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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months ago

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1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

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“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey��”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x you

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ursemma · 5 months ago

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"I'll always love you" pt 3

Pt 1, pt 2, pt 4

Mattheo Riddle × F!reader

Theodore nott × F!reader (ex)

Warning: none

Summary: After going on few dates with Mattheo, you couldn't help but wonder what you two are since you haven't made things offical, what happens when one of your friend invites you to her wedding, and apparantly you've to face your ex with his wife, and you desperately need a date.

Mattheo and I have gone to few dates, fucked and behaved like a couple for few months, but things between us have never been official, and I don't want to ruin what's between us by asking 'what are we?'.

I was laying on my bed wondering what i felt for him, this was far way different than what I had with Theodore.

Theodore and I were..... Something I can't describe in words, not in a good way, we used to fight alot.

We used to fight and never solve things hoping it would go away and we'd be back to normal, it wasn't healthy at all.

We never used to communicate which would lead us to misunderstandings. Something which caused our break-up.

I had butterflies but in a bad way, in a way which would tell you something bad is about to happen.

But Mattheo, him and I are mythic.

We sure fight but they aren't the heated ones, the ones which makes your heartbeat fast and tears flow, the ones which you hate and want to runaway from. Our fights are more like "hey I wanted that icecream!" Or "huh you bet?". We fight like kids, over small things but in a teasing way.

And my inner child feels safe with him. It's like he's healing a part of me.

I was deep in my thoughts, and suddenly my phone rang. I looked over to see the name 'torie!' i smiled at myself before picking up the call, and I heard her voice.

Torie!:

"heyyy babyy"

Me:

Hey Astoria!!

Torie!:

Soo Draco and I, we're getting married!!!

Me:

Congratulations!!

Torie!:

Thankyouu love! I want you to attend the wedding, not only that I want you here for the preparations as well, I'll send you the address and you have to come I won't take no for answer okayyy byeee!!!!

Before I could protest she hung up and sent me the address. I sighed knowingly that Theodore and Daphne would be there, I wasn't affected by their presence at all, not after meeting Mattheo, but the fact that it would be very awkward if I went without a date was eating me up.

I looked at my screen and my finger hovered above the name 'matty~', I sighed and texted him,

Me: Hey Mattheo!

Matty~: Hey what's up??

Me: I need a favour

Matty~: go ahead, I'll be glad to help you out

Me: soo my friend is getting married and Theodore is going to be there so I need a boyfriend, to make sure it won't be awkward.

Matty~: soo...?

Me: would you be my boyfriend?? Like a fake one?? You know just for the preparations and wedding?? Like you're the only person I'm comfortable with soo?? Please please I'll do anything you want just say yes.

Matty~: okay fine. You owe me tho.

Me: yes yes thankyouu. We have to leave for the preparation day after tomorrow, at 5 pm, the wedding is in London, we've to catch a flight.

Matty~: I'll be there ;)

Me: thankyouu ily ;)

Matty~: anything for you, ily too ;)

I sighed while smiling like an idiots, I booked our flights and started to pack my bags and everything necessary.

Me and Mattheo arrived at Draco's Mansion where we all were staying in, only two days were left for the wedding, 1 and half to be exact.

"Y/n/n welcome!!!" Tori greeted me as she engulfed me into a hug.

She pulled away after 10 sec and looked over my shoulder "and whose he?" She asked me into confusion and before I could answer "I'm Mattheo Riddle, her boyfriend, nice to meet you Astoria" he said while sliding a hand on my waist and pulling me closer to him.

I looked at him with a smile on my face and Astoria smirked at me before saying "nice to meet you too Mattheo, your room is upstairs, please make yourself home" we thanked her before going in our room.

I freshened up and I was laying on my bed while Mattheo was taking a bath, so far we didn't saw Theodore at all for which I was thankful for.

A knock on the door disturbed me from reading my book. I went to check who it was and saw a familiar face, "Theodore?" "Y/n" before I could say anything Mattheo came out of bathroom, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and interrupted us "darling whose there?" Before standing beside me.

I know this is short and I'm leaving you hanging but I'll post next part before the week ends and trust me it'll be long!!!

The next part would be the last one and it'll be uploaded shortly.

Tags

@hoeforvinniehackerrr @shartnart1

(if you wanna be tagged in next part make sure to comment!!)

#harry potter #theodore nott scenarios #theo #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott smut #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott angst #theodore nott x y/n #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle fanfiction #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo smut

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acciofictionalmen · 11 months ago

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christmas shenanigans - MATTHEO R.

(mattheo riddle x female!reader one-shot)

summary : the reader convinces her boyfriend, Mattheo, to let her paint his nails christmas themed. But he's in for a surprise..

warnings: sexual references, so much fluff your heart may burst? 14+

a/n: after a 2ish month long break im back!! sorry for disappearing for so long everyone, a lots been going on school-wise, but I just had to come back to release a few works in time for xmas <33 decided to release a mattheo piece, as he is my fave slytherin boy after alll~

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Please?" You gave Mattheo an imploring look, "Just one to practise before I do it on the girls?" Aiming for a compromise you added, "Plus I can take it off straight away."

Mattheo looked at you sceptically. You had been asking to do this for days, especially now that it was finally late December - and christmas was around the corner - you were eager to try out a new nail design idea you'd had.

"You can sleep whilst I do it?" You proposed, and he visibly gave in.

