#( burning like a fire ;; ch. study. )

[novaursa]

The Queen's Choice

- Summary: On your way to Essos, your love for Torrhen wins. You turn your dragon North.

- Paring(s): sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen (one-sided), targ!reader/Torrhen Stark

- Note: This is one of the possible endings of The Broken Crown where Y/N goes to Torrhen instead to Essos.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana @sunset18rose

The cold wind of the Narrow Sea bites against your cheeks, a stinging reminder of the decision you've made. Beneath you, Tesaerix beats her great wings, slicing through the air with a ferocity that matches the turmoil in your heart. The horizon blurs into the pale sky, Essos beckoning you with the promise of escape, of freedom from the entanglements of your brother’s desires.

Yet, the further you fly, the more the fire within you flickers and wanes. Aegon had no right to make such decisions for you. To demand you be his. Your heart clenches with the memory of Torrhen Stark's solemn eyes, the gentle strength in his voice when he spoke of the future you were to share. The love that had grown between you, warm and sure like the spring thaw breaking Winterfell’s long-held snow.

You inhale sharply, the freezing air burning your lungs as a sudden realization strikes you. You don't want to run away. To Essos, to anywhere. It is the North you crave, the embrace of a man who would not seek to conquer you but cherish you as an equal. Your hands tighten on the reins as you make your decision.

“Tesaerix, turn north,” you command, your voice firm. The dragon responds with a deep rumble, shifting her course abruptly. The sea below shifts from the steel-blue of the Narrow Sea to the darker shades of the Shivering Sea, the air around you becoming sharper, colder.

Your heart thunders louder with each beat of Tesaerix’s wings. You imagine Torrhen, standing in the courtyard of Winterfell, his dark hair swept back, his gaze fierce and unyielding. Would he welcome you after all that has transpired? After Aegon's insult, his claim on you?

No, you tell yourself. Torrhen Stark is no meek southern lord to bow and scrape. He will understand why you have come. He must.

When the first glimpse of the North appears beneath you—the stark, snow-capped peaks of the mountains—the ache in your chest lessens. Soon, the sprawling gray walls of Winterfell come into view, smoke curling from the chimneys like a warm, beckoning hand. You draw a deep breath as Tesaerix lets out a piercing roar, announcing your arrival.

Below, you see movement, a flurry of figures rushing about in alarm. Tesaerix descends in a wide spiral, her wings stretching out like great sails, catching the icy wind. You spot him then, Torrhen, rushing out from the gates, his head tipped back, eyes wide with disbelief.

He’s clad in dark furs, his shoulders squared, his face a study in shock and something else—something that makes your heart squeeze painfully. He shouts something, though the wind snatches his words away before they can reach you. The men around him are bristling with weapons, though none dare raise them as you land.

Tesaerix’s talons scrape the frozen earth as she settles, her breath fogging the air as she lowers her head, allowing you to slide down. Your legs are unsteady as they hit the ground, but you keep your gaze locked on Torrhen, your heart pounding in your throat.

He is already striding towards you, his eyes blazing. “Y/N,” he breathes, stopping just short of reaching for you, as if he can hardly believe you’re real.

“Torrhen,” you say, his name a whisper on your lips. You search his face, looking for any trace of anger, rejection. “I…I couldn’t go. I couldn’t leave you.”

He lets out a breath you hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his shoulders sagging with relief. “You came back,” he murmurs, and then, in a surge of movement, he pulls you into his arms, crushing you against him. The furs of his cloak are soft against your cheek, his body solid and warm as you melt into him.

“I love you,” you confess, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I want to be with you, not as a queen forced into another’s bed, but as your wife. Truly.”

Torrhen pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours. “Aegon won’t allow it. He—”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt, your voice fierce. “Let him rage. I will not be his plaything. I am no prize to be won or lost in his war.”

His expression softens, a look of such tenderness crossing his features that your breath catches. “You would stay here, in the North? With me?”

You nod, your throat tight. “If you’ll have me.”

He smiles then, a slow, warm smile that banishes the last of your doubts. “I would be a fool not to.” He presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cold air. “Welcome home, my love.”

You close your eyes, letting the words wash over you. Home. Yes, this is where you belong, here in Torrhen Stark’s arms, beneath the great walls of Winterfell. No longer a pawn in Aegon’s game, but a woman with a future she has chosen for herself.

And for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel truly free.

The great hall of Winterfell is filled with the low murmur of voices as Torrhen’s bannermen gather around the long table, their expressions a mix of apprehension and resolve. The flames in the hearth crackle and dance, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls, but the warmth does little to dispel the chill that hangs in the air.

Torrhen stands at the head of the table, his hands braced on the worn wood, his gaze sweeping over the men who have served his family for generations. His decision to take you in as his own has stirred more than just concern among them; it’s sparked a fear of what may come.

“She is Aegon’s queen,” Lord Cerwyn says, breaking the silence. His voice is steady but edged with worry. “By taking her into your home, you risk the wrath of the Dragon himself. What will happen when Aegon and his sisters come to reclaim what he sees as his?”

The murmurs grow louder, the men shifting uneasily. Torrhen straightens, his gaze hardening. “Aegon made a promise to me,” he says, his voice carrying through the hall. “He pledged Y/N to me in marriage, to bind the North to his cause, to ensure peace between our people. He broke that promise when he took her for himself.”

“But you swore fealty to him,” Lord Manderly interjects, his thick brows drawn together in a frown. “You bent the knee, denounced your crown. To go against him now would make you an oathbreaker.”

“Aye, I swore an oath,” Torrhen replies, his tone unwavering. “But it was Aegon who broke faith first. He swore to honor our alliance, to make Y/N my wife, not another conquest for his own ambitions. It was not I who severed our agreement but him.”

A heavy silence falls over the hall as his words sink in. The truth of it is undeniable, but it does little to ease the tension. The men exchange uncertain glances, each weighing the cost of defiance against the honor of their lord.

“And what will you do when Aegon comes north with his dragons?” Lord Glover asks, his voice low. “Will you fight them? We’ve seen what those beasts can do. Harrenhal, Storm’s End… there’s no fortress that can withstand their fire.”

Torrhen’s jaw tightens, but his eyes burn with determination. “We will do what we must to protect our home and our honor. If Aegon thinks he can take her from me, he will find that the North is not so easily subdued.”

Lord Umber lets out a bark of laughter, though there’s little humor in it. “And do you think we can stand against them like Dorne? Hide in the mountains and strike from the shadows? We are not made for such warfare.”

“No, we are not,” Torrhen agrees, his gaze steady. “But we are not without our own strength. Unlike Dorne, we have a dragon of our own.”

The mention of Tesaerix brings a murmur of surprise, heads turning towards the open courtyard where the great beast rests. Her presence, a golden and cream colossus with blood-red eyes, is a stark reminder of the power she wields.

Lord Cerwyn’s brow furrows. “And you think one dragon is enough to face three?”

Torrhen’s mouth sets into a grim line. “It may not be enough to defeat them, but it is enough to make them think twice before they bring war to our lands. Aegon may have his sisters, but Y/N is no less fierce, and Tesaerix will fight for her as fiercely as any of their dragons would.”

Lord Bolton, who has remained silent until now, leans forward, his pale eyes glinting. “And if they come not for war, but to treat? To offer terms?”

Torrhen’s gaze does not waver. “Then we will hear them. But I will not send Y/N back to him like a piece of cattle. If Aegon wishes to negotiate, he will find that the North does not forget broken promises.”

The men exchange looks, and though there is still doubt in some eyes, there is also a flicker of resolve. Torrhen’s words, his determination, have stirred something within them.

“And if he brings his fire and blood?” Lord Manderly asks, his voice grim.

Torrhen’s eyes harden, his stance unyielding. “Then we will give him the North’s cold fury in return. He may be a dragon, but we are wolves. And wolves do not bow so easily.”

There is a long silence, the weight of his words settling over them. Slowly, one by one, the bannermen nod, their faces set in expressions of grim determination. They know the cost of defiance, the danger that looms on the horizon, but they will stand with their lord, as they have always done.

Torrhen straightens, his gaze sweeping over them, a fierce pride in his eyes. “Prepare the defenses. Send word to every holdfast, every village. If Aegon means to bring war to the North, he will find we are not so easily conquered.”

And with that, the meeting is adjourned, the men dispersing to carry out his orders. Torrhen watches them go, his heart heavy but resolute. He knows what is coming, the storm that will soon break over them all. But for now, he has you, and he will not let any force in the world tear you from his side.

No matter the cost.

The sky above Winterfell is a tumultuous gray, clouds churning like the restless sea. Torrhen stands at the head of his gathered bannermen, his face a mask of calm resolve, though you can feel the barely contained fury radiating from him. You stand by his side, your chin lifted, hands clenched at your sides. The wind tugs at your cloak, whipping the fabric around you like a banner.

Across the courtyard, Aegon sits astride Balerion, his face etched with fury. On either side of him are Rhaenys and Visenya, their dragons coiled like serpents, eyes glowing with predatory intent. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and the palpable threat of fire.

“You dare,” Aegon’s voice booms across the courtyard, cutting through the frigid air like a blade. “You dare defy me, Torrhen Stark? You shelter my wife in your halls, defying your oath of fealty?”

Torrhen does not flinch, his gaze locked on Aegon’s. “You broke your oath first, Aegon,” he says, his voice steady. “You promised Y/N to me as my wife, to seal the alliance between our houses. You shattered that promise when you took her for yourself.”

“I am the King of Westeros,” Aegon snarls, Balerion’s wings flaring slightly as if in response to his rider’s rage. “She is my queen by right!”

“Not in the eyes of the Old Gods!” Lord Cerwyn shouts, his voice ringing out clear and strong. “Under their gaze, your union is nothing but a mockery!”

The roar that tears from Aegon’s throat is almost inhuman, echoing off the walls of Winterfell. Visenya and Rhaenys exchange a glance, their faces unreadable, but there’s a tautness to their expressions, a wariness that hints at their uncertainty.

“I will not be questioned by a pack of northern curs!” Aegon roars, his eyes blazing as they settle on you. “Y/N, you are my wife, bound to me by fire and blood. I command you to come to me now.”

A shiver of fear runs through you, but you stand your ground, your heart pounding in your chest. You take a step forward, your voice ringing out clear and strong. “I will not go with you, Aegon. If you try to take me back to Aegonfort, I swear I will hurl myself from the highest tower. You will not have me as your queen, not ever again.”

A stunned silence falls over the courtyard. Even the dragons seem to pause, their massive forms shifting restlessly as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Aegon’s face pales, his fury momentarily giving way to something almost like desperation.

“Y/N, you don’t know what you’re saying,” he begins, his voice lowering, almost pleading. “You are mine. We can—”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice as cold as the northern wind. “I was never yours. I was a pawn in your game, a prize to be claimed. But I am done with being used. If you think to force me back, you will find only my lifeless body when you return to Aegonfort.”

Aegon’s expression shatters, rage giving way to something raw and broken. He glances towards Visenya, as if seeking support, but her face remains impassive, her hand resting lightly on Dark Sister’s hilt.

Rhaenys shifts uneasily on Meraxes, her eyes darting between you and Aegon. “Brother, this is madness,” she murmurs. “There is no victory to be won here.”

“You would make yourself a martyr?” Aegon spits, his voice shaking. “For what? For him?” His gaze flickers to Torrhen, filled with contempt and something else—something that twists in your gut, a pain you wish you didn’t recognize.

“For myself,” you say quietly, your voice steady. “For the right to choose my own fate.”

The silence stretches, a taut, fragile thread that seems ready to snap at any moment. Aegon’s hands are clenched so tightly around Balerion’s reins that his knuckles are white, his chest heaving as he struggles to regain his composure.

“Aegon,” Torrhen speaks, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “You can’t force her to love you. This is over.”

Aegon’s eyes blaze with fury, but the fight seems to drain out of him, his shoulders slumping. He looks at you, truly looks at you, and you see the understanding dawn in his eyes, the realization that this is a battle he cannot win.

“You would leave me,” he says, his voice hollow, empty. “For him.”

You meet his gaze steadily. “I already have.”

For a moment, he seems about to argue, to rage, but then his shoulders sag, and he looks away, defeated. Visenya murmurs something too low for you to hear. Rhaenys’ expression is soft, almost pitying, as she watches her brother crumble.

“I won’t forget this,” Aegon says finally, his voice tight with barely suppressed emotion. “The North will answer for this betrayal.”

Torrhen steps forward, his face set in an expression of unyielding resolve. “The North is ready, Aegon. We will defend our own.”

There’s a long pause, and then, without another word, Aegon turns Balerion away, his sisters following suit. The dragons take to the sky, their massive wings beating the air as they rise into the gray sky, the sound of their departure a dull roar that echoes long after they’ve disappeared from view.

Torrhen’s hand finds yours, his grip warm and reassuring. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your body trembling with the aftermath of the confrontation.

“He’s gone,” Torrhen murmurs, his voice low. “You’re safe now.”

You nod, though the weight of what has just happened still hangs heavy in the air. Safe, yes. For now. But you know this is not the end. Aegon may be gone, but the shadow of his anger, his betrayal, lingers still.

But as you look up at Torrhen, at the fierce determination in his eyes, you feel a spark of hope. 

[cinnaleaf]

ESSENCE OF US - CH 8: RING OF FIRE*

Please read responsibly. This fic will get hot and heavy as the story progresses, 18+ only MDNI | READ CH 7 | MASTERLIST | READ CH 9

summary: a fleeting encounter with a mysterious Trent leaves you wondering if fate is playing a bigger match. your paths continue to cross in unexpected places as the fragrances around you mirror the growing tension between you. maybe it's just a coincidence..or maybe its destiny in the making.

warnings: FLUFF, SMUT, ANGST, unprotected sex, language, implied anxiety genre: angst, fluff, slow(ish) burn romance wc: ~8.1k a/n: there’s an irl solar eclipse today…idk how i managed that perfectly but if ur cheeks don't hurt after reading ur lying!

*ring of fire eclipse signifies passionate feelings that are burning inside, refusing to be hidden any longer.

The next morning, you woke up feeling heaviness in your chest that wouldn’t go away. It clung to you in a thick and suffocating way, pressing down harder with each minute. A persistent reminder of the night before lingered in your mind, and quite frankly, it rattled the hell out of you. You turned over in bed, your eyes landing on Trent’s beautiful sleeping face. His arm was blanketed around you like he wanted to keep you attached to him, even in his dreams. Usually, waking up to him felt like you were on cloud nine, but today there was a feeling in your chest that couldn’t be settled. 

How could he be so sure he loves me? I don’t get it.

You were replaying his words over and over, trying to search for any cracks in sincerity. You knew there were none, but you couldn’t help yourself. Trent wouldn't say something like that without meaning it, but the more you thought about it, the more it terrified you. Those four letters had way more meaning:

Love is like a cosmic dance that defies time, space, and all reason. It’s not supposed to make sense. It’s like when a solar eclipse swallows the sky. It’s fascinating, but leaves you feeling breathless during its shadow. You can’t even look at it for long without feeling overwhelmed, as if you glanced at something too infinite for basic human understanding. It wasn’t something you could control or prepare for in advance. There was no going back if you crossed that point, there was no safety net to catch you.

Yet here he was, loving you openly and so purely, but you couldn’t accept it because you didn’t understand why, and you didn’t want to fail. You hated not having control. You needed to think through every possible outcome before diving in, you needed to be sure. Sometimes you wish you could just hop outside of your body to stop thinking for a while, just to have a little break before diving back in.

Trent’s sleepy eyes opened, focusing on you. “Goodmorning, my love.” His hand tightened its hold on you, pulling you close. He kept his gaze on you, studying you like he knew something was off. “Morning..” you whispered back, tears already pooling in your eyes. You wanted to turn around before he noticed, but he kept looking at you.

“You okay?” he asked, voice hesitant. You nodded, because what else were you supposed to say? The truth? That you’re scared? That saying ‘I love you’ feels like stepping off a cliff, and you’re not sure if there’s anything there to catch you? He could tell something wasn’t right, but he knew not to push you. You were grateful for his patience, but honestly, you felt like you didn’t deserve him. He needed more than someone with so much fear. He deserved someone who wouldn’t be afraid to love him back, loudly.

“I’m fine,” you managed to say. You weren’t fine, and he could see right through you.

Trent didn’t mean to overwhelm you last night, but he couldn’t help it. You were more than just a girl he was dating. You were his person. When he had to spend time away from you, he counted down the minutes until he could see you again. He didn’t want to lose you. He knew there was no one else for him. He was deeply, madly, in love with you, and the thought of scaring you away because he said it too soon gutted him. 

“Why do you love me?” you asked, turning to face him fully as you sat up in bed. “I don’t understand. Why me? What makes you so sure? How did you figure it out?  Love is a really strong word and I just–”

Trent mirrored your movement by sitting close to you, he could tell your thoughts were spiralling so he left enough space between you so that you would be comfortable. He gently reached for your hand, pressing it against his chest. You felt his heart racing beneath your hand, fast and rhythmical. His heart was thudding like it wanted to break free, forcing you to silence the chaotic mess in your head as the beat pounded against your palm to ground you. His hand covered yours, holding it steady. “You feel that Y/N?? I’ve never felt anything like this before..for anyone.”

“I didn’t plan for any of this...for you,” he said softly, his voice cracking as he spoke. He placed a delicate kiss on your wrist, looking back up at you as he continued. “We ended up here somehow. You changed my whole life.”

The pure candour of his words flooded you with emotion, but he didn’t stop. He wiped a tear away that fell from your eye with his other hand. “I wasn’t planning on taking the train that day..I usually drive. And then I saw you sitting there and I felt like I needed to talk to you.” You could feel his heartbeat speed up under your hand, matching the depth of his words. He was just as terrified as you. Trent leaned in to kiss your temple, lingering there to take the scent of you in. You let yourself sink into him to feel the thud of his heart against your hand, it spoke in a language that only the two of you could understand. 

“And the café..” he whispered, pulling back to look you in the eye. “I don’t even like coffee like that, but something was pulling me there that day. Never felt anything like it before.. I couldn’t resist it.” Your breath caught in your throat as the memory flashed in your mind. He looked so out of place both times, yet the only person who seemed to notice him was you. It was impossible not to.

“Paris…” he murmured. “Wasn’t supposed to be there either. I got an invite last minute and decided to go. But then I saw you and realized I was right where I needed to be.” The tears you were trying to keep at bay started spilling over your lower lash line, his heartbeat keeping you from drowning in your fears. “Y/N. You’re my heart, my everything. I’m scared of losing you. If this world is kind, it’ll keep us together forever. But if it doesn’t..I’ll always look for you again. In this lifetime, in the next... Every single time. Nobody but you, Y/N. You’re the one for me.”

You tried to tell him how much his words meant to you, how much you needed to hear them; but the lump in your throat wouldn’t let you. The love that radiated off of him felt so strong, so powerful, that you couldn’t pull away this time. Instead, you let out a shaky laugh, wiping your tears with your hand. “Trent..why do you sound like you’re about to propose to me right now or something?” His eyes danced with amusement, but there was also seriousness in his tone when he replied to you. “I mean..I don’t have a ring right now. But if that’s what you need to know how much I love you, I’ll get down on one knee right now. I’m not afraid to spend the rest of my life with you. Think I’d prefer it, really. I want you for as long as the stars shine…” You laughed, still crying as you shook your head in disbelief. “Stop..” “I’m serious Y/N” his voice grew softer as the humour faded into something more infinite, beyond human understanding. “I know none of this shit makes sense to you right now, but I need you to understand you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I need you to feel the love I have for you, I need you to see it. I love your voice, your smile, that beautiful face of yours. I want to wake up next to you everyday. I’ll say it a billion times if I have to…”

He leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose, “I love you..”

Your heart felt like it may burst out of your chest, but before you could respond to him, he kissed your tear streaked cheek. “I love you..”

He moved lower, brushing his lips against your jaw as he whispered again, “I love you..”

Tears continued to stream down your face and he tilted your chin up, making you look deep into his brown eyes. It felt so intense that it had you holding your breath. “I love–,” he started again, the words spilling from him like a mantra of vows. But this time, you found yourself saying it with him, your voices blending in perfect unison.

“I love you.”

Both of you sat there in silence, letting the words settle over you. Trent’s thumb lightly traced over your lips, and you both looked at each other. A smirk tugged at the corners of you and Trent’s lips, and as if on cue again, you both burst out laughing. “The sun is barely up and we’re being a little too serious for my liking. What was that?” you giggled, wiping away the rest of your tears. He pulled you back into his arms, chuckling. “Doing everything backwards again, huh? Wouldn’t change a thing, though. I meant every word..don’t care if I sound ridiculous.” His arms tightened around you, swaddling you so that he could be as close to you as possible. You stayed like that for a while, breathing him in as your hearts synchronised into the perfect soundtrack. It was love in its rawest form. 

When you unlocked the doors to Les Notes d’Amour a few hours later, sunlight spilled through the windows. It felt like your whole world was lit up with a golden glow. You had a little pep in your step today, your pupils were still slightly dilated, your cheeks were aching from smiling so much. You were in a dreamy haze thinking about how Trent’s heartbeat felt under your palm, like it was anchoring you to keep you from drifting away from him. The words he spoke earlier echoed around in your head.

I’ll always look for you again. In this lifetime, in the next…

You smiled as you moved throughout the shop to set things up for the day. You were pulling items out of your bag when you realized you mistakenly grabbed Trent's iPad instead of your own. You laughed, becoming aware of how distracted you were before you even left the house. Trent had a picture of you on the lock screen – both of you were wrapped up in each other, his arm was around you tightly as your hand cupped the side of his face gently. You were both laughing, faces pressed close together while his lips brushed your cheek. It was pure, unfiltered joy...the kind that makes you believe in serendipity.

“Okayyy..I need to get it together, this is ridiculous,” you whispered to yourself, trying to snap yourself out of it as Tara and Ember walked in, but the picture was still floating around in your mind. Tara was bouncing with energy, very clearly excited for the first official day. She glanced around the shop, taking everything in with curiosity and eagerness. Ember seemed to be more measured, taking everything in intensely without saying much. 

“Good morning, ladies!” you greeted, trying to shake your thoughts from Trent. 

You walked them through the ins and outs of Les Notes d’Amour, gesturing around the boutique. “Quick rundown..this place is like my baby. There’s a story behind every fragrance, but I usually don’t share the actual story..just the scent. I like to let the scent tell the story for me. When you go back to smell it, it brings you right back to that memory..no matter how long it’s been.” Ember nodded thoughtfully, taking in the atmosphere. Tara was excited, eager to dive into whatever you had planned. 

“Today we’re focusing on the Rêveur release,” you continued, pulling out Trent’s iPad to go over all the little details. As soon as you unlocked it, the photo on the screen caught Tara’s eye. She squinted for a second and then her eyes widened in recognition. “Wait..is that Trent? LFC Trent?” she blurted out, pointing at the screen. “Uh, yeah..that’s him,” you replied modestly. Tara’s jaw dropped. “No way! I thought all the leaks on SpillTheBeansUK were fake!” she exclaimed. “No offence to you or anything, but I assumed it was all gossip. Like ‘Ooh, Trent has this mystery girl that keeps popping up’..yeah right! I thought it was all PR because those tea pages are always fishing for any info. You could feed them anything and people will start connecting dots that don’t even exist.”

You laughed at her rant, mostly because of her enthusiasm about the topic. “Nope. That’s my man..I was just at his house this morning.” You didn’t mean to say all of that, but once the words were out, it wasn’t like you could take them back. Tara’s eyes widened as she adjusted her glasses, and Ember glanced at the photo. “Sooo, do you live with him?” Ember asked in a curious yet calm tone. You froze, realizing how much you were letting slip. Technically, you didn’t live together but it was starting to feel that way. You shook your head and pivoted the convo. “No, not officially,” you said, clearing your throat. “But let’s focus on the release..we have so much to do.”

Tara looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but she didn’t push further. Usually the blends you made were personal, it was meant to be shared in a way that kept the details private. But with Rêveur things were different. It wasn’t just a scent anymore. People wanted to know the story. All of it. “I’ve been dying to smell ‘The Trent Scent,’ Ember said, bringing you back out of your thoughts. 

Why does everyone keep calling it that? It’s Rêveur! you thought to yourself.

“Do you have a sample?” You nodded, reaching under the counter for a small vial of Rêveur. “I still have some small tweaks to make, but here it is..” They both eagerly leaned in as you took the cap off the vial; the scent immediately filled the air and they both inhaled deeply.

