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pinkaditty · 8 months

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Hi, hi!

I loved your perverted obey me brothers and you catching them with your underwear. Will you make a part 2 with the other dateables?

If not, no worries!!

I love your work and I hope you have a nice day!

anon. did u know that ur my first ask? did u know that anon? ily. i've been thinking abt this ask since i saw i first got it. i never knew getting an ask could be so euphoric.

anyways

Pervert (Obey Me: Shall We Date) Part 2!

summary: you are suspecting that someone is stealing your underwear. it will go missing and randomly reappear like it was never gone. you pretend not to notice, but set a little trap for the culprit… and catch them red handed.

a/n: folks. wow. i did not expect part 1 to be soso popular omg!! ily guys thanks so much for enjoying my stuff waaaah! sorry this second part took so fucking long man so much shit happened. like sooo much im so tired. anyways. here. this part includes the royals, angel, and human. ill be back with the others (thirteen, mephisto, and raphael) soon! they may be slightly ooc bc im unfamiliar with them but ill do my best! also im like literally praying that the characters i wrote here aren't ooc. I tried SO hard please lmk if they are. <;/3

content warning: as usual fem!mc unless you like to imagine yours as a crossdresser (mc's physical attributes are not mentioned but fem undergarments are), and suggestive nsfw content! lmk if there's anything i missed :(

read part 1 here!

AS USUAL MINORS DNI PLEASE! PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARY! THANK YOU!

Intro:

For a short while, you had been reassigned to stay at Purgatory Hall/The Demon Lord’s Castle/wherever else the Dateables are due to Satan having accidentally destroyed your section of the House of Lamentation. No big deal, but all of the brothers were less than happy to see you go. It’s okay, though. You’ll be fine among the others…

The story is the same, of course. You think someone has been nicking your intimates in their spare time. Which is, of course, strange but simultaneously exciting.

You decide to set a trap to find out who they are, leaving your hamper full of clothes in the washroom before leaving to grab some scent beads. When you return, as expected, you can hear someone rifling through your intimates, but it’s not rushed. Rather, it’s calm and calculated, as though said person was desperate to not be heard. You decide to wait outside the door for them. Once they collect the spoils of their work, they quietly slip through the door, only to find you leaning against the wall outside, looking at them expectantly. Your arms are crossed and you’re tapping your fingers on your arm. You raise an eyebrow at them, stifling the urge to cackle at their panicked expression.

“Explain yourself, pervert.”

Diavolo:

You know, simultaneously, you expected him and didn’t expect him at all - at the same time. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Dia was fascinated with humans, especially with you, but… To such lengths? Really? If only Barbatos could see him now.

For a man that loves to talk… He sure is speechless now.

He’s frozen. The panicked expression remains on his face, his eyes flickering from the surrounding hallways and walls to you, to the floor, and back to the hallways. If there was a way out, he couldn’t find it. Before long, he deflated, resigning to looking down, a pitiful pout on his face. You got the feeling it was partially for show, though.

He whimpered like a hurt puppy before muttering a very formal apology. Keeping his head down, he held out the panties towards you. As you watch him, you realize this man has probably rarely ever felt shame before. It's almost entertaining - watching his eyes spin as he tries to adjust to feeling this way. Though he tries to hide it, you can hear his heaving breaths from here. He was ashamed. You could tell he wasn't ashamed for his actions; rather, he was ashamed because he was caught.

The thought makes you want to laugh, and you do, snatching the panties from his waiting hand. He looks up as you laugh, confused, his lips in a soft pout. His eyes almost look teary, as though he's that sad that you're laughing at him. You stifle your laughter with a hand and wave it off, walking past him into the laundry room to put your panties back in the hamper. Once your laughter dies out, you don't face him, but you do speak to him, knowing he is listening.

"Dia, the next time you find yourself fascinated with me, you can just ask. I'll be happy to spare a worn pair for your sake."

You hear a surprised gasp, a shuffling of feet, and a relieved exhale. You turn to him, finally, to see him bowing his head in thanks. He's biting his lip and his face is bright red. Probably too embarrassed to make eye contact. He covers his mouth with his hand, muffling his words before speaking.

"Thank you, MC, for letting this slide… And please, don't tell Barbatos…" His face burns red at his final words, and you smile, amused.

"Don't worry, I won't tell." You wink at him before returning to your laundry, hearing his hesitant steps as he walked away.

Barbatos:

He's frozen. Mortified. He stands there, rooted to the spot like a statue of stone. He stammers out your name in surprise, nervously shifting his gaze from you to your surroundings. He clears his throat, holding a hand up to his lips, and keeps it there, as though attempting to hide his growing blush. "I-I deeply apologize, MC. I should not have been here… You were not meant to see me… " He sounds out of breath, his words light and mumbled.

He turns away from you at an angle, shutting his eyes tight and keeping his hand in front of his face. You watch him take deep breaths and attempt to steady himself and regain his composure. You had to admit, watching him fumble through such an embarrassment was awfully entertaining. His chest visibly rose and fell with each audible breath. He gently teetered on his feet, as though he could fall over if he couldn't keep up. What a sight to behold, Barbatos at a loss for words and composure.

You approach him quietly, walking slowly to prevent the click of your shoes from being heard. You know that while he can't hear you, he can feel you, and he knows you're close. He shuffles backwards shyly, attempting to replace the distance you remove with every step. Ultimately, however, he is too slow, and you manage to get close enough to him, cornering him against a wall inside the laundry room. You make no effort to cage him in, but simply watch as he continues to attempt to get ahold of himself. He swallows thickly and slowly opens his eyes, calming down. He lowers his hand back to his side, and looks at you levelly, his expression still embarrassed but not mortified any longer. You smile, raising an eyebrow.

"I'd like my panties now, thanks." You hold out a hand expectantly, and Barbatos obliges, pulling the panties from his coat pocket and placing them in your waiting hand, all signs of embarrassment gone from his face, replaced by his trademark smile instead. His ears however, were a dead giveaway, as the tips of them remained red. You simply chuckle and lean away from him, humming in thanks and placing them back into the hamper. He moves to assist you with your clothes, and does so efficiently, though you watch him carefully to ensure his nimble fingers don’t grab hold of anything else without your permission. When the task is finished, he bows respectfully.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with, MC?”

You shake your head, smiling. “No, but thank you, Barbatos.”

With that done, his ears still burning red and his smile faltering slightly, he moves to leave. You stop him, grabbing his arm as he passes you. He looks back at you curiously, embarrassment still painted on his face. “And, please, ask me next time.” You smile, your eyes filling with mirth. “I’d be happy to give you a pair later as thanks for your assistance.”

He swallows thickly and his eyes widen. He bites his lip before nodding, thanking you briskly, and walking away hurriedly, his face red.

You think you see a flash of lace in his back pocket as he leaves, but maybe you’re imagining it...

Simeon:

Now, this was a surprise. The angel? Really?

He yelps in surprise, fumbling with the panties and dropping them on the ground, hiding his face in his hands and backing into a wall. He’s visibly shaking, his hands trembling as he hides behind them, not even peeking out to observe your reaction. His knees wobbled and he began to shrink in on himself, eventually kneeling on the floor. You watch him wordlessly, amused. He’s unexpectedly quite dramatic.

After a few moments, you hear him mumbling to himself. Confused, you tentatively approach him, listening carefully. You catch little bits of what he’s saying before kneeling down, to which he shrinks further and his mumbling speed increases. Then it hits you. He’s… praying.

He’s literally fucking praying.

You are so thoroughly amused at this that you want to laugh, but you wonder if being a victim of the wrath of Simeon or the almighty was worth it, so you decide against it. You stifle and disguise your laugh as clearing your throat, doing a comically loud “Ahem” to get Simeon’s attention.

Not one to be disobedient, he stops his muttering and slowly lifts his head to look at you. You smile smugly at him, your eyes narrowing with mirth. You reach out towards him and gently touch his chin. He flinches, but doesn’t pull away, looking between your fingers and your face curiously. You hold his chin and lift it upwards, and he follows your movements, adjusting himself so it’s easier to peer upwards at you. You smile wider, even more amused than before.

“I don’t think that’ll work down here, Simeon.” Your voice is low and taunting, and Simeon gulps, his eyes still not leaving yours. He still doesn’t say anything, merely trembles, as though he were being judged.

Maybe he was, a little bit, but favorably so. It’s not everyday you’d find an angel ballsy enough to do this, right?

You tut at him, clicking your tongue and shaking your head disapprovingly. “Oh, Simeon…” You put on a fake pout, looking at him with pity in your eyes. “Don’t you know better than to do this?”

“Ugh…” Simeon bites his lip. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth creases downwards into a pathetic expression. You continued to stifle your laughter by biting the inside of your cheek. However, you are ultimately unsuccessful and end up bursting into an amused smile and a few breathy chuckles at him.

When your laughter dies down, you look at him, still holding his chin. “Come now, Simeon.” You smile, winking at him. “All you have to do is ask… If you‘d like another pair.”

Simeon sucks in a breath in shock, and his eyes widen as he looks at you. He suddenly scrambles to his feet, straightening up, his head still bent forward in embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry, MC! It won’t happen again!” He swiftly walks past you, not looking at you and barely opening his eyes enough to see, narrowly missing the wall in his rush to leave. You listen to his retreating footsteps and only laugh. Maybe you’d drop by his room later and give him a gift.

Solomon:

Shameless. But he’s old and barely human. He’s also the worst.

He doesn’t react much besides his initial panicked reaction, which soon melts into mirth, a smug smile appearing on his face. He’s confident, but not that confident. His exaggerated smug smile twitches at the corners and his face remains flushed a deep red. He dramatically clears his throat and smiles coyly, the picture of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Ah…” He starts, shrugging his shoulders, still smiling, the corners of his lips still twitching. His voice shakes just slightly. “You got me!”

Your face can’t seem to decide if it wants to fall into a disappointed expression at his brazen admission or burst into a fit of laughter at his obvious fear. Instead, it seems to settle on a pitying smirk, and you have to stop it from turning into a full on grin. You sigh and shake your head, not super surprised.

You approach him, and he visibly stiffens, but his arrogance forces him to stay in place, his confidence crumbling at your certainty. When you stand just in front of him, you hold out your hand, a smug look on your face. “I’ve got you indeed! Hand them over.” Your words are quick and terse, smug smile and knowing look still on your face. Solomon swallows, and looks to the side, gently dropping the panties into your hands. He makes no move to look at you again after that, still facing you but looking away.

You scoff as you watch him simply stand there. You find it amusing, but you are also dissatisfied at his lack of retorts. You put your hands on your hips and smirk, attempting to provoke him. “Hm. I’d expect a panty thief to be more ballsy. What, cat got your tongue?” Your smug smile only grows and your eyes narrow with mirth. His confidence almost seems to fully crumble under your gaze, and he relents, his blush spreading all across his face. Yet still, he remains silent.

You approach further, your steps slow and deliberately intimidating. He’s rooted to the spot, unable to move, still frantically finding anything to gaze at instead of you. Eventually you stand mere centimeters from him, your body just barely touching his. You smirk at him and lean your head forward, blowing on him before pulling back. He flinches immediately, startled, and bumps into the wall behind him. You giggle at him, thoroughly amused at his frantic nerves. He looks at you pathetically, lips red from worrying at them with his teeth, pupils blown wide, red blush from his forehead to his neck.

“Aw, don’t look at me like that~!” You tease him, pressing your finger into his cheek. He watches you warily, seemingly at a loss for words. Your lips pull into a wicked smile. “How long has it been, hm?”

Immediately his eyes widen and he stammers out some indignant words, trying to deflect and explain himself. You only laugh at his stammered words, and he eventually stops, worrying at his lips again with his teeth. “Oh, don’t worry, I imagine you have plenty of escapades. But why couldn’t you just ask me?” You tilt your head at him, looking at him with hooded eyes. “Hm? It couldn’t have been that hard to just ask.”

Surprisingly, he only sighs and shakes his head, blush still present. “My dear apprentice, I am only human. Even I still don’t know how to properly act in the face of attraction.” A small, wobbly smile pulls at his lips before he purses his lips again, biting down to stifle any further words. His answer was straightforward, but you can tell he is still nervous. His breathing remains heavy, his eyes are still wide, and he’s still covered in a crimson blush. You laugh again.

Instead of teasing him further, though you really want to, you smile. “Well, now you know. Simply ask, Solomon. I am willing to help you… if you want me to.” You smile before turning away, dropping the panties into your clothes hamper, and starting the wash. It takes Solomon a moment to snap out of it and leave, but he does. You could feel his eyes on you and his magic still lingers in the air.

a/n: *super saiyan yells* thank you for reading waaaaaah! i did my best and im soso sorry if any of these characs are ooc... if they are too ooc i might actually rewrite it fr im so scared :(

anyways as usual feedback is always appreciated, and so are comments, likes, reblogs and asks! (especially asks) please show me your appreciation! i love to know i've done a good job.

@ikevampharem asked to be tagged :3!

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toaster-trash · 11 months

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It’s always so interesting to me how so many people tend to look at protagonists’ reactions in 19th century gothic media and immediately slap a label on them as “over-dramatic” or “weak”, when in reality I don’t think we (as a society) know what we’re talking about. I think our society is collectively desensitised to concepts, and what I mean by that is that the concept of a story like Dracula or Frankenstein isn’t something that we’d ever bat an eye at because it’s been so ingrained into our very understanding or the concept of basic modern horror premises that we no longer appreciate it for what it is, and I’ve been guilty of it too. So a lot of people take the protagonists reactions to their circumstances, and paint it as melodrama or even worse, get high and mighty and claim that if THEY were in that scenario, they would NEVER do something so stupid, right?

But I need you to take a minute to actually think about the positions these characters are in. We’ve become so desensitised to these concepts, but if we were actually in those positions in real life we would probably not be able to handle them half as well as some of these characters. For example, Dracula. Sure, guy goes to stay in spooky castle, client turns out to be a vampire, pretty standard, easy to point at Jonathan Harker’s decisions and blame him. Oh Jonathan, don’t you know walking through an abandoned castle when your client tells you not to is bound to get you hurt? Don’t you know going to a remote area with villagers crossing themselves every five seconds is dangerous?

But actually think about this. You’re a solicitor, you have a fiancée back home and you need this job. You meet your client, he’s a little creepy, you feel unsafe, but you need this job. What are you going to do, turn back and tell your employer you couldn’t do it because the vibes were off? Obviously not. You suck it up. Then slowly, your world starts collapsing around you and slowly getting smaller as you find yourself trapped inside this man’s house and you slowly come to the realisation that you are being held captive in the house of a creepy old man who has access to all the rooms in the house, including your own, and can enter it at any time, in a secluded area far away from everyone, and with no hope of reaching out for help. He has the power to do anything to you, and you’re completely helpless, and does. You are going to die there and none of your loved ones will ever know what happened to you. Your abuser might even fabricate your identity or conduct a lie to ruin all memory of you forever. Then things get worse, and you realise that your abuser and captor isn’t even human. Throw in the infanticide and assault scenes, and that is a horrifying scenario, and I don’t think some people fully recognise that when they read it.