Mattheo shook his head in mocking despair, but his eyes were filled with nothing but adoration, "Tomorrow then? After Quidditch practise?"

You grinned. "Perfect."

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

Christmas music played softly in the background as you laid down your nail prep tools on the floor. You'd managed to free up the dorm room for the afternoon much to the girls' chagrin, but once you had explained to Pansy, Daphne and Astoria the reason they seemed pretty supportive of your mission.

There was a knock on the door, swiftly followed by its opening as Mattheo casually strolled inside. His hair was tousled and his face tinged red after practice, and your eyes trailed down the fresh t-shirt he'd changed into. The grey tracksuits he'd changed into hung low, and as he moved towards you his shirt slightly rode up, exposing a brief flash of his toned abdomen.

You swallowed. He leaned down to give you a gentle kiss, then pulled back, his lips hovering by your ear, "I thought I came here for christmas nails, not a shag, love."

Rolling your eyes, you pushed him away.

"Shut up." You mumbled half-heartedly, as you fought the blush threatening to spread across your face.

He smirked as he sat down cross legged opposite.

"I'm not telling you the design, so that it's a surprise," You started, as Mattheo began to apprehensively examine a cuticle nipper, "I'll wake you up when it's done, okay?"

You placed a pillow on your lap, then gestured for him to lay down. He placed his head there, and you took a moment to admire him like this.

Lowering your head you kissed his cheek whilst fiddling with his brown curls. He didn't say anything, just smiled, and you couldn't help the flutter of joy it gave you.

After a second more of staying like that, in content silence, you got to work.

The painting was probably the hardest part, as you had to ensure all of the small intricacies were flawless. Mattheo fell asleep promptly after the first ten minutes, allowing you to really focus as you hummed to your favourite Christmas tunes.

After two hours of hard work, you were prepared to show your boyfriend your final piece of work.

"Mattheo.." You laughed as he slowly woke up, "Yes baby?" He slurred sleepily.

"I'm finished!"

Once he came to his bearings he quickly sat up, his hair matted on one side which you chuckled at.

He immediately looked at his hand, pausing in shock.

Just as you were about to say something he spoke.

"You said one finger nail. One." He scoffed in disbelief, then gave you an amused glance, before continuing to examine them.

"I got a bit carried away." You admitted, "But what do you think?"

He remained silent, then snorted.

Then burst out laughing as you sat there in horror.

Was it genuinely that bad?

Mattheo was now keeled over, his laughter renewing everytime he looked at his hand.

"Darling.." He began inbetween laughs, "I'm never taking this off."

thank you for taking the time to read my work, it always means the world <3

feel free to leave any feedback/your thoughts! id love to hear them :')

i hope you all have a lovely december, enjoying any holiday you celebrate! ❆

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheoxreader #slytherin #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #harry potter #harry potter x reader #hogwarts #christmas #fluff

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beegomess · 4 months ago

Text

Dark Paradise | Theodore Nott

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ��🏼

01. Invisible Flirts

The music was loud, and there was a lot of noise from some students around Matthew, who was trying to down an entire bottle of Firewhisky. Pansy and Y/N had drinks in hand when they threw themselves onto the dark couch next to Draco and Blaise.

Draco and Zabini were sharing a joint when the blond offered it to the sister sitting next to Pansy.

— You’re a terrible brother, you know that? — Y/N had a smile as she reached out to take it between her fingers and took a drag.

— Imagine if our father saw you now? — Everyone burst into laughter; Draco and Blaise couldn’t stop laughing, considering their eyes were already extremely red.

— What are you guys laughing so much about? — Nott approached and sat in an armchair in front of his friends.

— You missed the big joke Draco told about what it would be like if your father saw them now. — Pansy said, emphasizing that it wasn’t really funny, just that they were very high. — Where have you been anyway? I haven’t seen you all night. — Parkinson hinted.

— Around. — Nott answered simply and noticed the attention he was getting from Y/N’s eyes while she took another drag of her cigarette. Theodore didn’t look away from Y/N, which would normally make her look away from him, but in her current state, embarrassment was not an issue. However, both their faces were expressionless, revealing nothing about each other.

Y/N only looked away when she saw Astoria Greengrass, a year younger than Daphne, making out with Adrian Pucey in the middle of the party. Daphne walked past the two and made a face of disgust, making Pansy and Y/N laugh. Pansy glanced to see that Theodore still hadn’t looked away from Y/N.

— What’s her plan this time? — Pansy asked Daphne, who was sitting on the coffee table between the sofas, turning her back to Theodore.

— According to her, the plan is to hook up with someone from Draco’s social circle and get closer to Y/N. — Daphne rolled her eyes as she spoke, and everyone began to pay attention, letting out small laughs.

— Is she really getting close to me just out of interest? — Y/N put her right hand on her chest, pretending to be offended by the revelation.

— Yes, but she always talks about how she thinks you’re pretty and that she wanted to be friends with you too. — Daphne said with irony, somewhat coldly as she laughed at her sister.

— Oh Merlin, she thinks like she’s five years old. — Theodore added, drawing everyone’s attention to him quickly.

— Well, I’m sure you didn’t mention that Pucey was once one of the lucky ones Y/N got physically involved with. — Pansy said, expecting a response from Daphne.

— Believe me, I did. — Y/N looked incredulous. — That’s why he was the chosen one for the night. — The three girls burst into laughter.

— Good to know you’re passing along things about my private life. — Y/N said playfully, as she didn’t really mind the situation.

