#(my nephew is one and a half and I meant to have this ready for his literal birth lmaoo)

[sentientcave]

Finally finished seaming together and trimming this blanket for my nephew (I finished the weaving before he was born 😂😭) and someone else thinks it's for her.

[celandeline]

The Throne Was Meant For Us, My Dear

Aemond x Targaryen!Reader, mostly canon compliant (yes, people are still dying/getting maimed), heavy on the smut, incest (they are targaryens, obv), a little angst

9.5k words (buckle up)

You were born at the end of a long summer’s day, just as the last sliver of sun was sinking below the waves of the bay. Your sister was born on the same day, just after the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon. Twin Targaryen girls, Helaena and Jaenara, the second and third of Alicent Hightower’s children. 

The summer has always held a special place in your heart - not only because of your nameday, but because of the way the heat of the day lingers in the air long after the sun has set. The sound of a warm breeze as it rustles through the courtyard flowers, spreading the lovely floral scent. The feeling of the sun on your skin - the taste of fresh fruit grown outside the city. You’ve always loved the summer. You love it especially now, the only thing making this godforsaken funeral bearable. 

Next to you, Aegon snags two more glasses of wine from a passing serving girl, handing one to you with a limp wrist and a sigh. He downs half his glass in one long draught. “I don’t understand why Helaena.” He grumbles, gesturing to where she sits on the ground with his glass, the wine sloshing inside. “If I must marry at all, why not you?”

You take a long sip from your own glass, leaning back against the store railing overlooking the sea. Driftmark, while much more drab than the Red Keep, has one thing going for it - the pleasant smell of salt in the air, and the sound of the waves against the shore. “Our mother thinks that if we were to be wed, I would enable you.” You say. 

Aegon snorts, finishing off his drink. “As if Helaena will do anything to stop me from my hedonistic desires.” He jokes, quoting Alicent. “If it’s not to do with grasshoppers, it’s not to do with her.”

You neglect to snicker along with him, simply pressing your lips to the rim of your glass as you watch your dear sister pass a spider back and forth between her hands, muttering under her breath. She’s always been something of a dreamer, your Helaena, something the rest of your family doesn’t seem to notice. But you, always in tune to your sister from the moment you were born, know. Threads of omniscience run through her mutterings, though deciphering them sometimes is beyond you. 

“Some could say the same about you, with wine and whores.” You say, glancing knowingly at Aegon. “We all have our compulsions - some worse than others.”

“I only jest.” Aegon says, defensive. You can tell he’s getting drunker, his movements becoming more loose, his words louder. 

“Hm.” You finish your glass, setting the empty cup on the railing beside you. “Is it truly in jest if you are the only one laughing?”

“Perhaps it is better that I marry Helaena instead of you.” Aegon says, leaning close enough that you can smell the wine on his breath. “You do have a way of inciting my annoyance, Jaenara. No, I do not think you would make a good wife.”

You lean even closer, all too ready to play Aegon’s game. Your teeth scrape over his ear as you retort, “No, you’ve always liked the ones who won’t fight back, haven’t you?”

The tension breaks as Aegon laughs, tossing his head back as he steps away, putting a respectable amount of distance between you again. You chuckle as well, until another voice - softer, younger - cuts through your chortling. Aemond.

“What’s funny?”

Aegon, not subtle at all, rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“We were just discussing Aegon’s betrothal.” You say, shifting so that Aemond can lean against the railing beside you. You’ve never understood Aegon’s disdain for your baby brother - something your nephews seem to share. “Or rather,” You cast a joking look to Aegon. “Aegon was complaining about it.”

“‘Tis your duty.” Aemond says, ever so serious. 

Aegon rolls his eyes again, gesturing widely at Helaena. “Look at her.”

“Aegon-” You start.

“I would do my duty, if only mother had betrothed us.” Aemond retorts. 

Aegon flaps a hand. “The both of you.” He dismisses, eyes scanning through the thin crowd. “I’m going to get more wine.” And with that, he’s gone, sliding between chatting relatives in the wake of a serving girl, chasing after the wine she carries. 

You place a hand atop Aemond’s head with a sigh, gently carding it through the silky silver hair there. “He can be such an ass, our brother.”

Aemond looks up at you with a thin smile. “Mm.”

The blood on your hands is not yours, but your brothers, smeared across your forearms from when you’d clutched his face in your hands, holding closed the gash across his eye with your thumbs as the maester stitched the wound back together. Now, he smears tears and snot across the bodice of your gown, the good side of his face pressed against the thin fabric of your nightclothes as he clutches you with shaking hands. 

Your mother is screaming. Aegon is huddled against the wall of the room, no doubt already suffering a hangover from how much he drank. Helaena stands to your left, her eyes fixed on the wall behind the scene before her, gaze absent. You watch in horror as your mother wields a knife against Rhaenyra, spitting insults like venom. Ser Cole is pressed almost chest to chest with Daemon. Your little nephew, Lucerys’ face is bloodied. 

You have no idea what happened. But Aemond is missing an eye. And Vhagar is now his dragon, instead of Laena’s daughters. You knew - known, now - that his lack of a dragon had always been a sore spot for Aemond, but you never would have guessed that he would go to such drastic measures to claim a beast of his own. And Vhagar, no less. 

You expect him to cry, to whimper in pain, to react, but he just holds onto the gauzy fabric of your nightdress and keeps the unmarred side of his face pressed close to your chest. Hiding, almost. 

You soothe a hand down his back, pressing him closer. “It’ll be alright.” You say, your voice lost amongst the carrying on. It won’t be. He’ll be scarred forever, he’ll have to re-learn how to walk, how to write, how to do anything that requires vision. It’ll take him years to recover fully. 

“I know.” He says, voice soft. Level. Even. 

And it’s his calm reassurance that makes you believe your own words. It will be alright, one way or another. 

Hand in hand, you walk your brother through the halls of the Red Keep, towards the training yards, for his swordsmanship lessons. Servants and nobles alike avert their eyes as you pass, some out of respect, some out of disgust. It’s true - the scar across Aemond’s face is nothing delightful to look at, a motley of yellow and purple swollen skin, the scabs leaking pus. But you do not look away. He is your brother, and he receives enough torment from Aegon already. 

He clutches your hand tightly, holding it like a bannister as he puts one foot in front of the other, his good eye steadfastly looking ahead. Sometimes his balance sways (especially around turns or on the steps) but he’s getting better. “You’ll be able to come and go as you please again soon.” You say, not bothering to hide the pride in your tone. 

He scoffs. “I can’t stay a cripple forever.”

Aemond was never sweet. But the loss of his eye has only soured him more. You roll your eyes, teasing, “You’d do well to save your bitterness for someone who’s not capable of causing you to fall down the stairs at a moment's notice.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “Apologies, sister.” He mumbles.

You sigh. “I only joke, Aemond.” Aegon has ruined him, picking at all of his insecurities without remorse until he bristles at the slightest hint of humor, thinking an insult is coming. 

His good eye shifts away from the hall in front of him for a moment to cast you a sidelong glance. 

“Not all of us are Aegon.” You insist, rounding the corner with him to step outside into the afternoon sunlight. Ser Cole is already waiting, whirling his sword from hand to hand idly as Aegon straps himself into his practice armor. Aemond lets go of your hand as soon as he sees Aegon, taking shaky steps onto the field proper, alone. 

Aegon pays him no mind, his gaze falling on you. “Jaenara. Come help me.”

“Your lack of manners is appalling.” You say, walking over to him anyway, taking the leather straps of his breastplate from him and tightening them over his shoulders. “What would mother say?”

Aegon just grins. “Meet me tonight.” He says, his voice dropping into a more conspiratorial register. He doesn’t have to say where - you’ve snuck out with him before. You know the route. “A traveling troupe has arrived in Flea Bottom, supposedly.”

“Sunset?” You ask, dropping your hands from the straps on his shoulders to the ones near his waist. 

“Mm.” He watches you work, still grinning. 

“Alright.” You say, stepping back. 

His grin widens into a smile as he twirls his sword. “What fun we’ll have.”

The sun has begun to light the sky when you stumble back into the Red Keep with Aegon, giggling under your hoods as you sneak past the white cloaks back to your chambers. Really, it can barely be called sneaking anymore - you know they see you return, you know they saw you leave. The only reason they don’t trail you through the streets of the city is because Alicent doesn’t know, and hasn’t ordered them to, so why do the extra work? 

You sway into Aegon’s shoulder as you walk, all the wine that you drank making your head spin. Taking you by the arm, he only makes it worse as he begins to waltz you down the hall, jauntily humming the same tune you’d been dancing to in a tavern earlier. Laughing like a fool, you tip your head back and let him dance you about, until he deposits you against the wall by your bedroom door, caging you in against the stone. 

You know he’s going to kiss you - he always does, at the end of the night. Gently, he presses his lips to yours, and you smile into it. He doesn’t kiss you like he kisses his whores - nor do you kiss him as you do yours. It’s a chaste thing, only a moment before you’re both pulling back to look at each other. 

“As sweet as wine.” He whispers.

“Mm.” You bite your lip in a grin. “Goodnight, Aegon.”

“Good morning.” He giggles, pushing away from the wall to stumble back to his own bed. 

You slip into your own room, dropping your cloak and dress from your shoulders, one after the other, as soon as you are inside. Just in your shift, you turn to flop into the soft comfort of your bed, only to see a lump under the covers that wasn’t there when you left. Slowly, you peel back the sheets to reveal Aemond, face pressed into your pillow, soundly asleep. 

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips as you climb into bed beside him, doing your best not to disturb his slumber. He stirs anyway though, good eye cracking open with a jolt, softening when he realizes it’s you. Extending an arm, you make space for him to curl up against your chest, and he does, tucking his face under your chin.

“You were with Aegon.” It’s mildly accusatory, but mostly sleepy.

“Mm.” You don’t deny it, stroking a hand through Aemond’s hair. “And you were here. In my bed.” You press your nose to the top of his head. “What troubles you, Aemond?”

“My eye.” He says. “The pain. It’s more than just the skin, it… it stabs me through the skull, sometimes. Makes it hard to fall asleep.”

“We will see the maesters in the morning.” You say, still gently stroking. “Perhaps they will be able to come up with some tincture to soothe you.”

He lets out a sleepy little hum, and settles more against you. Your own eyes flutter shut, and your stroking hand moves to wrap around his shoulders instead. It’s quiet, for a while, and for a moment you think he’s drifted off, but then,

“Will you take me with you, once?”

“To Flea Bottom?”

“Mm.”

You pause for a moment. “If you wish. Perhaps when you’re a bit older.”

“How old?”

“At least as old as I was when Aegon first took me with him.”

“And how old was that?”

You smile into his hair. “Give it a year.”

“Mm. Alright.”

The quality of Aemond’s eye improves drastically over the course of a year, so that by the time he dons his own cloak and takes to the streets of King’s Landing with you and Aegon, it almost blends into his face. The scar is a long pale thing that trails down his cheek, and the only part of the injury that escapes the eyepatch. Under the shadow of his hood, it’s barely noticeable. 

He trails a half-step after you and Aegon, clearly unsure. You don’t blame him, it’s quite a change from within the walls of the Red Keep, but an exhilarating one at that. Arm in arm, you and Aegon lead the way, moving smoothly through the crowds to one of your favorite haunts, a little brothel tucked away near the edge of the city. 

You can hear the sounds of pleasure emanating from within before you even step foot in the building, and the area around the door is crowded with hangers-on, men who can’t pay their whores dues. Aegon pushes through them all easily, and you glance back to make sure Aemond isn’t lost before following him inside. 

The place reeks of incense, barely covering the smells of sweat and sex, but it’s familiar to you. On instinct, your eyes scan the crowd of the main chamber, searching for your favorite whore, a beauty named Falyse with long lashes and plump lips. You can feel Aemond pull closer to you in the presence of such debauchery, and you glance down at him again, to find him already looking at you. 

“This is a brothel.” He says.

“Aye.” You grin, glancing at Aegon. 

Aegon smiles wide, clapping Aemond on the shoulder. “Tonight is the night that you become a man, brother! Your first taste of the best pleasure the world can offer.”

Catching sight of a familiar shock of black hair, you turn, meeting Falyse’s eyes through the throngs of men. “I must take my leave.” You say, petting Aemond’s head. “But you are in good hands with Aegon. And I won't be far.”

“Alright.” Aemond says. He’s still unsure, clearly, but there’s no time for hesitation once Aegon’s swept Aemond up in his frenzy. You slip away, weaving through the writhing bodies until you reach the other side of the room, where Falyse is pouring a glass of wine for another patron. She’s barely clothed, so you can feel the goosebumps that rise when you snake an arm around her middle and rest your chin on her shoulder. 

“Princess.” She greets you with a sultry purr. 

“My lady.” You return, laying your lips in the junction of her neck. “I’ve missed you so.” 

She’s quick to pull you away from the main room, behind a thick curtain to an empty bed. It’s a familiar dance that you do - she makes a show of ridding you of your clothes, running her soft hands up and down your body until you’re dripping. Then she lays her mouth on you - her wonderful mouth that could pull honey from even the most stalwart of noble women. She never lets you rest with only one peak, no she delights in working as many from you as she can, until you’re pushing her away. Then it’s your turn to return the favor, licking at her until her sweet moans fill the air and you can feel her clenching around your tongue. You’ve earned her devotion in that way - on more than one occasion, she’s confessed that no man has ever thought of her pleasure, on their own. 

“Well, I am no man.” You’d responded. 

It’s an exhausting affair, this dance, so it often ends with you curled around her on the bed, listening to her share the latest gossip of the smallfolk whilst you twist her hair into intricate braids, the kind only Targaryens wear, a sign she’s been with royalty. You’ve just finished your handiwork, laughing along to a story about the smallest cock she’s ever seen, when the curtains part, and Aemond slips into the room, clearly close to tears. 

Immediately you sit up, paying no mind to the fact that you’re completely bare. “What’s wrong?���

Holding back tears, he hesitates for a moment before climbing into your lap, pressing his face between your breasts with a shaky sigh. You clutch him to you, guilt and regret sinking into your heart. Too young. He’s always been more sensitive than you, or Aegon, you should have waited to include him in your revelry. Too young, too young. 

Falyse sits up as well, raising a questioning brow. You shake your head, and run your fingers down your brother’s back. For a while, the room is silent as Aemond’s breathing calms, and then he pulls his face away, sliding out of your lap to sit next to you instead. Looking down, he hides behind long curtains of hair, but not before you catch a glimpse of his expression. Shame.

Gently, you break the silence. “Aemond, this is my friend, Falyse. Falyse, my dear brother.”

Falyse smiles warmly, peering underneath Aemond’s hair. “A pleasure to meet you, my prince.”

“You must tell him what you were telling me.” You say. “Oh, it’s hilarious, Aemond, you must listen.”

He perks up slightly, as Falyse starts her story again - and she does get him to laugh, but the hurt doesn’t leave his eyes, and the guilt begins to pool in your stomach. 

The sapphire is weighty in the pocket of your gown, and bounces heavy against your leg as you rise from the dinner table, dipping your head towards your father before you take your leave, following your siblings out of the hall. Aemond’s nameday feast was a small affair, per request of the prince, and he only received books from both of your parents - leatherbound histories of Valyria that look entirely too large in his little arms as he carries them back to his bedroom. 

“Aemond.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, and you pluck one of the books from his hold, tucking it under your arm. With your other hand, you pull the sapphire from your pocket, and hold your closed fist out to him. “Here.”

Looking at you curiously, he holds out a hand, and you drop the sapphire into it. “A sapphire.” He says. 

“For your eye.” You explain. “I had the masons fashion it so that you can slide it into the socket. I thought it might suit you.” Jokingly, you add, “And perhaps improve your standing with the court ladies.”

He huffs out a little laugh, examining the gemstone with a careful eye. “Thank you Jaenara.”

You smile, reveling in the first laugh you’ve won from him in a very long time.

Ser Cole and Aemond behind you, you lead them through the streets of Flea Bottom in the early morning light. It feels like a bit of a betrayal, showing them all of Aegon’s usual haunts, but the situation is dire, and your brother needs to be found. Your father is dead, and it was his dying wish, your mother said, for Aegon to be king. 

The brothel looks different in the daylight, drab and empty. Gathering your skirts in one hand, you bound up the steps to the door and bang the heavy knocker twice on the wood. With any luck, you can get a hold of Falyse - if Aegon was here last night, she will let you know, free of charge. 

It is not Falyse that answers the door, but the brothel Madame, Sylvi. A familiar face to you, albeit one that you have not had the pleasure of knowing under more intimate circumstances. Her eyes scan over your face, and then Aemond and Cole behind you. Stooping into a short curtsy, she asks. “And what can I do for you, my lady?”

“I am looking for my brother.” You say. 

“He seems to be behind you-”

“My other brother. Aegon.” You clarify. “Was he here last night?”

“I’m afraid not.” She says. 

You turn back to face your companions. Cole sighs, glancing around the streets like he might spot Aegon passed out in the mud. Aemond’s eye is on the Madame, a mixture of contempt and something else stirring in his gaze. 

“Where else, then?” Cole asks. 

“I don’t know.” You wrack your mind, tracing through all of the taverns and brothels you frequent with your brother, all places that you’ve stopped before arriving here, all with the same result. “This was the last place I could think of.”

Cole swears under his breath. 

Aemond breezes back down the steps, his mouth set in a determined line. “He must be somewhere. Come, we will try the fighting pits next.”

You murmur your thanks to the Madame before following after Aemond and Cole, worry sinking into your gut. Leave it to Aegon to get swallowed up by the city when the realm needs him most. 

Meleys’ breath washes over you as you stare down the dragon’s maw, expecting to see the glow of fire any moment, signaling your end. There is no time for action - in the few seconds you would have before flame reached you, there is no way you could reach your own dragon, Vermithor, to have any hope of combatting Rhaenys. Instead, you grasp Helaena’s arm and try to ignore how your hands shake. 

Aemond steps in front of the both of you, obscuring your view of Rhaenys atop her dragon with one hand on his sword. As if something as feeble as that will do anything against a dragon. 

You wait, feeling your sister with whom you shared your mother’s womb tremble underneath your grasp. 

You wait, watching Aemond’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath in front of you.

You wait, watching as your mother steps in front of Aegon, one hand wrapped around his wrist like a vice. 

A tidal wave of relief floods through you as Rhaenys pulls at the reins, and Meleys backs off, slipping through the doors of the dragonpit just before they swing closed, casting the room into semi-darkness. Alive. You’re alive - as is Helaena, and Aemond and Aegon. All of you, alive. You watch your mother almost fall to her knees as the relief washes through her, and then you are wrapped up in Helaena’s arms as she crushes herself to your chest. You return the hug with vigor, your eyes finding Aemond’s over her shoulder. 

Alive. Alive. Alive.

Something is happening. They’ve been locked in the small council chamber even since Aemond returned from Storm’s End. It’s been hours since your brother dismounted Vhagar, soaked to the bone and looking more shaken than you’ve ever seen him. You have no idea what happened, or what’s being discussed. Now, more than ever, you curse not being born a man. 

Still, there is nothing to do but wait. 

So you do, steeping in the burning hot waters of Aemond’s bathtub, idly flipping with damp fingers through a series of poems you’d found in your great-grandfather Jaehaerys’s saddlebag when you’d claimed his dragon. Some of them you recognize as things he’d copied from other poets, some are his own musings about his wife, Alysanne. He wasn’t half bad, in your opinion. 