The very same with Frankenstein, oh haha, Victor gets ill often, look at him fainting every five minutes, what a whiny bitchboy, right? But Jesus Christ, again, think about this scenario that he’s in properly. My guy digs up corpses, brings them to his dorm room and stitches them together, only for him to bring said corpses to life and watch his inanimate amalgamation of dead bodies come to life in your house. Now again, imagine cutting up corpses and sewing them together. If you can’t manage that, imagine a friend of yours came to you and told you that they’d been stealing corpses, cutting them up, and sewing them together, and they now have an 8ft tall giant amalgamation or corpses in their room. Now imagine going to their house and seeing that amalgamation of corpses. Good luck not passing out and vomiting all over their bedroom floor, and extra good luck not needing extreme psychiatric care afterwards. Again, corpses. I’m willing to bet half the people here have never even seen a corpse, and this isn’t even freshly-dead-grandma-in-the-coffin, these are decomposing and rotting corpses of real human beings. Observed. And some corpses cut up. And pieced together. Into a giant corpse. Genitalia included. Intestines included. Everything else included. And then that corpse then starts killing everyone you’ve ever loved and you have the added guilt that it IS it’s own person and you’ve abandoned it.

Which of course, could lead me into a whole separate rant, on how I believe that Victor’s flaw doesn’t lie in his horror at his own actions, and his fainting and illness and whatnot, but rather at his deliberate avoidance of the consequences of those actions – (horrifying as they may have been to come to terms with, his avoidance ultimately led to the mental distress and death of tons of completely innocent people, and his avoidance, however difficult, was still very much wrong and Victor is still very much to blame for it) – as well as the mania and obsessive justification he kept using to reach that goal. Although again, it could be argued there was avoidance in that as well – Victor pasting clinical lenses over all his actions, ignoring his family and friends, which ultimately all caught up with him. It’s my reading that Victor isn’t to blame whatsoever because he’s “over dramatic” or that “whiny”, he has every right to be severely traumatised by his experiences, however much his own fault they may be, he is to blame because at every turn where he could have faced his actions and confided in a friend or likewise, he did not, and it led to the deaths of everyone he loved. Except for Ernest, who likely then had to live with the death of his entire family.

But that’s a side rant – my primary point is, I genuinely do not remotely believe that authors in the past were really any more “emotional” or “melodramatic” than we are today. The only difference is that because the premise of these plots have been so deeply engrained into our society, we do not understand how horrifyingly traumatising these situations are by nature and dismiss them out of hand. Dracula did not exist yet when Dracula was being written. Frankenstein did not exist yet when Frankenstein was being written. Don’t come looking to read old gothic literature expecting a camp B-list horror film, and then call the characters over-dramatic when they react like average actual human beings to absolutely horrific scenarios.

And what’s more with regard to general more open affection between friends in older books, no it isn’t unrealistic, we’re all just cynical assholes now. (There’s a limit, obviously. Some characters are just raging homosexuals and there’s no other explanation. “His form so divinely wrought and beaming with beauty” my ass alright now just admit you had gay sex and be done with it)

#gothic lit #classic literature #gothic literature #goth lit #classic lit #frankenstein #frankenstein weekly #dracula #dracula daily #frankenstein or the modern prometheus #re:dracula #re: dracula #victor frankenstein #Jonathan Harker #clervalstein?#clervalstein

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alastor-is-best-deer-boi · 3 months

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Cute Lucifer, Lilith, and baby Charlie headcanons

Under the cut so I don't dash stretcher spam someone

Was absolutely overjoyed when Lilith told him he was going to be a father. Probably got teary-eyed let's be real.

Immediately started planning stuff with Lilith even though they had nine months, he wanted to be prepared.

Really hated seeing Lilith feeling ill and not feeling good in general. Helped her with whatever he could.

It got to the point that he became a little too helpful and overprotective. Lilith had to quickly remind him that she could still do plenty of things.

Before they decided on names, he'd call the baby "Duckling"

Originally thought it would've been strange talking to Duckling before they were born but sort of fell into the habit of it. Started telling hem about everything.

Charlie definitely recognized both of her parents' voices when she was born because of this.

Lucifer and Lilith going baby clothes shopping! Once they found out they were having a girl, Lucifer had the urge to buy all the cutest little dresses.

Attempted to build the crib but didn't understand the instructions (Lilith had to help)

Multiple instances of reality sinking in for him that he was going to be a father which caused some anxiety about if he'd be good at being a father or not.

He and Lilith were there for each other about each of their worries, which helped.

Reading a lot of baby books helped too.

Panicked more than Lilith when she went into labor but quickly managed to pull himself together because he didn't want to make it worse.

Was by Lilith's side the whole time, never wanted to leave her. Most supportive husband.

Definitely cried a little when Charlie was born.

Fun fact one of the first colors babies see is red, which means Charlie really paid attention to her dad's eyes 🥹

He came up with the Char Char nickname soon after she was born.

Loved to hold her, loved all the "baby cuddles" as he put it.

Got so much cute aggression/overwhelmed with love that he'd bury his face into Lilith's shoulder (while they were all cuddling together) and mutter about how he couldn't take how cute Charlie was.

His favorite thing to do was kiss the cute little circles on Charlie’s cheeks.

Lucifer always volunteered to take care of Charlie when she woke up in the night or at the very least brought Charlie to her mother so Lilith wouldn't have to get out of bed to feed her.

He loved all the important skin-to-skin time, holding a sleepy Charlie against his chest and hear her calm breathing.

Both parents made sure to keep a baby book and write in it constantly as well as taking baby photos.

There was no reason for either of them to wear their usual fancy clothes so Lucifer and Lilith were out here wearing t-shirts and sweat pants on a regular basis.

Lucifer got really excited when Charlie entered her babbling stage. Would always talk to her despite getting babbles in response.

Lucifer and Lilith singing lullabies to Charlie is a given.

Lucifer and Lilith having a friendly competition to see if Charlie would say Mama or Dada first.

Charlie ended up saying Duck. (Lucifer considered it a win)

Her second word was Mama. And then Dada was third.

Lucifer actively holding back tears when he'd hear Charlie’s happy giggles.

Lucifer doing the parent thing of pretending to eat her little fingers and feet to make her laugh.

Lucifer: "Charlie can crawl now!" *realizing his baby can basically free roam now" "Charlie can crawl now... oh no"

They extra baby proofed the castle when that happened.

Lucifer and Lilith cheering and encouraging Charlie when she took her first steps.

Lucifer and Lilith trying not to laugh when Charlie would try new foods like ice cream or a lemon.

*Charlie lovingly aggressively patting Lucifer's face* Lucifer: "Charlie, I know you're a baby and you're not good at this yet, but you're going to take my eye out"

Whenever Charlie does a certain thing, Lilith and Lucifer discuss who she learned it from.

Charlie copying her father's expressions a lot and Lilith laughing saying how similar they are (Lucifer doesn't see it)

*that one scene from Modern Family but it's Lucifer and Lilith trying to get Charlie out of the car after accidentally locking her in*

Lucifer flying while holding Charlie and letting her "fly" around the castle.

Lilith is always like "Not too high!"

Lucifer carrying Charlie around in a baby carrier or sling(?)

Lucifer coming up with excuses every time he brings Charlie to a meeting.

Lilith very gently playing "toss little Charlie like a sack of potatoes" on the bed or anywhere with a lot of cushions (Lucifer almost always has an aneurysm watching this despite nothing bad happening)

Charlie always getting plenty of cuddles and kisses from her parents :')

Lilith: "Luce, you can't cry every time Charlie cries..." Lucifer 😢 "watch me"

Charlie’s parents always telling her bedtime stories.

Lucifer: "Charlie fell asleep on me and now I can't move"

Charlie having glow up stars on her bedroom ceiling that work as night lights.

Lucifer out somewhere with Charlie: "It's getting late, I better get this one home" Charlie, sleepy but fighting it: "No.. no, no, no" Lucifer amused: "Yesss"

Charlie going to her parents every time there's loud thunder or something and them holding her and making her feel safe.

Charlie having bad dreams and insisting on sleeping in her parents' bed when she's scared. (Lucifer can never tell her no)

Little Charlie trying to get her parents' attention: "Look! Look! Watch!" *does a little spin and a hop* Lucifer and Lilith clapping: "Good job!!"

Lilith: "Charlie, we color on paper, not the floor" Charlie: "No I just 'tending" Lilith: "But you are coloring the floor, do you want some paper?" Charlie aggressively shoving the crayons away: "All done!"

Charlie always coming up with the craziest games to play. Lucifer is constantly confused but goes along with it.

Lucifer and Lilith telling each other crazy things Charlie did at the end of the day after she's gone to bed.

Lucifer getting emotional every now and then about how fast Charlie is growing up. :( Lilith's feels the same and they try to comfort each other.

Ending on a happier note, Charlie drawing pictures for her parents. Lilith keeps them on the fridge. Lucifer keeps some framed in his office.

That's all I have for now.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel amazon prime #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel charlie #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel lilith #lilith morningstar #lilith x lucifer #lucifer x lilith #hazbin hotel headcanon #my writing #hazbin hotel fanfic

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xjoonchildx · 1 year

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kanalia | jhs x reader | chapter five: the king is a fool

banner by the amazing, incredible @kth1

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.

⚜️word count: 10K

⚜️notes: the queen is hot and bothered, literally & figuratively. the king puts several Ls in the disappointed but not surprised category, everyone gets drunk at some point. lord min is a terrible archer, yeona remains round and winning. the queen could melt steel with her sexual frustration, lord jung is not faring much better but at least he knows what he's doing, slightly awkward marital smut. the queen fights with everyone.

i could never have finished this chapter without these amazing authors & minds @miscelunaaa and @vyduan and one person who would probably level us all with her first fic if she decided to write one, @hobi-gif. please let me re-iterate how much it means to me that any one of you reads my stories, and it would make me endlessly happy to talk to you about it. you can talk to me here 💕

previous chapter final chapter

Hyeri is curious.

She examines the stains at the hem of your walking dress with narrowed eyes, pausing her thorough study of the red-brown splotches only to steal the occasional furtive glance your way.

Her lips purse as she shakes dirt loose from the grooves of your walking boots. She watches the sediment fall to the floor with a raised brow, uncharacteristically quiet as she reaches for the broom to sweep the mess away.

But her bewilderment only grows as she draws closer.

The older woman’s posture stiffens as she regards you, lips pulling into a thin line as she takes in the state of your wind-swept hair and grimy fingernails. You must reek of the ill temper you’ve brought back from your ride, the smell of it as pungent as the sweat and horse on your clothes. She tests your temperament in much the same way as she tests your bathwater, query as feather-light as the fingertip she skims along the surface.

“Are you… well, this evening, Your Grace?”

“As well as I ever am,” you answer succinctly, accepting her hand and stepping carefully into the tub. Woven into the spaces between each of your clipped words is rebuke; a silent warning to proceed no further. Your handmaid, who is by no means a meek woman, has the good sense to heed it.

So Hyeri says nothing as she takes a comb to the tangles in your hair, working them apart with peach oil. She says nothing as she scrubs away the dirt embedded beneath your normally pristine fingernails. And she says nothing still when you wince at the ache in your thighs as she helps you from the bath.

When the heavy chamber door finally pulls behind her, shutting the stares and the questions safely out, you make your way to bed. You extinguish the lamp on your nightstand and welcome the shadows.

And then you succumb to the darkness that envelops you, inside and out.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Steamy heat has put an end to weeks of pleasant fall weather.

You’ve sought refuge this afternoon beneath a tree at the edge of the castle’s sprawling open field. The oak, though grand, offers scant protection from the midday sun. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck and disappears into the linen at your décolletage.

“Between you and me, I’ve always found hunting to be an appalling sport.”

Boram shakes her head at the scene in the distance. The King and his men claim to be training for an upcoming hunt, but by all appearances, there is little training taking place. Instead they look to be bandying about like mischievous little boys, scrambling for position in front of the straw targets with bows in hand.

“I find it to be an exercise in vanity more than ability. Little more than male preening disguised as sport.” Boram dabs at her brow with a handkerchief and sighs. “What do you think?”

You don’t answer Boram’s question on account of your distraction. Try as you might to keep your eyes on the dashing elder Lord Kim or the charming young Lord Jeon or – heaven forbid, your husband – they wander to Lord Jung instead, over and over and over again. Your gaze pulled to his strong face as though drawn by a magnet.

He turns his head and his dark eyes find yours across the distance.

The butterflies you’ve felt in his presence before are not to blame for the unsettled feeling that comes over you now. The very sight of the man makes your stomach turn over, as though you can taste the vivid recollection of the last time you saw him.

The memory of that wonderful ride – and of the horrible way it ended – are still bitter on your tongue. Like picking the most beautiful fruit in the orchard only to find it sour and decaying inside.

“Your Grace?”

You blink.

“I say this to you as my friend and not my Queen,” Boram says, pausing to clear her throat. “You don’t seem yourself today. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Nothing at all,” you lie quickly, smoothing down the damp curls springing up around your ears. “I’m fine, truly. Though I suppose it is possible the heat is making me cross. I can barely think in such conditions.”

“Awful, isn’t it?” Boram laments, reaching over to give Yeona’s belly a tickle. The baby curls into herself like a starfish, giggling as she rolls around on the blanket. “Yoongi says it will take a rain to break it. But until then, we must all suffer.”

“And suffer we shall,” you echo under your breath, watching Lord Jung load his bow in the distance. He sets his lithe body in a precise stance then draws his arm back and releases his arrow. It flies in a tight arc and lands just below the bullseye on the target. The men erupt into raucous cheers. You resist the urge to scowl.

“As for the hunting,” you add, “I think men are just as guilty of the frivolity they so often accuse women of. Not that any one of them is likely to admit it.”

“No, I suppose not,” Boram laughs. “Men are not known to be skilled in the art of introspection.”

“They certainly are not.”

And why should they be? Men never have to stop and consider the consequences of their actions. They alone decide the rules of engagement. They are free to be as vain and as frivolous and as thoughtless as their hearts desire. Horrid, infuriating creatures.

Lord Min steps up to the target. His stance is uneven and his arrow is wild the very second he lets it loose. It flies yards from the target and lands off in the grass. The men jeer loudly.

“Poor Yoongi,” Boram winces as she watches the men tease him. “He’s never been much of an archer, I’m afraid.” But the good-natured Lord Min appears to take it all in stride, shrugging off their taunts as he trades his bow for a fresh tankard of ale.

The King takes his turn next – the lines of his body thicker and stronger than Lord Jung’s, but no less elegant. The men circle around your husband as he draws the bow back with one strong arm. He takes careful aim with his arrow and deftly plants it just above the target’s bullseye. The sound of the men’s whooping echoes across the field.

And so it goes for a while, with the men taking turns loosing their arrows to varying degrees of success.