“Oh shit,” Tara said with wide eyes. “Sorry for my language but this is insane! It’s going to sell out so fast” You smiled, trying to shake off the daze you were still in. “Yep, that’s the goal. We need to make sure the pre-order system is set up right, though. It’s a limited release for charity, so there’s no room for mistakes, okay?” Tara nodded, but she was too caught up in how good the fragrance smelled. Ember was a bit more focused, looking over the website on the iPad as you walked them through the process.

“Once the website goes live, everything will be set. We can’t mess this up. Double check everything,” you reiterated. 

As Tara and Ember worked on setting up the website, you felt yourself drifting back into your thoughts. You didn’t say I love you to Trent the night before, and you felt like a fool for making him wonder overnight–it was the second time you did that to him. Camille told you to take things slow and ride the wave, but it was clear that ship sailed long before she warned you. Instead, you were at sea, floating between this chaotic buoyancy of certainty and uncharted waters. The beauty of it was all about letting go and allowing yourself to be swept away.

You were the moon, always showing up in phases to hide parts of yourself depending on your cycle of emotions. Sometimes you felt full and bright, and other times you completely withdrew yourself, becoming barely a sliver of light. Your anxiety had you in a constant flux like the changing of the moon. When Trent was near, you felt like you could bask in his light. It didn’t matter if you were in the middle of a storm or a dark phase, you were drawn to him either way.

You absentmindedly brought your hand up to your face and smelled the scent of his aftershave lingering on your fingers from when you opened the vial of Rêveur for Tara and Ember. The scent was like a Pavlovian trigger now, pulling you further into your thoughts about him. Rêveur wasn’t just a fragrance now. It was him etching into every fibre of you. It was a little ironic, huh? You built a life around creating different scents and stories, but your story with Trent was spilling directly into your career. You always had your heart in everything you created, but you tried to keep the personal stories behind the blends private. There was no separation with Rêveur, though. Everyone knew you made it for him. The line between your personal and professional life was blurring, intertwining itself into a carefully crafted chain of events set by the universe. Maybe that was okay for once. He showed his love for you in so many different ways, and now it was time for you to show how much you truly loved him. You wanted to show him just how bright you could shine for him too, so you picked up your phone.

We should record an announcement for Rêveur..lmk what you think?

T 🌅: You sure?? I’m down if that’s what you want. Sounds fun!

100% sure! Let’s do it I miss you by the way

T 🌅: Miss you too baby. Getting a little distracted at training.

You giggled imagining him trying to focus on work outs while your morning replayed in his mind just as much as yours.

FOCUS T! I can’t be blamed if there’s a bad match..I’m just a girl

T 🌅: Nah, I got this. I play better knowing you’re watching anyway. Just thinking about you is all.

You stared at his words, grinning from ear to ear, but then three little dots popped up and he sent another message that made your stomach flutter like there were thousands of butterflies inside.

T 🌅: Coming home tonight? 

Home. In a way, his place was starting to feel like that. He’d come to your apartment after training to tell you about his day, an upcoming match, or a funny video he saw on the internet while his things slowly littered your apartment as the months went on. You two would sit on your couch chatting about any, and everything until it was late. You never wanted him to leave when it was time for him to go, so instead, you kept packing overnight bags until half of your belongings conjoined with his. You knew where you wanted to be, there was no doubt in your mind about it.

Yes! Why is that even a question?

T 🌅: It wasn’t. Just wanted you to say it so I’d have an excuse to pick you up from work lol. Be there after I’m done here. I love you.

Ooo you’re smooth. I love you too, my dreamer boy 😘

T 🌅: Your dreamer boy? I like that. Can’t wait to see your beautiful face baby 😮‍💨

You were going to shoot another text back, but you knew he would keep going if you didn’t stop now. His little short texts were turning into yapping sessions too. You loved it, but you needed to get back to work. The quicker this day was over, the faster you would be able to see him again, and you couldn’t wait. You tucked your phone back into your pocket, biting your bottom lip, still smiling to yourself. Tara and Ember were working diligently on the website to prepare the pre-order page. You didn’t notice Tara’s hesitation when she set the pre-order quantity, accidentally allowing unlimited orders instead of the limited release batch you were carefully planning. Thoughts of Trent still clouded your mind with the scent of Rêveur clinging to your fingertips. Your work, your lives, your love–it was blending into a custom crafted selection that was made just for the two of you. The seed of love that was planted months before was blooming and growing beautifully.

Hours later, the sun dipped below the horizon, signalling the day was nearly over while Tara and Ember finished putting the lasting final touches on the pre-order website. It was nice to loosen the reins. For once, you didn’t have to worry about doing it all on your own. Hiring an assistant was suddenly something you felt like you should’ve done a long time ago. Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening–you felt the magnetic tension you always felt when Trent was around. He walked in casually, but he looked like he was ready to leave immediately, for obvious reasons.

“Hey,” you both said at the same time, smiling at each other.

Was this going to be a new thing now? Finishing each other’s sentences? 

His hand reached for yours, interlocking his fingers with yours. Tara and Ember exchanged knowing glances before you spoke again. “Tara..Ember, this is Trent. Trent..these are my new assistants.” Tara's eyes widened, she was clearly excited but trying to hide it. “Oh! Nice to meet you!” she exclaimed, her voice almost too perky. It wasn’t over the top, but she was definitely trying to hold back her inner fangirl. It was understandable, he was mesmerising.

“Nice to meet both of you. Y/N definitely needed you two,” he replied, glancing at you in a teasing way. You playfully rolled your eyes, leaning into his shoulder. Ember was more poised and offered him a professional nod, but you saw the way her gaze studied the personal dynamic between you and Trent. “Nice to meet you too,” Ember stated smoothly and politely. Trent leaned in, kissing the top of your head, “Ready to go home, Y/N?” he asked, immediately shifting Tara and Ember’s attention. You mentioned you weren’t officially living together earlier when they asked, but the way he said it made it seem like you weren’t being fully honest, even though it wasn’t really any of their business. Things were progressing quicker than everyone originally thought.

“Mhm, just give me a minute,” you stated in a sing-songy voice, it became clear to them you were in deep. Tara couldn’t contain her curiosity and subtly pulled out her phone as her fingers flew over the screen to text her footie group chat.

Tara: T IS AT MY JOB. HE’S WITH Y/N SHE’S RELEASING THE TRENT SCENT

Nosy Girlie 1: shut the fuck up!! is he hot irl? what does it smell like?? do u get a free one? Y/N is so lucky omd she’s so pretty too ugh

Nosy Girlie 2: TELL US EVERYTHING

Tara: they’re acc sooo cute they’re fully obsessed with each other i can tell the other girl here asked Y/N if they lived together earlier and she didn’t really answer BUUUT he asked if she was ready to go home just now, they defo live together!! the aftershave she made him smells so good, i want one!! gonna keep my eyes open but i need to keep this job so i can’t do too much haha DON’T TELL ANYONE

Nosy Girlie 1: 🤞🫡

You were oblivious to the texts flying behind you as you prepared to leave. Ember was a lot more composed and got up quickly when you asked her to turn everything off so everyone could head home. “Almost done,” you told Trent, giving him a peck on the cheek. He pulled you in closer like he didn’t want to let you go. “Can’t wait to get home,” he whispered, sending shockwaves through your nervous system. Trent leaned against the door as you gave final instructions to Tara and Ember, admiring you navigate through the storefront before everyone made their way to the door; you locked the door behind you, finally ready to head home. 

Like always, his hand naturally found its place on your thigh once you got in the car. Your bare legs were exposed from your dress as his fingers grazed your skin. If his hand wasn’t on your waist, it was there. Always.

“Okay..” you started, breaking the comfortable silence, “we need to make the Rêveur announcement really interesting. We can’t just post some boring picture like you always do. Let’s do something fun and make it ours.” You shifted in the passenger seat, glancing over at him. He was focused on the road but you could tell he was in the mood to yap.

“Yeah? You’re my creative director now, huh? Tell me about it, baby.” he teased, squeezing your inner thigh enough to make you squirm. You grinned and bit your bottom lip, partially to stop yourself from laughing and the other because his touch was sparking something in your lower core.

“Hmm, maybe something like.. ‘Tea with T’. Like a short video, really casual. We’ll answer all the burning questions people wanna know and we just sit there and yap about it. Then we’ll announce the pre-orders at the end, and have the orders go live the day of the gala.” Trent shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “You really thought all this through or did you just want an excuse to hear my voice on record?”

You nudged him with your elbow before moving your hand up to cup his chin, tracing his jawline. “Oh, hush! People want to know about the man behind footie and Rêveur. You can’t say no to me anyway. We’re a team now.”

“Baby, I think they’ll honestly just want to see you. You’re the star in all this. I’m just here for the ride.”

The car continued to cruise towards his house while the two of you bantered back and forth, laughing and teasing each other. You loved how things could be playful one minute, and then deep in conversation the next. The dynamic was always shifting, yet somehow the two of you were always in sync.

“You know.. I’ve been thinking about how great you sound moaning my name all day. Couldn’t wait for this fucking day to end,” he stated abruptly, turning on the road to his house.

“Trent!”

He laughed, pulling up to the house as the car slowed. “Yeah, yelling my name works too..”

Both of you entered the house hand in hand as Trent slipped his trainers off with his opposite foot. “Got a surprise for you, baby,” he stated simply, flashing a cheeky grin. He pulled a box out of his pocket and your eyes widened. The box was small...like really small. It looked like a ring box and your brain went into overdrive.

Wait...no. He wouldn’t? Is that..oh my god..

“Trent..what are you doing right now?” you blurted out, panic rising as you stared at him. 

He smirked, biting his lip and ran his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. He was loving it. You, on the other hand, felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest when he got down on one knee and looked up at you with the most angelic eyes. Your mouth went dry.

There’s no fucking way..

You stood there frozen, trying to figure out if this was real life or if you were in some weird dream. “Trent..get up please,” you whined, unsure if you wanted to laugh, cry, or pass out. He cracked, laughing so much his eyes were watery. “Relax, Y/N. I wouldn’t ask you like this. It’s just a gift, baby.” He opened the box, and instead of a ring, you saw a dainty necklace with the letter “T” on it, gleaming brightly in the light from the living room. “You’re sooo annoying,” you laughed, feeling the tension melt into playfulness. He stood up, still laughing from the way you reacted. “Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he said, holding the necklace up for you to see up close. “You like it? I can get something else if you don’t.” You ran your fingers over the dainty lettered charm. So maybe it wasn’t a ring, but it didn’t need to be. A necklace was perfectly suitable for now. “I love it.”

“Come here,” he said, in a low and sultry voice. He stepped behind you to clasp the necklace around your neck. The subtle brush of his fingers against the sensitive skin behind your neck sent a rush of heat through your body. Once the necklace was on, you faced him, noticing how his eyes fixated on the letter T. You pulled him close to you, reaching up to kiss his lips slowly and softly. Trent’s hands grazed your upper back before settling on your waist, gripping you tightly against him. You pulled away slightly, whispering against his lips. “I love you.”

You meant that. You were finally ready to admit it to yourself and to others. You wanted him to know it too.

“I love you too,” he smiled against your lips before continuing to kiss you again. “Want all of you. Forever. For as long as the stars shine, my love.” The words sank into you like the sweetest honey, melting away the last of your lingering doubts. His lips trailed down to your neck, nipping and biting you softly. 

“Damn, you smell good. What is that??” he murmured against your neck. You were wearing the same vanilla and amber scent you wore on your date night. Something about it drove him up the wall last time, so you made a mental note to test it out on him more. “You’re driving me mad, y’know that?” He scooped you into his arms, your legs hanging over his arm as he made his way upstairs to the bedroom. You could feel how hard he was already, and it was riling you up.

“Trent..” you didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but it came out more like a pleading moan. He laid you on the edge of the bed, removing your dress as he kissed the soft skin above your belly button. The air felt cool but it didn’t last for very long considering the way he was kissing you. His hands and lips were all over your body, drinking you in like he couldn’t resist you. Your back arched when he slid your panties down. He looked at you like you were the most gorgeous girl he ever saw in his life.

“So fucking beautiful,” he groaned, parting your legs open for him. “Your pussy is so wet too. You want this just as bad as me, huh?” He slipped his finger inside of you and you let out a moan that was a cross between “yes” and “more”. He had you tongue tied already and you were barely getting started. “I need you..” you begged in a trembling voice. He groaned, slowly working his fingers inside you in a rhythmic motion that had you whimpering and writhing. “Talk to me baby. Tell me how good it feels."

“So..so fucking...good,” you gasped. “I need you inside me.” He finger fucked you faster, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “Hmm? I can’t hear you, my love. Tell me.”

“I want you. I need you on me and inside me. Please..” You were getting frustrated at this point. Teasing was fun, but you needed him to fuck you into oblivion. He pulled his fingers out of you, smiling like he was impressed with the way you were begging for him. “Play with your tits while I get undressed, baby. I wanna see you.”

Your jaw opened slightly, surprised but extremely turned on by his command, so you did what he asked; brushing your fingers over your nipples. The sensation made you arch your back again while you watched him get naked for you. He was watching you, quickly discarding his clothing aside. “You’re so sexy like this,” he muttered, keeping his eyes glued to the sight of you playing with your nipples. When he took his boxer briefs off, the sight of his thick dick made your mouth water. He launched himself onto the bed, latching his mouth onto one of your sensitive nipples.

“Oh god,” you moaned, trembling as his wet tongue flicked around your nipples, his mouth sucking with just the right amount of pressure. The throbbing between your legs intensified and you were literally dripping for him. You reached down between your bodies to find his hard cock, wrapping it around your hand and stroking it as you guided him to your pussy. “I need you so bad right now.” He grinned, pushing into you as you let out a string of moans. The sensation of him filling you and the stimulation from your nipples had you nearly cumming already.

“I feel you squeezing me baby. You gonna cum for me already?” he groaned through a strained voice, thrusting into you harder. You couldn’t even form any words at this point and instead nodded frantically, feeling the tension in your core snap violently. His hand gripped your thighs, pulling your legs up over his shoulder to get a deeper angle. The new sensation had you almost crying from how good it felt, your vision went white as your orgasm ripped through and you clenched around him.

“Fuckk, ohmygod! ohmygod!” you screamed, gripping the sheets. He didn’t stop though, he was just getting started. His thrusts were relentless, pounding into you. “That's it baby. You look so beautiful like this.” The pressure built inside of you again, but something felt different this time. Your entire body tensed, and a rush of liquid surged through your core before you could stop it. Your eyes flew open, and you cried out, gripping his bicep as you moaned his name loudly.

“You just squirted all over me baby...I fucking love it,” Trent said through ragged breaths. It spurred him on, he was proud and feeling confident as he continued to pound you, making you cum over and over again. You couldn’t remember the exact formula you used in the perfume you were wearing, but you were definitely going to figure it out if this was the result every time you wore it. He took one last deep thrust, and you felt his cock twitch inside of you, spilling his cum inside of you as he pushed it in deeper with slow, sensual thrusts. You were both out of breath and sweaty when it was all finished, but there was love spread across both of your faces. Trent slid out of you, making you miss the fullness as he laid beside you, kissing on your collarbone and playing with the “T” necklace that sat directly over your heart. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back, massaging his head with a shaky hand. You were still trembling from everything, but you loved every second of it. “My dreamer boy.”

The next couple of days flew by. You were still on cloud nine from everything, feeling fucking phenomenal. Superb sex, multiple amazing hair days, and a lot more free time with the help of your assistants. You didn’t have to be at the store constantly anymore, and it felt nice.

Today, you and Trent were at Camille’s estate, where a crew was setting up for ‘Tea with T’. The garden space was breathtaking, everything was over the top and there were flowers in full bloom, with a stunning glass greenhouse in the backdrop. Camille’s family didn't do anything small, they loved to create spaces that felt like you were walking straight into a glamourous fairytale. You sat in a canvas chair, getting your hair and makeup touched up. You could feel yourself getting nervous as the butterflies fluttered around in your stomach. You weren’t used to being on camera, but with Trent you were willing to tackle it together. The window to your private world was about to be cracked wide open, for everyone to see. 

Trent was leaning casually against a stone pillar, watching you in awe. “You look amazing,” he said with a smile. He was a lot more relaxed than you were and it instantly calmed you. He was wearing his usual attire, like he was just there for a chill afternoon with you, and not the beginning of a major reveal. “Thank you..everything good over there?” you asked, trying to mirror his casual tone, although you were a complete bundle of nerves on the inside. “Just waiting on you, pretty girl,” he replied with a grin. You watched the crew bustle around, setting up cameras and adjusting lighting while they prepared to film. Trent was completely unphased by all the activity, and was scrolling on his phone while he waited for you. The chemistry between the two of you was loud, even when you weren’t speaking. 

The two of you were alike, yet so different at the same time–like yin and yang. He was so nonchalant and confident, meanwhile you were always so keyed up about everything. Somehow, it always worked. “Nervous?” he asked, looking back at you to catch your eye. “Uh..maybe a little,” you admitted, trying to downplay it a little. “I’m definitely not used to all of this.” He decided to soothe you with his confidence, walking over to you and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Just have fun with it. Pretend we’re having a chat like always, it’ll be fine. You got this, baby.”

The camera crew was almost ready to start filming when you sat down at the table, fidgeting in your seat and adjusting the denim Miu Miu mini dress you were wearing. The T charm necklace rested perfectly against your skin; you were also wearing a dainty bracelet with the number 66 on it that you purchased the day before to match your necklace, though Trent hadn’t noticed it yet. You glanced over at him, catching Trent staring at you like he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Can you stop staring at me like that? You’re making me nervous,” you teased, adjusting your position to look at him out of the corner of your eye. Trent was casually sitting next to you, slowly sipping his tea. “Can’t. You look too good in that dress, baby.” You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain your focus. “We’re supposed to be talking about Rêveur! You can’t stare at me the whole time. I know we’re supposed to be having fun with it, but take it seriously.”

“I am taking it seriously. Can’t be mad at me for having a beautiful creative director and enjoying the view.” You glared at him playfully, “Well..it’s not like you put any thought into your posts so..somebody had to do it.”  One of the crew members approached the table with a clipboard and headphones, “Okay, you two. We’re almost ready to roll,” she said, checking off a few things on her list. ��We’re going for a laid back vibe, so just keep doing what you’re doing. You guys seem natural.”

“Seem? We are natural,” Trent joked. You shook your head at him, mouthing at him to stop while the crew laughed. Another crew member waved you down to get your attention. “Y/N, Trent. We’re gonna do a countdown and start rolling. Just be yourselves and have fun with it. Okay?” You nodded, taking a deep breath as everyone took their places. Trent raised his tea, saluting the crew with a wink. “Easy!”

“We’re about to start,” you whispered nervously, leaning toward him. “I know,” he whispered back, sneaking his hand to rest on your knee under the table. “Relax, baby. I got you. I love you.” His simple touch and his words immediately calmed the last bit of your nerves. You smiled at him, telling him you love him too, and placed your hand over his before turning back to the camera.

“Places everyone!” a crew member called out. “Lights are a go, camera’s ready...rolling in 3..2..1..”

When the cameras started rolling, you took another deep breath and flashed a smile towards the lens. Trent leaned in slightly as his hallmark smile spread across his face. It was really unfair for him to look that good so easily, but you had to focus on the task at hand. “Welcome to Tea with T,” you began, your voice smooth with a hint of excitement. “We’re here to answer some of your burning questions, have a bit of fun, and maybe announce something special..” Trent’s hand still rested on your knee under the table. “Maybe,” he shrugged. “Let’s see if I feel like sharing all my secrets today.” The crew quietly laughed behind the camera, already loving the dynamic between the two of you. The chemistry was off the charts, and the lightheartedness of it made you feel less nervous which set the tone for the rest of filming. 

“Alright,” one of the crew members stated. “Let’s start with something simple. How did you two meet?” You and Trent exchanged glances, smiling at each other. “We just kept ending up in the same spaces,” you admitted vaguely, glancing at Trent for some backup. “Yeah,” he chimed in, “we kept finding ourselves in the same places. Nothing too crazy.” He leaned back in the chair, grinning as he added, “The paps in Paris didn’t get my good side on the balcony though. Rookie moves, mate.” The crew laughed, entertained by the banter. Things were playful, and you wanted the audience to enjoy the mystery of your relationship without saying too much. People would probably think you were insane if you told them the true story anyway.

The crew read off the next question, “This one’s a goodie. Who said I love you first?” Trent looked at you, raising his brow. “You sure you want to answer this one?” You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s what the people want to know.” You turned to the camera, laughing a bit. “Technically..he said it first. Fairly recently actually. But he was asleep when he did it. He told me over the phone in this groggy, mumbly voice.” Trent blinked, surprised and visibly confused. “Wait, what? I don’t remember that..”

“If she says that’s what happened, I’ll go with it,” he added with a laugh, shaking his head. “But I swear I don’t remember that at all.” The crew started laughing again, loving how genuine and carefree the energy was surrounding both of you. When the next question was asked, you grinned when you heard it. 

“Okay..what’s one bad habit you both have?” Without even thinking about it, both of you answered in unison. “We talk too much!” The moment it left your mouths, you both looked at each other and started laughing, and the crew joined in–loving how in sync you were with him. You leaned into Trent, still giggling. “It’s true though. We get so caught up yapping that we don’t realize how many hours go by.”

“Yeah, it’s always a good time with her around,” Trent agreed, squeezing your knee affectionately.

The crew moved on to the next question. “What’s the best date you’ve had so far?”

You felt a flutter in your stomach thinking about the first official date. “Definitely the cooking date that got leaked online,” you said grinning. “We almost burned down the chef’s kitchen.” Trent laughed, shaking his head, “Yeah, she burnt our soufflé. Didn’t even get to have dessert, but the truffle pasta was delicious.”

“It wasn’t just me!” you protested. “We were both distracted..” Trent held up his hands, laughing. “Okay, I’ll admit that. We were distracted looking at her phone. She still owes me a soufflé though.”

“No..YOU owe me one,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “But T’s actually not too bad in the kitchen. A little messy, but not bad.”

The next question was the one you were most excited for. “How did you come up with Rêveur?” a crew member read aloud, smiling at both of you. You glanced at Trent, who gave you a flirty look as he leaned in slightly. “We ended up at her shop the night of our date” he started, recalling the memory quite vividly. “Wasn’t even planned, really. But we stayed up all night working on it. She’s amazing at what she does.” Trent looked at you, smiling from ear to ear. “That was the night I asked her to be my girlfriend. The aftershave is something she made for me. She wanted to capture my footie dreams coming true..but it’s really a blend of both of us. She’s always in her head, daydreaming and crafting up something, so in a way there’s meaning in it for her too.”

You smiled back at him, feeling your heartbeat increase. “Yeah, it’s like an essence of us, I guess. But just so everyone knows..it’s Rêveur people. Not ‘The Trent Scent.’ The camera deadpanned on you, and you shot a playful glance. Trent chuckled, “Yeah, Y/N is very particular about names. Just call it ‘Dreamer’ if you really can’t pronounce it.”

The crew almost looked like they were having more fun than the two of you were, cracking up at nearly every little thing that was said. Everything about the way you two talked showed just how comfortable you were with each other. The banter came as second nature. It was something people watching would feel as soon as they played the video. After a while, a crew member broke up the laughter by chiming in with a question that wasn’t planned originally.

“So..Y/N..who’s your favorite LFC player?” You pretended to think deeply, playing it up with a dramatic pause. “Hmm...probably Ibou or Virgil. They’re definitely funnier than Trent. Sorry, babe.”

The crew erupted in laughter as Trent’s eyes widened in shock, cutting at you with a side eye. “Aye! You can’t say that here! This is Tea with T!” You grinned, leaning in close to the camera. “I’m kidding. But no, my man is my favorite,” you said, reaching for your necklace as your fingers grazed the dainty ‘T’ charm. The camera zoomed in to catch the intimate detail while the charm glinted in the sunlight.

Trent turned to you, grinning when he noticed the 66 bracelet on your wrist in the camera’s viewfinder. “Look at that,” he said in a surprised voice. “Didn’t know about that bracelet.” He gently grabbed your wrist to take a look at the bracelet. “You’re my good luck charm, yeah?” You didn’t expect him to notice right away, but when he did you felt your skin tingle. The crew was eating it up, gathering every angle they possibly could until they threw another question at Trent.

“What’s your favorite scent that Y/N wears?”

Trent leaned back thoughtfully as he smirked to himself. He didn’t answer the question right away, and you could tell his thoughts wandered somewhere else entirely. After a while he glanced at you, flashing a cheeky grin. “There’s one she’s been wearing a lot lately. Makes me want to gobble her up. Smells like vanilla or something.”

You gasped, laughing and hiding your face behind your cup of tea. “Stoopp! People don’t need to know all of that!”