You snap the booklet closed as the door to the bathroom opens, and Aemond slips inside, still dressed in his soaked riding leathers. He stills when he lays eyes on you, obviously not expecting anyone to have been waiting for him. But you just smile, and set your book aside. 

“I had them draw a bath.” You say. “I figured you would want a soak, after flying in the rain. Scalding, of course.”

He smiles, and starts on the buttons of his overcoats, the fabric falling to the floor with a wet slap. His trousers are next, and then his eyepatch, set on top of your book before he slides into the bath behind you with a sigh, his head falling back against the edge of the tub. 

“Very thoughtful of you, sister.” He says, eye fluttering shut. 

“Mm.” You turn around in the tub, collecting a rag that you’d draped over the side and dipping it into the hot water, beginning to run it over his skin that isn’t submerged. For a moment, the only sounds are the echoes of droplets falling back into the tub as you wash him, until you speak again. “What business kept you in council so long?”

A tension settles in his jaw. “Lucerys Velaryon was also at Storm’s End.”

“You failed to win their allegiance?” You ask, surprised. 

“No. Lord Borros was easily won when I promised myself to one of his daughters.” You brother opens his eye. “But Lucerys is dead, at my hand.”

You set the rag aside, your mind spinning. Lucerys, dead. As if things weren’t already pointing towards all out war after your father changed his mind about the succession. “How?”

Something in his expression shifts and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “Vhagar.” He says, his voice cracking slightly. “I only meant to scare him, but she knows my anger… I cannot pretend that I did not fantasize about killing him. I did not think that she would…” He swallows, collecting himself. “Our mother is less than pleased with me.”

“Our mother could never understand the bond between dragon and rider.” You say, consoling. You lay a hand gently on his face, over his scar, and run your thumb under the sapphire that sits in his eye. “You cannot be blamed for your anger at the boy who maimed you. Vhagar cannot be blamed for sharing that sentiment.” You pause. “It is a regrettable accident. And I am sorry for Rhaenyra and her children.”

He takes a shaky breath before wrapping his arms around your middle, and pressing his face into your shoulder, holding you to him as tightly as possible. Already wet from the bath, the few tears he sheds onto your skin make no difference. You say nothing, but pick up a comb from the short table beside the tub and begin to work it through his hair. 

You wake up to a sharp pain in the side of your neck, like the skin has been sliced open. One hand flies to the wound, and the other slips under your mattress, pulling the long dagger you keep there free of its sheath in a smooth motion. You sit up, the knife brandished before you, only to find your bedroom empty, the only motion being that of the curtains fluttering from the breeze of your open window. 

You pull your other hand away from your neck, expecting to see blood. Your palm is blank, the skin unmarred. In the reflection of your blade, you inspect your neck, only to find nothing. A phantom wound, perhaps from a dream. Anyone else would have simply gone back to sleep. But this is not the first time you and your sister have shared each other’s injuries. 

You rise quickly, knife still in hand as you dart from your chambers, heading down the hall at a quick clip. It’s eerily empty - not a white cloak in sight. Something is wrong, you’re sure of it, the echo of your footsteps on the stone only serving to further put you on edge as you approach the nursery. The door stands ajar, flickering candlelight seeping out into the hall from within. 

Slowly, carefully, you peer around the door. The room is empty - silent. The door creaks as you edge your way inside, turning to glance at the children’s beds. It is then that you see it - the headless body of your nephew, blood still seeping out of the stump of his neck into his bedsheets. Your blood runs ice cold, and then burning hot as rage fills you. Your gaze drops to the blood spatters on the floor, little droplets lead out into the hall. 

Readjusting your grip on your dagger, you break into a sprint, following the trail. 

Your bare feet slap in harsh rhythm against the stone, your eyes flicking back and forth from the floor to the hall in front of you as you follow the blood splatters. It is too late now. Jaehaerys is dead already, but you have to do something, you must. You can see candles being lit as you whip past door after door, the Keep slowly waking as the horror sets in, but you do not stop. 

You do not stop even when you turn an ankle as you round a corner, because there he is, a tall man in a hooded cloak, a burlap sack tightly clutched in his hand, blood dripping through the fibers. Stumbling, you push yourself back up with your hands, and with a mighty scream, leap at the mans back, knocking him forward. 

The bag tumbles to the ground, and Jaehaerys’ head rolls out, jaw slack and eyes wide. 

“The fuck-” The man growls, knocking you from his back. You fall to the ground, but force yourself to your feet again, diving forward, your dagger poised to strike. Bigger and stronger than you, he grabs your wrist, bending the bone until it snaps. Tears flood your vision as the pain washes over you, but you do not stop. Gritting your teeth, you drive your dagger into the soft skin of his side, between where his ribs end and his hips begin. 

He groans, releasing your wrist, and you leap at him again, clawing at his face as you sink your teeth into the side of his neck, biting as hard as you can. You can feel the blows he’s raining on you, but you hold on, savoring the taste of his blood as it floods your mouth, coppery and strong. His hands wrap around your broken wrist, and you wail again, your voice muffled by his skin in your mouth. 

But then there are hands around your waist, and the clank of armor fills your ears. Two white cloaks tackle the man to the ground as Aemond pulls you from his grasp, pressing your back to his chest. 

“Kill him!” You shout, eyes locked on the man as the guards beat him into submission before hauling him up to his feet. “Kill him!”

“Jaenara.” Aemond’s voice is low in your ear. “The maesters…”

You try to shake him off, but your brother doesn’t relent, gently steering you away from the guards and little Jaehaerys’ head on the floor, back into the relative calm of the halls. As the adrenaline fades, pain begins to wrack your body in waves, and you find yourself leaning against Aemond as tears fill your vision. 

“Helaena,” You gasp, chest heaving as sobs build up in your throat.

“With Cole, and our mother. Jaehaera, as well.” Aemond assures you. 

“They,” You say, working around the lump in your throat. “Put a knife. To her throat.” You bring your fingers up to the side of your neck, where the pain had awoken you. “Here.”

“I’m sure she’s being tended to.” He says. Gently, he pulls your arm up, inspecting your wrist, bent at an odd angle and already starting to swell. “We must tend to you too.”

Too exhausted to insist that there are more important things to be dealt with, you let him steer you along. 

You watch little Jaehaerys’ body bounce with the movement of the carriage in front of you, slightly obscured by the mourning veil you wear. Helaena sits beside you, pressed between you and your mother, eyes firmly pointed up at the sky. She’s empty, you can feel the echo of it in your own body, as you’re sure she can feel a hint of the festering anger you yourself are harboring. 

It will only be a matter of time now, before you don your armor and mount Vermithor for battle. You pity the fool who will fly to meet you. 

The wails of the smallfolk fill the city streets as you pass, petals filling the air as they toss handfuls at the carriages, shouting their grief in harmony. The news of Jaehaerys death had swept through the city like fire, just as your grandsire had suggested it would. Now, more than ever, the smallfolk hated Rhaenyra - there would be no public protest of the war that was brewing. 

But you cannot help but feel angered by the whole thing as your little nephew’s body shakes with the movement of the carriage in front of you. To be reduced to a martyr, at such a young age. And knowingly, by his own kin. It is an ugly, ugly thing. 

Helaena’s eyes finally drop from the sky, and your mother shifts, extending a hand to touch her arm. Helaena shrinks away instinctually, leaning further into you, and you shift, allowing her to press herself against your side, her head falling into the crook of your neck.

You do not need to speak to know what she is thinking. You rest a hand on the back of her head, and let her curl into you, feeling her heartbeat against your own. 

“Cole and I will cut them off entirely.” Aemond says, laying another marker on the map, over Rook’s Rest. “And with Rhaenyra confined to Dragonstone, it should be simple enough to take Harrenhal without interruption.”

You let your gaze sweep over the map, stopping at each marker Aemond had put down. “A clever plan.” You agree. “And Aegon also approves?”

Aemond scoffs at that, leaning back in his chair, the light from the fireplace dancing over his face. “What does it matter?”

“He is the king.” You say simply, lifting your gaze to look at your brother. “It is his war that we fight.”

“He is a figurehead.” Aemond says, rising from his seat to circle around the table, coming to stand behind you. “At the hands of our mother and grandsire. His only purpose is to lend them free reign.”

“He is our brother, and liege lord.” You say, standing from your own seat and turning to face him. “You speak treason, Aemond.”

“Mm.” Aemond hums, eye drifting over your face. “I forget, sometimes, that you are partial to him.”

“He is my brother.” You repeat. “And my Helaena is his wife.”

Silence permeates the room, and for a moment, the only sound is that of the crackling fire. But Aemond’s soft voice breaks through again. “Did you ever let him fuck you?”

The question takes you aback, and you laugh. “What?”

“In all your whoring together, did you ever let him fuck you?” He asks again, unwavering. 

“No.” You say. “I have no taste for his particular flavor of depravity.” Not that Aegon ever tried, either. That wasn’t - isn’t - the nature of your friendship. 

“Hm.” Aemond hums, turning back to the map sprawled across the table. “Vermithor will be needed to secure the Riverlands.” He continues, like the discussion never strayed from battle in the first place. He leans over the map, tracing a long finger over the stretch of the reach. 

“Of course.” You agree, confused. 

It’s been too long since you last did this. 

Wine flowing through your veins, you walk arm in arm with Aegon, leading the way to the old brothel, his friends and squire - the reason for the night - behind you. The crowd parts as you step through the brothel doors, a hush falling over the gathered patrons. The quiet only lasts for a moment before whispers take its place, hushed words about the king himself being a patron tonight. 

Aegon, of course, pays these whispers no mind, dropping your arm in favor of grasping his squire by the shoulders, speaking grandly about the pleasures of manhood. It makes you think of a similar night many years ago, when you’d brought Aemond to this very brothel. Guilt floods you for a moment, but is quickly quelled when soft hands wind over your shoulders, and a sultry voice whispers in your ears. 

“Princess.”

You turn, delighted to see Falyse - delighted enough, that with the wine already in you, you plant a wet kiss to her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “My sweet lady, my own heart.” You croon. “It has been far too long.”

She laughs, raspy and seductive, her eyes crinkling at the edges with her smile. “I did not know that all three of you would be joining us tonight.” She says, winding her arms about your shoulders. “Just like when you were younger.”

“Mm.” You find yourself agreeing before her words really register. “Wait, three? Is Aemond-?”

But it’s too late, you know it is as soon as Aegon’s raucous laughter booms through the room. You turn away from Falyse, finding your brother amidst the crowd, having abandoned his squire in favor of sinking next to Aemond on a bed, a wide grin crawling over his face. 

You can’t make out what he’s saying, but you can see Aemond shrinking in on himself, curling away from the Madame, who he’d been laying with. Winding Falyse’s hands away from your shoulders, you bring her knuckles to your lips, pressing a kiss there. “Another time, my lady.”

“Of course.” She says, understanding flashing across her gaze. 

You push through the gathered patrons towards your brothers, but Aemond meets you halfway, stalking through the crowd naked as the day he was born, clearly fuming. He pauses when his eye falls on you, clearly not having expected you to be here as well, and you watch his lip tremble ever so slightly. But he does not cry. 

“Aemond.” You say, unsure how to broach the subject. 

“Jaenara.” He returns, icy.

A pause stretches between you, and Aemond turns to leave, but you grab his arm, stopping him. “Come back home with me.” You say. 

You think he’ll spurn you, hiss some insult that’s more for Aegon than for you, but he sighs, “Fine.”

He does not speak to you until you stand at his bedroom door. You feel as though you should say something, apologize on Aegon’s behalf in some way, but you don’t get the chance before Aemond is beckoning you into his chambers with a quiet, “Come.”

You do, not realizing what he wants until the door is shut behind you and you’re pressed against it, your brother's lips pressing insistently into yours. You only hesitate for a moment before kissing him back, giving him what he wants. He melts into it, softening as he realizes that you won’t reject him, cradling you into his arms. 

When he pulls back, his voice is breathy. “I’m going to kill him.”

It sends a spike of fear through you, thinking of one brother killing the other, but the look in Aemond’s eye leaves no room for doubt. “I’m sure you will.”

Apparently the correct answer, Aemond resumes kissing you with a fervor, steering you away from the door and towards his bed. “I’ll kill him,” He says, rushed between kisses. “And without an heir, I’ll take his place.” His hair tickles the side of your face as he presses his nose into your neck. “Make you my queen, as he had Helaena.” He nips at the thin skin, making you hiss in pain, pulling at his hair. 

He lifts his head as he pushes you down onto his bed, crawling over you. “You’re betrothed to another.” You say as he begins to pull at the laces of your dress. 

“As are you.” He responds. You bat his hands away from the laces as soon as you hear fabric rip, and begin undoing them yourself. “Both empty promises made by our grandsire for armies.”

You shimmy out of your overdress, and kick it off the edge of the bed, left in your shift. Aemond strips himself of his shirt before tugging at the hem of your slip, urging you to take it off as well. Before long, you’re both naked, and he’s hovering over you again, trailing his nose along the swell of your breast. You take the opportunity to free him of his eyepatch, enjoying the glitter of the sapphire you gave him. 

His eye finds yours as he quietly asks, “Will you let me?”

As if you really even have a choice in the matter. “Yes.”

That’s all the permission he needs to lift your hips with one hand and slide his cock into you with the other. You wrinkle your nose as the sting of the stretch as he works himself into you, his eye fluttering shut. With a deep groan, he begins rocking himself in and out, grinding into you slowly. It’s not the most pleasure you’ve ever felt (no, he would be hard-pressed to compete with Falyse), but it isn’t unpleasant. 

You relax into the bed as he begins to fuck into you in earnest, whimpering to himself as he takes a breast in his mouth, lost in your body. You suppose you should have expected something like this, eventually. It was odd, that he’d asked if Aegon had ever fucked you, but you hadn’t thought that he himself wanted to. Now, his intentions in asking seem obvious.

He releases your breast with a pop before tucking his face against your neck, words trickling directly from his lips to your ear. “My Jaenara…” He moans. “Always so good to me. So kind, so sweet, so fierce. Hm.” He pants heavy, his hips knocking against yours frantically. “Seeing you covered in that mans blood, the chunk you ripped out of his neck with your teeth… my dragon.” He croons. 

You wind a hand into his hair, wincing as your wrist twinges in pain. It’s gotten better under the maester’s care, but it still complains when you move it in certain ways. The pain vanishes quickly though, and you begin to stroke Aemond’s hair just how he likes, pressing your lips to his temple. 

He whimpers again, almost like he’s in pain. “I will put us on the Iron Throne.” He swears, voice breathy. “Our dragons will burn Rhaenyra and her armies alive, and it will be our line that continues the tradition of our ancestors.” He all but growls it, snapping his hips with such force that you have to stop yourself from slamming into the headboard. “I swear it to you.”

“Aemond.” You gasp, overwhelmed with the vigor of his thrusts. The last thing you would have expected was for Aemond to get you to peak, but you can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of his rough fucking and devoted words stirring your insides. 

“Tell me that you are mine.” He says, demanding and begging at the same time. You can feel him losing his rhythm, pleasure no doubt creeping up on him the same as it is for you. 

“I’m yours.” You swear. “I’m yours, Aemond.”

He whimpers, and it’s the whining sound that sends you over the edge, your body tensing in his hold as you clench around him. With a loud gasp, you come, and Aemond’s thrusts reach breakneck speed. 

“You’re mine.” He whispers in your ear. “Mine, mine-” He comes with a rough groan, pressing his hips to yours and holding them there. He sinks into you immediately, collapsing onto your chest, his breath coming in pants against your skin. 

You bask in the quiet of his room as his cock softens within you, mind spinning as you take in what just happened. “Did you mean it? All that you said?” You ask softly, stroking his hair again. 

“Mm.” He affirms, sleep heavy in his voice. 

You say no more as he drifts off to sleep on your chest, cock still inside you. He intends to make you his queen. To kill Aegon and take his place. 

You love Aegon, you do. He is your brother, and one of your closest friends. But you would be lying if you said he was a good king. Perhaps it would not be so bad, if Aemond were to take his place, especially with you at his side. 

But does Aegon really deserve to die?

Aemond is insatiable now that he knows you won’t spurn his advances. You can’t say that you mind too much. 

Your elbows resting on the table before you, he takes you from behind as you both pore over a map of Westeros, markers indicating where your forces lay. A letter from Ser Cole sits open on the table beside you, informing Aemond of his most recent conquest as he nears Rook’s Rest. You run your fingers against the wood of the table, moving pieces along the map like chess, the sounds of Aemond’s breathy groans and the rustle of your skirts shifting as he takes you the only sounds in the room. 

“You will have to - ah - take flight on Vhagar soon then, if you are to meet Cole at Rook’s Rest.” You say. 

“Hm.” Aemond’s hips smack into yours as he leans over your back, moving the piece that symbolizes Vhagar to the edge of the crownlands. “The conquest should not take more than a day. Any longer and I would send Aegon in my stead - I would be loathe to leave you.” He jokes, pressing his nose against your neck. 

“Mm.” You hum, letting him stretch you further across the table and angle your hips to better receive his thrusts. Planting his hands on your hips, he pulls you back to meet each snap of his hips, the map forgotten as he pleasures himself with your body. There’s something intoxicating about his unwavering devotion, something rewarding. It feels like all the time you spent comforting him as a child is paying off; after all, he intends to put you on the throne. You wind a hand behind you to caress his cheek. 

He melts into the touch, extending his body over your back, pressing himself to you completely. It’s intoxicating, the power you have over him. The simplest of touches, the softest of words, and the most fearsome dragon rider in the world bends completely to your will. 

“You must tell Aegon of your plans.” You say, laying your head down on the table to peer at the man behind you. 

“He will no doubt find out on his own.” Aemond says. “Either way, they don’t involve him. Rook’s Rest is nothing Cole and I cannot take on our own.”

“And if someone were to show you the same insolence if you were the king?” You retort, biting back a gasp as his thrusts increase pace. 

“When.” He corrects, almost growling. “When I am the king. And I would exile them for such an insult.”

“Yet- mm, Aemond, ah - you do not fear such retribution from Aegon.” You say. You know he’s getting close, his soft pants turning into longer whines, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You clench as tightly as you can, reveling in the breathy moan you pull from him as he stills, hips still pressed against yours, spent. 

You feel him make himself comfortable against your back, not bothering to pull away just yet. “Our brother is a fool, not fit for the duties of the crown. How can one be expected to respect such an undeserving monarch? No,” He says, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto any patch of your skin he can reach. “We will be much greater.”

It’s treason, even just entertaining thoughts of taking the throne from the rightful king, but the more Aemond speaks of it, the more you find yourself indulging in the fantasy. Never before did you truly consider what it would be to be queen, but after truly thinking about it, you find yourself enchanted with the idea. With anyone else, you have no doubt that you would have been subjected to the life your mother lived, but as Aemond’s queen, you would have more power than any woman before you. 

“You sound so sure already.” You tease, pushing yourself up on your elbows as he slips away, tucking himself back into his trousers and pulls your skirts back down over your legs. 

“That is because I am.”

Aegon presses his face into his hands, groaning. While he’s not looking, you slide the wine decanter away from him. Full when you sat down, it’s almost empty now, most of the contents having been poured down the kings throat. He’s been drinking more, in the aftermath of little Jaehaerys’ death. You can’t blame him, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t concerning. 