Lords Park and Jeon both prove to be adequate archers, hitting the targets more often than not. The elder and younger Lord Kims are less skilled and spend the lion’s share of their time plucking arrows from the grass behind the targets. Lord Min quickly gives up on the endeavor entirely, opting instead to sit with his ale and heckle the others.

But the two best archers on the field refuse to be distracted by drink.

The King and Lord Jung set an arduous pace, loading and firing their arrows in quick succession. Even at a distance, even with your meager knowledge of archery, you can discern that both men are quite evenly matched in terms of skill. They load, fire, and strike their respective targets with precision.

On and on they persist – despite the brutal heat, despite the fact that the other men have begun to tire. One by one the other Guardsmen surrender, abandoning their bows and collapsing onto the grass to watch.

“These two seem quite serious, don’t they?” Boram notes.

They certainly do. The air of silly fun that’s sat over the group for much of the afternoon is all but gone now and what began as a diversion for all of the men has clearly become a challenge between just two. The other Guardsmen seem to sense the shift in atmosphere as well, their faces earnest as they watch the King and Lord Jung compete.

Physically, the two men are quite different. The King’s muscular arms and chest serve him well as he steadies his bow and fires. In contrast, Lord Jung’s body is lithe, sleek. He moves with an agility the King cannot. But both wear matching expressions of determination. And though this competition might have been amiable at the start, it’s now evident that neither man is willing to leave the field without a clear victor.

Lord Min calls out to them both – voice too distant for you to make out his words – and the men appear to nod in agreement. They both step back from the targets, increasing the difficulty of each shot. But it takes only a few more arrows to prove that the added distance is no hindrance to either man. Both set their stances again, both aim and fire, and both land their arrows with ease.

The Guardsmen sitting nearby fall silent, and in the absence of their racket the King’s answering growl of frustration echoes over the entire field.

“Oh my,” Boram whispers. “I’d heard there was some tension between them, and it would certainly appear to be so.”

It certainly would. Right now, the King and Lord Jung look more like rivals seeking to settle a score than lifelong friends.

The King’s agitation is apparent in every move he makes, in the way he jerks the arrows out of the straw targets and stalks back into position. Lord Jung’s agitation is equally apparent. He accepts a skin of water from Lord Min without so much as a thanks and hands it back once he’s drained it.

It’s a strange thing to see the handsome Guardsman challenge his King with the very same passion in which he’d defended him just days prior.

“Has the King spoken to you about it?”

“No,” you admit stiffly, “He has not. Are you determined to keep me in the dark, as well?”

“Heavens, no,” Boram protests, pulling Yeona into her lap. She hands the baby a rice cake and Yeona sets to gumming at it right away. “I would never want you to think that I’m speaking ill of the King, is all.”

“I could never think that of you.”

There is hesitation in Boram’s face when she flicks her dark eyes back to meet yours.

“Well, the details I have are few,” she starts slowly. “But what I know is that the King expressed a wish to see Lord Jung married again and Lord Jung, from my understanding was – ” she pauses, carefully considering her next words,“ – less than amenable to the idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Yoongi says they fought over the matter. Quite thoroughly, from what I’ve been told.”

“I see,” you say, taking great care to keep your expression impassive. “And did Lord Min explain why Lord Jung is so opposed to marriage? He’s still a young man. I can certainly see why the King would think it a logical proposition.”

Boram’s lips purse as she thinks.

“I do not know that I can say. Though I consider Lord Jung to be a dear friend, he can be terribly private about some matters.”

You cut your eyes towards the field to search for the man in question.

Does she really know Lord Jung? Do you? Today there is no sign of the man who’d leveled you with a smile in the Great Hall, no trace of the man who’d teased you about riding clothes before helping you onto your mount. The man you see now wears a strained expression as he watches the King take aim, his energy volatile like a pot ready to boil over.

Perhaps you’d been foolish to think him so different from the King. Perhaps they are as evenly matched in the art of duplicity as they are the skill of archery.

“So what will come of it?” you ask after a while. “Will the King – make him marry?”

“I don’t know,” Boram admits. “And therein, I suppose, is where much of the tension lies. Lord Jung has already taken a bride once in service to the Kingdom. I can’t imagine he’d be inclined to do it again.”

There’s a sudden commotion on the field then, an outburst that has Lords Park and Jeon on their feet. The younger men rush to meet the King and Lord Jung mid-field, nodding as the King speaks. Both take off running at once.

“I’ve no clue what that is all about, but I do wish they’d end this already,” Boram grumbles, watching the young men disappear behind the tree line as they go off in search of whatever it is the King’s asked for. “I don’t know how much longer I can last in this heat.”

“Nor I,” you agree, watching the King and Lord Jung speak to one another. Both men look sober, the lines of their faces hard. “But it seems we’ll all have to endure it for just a bit longer in order to humor this contest of male prides.”

Some arduous minutes later, Lords Park and Jeon make their return to the field.

The dust kicked up by the horses they ride precedes them, the ground parched from weeks without rain. Both men arrive in a cloud of grime – Lord Jeon on the King’s mount and Lord Park on Lord Jung’s– and dismount without delay, handing the reins over to their elders.

So this is how they will decide the victor.

“Well, let’s hope they keep their wits about them,” Boram sighs. “Lest they both break their legs in the heat of competition.”

“Yes, let’s,” you mutter.

The King is first to take his turn, of course.

He mounts Jeonsa with ease despite the horse’s grand height and takes his time warming the warhorse up. The King runs his mount in circles around the target until he’s satisfied with his plan and the timing of his shot. He steadies himself against the jostling with his strong thighs, pulling his bow back to fire. The arrow hits the target just below the bullseye.

The men, who’ve spent hours now drinking in the hot sun, erupt into a chorus of ruffian cheers.

Lord Jung wastes no time taking to his own mount. His horse is leaner and quicker than Jeonsa, and it’s clear that he commands complete control of the animal’s every step. Both horse and rider move as one as he urges his mount faster, straightening his back to fire. The arrow hits the target just above the bullseye.

The men are getting rowdy now, egging on both competitors as they circle on their horses. Their shouting is louder, more animated, and you would not at all be surprised if there were a few healthy wagers underway. You wonder which of the men they’ve bet on.

You wonder which of the men you would bet on before pushing the thought away and reminding yourself that you’re not particularly fond of either at this moment.

The King circles Jeonsa around the target once again, taking his time about it. He seems to consider every circumstance surrounding his next shot – the angle, the speed, the light wind that blows east. After a great deal of circling and thought, he rears back to release his arrow.

It lands on the target, just above the arrow planted by Lord Jung.

The shouting from the men becomes a low roar.

Lord Jung pointedly ignores the commotion, rolling his shoulders as he stares down the target, brow knit in concentration. Soon he’s urging his mount to move, the pair fluid as they circle the target.

Just like the King, Lord Jung circles longer for this shot than he had for the first. Twice he draws back as though ready to fire and thinks better of it. But after painstaking deliberation, he finds his stride. He pulls his arm back and sets his stance. Then he releases his arrow.

And it misses the target entirely.

It flies off the end of Lord Jung’s bow with astonishing speed, gliding just to the right of the straw and landing off in the distance. The men are on their feet now, jumping and yelling and slapping one another on their backs. Lord Jung shakes his head in disgust.

“Well,” Boram reaches for her basket, loading her things into it with haste. “That’s settled now. I certainly hope at least one of them feels better. Let’s move into more liveable conditions, shall we?”

You open your mouth to agree just as you spot the King barreling towards you atop Jeonsa, leaving the men celebrating his victory on the field behind.

You nearly stumble over the hem of your dress in your rush to rise to your feet. Your husband is grinning widely when he reaches you, stopping his mount long enough to extend one large hand. You place your hand in his and he dips his head to plant a kiss on your fingers.

“Well done, You Grace,” you demur, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “A hard-fought victory.”

“Thank you. I’m quite pleased with the outcome.”

The King acknowledges Boram with a smile before turning his mount to ride back to his men. You put a hand to your brow to shade your eyes and watch as they cheer for him – reward him with the adulation he’s clearly worked so hard for.

But a thought occurs to you as you examine the scene in the distance.

There is no sign of Lord Jung.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King comes to you that night – hair damp and smelling of fine soap, breath tinged faintly with ale.

He coaxes you to your knees just as he’s done so many times before. His fingers slide against your most secret place, slippery just as they’ve been so many times before. And then he’s pushing inside you, hard and hot just as he’s been so many times before.

But there is something different about him tonight.

Your husband’s touch is rougher than you remember. His grip on your waist is harder than you remember, large hands moving from your waist to your backside to dig his blunt fingertips into the soft flesh. His thrusts are more forceful than you remember, more erratic, powerful enough to push you up the length of the bed.

You fist your hands into the bedding and push back, refusing to allow your knees to buckle under the pressure. That earns you a low groan from the King – a sound that strikes a strange chord inside you; sends a shiver racing up your spine. You press your hot face into the sheets.

Perhaps Namjoon is still feeling the effects of an arduous afternoon in the hot sun. Perhaps he’s still in his cups after a night of drinking with his men.

Or perhaps it is all just a trick of your mind.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Morning brings no improvement in your mood. Quite the opposite, in fact.

You wake snappish, jarred from a fitful sleep by the sudden appearance of light in your chamber. Shafts of it – hot and harsh – stream through your windows, spill across your duvet, assault your eyes. You bury your face in the pillow in a futile attempt to avoid it, sweat beading at the nape of your neck until the uncomfortable warmth forces you to quit the bed.

But the rude manner of your awakening is only one reason for your irritation.

The other is the lingering tenderness between your legs, a dull ache you can feel with each careful step. The sensation is more an annoyance than a true discomfort, but it vexes you nonetheless. Each muted throb serves as an unwelcome reminder of your visit from the King, of the peculiar way he’d bedded you last night.

Your face flames as you think of it.

What is he about, your husband? And what of the juvenile, chest-thumping nonsense you’d witnessed yesterday afternoon? The combative way he’d gone up against Lord Jung and the grand show he’d made of coming to you to fête his victory. Boorish, absurd behavior – all of it.

You go about your morning ablutions in silence, unwilling to meet Hyeri’s eyes for even one moment. You are in no mood to withstand her meddling today – well-intentioned or otherwise – and so it is for the best that she helps you wash and dress in relative silence.

If there is something the older woman means to say, she has the good sense to swallow it, murmuring only a quiet warning about the heat as you slip out the chamber door.

And heavens, how you are wholly unprepared for the heat.

It, too, has worsened overnight – the air around you nearly thick enough to drink. You hurry towards the aviary, spurred on by the promise of the shade beneath its trees, but by the time you are finally seated at your desk you are soggy and sticky all over. Slick with sweat between your thighs and beneath your arms and breasts.

Perhaps you should have heeded Hyeri’s warning.

The thought rankles you as you open your book and attempt to pick up your story where you’d left it. You start and stop the same sentence over and over again, the heat so tyrannical that you can barely breathe, much less think. Even the King’s prized birds refuse to fly under such conditions – opting instead to perch on the highest branches, wings lifted to cool themselves with the occasional passing breeze.

The stillness unnerves you; makes your aggravation mount with each unbearable minute that ticks by and before long, you throw your novel down in frustration. This will not do.

Loathe as you are to spend another day confined to the castle’s thick stone walls, there is no avoiding it. You’ll not survive another half hour in this heat, which means you’ll certainly not be able to pass an entire afternoon in it. You huff as you throw your things back into your basket and stalk off towards the aviary’s entrance.

But perhaps you should have been more mindful.

Immersed as you are in this black mood, you don’t notice the brambles growing at the edge of the heavy gate. You brush past them in a hurry, only to be wrenched back by the thorns that take hold of your skirt. You tug at the material with your free hand, successful only at tearing a hole in the fine linen but unsuccessful at pulling yourself free. You drop your basket in the struggle and the contents spill out, an apple rolling to a stop at your feet.

It is then that you do something very unladylike, something that would have earned you an exaggerated gasp from your sister or a sharp rebuke from your mother.

You swear. Loudly.

You summon all of your frustration and scream what is perhaps the most undignified word you know at the very top of your lungs, the vulgarity echoing in the aviary’s eerie quiet. And though it’s done nothing to solve your current predicament, there’s something truly satisfying about speaking the nasty word out loud, about shouting it into existence.

That is, until someone coughs.

“I take it you need some help, Your Grace?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you whirl in the direction of the voice.

Lord Min approaches slowly, eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your sorry state. You’ve no idea where he came from, but at this very moment you’ve never been so horrified and grateful to see him, all at the very same time.

“Yes, I – ” you start and stop, flustered by both your behavior. “ – I’m stuck. The brambles are caught in my skirt and – ”

“Oh yes, I see,” he says, leaning down to examine the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. He tugs at the bottom of your skirt and you wince at the sound of the fabric tearing. “You’ve got yourself quite tangled up here, haven’t you?”

“I believe I have,” you admit with embarrassment. Lord Min gets down on his knees and begins plucking thorns and burs out of the fabric, brow knit with concentration as he attempts to extricate what remains of your fine linen dress.

You clear your throat.

“My Lord, I hope I didn’t – Well, rather, I hope you were not offended by that word you heard me say. It’s not a word that I usually use, not really. Well, not ever. What I mean to say is that I know of coarse language, of course, but I’m certainly not in the habit of using it.”

“What word?” Lord Min interrupts your rambling from his perch at your feet, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Did you say something, Your Grace? I must not have heard it.”

The corners of his mouth curve into a cautious smile, which you return with a timid one of your own. His teasing is welcome. It brings badly-needed levity to your embarrassing situation and lightens the heaviness of this atrocious day.

“What’s this, Min?”

At once, the gesture dies on your lips.

Lord Jung comes into view by way of the same path taken by Lord Min, though his sudden appearance does not bring you the same kind of relief. Quite the opposite, in fact.

The very moment he’s standing before you, critical gaze moving from you to Lord Min and back, you feel absolutely lightheaded with anxiety. You wonder what he must make of the scene he’s stumbled upon: Lord Min on his knees, at your feet, hands fisted in your skirts.

“You Grace.” The lines of Lord Jung’s beautiful face are hard as he acknowledges you, his voice stiff and formal in a way that makes it foreign to your ears. He bows to you much in the same way, body rigid as he performs the required motion.

“My Lord,” you return with similar formality.

“Her Grace is stuck,” Lord Min explains, unaware or perhaps unbothered by the provocative position the two of you have been discovered in. “I’m trying to free her without ripping this linen to shreds. Could use your help, seeing as you’re standing there. Push that branch back for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Oh, but now you feel a migraine coming on. Lord Jung squeezes into the space beside you, leaning over Lord Min to push the brambles back so that the older man may have both hands free to work. At this point, both men are too close, but he is far too close. Heat blazes a path up your neck and into your cheeks.

Inhale, you twit. Exhale.

