he emerged from searching the last quarter of the lake without you. They had reached its depths, finding unusual creatures and resources but nothing of you. Kit supposed he should have been thankful for not finding you at the bottom of one of the deepest lakes of the kingdom but he also hoped that he would have seen something at all that would tell of your presence in the body of water.

Still, he refused to stop in the search.

But he had not one idea how to continue.

Before them, the mountains loomed. Its peaks were nearly invisible in the clouds of the storm. They were the mountains his mother was gifted upon her marriage, the very ones the Grand Duke coveted and killed for. Whenever he rode past them, he often remembered how proud his mother had been at the discovery of the gemstones and how she longed to use them for the betterment of the kingdom’s economy. Now, they only served as a reminder that she had been stolen from them because of the greed of one foreign adviser.

Come to the mountains, a gentle, female voice called to him. Come and you shall find what you seek.

Kit felt the pull of the mountains. He knew there was nothing there; the miners did not work in such dire conditions. It sat abandoned during the summer months during its intense heat and raging storms. He did not know why it called to him but he knew he had to go there and see for himself why.

He donned his still wet shirt, accepting the coldness that clung on his back like punishment for having not found you yet, and mounted his horse.

“Where are you going?” Louis asked as he watched the set look on his cousin’s face before doing the same thing.

“The mountains. They—they call to me.” Kit said almost absently, intent on riding towards the mines. He kicked his heels against the horse’s flanks, making it gallop towards the mountains.

“Call to you? You have gone mad!” The duke said as he followed along. “How am I going to explain this to your father!”

The prince rode ahead, rushing through trees and land, much speedier than he had at the start of the search. He knew he would find it empty but the pull was too mighty to ignore. Was it his mother telling him something? It was an absurd notion to even think that his mother was there in the mountains—she had been buried in the Royal Cemetery—but to Kit, it made sense. The mountains were her pride and joy, in addition to him. It must mean something, this pull.

“You do understand that in order to drown, there must be water, cousin.” Louis told him when he had caught up beside him. “A mountain is not a body of water. I think you ought to know the difference of that at this age of yours.”

They reached the miners’ camp, a worn little village that had been abandoned for the season. There were no flicker of lights in any of the thatched houses nor movement inside; no sign of activity at all. But there was something there, Kit was sure. There was something that urged him to come and investigate.

Despite not wanting to stop in the search, Kit took the silence of the place as a respite form all the turmoil in and out of him. He may not be alone but, before the mighty mountains of his kingdom, he was at peace.

“We should leave, Kit. Continue on with our search. We are wasting daylight by ambling here,” his cousin said beside him.

He kept ignoring the duke and went his way around the village. Kit stopped behind the village, at the start of the quarry at the base of the mountain. His mother had advocated for the safety of the miners, ensuring that there be a barricade to the entrance of the shaft lest someone accidentally tread and fall through. That entrance had been permanently closed now, having no more stones or precious metals to be mined.

“I am feeling a sense of dread about the place, Kit,” Louis said as he stepped closer to the prince. “When you said it called to you, I was hoping it had been a figurative sense.”

“I heard a voice—”

“A voice? Have you hit your head on the lakebed?”

“It was loud and clear.”

Louis whirled around, at the emptiness of the village, and gestured to it with a flourish of his hands. “Well, it is clearly empty. We won’t find her here. There is no body of water where she can possibly drown in.”

“Just—” Kit sighed in frustration. “It called to me, cousin. It must mean something.”

Whatever—or whoever—it was that called him, it wanted him there for a reason.

He neared the entrance and looked beyond it, to the abandoned carts and tools. His cousin as right, there was nothing there of importance, but to see the mines strengthened his resolve once more. Kit would do whatever it was in his power to see through his mother’s plans. He would put emphasis on the mountains during his regency and he would implement your idea for the betterment of the kingdom. But he had to find you because he refused to be king if you were not his queen.

Kit stayed quiet, feeling the serenity the mountains brought. Despite the raging storm, the absence of the angry waves proved to be the cure to the uproar in him. He still could not think clearly but to see the progress of his mother’s project renewed his determination.

There is nothing here but only a brief respite, he thought to himself. He wanted to stay long, to bask in the peace of it but he knew he must return to his search for you.

He moved to follow his cousin back to the lake when he heard a different voice sing, albeit faint.

Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly. Lavender’s green.

If you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you.

The lullaby flitted across the mountains, echoing, haunting, even in its hushed tones. His mother’s spirit was alive in these mountains, haunting him but in the best ways possible. Kit remained quiet as he listened to the phantom song that resonated around him.

Let the lambs play, dilly, dilly. Let the lambs play.

You shall be safe, dilly, dilly. Safe from harm’s way.

“I think I believe you now, cousin.” Louis said as he pressed himself beside Kit.

“What?” the prince frowned.

“Do you not hear it? The voice? It’s singing a lullaby.” The duke told his cousin, eyes surveying the empty mining village for where the voice originated.

“You hear it?” Kit asked. He thought it was his mother’s spirit, singing to comfort him, but if Louis could hear it… Then it meant the voice was real.

“Of course, I hear it. I can’t find where it’s from and I do not think I would want to know.”

Kit craned his neck, listening intently for the voice. It was difficult to perceive with the howling of the strong winds but the melancholy, hopeful tone made him want to find it. He stalked aimlessly about the place, turning his ear about until he could discern the voice properly.

“Kit, I do not think it wise—”

“Someone is here, cousin.”

“Aren’t the mines abandoned during the monsoons? How could someone be here when the entire village has left for the season?” He kept close to his cousin, eyes nervously darting about the place, fearing he might see something he did not wish to see. “And if you do see someone, I beg you do not ask me to look unless what you see is corporeal.”