“Nah. They do,” he teased. “They’re here for some tea, no?” You rolled your eyes, redirecting the conversation and looking straight into the camera. “That’s still in development..so don’t come to the store begging for it just yet. But it’s coming soon. Speaking of which…” 

The mood shifted as you prepared for the big announcement. Trent wrapped his arm around your waist as you faced the camera with a serious expression. You smiled dramatically, trying to draw out the moment. “We’re so excited to finally share….our baby with the world,” you announced in a bubbly tone, teasing the audience with build up. Trent leaned in, equally teasing. “Our creation…”

You both quickly glanced at each other before the big reveal. “Rêveur, our fragrance..will be available for pre-order soon!” You both burst out into laughter as the crew yelled, “Annnd cut! That was perfect!”

It was an impeccable way to showcase not only your relationship, but also the essence of Rêveur. 

The video shoot was fun, but your nerves started bubbling when you realized what was next. The charity gala was coming up and you had no idea what you were going to wear. It was being hosted by Camille’s family, who thought the idea of an ‘intimate’ event meant getting the most extravagant venue. You knew for a fact nothing was going to be small or intimate when it came to their antics.

“Ready for the next part?” Trent asked, catching your eye.

“Yeah...I just hope there’s not as much drama as last year. I need the gala to go as smoothly as this shoot did. But you know, the devil is always in the details.”

Little did you know, you weren’t exactly wrong about that last statement. One thing about the moon’s gravitational pull? 

It always causes tides. High and low.

From: anon123 To: SpillTheBeansUK Hey Beans! You’re gonna want to keep an eye on Dreamer Boy & Perfume Princess 👀 Heard there’s a hot video dropping that’s going to have everyone talking 🔥🥵

if you made it this far, thank you for reading! lmk what you think

[bloodstained-porcelain-doll]

The Kneeling Queen, ch 1 - Aemond Targaryen x OC

Read on AO3

Summary: Aemond Targaryen and Maelessa Velaryon were childhood lovers. They were each other's only comfort in a world full of darkness. When they grew up, their love blossomed until they were the only thing the other cared about. Their lives get increasingly complicated due to the fact that they're supposed to be on opposite sides of the war. Will their love survive or will it burn to ash as the war ensues? Warnings: None for this chapter, but this fic will contain violence, rough and dirty sex, Dom Aemond, mutilation, degradation, war, canonical and non canonical character deaths, non canonical dragons, mentions of rape... it gets dark at times.

Chapter 1 - Childhood Lovers

Maelessa Velaryon ran to him inside the dragonpit, after the boy she cared about most.

”Aemond, don’t go with them!” she cried, knowing full well that Aegon and the other children had hid a pig inside the tunnel, that they were going to pull a mean prank on Aemond. Just because he didn’t have a dragon. “Aemond! Let’s go see the other dragons instead,” she urged. Aemond didn’t listen, instead he followed his brother. Aegon shot a glare back at Maelessa who stared daggers into him.

When they revealed the pig, the Pink Dread, they called it, Aemond didn’t say a word. He was stoic, his face didn’t betray his hurt. But Maelessa knew him better than all the other children, she felt his pain and knew how bad it broke his heart to be toyed with like this.

“You’re all mean!” she screamed at the other kids, her voice echoing through the pit. “Come on, Aemond, let’s go,” she urged, reaching for his hand. This time he followed her, taking her hand and following her out. Only when they were far enough away from everyone else did he let his tears show. Maelessa would never make fun of him, she sat with him on the cliff until his tears dried, holding his hand.

The next day she cursed her brothers. Jace and Luke were idiots, she screamed, they were nothing but mean bullies and Aemond didn’t deserve to be treated that way. 

“He calls us bastards!” Her older brother defended himself.

“We are bastards, Jace, look at us! Telling the truth isn’t a crime,” she insisted, shoving him in the chest before running off again. Her mother, who had just given birth to her third son, her fourth child, didn’t like how much time Maelessa spent running around the castle with Aemond. She much preferred when Maelessa spent time with her own siblings, studying Valyrian and history. 

Maelessa liked it best when Aemond taught her Valyrian though, his accent was beautiful and he was a good teacher. He also taught her how to fight in secret, the two of them slipping away to the garden to practise sword fighting. She would often sneak into his chamber at night and they would practise Valyrian together and braid each other’s hair. Aemond would tell her fantastical stories and she often fell asleep on the foot end of his bed listening to his calming voice, then the guards found them together in the mornings. He was her favourite person in the world, and when they weren’t together, he was often all she could think about.

***

When Ser Harwin had died, Maelessa ran away in the middle of the night. Her mother sent guards to look for her, and dragons were sent out to help the search. Her mother flew on Syrax and Jace on Vermax, looking for her everywhere, and the guards roamed through the forests. Yet it was Aemond who found her. He pulled down the hood of his cloak and leaned against the wall of the dog training yard in Cobbler’s square.

“Thought I’d find you here, Maelītsos,” he said quietly.

”There’s nowhere I can hide from you,” she mumbled, burying her head in Rocco’s fur. Rocco was a large brown dog that she had helped train since he was six weeks old.

“No. It’s foolish of you to come here. Though I suppose you blend in rather well,” he japed. She sniffled and sobbed.

“Someone murdered him, Aemond. Spontaneous fire in Harrenhal? Not likely.”

“You shouldn’t mourn in public for a man your mother claims to have no relation to. Time to go home,” he said and kicked himself off the wall, extending his hand. She wanted to stay here and sulk, cry until she couldn’t feel sadness anymore, seeking comfort in her four legged friends’ soft fur. But she took Aemond’s hand and followed him without protest back to the castle. She kept her head down so that people wouldn’t see her tears.

Aemond sat them down on a bench in the courtyard and wiped her tears. In his arms, the sadness felt less constricting, her chest felt lighter and more free. She inhaled the scent of him, calming her body even more. He always smelled good, her prince. 

“It’s alright to be sad. Your tears are safe with me, Mae. But be smart. It was foolish of you to leave the Red Keep in your situation.”

“You’re right, I know,” she said and wiped her tears.

With a scream, Syrax crashed down in the courtyard and Rhaenyra came running towards them.

“Where have you been!?” she shouted. Maelessa didn’t answer. “Aemond, where was she?”

“Does it matter? I brought her back.”

“How did you find her?”

“There’s nowhere she can hide from me.” Aemond was proud of his statement, but Rhaenyra looked unimpressed. 

“Thank you. You may leave.” But Aemond didn’t leave. He remained calm as ever, sitting quietly by Maelessa’s side. “That means leave, Aemond!” Rhaenyra clarified as if he was an imbecile. He smiled menacingly.

“I think you’ll find even less luck in speaking with Maelītsos if you force me away from her,” he mocked, purposefully using the pet name that Rhaneyra hated. Little Mae. Maelessa however loved every single pet name Aemond made up for her. The more names he gave her, the more singled out and cherished she felt by him. 

Maelessa’s family were now moving to Dragonstone. She wasn’t quite sure why, if it had to do with the death of Harwin or if it was something else. She knew rumours circled the keep, rumours harmful to her family, but her mother didn’t reveal much to her children, saying they were too young to understand. Maelessa didn’t want to leave, though. She fought her mother tooth and nail, screaming that she refused to go. To her surprise, Alicent was very hospitable, telling Rhaenyra and Laenor that she was welcome to stay here with them. After much fighting, Maelessa’s parents had finally agreed to let her stay. After all, her grandsire king Viserys was here, and he still ruled, so what harm could come to her?

***

After her aunt Laena Velaryon passed, a funeral had been held on Driftmark. Maelessa had arrived with Aemond and his family, and her own family had come as well. Tears had been shed, but she felt she couldn’t quite grieve for someone she barely knew. In the night, when Rhaenyra sent her children to bed, Aemond had stopped the girl from going to her chamber and instead brought her outside, telling her to follow him on an adventure.

Maelessa watched in awe as Aemond climbed atop the green giant beast of a dragon. Vhagar had threatened to rain fire on him but he had stood his ground, and the dragon had rewarded him for it. She ran backwards as the dragon lunged, sand whirring into her eyes as the dragon stomped off the ground and took flight. She listened to Aemonds screams as Vhagar took off with him. For a moment it seemed he would fall off, but he had managed to steady himself, climbing back into the saddle. 

Maelessa clapped her hands and cheered, then the pair disappeared from her sight, beyond the clouds. She watched and waited for a long time before they returned, this time the scream from Aemond wasn’t one of fear, but of triumph. They landed next to her and Aemond climbed off, running to pick Maelessa off the ground and spin her around in the air in cheer joy. He finally had a dragon, and not just any dragon. The biggest one known to them, and the fiercest war dragon. The two children laughed as they walked hand in hand into the cave. 

Rhaena and Baela were in there with Jace and Luke, having been woken up from the noises of Aemond claiming Vhagar. Maelessa felt a little bad, because she knew Rhaena had wanted to claim Vhagar since she was her late mother’s dragon. But dragons chose their riders, they couldn’t be stolen. If Vhagar didn’t want Aemond to claim her, he would be dead. Which is why it angered her so when her cousins accused him of stealing Vhagar. 

Her cousins lunged first, attacking Aemond. She yelled at them to stop, even running forward to hit them back, but Aemond had no issue battling off the two angry girls. When her brothers Jace and Luke joined in though, the fight became unfair. Aemond was strong and already a skilled fighter for his young age, but four against two were bad odds. Maelessa fought her own siblings in Aemond defence, trying to hold them back. Baela and Rhaena retreated, watching as the fight grew meaner and harder. Aemond once again taunted the boys for being bastards, and Luke was the only one who didn’t know that he was right. One of them threw sand in Aemond’s face, causing him to stumble. Then Luke grabbed the knife and lunged. 

Before Maelessa could scream at him to stop, he had slashed the knife across Aemond’s face and he fell to his knees screaming in agonising pain. Maelessa ran to him, hunching over him to comfort him, shocked at the blood running through his fingers. A knight came running, way too late to break up the fight. She refused to let go of Aemond’s arm as they were all led back into the castle. She watched with tears running down her cheeks as a Maester stitched him up, sewing over his eye. 

He looked terrifying, red bloody stitches going from his cheek to his forehead. The room filled up with knights and family members, the king, the queen and her protectors, Lord Corlys and princess Rhaenys, as well as Maelessa’s own mother and Daemon. Panic spread through the room as the adults tried to make sense of the situation, figure out what had happened. The children all screamed over each other trying to tell their stories. Rhaenyra fussed over hew bleeding sons and the unharmed Maelessa backed away from them. Alicent was furious over the loss of her son’s eye, while Rhaenyra was furious over the insults thrown at her children.

“Maelessa, come here,” she beckoned, reaching for her daughter, who backed off, placing herself next to Aemond and grabbing his arm, scowling at her mother. The king, instead of siding with his son who just lost an eye, sided with the grandson who had taken the eye, questioning Aemond about the insults instead of Luke about the attack. He warned them all that the in fighting just cease, but Alicent was not satisfied, trying to convince the king to take one of Luke’s eyes as justice. Maelessa squeezed Aemond’s arm in fear, and even he seemed to think his mother was out of her bounds for the suggestion. Rhaenyra tried to beckon Maelessa over again, to come stand with her siblings, but she refused to let go of Aemond’s arm. 

“Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon,” the queen demanded. Luke cried for their mother in fear, Maelessa’s eyes widened and fighting broke out among the adults again. The king refused to let Ser Criston carry out the order, putting his wife back in place. As the king turned to leave, deeming this trial as over, Alicent leapt forward, reaching for his dagger. 

Aemond stood, wrapping his arms around Maelessa and taking her behind him protectively. Luke screamed and Rhaenyra put herself in front of him, facing off against Alicent. Maelessa was scared, scared that Alicent may hurt her mother, but Aemond held her in his arms and she clung to him fiercely, finding security in his embrace. She didn’t quite understand what Alicent and Rhaenyra said to each other as one held a knife to each other, but then the blade slashed against skin and her mother was bleeding from her arm. Maelessa gasped and dropped her hand down to grasp Aemond’s tightly. 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered in her ear. When the two women backed off from each other, Aemond and Rhaenyra looked at each other. Rhaenyra’s eyes snapped down to the clutched hands of him and her daughter, but she said nothing. Aemond then turned to his mother. “Do not mourn me, mother, it was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

Her stoic prince.

Tagging @sadgirlxangel and @ner-dee due to previously shown interest, let me know if you wish to remain tagged or not :)

[veevei]

DAWN IN THE ADAN

megumi x reader smau | prev | masterlist | next

ch 25: minecraft

yn rushes back to her dorm after she just got a text that the stream would be starting soon.

opening the door from her 15 minute sprint from the coffee shop to her dorm —why did she even go get coffee and an egg and cheese sandwich at 8pm?— doesnt matter anyways as she turns on her laptop

“i should get a better laptop.. maybe a pc when i graduate..” mumbling to herself while texting maki, not even bothering to tweet a stream announcement. toge and yuji probably did it already anyways.

yn joins minecraft and the proximity chat with nearly everyone in it. they were still waiting on one more person, megumi. whatever

she continues eating her english muffin which is nearly finished by now. once shes done megumi finally joins the call. yn puts down her phone which she was scrolling on pinterest on for minecraft house ideas and starts getting blocks.

this wasnt a speedrun anyways, theyll probably play again soon. while yuji and toge are doing their own thing— killing mobs, mining, actually progressing — yn was barely done either getting the wood for her house.

she was pretty quiet for the stream because of how tired she was. not because shes sleepy but because of classes. whenever shes not in class shes either studying or streaming, sometimes alone sometimes with her friends. she only got rest on sundays and fridays, this week looks like its going to just be friday.

even though she was with her friends she still felt alone. toge and yuji were trying to speedrun the game, and maki was pretty much doing the same thing yn was doing but with nobara following along, yuta was mining, he was still talking on stream and had some energy left. megumi was.. what is he doing?

maybe maki and nobara will become better friends. thats fine, nobaras nice enough.

hours later they go into the end and kill the ender dragon. this is boring. shes nearly done with her house and hasn’t spoken to basically anyone after the end. right now everyone is trying to kill eachother—more like yuji and toge trying to kill everyone— and yn still hasnt gotten above iron armor

she heads into a random strip mine that yuta probably dug in the beginning on the game, after 20 minutes she starts to hear a voice. she turns around to see nothing. the voice is probably coming from above her anyways. before long she starts getting hit by what she thought was a zombie. she turned around and started immediately hitting megumi.

“oops sorry. i thought you were a mob” yn says while giggling. “thats my fault anyways. do you have any iron?” megumi asks yn. “why?” yn says while checking her inventory, not that she needed to. she knew she had atleast a stack of iron by now.

yn throws him the iron. “i didnt say my reason first, i could be trying to kill you, you know” megumi says. “are you trying to kill me?” yn retorts. “nah, kay bye. thanks for the iron”

“no problem”

by the time she gets to the surface most everything is either on fire or covered in random cobblestone. no one had died yet but yuji was chasing after nobara screaming about how she killed his dog.

yn laughs to herself as she starts to travel back to her house from spawn. she made sure it was far away just because she did not want her house to be burned down by toge.

when she checks her chest she finds that all of her diamonds that she got from the end city were gone. probably yutas or makis doing, toge wouldve destroyed the house down the moment he saw it.

yn crafts herself a suit of diamond armor and a diamond axe from the diamonds she just minded and she heads back to spawn. 5 minutes later she starts to here yelling, she sprints to yuta asking where her diamonds went. “yuta! did you take my diamonds? i had like 7 but now theyre all gone” “oh yeah.. i thought that was makis house.”

yn gives the deadest stare to anyone who was still watching her stream, they all probably moved to yuji or toges because they still somehow were talkative.

“whatever”

by the time yn makes it back, she sees yuji and toge scavenging in her house. how did they even find it? it was like 700 blocks away from spawn, she thought that was far enough. atleast they didnt burn it down yet.

STUPID BABY WAS SLAIN BY YUJI

“MY CAT WHAT THE FUCK YUJI” yn yells. yuji gasps and says “THAT WAS YOURS?” yn gets her axe and immediately starts hitting yuji “THIS IS MY HOUSE WHAT DID YOU THINK??”

“i thought it was makis!! STOP HELP, HELP ME TOGE”

toge had already left the moment yuji started killing her cat.

4 hours later yuji and toge are being killed for their crimes. right after that the stream ends.

“that was fun.. i think atleast.” yn mumbles to herself as she shuts her laptops, clearing the food and drink off her desk. she glaces at the clock.

1:47 AM

damn it.

whats up guys

this ISNT proof read.. at all

egg and cheese english muffin are so fucking good

1 breakfast food DONT PLAY WITH ME.

yn and megs first interaction???!!!

25 ch deep 😭🙏

i hate this

i haven’t started ch 27 yet… 😕

spiderman across the spider man reference

“givemeamin” how cute he put it in one word yk kids these days

idk what he said but it was smth like that

everyone thinks yns stuff is makis

bye

yns english muffin 🤤 yns inspo from pinterest

taglist (19/20) ask to be added/removed

@frogtits1 @matsugumisou @megumisdivinedogs @satoryaa @starmaiya11 @tuna-toes @loriisheart @kurtcobaingirlie @san-it-is-i-guess @tomikixd @blu3-l0v3r @goobleissocool @lucislovebug @jasminasblog22 @walllflowerrrsss @creteansailor @gumims @kiss-my-asscheeks @sirenla

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 2 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Two: Let The Dance With The Devil Begin

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge

Word Count: 7k

A/N: Omfg. I took so long to write this I know T^T Thank you for being patient with me! I just decided to have a mini break bcs I was jet lagged from travelling and had to focus on my health for a little bit. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: The Albatross by Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

RED KEEP, WESTEROS - 300 AC

You spent two decades carefully avoiding forming deep bonds, all the while meticulously plotting your revenge. You studied their weaknesses, habits, and relationships, patiently biding your time until you could strike from close range.

You had noticed the lingering glances between Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister, their whispered conversations turning into passionate encounters. So when Cersei bore a child, rumored to be the result of her incestuous relationship, and as you witnessed Joffrey Baratheon growing into a likeness of his parents, you recorded every detail in your leather-bound notebook. It contained all the information about those responsible for the death of Elia Martell, ensuring no detail escaped your scrutiny.

Serena, a girl you befriended in the bustling stables, is a steadfast ally in your quest for vengeance. Together, you both meticulously gather intelligence, weaving through the whispers of the kitchen staff and the secrets shared in the shadowy corners of brothels. With her keen eyes and your shared determination, you stalk those who have wronged you, laying the groundwork for your calculated retribution.

In the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, the struggle for power rages on. Joffrey Baratheon, seated upon the Iron Throne, wields authority backed by the formidable House Lannister. However, his claim faces challenge from his uncle Renly, who, bolstered by the might of House Tyrell, presses his own bid for kingship. In this turmoil, Tyrion Lannister arrives in King's Landing, aiming to assert control, only to find himself at odds with his conniving sister, Cersei, now entrenched as Queen Regent.

As autumn blankets the realm and whispers of an impending winter linger, Westeros braces for the bitter cold ahead. Yet, instead of preparing for the harsh season, the land remains conflicted. Renly Baratheon's sudden demise alters the tides of allegiance, leaving the political landscape in flux. Meanwhile, Joffrey, with the backing of House Tyrell, emerges victorious in a decisive clash against his uncle Stannis, solidifying his hold on power.

The fates of many hang precariously in the balance. In the labyrinthine corridors of King's Landing, both Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark navigate treacherous waters, their survival dependent on their ability to navigate the perilous currents of court intrigue.

You had served Sansa since the day she was first betrothed to King Joffrey. Back then, she had been full of dreams—visions of knighthood, love, and a golden crown. But those dreams quickly soured, turning into nightmares as the Lannisters’ hold over her tightened. What was once a promising union became a gilded cage. They kept her in the Red Keep, a prisoner beneath layers of silk and politeness. 

Sansa clung to her “lady-like” pursuits to distract from the harshness of her reality—sewing, embroidery, poetry, and music. Her stitches were always delicate, her voice soft, yet behind her graceful demeanor, you saw the cracks. You were there when Septa Mordane led her through the Red Keep’s throne room for a lesson in history. It was meant to be a glimpse into the glory of the Targaryens and the rulers of old, but instead, Sansa’s gaze lingered on the dark stain where her grandfather and uncle had been butchered by the Mad King. Her face paled, and she pressed her lips into a thin line, haunted by the ghosts of her own blood.

One evening, as she sat embroidering by the window, she confided in you. “Do you think I’ll be able to give Joffrey sons?” Her voice wavered. “What if… What if I’m only able to give him daughters, like Jeyne Poole’s mother?”

You tried to find reassuring words, though even Septa Mordane's attempts had done little to ease her fears. “You’re young, my lady. You will bear many children in time.”

Her blue eyes, wide with fear, met yours, but she said nothing more.

The Hand’s tournament arrived, and Sansa, despite everything, seemed to sparkle for a brief moment amidst the finery of the lords and knights. You stood in the shadows, watching her as she watched them. Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain, was a towering presence, and you felt a chill run down your spine as he unseated Ser Hugh of the Vale, killing him in the dust of the joust. Littlefinger whispered dark stories to Sansa of the Hound’s past, tales of burned flesh and brutal lessons. You saw the way Sansa’s hands trembled as she absorbed the horrors hidden beneath the chivalry.

Yet, there were moments of fleeting happiness. Ser Loras Tyrell, the famed Knight of the Flowers, gave her a single rose before his tilt with Ser Gregor. She blushed under his attention, but you noticed how Loras’s gaze lingered not on her, but on Renly Baratheon, who stood just behind. That small act of kindness, hollow as it was, brought a rare smile to Sansa’s lips, even as the court applauded Sandor Clegane’s intervention to stop his brother’s rampage.

But that brief joy was drowned by the darkness that soon followed. When King Robert Baratheon died after a hunting “accident,” everything unraveled. Eddard Stark, honorable as always, tried to reveal the truth about Joffrey’s parentage, but it was too late. You weren’t surprised when Littlefinger betrayed him. You had seen the cunning in his eyes long before, the way he played everyone like pieces on a cyvasse board. 

Chaos erupted. Eddard’s men, loyal to the last, were slaughtered by Lannister guardsmen led by Sandor Clegane. You remembered Mordane’s voice trembling as she urged Sansa to lock herself in their chambers. But there was no hiding from the Lannisters. They took her.

You watched from a distance as Sansa was humiliated before the court, her innocence crushed beneath the weight of Cersei’s cold cruelty. She stood there, trembling, and you saw the beginning of a transformation. The girl who once dreamed of knights and love was slowly breaking, her innocence being stripped away by every sneer, every command, every cold laugh in the throne room.

You wished you could offer her comfort, but in King’s Landing, comfort was as fleeting as mercy.

The great Sept was filled with the hum of whispers, the heavy weight of tension hanging in the air as Eddard Stark stood before the court. His face, weathered by years of honor and battle, now looked hollow, beaten by betrayal. You stood in the shadows, where servants always stood, your eyes flicking between the high lords and the northern Warden. As the silence fell, Eddard knelt, acknowledging his so-called “crimes” and pledging loyalty to King Joffrey.

For a moment, it seemed the court might breathe again. Sansa stood nearby, her hands trembling. Hope flickered in her eyes—briefly. But Joffrey, perched on the Iron Throne like some twisted boy-king out of a nightmare, leaned forward with a smile sharp as a blade. His words fell like a thunderclap. “Bring me his head.”

Sansa's scream cut through the hall, raw and broken. She lunged forward, hysterical, her voice lost in a storm of pleading, but the gold cloaks restrained her, forcing her back. Her cries—“Please, mercy, mercy!”—rang in your ears, making your stomach turn. 

Ser Ilyn Payne stepped forward, cold and unfeeling as he drew Ice, the greatsword of House Stark. You could see the light catch the edge of the steel, and the last thing Sansa saw before she fainted was her father’s final, resigned glance.

You moved through the chaos as a shadow. Your duty to Sansa came first, so as the blood pooled on the Sept’s floor, you carried her from the carnage, her limp body heavy with grief. The days that followed were hollow. She barely spoke, her eyes vacant as you tended to her, making sure she ate, dressing her in the Lannisters' silks even as her soul remained buried in sorrow.

It was one of those somber evenings when she finally spoke, her voice so faint you almost missed it. “Do you… serve the Lannisters?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You paused, setting down the tray of untouched food, meeting her tired gaze. “Yes, my lady,” you answered softly.

Sansa’s eyes flickered with something—confusion, maybe anger. “Have they always been this cruel?” she asked, her words trembling with an innocent horror.

You weighed your response carefully, then nodded. “From what I’ve heard, unfortunately, yes.”

Her lips parted as she considered your answer, but it was her next question that cut deeper. “Then why do you serve them?”