“Last few, Your Grace,” Lord Min announces, voice muffled by your skirts. “I think the linen will need a bit of mending, but not much more.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Lord Jung’s gaze connects with yours. His dark eyes, normally so warm and expressive, are flat as he regards you. In fact, everything about the handsome guardsman’s countenance is uncharacteristically severe today, from the deep knit of his brows to the way his bow-shaped mouth presses into a firm line. He looks away from you without so much as a smile.

Is he – is he angry with you?

Your mouth nearly falls open at the realization. What right would Lord Jung have to be angry with you? It was he who’d laid the trap with the promise of a perfect afternoon spent riding and he who’d sprung the trap by defending your husband’s dishonesty.

If either one of you had a just claim to animosity, it would most certainly be you.

The awful word you’d uttered at the very start of this ridiculous dilemma springs right to the tip of your tongue. If only you had the courage to spit it at him. Horrid, infuriating man.

“There now,” Lord Min announces. “I think we’ve got it. Hang on to that bramble for a bit longer while Her Grace steps away from the gate.”

You start forward slowly, steps mercifully unencumbered by gnarled plants. Though Lord Min has done his best to salvage the fine linen, your skirt is now covered in a fine dusting of grime, torn in places from your knees to your ankles. Hyeri will have a fit when she sees you, but you couldn’t care less about the state of your ruined dress. The only thing that matters now is quitting this place at once.

“Thank you so much, Lord Min,” you breathe, dropping to your knees to gather your scattered things. The elder guardsman helps you retrieve the wayward charcoals and papers, which you hurriedly stuff back into your basket. “I’ll be off now and won’t take up any more of your afternoon.”

With that, you rush to your feet and turn on your heels to leave. You try not to think about the scene you’re leaving behind – Lord Min puzzled by your sudden exit, Lord Jung affronted by the fact that you’d pointedly ignored him in your thanks.

You make haste with those first few steps towards freedom, only to be pulled back once again. Only this time, not by jagged brambles.

“Your Grace.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand at the sound of the gruff voice behind you. You turn around slowly, acutely aware of both men watching your every move. When Lord Jung steps forward, your eyes fall to the gently worn leather binding in his hands.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You take great care to school your features, though the panic rising inside of you threatens to spill out. Your most private thoughts are inside that book. Fragments of poems and unsent letters and one horribly incriminating sketch of a man who is most certainly not your husband.

“Thank you, My Lord,” you mumble, resisting the urge to run to him and snatch the book right out of his grip. You can feel him watching your every move as you approach to accept it with unsteady hands.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

A storm is coming. You can feel it.

Never mind that the sun is shining – or that the sky outside is a perfect, crystalline blue. The clouds dotted across the horizon hang in the air, unmoving. There is no wind to rustle the leaves in the trees. The calm is ominous. Foreboding.

“... think none of the people in this kingdom have ever seen this kind of display before. I imagine they’ll be quite awed by it. I’ve only ever seen it once myself, in a village far North. A strange lot, those people are. After all these years, they still dabble in the dark arts.”

At the other end of the long dining table before you sits the King. He’s been prattling on like this for the better part of ten minutes now; far too absorbed in his grand talk of the festival to note that his audience of one has yet to engage with a word that’s come out of his mouth.

“It’s strange though, to think of celebrating a Fall Festival in this heat. Though I generally prefer the heat to the cold, these conditions are quite beyond the pale. We’ll have to have just as much water on hand as we do ale.”

You make a sound under your breath that you hope will pass for discourse.

“Of course, there’s still much to be done. But the stewards assure me that everything will be ready in time. And there will be much to celebrate this year as I’m told the crops in all our holdings are faring well. The wheat has – ”

The King’s jabbering comes to an abrupt stop.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he notes, in a sudden fit of awareness. He regards you over the rim of his wine glass, curious. “Is the jajangmyeon not to your liking?”

“It is to my liking,” you insist, pushing the wheat noodles around your bowl in a half-hearted attempt to appease him. “As always. I suppose I’m just not very hungry tonight, is all.”

“I find that surprising,” the King says, as though you’d asked his opinion on the matter. “I understand you were brave enough to venture out into that awful heat this afternoon. I would have thought you’d be famished tonight.”

Every muscle in your body tenses at once.

“Oh?”

“I spoke with Hyeri this afternoon,” the King elaborates, oblivious to his misstep. “She said she’d warned you against leaving the castle under those conditions, but you’d off and done it anyway.” He chuckles under his breath as he recounts the conversation. “I think you surprise her at times with how strong-willed you can be.”

Beneath the table, your hands ball into fists.

The thought of Hyeri disclosing the details of your day to the King, no matter how trivial, incenses you. You imagine them together over tea, sharing a laugh as they trade observations about your shortcomings. Or worse – meeting with one another somber-faced as they commiserate over your inability to produce a child.

That thought is the most insidious. Your nails dig savagely into your palms.

“Do you and Hyeri discuss my comings and goings often, then, Your Grace?”

Your husband shrugs, helping himself to another generous serving of noodles.

“Often enough, I suppose.”

“So am I then to assume that when you ask me about my day, you are merely standing on ceremony? Surely you must be, given that you’ve already had a full report from my handmaid.”

The King sets down his chopsticks to look at you, perplexed by the contentious turn in this conversation. But he’s careful to school his features as he considers what to say next.

“Of course not,” he starts slowly. “I ask after you because I genuinely want to know about your day. It’s a consideration that I would think customary between husbands and wives.”

Is he – is he toying with you?

What on earth would His Grace know about what’s customary between husbands and wives? He is the one who’s made this marriage into a farce with his deceit and adultery. He is the one who’s held you at arm’s length from the very start in order to protect the woman he truly loves. Your husband’s hubris is as astonishing as it is aggravating. Horrid, infuriating man.

“Well I, for one, would genuinely like to know about your day, Your Grace,” you say, unable to keep venom from seeping into your every word. “So tell me then – as is customary between husband and wives – how did you pass the afternoon?”

The color drains from the King’s face.

You should shut your mouth now and say no more, you know it – but by now you are far too consumed with anger to give much thought to the consequences of sharp words. You push the bowl of jajangmyeon away and get to your feet.

“Nothing of interest to share, then?” You raise a brow as you stare down at your husband, unwilling to look away for even one moment. “What a pity. Perhaps tomorrow.”

The King’s eyes narrow but his mouth stays shut. He says nothing in his own defense, says nothing to attempt to placate you.

And he says nothing as you turn your back on him and walk out the door.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The first crack of thunder sounds just as you’re readying for bed. You stand at your window and watch the storm roll in.

Black clouds build off in the distance, discernible only by the occasional flare of lightning. Each bright flash is followed by an earth-shaking rumble that satisfies you somehow, as though you’ve manifested this squall with your thoughts. The violent wind and rain it carries with it a mirror of the tempest inside you.

“Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”

Hyeri’s voice comes from behind, timid and small. She’s been tiptoeing around your chamber all evening, clearly disquieted by the cold reception you’d given her upon your return. The well-bred, well-behaved woman inside you whispers that you should turn to her, do something to reassure her, but you refuse.

Fortified by your anger, you keep your back to Hyeri and go on staring at the storm clouds.

“No,” you say firmly. “You can retire for the night.”

“But I – ” Hyeri starts, stops, and then sighs. “Very well. As you wish, Your Grace.”

And you do wish. You wish for Hyeri to leave you – not just tonight, but every night. And you wish not just for Hyeri to leave you – but all of them. You’ve grown quite tired of humiliating yourself in this kingdom; of placing your trust in people who’ve made you into a fool time and time again.

There is rustling as the older woman hurriedly gathers her things, then a brief pause before she slips out the door. The heavy thud that finally announces her departure brings you some small measure of peace, but it does not last.

Your bath-damp body is warm when you slip beneath the heavy duvet. Too warm. Though the storm raging nearby brings with it the promise of cool rain, it is still too far off to displace the humid air in your chamber. You toss and turn beneath the heavy covers for a while, your thin nightgown soaked through with sweat by the time you finally kick your bedding away.

So you lie there in the dark, close to feverish with heat and unable to settle down. Every time you close your eyes, you’re taunted by images – of Hyeri, of the King, of the child that never comes. What you would give to be able to quiet your mind, to have some respite from the reality of your circumstances.

But there will be no respite, not any time soon. The thunder outside is close enough now to shake the castle’s heavy walls with each new blast that rips through the sky. You feel the tremors right down to your bones, the sensation causing goosebumps to scatter across your skin.

In spite of the heat, you shiver.

There’s a prickling that starts at your scalp and goes right down to your toes. It makes you itch with the desire to drag your nails down your arms and legs. It makes you want to squeeze your thighs together, tight and tighter still until your agitation is gone. Perhaps that is the solution.

You cup your breasts through the damp, thin material of your nightgown. They feel sensitive, tender — and the very moment you brush your fingertips over your nipples they come to life, pebbling against the gauzy fabric.

You close your eyes and try to imagine that your hands are not your own. That the fingers that close around the aching buds, teasing and testing, are not your fingers. That the dormant pleasure the pressure rouses inside you has instead been roused by someone else.

In your mind, the hand that steals between your thighs is not your own. It’s larger than yours, the fingers longer and rougher than yours. You imagine that hand parting your legs, coarse fingertips slippery against the wetness gathered at your entrance. And you imagine it caressing you there, expertly stroking the spot that makes the air leave your lungs.

What would it be like to be touched like this? To have a lover’s lips at your neck and his hand between your thighs? To have the weight of him pressing down on you, the scent of him enveloping you – to feel his warm breath fan over your skin?

These thoughts only serve to make the ache between your legs more pronounced. But the more you attend to it, the sharper it becomes. Pleasure blooms with each inexpert pass of your fingers over that place, but in its wake your desperation grows, too.

You whine under your breath as you touch yourself harder, faster – a heaviness building at your core that makes you feel full, overripe. There is relief on the other side of whatever this is, and you know it.

But can you reach it?

Your imaginary lover would know how to help you reach it. He would take you in his arms and in his mouth and leave no inch of your body untouched. He would fuse himself to you, skin-to-skin, and show you how to beckon your pleasure at will, help you realize its full potential.

In your mind’s eye you can see him – legs and arms strong and lean, golden skin illuminated by firelight. The mouth he sets to your aching nipples would be soft, lips pretty and bow-shaped. And his hair would be dark and his eyes would be a rich chocolate and his face would be –

A clap of thunder explodes in the sky.

Your eyes fly open – unseeing – as you gasp from the shock of it. It leaves you trembling, body slick with sweat and limbs tingling from the sudden fear. You lie there in the dark, panting as you wait for your heart to stop racing.

And just like that, the pleasure you’ve been chasing is gone. Quick as a rabbit.

Outside your window the heavens weep, the rain beating against the ground like a hail of arrows.

The dry earth enjoying a relief that always seems to elude you.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“Magnificent, Your Grace.”

Hyeri passes a hand over the embellishments in your bodice, chest puffed with pride as she examines the dressmaker’s handiwork. Though her brown eyes have long gone dull and gray with age, they shine as she steps back to take you in from head to toe. “Just magnificent.”

It is magnificent – far and away the finest garment you have ever worn.

Rich, plum-colored velvet embellished with gilt thread, the plunging neckline and bliaut sleeves lined with pressed bezants. You hardly recognize the woman looking back at you in the mirror, the one with her hair swept off her neck in an intricate braided bun, eyes darkened with kohl, ears and neck adorned with sparkling gold. Whoever that woman is, she is far bolder and far more sophisticated than you.

“There’s nothing like his work,” Hyeri muses, running a thumb over pattern pressed into the hem of one sleeve. “Frail as he is, it takes him ages to complete a dress. But he’s worth it. Worth the wait and worth every single won.”

You study the intertwining gold patterns stitched into the bustline. No doubt the King has paid dearly for this dress and all its fine accoutrements. The thought of your husband spending an obscene amount of money on it nearly puts a smile on your face.

“You look remarkable in this dress,” Hyeri remarks quietly, wrinkled mouth lifting at the corners with a cautious smile. “Well, of course, you look remarkable everyday, but especially tonight.”

Her expression is bittersweet as she reaches for you, gently tucking a strand of hair that’s fallen loose of your braid behind your ear. This newfound emotional distance has been hard on her, you know. It’s been hard on you, too. And though holding her at arm’s length has proven difficult at times, it feels somehow vital to your self-preservation.

“Don’t forget your shawl,” Hyeri says softly. “It’s gotten quite cold out there.”

It certainly has. The storm that ripped through the kingdom just days ago took the insufferable heat with it, leaving behind a pure, crystalline cold. The night sky is clear enough to see for miles.

So you accept the shawl from Hyeri with a quiet thanks, avoiding her eyes as you slip out the chamber door.

By the time you make your way to the great hall, the revelry is already well underway. You can hear it pulsing through the slats of the heavy wooden doors, the music and commotion contained within powerful enough to stir the ground beneath your feet. The footmen posted at either side of the entrance bow deeply as you approach, then move to pull the doors open.

You raise a hand to still them, wanting a moment to steel yourself before entering the fray.

“I’m not – If you’ll just give me – ”

One of the guards steps forward to speak when your words falter.

“No need to explain, Your Grace,” he says earnestly. “Just let us know when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” You take as deep a breath as your elaborate gown will allow. “Truly.”

You already know what awaits on the other side of those doors. Artificial smiles that hide whispers about your empty womb, honeyed and hollow words of praise from your exasperating husband. Pity too, perhaps, from those connected enough to be privy to the true state of your marriage.

But you’ll bear it. You must. Because it’s what’s expected of you and because your political survival in this kingdom depends on it.

“Well then,” you say, smoothing down your velvet skirt with trembling hands. "I believe I've had time to collect myself."

The very same footman that had spoken to you just moments earlier gives you a sympathetic smile as he places one hand on the door’s ornate wrought iron handle. He pauses to look at you before signaling to the other footman, one brow raised as if to say are you sure?

You swallow thickly and nod your affirmation.

Slowly, the heavy doors are pulled open, creaking as they part. You step forward to enter, feeling a rush of cool air at your heels. The brief hush that falls over the great hall makes your heartbeat quicken.

But then the King stands.

He rises to his feet and bows to you, and every person inside the great hall follows suit. You return his bow and then straighten, holding your head up high as you set off to fulfill your duty.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King makes no mention of the tense meal you’d shared just a few nights prior. Not that you’d expected him to. If anything, your husband’s predilection for avoidance has been one of his most consistent traits. And if he’s harbored any ill feelings about the curt words you’d spoken that night, surely they’ve been washed away in a torrent of ale.

He’s already a bit drunk when you take your seat beside him – pleasantly so, if his ruddy cheeks and leisurely smile are any indication. His dark eyes are glassy as they sweep over your form, taking in the grandeur of your dress. But they linger at your bust for just a heartbeat too long and it takes all the self-control you can muster to not kick him beneath the table.

“You look fetching in that dress,” the King notes, reaching for his tankard. “The color suits you.”

“Oh? Then you’ll be pleased to know I’ve dozens more just like it on the way.”

You startle a laugh from the King just as he’s taken a drink and he splutters on it, coughing until tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “Very good of you to warn me before the bill comes due,” he wheezes.