Call up your men, dilly, dilly. Set them to work.

Some to the plough, dilly, dilly. Some to the fork.

The voice sounded stronger towards the end of the village and Kit headed towards it. He considered his cousin’s words, at the possibility of the voice being nothing but an illusion but it was too real—too human, even—to be anything but. It had to be a person, that and nothing more.

The voice seemed to emanate from the well that was situated on the farthest end of the village. A flat piece of wood covered the top but it had enough space for the voice to echo from the inside. As he was about to near it, Louis grabbed at his arm tightly, halting him in his steps.

“What if it were a dangerous animal?” Louis asked his cousin. His words may say differently but his eyes implored him that they leave the place.

Kit looked at his cousin and patted his shoulder. He had to investigate, even if it meant he would do it alone. “If you do not wish to see it, then you may leave. I will remain here.”

“Unwise thing to say and do, cousin. You know I cannot back down from any adventure.” The duke said before he squared his shoulders in an attempt to look big, so at odds with the tremble in his voice. “Let us only hope it will it jump away at the sight of us.”

Some to make hay, dilly, dilly. Some to reap corn.

While you and I, dilly, dilly, keep ourselves warm.

It sounded from inside of the well, louder this time but still weak. Kit and Louis took to one end of the wood plank and shoved it aside.

“Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly. Lavender’s green. If you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you.” You sang as you watched your reflection on the mirror in your home’s foyer.

Your mother had halted singing and had vanished. You frowned as you whirled around, in search of her. She had been beside you just as you were looking at your reflection. She had dressed you in a pink gown that was once hers and had fawned over you for growing up to look like her. She had even shed a tear at the sight of you, never thinking she would live to see the day to see you become a lady like herself.

“Mother?” you called out. “Mother, where are you?”

“Y/N, my love,” your mother called from above you.

You turned to her, smiling as she stood atop the spiral stairs, dangling the long ribbon down at you.

“Oh, Mother. I thought you had gone,” you told her.

“Tie this ribbon around your waist,” she said with a soft smile. “And whatever you do, do not let go.”

You were confused with her choice of words but heeded her orders nonetheless. You took the piece of ribbon and tied it around your waist, securing it with a knot you had learned from the sailors in one of your many travels.

You felt yourself being pulled upwards and the sudden action made you start and jerk around in your bindings.

“Try not to move around so much, my love.” Your mother said. “Remain calm. Keep singing to me.”

Hands tight on the thin strip of ribbon, you clenched your eyes shut and resumed the lullaby you had been singing with your mother.

“Roses are red, dilly, dilly. Violets are blue.” You sang shakily as you were being hauled up. Your eyes remained closed, afraid that if you open them, you would see how far you had been pulled up from the ground.

“Because you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you.” You heard your mother sing with you.

You took a while to follow through her song, absorbed on keeping your breath and the galloping beats of your heart even.

“Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly. And the lambs play.”

“Very good, my love.” You heard the smile on your mother’s voice. “We are so near.”

Near what, you did not know but you trusted your mother.

“Look at me,” she urged but you declined her request. “You can open your eyes, Y/N. Look at me. I will not put you in harm’s way.”

You slowly opened your eyes, expecting to see the green color of your mother’s eyes but instead, you saw blue. The bluest of all blues you had ever seen.

Lines of laughter crinkled around the eyes you swore were familiar to you. Your own eyes smiled along at the sight of it.

“Sing with me?” the voice asked. It was not your mother’s anymore but it comforted you all the same.

Your lips curved upward, your first genuine smile in what you felt was a long time.

And in one voice, you both sang.

“We shall be safe, dilly, dilly. Out of harm’s way.”

The relief Kit felt was immense and immediate. It felt like water dousing the fire within him, of a warm bowl of soup after the coldness of the winter. It was like a part of him that had been missing had finally been returned to him.

And it had.

Yours was the mysterious voice that sang from the well but you were not the one that called him. Whoever—or whatever—it was, Kit thanked it profusely. If it weren’t for the voice that begged of him to seek the mountains, he would not have thought to visit it. He then wouldn’t have been able to find and rescue you.

He believed he only arrived at the most crucial of times because when you had been rescued from the abandoned well, you were feverish and delirious, badly bruised and your broken ankle had swollen nearly twice its size. You had shivered the moment you emerged from the well and Kit knew he had to take you to the physician immediately so that you would receive the best care.

“How is she?” Kit asked once the physician exited your chambers.

He had left you to the care of the Royal physician and his assistants and had remained outside of your room, unable to watch how they set your grotesque foot back to how it was before. He could not take it seeing you in this great a pain and having no power to take it away. You had suffered enough. Kit wanted to take all of it for himself so you may rest.

“She is asleep, Your Royal Highness,” the man told him. “I have bound her foot in a splint. She would be unable to leave her chambers until it is set properly.”

“And her fever?”

“There is only so much I can do with her fever,” he said. “Let us hope it breaks in the following days. If tonight, however, it has cooled, then she will be safe.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Kit asked, near desperate. “Anything at all I can get her so she may be comfortable?"

The physician shook his head. “There is nothing more we can do. It is all up to her. You must rest, Your Royal Highness. You must keep your health.”

He could only nod his head. He entered your chambers, careful and quiet when he passed through the door. You laid on your bed, dwarfed by the number of pillows they had placed around you. Your ankle had been wrapped in cloth and held still by the splint the physician had mentioned. You were at peace now, asleep, color now on your skin, looking far healthier than when he had first rescued you.

Abigail wrung the water from the cloth and laid it on your forehead.

“How is her fever?” Kit asked as he neared you.

Your maid stood in attention, bowing at the sight of the prince before looking forlornly at your resting figure. “She is still warm to the touch, Your Royal Highness. The physician told me to keep changing the cloth if it has become warm.”