However, Theodore, who was paying more attention to the conversation, just drank his drink, without laughing or reacting to it. He was only thinking about how Y/N managed to silence Adrian so he wouldn’t spread to everyone that he was with the most popular and desired girl at Hogwarts.

[...]

At breakfast, all the friends had a clear expression of exhaustion from the previous night. It was certainly not a good idea to have parties before a day of classes.

— Good morning. — Astoria approached the group cheerfully but didn’t receive the same enthusiasm.

— Shh, no need to shout, Greengrass. — Blaise had his eyes squinted due to the light in the Great Hall. He was exaggerating; the girl spoke normally, but he seemed too sensitive.

— Sorry. — She shrugged. — I just thought I’d invite you to go dress shopping tomorrow for the winter ball next week. — Y/N, Pansy, and Daphne exchanged glances, remembering the girl's plan to get closer to them, even though she already had friends in her year. — Adrian invited me yesterday to go with him, and I accepted.

— Now, if he remembers that, that’s another thing. — Matthew, who was next to Y/N, spoke quietly and laughed. He immediately received an elbow from Y/N.

— Ouch!

— Sorry, but my mother already sent me a dress for the ball. — Y/N said gently.

— Oh, and who are you going with? — The girl seemed to no longer care about the description. Everyone in the hall fell silent, waiting for Draco’s sister’s answer. Y/N felt the pressure; she knew that if she said she was going alone, her week would be full of boys chasing her, and under the pressure of the moment, she needed to think quickly.

— I’m going with Theodore, aren’t I, Theodore? — Her answer echoing throughout the hall made the eyes widen. Nott looked up, somewhat surprised, until she nudged his leg from under the table, making him clear his throat with the contact.

— Yes... Yes, we’re going together. — All the friends looked at them in confusion. Draco had his eyebrows furrowed; they had never been close, and now they were going to the ball together?

— Enough with the interrogation! — Daphne said, giving her sister a fierce look. — Don’t you have a class now?

Everyone continued with breakfast after the younger Greengrass left. Pansy wouldn’t have the next class with Y/N but made a mental note to ask her about this news. She wondered if something was going on between them; she wouldn’t be surprised. Y/N always knew how to hide her affairs very well.

Y/N, however, tried to sit next to Theodore in Potions class, but when she arrived, there was already a Hufflepuff sitting next to him. Y/N mentally cursed herself for not hurrying at breakfast. Theodore was very handsome and never lacked options for girls, and now, close to the ball, all of them were throwing themselves at him, even though they had heard minutes ago about him being Y/N Malfoy’s date.

The girl sat at the table behind him and decided to pass him a folded note while everyone began taking notes from the board.

"Thanks for this morning; if I told the truth, I wouldn’t be at peace this week. I hope I haven’t ruined any of your invitations to other girls; in fact, I’ll see someone else to go with me today, I promise."

Theodore took the note and smiled slightly as he read, the girl next to him seemed to try to stretch to read his reply.

"Don’t worry, I didn’t have anyone in mind to bring either. We can go together if you want..."

Y/N took the folded piece of parchment from her side of the table and smiled as well at the reply.

"Although I don’t believe that Theodore Nott, so acclaimed among the girls, doesn’t have any prospects, I accept to go with you."

And again, the few words made him smile, responding with one last thing.

"I’m pleased to know about my fame among you."

Y/N laughed at the response, drawing attention in the silent room.

— Am I interrupting something, Miss Malfoy? — Snape looked coldly at her, making her immediately stop smiling.

— Oh, no. Sorry, professor. — And then, quickly, he went back to teaching.

Throughout the rest of the day, Y/N felt strange. His gaze was still extremely indecipherable to her, but it attracted her more and more. In recent months, their glances seemed to have increased in frequency. Sometimes, they would catch each other looking. Y/N felt Nott observing her while she read in the common room late at night. It was her ritual to always read a bit when the common room was empty; she liked to enjoy the silence, but when Theodore noticed the habit, he started to "accidentally" find her there day after day.

"If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were following me." Y/N said, smiling at him one night. Theodore could say it was the first time he felt truly nervous around a girl, but he maintained his composure and just smiled, staying there in silence while watching her hands turn the pages.

— And what’s this about you going to the ball with Nott? — Pansy asked, putting on a pair of socks before getting into bed.

— Good point, Pans. — Daphne turned from the vanity where she was applying products to her face. — So, Y/N?

— It was just to throw off the other boys. — She said without taking her eyes off the book.

— So, you’re not really going with him? — Pansy insisted.

— I am; we’re short on dates and decided to leave it that way. — Y/N continued scanning the words on the page.

— You and Nott? Short on dates for a ball? — Y/N nodded, pretending indifference. — Hmm, right, I see. — Pansy said with a mischievous smile, hinting at something that Y/N chose to ignore, as Parkinson often did this just by talking to another boy.

_______________________________

xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨ next chapter>>>

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott smut #slytherin #y/n #draco x reader #harrypotter #harry potter #hp #tom riddle #draco #draco malfoy #mattheo riddle #theodore nott x y/n

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ldrfanatic · 9 months ago

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you might still have me

Theodore Nott x Reader "13" Series pt 2

warnings - angst, theodore nott's asshole friends, cursing

translator

series masterlist <previous chapter next chapter>

slytherin boys masterlist works

The entire rest of the week took forever to pass. All you could think about was your Hogsmeade date with Theo. Astoria was downright giddy that he'd asked you and was currently helping you pick out your outfit for the event, which was finally tomorrow. Daphne on the other hand was unsurprisingly, sitting on your bed with a slightly disdained look.