You lowered your eyes, your hands folding over the fabric of her gown, the lie of your position hanging heavy on your shoulders. “It’s something I wager on,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the unease in your chest.

Sansa, always perceptive, frowned. “Is that the only kind of wager you make?”

For a moment, you froze. Then you let a faint smile tug at the corner of your lips, the words “Unbowed, unbent, unbroken” echoing in your heart, though unspoken. “There was one time I bet my entire life on something,” you confessed quietly.

She looked at you then, truly looked, her tear-streaked face searching yours. “Did you win?”

Your smile faltered, but you met her gaze with a spark of determination. “I’m planning to,” you said, with a quiet promise hanging between the two of you.

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP — 300 AC

The stone walls of the Red Keep felt colder that night, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the ancient stones. In a small, dimly lit chamber tucked away from the grand halls, you worked in silence, the weight of your plan pressing down like the calm before a storm. Every movement was deliberate, each thought sharper than the edge of a Valyrian blade. The game was already in motion, and you were setting the pieces in place.

You had long been underestimated—a mere servant, a shadow in the background of the powerful Lannisters, Tyrells, and Martells. Yet, you had seen the truth: the most dangerous players were often those who remained unseen. You were one of them, a silent force, blending into the background while carefully planting the seeds of destruction. The poison, subtle and undetectable, was your weapon.

A soft knock interrupted your focus. The door creaked open, and there stood Petyr Baelish—Littlefinger himself. His thin lips curved into a smile, but there was no warmth in it, only calculation.

“Ah, a quiet place for quiet minds,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, eyes darting around the chamber before settling on you.

You raised your head slowly, meeting his gaze with a calm that belied the storm brewing inside you. Littlefinger wasn’t a man easily intimidated, but neither were you. Two wolves circling, each looking for the other’s weakness.

“You seem to find yourself in many quiet places, Lord Baelish,” you replied, voice soft but pointed. “What brings you here?”

He moved closer, his steps light, like a predator stalking prey. “Just ensuring the right wheels keep turning, ensuring the chaos that follows serves the right cause.” His gaze lingered on your hands, noting the fine movements as you handled a small vial, the liquid within almost imperceptibly shifting.

You allowed a small, knowing smile. “Chaos... Chaos can be useful. But only if it’s controlled.”

His eyebrow raised, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Controlled chaos? Now, that’s an art.”

You carefully set the vial down, your voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “What if the chaos that’s already simmering were to boil over? What if, after Joffrey’s wedding, his reign came to an... unexpected end?”

Baelish didn’t blink, though you could see the subtle change in his posture, the slight narrowing of his eyes. You hadn’t suggested anything outright—it was the art of planting the idea, the delicate balance of nudging him without him realizing he’d been led.

He took a slow breath, his mind already racing. “And who, I wonder, would have the audacity to arrange such an unexpected end?”

You smiled, but didn’t answer directly, your silence speaking volumes. Instead, you moved the conversation forward, allowing the implication to sink in.

“The realm is already full of hungry wolves, my lord,” you said, your voice steady, your hands working deftly as you began to clear away your tools. “All it takes is a nudge in the right direction, and they’ll tear each other apart. No one will stop to notice who did the nudging.”

Littlefinger tilted his head, studying you for a moment longer. “Perhaps,” he mused, his tone as noncommittal as ever, “but wolves are tricky. You can never be sure which way they’ll turn.”

“That’s true,” you conceded, meeting his eyes directly. “But I’ve always been good at reading the pack.”

The silence that followed was heavy, each of you measuring the other, testing the boundaries. He wouldn’t act on your words immediately. Littlefinger was too careful, too meticulous for that. But you could see the spark in his eyes—the idea was there, planted, waiting to take root.

With a nod, he turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “You have a dangerous mind,” he remarked, half admiration, half warning. “Be careful. The pack bites back.”

You gave him a knowing look. “Only if they see the one holding the leash.”

Days passed, and as you moved through the grand halls of the Red Keep, you watched everything begin to fall into place. Like a silent puppeteer, you pulled the strings without ever needing to step into the light.

Varys had been busy, moving pieces on the board that even you hadn’t expected. Ros had whispered in his ear, and soon after, Lady Olenna Tyrell had been brought into the fold. The whispers of a marriage between Sansa Stark and Loras Tyrell spread through the castle like wildfire. You had always known Varys to be a man of schemes, but even you marveled at how quickly he moved.

In the gardens, you overheard the conversations as they unfolded—subtle, quiet, but filled with power. Lady Olenna, with her sharp wit and keen mind, was already orchestrating her plans, likely envisioning a future without Joffrey’s cruel reign.

You stood in the shadows as Littlefinger passed by, his expression unreadable. He had heard your suggestion, and though you were not directly involved, you knew the idea had taken root. He would set things in motion, ensuring the chaos that followed would serve him—and you would remain unseen, untouched by the blood that would soon spill.

RED KEEP, WESTEROS – 301 AC

The War of the Five Kings dragged on, but within the Red Keep, the battles were far subtler, fought with whispers and veiled threats. Your life as a servant under King Joffrey's reign had grown increasingly unbearable. Between the relentless demands of court life and the constant fear of his cruelty, you found little time to care for yourself.

Your headache throbbed—a reminder that you hadn’t eaten since dawn, and the long days had begun to blur into endless nights. It wasn’t uncommon for you to push through these spells, but this time felt different. The world around you grew heavier, your limbs sluggish, and the gardens seemed far away.

Basket in hand, filled with fruit from the kitchens, you trudged through the Red Keep's gardens. The bright afternoon light stabbed at your eyes, worsening the pounding in your head. You tried to focus on your task, but each step felt more labored, and a cold sweat broke out on your skin.

As you rounded a corner near the overgrown hedges, your vision blurred. The world tilted. The cobbled path beneath your feet shifted into an unforgiving blur of stone and soil, and with a muffled thud, everything went black.

In that hazy in-between of consciousness, a voice pulls you back—familiar, though distant. “He would have liked you,” Princess Elia’s voice echoes in your mind.

“Whom do you speak of, my lady?” you had once asked her, back when the Red Keep still buzzed with life and not dread.

“My brother. Oberyn. He’s trouble, but even so, I love him dearly.”

For a brief moment, you can almost feel her presence, and the weight of the past rushes over you like a cold wave. You blink, pulling yourself out of the memory just as a different voice fills your ears. A deeper one, full of curiosity and something unreadable.

You woke slowly, your senses coming back in fragments: the scent of crushed grass, the cool air against your skin, and the distant murmur of voices. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the filtered sunlight through the leaves overhead.

"Careful. Don’t rush."

The voice was deep, tinged with amusement. A hand—warm and strong—rested on your shoulder, gently holding you down. You blinked, focusing on the face above you, unfamiliar yet striking. Dark, sharp eyes, framed by lustrous and black with only a few silver streaks recede from his brow into a widow's peak. The emblem of a red sun pierced by a golden spear embroidered on his tunic caught your eye.

Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper of Dorne.

“Are you injured?” His voice held a soft curiosity as if you were some puzzle he intended to unravel.

You shook your head, still disoriented. "No, I... I must have fainted."

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the basket of spilled fruit beside you. “It seems you’ve been overworking yourself. King Joffrey’s court, I assume? They’re not known for their kindness.”

A rush of embarrassment warmed your cheeks. You scrambled to sit up, but Oberyn’s hand remained firm.

“Take your time,” he said, his tone softening. “Even a servant deserves a moment to breathe.”

You weren’t used to kindness, especially not from someone of his stature. His reputation as a fierce and dangerous man preceded him, yet there was something else—an air of compassion, albeit hidden beneath his sharp edges.

“I’m... grateful,” you murmured, unsure of how to respond. “But I should get back to my duties. They won’t—”

Oberyn interrupted with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let them wait. The Lannisters have their claws in many, but even a viper can strike when the time is right.”

There was a pause, a subtle shift in the air between you and Oberyn Martell. His gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, and though his words were casual, they held an undercurrent you couldn’t quite place. It was as though he saw something deeper in you, something more than just a servant tending to her duties. Fate, or perhaps something far more dangerous, had drawn his attention to you.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he stood upright, his dark eyes gleaming with a playful intensity. "You Dornish are known for our... passions," he said, his voice a low, deliberate purr. "But it seems fate has a way of placing beauty in my path, whether I ask for it or not."

You blink, unsure of how to respond, heat rising uncomfortably to your face. He stepped closer, his presence both magnetic and overwhelming. His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist, lingering there a moment longer than propriety would allow. "Tell me," Oberyn continued, his tone playful yet edged with something deeper, "does a woman like you often find herself fainting at the feet of princes? Or is this a rare occasion?"

Your breath hitched, panic flaring inside you, though you did your best to suppress it. Affection—let alone attention—was something you were unaccustomed to. His flirtation was like a wildfire, threatening to burn through the careful walls you'd built around yourself.

"I... I don’t..." you stammered, trying to pull your thoughts together, your mind racing. You weren’t used to being noticed, not like this, not by someone like him.

Oberyn tilted his head, his smirk widening as if he could sense the flurry of emotions raging within you. "Don't be shy," he murmured, voice lowering as his eyes roamed over you with quiet curiosity. "I can see there's much more to you than meets the eye." 

The words felt like a tease, a challenge wrapped in silk, and your heart pounded in your chest, caught between the instinct to flee or stand frozen in place. Oberyn Martell's gaze seemed to strip away every defense you had carefully built over the years, as though he could see straight through the mask of servitude you wore.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, steadying your trembling nerves. This was not the time to panic, not in front of the Red Viper of Dorne. He was too sharp, too dangerous, and your heart fluttered at the way his presence seemed to unsettle the very air around you.

Without answering the prince’s flirtatious remark, you bent down to hurriedly gather the fallen fruit, your fingers clumsy as you fumbled with the basket. But even as you moved, you felt his eyes on you, watching every motion with an almost predatory amusement.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he crouched beside you, his hand brushing yours as he handed you one of the scattered apples. "You're in quite the hurry," he murmured, the smirk never leaving his face. His touch lingered, deliberately slow as he placed the fruit in your basket.

You rose quickly, trying to distance yourself, but Oberyn stood just as swiftly. Before you could retreat, he grasped your wrist, pulling it gently toward him. His movements were fluid, effortless, as if this were a dance he had long perfected. He raised your hand to his lips, his dark eyes locked on yours, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles—his lips soft, warm against your skin.

Your breath caught, panic fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird. Heat crept up your neck, your heart racing as you tried to pull yourself together, but his touch seemed to set your mind spinning.

Just then, Oberyn’s eyes shifted, narrowing as he caught sight of something—your scars, peeking out from beneath your long sleeves. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, curiosity flashing across his features. He tilted his head, about to speak.

But you jerked your hand away, the sudden movement sharp, almost frantic. "I should go," you blurted, the words tumbling out hastily. You gathered your things, your pulse still thrumming wildly as you turned on your heel, desperate to escape his piercing gaze.

As you hurried away, you could feel Oberyn's eyes lingering on your retreating form, his expression unreadable. Even in your rush, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the prince wasn’t done with you yet.

KING'S LANDING, WESTEROS – 301 AC

The sun hung high over King’s Landing, its golden light casting a deceptive warmth over the cool sea breeze that drifted in from Blackwater Bay. You stood with Marei at the edge of the courtyard, the bustle of the palace below and the hum of the city distant beneath the tranquil air. The garden was alive with color, a stark contrast to the heavy gloom that clung to those gathered at the banquet table.

Shae moved with a quiet urgency, filling a plate with food from the banquet spread. She placed it in front of Sansa, who sat still, pale and lifeless, her face void of any spark. Her slender hands rested on her lap, unmoving. It was as if she had already become a shadow, despite still breathing.

“You need to eat something,” Shae urged softly, her voice carrying both concern and exasperation.

Sansa did not stir. 

“Pigeon pie,” Shae offered, her tone gentler now, but Sansa’s pale lips barely moved as she whispered, “No, thank you.”

A sigh escaped Shae, but she quickly turned back to the table, scanning for something else. With a quick motion, she removed Sansa's untouched plate and placed a new offering in front of her. “Lemon cakes?” Shae asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice. Everyone knew Sansa's love for lemon cakes.

Sansa’s voice, barely a whisper, responded again. “No, thank you.”

Shae’s expression faltered. “You love lemon cakes.”

But Sansa remained unmoved, as if the world around her had lost all meaning. Shae’s shoulders slumped in frustration, her eyes flicking toward you and Marei before glancing at the entrance of the courtyard.

Tyrion Lannister entered the garden with deliberate steps, his short legs struggling to match the long strides of the men he was often compared to. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the scene with quick efficiency. Despite his stature, you had learned well enough that Lord Tyrion Lannister was not a man to be underestimated. His mind was his sharpest weapon.

“Tyrion,” Shae called out to him with a sigh of relief. “Tell her she needs to eat.”

Tyrion approached the table, offering a small, polite smile. “My lady, you do need to eat.”

Sansa’s gaze remained fixed somewhere in the distance, her hands limp in her lap. “I don’t need to eat,” she said softly, without even looking at him.

Tyrion hesitated for a moment, glancing between Shae, you, and Marei. His expression was measured, patient. “Could I have a moment alone with my wife?” he asked gently, though his tone held the firmness of a command.

You exchanged a quick look with Marei before bowing your head and stepping away. Shae, however, lingered, her eyes flashing with concern and defiance. She crossed her arms, unwilling to yield.

“She needs to eat,” Shae said stubbornly, her eyes narrowing as she looked between Tyrion and Sansa. 

Tyrion met her gaze, his expression imploring, but Shae’s frustration was palpable. With one last glance at Sansa, Shae reluctantly turned and left the garden.

Tyrion took a seat across from Sansa, his eyes softening as he reached out to take her hand. His grip was gentle, but firm enough to draw her from her daze. “I can’t let you starve, Sansa,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet compassion.

Sansa didn’t react. She stared past him, her blue eyes hollow, as if the world had dulled to nothing but gray. Shae, now at the far end of the garden, cast a furious glance back toward Tyrion, her anger simmering just beneath the surface.

A FEW DAYS LATER

KITCHEN KEEP, KING'S LANDING — DAY

The kitchen was a chaotic blend of sounds and smells, with servants rushing around, preparing the feast for the garden party. You focused on your tasks, slicing fruits and arranging them neatly, hoping the repetitive motions would calm the unease bubbling in your chest. The Lannisters' garden parties always came with tension—too many eyes, too many secrets.

Serena, ever observant, moved beside you with a conspiratorial smile. Her presence had always been a quiet comfort, an unspoken pact between two women wronged by the same family. She nudged your side playfully, her voice just loud enough for you to hear over the clattering pans and murmurs of other servants.

“Guess what I overheard in the gardens earlier,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of fresh gossip.

You glanced up, your curiosity piqued. “What is it now?”

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping even lower. “Tyrion and Lord Varys were having one of their secret little chats. Something about Shae.” She gave a sly smile before recounting the conversation she’d overheard, her voice adopting a mocking impression of Tyrion's measured tone.

“Lord Varys. Breakfasting with the king?”

Your hands paused over the fruit, recognizing the weight of that simple greeting. Serena continued, now mimicking Varys’ smooth, ever-cautious reply.

“I’m afraid foreigners aren’t welcome at such exclusive affairs,” she quoted, barely concealing a smirk.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at your lips. Tyrion and Varys—always circling each other, testing the limits of loyalty and power. Serena’s impression was spot on, and the dry chuckle she added to Varys’ line brought the exchange to life.

“Oh, to be foreign,” she muttered in Tyrion’s voice before glancing around the bustling kitchen with exaggerated suspicion, mimicking Varys’ quiet amusement.

“Ahem,” she finished with a soft laugh.

The kitchen clamor drowned out any chance of someone overhearing, but you kept your gaze fixed on your hands, focusing on the fruit before you. "What did they say after that?" you asked in a low voice, not wanting to appear too interested but knowing that information like this was often a lifeline in King's Landing.

Serena's smile dimmed slightly as she continued, her tone more serious now. “They were talking about Shae. Varys warned Tyrion that she’s been noticed. That Sansa’s maid saw them together, and it’s only a matter of time before Cersei—and worse, Tywin—find out.”

Your breath hitched slightly. That was dangerous—too dangerous for a place like this.

You glanced up at Serena, who nodded grimly. “Varys told Tyrion his father has promised to hang the next whore he’s found with.”

Your stomach twisted, though you managed to keep your expression neutral. Information like this could be a weapon if used correctly. But it also carried its own risks, especially for someone like you, who lived in the shadows of these powerful people. You simply nodded and whispered, "Thank you."

KING’S LANDING GARDEN, DAY — 301 AC

The gardens of the Red Keep, beautiful though they were, could not ease the tension that clung to the air. The lush greenery and sea breeze seemed wasted on the gathering before you, where cruelty simmered beneath the surface. You moved silently among the servants, pouring wine, offering trays of food, your head low as your sharp eyes observed everything. No one here was truly safe—not even those who smiled and pretended otherwise.

You had learned long ago to watch, to listen, to see things others missed. And here, among the so-called lords and ladies, your simmering hatred boiled just beneath the surface. Revenge had a way of lurking in quiet moments like these, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

At the head of the table sat King Joffrey, his golden crown glinting in the sun like a mockery of all that was just. Around him, the key players of the realm gathered: Queen Cersei, her eyes sharp and watchful; Lord Tywin, stoic and commanding as always; Prince Tommen, innocent and ignorant of the malice around him; and Grand Maester Pycelle, old and leering.

But your attention flickered to Sansa Stark. Pale, withdrawn, her once-vibrant spirit all but crushed under the weight of her suffering. She sat beside her husband, Tyrion Lannister, who, despite his small stature, radiated an awareness far sharper than anyone gave him credit for. The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken grief they both carried.

Your heart tightened as you watched, knowing Sansa's pain was not unlike your own. Like her, you had learned to survive in silence, though your silence was of a different kind. The Lannisters had taken too much from you. They were going to pay for it one day, one way or another.

Across the table, Lord Mace Tyrell puffed out his chest, carrying a gleaming goblet, his voice filled with a pride that bordered on foolishness.

“From House Tyrell and the people of the Reach, Your Grace, it is my honor to present you with this wedding cup.”

He placed the goblet before Joffrey, who barely looked at it, his lips curling into a mocking smile.

“A handsome goblet, my lord. Or shall I call you Father?”

You noted how Mace Tyrell’s face flushed with both pride and unease. He bowed deeply. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

As Mace withdrew, Shae moved gracefully through the crowd, setting a tray before Sansa. You saw how her eyes flickered toward the young girl, but there was no response from Sansa, no recognition of the kindness that once might have been there.

Then, the sharp voice of Queen Cersei pierced the moment, her words venomous.

“She’s the whore I told you about. The dark-haired one.”

Your blood boiled as you saw Shae stiffen. The insult cut through the air like a blade, but Shae, ever composed, turned to leave without a word. You noticed how Tywin’s cold eyes followed her, narrowing as she walked away.

“Have her brought to the Tower of the Hand before the wedding,” Tywin ordered, his voice devoid of any emotion, yet as sharp as a death sentence.

Tyrion’s face darkened. You could see the concern etched into his features, his helplessness as he tried to control a situation slipping further out of his grasp. Your heart raced, knowing the precarious game being played here—and how dangerous it was for all involved.

Shae’s departure was barely noticed as Podrick stepped forward, carrying a large tome. He placed it carefully before Joffrey, and Tyrion followed, a strained smile on his face as he addressed the king.

“A book,” Joffrey said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Tyrion clasped his hands together, speaking with calm civility. “The Lives of Four Kings. Grand Maester Kaeth’s history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good. A book every king should read.”

For a brief moment, Joffrey hesitated. His sharp tongue seemed to fail him as the weight of the gift hovered in the air. But Tywin’s piercing gaze prodded him, and the boy-king forced a mocking smile.

“Now that the war is won, we should all find time for wisdom,” Joffrey said, his voice laced with scorn. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Tyrion bowed, but the tension between them crackled like a hidden storm.

Before anyone could breathe, The Mountain lumbered forward, carrying a sword swathed in black cloth. He laid it before Joffrey with all the reverence of a knight presenting a sacred relic. Tywin rose, his voice steeped in gravitas as he spoke.

“One of only two Valyrian steel swords in the capital, Your Grace, freshly forged in your honor.”

Joffrey’s eyes gleamed with an almost childlike excitement as he tore the sword from its sheath, its blade gleaming ominously in the sunlight. You felt a ripple of unease roll through the gathered nobles as the blade sliced through the air.

“Careful, Your Grace,” Pycelle croaked from his seat. “Nothing cuts like Valyrian steel.”

But Joffrey’s wicked grin only widened. “So they say.”

In a sudden, violent movement, Joffrey swung the sword down, cleaving the book Tyrion had gifted him clean in half. The sound of tearing parchment and splintering leather echoed through the garden. A gasp rippled through the crowd, but Joffrey was delighted with himself.

“Such a great sword should have a name,” Joffrey declared, his eyes burning with cruel glee. “What shall I call her?”

The crowd murmured suggestions, none of which seemed to please the boy-king. But then, his lips curled into a malicious grin.

“Widow’s Wail. I like that. Every time I use it, it’ll be like cutting off Ned Stark’s head all over again.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You saw Sansa freeze beside him, her face drained of color, her entire body rigid with the memory of her father’s execution. Across the garden, Shae watched, her eyes narrowing with unspoken fury.

You kept your head down, but the seething rage inside you boiled hotter. One day, they would all pay for this. The Lannisters, their cruelty, their arrogance—it would all come crashing down. And you would make sure of it.

KING’S LANDING GARDEN, LATE AFTERNOON — 301 AC

The preparations for the royal wedding between Joffrey and Margaery were endless, consuming the days and nights of everyone within the Red Keep. But while others concerned themselves with the surface duties, your mind was preoccupied with a far more dangerous task.

The thought of the Strangler stones hidden within Sansa's necklace gnawed at you. The pieces were already in motion, each step methodically planned. Your hands moved through the flowers you were tasked with arranging, but your thoughts were elsewhere, carefully calculating the next move in your plot to bring down King Joffrey without implicating yourself. 

As you worked alone in the gardens, the late afternoon sun blazed overhead. The sweat clung to your skin, and the heat forced you to roll your sleeves up just enough to reveal the faint, jagged lines of scars that adorned your forearms. The burn scars, remnants of your brutal encounter with Ser Gregor Clegane, were still a reminder of what you endured—and survived. The pain was still fresh, but it fueled your resolve. Spite, after all, was a powerful motivator.

You barely noticed the approaching footsteps until a shadow fell across your path. Looking up, you were met with the sharp, knowing gaze of Oberyn Martell. His smirk was playful, as it often was, but there was something deeper there—an intensity that sent a ripple of unease through you. 

"You work too hard," he said smoothly, his voice like silk. "It’s a crime to see such beauty covered in dirt."

You straightened, brushing your hands on your apron, trying to keep the panic from showing. "I have my duties, my lord," you replied, keeping your tone even. The way Oberyn looked at you—intense, almost predatory—made your heart race, though you tried to remain composed.

He crouched beside you, plucking a flower from the arrangement and twirling it between his fingers. His eyes flicked briefly to the scars on your arm, scars you quickly moved to conceal by rolling down your sleeves. But it was too late—Oberyn’s gaze lingered on them for just a moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. 

The way he studied you wasn’t merely out of curiosity, but recognition. His next words carried a weight that hung in the air between you both. 

"There are stories... of a servant who once attended to Princess Elia." Oberyn’s tone remained casual, but you could feel the shift, the tension creeping in as he spoke. "They say she escaped the Sack of King’s Landing with her life. Barely."

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to remain still. You had heard those stories too. After all, you had lived them.

Oberyn leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Some say she vanished, swallowed by the chaos. Others claim she survived through sheer will, fueled by spite." His dark eyes locked onto yours, searching. "I wonder… do you know of such tales?"

The question lingered in the air, heavy with suspicion. You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, but your face remained a mask of composure. "Many stories are told in King’s Landing, my lord. Few of them hold any truth."

Oberyn’s lips curled into a faint smile, but his eyes remained sharp, watching you carefully. "Perhaps," he murmured. "But then again, some tales are more dangerous than others." He stood up, still twirling the flower between his fingers, casting one last glance at your concealed scars. "Sometimes, survival speaks louder than words."

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps interrupted the moment. Ellaria Sand approached, her eyes already on you. There was a possessiveness in her gaze, though softened by intrigue.

“So this is the woman who has caught my prince’s eye,” Ellaria remarked, her voice a low purr as she moved closer, her hand brushing lightly against Oberyn’s shoulder.

You bowed your head, hiding the inner storm brewing within you. "My lady," you greeted, though the tension in the air was unmistakable.