“They plot behind my back.” He says, his face still hidden in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. “Aemond. My own hand - and our mother, she…” He trails off. “They mock me. Think me an idiot. I cannot…” He reaches for the decanter, only to find it missing, and lifts his head out of his hands. “My wine.”

“Perhaps you’ve had enough.��� You say, doing your best to be firm. 

He looks at you blankly before gesturing for the decanter again. With a sigh, you fold, sliding the container across the table to him. Let him drink himself to death if he wishes - it would be a better end than whatever Aemond is planning. 

It’s hard to look at Aegon, knowing that your other brother is plotting his demise. He doesn’t deserve to die, not after all he’s been through. Sometimes, you think you know Aegon better than yourself. You’ve seen him at his drunkest, in the streets of Flea Bottom, at his most desperate before his coronation, at his lowest, after the death of his son. He never asked for any of this. He never asked to be king. He doesn’t deserve to die because of a crown he never desired. 

But one cannot simply resign from the throne. 

You watch as Aegon empties the rest of the decanter into his glass, and then misses the table as he sets the pitcher down, shards shattering across the tiled floor. He stares down at the floor, eyes blank. “Ah.”

“Aegon.” You groan. 

He flaps his hand. “Someone will clean it up. Someone always does.”

“Perhaps it is behavior such as this that deters Cole and Aemond from sharing their plans with you.” You say, utterly annoyed at your brother’s actions. 

Aegon scoffs. “As if you weren’t also kept in the dark.” His eyes lazily slide to yours, and you don’t look away quickly enough, it seems, because he catches it in your gaze. “They told you? And not me, their king?”

“I cannot help that our brother seeks my opinion on such matters.” You say. 

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Aegon demands, angrily rising from his seat to level an accusatory finger at you. “You are supposed to be my closest confidant, I expect you to be on my side-!” He cuts himself off. “But no. Of course not. As soon as Aemond gets his claws into you you’re just like the rest of them.”

“Aegon,” You try, placating. “I meant no offense. In fact, I urged Aemond to tell you himself-”

“No, no, you cannot fool me again! I am not as stupid as you think me to be, I am not.” He shouts, harshly backing away from the table as you rise from your seat. There’s an anger in his eyes that you’ve never seen directed at you before, and it gives you pause, guilt and shame sinking into the pit of your stomach. What were you thinking, going behind his back like this? He is your brother, one of your closest friends, your king. Curse Aemond and all his sickly sweet words. 

“Aegon-”

A loose hand thrown up in the air, he silences you with a harsh glance before stalking out of the room, leaving you alone with the shattered pieces of the decanter for company. 

Aegon returns to you on a litter, melted into his armor by dragonfire, barely conscious. The smell of charred flesh and dragon blood fills the hall as the kingsguard rush him to the maesters, and you press yourself as far into the wall as you can to let them pass. There is no rage in you, only shock and despair. You had not thought it would be so soon, that Aemond had his revenge. 

“Jaenara.”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and he stops in front of you, pulling off his riding gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his leathers. There’s an energy about him that you haven’t seen before. Leftover adrenaline crackles over his skin, the pupil of his good eye blown wide, almost lustful. 

“What have you done?” You demand, cringing at the frightened quality of your voice. 

“What I planned to do.” He says, taking you by the arm. “Are you not delighted? Aegon is indisposed, he will be crippled for the rest of his life - however many short years he has left, in this state. None will stand in our way.”

“I…” You aren’t sure how you feel. Aegon isn’t dead, but he will be in incredible pain for the rest of his life. Likely, he won’t be able to walk on his own, or ever ride his dragon again. It is an awful fate for someone you love. But you cannot pretend a part of you - the same part seduced by Aemond’s ambition - isn’t elated at the downfall of the king. 

“Come.” Aemond says, tugging you away from your palace pressed against the rough hewn stone of the Keep walls. You fall into pace beside him, stumbling over your own feet as you process how reality is shifting around you at this very moment. Aemond and the council will have to speak on Aegon’s behalf, puppeteering him even more so than before. You are one step closer to ascending the throne. Your brother is half-alive, melted into the armor of his namesake. 

You don’t realize where you are until Aemond is pushing you down onto his bed with one hand and rucking your skirts up around your waist with the other. He does not wait for you to react before he scoops your hips up to insert himself into you, groaning in relief as he slides home. “My queen.” He gasps throatily, pillowing his face in the crook of your neck. “Have I pleased you?”

“Mm.” You hum, unable to say the words ‘yes, of course’. It proves to be enough though, for Aemond sighs again, slowly beginning to grind his hips against yours. It’s more fervent than his usual fucking, spurred on by the bloody battle he’s just come from. You can smell the smoke in his hair from where it lays across your face. 

“It will not be long now,” He says, breathy and rough. “Soon, you and I will sit the throne. Have our own heirs - will you give me an heir?” He asks. “Will you give me more than one?”

“As many as you’d like.” You choke out. There isn’t another option for you now, not with Aemond so intent on having you by his side when he takes his place as king. As you’re sure he will. 

“We will put Jaehaerys and Alysanne to shame.” He declares, placing his hands under the small of your back, causing you to arch against him. Holding the tops of your hips, he fucks you against him feverishly. It does not take long for him to finish, already keyed up on the high of his plans coming to fruition. 

He collapses against your chest with a heavy sigh, and instinctually, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin. 

It’s the first time he’s said the words aloud, though you’ve known it for a very long time. Of course Aemond loves you. 

“As I, you.” You return. 

What you can’t decide, is if you feel the same.

[dani-says-stuff]

Weak Point

❥ Back to the Control Center

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Davos Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader

Summary: It was a well known fact that the Blackwoods and the Brackens hated one another, the houses would die before agreeing on anything. And it stayed that way until Davos Blackwood realized he might share one thing with the Brackens after all, his weak point.

Warnings: possible ooc davos?, i also made him Willem's nephew idk if thats accurate but whatever, allusions to smut but no actual smut, men being creepy, gross, and objectifying to reader (not Davos), mild violence, Daemon Targaryen, probably more stuff I don't remember... just tread carefully. its no worse than the stuff in the show. this is also very very unedited.

A/N: so, yeah, this is my first time ever writing for got/hotd so i hope i didnt screw it all up too bad. i started this just wanting to jot down this thought i had while watching the show and ended up getting SUPER carried away. i haven't read literally any of the books though so this could be completely messed up for all i know and i apologize for any lore butchering i may have done. i hope you enjoy !

Word Count: 6.2k

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He was running.

His feet pounding against the ground as he wove throughout the trees under the cover of the black night sky. He hoped the torches carried in the hands of some of the other men didn't betray him, the dim yellow-orange glow casting light upon his face and showing off the panic he'd been trying his best to conceal, hidden poorly behind a half-hearted snear since Willem had returned to Raventree hall. 

Willem Blackwood had announced to the room, bursting at the seams with leagues of angry Blackwood men, that their King consort had granted them leave to do whatever necessary to bring the Brackens to their knees. To destroy their alliance with the Greens and join the right side of history, pledge their allegiance to the true Queen Rhaenyra. 

At first, like all the other men and boys in the room, Davos was excited. He was practically shaking in elation, itching with adrenaline, ready to storm Stone Hedge.

To make the Brackens pay once and for all. 

He imagined some sort of battle would come from the ordeal. They would go head to head once more, fight like they always had with the other house, bring them to their knees for their Queen. It would be bloody, but the potential violence against their long-time rivals was customary, expected at this point. Or maybe they'd ransack some houses along the border. Burn a sept or two, destroy some of the more important harvest fields the Bracken's relied more heavily on.  

That is what he expected to come from Daemon Targaryen's indirect orders.

But no, there would be no fighting this time. Not exactly. 

They were to exploit the Brackens weak points.

To poke repeatedly at their sore spots until they finally admitted defeat, desperate to have returned what was stolen from them. 

Davos Blackwood did not expect to have his weak point threatened as well. 

But alas, it was. His weakest point, by the name of Miss Lady Y/N Bracken, was in grave danger, and she had no idea.

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It was an unlikely friendship that bloomed when the two were young, still green and ignorant to the centuries of history between the houses they came from.

A young Davos was practicing archery down by the border stones, unaware the large rocks were truly meant for something other than the simple job of being large rocks in the middle of the open field. He was only told never to cross them by his father... who had also told him never to wander near to them unaccompanied. 

Nevertheless, here the young Blackwood stood, a crudely made target propped up against one of the stones, alone.

He pulled back the string, one eye closed, preparing to loose the arrow. His last arrow.

Maybe this one would actually hit the target. Every shot had found purchase on the fabric at least, just out along the outer border. 

He held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he let go. 

The boys eyes flew open at the sound of a high pitched squeal and the frantic rustling of leaves, like an animal caught in a bush. He soon realized that his last arrow hadn't hit the target at all, but instead flew over the stone entirely and landed somewhere in the woods on the opposite side of the border.

Had he hit an animal? Had he been such a nuisance at archery, but his luck so spectacular, he managed to miss the target by a mile yet make his first kill?

Davos was still for a moment, if he crossed the border to find the animal, his father would surly be angry with him for his disobedience, but would he be proud enough his young son managed to strike an animal that the punishment would be forgotten? 

Surely his father would be more angry when he found his son's quiver one arrow short, and even angrier when it was explained how and where it was lost. 

But just as the toe of his boot made it across the border, the rustling of the leaves returned. 

What if he hadn't killed the beast with his misfire at all? What if he had only awoken it from it's slumber, and the beast he now wished he had paid more attention to when his father and uncle spoke of the miscreants on the other side of the border was angry and on the hunt for him. 

But, rather than some large hairy creature lumbering out from the bushes, eyes glowing and drooling with bloodlust for the one who dared disturb it, he was met with a young girl. A child of his age, if not a year or two younger--it was hard to tell with the distance which still separated the two children. The baby fat, still stubbornly hanging onto the girls cheeks, didn't help either. 

She emerged slowly, eyes curious and cautious as she scanned the area before her. Back and forth, left and right, eyes hungrily eating up each and every inch of the grass, hoping to find where the wayward arrow had come from. 

Finally her gaze found his own and he found himself calling his father a liar for the first time in his life. 

She was no beast, surely there couldn't be evil creatures over there as he had said. She was far too pretty for his father's claims to be true. She looked like something divined straight from the gods themselves. 

Her hair was tangled and sweaty where the strands had fallen loose around her face, released from the intricate braided style on the back of her head. The courtly dress draped over her figure, torn and dirty at the sleeves and rips along the bottom of the skirt with mud caked in the lower fabric as if she had been running wild through the trees. A wooden practice sword lay loosely in her hand, his lost arrow held in the other. 

She may not have been perfect to everyone, but she was to him. 

She moved forward, walking slowly, making sure to glance from side to side every few steps, ensuring the two of them were the only ones in sight. She finally stopped a couple of paces before him, she raised the arrow playfully, "I believe you may've missed your target."

"Did not." he shot back immediately, kicking himself for a little for his hastiness, but too proud to let a pretty girl think he had messed up that horribly. 

She smirked, shifting slightly on her feet, "Really?" 

"Really."

"So this is not your arrow?"

"Nope."

She hummed, looking down to the obviously hand-made and well-used projectile. The body bent in a continuous curve from over use and harsh slices in the wood from where a dull knife had been used to widdle it down. She played with the feathers on the end, running the soft material between her fingers, "You sure?" 

"Positive."

She looked up, catching the gaze of the boy just an inch or two shorter than herself, "You know I can see your bow right?" she lulled, unimpressed, "No matter how hard you attempt to shift yourself in front of it, I can still see it peeking over your shoulder." she slid around the stone separating the two, leaning down to compare the arrow with the ones firmly lodged in his target, "Not to mention the arrows are from the same bunch."

Davos stayed silent, eyes narrowed at the beautiful and strange girl before him, determined not to give in.

Perhaps if he was stubborn enough, she would forget the accusation like the maids that walked the halls at Raventree did. They always gave up before too long, scurrying off back to their duties when they'd catch him doing something he wasn't meant to. 

"Well alright then," the girl shrugged carelessly, returning to her full height, no longer crouched down on her knees, "Its probably for the best these aren't yours anyway. Shoddy craftsmanship," she spoke, caressing the wood once again, "I fear a blind man may have done a better job-"

"Hey!" he cut her off, stomping forward and ripping the arrow from her gentle grip, "I spent an entire moon on these!" 

"So it is yours then?" she questioned softly, a winning smirk pulled across her face. 

Davos could feel heat rush to his cheeks, quickly causing him to hang his head, eyes focused on the pebbles sown between the blades of grass below his feet. He already embarrassed himself enough in front of this girl, he didn't need her to see his skin flush a deep crimson as well. "No."

The two children stood before each other in an awkward silence. Both not sure what exactly to say, but neither wanting to leave just yet. 

She made the first move, stepping forward and coming to a stop beside him. No longer facing the boy head-on, but rather positioned so both were looking in the direction of the target. 

"So," she began, "how'd you manage to shoot so far off anyway?" 

"'m not good at it yet" he mumbled, face still stubbornly pointed down, "'S why I'm practicin'."

"Well, try again." 

He looked up at her confused, the flush finally fading from his skin, "What?" 

"Try again" she shrugged. "You have your arrow back, so try again." 

He sputtered, about to tell the girl off for telling him what to do, but the look in her eyes made him think twice. She was so sure of herself, so determined. He couldn't leave her there like a coward, he'd already made a fool of himself, it's not like it could be any worse. 

But he was wrong.

It could be worse.

The second he let the arrow loose, it failed to hit the target again, stopping about a foot short of the stone, stuck in the grass. 

She snorted, a hand flying up to her face to conceal the noise to the best of her ability, "Do you even know how to shoot?" 

He scoffed, turning to fix her with a nasty glare, "Of course I do."

"'Ya sure?" she smiled, "Doesn't really look like it from where I'm standing" 

His glare hardened, "And what do you know of it? You're just a girl." 

She nodded once, stepping forward to retrieve the arrow from the grass as well as the one from the target, "Maybe, but my older brother has been teaching me for years." she spoke returning to his side with a grin, "And I like to think I'm quite good." 

Davos only laughed. Like a girl would ever be allowed near a weapon, there was even less of a chance one would know how to use it. 

"I'm not jesting" she insisted, eyes narrowing in annoyance, "I do know how!"

"Sure," he laughed again, shoving the bow into her hands, "Give it a shot then, why don't you." 

"Fine." she dropped one of the arrows to the floor, shoulder-checking the shorter boy as she lined herself up with the target. 

It took her all of five seconds to load the arrow, align the point, and shoot.

And she hit the fucking center of the target too. 

She turned to face him and crossed her arms over her chest, the bow held in the crook of her elbow, with a smug smirk, "Believe me now?" 

"Whatever."

"Ok," she shuffled back to him, offering the bow back, "Your turn." 

He picked the arrow up and aimed, he was about to let go when-

"Stop!" she shouted, quickly moving behind him. "Don't be so tense" she scolded, poking him in the back, "Your elbow is too high," she moved it down slightly "You use it to help aim, it doesn't always need to be completely level." She kicked the inside of his feet next, "Widen your posture, your feet are too close. It'll mess up your balance and aim." 

"Are you done?" he gritted out, teeth clenching hard against each other. His arm began to ache, straining from the tension while she twirled in circles around him, giving him a whole explanation for each detail he had wrong. 

"Almost" She laughed softly, moving to stand over his left shoulder, "Just two more things" He groaned again, but she only giggled soft at his impatience, "Keep your eyes open. It doesn't have to be both if that's uncomfortable but keep at least one. Shooting blind is practically a death sentence. Lastly, just remember to breathe." she stated simply, "Holding your breath will lock up your muscles. Be fluid, not rigid." he nodded once, relatively relaxed bar the shaking of his tired arm on the string. "Good. Now shoot." 

He let go, and watched the whole way as the arrow soared through the air, hitting the target with a satisfying 'thunk'. It didn't hit the center like hers, but it was the closest he'd come thus far, landing on the inside of the ring just off-center. 

She jumped in excitement, clapping happily as she did so, "See! You did it!" 

"I didn't." he grumbled, "It still didn't hit the center."

"No, but it's closer" she spoke, excitement for the boy still heavy on her tongue, "All you need is some practice."  She placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it softly, "You'll get there one day." 

He hummed unconvinced, he'd been practicing for almost a year at this point, and only now was he told what he was doing wrong. He doubted he'd ever master the art of archery but that was alright with him. He'd become more skilled with the sword during his training and found he enjoyed the blade over long-range anyway. 

Feeling her job complete, the arrow returned and an impromptu lesson to keep more from disturbing her peace, the girl nodded once and smiled at the boy, turning to cross back over the boundary and lift the practice sword she had abandoned on the other side. 

She was about to walk away, disappearing back into the thicket when Davos finally shook himself from his thoughts. "Wait!" he ran after her, quickly catching up to her and grabbing her wrist, "I'm Davos. Davos Blackwood." he introduced himself, annoyed he'd forgotten to do so earlier. 

She smiled, "Y/N Bracken." 

The two explored the underbrush for hours that day, picking through the bushes for berries and telling stories to one another. He soon found out her strange state of dress, was because Y/N had fled from the hall halfway through their meal. She ran, quickly escaping after overhearing her father and some lord discussing her betrothal. It would never go through of course, the Lord too upsettened by the girl's wild display to continue the conversation. 

She had fled through the hall, one of her brother's practice swords in hand and clumsily hitting the trees with it, hoping she could somehow teach herself to use the weapon so that her future would never need to be in the hands of another again. 

Upon hearing the story, he quickly offered his guidance to her, promising to bring two swords to the clearing the next day as long as she would bring better archery equipment. She would teach him the art of the bow, and he would show her the ways of the blade. 

Through their lessons with one another, they would ultimately come to the conclusion she preferred archery and he preferred steel, but both became skilled in the two practices nonetheless. 

Lessons slowly turned to practice, and practice turned to sparring until sparring gradually turned to something more over the years. 

Stolen kisses were shared in the shade of the branches. Words of affection whispered along the tall grass. Purple bruises and love bites exchanged under the cover of night and the watchful eye of the stars, easily concealed under the collars of their shirts. 

They hadn't begun knowing how divided they were due to their names, but even when they discovered it, they found the years of hatred between the houses hardly held a candle to the feelings they harbored for one another.

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

Fear flooded his veins when the words changed from those of violence against the men and soldiers, to violence against the women. Violence against the children. Violence against her.

"It is clear that our forces no longer intimidate them," a man decorated in silver plated armor called from the crowd, "how are we to persuade them, as you say, if they no longer listen?" 

"We shall change our tactics" a dark smirk slowly formed across Willem's face as he spoke to his men, "The crown allows us grace to do what is necessary to gain the allegiance of the Brackens." the name left his lips with a sneer, as if saying the name itself caused him pain, "So, perhaps we move our gaze from those who've come to expect us." 

The excitement of the room changed from one of violent delight, to one of lustful rage. All men in the room, old and young alike, seemed to understand what was implied from the words of both their Lord and their King. All bets were off tonight, they were to take whatever—and whoever—they wished, just as long as it pushed the Brackens to surrender by morning light.

Davos stayed frozen upon the stairs while his Uncle spoke, and the men cheered before them. Many of which, boasting clearly of the prize they wished to gain. The prize that would give them pleasure that night, as well as potential favor with their Lord and Crown. The bargaining chip above all else, the very soul that would surely break the camel's back. 