Kit nodded inattentively, eyes and thoughts only towards your slumbering form. He wanted to near you, wanted to hold your hand in his and assure you—and himself—that you were home and safe and no harm will come to you. But instead, he remained where he was, immovable because he did not want to disturb your peace.

He thanked Abigail and left your room without another word.

“Cousin? Is she—?” Louis asked as he passed the prince in the hallway.

“She is fine. Asleep. She is resting.” Kit told him.

“And are you well?” he inquired, peering at the tired look on his cousin’s face.

“I am well,” Kit assured him albeit wearily.

Louis embraced his cousin in relief. “She is found, Kit. There is nothing to worry about anymore.”

Kit returned the gesture, wrapping his arms tight around his cousin. “Thank you,” the prince said, voice choked with emotions that he had been supressing the past days. “Thank you for helping me find her, cousin.”

The next few days proved to be challenging for the prince. Your fever had not broken in the first two nights since you had arrived. Kit had asked of the physician to remain in the palace for longer, afraid to be helpless if the doctor were out of reach and you needed his aid. The Magistrate had commenced the trial for the Grand Duke and had employed for him a lawyer in accordance with the laws of the land. Although the man’s guilt was obvious, the Magistrate found it fair to give him a just trial and be given the opportunity to defend himself from his glaringly evident sins. It frustrated Kit but he followed through with the wishes.

The Prince of Prussia arrived three days after you had been found. Whilst the foreign royal had no information of the duplicity the Grand Duke had done, he had not been surprised at the events.

They convened in the State Hall, with Kit presiding over the gathering. The king joined the meeting as well, albeit only to hear of what his son and the Prussian prince had to say of the Grand Duke.

“Am Großherzog war immer etwas Verwerfliches, aber wir haben nie herausgefunden, was es war.” Prince Frederick told Kit. “Ich schäme mich, dass Ihrem Königreich ein solcher Vorfall passiert ist, und das alles wegen eines Adligen, der aus meinem Königreich kam.” (There was always something reprehensible about the Grand Duke, but we never found out what it was. I am ashamed that such an incident happened to your kingdom, and all because of a nobleman who came from my kingdom.)

Kit only looked at the prince with a watchful eye. While he did not expect the Prussian royal to keep watch all of his nobility, he still should have prevented the man’s departure from his kingdom. There was also the matter of his being one of your admirers, a fact Kit had not forgotten since that fateful night of his mother’s death anniversary ball. He had inquired of you and your health upon his arrival. He was polite and apologetic but it still did not dissuade Kit’s iciness towards the other royal.

If the Prussian royal misinterpreted Kit’s contempt for anything but, he did not show it.

“Dann werden Sie sicherlich nichts gegen die Strafen haben, die unsere Gesetze gegen einen Ihrer Bürger verhängen werden?” Kit asked of him. (Then surely you will not object to the penalties that our laws will inflict on one of your citizens?)

“Nein.” (No.)

Kit turned to his father and saw his nod in agreement.

“Obwohl,” Prince Frederick started and Kit turned his attention back to the Prussian. “Mein einziger Einwand ist die Vollstreckung des Urteils. Wäre es nicht humaner, ihn zu köpfen, als ihn aufzuhängen?” (Although, my only objection lies on the execution of the sentence. Would it not be more humane to behead him than to hang him?)

A regal brow raised on Kit’s face before it turned into a frown. Humane? A nobleman from his country had poisoned the queen and had thrown the princess in a well and yet the prince cried for humanity in his execution? It was absurd!

Kit squared his shoulders and speared the prince a glance that told the people in the Hall that his words will not hear any arguments.

“Du sprichst von Menschlichkeit und doch hat dein Edelmann nicht daran gedacht. Meine Mutter ist wegen ihm gestorben. Meine Frau litt tagelang am tiefen Brunnen, wo er sie zum Sterben zurückließ. Ihn aufzuhängen ist Gnade im Vergleich zu der Strafe, die ich ihm auferlegen will.” Kit told him in a quiet, cold tone that thundered against the walls. (You speak of humanity and yet your nobleman has not thought of it. My mother died because of him. My wife suffered for days in the deep well where he left her to die. Hanging him is mercy compared to the punishment I intend to inflict on him.)

Prince Frederick did not challenge his words and offered another apology at him. “Vergib mir. Ich habe nur gefragt, weil es nicht die preußische Art ist. In unserem Reich—” (Forgive me. I only asked because it is not the Prussian way. In our kingdom—)

“Er hat sich in meinem Königreich geirrt und soll entsprechend bestraft werden.” He told him icily. “Ich habe Sie nicht nach Ihrer Meinung gefragt, Ihre Königliche Hoheit." (He has erred in my kingdom and shall be punished accordingly. I did not ask for your opinion, Your Royal Highness.)

The Prussian Prince bowed as he ceded Kit’s words. “Ich muss mich noch einmal für den Schmerz entschuldigen, den er Ihnen, Ihrer Familie und dem Königreich zugefügt hat.” (I must apologize once again for the pain he has caused you, your family, and the kingdom.)

Kit nodded briskly.

“Und Sie müssen mir meine Unwissenheit über Ihre Ehe verzeihen. Ich hoffe meine Verwirrung ist entschuldigt. Ich dachte, du wärst mit Prinzessin Chelina von Saragossa verlobt?” Prince Frederick watched him cautiously, unsure how to continue without offending the other prince. (And you must forgive my ignorance of your marriage. I hope my confusion is excused. I thought you were engaged to Princess Chelina of Zaragoza?)

Kit looked around the Hall, to the guards that stood waiting for their orders, and he waved his hand to dismiss them. Prince Frederick did the same with his. When all were left were Kit, his father, Prince Frederick, and Louis, Kit answered Frederick’s inquiry.