"I'm telling you, Y/n." Astoria flashed her sister a look that begged her to please, shut up, but Daphne continued while picking at the edges of her cuticles. "It's really suspicious that out of nowhere he just suddenly wants to go on a date with you." You rolled your eyes and attempted to ignore the slightly older girl.

"Besides, you've had a crush on him for so long there's no doubt that at least someone else has noticed who might've told him or something, not to mention, you've barely spoken more than two sentences to the boy save for your carriage escapade--"

"Daphne will you shut up!"

Immediately the room was silent. Both girls were staring at you with their eyes wide. You'd never yelled or exploded like that. Ever. Everyone knew you to be a shy girl who mostly kept to herself save for a few longing looks at Theo when you were sure he wasn't looking.

The rest of the time in your dorm was suffocatingly silent. When you opened the door to head down to dinner, tension exploded from the room like a pressurized cannister and seeped into the quiet halls. You could feel that your face was still hot from the interaction. Why couldn't Daphne Greengrass just be supportive for once in her life? You hadn't meant to scream at her like that, but you were riding a high for the first time in a while, and you didn't want anyone to ruin that. As your best friend, you thought she'd understand.

Instead of sitting with Astoria and Daphne at dinner, you sat secluded at your own little space at the table. A little while into the meal, Theo entered the Great Hall. You made eye contact with him and smiled. He smiled back and offered a small wave while blushed covered his olive colored skin.

Your surprise (and smile) widened when he made a beeline straight for you instead of making his way over to where Mattheo and Draco were perched on the other side of the hall. Draco look confused and honestly a little put off while Mattheo was smirking slightly to himself. You tried not to think too much of Mattheo's weird looks. He was known to be quite an odd boy, always well beyond his years, older than he needed to be. If anything, your heart clenched for the poor boy who had to grow up far too quickly.

"Your face is quite red, Y/n. Are you feeling okay?" Theo pressed a hand to your forehead and you reveled in the feeling of his skin against yours for a moment or so before pulling back and offering what you'd hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'm okay, Theo. Just a little minor disagreement among friends." Theo nodded in mutual understanding and threw both legs over the bench, one after the other, until he was plopped comfortably at your side.

He stared at the empty plate in front of him for a bit, then suddenly, an intricate and delicious looking pasta conjured. Magic never ceased to amaze you, even though you'd been around it since you were born. "What's that?" Theo's head turned slightly and he made partial eye contact with you. A light sparked in his eyes before fizzling out.

"An italian dish my Nonna used to make when she was alive. It's called cassarecce di pollo." The deep drawl of an Italian accent made it's appearance as he spoke. You leaned over to get a catch of the scent. The smell of the dish in combination with Theo's natural earthy swirl had you practically drooling. In your bliss, you didn't notice Theo subtly scoot closer to you on the bench. When your eyes opened, he was there. Inches from your face. He kept his eyes locked on yours while he collected some of the dish onto a fork and held it out for you to taste.

The moment the pasta hit your tongue, flavor exploded. The sauce was creamy and tangy. The tomatoes were perfectly cooked. The chicken was grilled and rubbed in a sort of dry seasoning that you surely couldn't name, but which made your tastebuds dance on the tip of your tongue.

"Well? What do you think cuore?"

"It's delicious." The word he used with you had your eyes flicking to his in a moment. "What's that word you used?" Theo smiled amusedly and started to dig into his dinner like nothing happened. "Don't worry about it. Eat your food."

After consuming the entire plate of your most favorite dish and laughing vibrantly with Theo, you were on clouds. Daphne had to be wrong. There's no way that Theodore Nott could ever do anything like that to anybody. Sure, he'd never taken much interest in girls before, but he was finally breaking that streak. And for you no less. To be the girl that Theodore Nott chose was nothing short of explicit and perpetual happiness.

When the sun rose the next morning, you all but skyrocketed out of bed. It was finally the day of your date with Theo. The warm September sun was casting bright golden rays throughout the open fields of the castle grounds and you could only imagine what Hogsmeade looked like at such a beautiful time. You grabbed the cute sundress that you'd picked out last night and slid it down your body so quick that you may have gotten carpet burn.

Finally, the fruition of three years of longing stares. There was no way that life actually got this perfect. When you made your way down to the courtyard with a thrung of other students, Theo was already there waiting. He jogged up to you with a bright smile and his permission slip clutched tightly in his right hand. The two of you exchanged greetings and made each other howl with laughter on the trip to the village.

Theo was crouched over and holding his stomach with hoots of laughter bursting uncontained from his throat when you arrived at Hogsmeade. You'd made a joke about Draco's unhealthy obsession with Harry Potter bordering on an occult following and the poor boy doubled over. His laughter was booming and contagious. Seeing the boy you'd liked for so long, so happy made your heart swell against your ribcage. Like it always did when Theodore Nott was around.

The two of you began your day with a trip to Zonko's. When you'd mentioned wanting to go, Theo's eyes lit up. I've never met a girl that liked Zonko's. Your body blushed from the inside out at the comment. Something about Theo subtly implying that he'd never met a girl like you make your skeleton feel like dancing right out of your skin.