For if Y/N, Lord Bracken's most favored and precious daughter, were to be stolen and sullied, the Bracken people would surely be broken as well. Surrender would be all but guaranteed. 

That's how he found himself sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him, subtly kicking rocks and twigs under the feet of his bannermen. Anything to slow them down. Anything that would allow him to get in front of them. Anything that would allow him to be the one that would reach her first. 

He'd heard the way they spoke about her. The things they wished to do to her. It all but made his blood boil, the urge to remove their tongues—or perhaps their manhood—was strong. It was what they deserved for speaking about his lady in such a matter. 

Yet he couldn't. He didn't care for his own safety, if he were to be hanged for defending his lady love's honor, he would do it a million times over. But the fact that the outcome on her could be worse if he were to confess, is what held him back.

He couldn't do anything in the bright lights of Raventree Hall, but if anyone were to come between his blade and his lady now, he cared not for what would become of them.

He'd kill a thousand Blackwoods if he must tonight. No one was going to touch her. 

When finally made it into the halls of Stone Hedge, he was out of breath and his lungs were burning. His breaths quick and labored as he gulped for air, but he couldn't stop until he knew she was safe. 

The words they levied against her echoed in his ears, filling him with a blinding rage that powered him forward, allowing the pain in his bones to evaporate from his mind. 

They spoke of her as if she were a piece of meat and nothing more. The beautiful Bracken girl ripe for the taking. The forbidden apple that was all but theirs for tonight. They spoke of how they wished to deflower her. To take her maidenhead, rip it away from her and claim it for themselves. "it's what we deserve after all the Brackens have done." he remembered hearing one say, "We deserve this." 

They didn't deserve shit. Hell, there were days Davos himself didn't believe he deserved her, if he didn't, then there was no way in hell they did. 

He tore through the halls, the anger in his soul bright enough to light the way. He abandoned his torch once he made it inside so none of the other men would be able to follow his trial. 

The screams began soon after he reached the second floor. The hushed symphony of horrific melodies carrying up the stairs and echoing down the stone halls, ebbing in on the wind through the windows of the keep, tempting Davos’ heart to beat faster in it's rhythm. 

The Blackwoods had begun their raid. He was running out of time. 

He cursed her in his mind, his beautiful girl more cautious than he, convincing him that their escapades should be confined to the secrecy the fields and forests provided. He had tried to persuade her to sneak into one of their homes, claiming she deserved the luxury and privacy of one of their bedrooms over his cloak on the harsh terrain. So she could feel the soft feather bed and furs beneath her back rather than the rough sticks and stones scratching her bare skin through the thin fabric. She always declined, arguing the need to keep their love in a place that matched that of which it was sewn from. Somewhere wild, free, and pure. 

He always laughed along with her, choosing to ignore the fear that gathered in the corners of her eyes. He knew the real reason, she was afraid they’d lose one another if they were to enter the enemy's halls, that they’d be caught and torn apart forever. So, he just laughed along and agreed full heartedly, dropping the idea so his girl could return to her usual carefree spirit. So her worries would be carried off on the chilled evening breeze, set ablaze in the light of the setting sun.

He lived for her, and if it was her wishes to stay confined in the bugs and dirt, he’d happily oblige without a complaint, even if he ended up with cuts along his palms, skin pierced by the rocks his cloak couldn’t cover as he hovered over her body in the foliage. 

But now, he was running through the large keeps halls, throwing open the doors of guestroom after guestroom in the residency hall. Panic increasing for each empty room revealed.

If she just let him come in once, if she allowed him to climb up the wall and through the window like he’d joked one evening, he’d know exactly where to go. 

Davos finally approached the last room in the hall, still no luck in finding her room. The voices of his men had increased, finally making their way to the level he stood.

And for the first time in years, Davos found himself praying. 

He wasn’t a particularly religious man and he hadn't been since his mother had ceased dragging him out weekly to worship the gods. He found himself finding solace in the heart trees for their beauty rather than religion and becoming more devout to the sword than the gods. But now, outside the heavy wooden door, he found himself praying quietly under his breath. To both the God’s he’d turned his back on and the ones she treasured. He prayed to both the Old gods and the new, that his own goddess would be sound and safe behind this very door.  

“Please” he whispered, “I know I haven’t been the most… pious over the years. I know I haven’t followed the rules you have set for the people” he laughed bitterly, “In fact, there were times I blatantly went against you just because I could. But please” he begged, feeling a burning form in the corners of his eyes, “please, I beg you, have her be behind this door. She doesn't deserve what's coming if I don't find her first. I may not believe you exist, but she does. Please don’t fail her now.” 

He rammed his shoulder into the door, the lock giving way after two sturdy blows, swinging open to reveal yet another dark, empty room. 

His heart stopped, split between the feeling of devastation and unadulterated rage. The emotions clawing their way up his throat, threatening to drown him if he didn’t release them soon. 

There had to be a mistake, she had to be here. Was he already too late? Had someone somehow managed to get ahead of him and steal her away before he arrived? It couldn’t be, he was the one to break the lock and sneak around the watch in the front of the keep. 

He wanted to scream. To curse the Gods, curse his uncle, curse himself.

But he couldn’t.

Instead, he punched the door frame, knuckles slamming into the stones and splitting open the thin skin from the force. A muffled curse left his lips, not loud enough to reveal himself to the men beginning their descent on the hall, but loud enough to reveal a sliver of the emotions pent up and burning its way through his veins. 

He was yanking at the strands of his tousled and sweaty black hair, pacing the area outside the open door. Mind racing as he contemplated what exactly he was meant to do next. 

But then he heard it. His saving grace. A muffled sound, a soft mumble coming from inside the bedroom followed by the quiet ruffling of sheets.

Davos whipped around, neck straining under the speed of which he snapped to face the inside of the chamber. There, he found it, shrouded in the shadows and tucked beneath the covers was a lump, with her beautiful, wild hair peeking out and laid upon the pillowcases.

He rushed into the room, slamming the door and bolting it behind him. 

It was the heavy slam that finally roused her from her sleep. She sat up in her bed, the white sheets falling down and resting over her legs as she did. She squinted into the darkness, unable to make out who it was but able to see the figure posted inside her room, the moonlight catching on the metal armor adorning the man before her. 

It was normal for a maid to come into her room, accidentally wake her in the later hours as they entered her chambers to gather things they had unknowingly left behind earlier in the day. It was strange for a knight or watchman to enter, on the eve of a gathering or a feast at the keep where her father had invited many guests a guard may be placed outside her rooms but never inside. 

“Sir?” she spoke, voice soft and confused, roughed slightly by sleep, “What is—” 

She wasn’t able to finish her question in full before the man hurtled himself at her. In a panicked haste she reached to her bedside, reaching for the heavy silver candle holder on the table, whacking the man repeatedly when he became close enough. 

“Fuck!” the man yelled, stepping back when she jumped up from the bed, swinging the candle holder before her. He reached up, one hand poorly acting as a shield before him while the other went to his brow, touching the now split skin from where she managed to strike him.

“Damn you woman” he yelled half playful and half serious, a proud smirk resting on his lips despite himself. Maybe his love didn’t need him to protect her after all. “I’m just tryin’ to help you!”

Y/N dropped the candlestick in an instant, immediately recognizing the voice that often found its way into her dreams and day to day thoughts, “Davos?” she whispered, now rushing forward, pulling him down by the neck to get a better look at the gash she’d made. “Gods, I’m so so sorry” she muttered, delicate fingers running over his brow bone and assessing the damage in the dim light provided by the moon, so focused on Davos’ injury, she failed to notice the soft smile tugging at his lips, “you–you just startled me. I’m not exactly expecting visitors in the middle of the night.” her brow crinkled in confusion, wiping away a streak of mud on his forehead and brushing through the sweat-soaked hair falling over his forehead, “And why on Earth do you look like you crawled through the riverbeds to get here?” 

He laughed, exhausted and relieved to see her standing before him. Davos reached out, grasping her elbows softly, proving to himself she was real. That he did make it in time after all. “I mean, not exactly, but that's close enough.”

She stepped back, eyes wide as saucers. Her sleep muddled mind, finally beginning to catch up with what was going on. Part of her thought it was all part of some strange dream, getting attacked in the late hours and suddenly her forbidden lover is standing before her in her bedroom. 

But it wasn’t a dream. This was real. So what in the seven hells is he doing here?

“You can’t be here!” she whispered harshly, “I–What? Davos, you need to go.” she sputtered rushing to open the door and shove him out, ushering him back off to raventree, “My father could–” 

He reached out, catching her wrist and yanking her back away from the door harsh enough her back crashed into his chest. 

“What–” 

“Stop.” he cut her off, spinning Y/N around so they faced one another, “You can’t open the door.” 

Her eyes grew even wider at his words, fear slipping into her gaze and he hated himself for being the one to put it there, “Why not?” a crash erupted not far down the hall, the sound of one of the vases clattering and shattering down onto the floor followed by a group of men, maybe three or four at least, cackling. She jumped, clinging onto his arms, her grip tight and nails cutting into his skin, “Davos? What’s happening? What’s going on?”

He looked anxiously up at the door as the footsteps grew louder, shifting Y/N and holding onto her with one arm while the other drifted to hold the pommel of his sword, “It’s a long story.” 

“Care to share the summary then?” she bit out at him, but her words were less harsh than she intended, the fear coating the statement making it far less intimidating than she’d prefer. 

“You’re in danger.” 

“Well, yeah, I kinda gathered that.” 

“This is the only one we haven’t checked,” they heard a deep voice say from through the wooden door. “Ya’ think its this one?”

“It’s gotta be” another spoke, tone giddy in a horrific kind of excitement, “It’s the last on the hall, surely the Bracken Brat is in here.” 

Davos spun on his heel, looking into her eyes with such intensity Y/N was unsure if she wanted to run or drop to her knees, “I have an idea. I need you to play along.” she nodded immediately, she trusted him with her life. Davos smiled softly, leaning down to place a long, tender kiss on her forehead, “Just remember I love you, ok? I’ll explain later, I promise.” she nodded once more, lifting on her toes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. 

His gaze hardened a harsh sneer screwing up his features, the grip he held on her wrist tightening, “Stop struggling! I already told you, you can’t worm your way out of this one Bracken.” 

Y/N turned, swiping her arm across her vanity, a collection of glass jars and pots tumbling from the surface and crashing to the floor, “No!” she screamed, “I won’t! You can’t make me!”

The noise from the hall silenced, and both Y/N and Davos smiled. It was working. 

“Oh,” he laughed darkly, walking her closer to the door, both of them taking turns at shoving the furniture to fake the struggle, “I most definitely can–”

“My father–”

“Fuck your father” he sneered, reaching up and helping her mess up her hair further than the slight bedhead she still had, and stretching out the neck of her pale nightgown. He then grabbed her robe, throwing it haphazardly over one of her shoulders, “He can’t help you now, the Blackwoods are taking our revenge. The Brackens will finally fall once and for all.” and with that he swung open the door, tightening his grip on her wrists to drag her through the door frame. 

“What’s this?” Y/N laughed, overexaggerating her breathing to further fake the strain of the struggle as she faced the four men outside her door, “Is Willem Blackwood's little nephew so incompetent they needed to send four men just to make sure he could get the job done?” she snarked, trying to pull herself out of Davos’ grip. 

He growled, spinning her around and yanking her back against his chest, caging the girl in with his arms tight around her waist and arms. “What do you want?” he spoke, ignoring Y/N and looking directly at the men. 

“We were coming to get her,” One spoke up, gesturing at the girl with his sword, “but it seems we missed all the fun.” 

“Nah,” another added, stepping forward gleefully and running a hand over Y/N’s hair, “he just caught her, we can still get a turn later boys.” he smirked cruelly, dirty fingers dropping down to caress her soft skin. 

Y/N shifted at the Blackwood soldier's words, glancing up and seeing the expressions of sick joy on the other’s faces at his statement.

So this is why Davos had broken into her room. She could hear the sounds of what could be happening to her from the maids down the stairs, but no, Davos had reached her first. 

She moved slightly, subtly pushing more of her weight against his chest, seeking comfort in the small gestures, that he wouldn’t let that happen to her. He gripped her tighter when she did, to both assure her she would always be safe with him, and to keep him from relieving the men before them of their heads. 

“It’s just a shame young Davos beat us,” the youngest of them, a man looking to be in his late thirties, whined, “I had plans of all the ways I wanted to take her and ruin her for the first time. See her scream as I–”

��No.” Davos grit out, cutting the man off swiftly, clenching his jaw harshly between his words and a glare that could cut through iron shifting among the four men “None of that will be happening. She is mine. She is my prize for tonight.” 

“But–”

“No!” he yelled, sneering at the men, “I am the nephew of Lord Blackwood, you will not disobey me and my claim. I fought and won her. I claimed her. She is mine. My prisoner and I am not keen on sharing.” 

Y/n did her best to keep up the act. To keep the look of fear and anger on her face and struggle to get out of his grip. But something about those words and his tone of voice made her melt inside. She knew they weren’t all true, she wasn't a prisoner, but something about the way he proclaimed her as his made her think it wasn’t far from his true feelings. 

“I will be the one taking her back to Raventree. Go find something else. You will not be laying a single finger on her, am I clear?” The four men begrudgingly nodded their heads, walking back down the hall with wounded egos.

Davos “dragged” Y/n all the way through Stone Hedge and back out the main door. He found an abandoned horse not far from the gate and quickly helped her up on the saddle. 

“You’re really taking me to Raventree?” Y/n whispered as he too, hauled himself on the horse, settling behind her. His arms wrapped around her to grasp the reins. 

“Well I kinda have to” he responded playfully, words hushed into her ear, his breaths tickling her skin, “Wouldn’t make much sense for me to take a prisoner and release her that quickly now would it?” 

“So that’s all I am to you huh?” she hummed as they made their way through the trees, the cold night air pebbling her skin through the sheer nightwear, “just a prisoner?” 

He leaned down, kissing her shoulder, “Nah, you're much more than that.” 

“You sure?” 

Davos bit at her ear, watching with a smirk as she shivered, one she’d surely claim was from the cold, “I’m Positive.” 

They reveled in the moment of relief and playful joy that encompassed them on the journey back. They both knew it wouldn’t be before long when the reality of the situation would set in. The fear would return to her bones and he would need to fully explain in detail what was going on. They would need to come up with a plan on how to move forward. 

But for now, it was just the two of them riding through their forest on horseback. 

Davos swore he would be there for her when it came time for her to shatter. When she would feel safe enough to cry for the fate of her people who couldn’t be saved as she had once they found their way to his chambers for the night, and however many after Y/N Bracken was to be a “prisoner” at Raventree.

He swore that when she broke into millions of tiny pieces, he would be there with hands ready to bleed as he held her tight and helped put all the shards back together in the intricate puzzle that was her soul. 

He would always be there for her. He would always protect her.

He swore it upon the old gods and the new.

[gurugirl]

Cat Man | a Don’t Stand So Close extra

Summary: This is a sweet little Halloween extra for the series Don't Stand So Close. Featuring a little trick-or-treating, three costumes, and some Mommy & Daddy alone time.

Warning: 18+ only, smut, fluff, daddy kink (as always), age gap

Word Count: 3.8k

Don't Stand So Close masterlist

When Starla and Paul got pregnant Harry and I were so beyond excited for the pair. We would have a little friend for James to play with, and though James was a bit older, they’d be growing up together. They’d plan their wedding after the baby was born.

The only issue I faced with this amazing news was that it meant I would be a step-grandmother. At the ripe old age of 27. Harry thought it was funny and Starla was unconcerned about it as she was focused on her new life and not my feelings.

Along with that, we navigated the odd naming of the relationship between Starla and James as delicately as we knew how. Technically they were half siblings. We opted to say auntie and nephew… but in the end, the confusion wouldn’t be worth the façade once James got older. Whatever people thought of the setup was none of our concern. Or it shouldn’t have been.

But to think I’d be becoming a grandmother?

“Hottest grandma on the planet.” Harry laughed.

I scoffed and sat down on the couch with James crawling over me and asking for another bite of cake we’d brought back from the baby shower.

It had been a long day. I helped Starla and Angela get everything ready. Starla mostly sat and pointed but it was nice to spend a little time with her. I felt thankful that she took me up on my offer to help.

We still had a bit of awkwardness between us. I was sure we’d never get back to how things were when we were best friends. And slowly things got better but my penance would always be the loss of that precious relationship as it was once upon a time.

“Mama. Cake!” James stood on my lap with his knees jammed into my ribs as he pointed toward the kitchen where the bit of cake we brought back was sitting on the counter.

“Not right now, honey,” I grunted as I lifted him away from my ribs. The little guy was solid and heavy. He had no idea that jumping on me or standing on me was uncomfortable. Don’t get me wrong. I love that my baby enjoys being close to me all the time… but ow.

Harry leaned over and took him from my hands, “Let’s sit like a good boy and we’ll put on something to watch.”

The cartoon was bright and loud and obnoxious but somehow all three of us wound up falling asleep on the couch together after one episode.

When I woke up the sky was dark and both Harry and James were asleep sitting upright, heads leaned back into the cushion behind them, mouths dropped open, hands in their lap. Twins. I couldn’t get over just how alike they were. They even looked so much alike that it was scary. Old pictures of Harry, when he was James’ age, proved they were identical.

Gently lifting James into my arms I held him close and kissed the top of his head to put him into bed. I hated having him get into bed in his day clothes but it was not worth the hassle of waking him up to change him into pajamas. Another wonderful little thing about James was that he was a heavy sleeper just like his father. Would conk out and stay that way if you let him.

But the difference was that I needed to wake Harry because carrying him to our bedroom was out of the question.

“Harry…” I squeezed his arm and leaned in to kiss the top of his head, “Let’s go to bed, big guy.”

His eyes opened and he inhaled a deep breath before stretching his arms overhead, “You put James down already?”

I nodded, “Yep. Now time to put you in bed.”

Six hours.

That’s how long we got to sleep before James was bouncing in between Harry and me. I counted the hour and a half we were asleep on the couch watching cartoons the night before but it was rare to have more than six hours of uninterrupted sleep at a time. James just had some kind natural of alarm that only allowed Mom and Dad six hours at a time.

I rolled over and pulled James down, “Shhh… let’s sleep a little longer, baby. Look Daddy’s still sleeping too.”

“Cat man!” James excitedly shrieked.

Cat man. Or really, he meant Batman. It was his Halloween costume. Halloween was in a few more days and he’d been obsessed with it. I let him run around in it at home. And I mean, who could blame him? It was an awesome costume complete with a mask and a cape. I loved watching him run back and forth with the cape flying behind him. Who knew something as simple as a Batman costume could occupy a three-year-old for hours on end?

Harry sighed and rolled toward the commotion; his handsome face turned toward me with a smile. He brought his hand up to my face and spoke in his deep morning voice, “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

~~

James had been crying and throwing a fit to wear the costume all morning but we really wanted to have him wait until it was trick-or-treat time.

All morning we heard him screeching, “I’m cat man! Cat man!” and “I want cat man!”

We’d given up on correcting him to say Batman. Harry tried at first but James was sure cat man and Batman were the same thing. So we let it be.

We’d also given up on having him wait until it was time for trick-or-treating to let him put on his cat man costume. He was in distress, poor guy, so we folded. And anyway, why did it matter if he wore it before we left the house?

“Okay, Mr. Bruce Wayne. Are you ready to dawn your superhero costume and go fight bad guys?” Harry asked James animatedly.