“But of course, Your Grace.” You infuse your words with cloying, contrived sweetness, putting a hand over your heart for emphasis. “It is the very least I could do.”

The King chuckles as you turn to look out over the room.

The tables below the raised platform on which you both dine are teeming with people, their long wooden benches bowing beneath the substantial weight. They are littered with food and drink, tankards and platters and goblets scattered for as far as the eye can see.

You sip your wine and watch partygoers reach over one another for noodles and steal dumplings from their neighbors’ plates.

It takes a minute for you to spot Boram. She and Lord Min are tucked into a corner, cozy and close. Your dear friend is the very picture of contentment; resplendent in a royal blue gown, glowing in the torchlight when her husband presses a kiss to her temple. Your heart aches as you watch them. What you would give to have what they have – to know the fulfillment they’ve found in one another.

In fact, the Mins make for such a compelling tableau that you nearly overlook the one behind it. Lord Jung is dressed in an arresting black and gold tunic, dark hair styled away from his face and a tankard of ale in his hand. And he is not alone.

Seated close to him – so very close – is a woman. A beautiful woman, as best you can tell from a distance. Her dark red dress in perfect contrast to her shiny fall of dark hair, the garment cut to accentuate what can only be described as a generous bust. She leans in to Lord Jung as she says something, décolletage on full display when she throws her head back to laugh.

Your grip on the wine goblet in your hand tightens.

The woman is brazen, that much you can tell. Her proximity to the Guardsman is far too close to be proper, her scandalous – if stunning – manner of dress far too self-indulgent to be benign. And though you cannot make out clearly how she’s been received by Lord Jung, the very fact that he has not sent her away is telling. Is this the woman he intends to marry, then? Or just a diversion for the night?

You drain the wine that remains in your goblet and signal for the serving girl to bring you more.

Moments later Lord Jung, too, flags down a passing servant to fill his tankard. For a man who once took great pride in extolling his discipline with spirits, he seems to be exercising very little of it tonight. In fact, he looks to be indulging as much or perhaps even more than his fellow Guardsmen. Perhaps that is why he does not he does not move to distance himself when the alluring woman at his side places a hand on his arm.

You swallow another large sip of wine.

“It’s nearly time for the evening’s entertainment,” the King says. “I think you’ll be impressed by what’s in store.”

You cannot tear your gaze from the scene before you. You cannot stop staring at the comely woman at Lord Jung’s side – stiffening in your seat when she leans over to whisper in his ear.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say absentmindedly, lifting your wine glass to your lips once again.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

When you were a girl, barely ten years old, your father had come home from a long journey with a fantastic tale.

He’d spoken of fire – in shades of red and green and gold – launched into the sky, embers raining down on the earth in a magnificent display. You’d been spellbound by the picture he’d painted for you, wishing desperately to see this phenomenon for yourself.

And now you have.

The King’s promise of a surprise well exceeds your expectations. Each new flare sent up over the open field is met with a hush from the crowd, followed by loud cheers and applause as it explodes into color.

“I brought them back from a village up North,” the King explains, preening at the crowd’s reception. “And though I wanted to show them right away, I made myself wait until the most advantageous time. What do you make of them?”

“They’re splendid,” you answer earnestly. “I’ve never seen anything so grand.”

The King hides a satisfied smile behind the rim of his tankard. By this point in the evening, he’s crossed the line from agreeably drunk to good and well soused – as have many of the others in attendance. You, too, are feeling the effects of your wine, experiencing that strange weightlessness that can only be brought on by drink.

And you are glad for the distraction of the fire display.

It’s helped pull your focus away from Lord Jung and that woman. Though each time there is a brief break in the presentation, you cannot help but search the throng for any sign of them. You wonder where they are right now. What they might be doing. But then you drown the bitter thoughts with the wine in your goblet.

The night wears on and the crowd around you becomes rowdier, louder – the ale barrels slowly disappearing one by one. Even the King is looking a bit worse for the wear. He’s sagged into the chair beside you, heavy-lidded as he watches the bright detonations that light up the sky.

You are not faring much better. A dull throb taps at your temples, no doubt the consequence of drinking too much wine, and you suspect that it will be far more pronounced come morning. You ought to retire for the evening now, while you still have some of your wits about you.

You open your mouth to say as much to the King at the very same time you catch sight of a slim man ambling away from the crowd. Though he’s hundreds of yards away and though there’s little light beyond the torches and the occasional embers in the sky, you recognize him right away.

You would recognize him anywhere.

Impulsively, you get to your feet and utter a rushed goodbye to the King. He bids you farewell with a sluggish smile and not a moment later he’s gone back to gazing skyward, mesmerized by the lights. Just ahead, Lord Jung slinks off into the shadows, moving with an unsteady gait.

And you follow him. To what end you cannot be sure.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Clearly, you’d given no real thought to this course of action.

If you had, you’d not be scurrying across damp grass right now, struggling to keep your balance in your beautiful velvet dress. The heavy fabric weighs you down with each step, making each footfall precarious. In fact, if you’d stopped for even a moment to consider the implications of stealing away to pursue a man who is not your husband, you’d have ended this lunacy long before it even began.

But here you are in the dark, chasing after Lord Jung. With only the moon to light your way.

The slender man moves quickly, unburdened by the trappings of women’s formalwear and assisted by his long legs. You lift the hem of your dress off the ground and do your best to keep up on the shadowy path. Just a short distance ahead you can make out the lines of a thatched roof and wooden fence.

It’s the stables, you realize, and the pieces start to fall into place.

He’s come here to meet that woman. The two of them must have agreed to leave the festival and come here for a secret tryst. Were you a woman in your right mind, that realization would stop you cold and send you running straight back to the castle. But you are absolutely not in your right mind. You are dangerous tonight; fearless from the wine flowing freely in your veins.

As such, the very thought of Lord Jung arranging for a passionate liaison with this woman has the opposite effect. It infuriates you. And you’ll not be satisfied until you can see the proof for yourself and then end this fixation once and for all.

Overhead, a flare of light illuminates the darkness just as you’re nearing the horse stalls. It’s followed by the sound of sizzling gunpowder, and it draws your attention skyward. You look up just in time to see wisps of fire tumble back to the earth. But when you fix your gaze forward again, Lord Jung is gone.

What on earth?

You’ve barely begun to consider your next move before your body is moving of its own volition, jerked right off the walking path by a hand that wraps around your arm like a band of steel. Lord Jung drags you behind the horse stall with one hand and claps the other over your mouth to smother the sound of hysteria that threatens to escape.

“What. Are. You. Doing?”

He hisses the words, one by one, his low vibrato thrumming with barely-contained anger. You’ve yet to recover from the shock of being accosted in the dark and so you stare at him, bewildered and mute.

He releases you, dropping the hand covering your mouth to walk to the edge of the stables. You watch as he ducks his head around the corner to check the walking path. Once he’s satisfied you’ve not been followed, he rounds on you.

“Anyone could have seen you.”

“No one saw me,” you scowl, finding your voice. You rub your forearm where his fingers dug painfully into your flesh. “They’re all far too drunk to see anything, I assure you.”

The Guardsman shoves a hand through his dark hair and exhales deeply.

“What are you about tonight, Your Grace?”

A fair question, and one you ought to have considered before dashing off into the night. But you’d been so hellbent on hunting the man down that you’d given no real thought to what you’d do if you actually caught him. You hesitate for so long that he grows impatient, closing in on you.

“What,” he repeats slowly, “Are you about?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“Well, you ought to know,” he growls. “You ought to know damned well exactly what you’re about before you go off following men into the dark.”

But it’s not as though you’ve followed just any man into the dark, is it? You’d followed him. The admonishment riles you, bringing your temper back to a full boil. You straighten your spine and sear him with a withering look.

“That woman tonight. At the feast. She wants you to bed her.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes go wide just before they narrow. He stalks towards you slowly, forcing you to retreat until your back is flush to the stable’s rough wooden slats. Slivers of moonlight play off his angular face, making the shadows in the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced.

He’s beautiful – even like this – even when he’s so irate that he can barely stand still.

“I know what she wants,” he murmurs, voice sinking to an octave that raises goosebumps on your arms. “What I do not know is what you want. What I do not know is why you are here.”

“So you intend to bed her,” you challenge.

Something dangerous flickers in the man's expression as he regards you, gaze potent enough to almost make you regret your sudden bout of daring. Almost.

“No.”

And so there is no tryst. No agreement between secret lovers. Adrenaline floods your veins, bringing with it a clarity that you’ve not had since you began drinking tonight. You’ve been reckless – so, so reckless – and now there is no undoing what you’ve done.

“I’ve answered your question and now you will answer mine,” Lord Jung warns, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “What. Do. You. Want?”

All the fire has left you now. Whatever force possessed you to confront this man in this way has disappeared, leaving behind only a sickly taste in your mouth. You’ll feel more than just the wine in the morning, you know it.

“Brave enough to follow me into the dark, brave enough to demand I explain my plans for bedsport,” he continues, brows knit as he stares you down. “But somehow, not brave enough to tell me what you’re doing here in the first place.”

“I – ”

“Tell me then,” he goads, growing more agitated by the minute. “Open your mouth and speak. Tell me why you’re here. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

You ought to have slapped him across the face. At the very least, you would have earned the look he’s giving you right now – this frozen mask of incredulity that’s come over him. He backs away from you slowly, as though poised to run. But he doesn’t.

“You’re mad.”

“I am not mad,” you say evenly, with a poise you’d not thought yourself capable of. “You asked me what I want and I’ve told you. I want you to kiss me.”

Another burst of color explodes in the sky. A loud cheer goes up over the field nearby, a disquieting reminder of the hundreds of people milling about just a short walk away. The commotion seems to sober him.

“Go home, Your Grace.” His words are strangled, forced. “You are playing with fire. You have no idea what you’re doing here.”

You stiffen, lifting your nose in the air.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you lie.

Your insistence only serves to make him even more agitated. He begins to pace back and forth, glowering at you as he moves.

“Go back to your castle, Your Grace. Go back to your fine life and your fine things and no one will ever be the wiser.”

“I will not,” you refuse, petulant.

Lord Jung delivers his last blow, the fatal one, in a voice so graveled it sounds as though the words are spoken by a stranger. And perhaps he is a stranger, this man you’ve been so infatuated with. Perhaps he’s nothing like what you’ve made him in your own mind.

“Go back to your husband,” he growls. “Your King.”

Your humiliation is instant and acute. You burn with it, the embarrassment so all-consuming that it nearly makes you see stars. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears, feel your heart pounding in your throat when you finally manage to speak.

“The King doesn’t want me,” you say stiffly. “Though I am certain you already know that.”

“The King is a fool!” he explodes, surging forward and slamming his hands down on either side of you. The outburst is violent enough to shake the horse stall and the venom in his countenance nearly makes you come out of your skin. His mouth hovers terrifyingly close to yours, so close that you can nearly taste the ale on his breath. You stop breathing altogether.

Then he wrenches himself away from you, staggering backwards as though he’s been burned.

“And so am I.”

i’d love to hear from you about this chapter! you can talk to me here. otherwise, i hope you enjoyed it and only the final chapter is left 💕

#hoseok smut #j-hope smut #bts smut #hoseok x reader #j-hope x reader #bts x reader #hoseok #bts hoseok #bts x you #hoseok x you #bts scenarios #bts au #hoseok imagine #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #bangtan

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maple-the-awesome · 4 months

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He's Becomes a Dad || Part 2/2

Part 1

Pairing: Twilight, Warrior, Sky, Wild x Reader

Overview: Congratulations, you're new parents 🎉 Some of the Links are prepared. Others...might need a moment to gather themselves. But rest assured! At the end of the day, they're all going to get a handle on this whole dad thing. Warning: Mentions of miscarriages for Sky's section. Nothing to detailed, but it's there so beware 🙅‍♀️

Zelda Masterlist 🤎Fandom Masterlist

It's never been a surprise to you that Twilight would want kids of his own. He never even had to say it aloud, you could just read that look in his eyes whenever playing with the village children. It was a wordless yet ever so contagious request: I want this. And how were you to deny him? Just look at him!

Simply put, children were a top priority of yours almost as soon as you married. It didn't take long for you to become pregnant either (not with Twilight's fierce passion and your shared disinterest towards 'waiting'). Regardless, there were still many tears shed when you found out - all happy, of course, as your husband spun you around in his arms while you both laughed giddily in between quick kisses.

Let's get this straight: Twilight is prepared-prepared. Ordon is that type of close-knit community where everyone helps raise each other's kids, so despite this being his first rodeo as a new dad himself, he has plenty of experience taking care of youngsters. As a ranch-hand, he's also perfectly accustomed to the whole birthing process, having hand-delivered more baby goats than he can count, so don’t worry, nothing about the ‘less glamorous’ sides of pregnancy scare him.��

With that being said, Twilight doesn't stress too much aside from the normal concerns about your health, after all he recognizes that not every pregnancy is the same for every woman, but that's exactly why he makes it his personal mission to ensure your comfort.

Feeling particularly ill? He'll make you all the tasty pumpkin soup you could ask for which, believe it or not, works wonders for an upset stomach. Just having a bad day? He'll happily let you cuddle with Wolfie to help you relax. Restless? He'll take you on a horse ride no matter the hour and if you're too far along in your pregnancy to climb onto Epona, a simple walk to Ordon's spring will do since that's the perfect spot to soak your sore body. Twilight is no above carrying you there himself if you ask.

Trust that your every worry is always smoothed; Twilight is there to reassure you no matter how 'little' the problem. Have concerns he can't speak on as a man? He'll happily go ask one of the other village women for you if you're too embarrassed to do so yourself, in fact this guy's already been talking Rusl and Uli's ears off for advice since day one. He doesn't want to leave a single thing to chance regardless of how confident he already feels which is probably why there's a stack of parenting books on his nightstand. Did he clear the shelves in Castle Town? Probably.

You're pretty sure that Twilight already had a 'go-bag' put together before the end of your first trimester, although he’d add to it like a paranoid squirrel up until your due-date. Curious, you had gone through it one day just to get a hint of how overboard he might've gone. Diapers, snacks, blankets, comfortable clothes for you, more parenting books...He does realize you're doing a home birth, right? Most of this stuff he could just grab from the cabinet if needed, but it's sweet that he's trying to be organized.

It isn’t really news to anyone that Hyrule’s heroes tend to land on the quieter side and usually Twilight isn’t much different…There’s a key word in there because you’re quite certain he hasn’t actually shut up since the second you told him you’re pregnant. He can hardly keep his excitement to himself! Oh, but it’s adorable, especially on those nights when he’ll fall asleep mumbling about his joy all while using your swollen stomach as a pillow. It makes your heart swell every time.

When you eventually go into labor, Twilight doesn’t show much outward panic if he has any at all, however he does feel incredibly terrible to watch you go through it without any relief. He feels absolutely useless while unable to take away your suffering the way a good husband should, so to make up for it, he does his utmost best to be your rock during those long hours, talking you through each painful contraction and doing everything in his power to distract you. Back rubs, walks around the house, whispers of sweet nothings…He’s by your side well into the night, keeping it up until it finally comes time to start pushing.