After a long few hours at a few other places in Hogsmeade, the two of you decided to end the date with a stop in the Three Broomsticks. Madame Rosmerta smiled largely at Theo as he entered. She asked of his Aunt Georgia, to which Theo happily replied that she'd had a healthy baby girl and was recovering nicely.

The entire date was going perfectly. Until Mattheo Riddle walked into the Three Broomsticks. Theo's eyes widened as Mattheo took a seat next to him at your table. You'd never really interacted with him too much. Mattheo's crass and abrasive personality set you slightly on edge. Still, wanting to be friends with Theo's friends, you offered him a smile and a small wave. "Hi Mattheo."

Mattheo offered a conniving smile that made you so uncomfortable you wished to look away. You held your ground though. "Well hey there Y/n." He slung a heavy arm over Theo's shoulders and leaned his other thick forearm on the rickety table. "You two seemed pretty content."

Theo hastily shoved Mattheo's arm off of him and put a good five inches between himself and the dark haired boy. "Shove off, Mattheo." Mattheo's eyes darkened and his smile faltered before he turned his attention back to yours and the same unnerving grin returned. "Aww don't be that way, Theodore. I just figured since you and Y/n are clearly so close that she should know."

Your head cocked sideways in clear confusion. Your eyes flickered between the two and when neither of them spoke, your patience began to run thin. "Know what?" Still both boys were silent. Mattheo was staring at Theo intensely and clapped a large hand on his back. "What Theo?" You hissed at the boy across the table.

Mattheo released a heavy sigh that seemed far too fake. Your suspicion grew tenfold. "Here's the thing Y/n. Theodore here only asked you out because Draco and I bet him twenty-five galleons that he couldn't break your heart in less than a week." An iron hammer appeared out of nowhere and swung at your ribcage until the bones shattered and your heart fell right from your chest onto the floor.

Theo didn't deny the accusation and stared at you apologetically with tears brimming the bottom of his eyes. He didn't have any right to be crying. You stood from the table so loud that all the patrons in the Three Broomsticks stared. A few nearby even offered you pitying looks. Tears clouded your vision so heavily you didn't see the withering look that Theo cast at Mattheo or the disappointed one that Madame Rosmerta cast at Theo.

Theo was on your tail as the door to the Three Broomsticks slammed behind you. He caught you just outside on the pavement. The setting sun gave your skin a glow that was nothing short of angelic. But the broken look that you gave him caused permanent shards to stab at his insides until they twisted themselves into dozens of little knots.

"Y/n."

"Theo why would you ever do this to anyone?"

"I didn't want to. I didn't want to do this to anybody, let alone you."

"Then why?"

"Because! I've been in love with you since the moment we met and I saw an opportunity to get close to you! What was I supposed to do? I never planned for you to find out."

You laughed brokenly through your sobs and had given up on trying to wipe your running mascara. Your heart shatters all over again. Not only did Theodore Nott do a downright horrible thing to you, but he did it out of 'love'. The biological phenomenon labeled 'heartbreak' settles into every cell in your body. Evidence of your blind, trusting faith in Theodore Nott. Faith that broke and bled and now moves in shockwaves through your body, mind, and soul. The only person capable of truly hurting you had obliterated every part of you until the pieces lay on the ground at his feet. All for a stupid bet.

"You should've said no, Theodore." His name was soft from your lips but the boy still noticeably winced. The sound cut his skin like knives leaving invisible scars. "I should've known that loving you would be the end of me. To love you Theodore Nott, is to lose my mind. You and your stupid little friends justifying it. 'She's already fucked in the head.' Is that what you've been telling yourself to sleep for the past week?"

The rage began to simmer under your skin until it felt like it was pouring out of every inch of your body.

"Actually don't answer that. I don't care."

For the first time in three years, your heart rate didn't jump when you looked at Theodore Nott. Your heart didn't swell, it deflated. Your cheeks didn't heat up. For the first time in three years, when you looked at Theodore Nott, you felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

---

2.9.2024

series masterlist

#slytherin #slytherin boys #theodore nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #Spotify

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alchomcrax · 2 years ago

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astoria , a look into her closet. ✶ ┈ event : halloween masquerade.

#━━ astoria ☾ closet ｢ thrills don't come for free ｣#━━ astoria ☾ musings ｢ chasing tomorrow with fire in my eyes ｣

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then0rsk1 · 2 months ago

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Tomorrow i’ll have to go to school… so Im actually gonna follow scorpius/astoria’s advice, because “sweets they always help you make friends!!”

#and of course i have #no idea how to socialize #someone help #scorbus pls save me #scorpius malfoy #i love him #hpcc #cursed child #albus severus potter #albus potter #albus x scorpius

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angislibary · 2 months ago

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Hickeys(English version)

School has started again and of course the Slytherins threw their popular first day of school party. And again like every year, the eyes of all the boys landing on Y/n Malfoy as she entered the room.

Her long blond hair curled into to pretty Utah curls, falling straight down her body. Talking about her body, matching to her breathtaking green eyes, she’s wearing a floor long dress.

Entering directly after her, her also appealing brother. Not a single emotion on his face, just death staring at all those boys. Including his best friends Theodore Nott and Mattheo Riddle.

Theodore, like the gentleman he is, can’t take his eyes off his best friend’s sister, knowing exactly what happens if anyone dares to touch her. As he’s done it before. But the black eye was so worth it. Maybe he’ll do it again?

On the other side there’s Mattheo fucking Riddle. Why should he care? Maybe he’s done it before but no one notices.