Ellaria’s gaze flicked to Oberyn, then back to you. “She is different,” she said, her tone intrigued, but there was an edge of caution in her words. “I wonder what it is you see in her, my love?”

Oberyn chuckled softly, his attention still on you. “There’s something about her,” he said, his voice smooth, yet laced with deeper meaning. “Something familiar.”

Ellaria looped her arm through his, drawing him closer to her side. “Familiar or not, I trust you know where your loyalties lie.”

Oberyn’s smile deepened, but his gaze didn’t waver from you. "Always," he replied to Ellaria, but his words were aimed at you, and the unspoken suspicion between you both lingered in the air, unsaid but undeniable.

As the two of them moved off together, your heart pounded in your chest. Oberyn's words, the way he had looked at you—he was starting to piece it together. He suspected who you truly were, but for now, he remained silent, watching. You returned to your task, but the weight of his suspicion clung to you. 

Everything had only just begun, and you were already in far deeper than you had anticipated. But like the scars on your skin, the memories of your past had shaped you into what you were now. And just like that day long ago, you would survive.

TAGLIST:

@christinamadsen

[lacedinweb22]

⌁ Stung by Jealousy ⌁

(Miguel O’Hara x reader)

🕸️ Entangled series 🕸️ ch. 6 (flashback) prev part

Summary: You and Miguel hang out at the mall, where you both get flirted with. These encounters evoke jealousy, and challenge your feelings for each other as well as both of your patience.

⋆｡‧₊°༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻༉‧₊˚.

“You gotta pick: ‘Pretzel Palace’ or ‘Cookie Crumbs,’” he asked, pointing at both neon signs in front of us. Miguel had called me to hang out today last minute after ditching yesterday’s study session for a “family emergency.” I knew he felt guilty, so I agreed, but deep down I was still butthurt and suspicious of where he really was or who he was seeing.

* * * *

“Do you go to NYU?” the cashier asked, handing me my cookie.

“Nueva York, yeah. How’d you know?” I asked, slowly grabbing the cookie from his lingering hand.

“You look like it… Smart,” he said, smiling at me.

My cheeks flushed.

“I also go to Nueva York. Thanks for asking. And I’m guessing you… don’t,” Miguel cut in, shrugging, crossing his arms.

“Miguel,” I muttered, elbowing him. He ignored me; his solid stance didn’t budge.

“Y/N and I have physics together,” he added, leaning into me, blocking the cashier’s gaze.

His jaw clenched; I looked down at his hand pointing at the glass window. His other hand was in a tight fist resting beside his hips, his knuckles white.

The glass between them should’ve burst from the tension by now.

“And I’ll have two M&Ms—” he looked down at his badge, “Joseph,” he sarcastically smiled.

Joseph turned back to me, handing Miguel his cookies without making eye contact, keeping his gaze on me. My cheeks were uncontrollably pink and burning. He was cute, but not Miguel.

“So you’re just study buddies. Cool.”

Shit. He’s bold. I would be hiding behind that counter, shitting bricks if Miguel looked at me that way.

Miguel tilted his head at the cashier then turned to me. He was astounded, somehow more astounded than I was.

He looked down at me, waiting for a response from me, some sarcastic comeback, some rejection, but I was too embarrassingly flustered to talk.

“Yeah, so can we pay now? I didn’t know Cookie Craps was encouraging their staff to practice their social skills with their guests now! It’s much needed! Good for you!” Miguel exclaimed, sarcastically, pulling out his wallet. I turned sharply up at him, scolding him with my eyes, which he ignored.

“Cookie Crumbs. And yes, good for me,” Joseph responded, matching his sarcasm, smiling at me.

Miguel’s face dropped, his lips pulling down into an irritated frown. He offered his card over the counter.

“Anddd on the house,” the cashier nodded, his hand refusing Miguel’s card. His coworker looked over at him, rolling his eyes.

Miguel scoffed, also rolling his eyes. “No, you’re too generous,”

“You know what? You, however, can pay me with one coffee date?”

He’s fucking relentless. This is painful.

“I— I,” I stuttered, knowing the person who I wanted most in the world was witnessing this disaster. I would be flattered, and even excited, if I didn’t utterly and completely desire the man beside me.

But, this could also prove something to him. Other people want me.

It’s harmless anyways.

Though I hope it stings just a little.

I forced a less anxious smile and nodded agreeably, “Sounds good.”

“Here’s my number,” he said, writing on receipt paper.

He handed it to me.

I grabbed it slowly, looking up at him then at Miguel, then back at the scribbled numbers in my hand.

Miguel stood still, tense, pink in his cheeks, jaw clenched, and a small paper bag strangled by his fist. His eyebrows furrowed, staring daggers at Joseph.

“Thanks, Joseph,” I said, smiling, pushing my hair behind my ear.

I could feel the fire within Miguel burn next to me. It made me warm.

“Coffee it is,” he grinned, “Just shoot me a text, Y/N.”

* * * *

“Well, that was… something,” Miguel said, nudging me as we walked out with our cookies. “I mean, I guess I made a new friend?” I responded quietly, trying to subliminally communicate to Miguel that it meant nothing to me, that I was loyal to him, that I was waiting for him.

I did, however, find some enjoyment in Miguel’s jealousy.

“And you accepted his number? Wow, Y/N, how friendly,”

“What was I supposed to do? Be friendly and give him my fucking email? At least, I didn’t give him my number. Chill out and leave me alone,” I mumbled, rushing to out-walk and dodge his questions, or maybe avoid him seeing my satisfied smirk. This asshole is jealous.

“You fucking idiot. I told you you were oblivious!” he exclaimed, as we strolled.

He picked up his pace to catch up to me, “He was not flirting, he was being… friendly,” I reasoned.

“Do friends want to take you out for coffee, like he was so desperate to do?”

“We go out for coffee,” I argued.

There was a pause. “Yeah… well that’s different,”

“How so?”

“Just is,”

“How?”

“Shut up and eat your cookie,” he demanded, as we entered the bookstore.

Fucking coward.

I walked towards the back of the bookstore, where my favorite genre hid. Miguel followed behind me.

My eyes scanned the aisle, searching, focused on the plethora of small print.

“So… are you going to text him?”

This could be fun.

“Geez Miguel, you’re thinking about this more than I am… but who knows? I don’t,” I shrugged, smugly.

“How do you not know?” he mumbled, following behind me.

“He wasn’t too cute, and I just, I wasn’t too interested,” I muttered, sliding my fingers across the book bindings on the top shelf.

He just wasn’t you.

“Yeah, he was a fucking loser…” he mumbled behind me, “pushy asshole, pinche—”

“They have it!” I screeched, pulling it out and flipping through the pages. Miguel grabbed the huge cookie out of my hand, letting me have my moment.

He stood behind me, towering over me, peeking down at my book.

“I’ll buy it for you,” he said, grabbing it out of my hands. “It’ll be an early birthday present,” he said, flipping through the pages. I turned, grabbing it back from him.

“My birthday is in six months,” I grabbed my cookie back.

“Perfect, it’s your half birthday, even better,” he reasoned.

“I wanna read at least one chapter here. I’ve been looking for this goddamn book for months,” I said, walking to the sitting area.

“Okay, I’m going to go find something to read. Stay here. Don’t move.” he instructed, walking away from me.

* * * *

I sat reading, when I saw Miguel over my book, coming towards me with a huge quantum theory book. Of course.

He held it up proudly, grinning at me. “I’ve read it before, but it’s the only semi recent work they have,” he muttered, looking down and flipping through it.

“Nice,” I muttered, looking down at my book, continuing my chapter.

He sunk into the chair across from me, looking down at his book. His eyes peered over his book, straight at me. I was too scared to look up.

* * * *

“How’s your book?” I asked, avoiding eye contact.

“Same as when I read it last month: groundbreaking.”

I scoffed.

Suddenly, a girl approached us, more so approached him. She stood over him, whispering, inaudible to me.

He smiled, charmingly, looking up at her, then stood up, now obnoxiously towering over the already tall, beautiful girl. He combed his fingers through his hair, fixing himself up.

His charm made me roll my eyes.

Cocky asshole. So sure of himself, so confident and arrogant and annoying; I could keep going.

He nodded, continuing their quiet conversation, then crossed his arms. His forearms could make me fall to my knees. Her eyes looked down at them, violating him. They must make her weak too. It’s not her fault. He has that effect. Asshole.

She laughed, it was a pretty laugh too.

She’s beautiful. Hell, if I weren’t crushing on Miguel right now, I would be asking her for her number.

“Y/N,”

I snapped out of it, bringing my gaze back to him.

“Yes?”

“Can I use your phone?”

I tilted my head at him. “Where’s yours?”

“Left it in the car,” he said, shrugging.

I handed him my phone, which he handed to her.

She smiled, typing into my phone. She handed it back to me, keeping her gaze on Miguel, smirking back at him, like they had some inside joke, some fucking history I didn’t know about.

My cheeks burned as I watched from the outside; stung by jealousy’s merciless venom.

She started to whisper, seemingly her farewell. He leaned down, letting her whisper directly into his ear. My blood boiled, but I don’t blame either of them. They’re both young, attractive… fucking cunts.

They smiled at each other then she went on her way.

I watched her walk away, as Miguel immediately sunk back into his chair, looking back at his book, returning to his studies casually, as if some girl wasn’t all over him.

Smug son of a bitch.

I cleared my throat, signaling him to look up from his book.

“So what… was that?”

He took a bite of his cookie, “She asked for my number; thought I was cute,”

I rolled my eyes. “Cute,” I muttered, looking back at my book. “And I’m guessing you gave it to her?” I asked, refusing to look up at him and reveal my jealous weakness.

“Nope. I just had her put her number into your phone. I wasn’t too interested,” he muttered, looking at me.

“‘Too,’ hmph, and why don’t you have your phone?”

“Because I’m here with you. You drain enough of my energy and enough of my time,”

“But, you’re single, go give her your number, you fucking wimp,”

“‘Wimp’? I couldn’t— you’re fucking annoying,” he shook his head and looked back down at his book.

“You didn’t take it because I’m fucking annoying?”

“No. I— I mean, why are you so persistent that I give her my number? Do you want me to give her your number? Want me to go give it to her for you?… What’s it to you anyways?” he closed his book shut and placed it on his lap.

Oh. He’s mad. I pushed his buttons. Good.

“What’s it to me? I just don’t want to watch you waste away a loner. I care about you,” I responded, sarcastically.

“Oh you care about me, yeah? How sweet! Didn’t seem like you cared about me a whole bunch back there accepting fucking cookie man’s number, flirting in front of me,”

“And why would that bother you, O’Hara? Hm? You’re not my boyfriend, Miguel,” I asserted confidently, though it still stung to say because I wanted him to be, and I wanted him to want to be mine.

I hope it stung.

His eyebrows flinched, then softened. He saw right through me.

“Bothered me? It was fucking painful for me. I mean I felt bad for you. Don’t worry though. Someday, things will make sense. You’ll find the one… probably when you’re like 63 and less stubborn and fucking irritating, but nonetheless, you’ll find the one,” he reassured me, so kindly.

“Fuck. You,” I said, kicking his foot, hard.

He kept his foot planted, solid on the ground, scowling up at me.

“You. Wish.”

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

next part

my lovely taglist: @wingedturtledream @skaochii @bat-yo-us @lostpirate79 @renn-pumkin-head @princessa-micomicona @waiif-uwu @punpuun @thbidkbutok @acehyacinth @thetoetickler @kaqua @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @inafantasyworld10 @d1lf-loverrr @altheadq @thesilenthill @trash-king18 @imnotyourbcbe @tiffanypooh @ihateuguys @littlemissilovecoconuts @royal-jester @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @tbh2idk @gilliantate23 @envyjmoney @qiaipia

If you weren’t tagged but requested to be tagged, I TRIED but I think your tagging setting toggle is disabled! Message me or comment again to work it out 💋

[blueberryarchive]

"Baby, don't make me spell it out for you...you know i want you"

Something i wrote in an ungodly hour instead of sleeping.

♡Pairing: Profesor!Jimin x Student!Reader

♡Word Count: 1.2k

♡Warnings: PARK JIMIN WITH GLASSES.

A dragon devouring paper after paper. His eyes like two marbles gobbled up every word you had written, smoke coming out of his nose and mouth every time his hand dropped a sheet on his desk. 

Jimin looked at you for a second, less maybe, but you knew that meant one of two things: either your writing sucked or you could go get your diploma, you didn't need to pay to learn creative writing. You settled on the sofa intertwining your hands. You knew it was the first. 

His brows went from furrowed to surprised in just three lines, almost unnoticed. It was a talent of Jimin's, that of not reacting or in such a subtle way that it went unnoticed by the human eye. So what the hell did you write on a night that had your teacher on the brink of a nervous breakdown? 

Another sheet is arranged with the others on top of the desk. Only the last one is missing. 

You closed your eyes and let the carbon-furred cat approach you. You let Mr. Jazz purr by your side, knowing you were in for an extra class on top of the previous 6 you had this morning. 

Jimin lifted his glasses from the bridge of his nose and then looked at you, his movements always fluid and slow. As if they had been choreographed. He never moved his hair without first thinking about it or lighting another cigarette until the one between his slender fingers warmed his knuckles. 

He and Mr. Jazz were an extension of the same stream. Little trickles of water that fall at the same time. Jimin clucked at him calling his cat to his lap and he responded instantly, leaving you alone on that huge, rough piece of furniture on the other side of the office. 

"So," you began the conversation desperately, his silence and fixations had you on the verge of burning every piece of paper in the fireplace.

"So," he repeated, pulling a pen from his jacket, firm scratches on an open notebook. That scared you, you knew you should have turned in the job you had half finished. It was better than a hasty piece of writing after four glasses of wine and a sleepless night. 

"Fuck, Jimin. Even in purgatory, they would judge me less." A nervous laugh came out of you. 

Jimin looked at the words he had jotted down in his notebook, the cigarette went to his lips with a chuckle. You didn't understand. 

"Am I a comedian now?" Before you could grab your writing, Jimin snatched it from you. Your chest contracted when you felt his warm hands touching yours, as if it were fire you took it away. Your eyes studying the floor instead of the dragon's eyes. 

"May I?" Jimin grabbed the notebook and got up from his desk. With flushed cheeks and a mindset for the lecture that was coming, you nodded. 

"Animalistic. Want. Lascivious. Velvet. Hungry. Burn. Frantically." Jimin began to say walking slowly to the office door to let Mr. Jazz out. 

"I don't understand-" 

"Open." he continued "Appetite. Divine. Tease... Jimin." Your eyes went to your professor's devilish grin, small and tight-lipped. 

You crossed your arms and walked in his direction stealing the notebook from his hands. He did not object. 

"What are you trying to tell me?" 

"What are you trying to tell me?" Jimin stubbed out his cigarette and cocked his head "All those words were on the last page." 

"Sorry?" 

"You don't have to apologize. It just seems strange to me, even knowing that you wrote this less than twenty-four hours ago," he glanced at the watch on his wrist, of course he knew you wrote it overnight. "I find it incredible how...notorious your piece is" 

"Notorious?" 

"Evident" 

"Yes, I know what it means." you were talking over him. Your hand squeezed the notebook in your hands. 

"Well, then you understand how erotic your piece becomes in the end."

"Yes." 

"It was on purpose?" Jimin raised his eyebrows resting his hands on the edge of his chair vehemently. 

"Yeah." You don't really remember much of the last few pages. Your teacher sighed after looking at you for a long time, the fire was crackling in the fireplace and your hands tingled with the desire to throw the entire writing into the flames. 

"Was it on purpose that instead of your main character, um...," he grabbed the paper on the table, "Jack. You wrote my name several times in the dialogue between his wife and him?" You don't remember anything from the last few pages you wrote, the wine had erased part of your memory and the protocol of reading everything twice before delivering. 

You swallowed hard, looking for where to put your gaze without seeming you wanted to sink into your shame. "I wrote it on my cell phone and sometimes it changed to your name." You stuttered. 

"Don't try, lovely. I can see how red you are even in the dim light from the window," he said grabbing the notebook from your hand, his chest was so close to yours. His fingers took their time as he brushed the material and the ring on your ring finger. 

You breathed out looking into his eyes, the flames reflecting in his pupils making it look like all hell had broken loose on him. Who knew that reading his name a couple of times on a piece of paper could make a man's ego grow so big? 

"I don't understand what you want me to tell you." His flirtatious smile made you want to slap him, his cheekbones looked like two apples you wanted to bite into. 

"Implore. That's my favorite word." 

"I already told you, Mr. Park. It was an incident, nothing good that my drunken brain came up with last night." Your gaze fell to his lips as he licked the corners of his. 

"You know what they say about writers and alcohol." 

"That they make a romanticized, disastrous mix?"

"That too. But also about honesty."

Jimin nodded, his free hand moving slowly to your neck brushing his fingertips behind your ear. Your legs trembled, wetness suddenly pooling in your cotton panties. 

"Park," you muttered. "Really, I'm sorry." You started trying to keep your composure. "I don't know why I left that writing for last, I've been concentrating too much on my thesis and-" 

"Baby, don't make me spell it out for you... you know I want you." Jimin whispered longingly, pushing his glasses up into his hair. 

"What?" the notebook fell to the ground when his hands slipped to your ass squeezing hard until you got closer. You could only gasp grabbing the collar of his shirt. 

"I. Want. You." He grabbed harder, looking deeply into your eyes. Raspy voice.

You were in shock, still not understanding.

"You're so clueless when I least want you to be." he whispered while giving pecks to your jaw.

"Park, I don't know what you're talking about." Your eyes did not stop analyzing his lips tinted pink, shining with his saliva. Hungry. 

"Baby, you didn't write my name on your piece." His left hand went up to your waist caressing your side with his thumb. 

"Then why-?" 

"Because I would have loved to see it written in that sweet glossary." You searched his eyes under his dark hair. 

"So it's good?" 

"No, you can do better than that. I don't think you want me grading an overnight paper." 

"No." you interrupted him, drunk on his perfume. 

"Good." he interrupted back, lifting your legs off the ground and making you pin them around his waist. "Now, if you let me, I wish to recreate part of your piece." 

Your mouth was watering. The craving you didn't know was about to change your palate.

[bibbykins]

Moonlight Reign Ch. 3

A/N: here's a continuation of the pain lol hopefully next update will come quicker and I hope you all enjoy! Be warned here and the series as a whole is pretty heavy emotionally, so heed all warnings and put yourself first! Also as usual shoutout to my lovely beta reader @rapline-heaux who read this forever ago lol ily

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yandere! Mafia! BTS x Reader

Words: 5.0k

Warnings: crime, sensory flashbacks, trauma, unhealthy relationships, yandere behavior, pining, violence, past abuse, past neglect/academic neglect, talk of stitches, wound description, panic attack, acrylic nail slips on a keyboard but doesn't break, brief suicidal thought, lip biting until it bleeds, abandonment by male parental guardian, lots of crying

Silence threaded into the air, making it that much harder to breathe as Jungkook’s hands limply slid from you and back to his sides. The bubble of ignorance you shrouded each other in, now effectively popped as the world was de-muffled as your hands were now clasped in front of you. Tears welled in the back of your eyes, stinging more than usual, and no matter how much you blinked to keep them at bay they just came back. Nothing could shroud the horror that was your reality. 

It’s funny, really, you remember learning about how to create a safe space for your patients in college. You learned how important it was for children to feel safe in development. You studied all the reasons safety was so vital to survival, and yet, you never once felt safe growing up. It was only in this moment you realized you had found your safe place. 

It was only as you watched the weekly dinners, cramming sessions, and mutually intoxicated affection go up in smoke that you realized you had just lost it. Everything you never thought you could have was in flames, and one would think you would be used to the feeling of your life on fire by now, but your throat still burned with the agony of it all, no matter how familiar the taste was on your tongue. 

Hurt flooded your eyes along with tears that Jungkook wanted nothing more than to gently brush away. But he knew shouldn’t, and now more than ever, he couldn’t. He didn’t know how you knew what it meant to be the head of Bangtan, and it was so hard for him to care as your fear and sorrow burnt a hole in his heart in the very space he kept the friendship you both shared. The gaping wound was only furthered by how much it took over his being. You both cared about each other much, much, more than you both let on to one another properly, and it’s only now he’s regretting that with his entire being. 

Finally, he couldn’t bear to look at you anymore, not when he was part of the reason you were looking at him like that. He looked at the beaten faux hardwood of your apartment and could feel an ache when he noticed the scratch from when he helped rearrange your living room furniture. Truly, he’d give anything to go back to that day, or even to when he got here so he could turn off the TV and delay the inevitable. 

He didn’t even get a chance to try and pretend there was no reason to be scared. He wanted so badly to pretend he was a sugar baby who has no idea who he was dating, but he just couldn’t. You both have lied to each other enough to last a lifetime, and he knew it was too late. What you both had has already slipped through his fingers before he even had a chance to try and catch it.

You exhaled a shaky breath, and he looked at you again. There was not even a semblance of hope on his face, and it made the part of you he revived die all over again, “...should probably go, huh?” Your voice was too mangled for Jungkook to hear the first part of what you said, but it certainly didn’t take a genius to figure it out. 

Your form grew blurry as tears clouded his vision, preventing him from committing your feature to his memory properly before it was too late, “You’re right.” He settled solemnly.

Neither yours nor his tears were helped when you each noticed the other was crying. You wanted so badly to be angry at him for lying to you, but you weren’t nearly that much of a hypocrite. You both used the other as an escape from the ugliness of reality. Around Jungkook you were nothing but his friend and vice versa. It was a sweet escape, a nice vacation, but certainly nothing more than that, not anymore. 

You had to figure out if you should disappear or if you could survive with simply moving out of the building. You had phone calls to old contacts to make, you had a million and one things to figure out, a million and one pieces to move and yet you threw your arms around the man in front of you. 

Jungkook wasted no time in holding you to him with an intensity you’d never felt before. No one had ever wanted to keep you this badly, and you didn’t know what to do other than ball your fists around his shirt and silently cry into his shoulder. Your arms tightened around his neck as you counted down the mere minutes before he also figured out who you were. You knew he would leave you, replay each moment leading up to this, and figure out who you were talking to. You just didn’t know what he would do with that information. You didn’t even know for sure how much it meant to him, but it was so hard to focus when his body shook against yours with a silent sob that you echoed with ease. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be gracious enough to look the other way for just a little bit so you could touch the bedroom wall you both shared and pretend it wasn’t there tonight.

You don’t know how long you stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms, soaking in the finality of the embrace, bones heavy with melancholy. You only remembered the look you gave one another, filled to the brim with tears, longing, and an insincere hatred of everything beyond the four walls of your apartment. Slowly, you leaned up and pressed a quivering kiss to his cheek. 

A harsh breath left Jungkook and you could feel his tears on your lips when you pulled away, “Close your eyes.” He pleaded, voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t want you to see me leave you.” The plea for him to not leave was on the tip of your tongue, but you choked it down with another cry.

You nodded, and he granted you one last smile before you let your wet lashes touch each other. Your world was shrouded in darkness and part of you knew it would remain this way long after you opened them to an empty apartment. Still, you squeezed your eyes shut, not too keen on seeing Jungkook leave you either. You swallowed back a cry when he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your lips as you counted the steps he took to your door. Your body quaked when you could feel him giving you one final look. Your lips struggled to give him one more smile, and then the door closed. 

Your knees hit the floor with no one there to catch you anymore. The shock waves slid up your thigh as you cried into your hands, wondering how many people were going to leave you before you stopped letting them in.

—

“Let go of me, please,” It was the first time you had heard your father say please, and it was one of the last things you would hear him say. Byungyeol looked at you, eyes filled with a mix of pity and sorrow that you couldn’t decipher if it was for you or the empire that lay in ashes. Regardless, it was an order and you weren’t raised to disobey, so you finally relented and released his torso from your arms with a trembling lip and a river that flowed freely from your eyes. The last time you cried in front of him like this had been when your age was in the single digits, but he didn’t patronize you this time– he no longer had any reason to. 

“I can’t… You can’t… Please, stay with me.” You begged, very becoming of the heir to nothing as you clung to the last person who could prove you were even alive before today, “I’m so scared of being alone-” You sobbed into your hands as you both sat in a car outside of a restaurant owned by a family friend. You had nothing but a backpack with cash and two days worth of clothing, but your biggest fear was leaving this car. 

“Daughter.” His voice commanded, and you straightened up. You looked at him, eyes bleary and wide, still a puppet waiting for orders. He regarded you with a sharp glare, “We do not show fear.” His tone was finite, it alway was. He always spoke in simple commands, because even now, he didn’t expect you to say anything in response.