“Meine Verlobung mit Prinzessin Chelina wurde vom Großherzog in der Hoffnung entworfen, mehr Kontrolle zu haben. Mein Vater und ich waren uns seiner Absichten nicht bewusst, als ich der Gewerkschaft zum ersten Mal zustimmte. Wir hielten es für klug, dass ich seine Nichte heirate, wegen der Dienste, die er meinem Vater erwiesen hatte. Während der Hochzeitsvorbereitungen fand die Sekretärin meines Vaters einen Ehevertrag zwischen mir und meiner Frau.” Kit said. (My engagement to Princess Chelina was designed by the Grand Duke in hopes of having more control. My father and I were unaware of his intentions when I first agreed to the union. We thought it wise for me to marry his niece because of the service he had rendered my father. During the preparations for the wedding, my father’s secretary found a marriage contract between me and my wife.)

The Prince of Prussia looked at him confusedly. “Sie wussten nicht, dass es einen solchen Vertrag gibt?” (You did not know that such contract existed?)

Kit shook his head. “Nein. Das war ein Vertrag, den ich als Junge unterschrieben habe.” (No. That was a contract I signed as a boy.)

Kit then explained carefully to his guest all that had transpired, from the signing of the contract to the days that led up to the discovery of the truth of his mother’s death. The prince listened intently to the tale, asking questions when Kit allowed them, and when it was over, he could only watch the royal family in awe and confusion.

“Verzeihen Sie, dass ich frage, aber warum bezeichnen Sie sie als Ihre Frau, wenn der Magistrat Ihre Scheidung bewilligt hat?” Prince Frederick asked him. (Forgive me for asking, but why do you call her your wife when the magistrate has approved your divorce?)

Kit looked at him directly, eyes passionate and sure. “Weil sie meine Frau in jeder wichtigen Hinsicht ist.” (Because she is my wife in every way that matters.)

That seemed to have quelled the Prussian royal’s curiosity, who only nodded in understanding.

“Ich muss Ihnen sagen, dass ich Sie dafür beneide, solch einen Edelstein zu beschaffen. Ich hätte meine Klage angeboten, wenn nur die Gesetze meines Königreichs so mild wären wie deine.” He told Kit. (I must tell you that I envy you for procuring such a gem. I would have offered my suit if only the laws of my kingdom were as lenient as yours.)

Kit said nothing to that.

Prince Frederick rose from his seat. “Ich werde in Ihrem Königreich bleiben, bis der Prozess gegen den Großherzog abgeschlossen ist. Ich werde dafür sorgen, dass er für seine Sünden bestraft wird. Darf ich in der Zwischenzeit meine liebste Freundin besuchen und sehen, wie es ihr geht?” (I will remain in your kingdom until the Grand Duke’s trial is complete. I will make sure he is punished for his sins. In the meantime, may I visit my dearest friend and see how she is doing?)

Kit stood as well, nodding once to his father and to his cousin. He led the prince to your chambers, entering once he and the Prussian prince were announced.

Chelina, who sat on one of the plush seats by the window, stood and bowed before the two princes. She had taken it upon herself to keep watch of you—her self-imposed penance for her uncle’s sins despite her being his victim as well.

“Your Royal Highness,” she addressed Prince Frederick.

“Princess, Prince Frederick wishes to see how Y/N is.” Kit told her

“She remains the same, still asleep but her fever has cooled.” Chelina replied as she cast a glance at your direction.

Prince Frederick turned to Kit as if to ask for permission. When it was given, he sat at the vacant seat beside your bed and began talking to you as though you were awake. Kit kept a watchful eye on Frederick, making sure he kept the appropriate distance from you.

“The physician is hopeful that she will be well, Kit.” Chelina told him as she passed him a cup of tea. “He thinks she will wake soon.”

Kit took the offered cup. “Thank you for watching her, Chelina.”

She smiled softly at his direction. “It is in service of a friend.”

“You were a victim as well. You must not claim his sins as yours.”

Her smile turned wistful and she turned away. “I am his sister’s daughter. Let me be ashamed for what my kin has done.”

“It is he who must repent.” Kit took a sip of the tea. “Not you. You are blameless.”

She gave him another of her grateful smiles. Kit left the Prussian Prince under the watchful eye of the princess and went about his remaining business for the day. Louis had appointed himself as his adviser for the time being while Kit took over his father’s business. They pored over countless laws and paperwork, signing and granting help to the people who needed them. Kit took to reviewing the proposals the Grand Duke had left and found that most of the funds that were to be delegated to the construction of a new village were instead being siphoned to his personal accounts. More and more of the nobleman’s deceit were being uncovered after every new proposal Kit worked on.

Come evening, he was exhausted. His princely education had not warned him that businesses went on for more than a day, that even after finishing one decree, there were three more waiting to be reviewed and signed by him. He did not complain, only finished another task before starting another. When his father had seen his diligence, he had praised him but had also told him that his health was much more important than matters of the state.

Kit walked to your chambers, finding the physician changing the dressing that had been draped on your foot. Your ankle did not look as grotesque as when he had first seen it and the swelling had gone down to what the physician deemed as “manageable.” Kit did not know what it meant but the way the physician said it assured him that you were in no more danger. He did not give any new prognosis, other than that you were bound to wake soon. The prince thanked the doctor before sitting on the seat beside your bed.

“Forgive me for being away for the day, my love. I had taken over Father’s work and his office. The kingdom is in disarray after the storm ravaged the crops and the villages. I’ve employed my mother’s plans for management in times of crises. I think you would have offered me the same advice if I had asked you.”

He smiled to himself when he took your hand in his. Yours was small in his and did not pull away when he squeezed it.