He definitely was not going to say it while you were going through the motions because he’d like to keep his head, but human and goat births are pretty much the same thing minus the actual cursing. He’s in his element then, knowing exactly what to do to ensure a safe delivery for mama and baby. His movements are almost automatic, trained by years of practice as he cleans the little one off before taking the time to admire them fully.

Are you shocked that Twilight is teary eyed? Not at all. Are you upset that he almost forgets about you entirely for a second because he’s so entranced by the baby? Also no, since you need a moment to catch your breath anyway. Don’t worry, though, he does eventually pass you your son reluctantly before hovering at your side with possibly the widest grin you’ve ever seen on the man since your wedding day.

The rest of the night is calm from there on, filled with quiet whispers and cooing as you both take turns partaking in skin-to-skin contact with your baby. Will you be doing this again soon? You’re probably going to need a decent break to recover, but just know that your husband is absolutely ready whenever you are. In the meantime, expect to be showered in endless love and affection because you deserve it for the priceless gift you’ve given him.

Your relationship with Warrior has always been ‘slow moving’ if compared to most other couples’. For starters, while he may have a formidable reputation for being a supposed lady's man, all that 'skill' of his would go flying out the window whenever faced with your presence, so it took some time (and maybe a near-death experience) for any confessions to be made. In his defense, you're a very beautiful and strong woman who happened to be one of his superiors during most of the war, so please excuse him for usually being awed into silence whenever you showed even an ounce of interest in ‘lil ol’ him. His brain would literally become a windows error.

Even after Warrior did finally find the courage to ask you out, your respected jobs and heavy workloads have often forced your relationship to be put on the back-burner. Marry you? Hylia knows he’s been DYING to! You’re already wearing the ring and everything, but it's not like you're going anywhere anytime soon and he'd rather wait a few extra years to enjoy the perfect moment rather than rush the whole ‘happiest-day-of-our-lives’ thing during a bad time.

Luckily for him, you've never needed a formal certificate to know you own his heart. He proves it to you in other ways every day from cheesy love letters to overly romantic dates during your rare off time, and while you normally adore being the sole subject of his affection, that's exactly how you ended up in this very situation.

You're both adults and as such you won't pretend to be innocent: This wasn't planned in the slightest. Your jobs can be quite chaotic, as previously addressed, so you just wanted to help your husband-to-be relax and destress a bit - nothing new for either of you in itself, although that particular evening would end up weighing heavily on your mind a few weeks later.

To be honest, when you first entered Warrior's office and instructed him to sit down with a stern voice that could rival Commander Impa's, he thought you must've finally grown tired of being engaged for several years, having come to him then to demand that he marry you sooner. Agreement was right on the tip of his tongue when you delivered the bombshell that you were pregnant instead.

Your tone was serious and expression calm, but Warrior knows you well enough to spot the hidden worry in your eyes. It’s justified, of course. Had either of you even discussed having kids before? He doesn’t think so. It’s not like having a baby is a bad thing, though. The idea of creating a small family with you is a pleasant one, it’s just…happening a lot sooner than preferred. You both would’ve liked more time to plan and prepare…but oh well. What’s done is done.

The real concern is will your jobs allow you both time off to take care of a baby? It's not like a war is currently going on, so Hyrule won't suffer too much from having two of its best captains sidelined, however what happens if that doesn't remain the case? What if war breaks out tomorrow or the day after? Warrior can’t let his pregnant fiancée fight in battles! What kind of husband and father would that make him?! But at the same time, is he just supposed to ask that you sacrifice your career in order to spare his? THAT’S NO BETTER!

...All things considered, you'd say Warrior handles the news far better than some might've. Yes, he begins to ‘slightly’ overthink things, although that's exactly why you had him sit down first. Calmly, you take his hand and tell him how things will be (your own way of offering comfort not only to him, but yourself as well). The bottom line is that if you could successfully fight Ganondorf’s army together, you can raise a child together, too. Really, how much harder can it be? You already have some minor experience being unofficial parents to little Time and Wind during the war. Just don't give your own children any magic masks or wind controlling devices and you should be golden.

Thankfully, many of Warrior’s initial fears are proven to be irrational during the earliest stages of your pregnancy. Everyone else was positively thrilled to hear the news and even Impa gave her congratulations, explaining to your fiancé’s relief that she’ll simply assign you more deskwork until it’s fit for you to return back to your normal duties. All he has to worry about in the meantime is making sure you actually take it easy; only a slightly difficult task considering your headstrong nature and insistence on not being ‘coddled’, but hey, if anyone can handle it, it’s the guy who’s hellbent on marrying your stubborn butt one day.

Warrior will admit that there were still some nights when he would nearly pull his hair out while doubting if he’s actually ready to be a dad, however the moment you officially being showing is the same moment he forgets all about any possible regrets and replaces them entirely with daydreams filled with not only his lovely wife, but also a little one who will hopefully think the absolute world of him. He already knows he’ll think of it of them.

Although you may feel a bit nervous towards the prospect of suddenly being parents, that doesn’t change the fact that you wouldn’t choose anyone else to go through this journey with. One look to your side and you’re certain of it. The way Warrior holds his son for the first time, newborn wrapped comfortably in his scarf and dad, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion after hours of labor yet the proud smile evident on his face nevertheless…You were right before: so long as you do it together, you’ll excel in this whole ‘parenting-thing’.

You had married young - almost as soon as you were able after graduating from the Knight Academy. To everyone else on Skyloft, you have always been the picture image of an ideal couple; the hero and his beloved princess who somehow manage to be completely and utterly smitten with each other even years later. To call Sky your husband is a blessing in itself and you consider yourself lucky every single day. There’s only ever been one problem with your relationship - one single complaint you can think of where neither of you are truly responsible: your lack of children.

When you first married, there was lots of talk, after all everyone was simply dying to know when the first generation on the Surface would be born. Your parents were eager for grandchildren and Zelda, your best friend, had way too much fun teasing you over the matter by expressing her 'surprise' that Sky had yet to give you a baby despite how 'passionate' he’s always been towards you (she would make sure to use those exact words, too).

Initially, you never minded anyone’s curiosity. It’s only natural to expect children from a newly wed couple. It's when that same couple reaches their third then sixth year of marriage without any trace of tiny feet or squealing laughter that those curious and well-meant questions grow quiet with unbearable pity, your shared excitement becoming shuttered sorrow.

At the start there was nothing to worry about. You were both young and not putting that much effort into it, so certain it wouldn't take long for your family to grow. Then the years began to pass and you would try everything the doctor recommended, but every test would still leave you as disappointed as the last. The absolutely worst form of despair came those few times you'd actually get your hopes up only to have them cruelly dashed a few months in.

What were you doing wrong? Sky would always hush your anxieties and do his utmost best to reassure you, however you knew by his own tears that your infertility hurt him just as much, especially when on those quieter nights, you'd suggest that perhaps you simply weren't meant to be parents - that the gods were just trying to tell you both something you were too stubborn to accept.

It's for that reason that you had such mixed emotions once finally able to fall pregnant again. You were optimistic deep down, however after six years of attempts and losses, you were wary to embrace too much joy right away which was shown in the way Sky held onto you for what felt like hours after you told him or how he slept each night with a hand on your stomach even in those early days, internally praying to the goddesses this would be the one.

A month passed...Then two...And three, and four…For once, you didn't feel sick aside from what was considered normal. Maybe a bit of high blood pressure the doctor kept a close eye on, but other than that he’d always tell Sky and you the same thing: they're healthy.

Even then, you’d say you remained extra cautious, not daring to eat nor do anything the doctor so much as hesitated against, however Sky was by far the worst when it came to worrying. As your husband, he considers your physical and mental well-being his personal responsibility, but as the father of your child? His work has doubled!

All chores were to be his alone so that you could rest. Any bout of sickness was closely monitored and tended to. His hand would remain on your stomach from beginning to end, although overtime it would be done less out of fear and more for the sake of bounding, often accompanied by his voice or the melody of his harp which he would happily play for you both whenever you were having a particularly difficult time falling asleep at night.

Now, you didn't dare tell anyone about your pregnancy during the first half, not wanting to deliver anymore bad news should it come, however once the remilit was out of the bag, you became the center of attention much to Sky's conflicted feelings. On one hand, you deserved it for all of your hard work growing a baby, but on the other, that overprotective dad-side of him couldn't help fretting over the vast number of harmful germs your guests could possibly be passing onto you and your unborn child. Did he make everyone wash their hands for ten minutes before visiting? Yes, yes he did.

Beyond being protective, Sky was also very emotional throughout the entire pregnancy maybe even more than you sometimes. He got teary-eyed after every doctor's appointment that confirmed the baby's development, while picking out names together, and even when you were yelling at him for something stupid because as far as he was concerned, you still looked so beautiful standing there with crossed arms and a round belly carrying his child. Oh, but none of that compared in the slightest to the tears that were shed when he actually held his daughter for the first time; that amount of waterworks could put the flood of Faron to shame!

Six years of waiting made you both lose hope. You assumed you’d never be able to have children of your own and even began to look towards other options such as adoption or simply living your lives childless forever…but the day your daughter was born was the day all your anxieties and doubts were finally put to rest. Now, as you cry happily with your husband, you can’t think of a single complaint towards your relationship; it’s officially as perfect as the precious little bundle in your arms.

Wild and you were still practically newlyweds when you gave him the 'thrilling' news. You were so happy to do so, too, barely able to bite back your excitement while watching your husband lift a small pair of baby pajamas out of a gift box. You were absolutely glowing as you eagerly awaited his reaction and all he could do was simply stare into space as his whole world came crashing down on top of him. Did he look horrified on the outside? He must've, because he swears he could’ve pinpointed the exact moment that shine in your eyes died, a frown etching its way onto your lips. What else was he supposed to do aside from fake a smile and embrace you, keeping you close to his chest so that your delight wouldn't be spoiled by his internal nervous breakdown?

Wild has zero right to be shocked. You had both been intimate (as tends to happen when you're married) not to mention you had made it perfectly clear from the start of your relationship that you would want a family one day. Judging on your eagerness towards the topic, it was never up for debate either; no kids would be a dealbreaker for you, so Wild had no choice but to quietly agree, too afraid to dare utter the truth or voice any hesitation because Hylia forbid you get the wrong idea and leave him.

He thought it would be harmless. Some couples remain married for years before any children follow and you weren't in any big hurry, so he figured he'd have plenty of time to get his act together until the day of your dreams arrived; he didn't think it would happen during your first year of marriage! ...Now he's really dug himself into a hole it's too late to try escaping from…

He’s almost said something - a few times actually. He knows it’s only fair and that as your husband, he owes you proper communication, but each time he opens his mouth, his mind curses him with the image of your sadness. What if you think he doesn’t want this at all? What if you think he hates the baby and hates you for being pregnant? What if you concluded he must want to leave you so you decide to beat him to the punch?!

…Okay, so Wild knows you aren’t going to just walk away. You’ve always been good at listening to his inner demons and acting as his strongest pillar of support, but that doesn’t change his fear that you might be hurt by whatever he has to say and he will not allow himself to ruin your own excitement.

In the years that he’s known you, he can’t say he’s ever seen you quite as happy as when you found out about your baby. He knows he should match that joy, too. Most men do. Hell, Twilight practically sent a five-page essay bragging about his wife's first pregnancy. Truth be told, Wild actually does feel happy. On his better days, he feels that flicker of pride and a hint of eagerness because a family with you honestly sounds wonderful. The problem is, in his mind, it isn't a question as to what he wants, but rather what he deserves.

So much has gone wrong in his past. It doesn’t matter how much you or anyone else assures him otherwise, it’s hard to shake the feeling that he failed Hyrule. He still suffers from so many nightmares and waves of guilt that he can’t properly put into words. You’re still having to shake him out of dazes and smooth his following sobs…How is he going to be a good dad and be there for his child when he can barely stand upon his own two feet like this?

Initially, Wild thought these feelings would go away; that’s why he never spoke them to you. He wanted so desperately to believe they wouldn’t linger, especially after you both got married. He lives in a peaceful world, has a nice home in a quiet village, a beautiful wife who adores him…He should’ve been able to move on from the Calamity already, so why hasn’t he? On his worst nights, it makes him wonder if he’ll ever be okay or if he’s just screwed you and the baby over by tying you both down to him.

These two sides of him - the hopeful and the pitiful - continue to battle for dominance inside Wild’s head throughout each step. Sometimes he’s genuinely smiling with you as you pick out baby names. Other times he’s sitting outside alone trying his damn hardest to remember any piece of his past that might make him feel at least a little better about his luck towards being a dad, preferably a time when he was actually good with kids or even had a family before.

Wild’s internal dilemma comes to a head one fateful night when he’s awoken to the baby’s distressing cries. He had honestly already been awake after a mild case of anxiety, but you on the other hand are tired, worn from nine long months of pregnancy and the early days of active motherhood. The last thing he wants is for you to lose out on precious rest (a rare gift these days), so leaping out of bed, he’s quick to reach the baby’s crib.

Unfortunately, Wild’s natural instincts seem to basically stop right there at the crib’s side. Hands hovering above, he tries his best to calm his daughter through whispered assurances and attempts at cooing the same way he’s seen you do. When that doesn’t work, he awkwardly picks her up, cuddling her close to his chest while quietly pleading at this point. Is she hungry? Does she need a diaper change? Did she have a nightmare? Whatever it is, if you wake up, you’ll take over and he’ll be left to stand aside feeling like he can’t even do the basic task of comforting his own child and -

- To his astonishment, his efforts actually work. It really must’ve been as simple as a nightmare because slowly, the baby falls silent, seemingly forgetting all about her troubles as she finds solace gazing up at her daddy with the widest blue eyes and a stuck-out tongue that can’t seem to keep itself in her mouth. It looks rather goofy, so Wild can’t help but chuckle, although the sound is soft as his heart melts under the attention she holds towards him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it’s almost like she’s looking at her entire world…

Maybe some would say this moment isn’t necessarily anything special, but for Wild, it’s everything. As if suddenly a pro, he’s able to rock the little beauty gently back to sleep, his pleas turning into words of admiration as he tucks her into bed. There, he continues to keep watch over her until he feels tired himself, all the while thinking: he might be broken from years of trauma, and he might not be the best husband or parent out there because of it, but that's not going to stop him from doing everything in power to be there for his princesses.

#linked universe x reader #linked universe #link x reader #legend of zelda #lu wild x reader #lu twilight x reader #lu warrior x reader #lu sky x reader #reader insert

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flower-cage · 1 year

Text

Scratch That

by @flower-cage

Ao3 | Masterlist | NEW! Part 2: Denial

Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary: His sweet little sister has an itch only he can scratch.

Words: 4,246

Warnings: 18+ only; Targcest/incest, Perv!Aemond, Manipulative!Aemond, smut, fluff, purity culture, Aemond likes that she is naive and takes advantage of it.