Siggy and Jared were coming by to help us with trick or treating and then after they were bringing James to their place to have him stay for two nights. Harry and I were desperate for alone time. A full night’s sleep. Sex without a bouncy boy walking in.

Harry was dressed up as a cowboy. Only because it was easy. Jeans with a brown button-up shirt a green vest, and a cowboy hat. I was dressed as a red devil. Red leggings, a red long-sleeved shirt (that to my dismay did not match the red shade of the leggings as well as I thought it would), and a headband with horns. Also easy.

I remember the days when I used to go all out for Halloween. I figured this was pretty good for two adults who were looking more forward to getting home after the events than the actual event itself.

James filled his plastic pumpkin full of junk and he was as happy as ever. His overnight bag was already packed when we met up with my parents at the park and walked around to the houses nearby to go door-to-door.

James was in his element. Running from house to house with his little cat man cape waving in the wind. The four adults watched him bounce up to the houses and scream at the top of his lungs, “Trick or treat!!” to everyone who answered the door.

“Have you two thought of giving him a little brother or sister?” Jared said as we walked back to our cars.

This wasn’t the first time they’d brought this up. I rolled my eyes and Harry just laughed. There was no reason to answer them. They knew what our answer would be. That it was our decision and if we ever decided to have another they’d be the first to know.

James loved overnights at his grandma and grandpa’s house. I was sure it was because they let him sleep with them in their bed, let him stay up as late as he wanted, and fed him macaroni and cheese and candy bars. So it was no surprise to Harry and me when James held onto Siggy’s hand and followed her toward their car without a single pout.

“Behave for Papa and Gran okay? They’re gonna tell us if you’re not being nice,” Harry knelt to look James in the eye and James nodded dramatically.

I sighed as they drove off with my little boy. I loved having some space and alone time with my husband but it didn’t make me miss James any less every time they took him.

Harry put his hand on my knee, “Ready to get home, Mommy?”

Putting my hand over Harry’s I grinned with a laugh, “Of course, Daddy.”

.           .           .

We’d gotten a bottle of wine and had leftovers ready to go. I also snuck a stash of James’ candy for us for later.

Entering our home, Harry locked the door and then grabbed my hips, pulling my back into his chest before I could move away, “Where are you going, little devil?”

I snickered a laugh and turned my head to look at him, “Was gonna change out of this lame Halloween costume. Come with me, Daddy?”

Harry needed no prodding. I slid my leggings off and Harry sat at the edge of the bed, his cowboy hat lying next to him on the mattress.

“Aren’t you gonna change?”

Harry smirked and shrugged his shoulder, “Take your top off but leave the horns.”

I gave him a side-eye look and smiled as I peeled my shirt off. He made no move to get out of his own clothes.

“Bra, panties. Off,” he said as he leaned back onto his palms and crossed his legs in front of him as he watched.

I grinned at him and kept my eyes on his as I unplucked my bra and pulled my panties down. The small groan that fell from his throat had me blushing a bit. I’d never get tired of the way he adored my body and me.

Readjusting the devil horn headband, I faced him with a brow raised, “Okay. Did what you said.”

Harry leaned forward and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward him until I was in between his legs which he’d spread. He moved his hands up over my breasts and kept his eyes on mine, “Ever been fucked by a cowboy?” He smirked as he asked.

A scoff fell from my lips as I put my hands in his hair, “Don’t think so. Why? Does this cowboy want fuck his little devil?” I figured I’d play along. Harry enjoyed lots of playing when it came to sex and with James out of the house, we could really play.

Harry growled and leaned in to wrap his pink lips around my nipple. The moan into my flesh sent goosebumps down my torso and I felt his hands lower to my bum. He squeezed firmly and spread my cheeks, keeping his mouth on my tits.

He looked up at me from his spot and pulled his lips off my breast, “I want you to pull my cock out and suck. Wanna see what the little she-devil can do with that mouth.”

“Fuck,” I breathed out as I stepped back and then pressed my knees into the rug to kneel between his legs. He spread his thick thighs apart as I grasped onto the waistband of his jeans and began to unbutton.

To my delight, my horny husband was not wearing underwear and he was already nice and hard for me. Anyone who tells you men in their 40s can’t get it up easily is dead wrong. Harry has proven to me time and time again that he’s more than capable of rising to the occasion. Though he won’t be in his 40s for much longer, you’d really never know. He’s still the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. A fucking body like a divine being. Strong and buff, tall… But it’s his eyes. The attention he gives you. He has a genuine hunger to listen and give you all of his attention. And that’s just so attractive to me that even his amazing physique pales in comparison to the way he looks at me when I’m talking.

“Ooh, Daddy…” I mewled as I pulled at him and stroked his hard prick, pulling him from the confines of his jeans. I gave him a few good pulls before I leaned in and spit over his ruddy tip, smoothing my saliva down his shaft before looking up at him and then taking him in my mouth.

One thing about being with a well-endowed man is that you can train to take them after some time.

I had struggled with how thick and long he was at the beginning but as the years have gone on I have learned just how to get him snug in my throat. Not always with ease, but it can be done and I typically can achieve getting my nose stuffed into the thatch of hair at his base every time I give him head.

Harry moaned above me and I felt him gather my hair behind my head as I bobbed over him. I tried keeping my eyes upward but his little nudge at the back of my head pushed me down further over his cock making it hard to peek up at him.

I swallowed around his tip and gurgled just before he pulled me off by my hair.

He slid back into the bed and put his cowboy hat on, leaning against the headboard he patted his thighs.

“Think it’s time for a ride.”

I laughed as I climbed after him and settled over his lap, “I like this,” I flicked at his cheap dollar-store cowboy hat.

Harry smirked as he pulled at me and placed his thumb through my crease.

“Gotta make sure you’re ready for this ride first. Sink down, baby,” Harry laughed a few of the words as he spoke but then suddenly his expression changed from cheekiness to thoughtful and intense.

I breathed a laugh and bent my knees, nudging myself over his thumb to sink down on it. I placed my hands on his shoulders and rocked into his knuckles, “Am I doing it right?”

“Got my thumb inside your hole didn’t you? I’d say it’s right. Now,” Harry pushed his thumb upward harder and used his other hand to rub over my clit, “move those hips and fuck my thumb, baby.”

“Yes, Daddy…” I spoke softly and began clenching and rocking myself over his thumb and into the fingers, he was using on my clit.

I knew he was trying to make me feel a little embarrassed, a little vulnerable. Sometimes he liked making a spectacle and then commenting on how desperate for him I am. But he did it because he knew what it did to me. Knew how much it turned me on.

In fact, it was already becoming obvious how much I liked it given how wet his entire hand was, as well as the gushy little sound of me fucking myself onto his thick thumb.

“Knew the little devil would like something like this. Rub your cunt over Daddy’s cock now, baby. Show me how wet you got for my thumb.”

Harry gripped my hips to steady me, his damp fingers smearing over my skin as he held me and I settled my pussy onto his exposed cock. He was still fully dressed with only his pants open.

He remained stoic and unbothered by me which had me feeling that pathetic desperation so I breathed out a laugh and began to slick myself over him.

Suddenly the smack of his hand on my ass had me yelping as I gripped his shoulders tight.

“What’s funny, then? Hmm?” He asked me with a straight face.

I breathed out a shaky breath and tried to lean in to kiss him but he issued me another spanking to my other side.

He let go of my hip and squeezed my cheeks together. I could smell myself on his fingers, “Asked you a question, my love. S’rude not to answer.” He was working hard now to hide his smirk. The very ghost of dimples began to dip into his cheeks as he asked me to answer him once more.

He released my cheeks and wrapped his big palm around the front of my neck, raising his brows. A gesture for me to answer him, “I was feeling a little embarrassed and I got a little giggly,” I spoke honestly. But he knew this already. Knew that every time I felt embarrassed somehow it got me excited and I’d start to feel giggly.

“Aww, poor thing. What’s got you embarrassed baby? Didn’t realize the devil herself could all feel shy when she gets wet over a thumb.”

Blinking my eyes and nodding I smiled and put my hands up his jaw admiring his handsome face, “Will you fuck me, Daddy? I’m so horny for you. Been waiting for this all week. Please put me out of my misery.”

Harry fluttered his eyes closed for a moment before squeezing around my neck softly, “Well hop on then, honey.” His voice was deep and full of lust. I knew he was desperate too. We had plenty of time to play but if he was as achy as I was, I knew he’d be folding quickly.

I grinned as I lifted up and stuck my pussy right to his tip, “Just wanted to feel you and make you come,” I moaned as I pressed him inside of me. Always a tight fit into my entrance, his cock felt delicious.

“Yeah? Little devil wants my come? Well, go on then. Fuck it outta me.”

We moaned in unison as I lowered until I was sat over him, the fabric of his jeans being wetted slightly.

“Yes, Daddy… ooohh,” rocking my hips over him and then planting my feet flat onto the mattress so I could give him a good show, I leaned back and placed my hands at his thighs and gripped tight over his jeans as I lifted and lowered my pussy down over him, “Gonna fuck the come out of your cock.”

Harry groaned and put his hands on the underside of my thighs to help me lift upward as he watched my pussy slide up and down his thigh shaft.

“Fuck, baby. Oh my god…” he breathed his words as he leaned his head back into the headboard, making his cowboy hat prop forward before he tore it from his head and tossed it away.

He watched my body move up and down. His dick was shiny with my arousal as he began to buck upward slightly, causing me to lose my balance. I leaned forward and put my hands onto his shoulders to keep steady with a laugh.

We both chuckled at the whole scene. Harry’s nuisance of a cowboy hat, me losing my balance, the devil horns on my head…

Soon Harry had his knees bent and he slid down a bit for leverage to fuck into me from below.

We were both moaning and panting as we moved together. My knees were dug into the mattress as I ground myself over him and Harry used his position to lift himself into me deeply, knocking me upward at each thrust.

He put his hands on my tits and groaned, “You gonna come on Daddy’s cock?”

I was already beginning to shake and clench. He knew I was close. I reached my hand down between us and began to rub myself and nodded, “Yes! M’gonna come!”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and I knew the look. Deep concentration. He was in that mode where he was holding off his orgasm for mine. He was good at it, too. Because he always had me coming first no matter what.

“Shit… Anna, come on Daddy’s cock, honey! Fucking feels so good. Squeezing around me like that…” his words were pinched and whiney.

I kept my eyes on his as I rocked over him quickly, chasing my quickly approaching high. Moaning desperately and whimpering, I finally felt that magic spark unfurl in my tummy.

Harry coughed out his words when he could tell I was coming, “That’s it, Anna. Make yourself feel good with Daddy’s cock… Ahhhh…” he clenched his jaw, still holding off as long as he possibly could. But then he stilled his hips and held me down over him.

I felt the throb of cock as he pumped inside of me with a deep groan.

With his tight hold on my hips, I could only rock back and forth to finish myself off, moaning and panting in ecstasy.

I slumped into his chest as he softly moaned and we lay together until we’d both come back to the present.

Harry’s big hand smoothed up and down my back and I felt his wet lips at my temple, “Just what I needed. But you know that’s just the beginning of what you’re in for these next two nights, right?”

I could hear the grin in his voice as he spoke. I pushed myself back to look at him, “Oh really? The old man’s gonna be able to go another round, then?”

Harry puffed out a laugh and popped my thigh, “You better behave.”

“Or what?”

Shaking his head in disbelief he pushed me off his lap, causing my back to hit the mattress, and hovered over me, placing a palm over my neck to hold me down, “I’m twice your size. Just imagine the damage I could do to you. And if you’re really bad I won’t let you come at all. So you better listen to Daddy and do what he says.”

I bit my lip and nodded before pulling him down to bring his mouth to mine.

Harry laughed into the kiss before making me get up so we could clean up.

It’s funny how I used to spend Halloween; all dressed up at some haunted house-themed party or a themed club when Starla used to drag me with her. My favorite was always staying in and watching a scary movie or reading a good book. As opposed to these days where I take my three-year-old trick-or-treating and then end the night with sex, leftovers, a horror movie, and a bottle of wine with my husband.

I felt like we’d already gotten the night off to a good start but I knew he wasn’t lying when he said that was just the beginning. If anything Harry’s high libido and mine meant we might not be getting the kind of sleep we’d anticipated. Which sounded exactly like what I needed.

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[ghostboneswrites2]

Another fruit themed drabble 🍑

Daryl x Peach Reader

An awkward date.

(This isn’t super eventful, it’s just a writing exercise.)

(Fem!Reader) (Reader descriptions: outfit only)

-18+ MDNI-

Daryl had never been on a date before. Maybe it wasn’t a date, but it was probably the closest to one he’d ever get, so he was nervous all the same.

A boy of just 20, he had been offered a place to stay with his aunt if he could behave. That meant no alcohol, pot, or girls, as she put it. He had done well so far, but when you knocked on the door that morning with a fresh peach cobbler and grinned at him, all of his earthly senses melted away. He could only focus on you and your baby pink top that cut off right where your white skirt began.

When you gave your mother’s cobbler to Daryl’s aunt, whom you’d attended church with, she invited you in. As soon as she left the room you were smitten with her rough looking nephew. Within the time it took her to grab you all some ice cold sweet tea, he had already asked you over that night. Aunt Glenda would be at bingo for a few hours that evening, so it would have been perfect.

Perfect, that is, had he not been so damn nervous. He didn’t know how to talk to a girl like you, from the nice side of town.

When your gentle knock echoed into the small living room, he shot from the couch and farted to the door, gulping as it swung on the hinges to reveal your sweet smile.

“Evenin’.” You greeted.

“Hey.” He said awkwardly, cocking a half smile as he stepped aside to let you in.

Inside, he had some tea ready. He would have opted for booze, but all that woman kept in her house was milk and tea. She didn’t even believe in coffee. When he asked about it, she told him the lord blessed everyone with all the energy they need.

“I, uh — got us some drinks here.” He stuttered, grabbing the two glasses from the neatly arranged coasters on Glenda’s coffee table.

“Thanks.” You blushed as you took a sip. Admittedly, Glenda made the worst sweet tea, but you were used to it. She brought it to all the potlucks at church.

Daryl made a face as he set his glass down, and you giggled.

“Ya get used to it.” You admitted. He chuckled nervously and shoved his hands in his pockets.

After some uncomfortable small talk about where you were both from, he went ahead and set up a movie on the TV.

You both took a comfortable seat on Glenda’s sofa, which was covered in plastic for preservation. You both smiled awkwardly at the squeaky noises beneath you.

“Ya like old westerns?” He asked you as he clicked the remote.

“Not really.” You answered honestly. “But I figured that’s all she’d have.”

“You known my aunt for a long time?” He wondered.

“As long as I can remember.” You shrugged. “From church.”

“Mm. Never really did church much.” He said.

“It’s more of a social gathering if ya ask me.” You sighed. “Most people just go for appearances.”

“What about God?”

“What about him?” You snorted. “Don’t ya know God’s just there for appearances too?”

He thought about your words. He supposed you were right. After all, where had God been all his life?

As the movie progressed, you’d glance over at him and smirk as you inched closer to him. It wasn’t so smooth with the crinkling of plastic, but he didn’t mind it. He’d adjust himself each time to better fit you beside him. He’d peak over at you too, gulping as he turned his attention back to the screen.

Eventually you just nestled up against him, pulling his arm over your shoulders with a sigh.

“You’re allowed to touch me, Daryl Dixon.” You teased.

“Jus’ didn’t wanna make it weird.” He blurted.

“We’ll aren’t you a gentleman.” You remarked. He wasn’t like most of the guys you’d gone for in the past. He was reserved and polite, even if his manners weren’t proper.

When the movie ended, he checked the time.

“Damn, she’ll be back any minute.” He grumbled.

“Walk me out, then?” You requested. Without protest, he walked you out to the porch. You smirked as you walked backward toward your house across the street.

“Maybe next time we can kiss.” You wiggled your eyebrows. He tutted and shook his head.

“Night.” He called after you when you turned around. Women, he thought to himself. He’d never truly understand what made them tick.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Immortal Beloved - Chapter Nine.

A warm, heartfelt thank you to my readers for your continued engagement :)

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,140

Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

“And so, I says to this fella, I says, right, listen here, mate! Any more out of you and you’ll be shitting your bloody teeth for a week, and you’ll never believe what he says to me, John. I tell ya now, you’ll never believe it, son. He stands there, right, fag dangling from his mouth, and he says to me...” 

John didn’t give a damn what the fellow in question had said as they stood guarding the front gates of Bryn’s home, gladly watching the sun beginning to sink in the sky. From the first moment, he’d asked Tommy never to pair him with Mickey Two Suits, begged him, in fact, and what had his brother done?  

…"so, there we are, right, having a scrap about it and then suddenly, this fucking umbrella comes flying out of nowhere! And it’s only the fella’s old dear, ain’t it, giving him a clobbering and dragging him home by his ear! I says to our Wilf, I says ‘eh, look at that! Thinks he’s hard enough to have a go at a Blinder and it’s his mom who has to run in and save his arse!’ What a night, John. Ya should have been there!” 

“Mickey...” 

“...and we went had a good ole’ knees up after, we did. Drank the Red Lion right out of whiskey that night, and you ain’t heard the best part yet, pal!” 

“Mickey, will...” 

“So, the landlord has this great, big Irish Wolfhound, right, and this group of lads are...” 

“Two Suits! Holy fucking shit, will you shut up!” John’s exasperated tones matched his wide eyes, shaking his head. “Christ you don’t half yammer on, mate!” 

Mickey pinked at the cheeks a little to have been – although lightly – admonished by one of his bosses, muttering his apologies and lighting a cigarette. He lasted all of twenty seconds. 

“So, we off for a few Christmas Eve drinks up the pub once your lady wakes up? Christmas Eve at The Garrison, ain’t nothing like it, is there? Do you remember that one year when... bloody hell!” 

This time, though, Mickey’s no doubt lengthy spiel was interrupted by a sight that made John’s heart flutter, Bryn suddenly appearing before them. “No, Mickey. John and I are to depart for Warwickshire, to a party hosted by Tommy and the lovely Grace.”  

John had wondered how well Grace would take to Bryn, but after introducing them for the first time just three days before, he’d found the women had a very natural chemistry with one another. He was also pleased – for Tommy more than himself – that it had encouraged Polly to warm towards his soon-to-be sister-in-law a little more as well, since he and Grace were to be married in the New Year.  

His aunt was not quick to warm to any women who came into the lives of her beloved nephews, especially not if she had good reason not to trust them, just as she’d had with both Grace and Bryn. For the latter, though, it had melted as soon as she’d seen something of herself within his ancient vampire lover, a woman who’d had her children torn from her, a woman whose pain she understood all too well.  

Leaving Mickey to trudge down to the bus stop and travel back to Small Heath, John and Bryn went inside, the former pouring himself a whiskey while Bryn readied herself for the evening. She was affixing tiny little pearl adorned pins into her hair when he ventured into the bedroom, kissing her bare shoulder as she sat at her vanity.  

“I thought you lot weren’t meant have a reflection.” 

Him and that flipping novel he’d taken it upon himself to read. She rolled her eyes, turning to press her lips to his cheek. “Not everything Bram Stoker claims about us is true, you know.” Picking up her perfume, she spritzed herself liberally, the scent misting over her pale skin. “Although I must confess, being able to turn myself into a bat would be useful. If for nothing else than to retreat from awkward social situations.” 