“Wake up soon, my love. I want nothing more than to see your beautiful eyes.” Kit pleaded as he placed a light kiss on the top of your hand.

He spent the rest of the night beside you, telling you of what had transpired throughout the day. He watched for every small movement, anything at all that would have told him you were to wake but you did not move. You only stayed as you were, asleep, having no idea of the fear that started to blossom in him with every moment you spent unconscious.

You did not wake that night.

The next morning, as Kit got up from spending the night in your chambers by your side, Chelina entered, holding in her hands a missive. It had been sent ahead of her parents’ arrival to tell her that the storm had delayed them and had been received by a nearby estate, only to stay there until the storm has passed.

"We must address one more concern, Kit,” Chelina said as she stood before him. “I have talked to your father about it and it is imperative that I have it with you as well.”

Kit merely raised a brow. He did not know what else there was that should concern the Zaragozan princess.

“I believe we will not marry each other.” She looked expectantly at the prince. “Our engagement was a ploy by my uncle and now that we have uncovered it, I believe there is no need to continue with it. My ideas and plans do not align with yours and we are both too stubborn to submit to one another. I do not think it a good start to any marriage.”

Her reasons were sound, if not a little illogical for people in their stature. He only shook his head. “No, I do not think it too.”

She smiled. “Finally. One thing we agree upon.”

He smiled tiredly.

“You would be free to marry whomever you wish,” she said as she cast a glance at you. “Follow your heart’s desires.”

He would need to speak with his father of that.

“They will not be happy with the broken engagement.” She said with a sigh as she turned to look at him. “After all, it was what they have travelled here for.”

“I shall talk to them. You should not shoulder all the burden your uncle has placed on us.”

Her smile was grateful. “I thank you, Kit.”

“What of you, then?” he asked.

“What of me?”

“You gave me leave to follow my heart. Would you not do the same with yours?”

Her silence—or reluctance to reply to his question—was answer enough for Kit.

“I thought you and my cousin love each other?” he asked.

She nodded forlornly and smiled sadly. “He is not a prince. My parents will only have me marry a royal.”

“He is my cousin. If I refuse to be king, he is next in line for the throne.” Kit reasoned. Louis was as good as a prince. His title may not be one but as his cousin, he had a claim to the throne.

“That will not be enough for them. And do not worry yourself on my account. I do not worry for it.” She waved a hand dismissively although the emotion on her face was far from it.

He would not want that for his friend.

“Chelina—”

“It is the consequence of our title, Kit. I am a princess. I am not given the choice to follow my own heart. It has been the same practice, done by my mother and my mother’s mother. Who am I to defy that?”

“Even if it means your happiness?” He frowned. Surely, after all the events, her parents would give her leave to do as she pleased.

“I am not allowed happiness. What I am allowed is to follow my parents’ wishes.” She sighed and took her hands in his, squeezing them. “I am thankful for your concern, Kit, truly I am, but I have resigned myself to this fate. There is nothing for me to do.”

However Kit wanted to argue, he knew the princess would not allow it. Instead, he only nodded.

“I wish you well, then, Your Royal Highness.” Kit told her sincerely.

#richard madden x reader #prince kit x reader #prince kit #cinderella 2015 #richard madden #richard madden x y/n #prince kit x y/n #marvel eternals #ikaris #ikaris x reader #ibiza netflix #leo west #leo west x reader #got #robb stark x reader #bodyguard netflix #david budd #david budd x reader #richard madden fic #richard madden imagine #the accidental princess fic #the accidental princess #beananacake writes

[writingformadderton]

Masterlist

Heyy, underneath the cut you find all our posted fics. The link to a second masterlist with all our Madderton series is below this text. We hope you enjoy it!

MASTERLIST 2

Work Count: 68

Characters/Actors written for:

Taron Egerton (x Richard/ x Reader (female/male))

Richard Madden (x Taron/ x Reader (female/male))

Eggsy Unwin (x David)

David Budd (x Eggsy)

Joe Mazello (x Reader (female))

Madderton

Love is worth sharing

Treat you better

I'm right here

Please come back to me

Carpool Karaoke

Back to you

Weak Spots

Merry Christmas, love

I know I'll always be safe with you

Sunday Mornings

I'll always protect you

Touch me

Speechless

Rough with me

Unsteady

Happy Valentine's day, Daddy

Coming home

Change of Heart

I'm something stupid, do me

Happy birthday, bub

Happy birthday, baby

Just an offer, mate

Temptation

Panic.

Insecure

Why don't you kiss me?

Why don't you kiss me Part 2

Being a brat

Suprise date

Oops in Vegas

This feeling inside

To the moon and back

Looking gorgeous, Sir (CEO x assistant)

I'm gonna love me again

Plank all over me

I need you

Birthday Blues

Happy Birthday, Richie

Want you to be mine

A better life

Love, you are amazing

He's perfect

Somewhere safe

Only yours

Still

Don't be a tease

Nightmares

I prefer you having control

You're in for a treat

Valentine's Day

Blissful hours

Taron Egerton

x Female Reader:

Flaws and all

You'll be okay

Say it

Mine

Reflections

x Male Reader:

I missed you

Richard Madden

x Female Reader:

Please, Miss

Yes, Sir

Homesick

x Male Reader:

Comfort

Madderton x Jophie

Proposal

Hesitate

Christmas was fun

Eggvid

You're my hero

I think you should leave

I think you should stay

Joe Mazello

Love at first sight

#taron egerton #richard madden #taron egerton fic #richard madden fic #madderton fic #madderton #eggvid #eggsy unwin fic #david budd fic #joe mazello #joe mazello fic #masterlist

[daenysx]

do you have any robb stark requests lovelies?