“Want another black eyes, Nott?” Draco stopped right in front of his two charming friends.

“Told you before, was worth it!” His smiled got brighter, exposing a more of his still a little blue under eye.

“You two are so frustrating.” Mattheo sighed. “You know that she’ll do everything she wants?”

“I’m trying to protect her” Mattheo rolls his eyes.

“And you think hexing every single man looking at her is the right way?” Theodore insists.

Meanwhile Y/n was dancing together with her also stunning best friend Astoria Greengrass.

“So who’s the lucky guy tonight?” Astoria almost screamed so y/n could hear her.

“Lucky? Have you seen Theo’s eye?” Y/n answered, still worried about the man her brother catched.

“Don’t worry, I’ll distract him tonight.” Tori smiled.

“That’s why you picked the sexy underwear, huh?”

“Maybe” Her smile maybe was the biggest one of the whole night.

As the night went on the friend group had a lot of fun. Dancing like there’s no other and drinking like there’s no tomorrow.

Blaise was the first one to leave, but with some random girl. Right after him Astoria managed to leave with Draco. Wich means Y/n can finally do what she wanted to do for a long time.

She danced and flirted with the lucky man.

“He’s going to kill me you know that!”

“Scared?” She provokes.

“Seems like you don’t know me, otherwise you wouldn’t have said that.”

He took her hand and together they left the party, directly into his dorm.

The Slytherin pressed her against the door, kissing and biting her neck. She’s trying so hard not to moan. “Don’t Darling, I know exactly how much you like this, let me hear you!”

And that’s it. He found her weakness and she can’t resist anymore.

Y/n Malfoy knows exactly what’s going to happen if the night goes on.

Mattheo Riddle is going to ruin her. She’ll never sleep with another man, she’s his and only his. But this is what she wants.

What all girls want. Isn’t it?

Mattheo growls at her neck. “Your thoughts are to loud darling, we gotta work on that!” He did read her mind. AGAIN. “But it’s true I’m going to ruin you. You’re mine!” He whispered in her ear, with his crispy voice. If her mind wasn’t already blank it would be by now.

“Fuck” He can’t control himself any longer. “You sure you wanna do that?”

Y/n Malfoy, like the lady she is, bit him in the ear, before she softly spoke “Ruin me”

The heir of Slytherin picked her up and walked over to her bed, but he didn’t lay her down.

With y/n bend over his bed, he pulled down her dress, revealing the sinful expensive new underwear Miss Malfoy just bought. “Naughty little girl”

His Hand finally touched her part where she craved it the most. Y/n is trying so hard to hold herself together, but it won’t take long until she falls.

She just heard a belt getting unlocked and Mattheo’s pants falling to the floor. Without any warning he pierces in her.

For a moment she saw stars and holy crap it’s true, Mattheo Riddle doesn’t make love he fuckes.