However, you sniffled, “I am scared.” You admitted, the closest you’d gotten to defiance in over a decade, “I can’t do this alone.” 

“And yet, you will.” His voice was the same amount of cold it had always been, but it burned you nonetheless, “You must.” Something in his voice tapered off that made you look at him a little closer. He looked so… old. You could see the years in his eyes and in the deep rivets that framed his frown, and it made something in your chest twist. 

“Should’ve left me with them, huh?” You asked, and he looked at you with confusion, “Should’ve never taken me in, I bet?” You tried to ask again, but he couldn’t understand you. It was often hard to understand if you were asking if that’s how he felt or if you were admitting that’s how you felt. You were never taught how to make it clear, after all. No one ever cared for your words. 

Instead of prying or correcting you, he shook his head. His hand on your head quieted you. “I love you,” He whispered, kissing the top of your head, and the notion made your body freeze. The feeling was foreign, and the action was something that was usually reserved for holidays, “I rarely ever say it, but know that I do, my daughter,” He said softly, but he opened your door all the same, not wanting to entertain this goodbye for any longer, “We will see each other again, I promise, give me three years and we’ll be together again, a normal family.” 

—

You knew now it had all been nothing but a lie to get you out of the car so he could watch you grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror until you dissolved into nothing but a memory. You didn't think your father was even really capable of love in the first place. You’d give anything at the moment to be that cold, but you could certainly fake it. You let in a shaky breath as you looked to your fingertips, your ring one brushing along the scratch on the floor you were not looking forward to letting your security deposit go to. Brushing away the tears away from the streaks that have undoubtedly dried on already, you took one last moment to be upset, to be human, before you stood to pick up your phone. 

The line only rang once before it clicked, “Thank you for calling The Rose Palace, how can I help you?” A sweet feminine voice hardly touched with the age she was filled your ears.

“Eunhwa?” You breathed, wanting more than anything to feel her maternal embrace but settling for the concern in her voice.

“Y/n? Is everything okay?” Your eyes fluttered closed when your one last tie to your previous life spoke.

“No.” Your answer was far too honest, but you grew so sick of lying today, “I, uh, need you to tell me how fucked I am.” You sniffled, pressing your eyes shut so you would stop looking at that damn scratch on the floor.

—

Jungkook was thankful when he found his apartment empty as he slid his back down the door, slumping against it on the floor defeatedly. His head hung low as he rested his arms on his knees. He shook his head, wanting more than anything to wake up from this nightmare already. 

Every moment with you this morning circled in his mind like a broken record. It was torturous, but it was all he could do to face the reality of the situation. If he couldn’t keep you in his life, he had to at least figure out why. Had Bangtan done something to hurt you? Or had they hurt your family somehow? Did you even have any family for them to hurt? Fuck, where did it all go wrong?

He got himself stuck in this loop of questioning for an indeterminate amount of time as he ran through every millisecond of his time with you today. Every time he circled back, he always got stuck on that phone call. That phone call was the catalyst of the ruin he was in the throes of right now and something about it just… didn’t sit right with him. How often did coworkers call you for it to make sense? Sure, you could’ve lied, he’d hardly be in a place to judge, but then who else could it have been? 

Suddenly keeping as much of yourselves private from each other felt like a mistake. Now that the people you both became in the presence of one another have effectively died, he’s left with nothing to do but cling to the you he never got to know. It’s an addiction, really. He should just be mourning the civillian distraction of his real life, but he knew you were so much more than a distraction, it’s just the first time he’s really feeling it. He couldn’t let you go, and he refused to even if he had the ability. He needed to figure out why it all went up in flames before he even considered mourning. 

—

“I won’t lie to you, darling, but I will ask, do you want the good news or bad news first?” Eunhwa finally spoke after listening intently to your panicked word vomit.

You blew out a shallow sigh, “Bad news.” It would be pretty difficult for your day to get any worse at this point. 

“Right.” Your former nanny had a nostalgic lilt to her voice before speaking, “Since the capture of your uncle and with the anniversary week in full swing, it would be pretty difficult to find someone in the underground willing to help you… in the way you may need help.” She spoke delicately, “The whispers suggest Bangtan isn’t going to stop with your uncle, and the whereabouts of your father and even you are… well, high ticket items, if you understand what I mean.” 

“Yeah.” You struggled out. You knew all too well what she meant. In a world where the most important currency is power, almost anything was for sale in the Underworld’s market, especially information. You knew firsthand there were few things people wouldn’t do to get in the good graces of the syndicate in power, and you were more thankful than ever that the only active tie to your life before wouldn’t sell you out. Not that she would ever need to. Eunhwa was and always has been a well-respected figure in the underground, and she’s mastered the rare skill of neutrality while maintaining respect. 

“And unless you have your father’s whereabouts to offer, it wouldn’t be wise to voluntarily come forward.” Or else they’d kill you on the spot. She spared you the detail, but you understood what she meant, “Good news is, after all of the mayhem of anniversary week cools down in a few weeks, we’d most likely be able to find someone to help.” Her weak attempt at trying to sound joyful was comforting regardless of how not effective it was on you, “Plus, Jungkook may not even add two and two together before then. I doubt he would be too keen on putting his best friend to death.” 

“Except I’m no longer his best friend.” Your voice cracked with your heart, and you couldn't help that pitiful laugh that left you at how childish you sounded, “So I’m not sure if that would help me.” 

Eunhwa sighs, and you can hear the pity in it. It should make you sick, but this was your last human connection in your personal life, so any care towards you was welcome right now, “Feelings don’t just go away the moment they should, you know that.” She softly chided, “We’ve all loved people for longer than we should’ve, and that might be the fact of life that’ll buy you the time you need.” 

You hummed, not able to say much as her words soaked into your wet cheeks. You loved your father for much longer than you cared to and with Jungkook… Well, the pain would be one you were sure you’d feel for ages.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She said, her voice going up an octave now that the logistics were out of the way, “Right now, just keep your head down and live your life like normal, okay?” 

You hummed again, defeated, “What if I just packed a bag and left?” You mused, looking out the window. You knew why that wasn’t an option. There was no such thing as leaving the underground, especially not on your own. Not with the trail of bodies you’d have to leave behind. All it took was one call, and it would shatter you completely. How would you pay for anything? You were only given enough of a payout for school, everything else was given up. You’d be caught before you even made it to the airport or snuck onto a ship.

“You know better.” Eunhwa breathed, “You would be calling even more attention to yourself, and that would piss Jungkook off and tip him off to who you are at the same time.” You nodded. She always had a point. The fact was that Jungkook didn’t yet know who you were, but you feared it was only a matter of time, “I’ll call you when it’s time.” Was all she said before the line clicked. You almost laughed at the fact that before Jungkook, you were convinced your interactions with Eunhwa was the highest form of affection. Not that she didn’t care about you, it’s just the world she knew was one of keeping those she could love at an arm’s length. It was safest that way, and no one, not even you, was worth jeopardizing her safety. You couldn’t blame her for that, and you could only hope Jungkook would feel the same if he did find out about who you were. 

Even more, you hoped you were long gone before the day came.

—

“I hear you, Sohee, I do, but you cannot just punch at full force everytime you get upset.” You looked at the 16-year-old as you tossed her ice, which she caught with ease and a pout in your direction. Kang Sohee was someone you’d consider a regular in your office. She was a bright student with poor emotional regulation– like most high school students already had– add that to the pressure of being in the top percentile in the nation, meant she was routinely in for her ibuprofen or a pack of ice. 

“Would you rather I hit people?” She challenged but shrank when you gave her an exasperated look as you sat at your desk to type up the incident.

“Raise the bar, kid.” You sighed, “I’d rather you take those deep breaths we’ve rehearsed or punch a pillow or a folded hoodie like we’ve also rehearsed.” You gave her a pointed look, “I don’t want you to break your hand or split your knuckles to the point of needing stitches.” She winced at the thought and you nodded, “Exactly, it would be gruesome and only make you more upset in the end.”

She sighed, nodding, “It’s just…” She trailed off, and you nodded empathetically even though you had no idea what going to high school was like, from what you could tell it was no different than any other cliquey group with a hierarchy. There was significantly less bloodshed, which you were thankful for. 

“I know.” You sighed, “Exams are coming, and emotions are running high.” She nodded at this, “And I’m glad you’re allowing yourself to feel those emotions, I just want you to express them in a way that doesn’t get you or anyone else hurt.” 

She nodded once again, but snorted, “Okay, school counselor.” You sent her another glare as you paused your typing, making her smile. 

Even though you rolled your eyes, you were just glad she was feeling better. These kids had a million different stressors that landed them in your office and led you to need to provide some kind of emotional support. You never figured yourself as good with children, but the students liked you well enough, so you figured you were doing something right. Maybe all that therapy you did during college came in handy, just not in the way your therapist might have thought. 

“You have any significant others, Nurse L/n?” Sohee asked, making your typing cease. 

Your eyes bulged as you blinked at her, “Now how did we get here?” You asked, making her giggle. Truthfully, you should’ve been used it by now. These kids rarely had any sense of decorum or minding intrusive questions.

“So no?” She tittered, chipping at your flimsy dignity a bit. 

You snorted, “How mean, but no, Ms. Nosey, I am not… involved with anyone.” Jungkook’s face flashed in your mind for a reason you couldn’t pinpoint nor wanted to entertain. Especially not now. He was a friend and nothing more. Keyword: was.

Sohee thought for a moment before speaking again, a true rarity for her, “Well, Mr. Kang totally has a crush on you.” She blurted, and your fingers tripped along the keys, making your nail sink in the space between two of them.

“Sohee!” You gasped, erasing the series of semicolons that populated the page, “Wh- I-” You took a moment to breathe, “Mr. Kang does not-”

“Well, thanks for the icepack!” She called as she slipped out the door, leaving you with your mouth agape, “Oh, hi Mr. Kang!” She sang loudly, making your chest seize. 

In walked Changhyun Kang, the history department head and advanced history teacher with a smile on his almost unnervingly handsome face. Living in the city on your own as you navigated adulthood came with many culture shocks, but one of them were how pretty some of the people you came across, Changhyun being one of them. He was nice though, because of course he was, and he came in every day to steal some ice for his mid-day coffee. He could very well go to the cafeteria for some, but your office was closer– barely. Regardless, you were in no state to pry into why he insisted on coming to your office. Jungkook had done his best to give you a rundown on how to talk to your fellow coworkers, but you elected to only use that advice when absolutely necessary. Now you couldn’t help but wonder how he even knew to coach you on that. 

Changhyun’s eyes darted to the door, giving you a questioning brow, “Sohee is awfully chipper today.” He observed, “Especially for a Monday.” He chuckled. You never understood the fixation with announcing the days of the week among your coworkers, but you played along nonetheless. Right now, it just served as a reminder that you had a mere two days before anniversary week would reach its crescendo. 

You sighed, “That she is.” You simply left it at that before changing the subject, “Thank you for reminding me it is nearly my lunch time.” You chuckled, continuing to type up the report. 

He nodded, thinking for a moment, “Are you ever able to take your lunch early?” He asked curiously, before moving to get some ice.

You didn’t look up from your screen as you spoke, “Well, sure, I guess I just keep my usual time for the sake of routine.” You responded thoughtlessly. 

“I see.” He spoke and the typing off your keyboard suddenly sounded way too loud. 

You gulped, not sure how to fill the sudden awkward tension, “Why?” You asked, insistent on looking at your computer still. 

“W-Well, I was just thinking maybe we could have lunch tomorrow or something?” He rushed out, and you paused, blinking for a moment. The urge to overthink the invitation was strong, especially since you weren’t sure how long you were even going to be here with everything else in your life going on. However, that was all the more reason it didn’t matter. Plus, who’s to say he was intending anything other than friendship. Changhyun was a good-looking guy, so it wouldn’t make much sense for him to be so bashful when asking for a date– not that you would even think to count an in-work lunch as a date in the first place. Obviously you were overthinking the situation anyways and for a bit too long as he continued, “I mean I bring my lunch, and you bring yours, and I come in here anyways, so we could just eat in here? –But if you prefer not–”

“Sure.” You turned to smile at him, “I could use the company.” You did your best to brighten your smile, and he returned it tenfold, “Maybe then the students will stop asking me if I have friends.” You tried to joke lightly, and surely Jungkook would be proud of you as Changhyun let out a hearty laugh. 

“Same here.” He chuckled, but it did little to simmer the sting of Jungkook on your mind. Just before your coworker could notice your smile fall, you phone started vibrating. You looked down at it with a frown, “Well, I’ll let you get that. See you!” He gave a polite wave that you mirrored just as Jungkook told you to do. 

Changhyun was kind enough to close your office door, which you were thankful for as you picked up the phone, too nervous to check the caller ID, “Hello?” 

“Was it Byungjoo?” Your blood ran cold as Jungkook’s voice sliced through the receiver. 

You’d seldom heard him sound like this before, but you can hardly register his tone when the name he uttered slices through your skin. 

“Wh-What are you–” You tried to say something, but Jungkook couldn’t bear to hear you try to lie anymore. 

“Who you saw at the fight. It was Byungjoo, wasn’t it?” He demanded, but something about his voice sounded… off. Like the way it would sound during finals week when he’d join your marathon studying. Has he… been up all night? Or longer? It’s Monday now and you both ended things Saturday morning. 

Suddenly, Byungjoo fades from your mind and you’re just a friend again, “Jungkook, have you… slept?” You asked, and flinched at the sound of his sharp exhale, letting it sink in that he’d no longer be your solace from your past. 

“Answer my question.” He demanded, but you pressed your lips together. You can’t answer his question, so that left you with one choice.

“I don’t know who–”

“Aren’t we done lying to each other?” He snapped, making your eyes widen, “Here, I’ll go first: I’ve watched every fucking frame of the crowd footage of the fight and cross-referenced them with every teacher in the goddamn city, and the only one’s that were the only ones that were in that footage for even a second hadn’t called out of work that day.” 

It was like the air knocked out of you. Why? How? It didn’t make sense. What the fuck did Jungkook do for work? Is Namjoon more than just a boyfriend? The thought was too much to bear, “Please, it’s– it’s–” You had to take a semi-stabalizing breath, “Don’t do this.” You whispered. 

“I wish I didn’t need to.” He spit, “But I can’t fucking do this without you–”

“Yes, you can–” You cut him off desperately despite how much you wanted to agree. He had no choice. Neither of you did. “Well then I don’t fucking want to!” He yelled, making your throat nearly close, “Look, you don’t have to worry about Byungjoo anymore–”

“It’s not Byungjoo I’m worried about.” You spoke honestly, not wanting to hear about your uncle’s fate any further,  “It’s… not safe for me to be around you, Kook.” You admitted and it felt like pouring hot wax down your throat.

There were a few beats of agonizing silence before he spoke again, “I can make it safe for you.” 

You shook your head before sighing, “You can’t.” The crack in your voice mirrored your resolve. It would be so easy to just say the full truth, but you let your mouth close, hoping it would stau that way, “This is… it’s bigger than just you, okay?” 

“No.” He deadpanned, and you sighed,  “No, not okay. This… nothing is too big for me…” He all but promises before adding, “...not when it comes to you.” 

Your heart ached in your chest. How many times had anyone deemed you worth much beyonf what you could give them? And would anyone else do it in the future? Jungkook was all you had and how much that meant to you teared you apart as you spoke, “It’s not worth–”

“Yes, you are.” Was all he seethed before hanging up.

You were stuck there for a moment, frozen with your phone to your ear. Had you not seen the call log yourself, you could’ve convinced yourself that whole thing was just a horrible nightmare. You wished it had been. The last thing you needed was Jungkook to tear open the wounds that haven’t even begun to heal properly and incidentally signing your death certificate. Then again, maybe his tune would change once he found out who you were. You weren’t some unsullied reprieve from his life in the Underworld, and maybe once he realized that, he’d turn his back on you. He’d realize you weren’t worth much at all. Just like everyone eventually does. 

Bitterness filled your mouth and it’s only then you realized you gnawed on the skin of your lips for too long. You huffed out, opening your compact mirror to asses the damage only to find one small red sliver. You placed a small piece of tissue on the oozing blood and put on your mask for the rest of the day. 

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

If you enjoy my work, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi (also pls send me an ask, I love to hear from y'all!)

Masterlist

[feyhunter78]

Among the Sun Ch 21

Description: Miguel has been practicing reigning in his jealousy, but he can't resist reminding you of your time spent together in dreams.

He is a beast, a wild creature trapped within a mortal form, and he rages, rages against the sight of you laughing so easily with Andreas, he can feel your joy, the sense of security Andreas invokes in you. It is maddening. He debates killing Andreas, debates begging the man to divulge his secrets to tell him how he inspired such confidence within you, but he knows the answer, it is time. Andreas has had many years to build a friendship, one that is not confined to the hours of sleep, not hindered by distance.

It was Andreas that was first able to touch your skin, who first heard your cries of pleasure with waking ears, while Miguel could only take you in dreams.

He could claim he was first; he had been your first. On Miguel’s fifteen birthday, you came to him, kissed him, shyly asked him if he would be the one to deflower you. He told you not to give yourself to him as a gift, that your mere presence was more than satisfactory, but you had insisted. He did not need to feign awkwardness; his only intimate encounters had been with the butcher’s daughter, who was older than him and preferred to control each encounter.

Miguel was fumbling, nervous, afraid to harm you, while you were fearful of disappointing him, anxious that it would hurt, but eager to join with him in such an intimate way. He found beauty in that, in your shared inexperience. You had looked at him as if he were a god, confused and delighted by the sounds and sensations he brought forth in you.

Yes, he can claim he had you first, he shall have to remind you of that when you arrive, to remind you that it was he who taught you all you know, his name you moaned in your sleep. He has all intent to do so, to ask if you would like to repeat the night prior. He knows you were aware of his actions, he had confessed, you had confessed, it had been an almost humorous moment, one that led to you remaining in his arms as you slept. A victory for him.

Yes, he can remind you, but when you appear in his study, hair plastered to your face by the rain, gown clinging to you as if a second skin, he finds he wants nothing more than to fall to his knees before you.

“My water nymph, how ethereal you are this rainy day.” He says, taking your hand and pressing it to his lips.

You smile at him, it’s small, hollow, and his chest seizes.

“Are you well? Peter, have someone fetch the empress a change of clothes.” He orders, guiding you over towards the fire, dragging a chair closer so you can sit. “You will catch your death of cold.”

Once Peter slips from the room, he kneels before you, holding your hands between his own to warm them.

“I am well, simply a bit chilled from the rain.” You tell him, the firelight shines in your eyes. You are radiant, radiant, radiant.

“And dare I ask why you found yourself caught in such a storm?”

“Andreas is returning home today, to be with his son. I wished to say goodbye.”

Thank the gods.

“You will miss him, I am sure.” He has been practicing his responses, tempering his anger to avoid upsetting you. “He is a piece of your home returned to you.”

You nod hesitantly, tears collecting on your lashes. “I do not wish to sound ungrateful…”

He reaches up to cup your face, wiping the tears as they fall. “No, no, you do not.”

“I thought perhaps I might marry him, when I was young.” You admit quietly, eyes downcast. “I feared you would never come, then you disappeared from my mind and all other suitors were so boorish, or old.”

He curls his free hand into a fist, willing his rage to recede.

“He was kind, handsome, my age, and we shared a history, I knew he would treat me well.”

No, it is not rage, it is jealousy, burning white-hot, scorching him from the inside out.

“And I knew I would be somewhat satisfied, not that it was quite pertinent in my mind, but it was a slight worry—”

“I have a question.” Miguel cuts you off, sliding his warm hands under your skirts, delighting in the goosebumps that follow.

“Yes?” You ask, your face, your beautiful, beautiful face wears that endearing expression, the one that tells him you’re becoming aroused before the faint scent hits his nose.

“Do you remember a mere two or three years ago when the darkness broke for a single night? It was the anniversary of my coronation, and the people had been calling for me to marry. I had such a difficult time falling asleep, and then there you were. Spread out for me, aching and needy, whining for me to take care of you.”

You shiver, your eyes darkening, and he feels your pulse skip a beat, his hands inching closer to his sought after prize. “Now that my memories have begun to return, I do remember a handsome man climbing atop me, whispering my name as he ravished me. How he begged me to finish with him so desperately.”

Your hands find their way to his hair, nails scraping across his scalp, and he shivers as well. “Can you find fault within me for wanting such a thing? You sound so beautiful when you finish, and when you finish with me? It heightens every sensation.”

You hum in response, a happy, contented sound, and he swallows hard when you spread your legs for him ever so slightly. “Such flattery, I never do tire of it.”

There is enough space for him to squeeze between, forcing your legs apart further. “Nor will it ever run dry.”

You look down at him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. “I believe we have ruined our chances at being merely friends.”

“I have never desired us to be only so, I always desire more.” He resists the urge to compel you, to have you pliant in his hands.

“As have I…” You admit, hands moving from his hair to his horns, seemingly finding them a suitable handhold. “I desire more.”

Your arousal hits him full force. “All you must do is ask.”

You tighten your grip on his horns and drag him forward, pressing his nose against your bud, his mouth watering as you begin to grind tentatively against his face. “Please?”

TL: @not-aya, @belos-simp69, @deputy-videogamer, @sxnasbitch, @minimari415, @syndrlla97, @gejo333, @lady-necromancer, @zeyzeys-stuff, @tayleighuh, @loser-alert, @envyjmoney, @allysunny, @princessloveweird, @freehentai, @xlittlebubx-blog, @berry-potchy, @drefear, @jkthinkstoomuch, @ihateuguys, @yuuotosaka3, @queenofroses22, @ray-rook, @lollipopin, @faexsins, @drefear, @scorpihoooe, @mellowvisions15

[impossibleprincess35]

The Echo and the Stain | ch 31

[Excerpt:]

Fuming, she shoved him with her hands pressing firmly upon his chest, launching him back as she exclaimed, “Get off of me!”

The padawan stumbled backwards, swiftly regaining his footing to prevent falling to the ground. He puffed out his chest trying to catch his breath and thanked the Force that her sudden move had eliminated his arousal completely, leaving him feeling insecure but less so than he had been moments earlier.

His eyes that had been wide and embarrassed were now glaring at her as he hissed, “What is your problem lately?”

She attempted to lunge forward but remembered she was unsteady in shoes that were too small for her long, thin feet, and she flinched, holding herself as still as she could manage. “My problem? My problem? How are you capable of going through life when you are oblivious to what is happening around us?”

Obi-Wan’s fists curled shut and then opened again as he tried to center himself. He would not give her the satisfaction of scolding him again. He managed to keep his voice steady as he growled, “Do not talk to me like I am beneath you.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Satine’s eyebrow perked up. The heat that she had felt from his lips against her skin sparked a flame within her that burned low in her belly, fueling the fire that flew from her mouth as she shot back, “You are not my equal. You are my protector. I shall talk to you anyway that I like.”

Rage threatened to consume him, and Obi-Wan bit down on his lower lip as he reached out into the Force until the urge to reply with cruel words passed; and when it did, he was struck by the depth of her feelings.

Standing across from him, the Duchess of Kalevala moved like a lithe Corellian sand panther, shifting her weight from side to side. Her eyes were fixated on him, studying him as if he were her prey, and then she licked at her lips.

Those beautiful, impossibly soft lips of hers.

And Obi-Wan’s mouth went dry and he held his breath as the Force could no longer keep her emotions at bay. The humming of her Force signature surrounded him, surprising him with both anger and desire, a craving so undeniable that it could not be mistaken for anything else. The closeness they had shared and the faux pas of his body against her own had not been a problem; it was the lack of initiation on his end that had been offensive.

His breaths grew heavy as realization and confidence made his pulse quicken and he pleaded with one word: “Cyar’ika.” The term of endearment felt natural as he uttered it, looking in her eyes, longing to be the young man who could rise to every occasion and fulfill every possible want she could ever have.

“Cyare,” she breathed.

--

Chapter 31 is up.

(I am still actively writing and all. Life is just insane right now. That whole "one chapter a week" business? *laughs insanely to herself, rocking in a corner*)

[theonlyonesora]

Embers of Moonlight - CH 1

Genre: Romance, Drama, Canon-divergent AU Setting: A secluded valley near the borders of the Land of Fire, where two clans—Senju and Uchiha—tentatively discuss peace.

CH02

The river flowed lazily under the warm, fading light of the evening sun, its waters catching the red-orange hues of the sky as the day slipped into dusk. Tall sakura trees bordered the clearing, their pink petals drifting through the air like delicate promises never spoken aloud. The scent of fresh grass mixed with the distant hint of rain on the horizon. Despite the scenic peace surrounding them, tension hung in the air like a drawn bowstring.