“Yeah,” he hummed, swirling the amber contents of his glass, “don’t think I’d fancy you half as much as a flying rodent. Maybe a bit still, like, but not as much as usual.”  

Her look of incredulity had him tipping his head back, his laughter filling the room. “You are disgusting, John Shelby!” 

“Still laughing though, ain’t ya!” Indeed, she was. His uncouthness, lack of filter and penchant for being completely inappropriate never ceased to entertain her. Truly, she had never met anybody like her darling John. She shook her head, picking up her kohl pencil and beginning to smoke her eyes sultry black. A little mascara and a twist of rouge to her cheeks and she was finished, speedily packing the rest of what she needed for their stay at Arrow House and whizzing down to the car to place her cases in, John going to ready Katie.  

The child had been spending more time with him at Bryn’s since school had finished for Christmas, being cared for during the day by Bettie until Bryn awoke and spent time with her before bed. It had warmed his heart hugely to witness their bond forming, Katie furnishing the Christmas tree with her help, overhearing the bedtime stories his love would recite to her, the old Norse sagas his daughter loved to hear. Katie’s bedtime upon their arrival at Tommy’s house was no different. 

“The crow went flying toward the North, croaking as she flew, “Let Hela keep what she holds. Let Hela keep what she holds.” That crow was the hag Thaukt transformed, and the hag Thaukt was Loki. 

“He flew to the north and came into the wastes of Jötunheim. As a crow he lived there, hiding himself from the wrath of the Gods. He told the giants that the time had come for them to build the ship Naglfar, the ship that was to be built out of the nails of dead men, and that was to sail to Asgard on the day of Ragnarök with the giant Hrymer steering it...” 

Standing in silent watch through the crack in the door, John smiled widely as Bryn recited a fairytale about Loki, Norse god of mischief to his spellbound daughter, the covers pulled up to her chin, Bryn’s hands gesturing as she spoke of the tale. At her core, she was such a natural mother, something within her so strongly maternal. The thought had never crossed his mind back when he’d first begun his courtship with her, but truly, she was everything Katie needed. 

She was everything he needed, too.  

“Now that’s a look of love if ever I saw one.” 

At hearing Polly’s whisper, he turned, grin still fixed firmly in place as his cheeks coloured a little bit at being caught staring so adoringly at the scene. “She’s only known her just under three weeks and she dotes on that little girl as if she were her own.” Walking away from the bedroom, he pulled a cigarette out, lighting up. “Ain’t what you thought she was, is she?”  

Polly lifted her chin, her eyes narrowing a fraction. “I don’t like to concede, but you’re right. She isn’t. Brynhild has surprised me with her nature. I never forget what she is, but I’m getting to know that what she is isn’t all she is.” Reaching for his face, she stroked his cheek, laying a pecked kiss upon the other. “I’m pleased for you, love. You look very happy.”  

He smiled again, his handsome features lighting up the dim glow coming from the bedroom. “I am, Pol. Might not have been long, but I am.”  

“Come on.” Opening her arm, she draped it around his shoulders, steering him down the corridor in the direction of the stairs. “Let’s go get drunk and eat too much food, have a good ole’ knees up.”  

Walking down into the throng of people milling around the welcome hall, the mix of guests were mostly business, both legitimate and not so, family and friends, servers carrying trays of drinks and food, the laughter and chatter filling the spruce-scented air. John was just reaching for a whiskey when he felt a cool hand slip into his, Bryn arriving with him, taking a champagne flute from a passing member of the wait staff.  

“How does it feel?” 

“How does what feel, my darling?” she asked, pressing herself close to him as he released her hand, wrapping an arm around her instead. 

“To be the most beautiful woman in the room?”  

She sipped her champagne, eyeing him with a twinkle there in the hypnotic blue of her irises. “Oh, you presume yourself to be so very charming!” 

His smirk widened. “Are you charmed?” 

“I am,” she hummed. 

“Then I’m fucking charming.” He kissed her head, his arm tightening around her. “Tell me about what underwear you’ve got on under that dress.” 

“You know my thoughts towards underwear, my love,” she purred, kissing his cheek as they moved through the guests. “I don’t like anything that gets in the way of your mouth.”  

A bolt shot through him, John closing his eyes for a moment. Opening them, he pulled himself back from the haze of lust to be greeted by an oncoming business associate, fellow bookmaker Kenneth Thompson.  

“John! Good evening to you and your fine lady, here! How are you keeping?”  

While he and her love got into conversation about the next race meets of the New Year, Bryn found herself beckoned over by Grace and Polly, gliding over through the throng of guests. It was as a young server passed her by that she caught the faintest whiff of it, a smell her nose never failed to detect. Her eyes snapped to the back of the redheaded girl’s neatly pinned tresses, watching her move from guest to guest.  

“You’re on alert,” Polly noted when she arrived with them, seeing how Bryn suddenly appeared much less casual in demeanour. “What is it?” Although not knowing her for long, she’d familiarised herself with how the vampire carried herself, the minute changes within her normally quite stoic disposition. Polly Gray well understood when it paid to be observant.  

“That girl,” Bryn began, pointing with her champagne flute. “Grace, how new is she within your employment? Also, is she local?” 

“Very new,” she confirmed, her eyes following the cold, hard stare of her vampire friend’s eyes. “Everybody is, though. With us only officially moving in recently, the staff were hired just over a week ago. As for where she’s from, Tyneside according to her references. Why do you ask?”  

“Thought I recognised her locally. I must be mistaken.” she lied, giving Polly a look that she read instantly. Tommy hadn’t filled in Grace over everything regarding Bryn, other than to obviously keep what she was well under her hat. Initially, she hadn’t believed him at all, laughing away under the impression that he was having her on upon their first meet. When Bryn had proved it by popping her fangs, she’d almost fallen out of her chair. 

With Grace called away to continue playing gracious hostess, Polly moved Bryn into the corner of the room away from earshot of the other partygoers. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“That girl,” she began, her eyes flitting away to follow her before they snapped back to Polly. “She does not bathe often, for not only do I detect a fine scent of body odour, but I also smell Rasmussen on her. It is faint, but present.”  

“You’re fucking joking me,” she hissed, eyes scanning the room. “I’ll get John and Tommy, let’s get this sorted.” 

Immediately, Bryn gripped her arm. “No, no, Polly. We need not involve the men just yet. Let me watch her. Act as you normally would, begin to laugh at everything I’m saying.” 

Polly’s faux, yet believable chuckle filled the air, Bryn affixing a huge smile to her face before launching into a real story, all the while watching the girl as she flitted from guest to guest. For all intents and purposes, they were having a wonderful Christmas Eve, with no suspicions over any infiltration to their circle.  

Every so often, the serving girl’s eyes would find Bryn, studying her in confirmation of this, the vampire feeling her entire being hum on high alert. As soon as she exited the welcome hall, Bryn moved to follow her, ducking speedily into the shadows as she stalked her, the girl looking as if she was heading back down to the kitchen.  

There was a pantry just to the side of the grand kitchen, a designated space where the butler would keep track of the household provisions at a small desk and put in the orders at the grocery, baker and butcher on a twice-weekly basis, Bryn remaining concealed from sight as the girl quietly made her way inside. She was just about to enter after her when John and Polly appeared.  

“Oi, don’t you look at me like that, Brynhild,” Polly whispered sternly, noting the displeasure she was viewed with. “Wasn’t me who said anything.”  

“She’s right, love” John spoke, touching a hand to her shoulder. “It was me who felt it.” 

Of course, he would. John Shelby had so much of her blood travelling through his veins at that point, he might as well have called himself Brynhild Mark Two. Holding a finger to her lips, Bryn listened, hearing the serving girl make her request to the telephone exchange. Rasmussen.  

Bingo.  

“Mr Rasmussen, I hope I am not disturbing you.”  

Before John or Polly knew it, Bryn was gone from before them, the butler’s pantry door flung open, both striding in to find the telephone cable pulled from the socket and a snarling Bryn pressing the girl down onto the desk by her throat.  

“How much did he pay you to infiltrate?” she growled, her fangs bared, the girl shaking in fright as she found herself at the very wrong end of a powerful vampire’s temper.  

“I-I d-d-don't know w-what you...” 

“Oh, bloody spare us!” Polly exclaimed, closing the door behind them. “You can’t fool a nose like hers. She smelled them on you.”  

“B-but I-I...” 

Bryn’s gripped tightened. “I said, how much, child?”  

“T-ten p-pounds.” 

A lot of money for a girl who she estimated likely earned less than a third of that a week. “I will pay you treble that to call him back right now and tell him that I am not among the Shelby family. For I know that is why you are here. As my friend just stated, I can smell them on you.” She shook her head, her nose crinkling. “Poor, unfortunate girl. Perhaps if you bathed more often, you might have been successful.”  

Nodding through her shakes, she felt on the verge of wetting her knickers in fear, watching the vampire as she looked to her companions. “Darling, plug the telephone back in.”  

John nodded, eyeing the girl with distaste, Bryn going into her small clutch bag and pulling out three ten-pound notes. “Here. I will pay you this to deliver the message. That is all you have to do. Do you understand?”  

“I-I do.” 

Bryn beamed, but her smile carried not a trace of warmth to it. “Good.”  

With the phone reconnected, the girl tucked her money into her neat little apron, taking the receiver and once again requesting the correct name to the exchange.  

“Helen, we were cut off before. Now, what do you have for us, pet?” Edward asked upon answering, the girl not able to drag her eyes away from Bryn, shaking with fright at the faint sound of her rumbling warning growl.  

“I’m afraid I have nothing.” She swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. “The woman you described is not within the guests. Just about everybody else notable is, but not any women with dark hair and a tattooed throat and chest, I’m afraid, sir.”  

“Stick around, she mightn't have arrived yet. Like we said, it might be another. Sounds daft, love, but look out for people who are paler than usual, and who don’t eat or drink with quite the same gusto as others do, like.” 

“Shall do, sir. I will report back tomorrow evening.” With that, the call ended, Helen finding herself on the receiving end of three very angry looking people. Well, only two were people. “What do I tell him tomorrow?” 

“As long as it doesn’t involve anything to do with vampires being around the family, tell him whatever the fuck you like,” John spoke, moving to impose himself before her, reaching into his pocket to pull out his knife. “And if you do fucking breathe a word about her to anyone, we will find out, and bab, you don’t want to know what I’ll fucking do to ya. We clear?” 

With a cold blade pressed against her cheek and the even colder glare of a vampire upon her, Helen nodded. “I shan’t say anything. I’ll just tell him there wasn’t any here. I promise, just please don’t hurt me.”  

Returning the knife to his pocket, he patted her cheek with his hand. “Good girl. Now, go up and pack your bags. Now.” 

“No.” Halting her with a splayed hand to her chest, Bryn stood in her path, shaking her head as she looked to John. “We must ensure she makes that call, John. If she doesn’t, then they will deduce that I am here and have dealt with her.” 

She was right. “What do you plan on doing to her?” 

Bryn pondered his statement for all of five seconds. “Fetch me some rope. We tie her to a chair in here and tell no one to enter. Then we come down here again at sundown tomorrow, let her make her call and escort her from the premises.” 

“And what the fuck are we meant to tell the serving staff, why they can’t come in here all of a sudden?” he asked, perplexed.  

Shaking her head in bafflement, a frown of light incredulity creased her forehead. “Darling, you run both legitimate and cooked books for a living; you’re better at mathematics than most of the fucking Arabs who created it. You’re also a goddamned Shelby, lying is in your nature. Do not tell me such mental calculus is beyond you.” Her eyebrows continued to rise, gesticulating wildly with her free hand. “Bloody make something up!”  

Polly couldn’t keep the smile from her face at how Bryn had both managed to praise and admonish him at the exact same time, especially watching John not know whether to be annoyed or enamoured by the crisply delivered statement from his lady. 

“I ain’t sure if I want to fuck you or slap you right now.”  

“I’ll let you do both later,” she winked, nodding towards the door. “Rope. Now.” As soon as he left the pantry, Polly was in soft fits.  

“Oh, my giddy aunt!” she snorted, lighting herself a cigarette while Bryn pushed a still terrified, but complacent Helen down into the wooden chair behind the desk. “Seeing you run circles around my bloody nephew like that is the only Christmas present I’ll need this year.”  

Bryn smirked, taking Helen’s hand and popping her fangs, forcing the young woman’s finger to her mouth and piercing the tip upon the point of one of those long, sharp teeth. Helen winced, Bryn licking the drop of blood that swelled forth. “There is my insurance, should stupidity and luck be on your side and mean you somehow escape. I will be able to find my way to you instantly.” 

With the way John bound her legs and arms to the chair upon his return, though, Bryn sorely doubted that Helen would be going anywhere, but took the phone with them just in case. “Please tell me that one day you shall delight my senses by tying me to the bed like that.”  

He paused upon the staircase, raising an eyebrow. “You could get out of it in about half a second, though.” 

“I could,” she purred, leaning close to flick her tongue against his earlobe, giving it a little nibble. “I wouldn’t attempt to, though.” 

“You,” he began, waving a finger at her, “you need to pack it in, you do. We’ve got to go fill Tommy in over all of this and you’ve bloody gone and gotten me at half-mast as it fucking is.” He nodded downwards, Bryn seeing the outline of his cock beginning to tent his trousers, chuckling as she grinned.  

“Well, my, my.” Leaning close, she kissed him, her lips all fiery honey upon his. “It looks like something is looking up this evening after all.”  

Carrying on up the stairs, she left him standing there waiting to deflate again, shaking his head as he muttered. “Bloody insufferable temptress.”  

“I heard that.” 

“You were fucking meant to, bab!” he shouted, making the server passing him jump, John placing a reassuring hand to his shoulder as he grinned widely, the man continuing his trajectory. “God, I love that woman.” 

As she stepped back into the throng of the party, Bryn heard that, too. She would never tire of it either, slipping her hand into his when he joined her after a few moments, fully calmed in the trouser department as they walked over to where Polly waited for them, opening the door to Tommy’s office.  

“Grace specifically told me no business tonight, so whatever this is, make it quick,” he spoke, taking a seat behind his desk, looking up to see Arthur enter the room, neatly closing the door behind him and shutting out the noise from the party.  

“Do not worry, Tommy. I have every intention of being perfectly concise so we may resume this wonderful evening you and Grace have put together for us,” Bryn began, Tommy nodding in acknowledgement of her praise, his eyes fixing upon her. “A spy sent by Edward Rasmussen infiltrated your serving staff. It was only because the dirty girl does not bathe quite as often as one should that I managed to smell their scent upon her, knew she had been close to them. 

“She was sent here to look for me specifically. I apprehended her with John and Polly prior to her delivering news to Edward himself, intercepted the phone call she was shortly to make, forcing her to tell him all was clear. He expects her to call in again tomorrow to confirm that no vampire fitting my image, or any other for that matter arrived here at Arrow House.” 

Arthur leaned around Polly, nodding to her. “You alright though, love? She ain’t burned you with no silver or nothing, has she?” 

Bryn was touched by his concern. “I am fine, dear Arthur. Trust and believe if she had of attempted to wound me, your brother would have likely acted swiftly.” 

“Wouldn’t fucking half have,” John muttered, pulling a cigar from his pocket and lighting up.  

Tommy digested her words, drawing idly upon his cigarette. “Which serving girl was it?” 

“Helen.” 

“And where is Helen now?” 

“Tied up in the butler’s pantry.” 

He rose to his feet. “Good enough, Brynhild.” Walking around the desk, he placed a hand to John’s shoulder as he passed. “Fits into our world just nicely does your lady, John boy. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.” Opening his door, he gestured through the space, the noise of the merriment filling the air as his family filed back out. Bryn was the last to leave, Tommy halting her with a soft hand to her forearm.  

“I’ll leave it to your discretion, whether Helen actually leaves the grounds or not tomorrow,” he whispered, his stare so strong Bryn felt it boring into the back of her skull. “Either way, though, she is to be gone and kept quiet.” 

Bryn would not have survived for as long as she had, should she not have known well how to read between the lines. Smiling, she leaned to kiss Tommy’s cheek, gliding from the room to take another glass of champagne and slide in at her love’s side once more, the head of the family watching her as he closed the heavy office door behind him.  

In offering his protection to Bryn, he saw well how the alliance benefitted him from her being close to them. Literally being able to smell the faint trace of an enemy upon a person was a skill he wished he possessed, but did not need to now that he had the most powerful vampire in England close with his family.  

Tommy Shelby knew a valuable asset when he saw one. The fact that she made his younger brother the happiest looking man in the room didn’t hurt either.  

[marleyybluu]

Fezco x f!reader

WC: 1.1k

Warnings: I made this as fluffy and sweet as I could. shitty ending cus my attention span can't take it anymore lol

A/N: yes. another one. I said I was feeding yall fez content. quick write up to distract myself from finishing the long ones 🤪didn't know what to title it sorry lol

Growing up you didn't have an interest in being someone's wife, let alone a mother. For years you swore up and down you'd just be the aunty who occasionally kept her nieces and nephews for a week. And then you met him, and your whole persona changed, you found yourself doing domesticated shit and actually enjoying it.

He made it worth it. Your friends and even your siblings constantly stated how shocked they were to see you so in love, so sprung. He brought out the best in you and you hoped you were doing the same for him.

But in his daily activities, you saw the appreciation he had for you. The adoration in those pretty blue eyes, the blush that would creep on his face whenever he looked at you reminded you how he felt the same way he did.

And so one day, you married him. It was a small gathering, both of you didn't have a lot of family and friends so it was pretty intimate but truthfully you didn't want like three hundred guests at your feet anyway. You two were becoming each other's family so only the close ones needed to be there. The ceremony was quick but the reception lasted all night, it was too much fun, enjoying yourself as you saw your new husband let loose and actually dance, lip sync love songs to you with a huge grin on his face.

You knew you made a great decision in choosing your partner.

At the time you were still unsure of kids, and he knew that, said you're the one carrying so whatever you were good with, he was good with. So you went two years married without children, but eventually, you saw something that helped you make a decision. When your younger sister had her baby and asked Fez if he wanted to hold her, to your surprise he said yes. And seeing that little blanket in his arms, the way he looked down at her and smiled. You knew.

Knew that you wanted him to experience it for himself, knew that you'd have no regrets in changing your mind. Younger you would be shocked at how one person made you switch teams.

Next thing you knew you had your own little person growing inside, and Fez took great care of you, took over everything in the house that half the time you had to ask if he wanted help which most of the time he declined but you'd help anyway.

For those nine months, you watched him transform into a dad, getting the nursery together on his own as a surprise to you and he did an amazing job. And the night you went into labour you'd never seen him so calm and ready, for a first-time father he was not freaking out.

When your son was born you'd seen him shed a few tears, he repeatedly praised you and thanked you for providing another person to love. You got to see how attentive he was, rushing over to the baby at every little sound and squirm, hardly wanting to put him down. You had to pry your child out of his arms. He looked like Fez, got his eyes and a bit of ginger was noticed in his slick hair. His placenta perm as you called it, you both laughed.

For the next four years, he taught his son almost everything he could, how to brush his teeth, how to ride a bike, how to ride a scooter-- before he started school, hell before he could even walk, he'd been teaching how to read and write, do basic math and so on.

It made you want another, so bad, you'd give him a stadium full of kids if it meant seeing him like that.