“And you like it, darling. You like being treated like a whore.”

~~~

Little Miss Malfoy wouldn’t be able to walk for a whole week, that’s for sure. But there’s another thing. Her brother.

On the next day he of course saw the hickeys Riddle left all over her neck.

“What’s that in your neck?” He asked.

“Nothing!” She tried to hide it but it was too late.

“Hickeys! Seriously? Who are they from?”

“No one. Leave me alone!”

Across the common room, on a couch sitting the trouble friends.

“He’s going to kill you, you know that right?”

“Shut up Theo!” Mattheo answered angrily.

#mattheo riddle #draco malfoy #theodore nott #y/n #malfoyfamily #bd/sm kink #smut #slytherin #hogwarts fanfiction #so fucking sexy

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haesunflower · 1 year ago

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thank the stars | royalty au with ricky

(written in the stars final chapter)

✩ chapter 1, chapter 2 , chapter 3 ✩

genre: romance, angst

pairing: princess reader x prince ricky

about/tags: your life changes, and suddenly you have to rule Astoria. Ricky lets you know he'll always be there for you – and he means it. (2.6k+ words)

y/n is a princess, death, grief/mourning, i cried while writing this

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—--

Your brother can barely stay awake nowadays. And for that reason, you visit him everyday, bringing with you stories about your day and sharing the little adventures you and Ricky have. You know what’s coming, in fact, everyone in the palace does. All hope seems to have gone as the days go by without any semblance of improvement on the Crown Prince Hanbin’s health. And while you try to mentally prepare for the loss of your brother, you don’t want to.

“Sister, are you going to keep bothering me everyday like this?” Even in his condition, Hanbin finds a way to make light of the situation. You smile, just to humor him and decide to banter back.

“In all honesty brother, it’s you that’s a nuisance. Please get better so I no longer have to deal with your astronomical amounts of paperwork”. This time, he’s the one that smiles, somberly. “How is that, by the way? Preparing to rule?” while the conversation had gotten more serious, you don’t blame him for asking. He knows his time will come to an end soon.

“I’m terrified everyday...I’m…I’m not as great as you are, brother. I’m severely underprepared and extremely overwhelmed. And the only good thing in my life right now, well, I don’t even know if he’ll stay. He too, has a kingdom to look after.”

You drop your head down to his bed, letting choked sobs out. You’ve never said these things out loud to anyone. On a personal note, you are not even aware of what is more terrifying – ruling the country unprepared, losing your brother, never getting the chance to love Ricky. You suppose you’re crying about all three.

Hanbin feels terrible at the sight of his youngest sister. You’re right next to him, but he doesn’t even have the energy to sit up and wipe your tears away. “I’m sorry, Y/N….” is all he can say. He too, lets a few tears roll past his eyes.

After a few minutes of quiet sobs, you take his hands in yours to say “It’s not your fault Hanbin. I’ll make you proud, I promise.” You notice the tears that have stained his velvet pillow, and bring up a handkerchief to wipe away at the remaining streaks on his face. The last thing he says to you is “I never doubted you for a moment, sister. You’ll achieve great things as Astoria’s Queen.”

With the confidence that your brother instills in you, you decide that it’s time to let Ricky know the truth. Your new duty is to be a proud leader of your country – to make Hanbin proud, to continue the line of succession of your parents, and to be a Queen to the people. You plan to tell him all of that tomorrow.

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—--

Your plan fails, because Hanbin summoned crown prince Quanrui to visit his chambers that evening. Ricky crosses paths with the King and Queen as they exit Hanbin’s chambers. The crown prince of Solaria bows respectfully, and the Queen of Astoria gently places her hands on his shoulders.

“Don’t be too alarmed with his state. Right now, treat him as you would normally do – he needs a friend.” Ricky is confused by the Queen’s statement, but nods anyway.

Despite the warning, Prince Quanrui gets the shock of his life when he first sees Hanbin. While his family may be used to his symptoms, others might not be. He is much smaller now with graying skin. His hair sticks to his forehead from the layer of sweat that covers his body. He also coughs out blood every now and then, and his voice is so small and hoarse, it’s hard to listen to.

“Ah, my dear friend. Come sit.” Hanbin chokes out.

Ricky doesn’t know what to say, as all this time he had thought Hanbin had been on an expedition or managing diplomatic affairs in other countries. He had no idea his dear friend had been in the castle, slowly rotting away. To be fair, it was a well kept secret.

“Why was I not informed, Hanbin? Did you nor Y/N not care to tell me?” Ricky is trying not to sound too betrayed. Not when Hanbin is looking at him apologetically. “No one knows about my sickness, only my family and the royal staff. And I wanted to keep it that way for a while…” Hanbin trails off as he welcomes a fit of coughs.

“Ricky, the truth is I’m not going to get any better. This is the end of the line for me.” Ricky is studying his friend’s face and he finds no hint of sadness, rather, acceptance of his fate. Ricky doesn't know how to react to that statement. So, he places his hands against his mouth, contemplating on what to tell Hanbin.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know. But, I need to ask you one last thing before I am unable to” more coughs erupt from Hanbin, and Ricky patiently waits for him to speak again. “It’s about Y/N…she’s so terrified, Ricky. Will you take care of her when I’m gone?”

On the outside, it’s a simple question. For royals however, it brings about a million implications. What Hanbin really wants to ask is Will you stay with her here once I am gone? Will you give up being the King of Solaria for Y/N? Will you continue to promise to love her until the end of time?

“Wherever she may be, I will be standing right next to her. Always.”

With that response, Hanbin nods in satisfaction. Both Hanbin and Ricky remember a time when they were young boys, sparring in the courtyard. One of their many wagers had been your hand in marriage. If Ricky could beat Hanbin, he’d let him marry his sister. When that was on the line, Ricky had never lost to Hanbin, not even once.

“I’m grateful to have known you, Ricky. Take care, my friend.” Hanbin musters up all his energy to reach out his hand for Ricky to take in a handshake. And although it is out of character for Ricky, he puts Hanbin’s arm down and instead envelopes him in a hug.

“I’ll miss you, dear friend. Save me a sparring session up there, maybe you’ll be able to beat me by then.” Hanbin and Ricky laugh.

That night, as Ricky leaves Hanbin’s chambers, he understands why you desperately kept asking him to wait for you. Why you cling to him like it’s the last time you are able to. And why it seems like you love him back, but cannot seem to verbalize it in any way.

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—--

The next time your family is complete is during the funeral of the late prince Hanbin. Though you wouldn’t consider your family to be complete ever again, not with the loss of your brother. The palace was opened to the public, and it seemed like the whole kingdom was in attendance. The service was beautiful. Your sister and royal knight Jiwoong even traveled back to Astoria. And despite all that has happened, you enveloped each other in a hug the moment you saw each other. You both cried for what seemed like days.