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark x fem!reader #robb x you #robb x reader #robb stark fic #game of thrones #house of the dragon #robb stark imagine #robb stark smut #robb stark fluff #richard madden #game of thrones fic #asks

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Winter Market

Pairing: Modern!Robb Stark x F!Reader

Warnings: none, just fluff!

Word Count: 1067

Summary: While running your own stall at a Winter Market, you run into an old schoolmate of yours -- none other than Robb Stark.

A/N: A day late, but I had to edit this one and I was distracted yesterday. My bad. But expect either one more tonight or two tomorrow to wrap up my Fluffcember event! Hope you enjoy this one!

Fluffcember Masterlist

The Winterfell Yuletide Market was famous throughout the realm, boasting some of the most unique and talented craftspeople from all over the world. They also had a section reserved for local artisans only, which is where you found your stall. After your rocky divorce you’d taken up soap and candle making as a hobby to keep your mind and hands busy. You’d even looked into getting a hive of bees for beekeeping, but it had been too late in the season to have them shipped from Honeyholt. 

You were lucky to get the stall, which you had to keep reminding yourself as the temperatures dipped into the negatives. The sad little space heater under your table could barely keep your feet warm. Being a born and raised Northerner, though, you weren’t going to let the cold close you down like some other stalls had. 

“Hot cider, courtesy of Stark Tech?” a voice asked, pulling you from your trance. A steaming mug of cider appeared in front of you and you followed the gloved hand holding it up to the auburn curls and striking blue eyes of none other than Robb Stark.

It had been a long time since you’d seen him, having gone to school together many moons ago. Since then it had been easy to follow his meteoric rise in the Tech industry, taking over his father’s company when he passed too soon and managing to nearly double profits within the first year of his reign. Stark Tech was one of the biggest employers in the North, and the major sponsor of the Market. However, you had not at all expected to see the CEO of the company walking around, handing out free cider to the stall owners.

If he recognized you he didn’t let on, but you accepted the cider anyway. Anything to help keep your hands warm was welcome at this point. Only an hour left to stay open, but the temperature was dropping quickly. 

“Thank you, Mister Stark,” you said, not letting your voice wave from shivering.

He smiled his blinding smile, then tilted his head a bit. “Have we met before?” 

You smirked, sipping your cider that was impeccably spiced. “We went to school together.” You gave him your name and his blue eyes lit up with recognition.

“Yes! How’ve you been?” 

You gestured to the stall around you, “Alright, I guess. I got accepted to the biggest Winter Market in the North, so I’d say pretty good.” 

“Ahh, yes,” he said, picking up a teacup candle and inhaling deeply, “Oh, I’m sure Sansa would love this. Rose, right?”

“And sandalwood,” you added. “My gran collected fancy teacups all her life. When she passed last year she had left them all to me. I had no idea what to do with them until after…well, you don’t want to hear about all that.”

He smiled wide, picking up another candle to sniff. “On the contrary, I would love to catch up. You’re here for another hour, right?” 

You had to stop your jaw from dropping. You’d been out of the dating loop, but you could’ve sworn he had just asked you out. The few attempts you’d made at online dating had yielded absolutely nothing — in fact, the matches you’d gotten had made you want to throw your phone into the White River and erase all trace of yourself from the internet forever after scrubbing your eyeballs and brain with a toilet brush.

“Are you asking me out, Stark?” you asked for the sake of clarity. More than once you’d been accused of coming off as cold rather than cool. 

He smiled again, “I am indeed. Unless you’ve got plans after this, then we can pick another night.”

“Oh yeah, after this I’ve got big plans with my cat and my streaming queue,” you joked, heart fluttering as he let out a warm chuckle, “I’d love to go out with you.” 

He sniffed another candle and added it to the growing pile of teacups in the crook of his arm. “Excellent, I’ll meet you here after closing if that works. We can go to the Direwolf and Dragon?”

“I love that place! They have the best whiskey selection.” You nodded eagerly, perhaps a little too enthusiastically but you were beyond caring. This was Robb Fucking Stark, every girl’s crush in school and even though you were a fully grown adult woman with her own bank account and apartment and business, the giddy teenager within you was ecstatic.

“And she likes whiskey,” he muttered to himself with satisfaction, “Excellent. While I’d love to stay and keep chatting, I’ve got more cider to hand out. How much do I owe you?” 

He gestured to the four teacup candles in his arms and you told him the total, then wrapped each one in tissue paper and put them gently into a paper gift bag. Your stomach turned at the thought that these were for a girlfriend, but you hadn’t seen anything about his dating life recently. He’d been dating the heiress of some big agricultural company down south for a few years, but you knew they’d broken up a while back. Around the same time your divorce was happening, come to think of it.

As you wrapped, you asked, “Who are all these for? Teacups aren’t usually decor for bachelor flats.”

He chuckled again, “My mother and sisters. And my PA, Steffon, he loves anything pine scented. The fact that the cup has pine boughs on it I think bodes well, too.” 

You passed the bag over your display and your gloved hands brushed as he accepted it. Even through thick layers of material, you felt something electric pass between the two of you.

“Well, I’ll see you in an hour then?” You asked after clearing your throat and shoving down some rather naughty thoughts.

Robb’s curls fell in front of his face as he looked down and checked his smart watch. “Forty-three minutes, to be exact.”

“Then I’ll see you in forty-three minutes.” You smiled at him. He continued on his mission of handing out hot cider. Try as you might, you couldn’t help but count down the minutes as you sipped your cider.

Fluffcember Masterlist

#robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark fic #robb stark fluff #richard madden #got fanfiction #got fic #game of thrones fic #game of thrones fanfiction #fluffcember #writing challenge #winter market

[asongofmarvelanddc]

Duty PT 5½

PAIRING: Robb Stark X Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,475

WARNINGS: none!