Which led up to today, you looked down at your little girl in your arms. You gave birth the day before and it started all over again, you never knew you had so much room in your heart. You officially had three people living there. Fez sat on the bed with you looking at her, the small sighs that left her pouty lips.

"She's fucking beautiful." He complimented, his hand carefully ghosting over her hair. She gave you more heartburn than the last one. "She is." You cooed tapping her nose. While you stared down at you could feel his eyes darting over to you, you turned to face him, knowing what was coming.

"Thank you, for everything, for my family." You bent your lips in to hide your obviously growing smile. "I wouldn't have done it for anyone else."

"I love you." He murmured leaning over to press his lips against yours. "I love you more."

There was a soft knock at the door, it creaked open giving you a peek at your mother's head. "Can we come in?" She whispered, you nodded, she opened it wider allowing your son and Fez's brother Ashtray inside. "Hi, Mommy." Your son smiled, he pulled away from his uncle and rushed over to you with a bouquet of flowers. "I brought these for you."

You could cry. "Thank you, my baby. Can you put them on the table for Mommy?"

He nodded and tried his best to put on the surface but he needed a bit of help so Fez helped him. He put sanitizer on his little hands and Fez placed him on the bed next to you. "Is that my sister?"

"Yes, this is your sister." You answered teary-eyed. His little hand reached over to rest on the blanket. "She's tiny."

"She is, you were this size once."

He laughed, just staring at her the same way Fez did. "Would you like to hold her?" He quickly nodded, Fez helped him position his hands and placed a pillow under them, you carefully rested the little one in his arms. He giggled nervously when she moved around but she settled in his hold. "I like her."

Fez laughed kissing his head. "We're glad you like her bud."

You looked up at your husband and winked. Your moment was interrupted by a serious question from your young one. "Can I have another one?"

"Another what?"

"Baby sister, I want two."

You covered your mouth to muffle your laughter, Fez turned his head away to hide his. "Um," Your voice was shaky. "When she gets to be as tall as you, Dad and I will talk about it."

"Don't worry, you'll get another one soon." Fez chimed in, you looked up to protest but honestly... he was right.

You'd probably have another sooner than you think.

if you liked this feel free to like this comments and reblogs appreciated peace and love, see you in the next.

🏷: @skyesthebomb @darqchilddaydreamz @bigenergy777 @realhotgurlshit

[miracles-and-butterflies]

Good thing that Mirabel's alive. But when will we see the cold family beating the shit out of Camilo? And what others were doing? Does Dolores already know with her hearing?

Ha. What do you think everyone’s doing while Luisa does a one-woman retelling of A Christmas Carol?

Warning, potentially sensitive topics below.

~~~~~~

“Don’t talk to me.” Isabela snaps when Camilo opens his mouth. “Same for you,” she added, turning to an equally puzzled Dolores. “I’m trying really hard to keep myself under control.”

“What are you talking about, Isa? Are you okay?” Dolores asked.

“Dolores, I’m serious, if you want your boyfriend’s nose to remain unbroken, shut the fuck up.”

Isabela stalked off, after that.

“What’s up with her?” Bruno questioned.

“No idea. I’ve not been listening,” Dolores responded. “I was trying to keep an ear on Antonio. And our parents. They are on their way back.”

“That’s good. I’m sure they’ll sort this out.” Said Camilo.

“No need, Julieta and Agustín are already here.” Bruno pointed out, standing up.

Dolores and Camilo turned, watching their Tío and Tía slowly make their way into Casita. They both were walking backwards, seemingly guiding in a blood stained and half-dressed Luisa, who was cradling an unconscious Mirabel.

“Careful, Luisa. You don’t want to be too rough with her.” Julieta chided.

“I’m not being rough with her!” Luisa snapped.

She never took well to being accused of forgetting her strength, especially around Mirabel.

“No, but you are holding her quite protectively,” Agustín intervened. “Loosen your grip a bit, mija - gently. Yes. That’ll do.”

“Um,” Bruno announced walking over, he swallowed nervously. “I know this is a really stupid question, but I feel like it has to be asked, so I’ll just get it out of the way: is Mirabel okay?”

Julieta didn’t look amused; Luisa was ready to strangle him.

“No?” Agustín answered, unsurely.

“What happened?” Dolores asked next.

Agustín stepped aside to explain to Bruno and Dolores, while Julieta ushered Luisa along.

“Take Mirabel upstairs, Luisa, and clean yourself up. Your Abuela won’t want blood through the house.”

“You might want to clean the patio then.” Luisa advised before leaving.

Julieta signed, walking off to grab some supplies from the cupboard. She might as well get to cleaning. There’s nothing else she can do until Mirabel wakes up.

~~~~~~

While she’s scrubbing, she hears the sound of awkward footsteps and she assumes it’s Agustín and he’s injured himself. Or maybe Bruno and his rats are peckish.

But when she looks up, she sees her nephew.

She has to assume Isabela got at him. He’s got a severe rash over half his face and he keeps scratching at his arm through his ruana. And there’s a hand print on the other side of his face too; almost bruising his skin.

Maybe it was Isabela too. But she doesn’t think Isabela would have risked getting the rash herself.

Maybe it was Dolores who hit him.

Or maybe it was both of them.

He does look very rough and his clothes are more disbelieved than they usually are.

She doesn’t say anything to him.

It’s not her job to discipline him for his actions. It’ll be more devastating to have his parents do it.

Or better yet, it’ll be more devastating to rob him of the attention he so desperately wants and is so accustomed to. They should just ignore him entirely.

“I’m sorry,” he says, eventually. “It was just a prank.”

Julieta doesn’t have anything to say.

She just looks down at the ground. Soap, white and red mixing into pink, and the yellow tags.

Mirabel’s blood.

“She wasn’t meant to get hurt— I didn’t know about the trap, that wasn't part of it. I’d left by then.” Camilo continued.

“I’m not the one you should be apologising to.”

“I-I know that, but—”

“You want me to heal you?” She guessed. “I’ll leave that decision to Mirabel.”

Camilo choked.

“But she won’t— she won’t help me! She’ll say it’s a ‘waste of resources’ because it’s not a ‘serious’ injury.”

Julieta hummed in acknowledgment.

“Isabela has covered my room - all my clothes, my things - in poison ivy! And, like, a hundred other itchy plants! I can’t live like that.”

That explains why Isabela was keen to get home before them.

Sneak into Camilo’s room before he realises everyone knows and should be on guard, covering it in plants that won’t directly injure him but make him uncomfortable; she’s definitely inherited Pepa’s evil genius.

“Tía? Are you listening to me?”

No.

She doesn’t know how long it takes, but Camilo slowly sulks off.

[soarchissticallydone]

Daughter of the Empire: 1/?

(So when I said I was going to post this "later today," let's take this in the galactic time sense where on some planet somewhere, a day lasts four or five Earth days. Got it? Great.)

This is in second-person POV. because I don't write that very often and it's fun, in my opinion. It's kind of long, but I got very excited and I hope I can keep this energy up. To be honest, I have no idea where and when in canon this takes place. Any glaring errors in continuity or canon are my own.

Thanks to @holocene-sims and @vibratingskull for their advice and encouragement in posting this story! I could not have done it without you.

Recommended music: Taita Inty, by Yma Sumac.

Previous || Next

Sit back, relax, watch the house lights dim and the curtains rise...

The Galaxies Opera House was putting on a production of “Legends of the Yavinian Yungas,” and you had been dying to see it. Every single attempt thus far in the run had failed. You had gotten sick after the rush to get a new exhibit up and running (too sick to even contemplate the idea of getting up and dressed, really). Then your aural prostheses had broken and had to be replaced, and so you had skipped the next few showings until they were repaired. (Why go if you couldn’t hear the show clearly? You may have known it by heart by now, but it was an experience to be enjoyed in full!)  And then, tonight, when you had made plans and had your third-nicest outfit steamed and ready to go, your friends had been unable to attend due to sudden conflicts. 

You had almost despaired of being able to see it before it closed, to be replaced by a traditional Lothal dance ensemble (which was perfectly fine and entertaining, but not your favorite opera since you were old enough to sit with your mother in the family box on Yavin Thirteen). 

Fortunately, you were able to wheedle your siblings into accompanying you to the opera tonight; you could have gone alone, but you were somewhat self-conscious about going to performances alone, and, you justified to yourself, you hadn’t seen either of them for weeks due to conflicting schedules. It was so rare that the three of you were on the same planet at the same time; you had put on the full ‘youngest sibling charm offensive,’ as Laanth sarcastically put it, and this time, it had worked. Of course, Pyallala had insisted that she take you shopping beforehand, on your credit, and Laanth had insisted that you buy them both dinner afterward, but it was a small price to pay. (Even if your bank account had already sent you an alert about suspicious purchases.)

“The Imperial Box?” you hiss to Laanth as the turbolift opens onto the mezzanine, with Praetorian guards and stormtroopers flanking the entrance. “Aren’t we meant to be keeping a low profile?”

(Your father had, in one of his paranoid moods, temporarily barred you all from the Imperial Box after Pyallala’s brother-in-law had been kidnapped for ransom by Rebel-aligned pirates a few months ago. Even with the feeble fig leaf of an excuse that you were his nephews and nieces, which the public may or may not have believed, blood relatives of the Galactic Emperor were obviously a security risk.)

“The Senatorial section doesn’t have as good of a view,” Pyallala pouts. “And I’m not wasting the credits you spent on this headdress to hide it from the rest of the audience.” She pats the headdress with one well-manicured hand, to emphasize it, and it wobbles slightly on top of her head. (Even though you saw her stick it with half a dozen hatpins and her aesthetics droid practically smothered you all with hairspray before you got in the speeder to keep it in place.) 

“I can’t believe that cost a thousand credits,” you grouse. “It’s the ugliest kriffing thing I’ve ever seen!” It’s certainly one of the ugliest purchases you’ve made in your life, even counting the phase where you wore traditional Yavinian ponchos, with their rather bright color combinations by Coruscanti taste, almost exclusively. And there are plenty of outré, avant-garde, culturally-significant-but-still-strange-looking, or just plain bizarre hats, headdresses, confections of tulle and transparisteel, and wearable sculpts in the crowd to compare Pyallala’s new acquisition to. 

The shape itself is reminiscent of a napkin in a glass at a gala; the colors mimic dazzle camouflage from some brainchild of the Imperial Navy’s latest strategic design; and worst of all, it is at least a third of a meter tall and a third of a meter wide, ready to launch off into the world with the slightest provocation. You wonder what would happen if you pushed her off the mezzanine–would it turn into a parachute? (Not that you’d do such a thing, of course, but stars, the temptation is there. You try to ignore the voice in your head that sounds like your father’s.)

“It’s a brand new Bila Tondo creation. Who cares if it’s ugly? I want everyone to know I’m here to enjoy myself. We’re going in the Imperial Box.”

“You’re exactly right, sis,” Laanth said; as always, you had been outmanned, outflanked, and outgunned by your siblings. The perils of being the youngest. “Come on, Ynirrés. Live a little.” 

“I’m telling him it was your idea if he finds out,” you sniff, clutching the amplification cables for your aural prostheses you’d picked up at the box office a little tighter, as if they might provide a shield. (You hope he doesn’t find out. Your father’s moods, always fickle, have been worse over the past few years, usually, but not always, in conjunction with some new setback against the rebellions, or some perceived threat to his control. And while you are usually not the target of his rages, you’ve seen enough of them to know that you don’t even want to be in the same star cluster when his temper rises.)

“Nobody’s going to find out if you shut your mouth and relax,” Laanth says as you all step out. 

“Miss Zerbelo, Mr. Thetinnós, Mrs. Se’aa’ng.” The protocol droid permanently stationed just outside the turbolift nods to each of you in turn. “Passes, please.”

An hour and a half (and one and a half complimentary swirlydips) later, you’ve almost forgotten your earlier anxiety. You hate to admit it–Pyallala was right. The view is spectacular here. It’s as if you’re right on top of the stage. The mezzo soprano–one of your favorites, the Twi’Lek Nomi Vay, fresh off her tour of the Outer Rim–has just finished her recitative on the creation of the orichalc treasure; you settle more comfortably in your seat, eagerly watching and hearing the story unfold. It’s a rare treat to see the Yungas Cycle performed fully. The condensed version is more popular, especially out of Yavinian space. (And with the rebel outbreaks on Yavin Four, you were worried, too, that the performance would be abruptly cancelled due to pressure from the Emperor, with his pride as sensitive as it is.) 

“Oh, this got more interesting,” Laanth says, interrupting your concentration on the familiar music and story.  You turn to look at him, irritatedly unhooking the amplification cables from your aural prostheses, and he leans forward conspiratorially. 

“That alien admiral’s in the Navy box,” he says, his voice, and the music, slightly distorted as your prostheses adjust to ambient sound. He re-emphasizes this with a few hurried signs, rolling his eyes a little as you catch up to what was said. In a fit of childish anger, you stick your tongue out at him.

Aside from diplomats, you almost never saw a non-human at the Opera. And the diplomats, of course, had their own boxes scattered throughout; they’d never be allowed to sit with the Navy higher-ups. Even in the Empire, it wasn’t seemly, though the Jedi had apparently gone as both guest and bodyguard to some patrons before and during the Clone Wars. (You were too young to really attend the opera on Coruscant before Ascension Day all those years ago, with the exception of children’s matinees and other special events, and when you had gone, you were more focused on the costumes and the stagecraft than on the jockeying for power that went into getting a superiorly located box.) The prospect of seeing the one non-human allowed to ascend this far in the Naval hierarchy intrigues you.

Fortunately, there’s a dance solo that allows you a little cover for spying on the other audience members (as if the Imperial Opera isn’t already a rarefied version of a Shaum Hii cattle market for those who would rather chase and be chased than watch the performances). The alien–tall, blue-skinned, in a starched and polished dress uniform–is intently watching the dancers and singers as they find their marks for the ‘Dance of the Trogons.’ You tell yourself you’ll spend a few more credits and buy the recording of the performance to make up for missing the dance in full. What’s another fraud alert on top of the rest?

“What is he, a Pantoran?” you ask, snatching your sister’s lorgnette from her hands to get a better glimpse of the strange warrior. With a quick spin of the dials, you’re able to get a closer view of his face, so strangely and strongly contoured. There’s something about the gleam of his red eyes that fascinates you. They really do gleam–not brightly enough to be a distraction to the others in the box, or the performers, but enough to send a strange shiver down your spine. You’re reminded of a nymy-cat in the night, though their eyes are green. 

“No! I heard he’s…well, whatever he is, he’s not a Pantoran,” Pyallala says, looking at her program. “Good, the first intermission is after this solo; I really need another drink. Apparently they found him in a shipping crate in Wild Space! And now he’s a Grand Admiral. Can you believe that?”

Laanth rolls his eyes. “And who told you that? Someone in your sabacc circle? The same one who told you that it wasn’t spice if you smoked it? They didn’t find him in a shipping crate, they found him crashed on an asteroid!”

“That was one time,” Pyallala hisses, forgetting her argument with your brother in favor of one that had been rehashed since General Skywalker was still alive, if not earlier. “Do you have to be so loud?”

“Do you think anyone cares?” he says, and the two of them start the familiar accusations again. You, of course, tune them out as best you can. One of the benefits of being deaf, and having aural prostheses, is the ability to simply…turn off whatever displeases you, but not even the most sophisticated tech lets you mute a conversation that is happening in front of your face without blocking the rest of the world out. 

Your free hand runs over the amplification cables longingly–how badly you want to go back to the music. Your target seems enraptured, as much as you can tell, by the spectacle, and your heart leaps a little–perhaps he enjoys the Yungas Cycle too, and perhaps you might…make a friend. One that wasn’t one of your coworkers. Wasn’t Pyallala always not-so-jokingly scolding you about your lack of prospects? What better prospect could there be than…

“A Grand Admiral,” you say, forgetting for a moment that you shouldn’t be thinking out loud, and that it’s the height of rudeness to keep your lorgnette on someone for longer than necessary. “An alien Grand Admiral! He must be very talented.”

“Uh-oh, sounds like Niri has a little crush,” Pyallala jokes, seizing her chance to deflect the sibling mockery onto you. “Or do his epaulets have you dazzled? Do we need to keep you on a leash, before you go over the balcony again?” You wince at the memories of that particular garden party, before you had learned that swirlypops aren’t always a teetotal drink, and, conveniently,  just prior to learning that alcohol affects your particular sense of balance for the worse. How embarrassing that was. 

“I know Commodore Voskos,” Laanth says, completely ignoring your sister, despite the low-hanging fruit of “Mock Baby Sister Together,” much to your relief. “We’re supposed to play ringers together tomorrow. At intermission, I’m going to see if we can be introduced to this Wild Space freak. I’m sure he knows whether he was found in a shipping crate.”

“No, we don’t need to–” you say.

“Yes, we do!” Laanth says. “I’m right, Pyallala’s wrong, and you’ve also been openly staring at him for the past five minutes. It’d be ruder to pretend we haven’t seen him, with you playing holo safari.”

“I hate you both,” you say, sinking further into your seat as you hand the lorgnette back to Pyallala. “I should have come here by myself.”

[cainnleacghlovers]

Champions League Final - MM

pairing: mason mount x fem!reader

summary: Y/N’s going to her brothers match. Funny if there was a cute boy sitting beside her. Really funny…

Pulling your hat over your hair that you’d spent hours curling, you checked yourself once more in the mirror. Satisfied with your outfit. The impulse buy of the north face jacket, definitely worth it… maybe.

“Y/N get down here!”

Your mum shouts up the stairs. Another look in the mirror, and you were grabbing your phone, and you were away down the stairs, practically flying down. Your brother was playing in the Champions League Final today. Real Madrid vs Liverpool.

Your entire family was the living room, and by entire family, you meant everyone. From first cousins to grandparents, from girlfriends to nephews. From third cousins to people you weren’t even sure you were related to. But hey, free football?

Your brother scrolling through his phone with a bored expression.

“Right. Let’s go then.” You say, everyone turning to face you.

“Took you long enough. Bet you have ‘Alexander Arnold 66’ on your back, you traitor.” Your brother jokes.

“He may be 66, but I know another number we could…"

“Right! Cars everyone. Who’s going with who?” Your dad interjects, not wanting you and your brother to hate each others guts before your brothers big match.

—

Moving into your seats, you think being a SAS (sister and sister, something you’d come up with, being jealous WAG’s got nicknames and sisters didn’t.) you’d get better seats. I mean they weren’t bad, but the leg room? Not good. The seat on your left being free.

Another family came in, decked out completely in Liverpool gear. Awkward. They clambered over the clan of you. You did the awkward, ‘i’ll move my legs as much as they’ll go but you’re going to have to squeeze in’ movement, and they eventually got settled. A boy sat beside you, and you gave him a smile, one he returned brightly. He had a pretty smile. A really pretty one. He looked up at your hat.

“A Madrid supporter then.” He said, you couldn’t place his accent, but it was cute. He was cute. His dopey brown eyes eyeing your hat.

What could you say that was flirty but wasn’t flirty. Challenge him? Compliment him? Kiss him?

“A Liverpool supporter then.” You countered, gesturing to his t-shirt. It was 2 degree, and he wasn’t wearing a jumper? Weirdo. A cute weirdo at that, but still. Weirdo.

“I have a friend playing.” He replied, looking at your whole family.