A/N: lol remember when I said I didn’t want to write incest. Instead of writing TWATD, I’ve been working on this. It is unbeta’d and it is cursed and I will write more parts to it probably.

Minors do not interact.

You had always been a crier, his sweet little sister. As a babe, you drove your mother and her handmaidens to tears themselves with your wailing. As a child, just about anything set off your sorrow: a scrape of your knee, Aegon’s pinchings and teasings, thunderstorms... And as you grew to become a young, fair maiden, this childish trait persisted.

It had never bothered him, your crying, though it did others, and for that reason, it was he that you sought after for comfort. And he would always receive you with open arms, for no one had cried hardest the night his eye was taken from him.

You had walked in as your mother and older sister disputed in the large hall, having had your rest interrupted, so clearly fatigued and holding on to your favorite plush doll. He knew it was coming before it happened. You always looked for him first in a crowded room, eyes scanning right past your family as they altercated. When your eyes found him, he saw it coming in the bulging of them and in the trembling of your bottom lip. You had run to him fast, your small frame undetected as it moved through the crowd in desperation.

None took note of the youngest Targaryen as you clung to him and descended into dejection, with your nose tucked to his neck and his arm wound tightly around you. None but for him, for nobody loved you as he did, and no one would ever deserve you as he did.

As children you had been close, seeking each other’s company to chase one another around the gardens in the Red Keep, play fighting and picking flowers alike. But after the night he claimed Vhagar, you became positively inseparable - be it because you sought to comfort him for his mutilation, be it because you were the only company he wished to have. Your child’s play became bound to the walls of your private chambers more often, away from the pitying and terrified stares of both the nobility and the commoners who lived and worked at the castle. Though you had watched his demeanor become harsher and colder, to you he had remained soft and warm. In your growing youth, you evolved into each other’s confidant, each other’s most beloved companion, as your interests grew away from those of children.

Your chasing turned into challenges of knowledge and dragon-riding and your play fights into flying away from court to read for hours in each other’s embrace. He loved more than anything to fly away with you when the sun and the breeze invited you to do so, whenever your older brother drove him mad, or even when the ladies of the court teased you for your naïveté.

In truth, regardless of the years that passed, you remained clueless to the malice of the world, and as your older brother, he saw it as his prime duty to watch over you. Not only had you preserved your childish innocence, but your benevolence as well. That, carried in the enticing body of the young woman you had become, attracted the hungry sights of men and the envious sights of women, turning you prey to the very ill will to which you remained blind.

It was only at the celebration of his fifteenth nameday that he perceived his sentiments for you surpassed that of a protective brother. It had always been your favorite celebration and every year you doted on him like the King he coveted to be: broke your fast with him, gave him presents, brushed his hair for him, and clapped the loudest and smiled the brightest at every toast at his feast. He watched you carefully and dutifully as you played with Jahaerys and Jahaera, minding especially inebriated men who dared look your way longer than a second when it happened.

You bent forward to pick up a wailing child, and your maturing breasts threatened to spill over the tight seam of your dress. He felt his cheeks burn in shame, and he rose and stormed toward you in hopes anger would subdue this inquietudes.

He had scolded you then, quietly, and was astounded to realize you simply didn’t understand. He watched as the tell-tale signs of your crying formed on your face.

“It’s alright, my darling,” he shushed you, rubbing your hands soothingly, “It’s merely that-” he gulped, both thanking and cursing the Gods that your Septa had been useless in her teachings of womanhood.

“There are parts of you that must be kept sacred,” he whispered, “secret to only yourself and the one you love the most.”

He watched your brows unfurrow as confusion was overtaken by curiosity, and watched your tears turn into a smile when he asked you for a dance.

“Come,” he had said, “I’ll request your favorite song.”

And it was later that day when he came to your bedchambers, as he often did so you would read together before sleep, that you shared words of your love for the first time.

His cheeks flushed in shame and want similar to how they had at the earlier feast when you opened the door.

“Sister!” he hissed, “You shouldn’t have opened the door in this way if you knew I was coming!”

He averted his eyes frantically and closed the door quickly so that none else would see you in your indecency. He kept his back to you, hands on the wooden pane, willing his nervousness to wane and praying that you would cover yourself in more layers.

“No,” you urged him softly, pulling him around by his elbow, “dearest brother, I love you the most,” you uttered lovingly, looking up at him as if he carried all your joy and dreams in his only eye; his sweet little sister who couldn’t see the malevolence in the world, especially not within him, who simply didn’t understand.

He watched your hair, free from the restraints of courtly propriety, felt the soft cotton chemise that is typically bound to the intimacy of your chambers. This was you inviting him in

“My little darling,” he exhaled brokenly, kissed your forehead, “I love you more than anyone, more than anything.”

When he pulled away he saw your eyes glisten for the second time that day.

“Come,” he said, his heart beating wildly in his chest in joy and desire and most of all in love, “Let us read something of your choosing.”

But you pulled him back once again as he made to move toward the plush chairs by your fireplace.

“Will you let me see you as well, then? If it is I who you love the most?”

He could never deny you anything.

You were crying the first time he ever kissed you too, ages after he had first sparked in you an interest in love.

In the years that had followed in your maidenhood, he had restrained himself from advancing with his inappropriate thoughts no matter how terribly his desire matured, waiting for you to reach your own awakenings. But he allowed the touches and intimacy you sought after in your innocence.

You had barged into his room in the early evening one day, wailing, unbothered by the glint of his blue gem as you were by the lack of a shirt on his body.

“Brother!” you cried against his naked chest, wrapping your arms around him tightly as your shoulders bounced from your sobs.

“What is it, little sister?” He was unfazed at your outburst, it being as common as the rise of the sun at every morrow.

“Brother,” you sobbed one more time, “No one loves me and no one ever will!”

You placed your chin upon his pectoral to regard him from under your eyelashes, tears streaking along your complexion.

“What are you on about?” he chuckled, “Don’t I tell you I love you every day?”

“But yours is brotherly love, Aemond!” you protested, annoyed at his mocking, “It is not true love.”

He hummed, delighting in your aggravation. Even so, he soothed you by running his palm firmly along your spine.

“And what is true love, little darling?”

You swallowed down more tears and composed yourself marginally.

“Lady Cora says it is when someone gives you a true love’s kiss.”

He couldn’t hold back the grin that slowly split his face in half.

“Such as when a knight kisses a damsel, or a Prince kisses a Princess-” you scoffed and slapped his hard chest, frustrated at his continued jesting, “Aemond!”

It had him laughing harder, your frustration. And it was with the greatest care he was capable of that he cupped your face in his large hands and brushed your noses together lovingly, before placing the gentlest kiss on your wet lips. He only let go when he felt you melt against him.

“There,” he murmured, smiling softly still, “I am a Prince and you a Princess, and I’ve kissed you.”

He watched as your countenance changed from surprise to sheepish delight and you buried your face in his neck once more.

“Don’t believe everything Lady Cora taunts you with, little darling,” he pulled you from your hiding place, taking your hand in his and kissing your palm, “I assure you none love her as I love you,” he kissed your wrist, your forearm, the dip of your elbow, your lips again, “and none will ever love you as much as I do.”

It became customary for you to show your affections by kissing him in your moments of privacy. They were always soft, lovely brushes of your lips against his. You adored being kissed, every time he could see in you the childish adoration you had always reserved for him. To you, it was a demonstration of true love greater but no less innocent than holding hands or resting your head on his shoulder when you sat together, even if, in him, it elicited a burning lust that hardened him in his pants.

The addition to your interactions had sparked a want that threatened to consume him, more than any of the more intimate touches he would sometimes risk in your aloneness. More so than when he would hold you at night as you doze off on his bare chest, your bodies separated merely by the thinnest of your gowns. He would often bare you off the heavy blankets, only so that your nipples would pebble against him in the cold or your leg would shift over his stiff member as you sought his warmth. It had always been enough, those accidental touches. Until you began to seek and yearn for the touch of his lips.

Then, he could never restrain himself as he once had.

When you flew off to your secluded, secretive haven at the top of a hill near the Kingswood, he would hold you in his arms as you read aloud, with his back against a tree trunk, much like you had done since you were children. Unlike then, you shared gentle kisses and he would run his hand up your naked thigh, under your summer dress, stroke under the curve of your bottom to have you shiver and falter in your speech.

When you broke your fast with him, he would wipe off the remaining sugar from your dainty fingers with a stroke of his tongue to watch your lips pop open and your pupils dilate in arousal you didn’t even comprehend. He would pepper sweet kisses along your cleavage and delight in the desperate rise and fall of your bosom against his face. He would squeeze your waist and pull you to his chest as he held you tightly, as you squirmed from the loving words he murmured teasingly against your sensitive neck. He couldn’t bring himself to touch you any further, however. He could only coach you, tease you, spark in you something new with each touch in hopes that one day you would ask him for more.

That one day came when he visited you in the early morrow with a gift in his hands and a bulge in his trousers. The former he was swift to discard so he could busy his hands instead with touching you. He woke you with kisses to your face and nudges to your side. You had been quick to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into your bed fully when you came to.

“Aemond!” you yelped joyfully. “You’re back!”

He had traveled along with Ser Criston to watch a tourney at the invitation of the Prince of Dorne. His trainer had insisted he learned the techniques of the Dornish, convinced it would make him a far more distinguished fighter. And because Ser Criston wouldn’t fly with him on Vhagar, they had sailed to Sunspear, taking him from you for nearly two moons.

You had cried and cried to mother to let you accompany him. And you had cried and cried on the day of his departure. You had ridden with him in his private carriage all the way to the pier, grasping his hand tightly and sniffing against his shoulder the entire journey. He kissed you lovingly as he always did, just the sweet, soft slide of your lips against one another, in attempts at comfort. Though he wanted nothing more than to finally allow himself to deepen it, to commit your taste to memory before he had to endure so many nights without your touch, from it he refrained. Instead, he breathed in deeply, freeing himself of his nefarious thoughts and reminding himself to be patient, or else he risked frightening you. He kissed you firmly, fiercely, a final time before stepping out of the carriage and pulling you after him.

He continued to hold you in the circling of his arms while the last of his bearings were carried into the undersized vessel, swaying you side to side soothingly.

“Tis time, my love,” he spoke softly against your temple, eliciting a few sobs to tumble out of you.

“Think of me as I will you each day,” he said, cupping your wet cheeks in his hands, and kissing your forehead. He couldn't keep at bay the smile that surged at your fierce display of melancholy. Though his heart ached at your distress, he delighted in your vehement devotion. “And remember that I love you more than anyone and more than anything.”

“Brother,” you hiccuped around your tears, “Please, kiss me one more time.”

Then, the very breath was knocked out of him and your desperation for his touch drove his heart to wild beatings. His grip on you tightened and he grasped at the very ends of his sanity to not give in to your temptations. This would be the one time he would have to deny you.

“Do as I say,” he said gruffly, voice heavy with the effort of restraint.

“Think of me, of my touch, of my kiss, and of my love every night before you drift off to sleep, and I promise you, when I come back, I shall kiss you with more passion than I have ever done, and give you immense pleasure only my love is capable of delivering.”

And you hadn’t failed him.

“How I’ve missed you, little love,” he whispered against your lips, watching you with all the adoration that he bore within of him. And then he kissed you and you clung to him firmly. You dipped your fingers in his hair, arched your body to press against him, chased his lips with yours when he threatened to pull away, and he realized you yearned to feel closer to him just as much he did.

To the best of his abilities, he removed his clothing while keeping his lips upon yours as you continued to demand of him. The carnal desperation you showed perhaps for the first time threatened his hardened cock to spill in his undergarments at the slightest touch.

“Mine as well,” you asked between erratic breaths, pulling on the sleeves of your night slip, “Please, brother, I want to feel your skin on mine.”

His whole body shuddered at your request, and he all but stifled a moan as he pulled soft silk down soft skin. You discarded his eyepatch as you often did when it was just the two of you, but he didn’t even register it. He stared at your perky breasts instead, just beneath his chin, pointing up in arousal you mistook for simply missing his company. His mouth flooded with the hunger he had for the taste of them, and his lips tingled as the very last of his self–control fought against his crazed desire. He couldn’t be sure of whether he would have resisted it if not for your calling.

“Brother,” you urged and he moved to face you, “I was– I did as you told me,” you breathed hurriedly, “I thought of you every night as I lay in bed.”

“Did you, little love?” He smiled fondly and proceeded to plant long, firm kisses at the expanse of your neck, eliciting shivers and goosebumps to litter your skin. He was eager to learn which fruits he would be able to pick from the seed he planted so many nights ago.

You hummed in agreement. His calculated though sensual ministrations of your body, firm grip and strokes of your waist, thighs, and hip had you breathing harshly as you attempted to reason further. His digits, cold from the long travel, pressed upon your burning hot skin, heightening the sensations he wished for you to revel in.

“I did and it-“ you bit your lip hesitantly, “it caused me a strange affliction.”

He halted his touches to prop himself over you once more.

“How so?” He sucked in his cheeks to prevent a smile; every nerve ending on his skin sensitive to the words he desperately wanted you to utter. His cock twitched in his smallclothes as it hovered between your legs.

“It felt as though I had a fever!” Your eyes bulged in your worry, naive and so dependent on your older brother to teach you. “Though it did not bring me any pain. A strong itch spread on my skin and-”

“Go on,” he whispered, heart hammering, blood boiling.

“It settled between my legs,” you murmured lowly. Even if you didn’t understand the depravity of your words, you were ashamed to speak of the body parts you knew to be intimate; the parts to which you understood only he was allowed to be privy.

“I thought it was my missing you,” you whined and the sound sent his liquid pleasure to drip and wet his clothes, “but with you here, it’s become more powerful. It is pulsing, brother,” you whined once again.

Aemond let out a shaky breath in response. He positively felt his only pupil dilate as his arousal intensified.

“Do you know what that is?” He asked gruffly. “Have you told anyone?”

You shook your head rapidly.

“It is our love, sweet thing,” he murmured against your lips, “Our love makes us feel this way. Do you remember what I told you the day I left?”

I shall kiss you with more passion than I have ever done, and give you immense pleasure only my love is capable of delivering.

You nodded.

“It is how I’ll scratch that for you.”

And with that, with a calloused thumb, he pulled your bottom lip away from the trappings of your teeth. And when he placed his lips upon yours he let his tongue slowly crawl in between them to caress your own.

He held you by your jaw at an angle which allowed him to explore your mouth freely. Each touch of your tongues had him yearning for more, and you drawing sharp breaths as you felt pleasure for the very first time. He reveled in the sensation of your breasts grazing his naked chest as you struggled for air. Your hands held on tight to his long hair as if grasping onto a sense of lucidity that threatened to leave you rapidly.

He only broke from you when he had savored you completely, learned your taste and taught you his. When he did, you followed his movement to reunite instead your glistening lips. He smiled and tried to hold you back, talk you through the sensations so new to your flesh, but when you whimpered his name with darkened eyes, no godly power of the Seven could have prevented him from devouring you the way he did.