Naturally, the whole kingdom mourns. The palace is extremely somber, and the nights feel longer and colder. A lot of Astoria folk find themselves gazing up at the newly formed constellation – a discovery you made the night your brother died. You named the stars after him, of course.

You’re at the observatory with Ricky again as you go through old portraits of your families together. You laugh at the stiff royal paintings that feature all the Astoria and Solaria children. You share childhood memories of Hanbin together, and exchange kind words about him. In the end, you are grateful to have been his younger sister – to have learned what it meant to be a leader directly from growing up with him.

You do not want to have this type of conversation with Ricky, but you feel that it is the responsible thing to do. As rulers of your own respective kingdoms.

“I fear I’ll never measure up to him” you admit. “I’m more than terrified, I fear I’ll be a disappointment to my people, my family, to him” your voice is shaking, and you close the trunk that’s filled with portraits and childhood memories.

“Y/N listen..” Ricky takes both your hands in his, forcing you to look him in the eye. “You are the most intelligent and passionate person I know. You are selfless, kind, and beautiful inside and out. The people of Astoria do not know you the way I do, not yet at least. Let them see you for who you are, and everything will come into place. I am sure you will rule greatly, I’m confident that you will.”

Ricky smiles mischievously before he adds “and again, your only flaw is that you are terribly unfunny.” you smile, you will miss his candor when he returns home. “And if it’s any consolation, I’m here. You can always rely on me.”

Your brows furrow, and you remove your hands from his when you say “but that is the issue, Ricky. You cannot be here forever. You are bound to return to Solaria eventually, I am positive that your family has been missing their crown prince”

Prince Quanrui has been away from home for almost 9 months. You are unaware of this passage of time, having been busy with your crown princess education and the loss of your brother. And in between all the responsibilities and chaos, you cannot count the amount of times you found solace in the warm embrace and soft kisses of Prince Quanrui.

“I do not need to return to Solaria, only if you command me to do so, my Y/N”. He smiles, and you cannot tell if he is being serious.

“Ricky, you do realize that I cannot command you to do anything as we are of the same royal stature, we’re equals now as in line to the throne, remember?”

“And that is where you are severely mistaken.” Your lips pout in confusion, and you look at him expecting an explanation “I’ve long withdrawn my eligibility to the crown in Solaria. Prince Gyuvin is the crown prince now.

Your younger half brother? you thought. “B-but why? And do not say something foolish, do not say it is because you love me”

“But that is my answer.”

“You love me enough to abandon your kingdom? Your people, your subjects, your family. Ricky you’ve been trained your whole life to rule Solaria – and you’re going to just leave? Just like that?” You honestly do not know what kind of answer you are searching for. Perhaps it is validation you seek, that someone is capable of loving you so greatly to put you first.

“I would abandon all duty for you.”

Oh. You think. Love, so it is capable of being that easy.

You are so emotionally moved by this declaration. How easy it is for Ricky to just choose love above all things. How Ricky patiently waited for you, just like you asked. How he didn’t ask any questions when you told him you would be next in line for the throne. How that would mean that he cannot marry you and make you his queen in Solaria. How he would rather withdraw his position just to be closer to you, here, in Astoria. How that is exactly what he did, as he wrote his letter to the King and Queen of Solaria shortly after his last conversation with Hanbin.

“Y/N, you and I both know my heart has always been here with you in Astoria anyway.”

You move closer to him and desperately envelope him in a tight embrace. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, like the very first night he kissed you. He’s a little taken aback, but reciprocates almost immediately. Your touch evokes more words that you could ever utter – feelings of love, gratefulness, relief, above all, happiness.

When Ricky kissed you that night, you understood that this was exactly how it was meant to be all along. As if the very act of loving you is his duty itself.

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—--

The royal wedding of the Crown Princess of Astoria happens a year after Hanbin’s death. Prince Ricky, who will soon gain the title of Royal Prince of Astoria, stands proudly in the garden of stars. Like you, he’s dressed in all white. Your wedding ceremony is fully decorated with red roses, personally delivered by the King and Queen of Solaria.

As you walk down the aisle, your long jeweled dress flows against the gentle breeze of the night sky. Ricky is smiling, the biggest you’ve ever seen – even as he is under a plethora of constellations, he thinks you’re the most beautiful star tonight.

His parents, the King and Queen of Solaria, watch him as he looks at you. And his mother gives his son a genuine smile in return, before whispering something to her husband (if i’m not mistaken, along the lines of ‘he’s happy here’). Meanwhile, the crown prince Gyuvin snickers and tries to hold back his laughter at how lovesick his brother looks.

Your sister sits proudly in the second row with King Hao of Mariposa by her side. She gives you a small wave, smiling brightly. Next to her, Hao is clapping, nodding gently towards you. Your sister reaches out to give a supportive squeeze to his shoulder, and he takes her hand in his. Throughout the ceremony, your sister and King Hao hold hands. He doesn’t feel pain anymore. Knight Jiwoong is also close by, watching over little Yujin and Yeseo. But sometimes, he cannot help but glance at the way his Queen and the King of Mariposa intertwine fingers.

Your father hands you off to walk on your own. And as he takes his seat next to your mother, they smile at each other. Your mother takes his hand in hers comfortingly, as tears threaten to spill from both their eyes.

When you reach him at the end of the aisle, he takes your hand, ungloves it, and presses a kiss. Everything feels right as you share your first kiss as a married pair. You have no coherent thoughts as he presses his warm lips against yours, the same passion and electricity pulses through you as he kisses you deeper. He cuts it short, out of respect for the audience, and you giggle a little when he whispers “more of that later”

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—--

After the wedding ceremony and the consummation of your marriage – you and Ricky find yourselves lying peacefully in bed. The moonlight enters your bedchamber and lands beautifully on his platinum hair. You watch as Ricky’s bare chest rises and falls, his breathing steady – a sure indicator that he has fallen into deep slumber. So you inch yourself closer to him, caressing his cheek with the back of your hand oh so delicately.

But he isn’t exactly asleep, and in response, he pulls you towards him even more. Your face is safely tucked into his chest, his arm is draped around your waist, and your legs have since intertwined into a tangled mess.

“Thank you for waiting for me. I love you.” You whisper. You mean it.

He hums, opening his eyes to check on you. This time, your eyes are closed as you settle in a comfortable position, nuzzled into him. He pats through your hair softly, before turning to the side to look at the window where Hanbin’s constellation shines brightly.

Then, he thanks the stars for the existence of his Y/N.

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—--

A/N: i cried guys, real tears

what do we think about the ending for all characters?

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