A rare meeting between the Senju and Uchiha clans was underway—one born out of fragile hope, yet marred by the weight of centuries of bloodshed. On one side of the river stood the Uchiha leader, Madara, his piercing gauze sharp as steel as he spoke with Hashirama Senju, the First Hokage.

But several meters away from the main discussion, a different battle raged.

Akari Uchiha was locked in a silent standoff with the man who irritated her more than anyone else on earth—Tobirama Senju. His expression was as still and emotionless as the river behind him, save for the faintest hint of amusement glimmering in his scarlet eyes. His pale hair gleamed in the waning light, framing sharp features that looked carved from marble.

Akari stood with her arms crossed, her dark eyes narrowed. She was a proud Uchiha—her raven-black hair flowing in waves over her shoulders, and the red insignia of her clan emblazoned on the back of her robe. But the man standing before her was unmoved by her presence, his cold demeanor only serving to irritate her further.

“Are you done yet?” Tobirama’s voice was low and gravelly, as if he had more important things to focus on than whatever ridiculous game she was playing.

Akari scoffed. “With you? Yes.”

His thin lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but not far from it either. “What a child,” he muttered softly, loud enough for her to hear.

Her nostrils flared. How dare he?

“Tssh,” she hissed again, partly to mock him, but also to mask her rising irritation. She couldn’t help it—there was something about Tobirama’s cool indifference that lit a fire in her, a fire she wasn’t ready to extinguish.

But the Senju was unmoved, tilting his head slightly as if studying her like a curious animal. His gaze lingered on her longer than necessary, making her feel seen in a way that left her unsettled.

“You should leave,” Tobirama said, taking a small step closer, closing the distance between them until she could see the subtle flecks of crimson in his Sharingan-like gaze. His proximity made her skin prickle with a strange sensation—part irritation, part something she didn’t want to name.

“And let you have all the fun? Not a chance.” Akari smirked, folding her arms tighter across her chest.

“You don’t belong here.” His voice was steady, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—something unspoken.

“And you do?” she shot back, refusing to be intimidated.

Tobirama’s smile—if it could even be called that—was brief, but sharp enough to cut. “I’m needed here.”

Akari’s eyes narrowed as a gust of wind swept between them, sending a swirl of sakura petals through the clearing. She should have felt threatened by him—Tobirama Senju was infamous for his hatred of the Uchiha. But all she felt in that moment was defiance. And curiosity.

“Needed,” she echoed softly, her voice laced with challenge. “Well, I guess that makes me unnecessary, then?”

Tobirama didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took another slow, deliberate step forward, until only a breath of space remained between them. His presence was sharp and cold, like the edge of a blade, but Akari didn’t flinch. She refused to do that.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Tobirama murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

“And yet… here I am,” she whispered back, her dark eyes burning with the same intensity that her cold gaze reflected.

They stood like that, locked in a wordless exchange, the tension between them like a fragile thread that neither of them dared break. Tobirama’s gaze flickered—just for a moment—over her face, and she saw something unfamiliar pass through his eyes. Was it hesitation? Annoyance? Amusement? She couldn’t tell.

But then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and Tobirama’s expression returned to its usual impassiveness. “You’re wasting my time,” he said, turning away as if the conversation had bored him.

Akari watched him go, her heart pounding in her chest for reasons she couldn’t explain. The shrewd, stoic man infuriated her beyond measure—but she couldn’t deny the strange magnetism between them.

Tobirama Senju, she thought bitterly, biting the inside of her cheek. What a cold-hearted bastard.

But when she turned, she caught a brief glimpse of Tobirama looking over his shoulder—just for a second. And in that fleeting moment, Akari realized with a jolt that there was more to the man than he let on.

A chink in the armor, perhaps. A sliver of warmth beneath all that ice.

That thought disturbed her more than anything.

Later that night The moon hung heavy over the valley, bathing everything in a pale, silvery glow. The meeting had ended without incident, and the Senju and Uchiha clans had parted ways—for now. But Akari found herself restless, her thoughts spinning in circles as she wandered through the silent forest near the riverbank.

Hey everyone, this is my first fanfic! I hope you enjoy it. English isn’t my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes—feel free to point them out. Thank you for reading!!

[simpingcorner]

Daughter of the Shadows

Word Count: ~1.3k Warnings: mild violence (stabbing, mentions of gunshots, physical fighting), blood, alcohol, gambling,mention of human tr*****, Pekka Rollins,not proofread, let me know if I forgot something. 

Author's Note: First chapter to my Grishaverse fanfic. A reminder this is insipred by my SoC DR so it’ll follow both the books and the show plotlines, there will be changes to the canon characters and their storylines, it’s also a Kaz Brekker x OC. | English isn’t my first language so please bear with me and tell me if there’s something wrong. I hope you like it.

all rights to leigh bardugo, i only owny liith and her backstory (other ocs will be introduced later)

Read part 2 here - Ch.3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5 - Ch. 6

CHAPTER 1

LILITH

The starless night sky, the waves breaking on the rocks, the muffled sounds coming from the city, the briny autumn air surrounded her, it happened before she could even think of enjoying the moment a voice broke the night silence, the girl jumped to her feet, knives drawn, eyes locked on the darkness in front of her as her legs moved independently, silent movements, invisible to the inexperienced eyes allowed her to move closer to the noise source, as she’d expected a crowd had formed on the pier of the fourth harbour. Their guns reflected the dim street lamps’ light, red rubies shone under the moonlight, “This wasn’t the deal.” said a merchant’s voice, “The deal was you’d bring me fresh meat and I’d set you free.” Pekka Rollins’ hoarse voice echoed in her ears, she watched and studied the scene in front of her, hidden by the shadows, disgusted at the ideas of even more lives ruined by Pekka Rollins.

The smell of blood came before she could even realize what was going on, the pier’s shadows hid her making her even more dangerous than in the daylight, her knives handles now an extension to her hands, her leather gloves blood stained, her legs silents and fast followed a now too familiar pattern, the men surrounded her, guns at her head ready to fire, the girl’s eyes studied the scene as in a book, reviewing every possible outcome, she was surrounded, the men much bigger than her, she gripped the handles of her knives, the material seemed to heat up under the pressure, the lights of the street lamps trembled ready to go out at any given moment, the salty air now corrupted by the smell of blood and gunpowder. “I don’t want to kill you Mrak.” Said the merchant stopping in front of the brunette, a grin forming on his face studying her. “I wish I could say the same.” The girl replied wiping blood from her cheek with the back of her hand, her eyes full of anger, hatred, revenge, but her face was impassive, the scar on her righ cheek illuminated by the lamp post, her lips and jaw tight, her feet and hands ready to attack or defend, the faded tattoo of Emerald Palace was still too visible on her left forearm. “I thought you’d be happy to hear another slaver dead.” The man continued staring at her, “Wasn’t it one of them who brought you here? Who ruined your life?” the brunette knew if she’d attacked the rest of the Dime Lions would open fire to save their leader, “My life was over before I even got to Ketterdam.” she said closing her fists and inhaling before attacking, their moves were draw in her brain like the project of a house on paper, predictable and obvious, during each fight the Dime Lions’d forgot they had guns in their hands, finding themselves fighting hand to hand with their rivals.

The girl’s eyes became watery, a sudden burning sensation invaded her right forearm, the gray sleeve darkened, soaked in blood, but before she could assimilate what happened, the dagger disappeared from her hand finding a new home in the skull of one of the men surrounding her, some had fled, others were on the ground gasping for air or passed out. Her eyes found Pekka Rollins’, her face covered in blood, her left hand gripping her right arm, “Next time I won’t let you free.” said the man turning on his heels and disappearing into the shadows of the pier, the girl inhaled trying not to think about the pain in her arm, the burning had given way to cold and numbness, the brunette put her knives back in their places before walking back towards the Barrel.

Ketterdam was the place to go if you wanted to disappear, a city run by criminals, thieves, crooks, murderers; a city where authorities were nearly as corrupted, if not more, than the citizens; tourists from all over the world came to live without rules, to enjoy the freedom of a city without laws, to distract themselves from the problems of their daily lives, with their money, clean clothes, hot food on the table, a roof over their heads, a warm comfortable bed to sleep in after a tiring day, hot water always at the ready for a relaxing bath; the more fortunate citizens, the merchants, the Council members, the owners of the most famous clubs in the city lived in safe, warm, private houses; all the others, on the contrary, lived from day to day, hoping and praying to the Saints that they’d have enough to be able to afford a common room, a hot meal, or to be able to repay their debts.

The smell of the Barrel invaded her nostrils as she went from roof to roof trying not to be seen, the window to his office was open, a sign that he was waiting for Inej, the girl knew she shoulnd’t have gone in but with her arm injured she wouldn’t be able to open her bedroom window, and entering the front door was out the question. She climbed over to the window and nimbly entered the room, the inexperienced ear would never notice the air shift caused by the girl, but Kaz Brekker wasn’t inexperienced, not when it came to his investments. “I will not do business with a criminal.” The unknown voice filled the room, forcing her to hide in the shadows, her steps were silent, her breath inaudible, “You will find no honest man in Ketterdam.” Kaz replied before dismissing the man and closing the door behind him, “You can come out.” he simply said going back to studying the papers on the desk, the girl headed to the door, her arm hidden behind her back, her face covered in blood, her steps trembling but still too silent and proud, she barely got to reach the doorknob that his cane stopped her, the girl’s eyes fixed on the door, her hand firm on the doorknob, “What do you have for me?” the boy said as he sat down at his desk, the cane resting on his knee in of him staring at her, the crow’s eyes on the handle seemed to study her. “Pekka Rollins has bought other kids.” The boy’s face was stern, unreadable, fixed on the brunette in front of him, “He killed the slaver at Fourth Harbour.” the girl explained. “Okay.” His voice was hollow, the voice of someone who had decided to turn off their emotions, the same voice used by the girl.

The cut on her forearm was less serious than she had imagined, the help of a healer would have fastened the recovery but she didn’t have the money nor the time to find one, she tightened the bandage on the wound and left her room heading towards the bar counter, “Lilith, came to bring me luck?” Jesper’s cheery voice woke her up from the trance she was in, the Zemeni boy motioned for her to sit next to him at the poker table.

The Crow Club was full of tourists and non, whoever was in the Barrel and wanted to tempt fate was there, the girl noticed Rotty and Specht busy gambling away the last few coins they had left, Big Bolliger greeted her from the door before kicking out yet another cheater, Anika stared at her from the counter, while Jesper looked at her with a smile, letting her slip in next to him. “SO how much did you lose?” The girl asked as she sat down and studied the table, “Your lack of confidence hurts me Lilith.” said Jesper betting the rest of his Kruge on the upcoming hand, “Just saying if you don’t pay your debts, Per Haskell won’t kick out only you, and I really like my room.” explained the girl pulling out her daggers and cleaning them, she could feel his gaze on her, he was studying her, the bandage on her harm, a bandage that wasn’t there just a few minutes before, but as soon as she looked up he was gone, the office door closed at the top of the stairs.

[mumms-the-word]

Bound by Blood - Ch. 1

Ch. 1 - Ostagar

Characters: Alistair, fem!Surana, Zevran, fem!Tabris, and basically the rest of the DAO crew Plot: Seventeen-year-old Nyssa Surana never expected to find herself a Grey Warden - let alone one of three surviving Wardens, one of which is her own cousin, Velle Tabris. She's the last person anyone would ever choose to save the world. Young, inexperienced, deeply anxious, and only just out of the Circle Tower for the first time in a decade, she's convinced she's as unlikely a hero as unlikely heroes come. But someone has to save Ferelden from the Fifth Blight...and keep her cousin out of trouble...and try not to fall in love with the charming Alistair Theirin, all at the same time. Three impossible tasks, but she's determined to succeed, even with the odds stacked against her. A/N: I figure that Duncan can't be in two places at once, so while he is off recruiting Velle, whose recruitment experience follows the game's canon, Nyssa has a different experience.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | My Fic Masterlist | Read on AO3

Nyssa Surana was one of the youngest women in all of Ostagar, and no one would let her forget it.

It didn’t matter that she would be eighteen in two months. It didn’t matter that she had completed her Harrowing only one month ago, a test that was as much a rite of passage into adulthood as it was into being a full mage. It didn’t matter that some of the knights in the king’s army had squires as young as fourteen and that the camp quartermasters had elven messengers barely out of their teens running messages to and fro. No, because she was young, and a girl, and an elf, and a mage, it made her somehow different than everyone else, though she couldn’t fathom how or why.

If you asked the mages she had traveled with to get there, or if you asked the soldiers who stared at her as she walked through the camp, she was far too young to be in a place like Ostagar. She was only seventeen, after all, and an army camp was no place for children.

But she wasn’t a child. Though some days she felt about as naive and foolish as one, the robes she wore were proof that she had passed her Harrowing and was a full mage now. Perhaps not an enchanter like the other mages of the Circle that were there to assist the army, but not an apprentice either.

Still. Some days it didn’t seem to matter. She was young and every day she spent at Ostagar was a visceral reminder of that fact. Stares, whispers, and snide remarks all seemed intended to make her question why she had ever agreed to come here, rather than stay warm and safe in Kinloch Hold in the middle of Lake Calenhad. The enchanters tolerated her presence, but the soldiers and warriors in the army? She could feel their eyes burning into her back. She could hear their whispers following her as she walked from the purple tents of the Circle mages to the makeshift clinic run by the Chantry.

They let a girl like that walk around camp alone? Looking like that?

Shut up, mate, she isn’t some knife-ear messenger. She’s a mage, she is. Can’t you tell? Robes and staff?

You can’t be serious. She’s too young. They don’t let mages that young out of the tower.

Look, if you want to risk her setting your bedroll on fire, be my guest. I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot tent pole, no matter how she looks. But if you want to play dangerous games…

For a pretty thing like that? I just might, once this battle is over.

She shouldn’t have come here. But she was here now. And despite how the stares and whispers made her nervous, it was easy to ignore them when she reminded herself that the alternative would be to stay trapped in that tower forever.

In Kinloch Hold, she was just another mage studying magic. And sure, it was safe, secure, and familiar. But here, she felt as though she could breathe, as though she were a little more alive than when she was shut up in the tower.

Here, she could see the sky and the mountains, which loomed so large and so close that she felt a little dizzy every time she looked up at them. She could touch the bark of strong, healthy trees with her hands, marveling at how they found the strength to grow up from the flagstones that paved most of the ground around the ruins. She could walk freely among the crumbling walls and broken arches of Ostagar, studying the remnants of architecture that must have been breathtaking, in its heyday. She could breathe in the fresh air, though here it was tinged with woodsmoke and the smell of dozens of mabari hounds at all hours.

It usually didn’t bother her much. She couldn’t get that heady mix of beauty and decay or that combination of fresh mountain air and pungent musk in the tower, after all. She ought to appreciate it all while she could.

Ostagar had stolen her breath away when they had first approached it. Though ruined by time and weather, the shells of the fortress halls, arches, and towers nevertheless soared high overhead despite the ages of neglect, casting long shadows with ease, their stones weathered and rugged. Kinloch Hold was tall too, but it was only one building. Here, the towering walls and columns seemed to go on for miles, but with everything open to the sky, it never felt like a prison.

In some places, she could all too easily envision what it must have looked like before, when people still roamed and lived in the fortress. In one corner, an old cathedral or temple stood empty, its roof almost completely gone, but if she stood among the columns there, following them upward as they stretched three or four stories high, she could picture them bearing aloft a vaulted ceiling, perhaps one that was painted with frescos or patterned over with beautiful mosaics. Elsewhere she could see evidence of former gardens and walking paths, places where bits of natural beauty must have poked through in courtyards and around fountains, spaces that had now given way to the trees that sought to take over the area.

It must have been beautiful before it fell to ruin. It was beautiful now, in a tragic way, even with all the modern scaffolding and army tents that cluttered the spaces between. What she wouldn’t give to linger and study the architecture, to try and discern some kind of secret or two from the worn stone arches and crumbling walls.

But that wasn’t why she was here. Nor was she here to amuse soldiers or be stared at like a caged animal. She was here at the behest of First Enchanter Irving, who had sent her with the other Circle mages to assist them as they prepared to fight alongside the armies of King Cailan. Her job was simple. Work alongside the Tranquil to gather items the enchanters and senior enchanters needed and then provide support spells to protect the soldiers and scouts of the king’s army before they headed out into the Korcari Wilds to scout the area or, eventually, into battle.

She was not, under any circumstances, allowed to enter any battles. Irving was very clear about that. She was to assist the enchanters and the army and to stay out of trouble. That was all. Those were the terms with which she had been allowed to leave Kinloch Hold, despite having only completed her Harrowing days before their departure to Ostagar.

She had promised Irving she would obey him to the letter. But she had already broken that promise several times over in small ways.

For one thing, technically she wasn’t supposed to be helping with the Chantry clinic. Though the Chantry wasn’t armed with healing spells, they had plenty of potions, poultices, and bandages for conventional healing. They didn’t need her, and generally speaking, they didn’t much trust her. But Senior Enchanter Wynne had suggested she might be of more use there, attempting to soothe the pains of the dying with her spells. Nyssa wasn’t sure whether her suggestion was meant to keep her farther away from the soldiers or away from the mages preparing complex rituals for the upcoming battle, but in the end it didn’t matter. It gave her the excuse to walk the camp and be of use to someone other than the enchanters.

She just wished she was better at healing. On her first day at Ostagar, she realized just how ill-suited and ill-prepared she was to be an army healer when she saw the first man come in with wounds deep enough that she could see the soft, wet flesh of his organs. She had nearly fainted when they laid him on the cot beside her. Her hands had trembled terribly as she handed the Chantry sister the poultices and bandages they had used. In the end, the poor man died before they even finished trying to stitch his wound closed.

She had gone off shortly after to be sick in the bushes and returned, teary-eyed but determined to ignore the pitying or judgmental looks of the Chantry sisters. After that, each bloody wound still made her feel ill and woozy, but she pushed through it. She wanted to be helpful. She didn’t want to be sent back to the mages, and then from there sent back to the tower. She had to be useful.

She asked Wynne to teach her a healing spell or two and went right back to work in the clinic.

But for some soldiers, it didn’t matter. Not even her healing magic could offer relief to those who came back from the Korcari Wilds sporting wounds tainted by blackened darkspawn blood. Try as she might, the best she could offer them were cool drinks of water and something to dull the pain. The Chantry sisters at the clinic could offer no more than she.

“Wynne,” she asked at one point, after a long day of working at the clinic. “Are there really no spells to help with tainted blood? Nothing at all?”

“I’m afraid not,” Wynne said gently. “Nothing short of becoming a Grey Warden, that is. Only they know of ways to counteract the effects of being tainted by darkspawn blood.”

“But all of them are staying outside of the ruins,” Nyssa said, her heart sinking. “I’m not allowed to leave.”

“And I doubt any of them would answer you even if you asked.”

Nyssa frowned. “There has to be some way…”

She had felt Wynne’s gaze on her as she thought through ways of possibly sending a message to one of the Wardens, to arrange a meeting of some kind. Eventually, Wynne made a thoughtful noise.

“Perhaps you might try asking Ser Duncan, once he returns from his visit to Denerim.”

“Ser Duncan?”

She remembered briefly meeting Duncan, the leader of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, at Kinloch Hold the day after her Harrowing. She had walked into Irving’s office to find Irving, Knight-Commander Greagoir, and Duncan discussing the need for mages in the army because at that time the king had none. That was when she had first heard the word Blight to describe the threat brewing to the south.

The power you mages wield is an asset to any army, he’d said, speaking partly to her and partly to Irving. Your spells are very effective against large groups of mindless darkspawn. I fear if we don’t drive them back, we may see another Blight.

He’d said mages were necessary. Not helpful, not convenient, but necessary. Vital. It was a far cry from what she usually heard about magic.

After years of listening to mages and Chantry sisters and Templars debate about the usefulness of magic as well as all of its many, many dangers and whether it was a gift from the Maker or not, to hear that magic could be so important…it had drawn Nyssa in. When Irving mentioned that they were considering sending a few mages to answer the king’s call for allies, Nyssa had asked to join. It was a rare show of impulsivity for her—she normally kept her head down. Even now she didn’t know what possessed her to ask, but she was glad she did. Irving hemmed and hawed and said he would consider it, but in the end, Duncan had agreed with her.

“If this is the girl you’ve told me about,” he’d said, “then it seems a good idea to let her go. She has earned that right, I think.”

Nyssa still wasn’t sure what he meant by those words. And when she met him again in the library, slowly perusing the books on the shelves, she was too much a coward to ask directly. So she asked to learn about the Grey Wardens instead.

“I once heard that the Wardens accepted elves among their ranks,” she’d said. “Even to the point that the last Warden to slay an Archdemon was an elf.”

“You refer to Garahel,” Duncan said, nodding. “It’s true. The darkspawn threaten everyone. They do not distinguish between the races, and neither should we.”

She had been a little surprised to hear such thoughts from him. “Not everyone agrees with that,” she said softly.

“No, unfortunately not.” He paused, studying her for a moment. “Has being an elf in the Circle been difficult for you?”

She shrugged and looked away, rubbing her arm absently. “A little…”

It could be worse. Given what she knew from letters from her parents and from her Uncle Cyrion, elves seemed to have it worse out in the cities, where they were crowded in alienages and forced to work long days for only a handful of coins. Though they didn’t live in an alienage like her uncle and her cousins, her parents were servants of the Howes in Amaranthine, a destiny that she would have shared, had she not unexpectedly developed magic at seven years old. She thought about it often, what kind of life she might have led if she had never had magic. It was hard to imagine.

At least in the tower, she could pretend she was someone’s equal because she had equal or better magical talent than them. In the tower, she had a bed to herself, even if she’d had to share a room with twenty other female apprentices, and her meals came ready-made, if a little bland, in the tower dining hall. She never had to worry about not having a bed or a hot meal, though privacy was never guaranteed and she often wished she could hide away somewhere just to give herself room to think or breathe. So, she supposed, she ought not to complain if someone occasionally called her a knife-ear or insinuated that she was using cheap tricks to get ahead. It was simply…how things were.

But Duncan’s voice had been soft, almost gentle when he responded. “It is hard to change perceptions. I have tried to reason with many, and failed. If one has always seen elves as less than human, it’s hard to imagine them as anything else.”

Nyssa pursed her lips slightly. It wasn’t a truth she wanted to hear, but she knew it well enough. “I know. I shouldn’t let it bother me, but…”

She stopped before she could find herself pouring out her heart to this complete stranger. She wasn’t ready to embarrass herself that much just yet. So she simply ended with another small shrug.

“Do not let it discourage you,” Duncan had said. He leaned in and she glanced up to meet his dark eyes, finding in them a sense of determination and encouragement. “Let it temper you and make you stronger. That is how you can survive in this world, no matter where you are or what you are doing.”

She hadn’t known what to say at the time. But ever since then, his words, his kindness in that library, had stayed with her.

Let it temper you and make you stronger, he’d said. She tried to. Every time she felt ill at the clinic, or heard the soldiers whispering foul things about her, or a Chantry sister looked at her with open disdain, she tried to let it temper and not discourage her.

But such things were easier said than done. And she had never been particularly strong.

She wished she could ask Duncan for advice again, but he wasn’t around. But if he was really returning, like Wynne said, then perhaps she would get her chance. Perhaps he would even know a solution for treating tainted soldiers. If anyone knew how to help the soldiers dying of darkspawn taint, it would be him.

But she had to wait for his return. So she waited as patiently as she was able and tried to be useful in the meantime. She cast support spells on scouts and soldiers before they ventured into the Wilds, hoping it would be enough to protect them if they encountered small bands of darkspawn. She ran errands for the enchanters and worked as much as possible in the clinic, even though it regularly made her feel faint or ill. In her downtime, she sometimes visited the kennel, speaking to the kennel master and watching the mabari hounds. And she tried to take Duncan’s advice to heart.

There was a noticeable shift in the air the day he returned. The eve of battle was looming ever closer and there were whispers that the king was ready to launch the attack almost as soon as the Warden Commander arrived. She could see a noticeable difference in the tempo of camp life that day. It was as though everyone was suddenly moving at twice their normal speed, eager to don arms and armor, set up fortifications, and prepare the hounds.

Duncan should be back today, was the whisper around the camp. I guess he’s brought another Warden recruit.

She was rolling bandages for the Chantry sisters when she saw him walking through the camp. A young, dusky-skinned elven woman trailed along behind him, looking sullen and quiet. Something struck her as familiar about the elf, but with a quick word to Duncan, the woman split off and disappeared into the camp, while Duncan made his way over to a bonfire to sit and rest.

This was her chance. She finished rolling the bandages, set them in a basket for the sisters, and prepared herself.