SUMMARY: Robb's Queen falls ill and he is not quite sure how to handle it.

PART 1| PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 4 ½ | PART 5 | PART 6

MASTERLIST | ROBB STARK MASTERLIST

A/N: This is kind of short drabble-type chapter setting up the next two! Please send a message, comment, send an ask so i can hear from you! and hope you enjoy 🥰🫶🏾 (Part 6 dropping tomorrow night –UK nighttime btw 🤭)

Robb has grown used to your company in recent weeks. He was surprised the first time you came to his study for no reason other than to talk, but he came away from that evening happy to have seen and spoken with you.

Eventually, those nightly visits became more of an expectation. Sometimes you’ll have a conversation over tea and cakes and other nights he’ll share a laugh with you over supper with a belly full of ale. Occasionally you watch him work while doing needlepoint or sewing up his trousers – because he always seems to rip the seams – providing a needed distraction whenever he gets too frustrated with the contents of his letters.

It is routine. One he quite enjoys, which is why when you don’t come to his study tonight, he’s not upset, he’s worried. He thinks to ignore it and continue on with his work, but he struggles to concentrate on any of it when his mind keeps wandering back to you.

He has enough after a few minutes and rises to his feet intending to find you and determine that everything is alright. As he walks around the Great Keep, not a single person he passes can tell him where you are. His casual stroll slowly morphs into a hurried walk as he begins heading towards your chambers. That is when he runs into someone.

Elyse.

He almost doesn’t realise it is her at first, so focused on where he is going that he brushes past her. It is only at the sound of her voice when she stops to curtsey that he recognises who it is. He spins back around as he already passed her a little, cocking his head to the side.

“Elyse,” he breathes as he approaches her slowly, “How are you?”

They have not spoken in some weeks now. It is awkward between them. It has never been awkward. He suspects that she has been avoiding him, but a part of him chooses to believe that only because he has in fact been avoiding her out of guilt.

She looks up at him, a thin yet soft smile on her lips. “I am well,” she says, though her pained eyes tell a different story.

Robb has the urge to pry her for more questions. The only reason he has stayed away from her is because things can never be as they were once. Not if he intends to honour his vows to you.

He doesn’t want her to feel as though he has simply cast her aside and forgotten her. But as soon as he’s about to raise a hand to take hers, he stops himself, remembering why he is here in this corridor in the first place. He is trying to find you.

“Have you seen…?” his voice trails off before he can say your name. He doesn’t know if that would be offensive or unnecessarily hurtful.

But it doesn’t need to be said because she knows who he refers to just by the look in his eyes.

“The Queen is in her chambers. With Maester Luwin.”

That means something is wrong, and though he wants to stay and ease Elyse’s hurt, he does not have the time for it.

“Thank you, Elyse,” he lingers for a moment, knowing there are still many things unsaid between them, before making his way to your chambers.

Just as he arrives at the door, Maester Luwin steps outside, jumping when he sees Robb.

“Your Grace,” he bows as best as he can while shutting the door, " Forgive me, I was not expecting you."

Robb frowns as he glances from the closed door to Maester Luwin, “Has something happened?”

The Maester shakes his head slowly, “Her Grace has fallen ill, but–”

“Why was I not made aware?"

"It was quite sudden," he explains, then places a hand on Robb's shoulder, "But it is nothing serious, you need not worry yourself."

Mester Luwin's voice is comforting, but Robb's heart remains unsettled. You are his responsibility now, and whatever pain befalls you – illness or injury – weighs on him. That is the only reason why he is concerned.

The only reason.

He looks at Maester Luwin and asks, "What ails her?"

Maester Luwin seems unsure of whether to answer at first, but then he lowers his voice and begins to speak, "You are aware that women pass bloods once every moon's turn?"

In fact Robb did not know that it happens every moon's turn. He thought it happened once when a girl becomes a woman. Nevertheless, he nods his head as if he did know before this very moment.

"Is that what this is?"

Maester Luwin nods, “It seems Her Grace passes her moonblood with great difficulty. But her pain and discomfort should fade in the coming days.”

Robb glances at the door yet again, debating whether or not he should go in.

“She is resting now,” Maester Luwin says, practically peering into Robb’s thoughts, “You should look in on her, put your mind at ease.”

His head snaps in the maester’s direction, “My mind is already at ease.” There is a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Maester Luwin bows before taking his leave to return to the rookery.

Alone with his own thoughts, Robb considers returning to his solar to continue working. He knows now that no great harm has befallen you and you will be just fine, but his heart is still unsatisfied. With little hesitation, he twists the handle and pushes the door open.

One week after your wedding, Robb began to notice that his chambers smelled different. It almost annoyed him how quickly the room adopted your scent. It clung to everything, the sheets, the pillows – even Robb's own clothes. But over time, he came to appreciate that earthy, yet sweet smell. It gave him comfort.

That is why the first thing he notices upon entering the room is how different it smells. The aroma of medicine hangs in the air, no doubt from whatever treatment Maester Luwin has provided.

You're lying on the bed when he enters, curled up into a ball. As soon as Robb closes the door, your eyes flutter open, following him as he approaches you wordlessly.

"Your Grace," you begin in the softest voice he's ever heard from your lips, "I would curtsey or sit up, but as you can see, I am in no state for such."

"I wouldn’t ask you to," he smiles as he sits on the bed right beside you. He glances at the cup sitting on your bedside table, "What are you drinking?"

You tilt your head slightly to see what Robb is looking at before returning your gaze to him. "Maester Luwin gave me something for the pain," you say, "I don't remember what is in it."

"You are in pain?"

Robb's concern increases when you nod.