He ran a hand down your body again, reacquainting himself with your warm skin and your supple curves. When he squeezed your breast and rolled your sensitive nub under his thumb, you thrashed underneath him, rolling your body to touch his and whining into his mouth. You whined freely in the room and with abandon when he replaced his finger with his mouth, tonguing and nipping at your hardened bud.

“Gods,” he stopped when your noises threatened your privacy, “I have wanted to taste you for so long.”

“Brother!” You gasped, attempting to control your breathing. “It is so much!”

You squirmed still underneath him, closing your thighs and rubbing them together in an unconscious search for release. He shushed you by planting a sweet kiss on your wet lips.

“My dearest love,” he cooed, littered kisses on your face adoringly, “Doesn’t it feel good?”

“It- it does,” you muttered trepidly, “But it’s become so much stronger, the itch.”

You stroked his chest as if to assure him you enjoyed his passion and tucked his hair behind his ear where it had come loose.

With little patience to word his explanations, he captured your lips in a sensual entangle of your tongues as one of his hands descended on your naked body. Swiftly he discarded both your small clothes and with a hand hooked around your knee, he pulled apart your legs to press his rock-solid member against your wet privates.

“Oh,” you moaned as his engorged head bumped against that little button of pleasure of which you had no knowledge.

You clung onto his shoulders desperately, trying to make sense of the sensations that dominated your body; stemming from his insistent touches of your most intimate parts and disseminating upwards to your hardened nipples and downwards to your toes. You moaned continuously as he ground his cock along your wet folds and against your pleasure pearl, provoking wave after wave of that same intense itch.

“This is what you needed,” he growled close to your face, watching as your confusion slowly gave way to carnal bliss. “Was it not, little sister?”

“Aemond,” you moaned, your bulging innocent eyes fixed on his lustful one, “what is this I’m feeling?”

“It’s pleasure, little darling,” he explained, “a pleasure only I can give you, only my love can give you.”

“You love me so much, brother?” You asked between whimpers and gasps that drove all the blood that fed his thoughts to his leaking cock.

Tears rolled from your eyes, ones he recognized to be from his love confession. Even when he had you bare beneath him, committing unspeakable sins and giving in to cravings of the flesh, you sought the reassurance of his love.

“More,” he grunted and as if to prove the extent of his adoration, he quickened his pace, rutting against you with renewed vigor, groping your plush behind and moving you along his cock forcefully.

The wet sounds of your flesh coming together in passion and your surprised, wanton moans, heightened the sensations that gathered on his cock, making it pulse as if it desired to get bigger and allow for more arousal, as if it were to explode in its lust. So long had he waited for that moment, so patient he had been, now he delivered all of his raw, burning desire with abandon.

“That’s it, my little darling,” he murmured as you threw your head back in excruciating pleasure, “Relish in all of my love, in all of my affections.”

“You were such an obedient girl for your older brother,” he moaned, “You deserve this. Take it.”

He took your hands as his pleasure neared its peak, lacing your fingers together and bringing them to rest against the bed, above your head. He thrust slower, more powerfully, hoping to bring the climax of your enjoyment along with his.

“Aemond!” You cried among your gasps of arousal. “Something is happening!”

He watched as your eyes bulged in desperation, wet with streaking tears, equal parts aroused and frightened.

“Please,” you whined, “It is so much!”

“Give in to it, my little love,” he gasped harshly as his own arousal threatened to break through that maximum threshold of pleasure. “Trust me.”

He watched with his mouth parted in awe as your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your lips fell open in a silent scream of utter satisfaction. He felt himself explode between your bodies before he registered his tremendously overwhelming orgasm, so enraptured he was by yours. He rode the waves of your peak until they became mere jolts of your body against his, his own electrifying his flesh in their wake.

And then he kissed you and kissed you until your jaws became numb with the effort.

A/N: I know I've robbed you of the aftercare but I'll write a part two!

#I just really wanted to publish it already #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x sister!reader #hotd smut

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rubyreduji · 5 months

Text

Apple of My Eye — xmh

summary: minghao’s arrival to auradon changes your life as you know it, and not just because he’s the son of the woman who poisoned your mother

tags: fluff, descendants au, child of snow white reader, reader is shorter than minghao wc: 2.4k an: happy birthday mika @toruro :333 i love you so much pls enjoy bc i think i rewrote this maybe 7 times no joke an 2: this fic takes place in the same universe as “good to be bad” which features gyu, wonu, and child of hades reader. you don’t really have to read it to read this one, but it would be cool if you did!

From the moment you were born, it was made clear that you were always going to be second. Whether in your parents’ eyes or the citizens or even other kids. Nothing you could do would amount to your brother.

Joshua was athletic, charismatic, handsome, the future King of Charmington. Every kid in Auradon was drawn to him. You were just the little sister.

Joshua could never do wrong, or at least your parents thought so. You on the other hand, had everything about you nitpicked. You had to be the perfect daughter so you could one day find a suitor for you to marry. That led to long days of you in lessons about etiquette while Joshua would run around the castle with Seungcheol and Seokmin, not caring about what kind of disturbances they caused. At the time it didn’t bother you, you wanted to do anything to please your parents.

After you started school, it was hard for you to make friends, and eventually you just gave up, submitting to being the outcast of the class. It didn’t help that your brother would go around and pick on you to all of his friends just for a few laughs.

Years went by and you were still doing your best just to be a good daughter. In class you were still an outcast, with people either whispering behind your back or scoffing at you when you walked past. It wasn’t until you started to attend Auradon Prep that you realized how useless it all was.

No matter how prim and proper and perfect you are, you’ll never be anything in anyone’s eyes as long as Joshua is alive. You think about all those years you tried to make everyone happy, to be the best you could be, only for it to amount to nothing.

Maybe that’s why you were so drawn to Minghao. His subtle kindness and gruff but charming presence. It makes you laugh to know that if you told the little girl you used to be that later in life she’s going to fall in love with the son of her parents’ sworn enemy, she’d probably cry.

Right now though, you’re completely sure you’d follow Minghao to the end of the world.

When you were little, your parents used to sit in your living room in front of the fireplace and tell you and Joshua the great story of their love. You’ve heard it a million times, not just from your parents but also your seven uncles.

When the proclamation was made that the villain kids would be coming to Auradon, your parents were scandalized. When they found out that one of them was the child of the Evil Queen, they were outraged. They were fearful for what would happen to you and (mostly) Joshua.

They told you to steer clear of any of the VKs as their parents will have raised them to be just like them. That they will be cruel and ill-mannered and up to no good. That nothing could come off the isle without it being tainted by the evil kept within.

When you were little, you were always told that the Evil Queen is a jealous old woman and vile of heart. Though that may be the case, you’re not sure you should view her son as the same. Not everyone is their parents. When you think about the first time you and Minghao met, you know there’s no doubt about it.

You were walking down the hallway when you caught sight of him a few feet ahead of you. You recognized him from the press release about the proclamation. Minghao, son of the Evil Queen. Your eyes were drawn to his dark blue hair and thick leather jacket. You were completely stopped in your tracks, too entranced by the deep scowl on his face. Unfortunately because you stopped walking, you were easily run over.

“Get out of the way,” the person growled as they shoved you, causing you to drop your books.

“S-sorry,” you squeaked out. You bent down to pick up your books, only to hear a new voice.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re walking?” You looked up to see Minghao looming over the person who ran into you. They cowered away. “No need to be a dick. Pick the fucking books up.”

They nodded and scrambled to grab your books, hastily passing them back to you before they ran off. You stared down at the book before redirecting your gaze to the tall boy in front of you. You bowed to him.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, I’m uh…used to it,” you trailed off at the end, unsure of why you were explaining that to him.

He also looked slightly uncomfortable at the fact. Or maybe it was because you bowed to him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. No reason to pick on innocent people.” With that he stalked off and your sudden interest in him ignited tenfold.

Ever since that day you and Minghao kept having small run-ins. Almost like fate was pulling you two together. Before you knew it you two were spending all your time together. You were easily captured by his outlook on the world. You’ve never met someone so fair and level headed as Minghao. You’ve learned so much from him.

You finally had a friend. He helped you discover who you really are, and he did everything in his power to protect you. Slowly your friendship developed into more until you found yourself with butterflies in your stomach every time he talked to you.

You remember the day he finally made the first move. You weren’t even sure that Minghao liked you like that until you were sitting in his dorm, helping him with his math homework, when he leaned over and kissed you. You swear your heart nearly jumped out of your chest. After that things were a little clunky, but you two figured it out.

Dating Minghao opened up a whole new realm of possibilities. You feel strong with him. You feel like you can do anything. Maybe that’s why you put so much faith in him when he comes to you with his plan.

“Snowflake,” Minghao starts, his nickname for you still flustering you slightly, “I need you to trust me, okay?”

“Hao…what’s this about?” You two are sitting in his dorm room, sitting on his bed. He asked you earlier if you would meet him, as there was something important he needed to talk to you about.

There’s a grim look on Minghao’s face as he looks at you. He struggles with his words for a moment before finding what he wants to say. “You know I care about you a lot and that I would do anything to make you happy and protected.”

Minghao stops for a moment and you nod at him. He takes another deep breath.

“You and I, we don’t belong here. Nobody here will ever respect us or any of the other VKs, and something needs to be done about it. I want to do something about it.” There’s a fire in Minghao’s words as he talks. “Everything that I’ve seen and heard and experienced since I stepped foot in Auradon is bullshit and it was fine when it was just me, but they way they treat you as well? It’s unacceptable.”

“Hao,” you interject, “just tell me what you’re talking about. I promise, I trust you more than anyone else.”

Minghao reaches forward and grabs your hands in his. He squeezes tight. “They need to be taught a lesson. Nothing will change if we don’t make the change.” You squeeze his hands back, encouraging him to continue. “I’ve been talking with some of the other VKs…we’re thinking about overthrowing the crown.” You suck in a breath. “I know it’s a lot and that it’s a risk but-”

You cut Minghao off, letting go of his hands to cup his face. You lean in and kiss him gently. When you pull away you rest your forehead against his. “I trust you Hao, and I will stand by you through anything. If this is the path you decide to take, I’m right here with you.”

“Are you sure? Your parents and-”

“No one has ever treated me the way you do. You’re the best thing to happen to me, Minghao.”

“I love you,” Minghao whispers, just loud enough to hear. Your heart does a skip.

“I love you too,” you tell him back, the first time either of you have said it. “I believe what you’re doing is what has to be done.”

You think of every wrongdoing of the citizens of Auradon, about how unfair they have been all these years. You think about the new world you can make. You know this is the right choice.

Minghao wants you to stay out of the planning process, as to not incriminate you in case anything happens. That unfortunately leaves you with quite a bit of free time on your hands. You’re walking back to your dorm from the library when you’re suddenly stopped by someone grabbing you. You yelp in surprise as you’re whipped around to come face to face with your brother.

Joshua grips onto your arm tightly and you try to break free but he just holds on tighter. If you’re being honest you’re shocked he’s even interacting with you, as he gave up on that years ago.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you need to stop,” Joshua hisses.

“Joshua, let me go!”

“I know you’re up to something with the son of the Evil Queen. Do you know what Mom and Dad would think if they found out? If you keep it up you’re going to get in trouble, either with him, or them.”

“You’re hurting me!”

“Well maybe you should listen.”

“She said let go.” Joshua’s grip loosens slightly at the intrusion and you’re able to break free.

You and your brother both look to the side to see Minghao standing there. Though Joshua and Minghao are the same height, it seems like Minghao looms over him. There’s a dark look on his face as he glares daggers into your brother. Relief washes over you at the sight of your boyfriend coming to your rescue.

“You,” Joshua hisses. “Stay away from my little sister.”

“No, I think you should stay away.” Minghao steps forward, subtly putting his body between yours and Joshua’s.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I know that you’re no good. If you hurt her I swear I’ll-”

“It seems like you’re the only one here who’s hurt her.” Minghao gestures to where you’re rubbing your arm from where Joshua gripped you too tight. “You’re selfish and pathetic. You don’t really care about her and you never have, don’t try to act all high and mighty now.”

“Just wait, you’re going to get it,” Joshua growls before stalking off.

Minghao doesn’t bother responding, instead he turns towards you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Hurry up with the plans, okay?” You stare up and Minghao and he just nods, ready to set the world on fire for you if he has to.

“Are you scared?” You ask Minghao as you two lay in your bed one night. Your roommate is visiting her parents and you take the opportunity to spend the night with your boyfriend without having to worry about Jun on the other side of the room.

“Petrified,” Minghao whispers. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

“I promise,” you giggle, pressing a soft peck to his cheek.

“I’m scared, but then I think about you and why I’m doing this to begin with, and I know everything will work out.”

“Everyone says you’re so scary,” you tell him, “but I think you’re just a giant sap.”

“Only for you, Snowflake.”

“I really hope this works,” you whisper, changing the tone of the conversation.

“It will. I’ll make sure of it, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“It won’t be. We’re going to change the world and then you and I will be able to live in peace.”

“We’ll have our happily ever after?” There's a teasing grin on Minghao’s face and you roll your eyes playfully.

“Yes. We will.” Minghao just giggles and leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back, putting all of your unsaid words behind it.

Minghao has changed your life, and you could never repay him for what he’s done for you, what he’s going to do for you. You know you don’t have to pay him back though, because loving him is enough. You don’t want to think about what your life would have become if Minghao didn’t come to Auradon. When you were little your parents told you about fate and how the right people will always come into your life. Laying here with Minghao, you think they may have gotten at least one thing right.

“Are you ready?” Minghao asks as he reaches down to hold your hand tight. You nod and squeeze his hand back.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The two of you stand outside of the Museum of Cultural History, about to enact your plan to change the rest of your lives.

“You’ll be able to go back after this,” Minghao tells you. You look up at him and smile.

“Good.”

Around you stands the other VKs, and for some reason the son of Hercules, Mingyu (you’ll have plenty of time to question that later). The sight warms your heart. You don’t think you’ve ever felt more safe with a group of people before. A few months ago you never had friends, and now here you are, ready to change the world with a group of villain kids. Your parents would have a heart attack if they could see you now.

“Whatever happens,” Minghao tells you, “I love you.”

You pull him down for a final kiss before you enter the museum. “I love you too.”

You take a moment to just stare at him. His soft blue hair falling over his eyes as he’s wrapped up in his jacket. He looks just like he did the first day you met him, yet everything has changed so much. You smile when you think about how you wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

No one has ever loved you as much as Minghao has. Not your parents or your brother or anyone else. Minghao is willing to risk everything, just make you happy. You will always be his number one priority. The thought makes your heart swell, and you know there will never be someone who means as much to as you as Minghao does.

“Okay,” you tell him, “let’s do this.”

Minghao nods and signals to the others and just like that you’re all in action. Your heart beats hard in your chest as you follow behind Minghao, ready for him to lead you to whatever good thing is next to come.

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