It was time to meet the Warden Commander once again.

[gergthecat]

Legacy CH 3 - Lae POV

He certainly seems to be acting odd; my darling father. Keeps glancing back at the Syldrathi women as we meander through the space debris, making our way back to the Station. Then again, he could just be concerned by the fact that they are all covered in blood; head to toe; drenching the floor. It’s really a sort of disturbing sight; they don’t look like they know what to do, and the eldest one is staring rather intently at me, squinting with her head turned as if she’s trying to examine me. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Dad’s eyes unfocus for a second, a sign that he’s linking someone, and by the way his jaw relaxes and his eyebrows furrow; it’s Mom. Nobody causes him more stress, or more joy, than her.

He finishes right as we pull into the dock, obviously having told Mom to send the cavalry; about three hundred people are gathered at the gate when it should be more like thirty. I spot her rather swiftly, hanging off to the side with Val and Kal at her hips. Odd for the infamous Gilwraeth siblings; they look nervous; concerned; shocked even, and they aren’t easily rattled. They must know these people. Unbroken Armada. 

Our walk to the port is a short, anxious one. I can feel the mental nausea radiating from them, making my already unstable legs vibrate with perceptive nervousness. I’m not really sure why, but the twitchy movements of the Syldrathi have bile climbing up my throat again. I never feel like this; though I suppose this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, second only to the time that Evalie and I walked in on Aunt Scar giving Uncle Fin a blowjob. The thought of that brings a different kind of uneasiness to my core. 

Dad’s eyes glaze over again as we hit the crowd, and he stops for a moment, clearly arguing with Mom. Leaning over the human, who I recognize as a Med assistant, I catch a glimpse of her, eyes sorrowful as she leads her brother and niece away. I watch as Kal’s posture slumps uncharacteristically, and acknowledge that Dad must know what’s wrong with them. He’s the only person to ever really know my mom, even though they fight like cats and dogs sometimes.

The meds are saturating their cloths in blood when it comes to me to ask whether or not it belongs to the women or somebody else. The two younger ones respond meekly in Syldrathi, assuring what I already know, considering they could walk just fine, that they were scared and had to pretend to be dead. The eldest looks me down and speaks in a gravely soft voice, “What is your name, dur’ainti?” Young one; what I’ve come to understand is a compliment from Syldrathi who’ve survived Sai’nuitr. The Starslaying. My own grandmother; a victim, her fire only still burning because of my uncle’s admiration, my mother’s regret, and both of their love. They tell me she was beautiful, though I could never know; my grandfather destroyed every shred of her existence when she escaped. She has a hint of an accent, and when her face is cleared of blood, I see she is a Waywalker like myself.

Once they are cleaned, the women turn towards eachother, now apparent that they are all Waywalker, and convene, Dad watches the hall where Mom was, clearly expecting her return. I turn to him, “Dad?” I wait a second for it to register, and when it does, I continue, “What’s going on? Who are they?” I’m now fairly confident that the only one who speaks English is the old one; the others all seemed like they had trouble understanding the meds’ instructions.

He studies me for a second, gauging my reaction to whatever he is about to say, I assume. “I’m not sure. It’s certainly weird, that they’re all waywalkers, I mean.”

“Why’s that? We are too.”

“Half, anyways,” he mumbles, not looking away from the hall.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Another glance, “Yep.”

“What? So you’re just not going to tell me? Since when has that been what you do?” Even when I was a dumb kid and the washing machine scared me, Dad always found a way to explain the world to me. He’d tell me all about his adventures, leaving the gorey bits out for when I asked again years later. He could always explain every political conflict analytically; instead of directing me to the side he thought was right, he’d let me identify what I thought was wrong and make me uphold my argument when we disagreed. Now, he just stares off, his mouth a tight line and his eyes narrowed. I huff and cross my arms, turning away from him as I search the now mostly dissipated crowd for my friend, though the only person I can spot is Valeth. I roll my eyes; the ever-present cloud of smugness that happens to inhabit the body of Valeth Korsin Jr. disheartening me thoroughly.

When Mom reappears alone, she has a clear view of the group of us. The women turn around at once, and, luckily, I catch the eldest’s gasp as she faints, falling into my arms.

Check me out on AO3 :)

Legacy Chapter One

Legacy Chapter Two

Masterlist

[ash-whimsicalfanfic]

Agent Rushmore (CH 6)

Leroy Jethro Gibbs X Fem OC/Reader

Word Count: 1118

Warning: Mild language, violence, gore, guns, fluff, smut, angst, PTSD, graphic scenes…

Prompt: Special Agent Locklyn Rushmore, a highly trained Russian assassin who is skilled in all forms of hand-to-hand combat, weaponry, negotiating and more. When her cover is blown, she is returning back to NCIS headquarters in D.C…

Locklyn Rushmore's POV

My eyes open as sunlight shines through the curtains. I glare at the window, hearing a quiet groan as I'm pulled closer.

I look down, smiling when I see Gibbs' arm around my bare waist. My head was rested on his chest. Our legs were intertwined. My own arms were wrapped around him.

This was the safest and the most relaxed I've ever felt. I feel his fingers rubbing circles on my hip and I knew he was awake. Neither of us said anything. We just stayed in each others hold.

The blankets were hardly over our hips I didn't miss the growing tent in the blankets. I look up at him and he looks at me.

"Need a little help?" I ask.

"And here I thought you'd be sore after last night." He muses.

My cheeks flushed. Last night was the most epic sex I've had in my life. It started out slow when he realized it's been years for me. But, it progressively got faster and rougher. In fact, he has to repair a few spots on the wall where the headboard was hitting against the wall so violently.

I was sore. It was more uncomfortable than anything. I kick the blankets off of us, straddling him and looking down at him. He moves his arms behind his head, a small smirk on his face as he slowly looks over me. I grab his hard length, slowly lowering myself down on him.

I moan softly, feeling myself stretch and he grunts, moving his hands to my hips.

We so easily got lost in each other.

We didn't need words. We just moved. It was like we knew each other for years, when in fact it has only been a matter of days. Yet, we clicked so perfectly. Like a bunch of puzzle pieces.

The both of us seeking comfort in one another from our haunting pasts.

"Jethro!" I moan, coming and he grunts, pulling my hips down roughly as he comes.

I lean forward, breathing heavily and he leaves a kiss on my temple as his arms wrap around me. We stayed like that for a few minutes before we decided to get up. He let me have the shower, telling me he'd make breakfast.

I was relieved and so glad to get cleaned up. I pull the toothbrush out of my bag, brushing my teeth before styling my hair in loose waves. I pull on a white v-neck that hugged my figure perfectly, leaving nothing to hide. The neckline dipped lower than normal and showed quite a bit of my cleavage.

I pull on black dress pants that hugged my legs and my ass before my eyes dance across the different hickeys. I did not have all the makeup needed to hide these. I sigh, pulling on some heels before doing a light thing of makeup. I grab blazer, pulling it on before going downstairs.

He hands me a plate, the both of us sitting it eat in silence. He mumbles that he's going to go get ready. I finished eating, deciding to clean the kitchen up before I go to the living room to grab my sidearm and badge. I sit, staring down at my hands.

"Svetlana, get over here!" Kenzo snaps.

I leave his family, a feeling of nervousness washing over me. I've never felt this way. I've always be calm and collected just how I like it.

He pulls me into his study, closing the door before turning to me with dark eyes. I could see the fire burning in them and I knew I stood no chance.

"Yes?" I whisper.

"I told you to stop talking business. You are a woman. Learn you place." He snaps, smacking me.

I nod, staring at the floor. It was moments like these I wished to no longer be undercover. I desperately craved to return to my normal life, but I knew this case was far from over.

There were days when no one was around that I'd stand in front of a mirror to remind myself that I was Locklyn Rushmore and not Svetlana Yákov. The longer I was undercover, the more my identities mixed.

Both Svetlana and Locklyn have had pasts so cruel and brutal. Not to mention that both identities had a fiery red-head Russian woman.

"You okay?" Gibbs asks quietly.

I look up to notice that he was leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed for work, but I'm going to guess he's been there for a few minutes.

"Yes. Sorry." I say.

"Rule six, never say you're sorry." He says.

"You have a rule for everything, don't you?" I ask.

"Almost. Do you want to...talk about it?" He asks.

"You've gone undercover before, right?" I ask.

"I have, but never as long as you." He says.

"I think that's my issue. I was undercover so long, it was getting to a point it was like...my identities were mixing. There was me...then Svetlana." I say.

"Yeah." He murmurs, urging me on.

"It got to the point I would stand in front of a mirror when I knew I was alone and I'd remind myself that I was Locklyn Rushmore, not Svetlana Yákov. Both my undercover identity and true identity have gone through such tragic lives that I think the lines started to blur. But, there was no one I could talk to—as Locklyn. I was alone and had to be Svetlana. Any information I had, I would leave at drop offs or I would text from my burner. even doing that was risky. And there was no casual conversation. I'd get one little response back. Received." I explain.

"Locklyn...your right. Your not Svetlana. Your Locklyn Rushmore. An NCIS agent with one hell of a track record. You are a phenomenal agent and person." He says.

"A good or bad track record?" I ask quietly.

"Good. You may not have had anyone when you were undercover, but you have an army now and we are all here for you. We weren't there and we don't even know where to begin to understand what you went through. But, we will be here to listen and to help you through this. Being undercover is hard enough. I can't imagine five years. Your a very strong and brave woman, Locklyn." He says.

"Thanks Gibbs...the same goes to you. I know your probably not much of a talking person, especially about feelings...but it does feel good to let it out." I admit and he hums, smiling slightly.

"I'll think about it. Come on. Let's get you back to NCIS." He says and I nod.

[marauderundercover]

i didn't choose this town (you're on your own kid, ch. 1)

Look. He didn’t ask to be stuck in some scummy city in New Jersey of all places. If it was up to him, he’d still be in his mom’s apartment in New York, in the only home he’d ever known. But that was over. And he could never go back. Smelly Gabe would never let him back, not now that his mom was gone. And he definitely wasn’t gonna go back into foster care. Both of the houses he’d been in since getting to Gotham had been pretty bad. Like cigarette burns on his clothes and no dinner during the weekend bad. But that was fine. Percy was a New Yorker, and more importantly, he was a Jackson. He was more than capable of taking care of himself. Besides, it was New Jersey. He wasn’t going to let it best him.

---

Percy glares at the dog sized rat in front of him.

“Look, man, back off. This is my food.” He says, frowning at the animal. It hisses at him. Honest to god, the rat hisses at him. Percy jumps back, holding the sandwich higher up. Can rats jump that high? He glances at the fire escape ladder, noting how far off the ground it was. Sticking the sandwich in his mouth, he sprints over to it and jumps, just barely pulling himself up before the rat leaps and bites at where his ankles had been moments before. Grinning, Percy takes the sandwich out of his mouth and nods down at the rat. “Later, asshole!” He calls before scurrying up the ladder and flopping onto the roof. Letting out a huff, he stands and saunters over to the opposite edge and sits.

Letting his legs dangle off the roof, Percy takes a small bite of his sandwich as he glances out over the city. It was no New York, but it was his home now. He’d probably never make it back to New York, not until he was old enough to live by himself. Too many people would ask questions in New York, if they saw him wandering the streets. No one in Gotham cared though. Made it easy enough to do what he wants. Also made it a little lonely, but Percy was getting used to it. Just as he’s shoving the last bit of his sandwich in his mouth, there’s a big thud behind him. He whirls around, gripping onto the ledge for stability. He wasn’t really in the mood to fall off a roof. Tilting his head at the man, he turns around completely and plants his legs back onto the roof. All else failed, he’d make a run for the fire escape.

“This your roof or something?” He asks, trying to sound tougher than he felt. The man was…intimidating. He was way taller than Percy, with a red helmet and visible weapons and Percy felt uneasy. A staticy snort escapes the man, making Percy’s hand twitch.

“You’re in Crime Alley, kid. All of these roofs are mine.” He says, his stance loose.

“Crime Alley? Who named it that?” Percy asks, frowning. It seemed like a way to just invite trouble. The man’s head tilts to the side, and Percy has the feeling that the man is studying him for some reason. And whatever he’s trying to find, he doesn’t.

“You’re not from around here, are you kid?” Percy stays quiet. “You visiting Gotham with your parents or something?” The man adds, and Percy grits his teeth. He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t risk getting pulled back into the Gotham Foster System. Not again.

“Y’know, I’m really not supposed to be talking to strangers. So, uh, thanks for letting me know that this is your roof, but I’ll just be headed out now.” He says, starting to move in a big arc around the man, towards the fire escape. The man clears his throat, or that’s what Percy thinks he does, and Percy pauses.

“Look, I wasn’t trying to scare you or anything. But if you are new and you are sticking around, you gotta know that this area isn’t safe at night. Try and hole up somewhere if you can.” He says. Percy nods. Obviously this place wasn’t safe. Between the rat from earlier and the dodgy guys he’d avoided trying to get the sandwich, he knew that. But he guessed it was pretty nice of the guy to tell him.

“Totally. Uh, thanks Mr…” Percy raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“Red Hood.”

---

Percy shivers, wrapping his arms around himself. He really needed to find a coat. Or even a heavier jacket. He’d been running around Gotham (mostly Crime Alley) for a little over a month. Honestly, he was pretty proud of himself. Gabe had always said that Percy was a wimp, but he’d been surviving on his own in one of the most dangerous cities in the US. He didn’t really wanna see the man ever again, but he also kinda wanted to rub it in his face. Well, if he could find a way to keep warm that is. He’d been living in an abandoned fire station, but he still didn’t have enough blankets or anything to get through actual winter. He’d probably have to try and pickpocket some more. He didn’t really like doing it, but he was small and people tended to not notice him. And he never tried anything with the people in Crime Alley. He knew better than that.

“Little cold to be hanging on rooftops.” Red Hood says, his boots thudding with every step as he walks towards Percy. He’d discovered early on that the man could be silent when he walked. But after Percy had almost fallen off a roof twice, the man had taken to making noise when he saw him. Percy shrugs.

“Not like I’ve got anything better to do.” He says. The man tosses something at him and Percy reacts immediately, snatching it out of the air before frowning. “What’s this?” He asks. The man shrugs.

“Just a hoodie and some more socks.” Hood says.

“You said-”

“I agreed not to give you food, kid. Never made any promises about clothes.” Hood says, and Percy can practically hear the smirk in the man’s voice. Percy’s stomach churns uncomfortably. It’s not that he didn’t want to accept the hoodie. He did. But he also hated the idea of owing someone anything. Nothing in the world was free, no matter what anyone told you. Percy’s grip on the plastic bag tightens as he tries to figure out a way to decline the clothes that won’t seem too ungrateful. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t go out and buy them.” Hood says.

“What?” Percy asks, the mental image of Hood grabbing someone’s clothes off a laundry line popping into his head for some reason.

“The socks were a donation I picked up from one of the shelters I check in at.”

“Oh.” Percy says, some of the weight of debt lifting off his shoulders. Hood nods.

“Yeah, and the uh, the hoodie is a hand me down. Hope you don’t mind.” He adds. Percy’s eyes widen.

“It’s yours?” He asks, the worry shooting through him once again. Hood shakes his head.

“No, not anymore. There’s no way it’d fit me now. But it’s getting colder, and you need something. It was that or throw it out.” Hood says. Percy falters again for a moment before tugging the hoodie out of the bag. It was thicker than he’d expected, and the faded Wonder Woman symbol on the front made him smile a bit. He’d used to be a big fan of heroes. Back before his mom died. Pushing down the wave of grief, he lets his resolve falter and tugs the hoodie on, making sure to keep the hood on to warm his ears. It helps immediately, and he glances over at Red Hood, relieved for the first time that he couldn’t see the man’s face. He’d definitely caved way too quick, but it saved him from another cold night, so it was mostly worth it.

“Thank you.” Percy says, pulling the ends of the sleeves up so that his hands would poke out. Hood nods.

“‘Course. You know how to find me if you need anything, right?” He asks, and Percy nods. He’d learned pretty quickly after their first meeting that Red Hood cared about keeping kids safe. ‘Specially kids like Percy who were on their own. “Good. Look after yourself, okay kid?”

“Always do.” Percy says cheerily, saluting the man before turning and scurrying down the fire escape. Time to head home.

---

Percy was screwed. He’d managed to make himself comfortable in the City of Crime, and had let his guard slip. And now he was gonna pay for that mistake. Somehow, he hadn’t managed to see any major bad guy attacks in the almost three months he’d been in Gotham. He should’ve known that couldn’t last. Darting into the first warehouse he sees, Percy runs to a corner and tries to calm his frantic heartbeat. His vision already looked weird on the sides, and he really wished he would’ve found a mask or something sooner like Red Hood had told him ages ago. But he hadn’t, and some dude with a freaking sack on his head had sprayed some crap in his face.

“Well, look at what we have here. Genius boy came crawling back.” Gabe grunts, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Percy’s eyes widen and he tries to scramble back even more.

“I, no. I didn’t- how did you-”

“Can’t even talk right, can you? Must be why your mom left you with me.” Gabe taunts, pointing his cigarette at Percy. He could feel the phantom pains of the burns on his arm, as well as the not so phantom tears rolling down his face.

“My mom didn’t wanna leave me.” He says, his voice shaking. His mom didn’t choose to die, she never would have left him. Right? Gabe snorts.

“Yeah, sure, kid. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He says, and Percy can’t help the flinch as the man steps closer to him. He’d never liked Gabe. Ever. But he’d never told his mom that, never thought there’d be a day where he was left alone with the man. And now-

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Percy says, his voice sounding much stronger than he felt. Gabe smirks.

“You don’t have a choice, brain boy. You’re stuck with me. I’m all the family you’ve got.” The man steps forward so that he’s toe to toe with Percy, and the stench immediately invades his senses. Before he can protest, Gabe’s hand shoots out and grabs Percy’s wrist. He immediately pulls back, trying desperately to tug himself away. He didn’t want to go back with Gabe. He couldn’t go back there. Not without his mom.

“Please, no! Let me go! I don’t wanna go, please!” Percy pleads, his breathing getting faster as he tries to get free. A sharp pain in his neck makes him gasp before the world around him goes black.

---

A constant beeping wakes Percy up, and he immediately begins to panic. The walls were a sterile white, and he recognized the universal layout of a hospital room. He couldn’t be here. He really couldn’t be here. His eyes dart around the room, trying to take in everything he might need to know before trying to make a break for it. He frowns at the man slumped in a chair across the room. He didn’t look like the usual DFC worker. The guy was in regular jeans and a sweatshirt, his dark hair much messier than the usual business-like people that Percy had talked to back when his mom first died. But if he wasn’t part of DFC, then who was he? Before he can even attempt to get himself out of the bed, a woman in scrubs walks in, smiling softly at him.

“Look who’s up! How’re you feeling sweetheart?” She asks quietly. It didn’t really matter though, because the second she started talking the guy on the chair jumped up and started blinking rapidly. The nurse raises an eyebrow. “Alright there, Mr. Grayson?” She adds. The man nods, rolling his shoulders before dropping back down into the chair, giving Percy a small smile. Percy’s eyebrows furrow as he turns back to the nurse.

“Sorry, why am I here?” He asks, frowning.

“You were dosed with fear toxin. Nightwing administered the antidote, then passed you off to Mr. Grayson.” She explains. Percy raises an eyebrow. Nightwing, the vigilante, passed him off to some random guy?

“I’m a police officer in Blüdhaven.” The man in the chair speaks up. “I’ve worked with the bats a few times, so it’s not like Nightwing was just passing you off to the first person he saw.” Percy nods slowly.

“Right.” He says. The nurse finishes checking his vitals before giving him another smile.

“I know you must be missing your parents terribly. Do you know their numbers? We could try and call them for you.” She offers, and Percy feels the color drain from his face. This was not good. He was definitely going to end up back in the system. Or worse. With Gabe.

“They uh, don’t have cellphones and our voicemail is usually full. It’d probably be better to call later.” Percy blurts out, trying to ignore the way Mr. Grayson was intently staring at him. The nurse frowns.

“Are you sure, honey? I’m sure they’re worried sick-”

“They both work really weird shifts, so uh, they probably didn’t realize I was even out. But we can definitely call them later.” Percy says. The nurse’s frown doesn’t fade, but she eventually nods before walking out of the room. Percy lets his shoulders slump as he lets out a breath. One worried adult down, one to go.

“Are you afraid of how your parents are going to react?” Mr. Grayson asks, his voice softer than it had been earlier. Percy blinks at the man.

“Huh?” He says, intelligently.

“Your parents, bud. Are you- are you afraid of what they’re going to do when they find out what happened?” Mr. Grayson asks, a concerned look on his face and-oh. Oh. Percy shakes his head rapidly.

“No, they really are just hard to get a hold of.” Percy says. Mr. Grayson opens his mouth, probably to question him more, but Percy cuts him off. “Could you- do you know if I’m allowed to have food? I’m kinda hungry.” He says. It was the only thing he could think of that would get the man to actually leave the room. The man’s face softens immediately.

“I can go ask for you. Anything specific sound good?” He asks. Percy swallows, feeling a little bad for the disappearing act he’s about to pull.

“A burger?” He asks, and the man smiles.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He promises before leaving the room, the door swinging shut behind him. Percy swings his legs off the bed, trying hard to push down the nausea swirling in his stomach. He’d lucked out that they didn’t have him plugged into anything besides an IV. It hurt, but it wasn’t a big deal to pull that out himself. Glancing around the room, he spots his shoes and his Wonder Woman hoodie that Red Hood gave him. Slipping both on, he takes a deep breath before stepping towards the door. Hopefully, they didn’t have much on him. He really didn’t need people actually looking for him. Cracking the door open, Percy glances out of his room. He could see Mr. Grayson at the desk right across from his room talking to the nurses, and to the right, a door with a huge exit sign above it. Shaking out his hands, Percy takes one moment to ground himself before he moves silently towards the door. He’d gotten good at sneaking around, since he’d been living in Crime Alley. It was easier that way. Fewer ways to get hurt. Miraculously, he manages to slip out of the door and into a lobby without Mr. Grayson or his nurse spotting him.

“Young man, watch where you’re going.” An older nurse huffs as Percy almost runs into her. His cheeks flush red.

“Sorry.” He mutters, continuing past her and out the doors at the other end of the lobby. He takes in a deep breath of the (not so fresh) Gotham air, his shoulders finally relaxing. But he didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t. Not until he made it back to the safety of Crime Alley, the place he’d definitely started to think of as home.

---

That night, Percy climbs onto the roof of the abandoned fire station and stares at the sky. He was sure there were stars up there. He’d heard about them in school all the time, but he’d never lived anywhere where he could actually see them. He wasn’t sure if he’d like them, if he was being honest. So used to the lights of cities and the noise that came with it, he wasn’t exactly eager to ever go somewhere without all of that. A thud brings him out of his thoughts, but he doesn’t turn to look.

“Hey, Hood.” He says, tucking his knees close to his chest. He was definitely in for a lecture from the guy.

“You okay, kid?” Hood asks instead of launching into the lecture that Percy had expected. Hmm. But maybe that was expecting too much. After all, Hood had a million street kids he looked out for. He didn’t have the time to know what happened to each of them, or care enough to lecture them for making dumb choices.

“Yep.” Percy says simply. Hood hums, the noise coming out more static than anything. Percy glances at him and raises an eyebrow.

“So you didn’t get dosed with fear toxin yesterday?” Hood asks, and Percy’s eyes widen. He did know.

“Who told you that?” Percy asks, before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter anyway, I’m fine.” Hood snorts, dropping onto the roof beside him and dropping a bag of fast food between them.

“Sure you are.” He says, before tugging his helmet off. Percy inhales sharply and turns before he sees the man’s face.

“Dude, what-”

“I still have a mask on, kid.” Hood chuckles, and Percy blinks at the lack of static in the man’s voice. Slowly, he turns and relaxes at the domino still in place on the man’s face.

“Scared the shit outta me.” Percy grumbles.

“Language.” Hood says, then frowns. “Ignore me. Can’t believe I said that.” Percy snorts, then glances at the bag of food between them. “Go ahead, kid. I’ve got enough burgers and fries for the both of us. Guy at Batburger gave me extra for saving his cat last week.” Hood adds. Percy frowns, but tentatively reaches for the food. He didn’t have the energy to try and scrounge for food today, not after everything that happened yesterday with the fear toxin crap.

“Thanks, Hood.” Percy says quietly before taking a huge bite of the burger. It was still warm.

“No problem, kid.” Hood says. And Percy glances at him, decides to trust the guy just a little more.

“Percy. My name’s Percy.”

Next

---

Enjoying this fic? Head over to AO3. I'll add updates here as I remember.