"Where is the pain?" he asks.

"Here."

Robb looks down at where your hand is cradling your stomach. His eyes snap back up to you when he hears you wince, clutching your stomach tighter. He hates to see you in such terrible pain, and it is worse knowing he can do nothing to ease it.

"Will it be like this for you after every moon's turn?"

You shake your head, "Not every time. It was not like this during the last one – that is why you did not know it was happening."

Even after seeing you and speaking with you, Robb's worry does not dissipate. There is still a pit in his stomach. It dawns on him that he is not only concerned because you are his responsibility. He wants you to recover quickly because…well, it is you.

He raises his hands to your face, stopping when he sees the startled look on your face.

"Do you mind?" he asks, hands still hovering over you. He proceeds when you nod.

Gently, he presses his palms against your cheeks. You remain completely still under his touch, your heart racing. After a moment, he moves his hand to your forehead.

"What are you doing?"

He looks down, meeting your eyes which are staring up at him, before pulling back from you, "I'm checking for a fever."

You chuckle lightly, an infectious sound, "I'm not sure fevers are common with my particular ailment."

"It is better to be sure."

You smile softly before closing your eyes, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you. Robb sits there, listening to your breathing and waiting for you to fall asleep.

After a few minutes, your eyes open again.

"Don't let me keep you, you ought to rest," you whisper, "Your mother has prepared the guest chamber for you."

Robb is taken aback, "The guest chamber? Why should I stay there and not here as always?"

"Because you work from dawn to dusk and I will not have you lacking sleep simply because I am ill. Besides, your mother insisted."

Robb looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head. Of course his mother would be the one to insist. But still, he does not want to bring you any further discomfort anyways, so he obliges yours and his mother's wishes.

"I will be sure to look in on you again tomorrow," he promises as he rises to his feet. His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he finally says, "Sleep well, Y/N."

***

The next night, Robb is not happy when he finds the tray from your supper untouched. It lies discarded on the floor beside your bed, not even a grain of rice has been moved.

You're asleep when he enters the room, and even when he sits on the bed, you remain still. There is no snoring however, which lets Robb know that you are not sleeping soundly. Your forehead is creased and even in your sleep you're clutching something to your stomach.

This illness seems to have gotten worse, which only serves to make Robb feel more guilty for not coming to see you during the day. He leans down and presses the back of his hand to your clammy forehead, then his palms to your cheeks. Just to be sure again that there is no fever.

You wake while he is in the middle of doing this, momentarily shocked to see him practically on top of you. Robb instantly draws his hands back when he hears your gasp.

"I apologise, I was only checking–"

"Robb," you sigh heavily and slowly pull yourself up into a sitting position, "There is no fever. I have told you, this will pass."

He nods even though his worry remains.

"I'm sorry that I did not come earlier."

You wave a hand and shake your head. "It is quite alright, I completely under–"

You're cut off by an intense and sharp pain in your lower stomach and back that makes you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut. Too distracted by the pain, you don't even realise when Robb takes your hand at first, but once his calloused fingers clasp around your hand, you give it a tight squeeze to help the pain pass.

"Are you alright?"

Your eyes open to meet Robb's staring back into them. His brows are drawn together and he is sitting close to you on the bed, both his hands now holding yours.

"Yes," you whisper as you pull your hand out of his grasp, licking your dry lips, "I'm fine."

He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he sits back, placing his hands back in his lap. You can see clearly that he is concerned about you, more than you expected him to be – likely because he does not understand what is happening.

In some way, it is comforting to know that he cares.

“Tell me what I can do to help you.”

Robb is not a man who enjoys feeling useless. Even more so in recent years, considering all the tragedy that has befallen his family. And seeing you this way, sickly and vulnerable – the complete opposite of how he’s always seen you – is deeply unsettling.

"Distract me from the pain," you say, offering him the smallest way to make you feel better, "Tell me about your day. What has kept you so occupied?"

He doesn’t know how talking about ledgers and reports would help you, but he does so anyway.

“I spent much of the day preparing for the arrival of some men from the front.”

“Who is coming?”

“Lord Umber is bringing back some of the men we captured,” he sighs, “Our cells down there are too crowded, and some of the men are workers whose surrenders I’ve accepted.”

You raise a skeptical brow, “You trust Lannister soldiers?”

Robb is surprised – and a little amused – that you’re questioning his decision. He’s not sure he minds, however. In fact, he appreciates your taking an interest.

“I don’t,” he chuckles, “But these are men from the Brotherhood Withou–“

He’s cut off when you grab his hand to squeeze as another cramp hits. Instantly he forgets what he was talking about and gently takes both your hands. When the pain passes, you reach over to the side table and take a sip from the cup sitting there.

You notice Robb's inquisitive stare and nod to the cup, "It's the same tea from last night," you mumble, your eyes feeling heavier, "Apparently, it is a weaker dosage of milk of the poppy."

"Milk of the poppy makes you drowsy, no?"

"That explains why I have slept most of the day," you smile weakly.

Robb chuckles and strokes the back of your hand as you lean back and shut your eyes, "I should not have woken you."

"Perhaps not."

"Shall I leave?" he asks.

"No," you answer in a light voice, barely above a whisper, "Stay."

And so he does. He watches over you even after you fall asleep. It is not until your light snores begin to fill the room, a sure sign that you are in a deep slumber, that he decides to leave. He gently places your hand over your stomach and pulls the blankets up to your chest to make sure that you stay warm through the night.

Before he leaves, he can't help but watch you for a moment, listening to your slow breathing. You appear so at peace, and the sight warms his heart. In that moment, he knows that he has let go of any residual resentment he may have had towards you.

"Do feel better soon, my Lady," he whispers, "I long for our evening chats."

*

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