“Oh look at you with connections. You’re the Lily Rose Depp of football.” He clearly didn’t get the nepo baby joke, embarrassing…

“Are you here for anyone?” He asked, his eyes scanned your face. He knew you from somewhere. Why did he know you?

“No one specifically.” You replied. It wasn’t a lie, but you never liked telling people who your brother was. It sucked that people treated you differently when they found out who he was, found out who you were.

The announcer spoke, revealing the teams were in the tunnel and ready to come up. Tightening your hat, you turned to the boy beside you.

“May the best team win.” You stuck out your hand from him to shake it. An excuse to touch him? Pfft nope… He took it, giving it a firm shake.

“I’m not nervous.”

—

The game was intense. With Modrić and Salah both finding the back of the net. You knew your brother would be disappointed with the goal, he’d saved tricker goals before. Salah just tapping the ball over where his glove could reach. Half a dozen bookings and colourful language later, the whistle blew for half time. Both teams stalked off frustrated with the result.

Your family grimaced when they seen Zidane have a word with your brother. You knew he’d complain about him later.

“Y/N, do you want anything darl?” Your mums voiced caught you out of your trance.

“I’m okay mum. Thanks.” You have her a smile, as half the stadium evacuated, ready for a drink. You wouldn’t turn one down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your seat. The boy sitting beside you might have something to do with it.

“I like your accent.” His voice caught your attention. Turning to face him, you flashed him a grin.

“Oh thank you! I think it’s kinda annoying.” You weren’t lying, you’d been told your accent ‘went through people.’

“It’s nice.” He nodded, not sure if you received the compliment as his shy attempt to flirt with you.

An awkward silence fell between the both of you. You smoothed your leggings down, and he played with the collar of his t-shirt. You seen the goosebumps on his arms, should’ve brought a jacket. Weirdo.

“Do I know you from somewhere? You’re oddly familiar.” Given that you were the spit of your brother, it was probably that.

“I think you’d remember meeting me.”

That was bold, and under no circumstances would you have ever thought you’d say something like that. It wasn’t in you to be cocky. Your parents making sure they raised humble kids. Tell your brother that. Ugh. Footballers.

Unable to meet his eyes, you waited a response. Felling his gaze on you, you decided your trainers were far more interesting.

“I think I’d remember too.” He mumbled under his breath. A blush spread to your cheeks. Maybe you should be bold more often. Go on Y/N, say it. You know you want too.

“I’m gonna go get a drink. Wanna come?”

He smiled, and patted his thighs.

“Sure.”

—

Waiting in the line, you scanned the options.

“This is embarrassing, but can you tell me the options. I forgot my glasses on my seat.” He laughed. Oh god, he laughed. Good thing or bad thing?

“Yeah no bother. Fanta, Coke, Sprite…”

“Where we watching the same match? Read out the alcoholic ones.”

He laughed again. Butterflies erupted in your stomach. If you could bottle his laugh, and listen to it again and again. You definitely would.

“You’ve got your standard beers, tonics. I think you’re a gin girl.”

He raised his eyebrows at you, and you met his eyes.

“Absolutely. I hate vodka. Oh is there pink gin.”

He nodded, and gave the person behind the counter your order. He tapped his card, and before you could complain, one hand (a really nice hand. like really nice.), took the drinks and the other steered you out of the crowd.

“How much do I owe you?” You said, reaching into your handbag to find your purse.

“Not a pound darling. My treat. It’s Mason by the way.” He gave you a wink, and you blushes. That seemed to absolutely raise his ego, you could practically see his head growing. You didn’t even realise you hadn’t asked for his name.

How. Frickin. Rude.

As you were walking back to your seat, you felt a tug on your arm, turning around to be met with a little girl. Her big eyes shining up at you.

“Laura honey. Don’t bother her now.” A man said, you assumed it was her dad. He tried to pull her away, but you smiled at him to say it was okay.

“Can we get a photo? Please?” The little girl said, and with those big eyes, how could you say no.

“Hiya darling. Of course we can.”

You crouched down to her level, and flashed a big grin at the camera as the little girl replicated your grin.

“I wanna be like you someday.” She said, making you blush.

“And you’ll be miles better than me.” You said, giving her a smile.

“Can i show you what i’ve been doing in my classes?”

“Absolutely! Give us a twirl.” You grinned genuinely at her. Little kids were so cute.

She span, and you clapped. Giving her a whistle.

“Man I wish I could do that! You’re so good!” You could obviously do that, but the compliment would make her day. She grinned, wrapping her arms around your legs. Her dad plying her off.

You exchanged a few friendly words with her dad, as she waved bye, as did you. When they left, you met Masons eyes with a big cheesy grin on his face. Your stomach throbbed, and you nearly hunched over to stop the intense feeling.

“Y/N S/N.”

He smirked, saying your name. He sounded good saying it. You wondered what he’d sound like moa- nope, we are not thinking like that!

“That’s me!” You said sheepishly, waving your hands beside your head, as if you had something to be proud of. You didn’t consider yourself famous at all.

“The Green Machine.” He knew your figure skating nickname. Something which came about after your olympic performance, representing none other than your home country. Ireland.

“Seems like you know about me Mason.” You decided to play it bold. He’d made you blush enough today, his turn.

“Well when you had an olympic medal at 14, it might make you a tad known.” He said.

“I try.” You said, hating the attention. His eyes stared you down, and you wished you could look him in the eye, but you just couldn’t. Change the subject, now.

“Match will probably start again soon. My dad would never let me hear the end of it if I walked in late with a boy.”

“Yeah. Suppose we should.” You two walked in, your dad seeing you. Raising his eyebrows and mouthing ‘boyfriend?’ You rolled your eyes playfully and sat down, you met your cousins eyes. He made a pretty rude gesture, twisting both of hands in front of his mouth. You gritted your teeth, and gave him the finger.

“Y/N! Don’t make me glue them fingers together.” Your mum scolded you.

“Callum’s sitting doing… he’s doing Callum stuff!” Your cousin was known for that. Absolutely no filter at all.

Your mum didn’t have time to retort, because out came the player. Your brother scanning your section, and you gave him a thumbs up.

—

The second half was even more intense than the first. The clock slowly ticking away, time was running out. Neither team wanted to play extra time. You fidgeted your foot, and groaned with the rest of your family when Hazard put one slightly wide. Plopping down on frustration, Mason smirked at you, pointing to his badge and slapping his chest enthusiastically.

7 minutes stoppage time. Both teams making subs to find some sort of solution.

Trent booted a ball into the box, and you grabbed the nearest firm thing you could. That firm thing being Mason’s thigh. You quickly removed your hand, embarrassed at what you’d done.

“I am so sorry.” You scanned his face to see if that had made him uncomfortable. He only gave you a reassuring smile in return, calming your nerves.

“Don’t worry about it. My thighs there anytime you need it.” He gave you a wink, this boy liked winking.

Before you could retort to his smart ass comment, you felt something being pelted at your back. A shoe. Your cousin had threw it at you, to shut you up. He widened his eyes, and put his finger over his lips, telling you to shush. You made a face at him, and threw his shoe back. You turned your attention back to the game.

Trent’s ball was a good one, but your brother got it confidently into his hands. Scanning for someone to pass too. He found Modrić, and away he was up the pitch. Taking the ball with him, passing and weaving through defender after defender. Out of juice, he passed the ball to Hazard. Hazard booted the ball.

Your entire family stood up in anticipation. Come on! Back of the net!

The ball met a defender on the way there, and the ball went past the goal line. Wide.

“HAND BALL!” Your entire family screamed. Yourself using some colourful language. Madrid shirts, as well as Liverpool ones surrounded the referee. He made a box signal, signalling for VAR.

The entire stadium went quiet. Everyone waiting anxiously for the referee to come back from checking. Here he came.

He pointed his hand up. Penalty.

The entire stadium erupted. Both shouts of happiness, and cries of uproar from the Liverpool fans.

Alison tried arguing with the referee, but he stood firm on his decision. The ball was placed in Hazards hands, as he made his way to the penalty spot.

“Come on Hazy. Back of the net.” You didn’t know where the nickname came out of, you just felt a personal touch might help him more.

The entire stadium stood still, the whistle breaking the eerie silence. Hazard kicked the ball.

Back of the net.

Madrid had won! You jumped up and down, celebrating with your brother.

—

You were on the pitch after, taking photos with your brother. You seen Mason slapping Trent on the back. So that’s who his friend was. Awkward.

He seen you, and jogged over.

“Well. Good game.”

He shook your hand, and you laughed.

“My brothers going to be absolutely insufferable now.”

“He is good, to be fair.” Mason said, obviously a fan.

“All we’re gonna hear about is that save. I can already hear him.” You groaned.

“Well he might have saved the goal, but could you save the tomorrow?”

You laughed out loud at his horrible pick up line. Wait no, that’s rude. Stop laughing. You did that awkward cough to stop laughing.

“Are you asking me on a date?” You smirked.

“Maybe.” He grinned shyly. His eyes soft, as they met yours.

“Well i’ll have to check my schedule.” You said, trying to make him sweat, knowing it was nothing to him over than humorous. “Looks like i’m free.”

He smiled, and you weren’t sure if you should kiss him or give him a fish bump. Maybe a high five?

“Well i’ll see you tomorrow then.” You said, trying to be mysterious as you walked off. Leave him wanting more, you know. As you were walking off, you realised you’d need his number. You backtracked, embarrassed.

“Can i get your number?” You said.

“Course you can.” He said, giving you his number as you put it into your phone.

“Perfect. Message me about tomorrow then? I wanna see what you’ve got planned.”

“I think you’ll like it.” He winked, yet again. Giving him a kiss on the cheek, as you went off with your family.

Your brother came up to you, his daughter, your niece is his arms.

“Juniors got game then.” He playfully shoved you, using the nickname you absolutely hated.

“Shut up.”

He wrapped his arm around you, and you felt content. Life was pretty good.

AHH! first post!!! I hope you all enjoyed! Let me know if you want a part 2! Leave your requests!

[littlemissaddict]

Respect - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 844 (Short and sweet but the idea has plagued me so it had to be done)

Warning: Slightly suggestive at the end but that's it I think.

She exited Eddie's room, closing the door behind her as she made her way to the front of the trailer where he was waiting for her. She was wearing the Black Sabbath t-shirt he always kept for her when she slept over and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms that she'd recently bought, partly because whenever Eddie lent her a pair of his they never fit properly but mainly because when she saw them she thought it'd be cute if they matched. She also thought Eddie would be as excited about it as she was but the frown on his face when she sat on the couch next to him and draped her legs across his told her differently.

"What've you got these on for?" He asks, confused more than anything probably because normally when she slept over she would usually just wear the t-shirt but tonight Wayne was still home.

"I just thought we could match is all," she pouts, head turning towards the telltale noise of Wayne getting ready in the bathroom before he leaves for work, "plus your uncle is still home and I imagine he wouldn’t want to see me walking around half naked" she adds just as the bathroom door opens and Wayne walks out.

“Right as always darlin’” Wayne’s voice comes from the end of the hallway just as he appears in the small kitchen area of the trailer, his car keys in hand as he reaches for his pack of cigarettes off of the counter. “And if I was you Ed, I’d be more concerned with making sure I was the only one to see my girl like that”

“But Uncle Wayne look at her you can’t tell you've never-”

She exhales his name sharply, interrupting him. Her wide eyes at the shock of what he was suggesting morphs into a glare as she points an accusing finger at him, “You better not finish that sentence and you better apologise to Wayne” she scolds him as the tone of her voice warns him that there is no room for argument.

He sighs, giving in as he knows he was wrong to even suggest his uncle would even think about his girlfriend in such a way. Wayne had always treated women with respect, even in this dead end town where he was looked upon as trash just because they lived in the trailer park and he had tried to pass that onto Eddie, who really hoped that he did as his uncle taught. “Sorry Wayne, I didn’t mean it like that” he apologises and both her and Wayne could tell he meant it.

“No harm done son,” Wayne nods his way, letting him know it was all water under the bridge before a small smile works its way on his face, “but it’s nice to know that someone has some respect for an old man” he teases Eddie, chuckling to himself at the way his nephew opens and closes his mouth as he tries to come up with a response but none seem to come so he lets out a huff of a breath as he crosses his arms, sulking instead.

His childish response only makes her laugh along with Wayne as he checks his watch for the time before he begins heading for the door. “Now kids I’d better head out, try not to have too much fun,” he jokes as he steps through the door, making a move to close it before he changes his mind turning to face them again, “oh and Eddie I’d remind you to behave but I’m sure she’ll keep you in check” he laughs as Eddie whines as the door finally closes, leaving just the two of them alone in the trailer.

She watches as Wayne’s headlights leave the trailer park before finally turning back to Eddie who still seems to be sulking at his uncle's teasing. She reaches a hand out to Eddie, “Come on, I know something that’ll cheer you up” she grins but Eddie just looks up at her from the couch confused. Sighing at his reluctance to move, she fiddles with the hem of the borrowed t-shirt she was wearing. “Let’s just say these pyjama pants weren’t the only thing I picked up at the store” she tries, hoping he’d catch her hint but still nothing from him. Knowing she was going to have to spell it out for him she takes the hem of the shirt in her hands and pulls it up over her head until she was bare from the waist up apart from the lace that covered her chest.

Eddie’s eyes widen in response as he stares, still frozen on the couch but for a completely different reason this time. She laughs at his comically wide eyes before balling the shirt up and tossing it at him which finally seems to break him from his trance as he practically jumps up from the couch, wrapping his arms around her waist and hoisting her up on his shoulder as he makes for the bedroom.

[k-evans-reads]

In Living Color

Chapter 12

Summary: When Natalie Marton, lead character designer for Buzz Lightyear, meets the voice of Buzz, Chris Evans, the sparks are undeniable. But when their work pushes them away from each other, both physically and emotionally, will the sheer differences between their worlds be enough to force them apart?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Pixar Animator OFC Natalie Marton

Word Count: 7,739

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: None.

Previous | Main Masterlist | In Living Color Masterlist

September 17th, 2021

Nat turned off her car, practically vibrating with excitement. Her father, sisters, brother-in-laws, nieces, and nephew had just landed in Burbank and were closer to her than they’d been in months. It’d taken everything in her to not meet them at the airport, but instead she’d gone to Chris’ to help him get everything together for the afternoon and evening at his house while her family picked up their rental cars and made their way over.

It was the first time they’d meet Chris in anything except a phone call, and the first time he’d properly meet her father. She wasn’t nervous, but she couldn’t help but want it to go well. Her family and their approval meant the world to her, especially in the wake of Shane, but Chris had quickly begun to mean almost more than that, and she wanted nothing more than for this to go as she hoped. 

She hopped out of the car and grabbed her bag before she headed inside, smiling to herself at the music already playing over his speakers and the sound of Dodger’s nails against the hardwood floors as he ran to greet her. 

“Hi buddy! How’s my bubba?” She asked, crouching down to pet Dodger. The dog excitedly leaned up, kissing her cheeks. 

She’d just stood up when Chris’ confused voice called out, asking, “Nattie? Is that you?” 

“Yeah, it’s just me,” she replied, smiling to herself when Dodger went trotting back towards the kitchen, tail wagging excitedly. 

She followed Dodger, smiling when she found Chris in the kitchen. “I thought you were going to meet your family at the airport?” He asked her as they moved towards each other, leaning down to peck her lips before they hugged. 

“I was but then I figured I’d just come here,” she murmured, squeezing him before she moved away and put her bag down on a barstool. “I thought you might need some help getting things ready.” 

Chris shrugged as he moved over to the stove, filling a pot of water and turning on the burner. “I think I’ve pretty much got everything,” he explained. 

“It looks like it,” Nat smirked, eyes moving over the counter filled with paper bags. She peered into them, seeing snacks, boxes of macaroni and cheese, different condiments, and drinks – both child-friendly and adult. “Did you buy the whole grocery store?” 

“I wanted to make sure everyone had what they liked. I got some chicken and burgers and things to grill, and then all the sides and everything are in the fridge,” he shrugged, an embarassed look on his face as he reached into the bag, pulling out both boxes of macaroni. “Oh and I remembered that you said Lily was really picky and only liked one kind of macaroni and cheese and I couldn’t remember if it was Kraft or Annie’s so I just got both.” 

Nat watched as he kept talking, more to himself than her considering the way she completely ignored what he was saying. She couldn’t believe that he remembered that detail, that stupid, offhand detail she’d only mentioned while rambling one night during a phone call, when he was half-exhausted and walking onto set. He remembered everything she said, not only about herself, but about her family, despite having no real relationship with any of them yet, and tears threatened to spring to her eyes at that realization. When she realized he was holding the boxes in his hands and looking at her expectantly, she cleared her throat and told him, “Annie’s.” 

“See, that’s what I thought but then when I was standing there looking at them, I kept second guessing myself,” he chuckled, shaking his head. He put the blue Kraft box to the side and pulled a second box of Annie’s out, moving back to the stove. The water was boiling already and he opened the purple boxes, carefully removing the cheese packets and dumped the pasta in, setting a timer before he turned back to the bags. 

And although Chris kept talking, showing her the different snacks and food he bought, Nat found herself listening less to what he was directly saying and more in-tune with the fact that each and every thing that he was showing her was lovingly picked by him to make her family happy and comfortable when they came to meet him. He had gotten her favorite guacamole even though he didn’t like it, every kind of chips known to man for the kids, and had remembered that tiny detail she hadn’t even remembered mentioning that Lily had only liked one kind of boxed macaroni. 

She knew that she caught him off guard at the end of his walk through of groceries when she simply told him, “I love you.” 

“I think you’ve mentioned that before,” he smirked, his eyebrows waggling a little before he turned, putting a case of beers into the oversized fridge. “But I certainly don’t mind you saying it again.” 

When he turned back around, she stepped towards him, reaching out a hand to take his as she repeated, “I love you, Chris.” 

“I love you too,” he whispered, pressing his lips to hers. They pulled apart sooner than she wanted, but his eyes flickered to look at the buns on top of her head and he muttered, “Even if you look like Mickey Mouse right now.” 

She stared at him, her jaw dropped as she insisted, “I thought they were cute!” 

“I mean they’re cute,” he shrugged, frowning slightly before he laughed. 

Nat just turned to stick her tongue out at him knowing that he was lying but all of it was quickly forgotten when he leaned in to kiss her once more before they fully focused on getting everything ready. 

She was marinating the chicken and seasoning the burgers when the security system beeped, notifying them that someone was at the gate. Exchanging smiles, Nat quickly washed her hands and followed Chris to the door, opening the front door just as he unlocked the gate so her family could come in. He squeezed her hand before he walked back to the kitchen, giving her a moment with them. 

Ella ran to Nat first, meeting her in the doorway as she hugged Nat’s midsection. “Auntie Nattie!” She excitedly said, squeezing Nat tightly.

“Ella!” Nat said, squeezing her eyes shut before she squatted down, looking at Ella with a grin. “I can’t believe you guys are here!” 

Heather scoffed from behind her daughter, shifting the backpack on her shoulder. “Excuse me, we’re here too,” she reminded Nat, smirking when her sister met her eyes. 

“It’s not my fault that Ella beat you in here!” Nat laughed, but stood to her full height after hugging Lily and Carson. 

“Give us hugs too,” Heather grinned, reaching for her sister. Nat made her way around the group, hugging everyone, mindful of Alex’s pregnancy bump. 

Ryan’s eyes were moving throughout the wide space behind her, almost in awe as he said, “This place is huge!” 

“Yeah it is,” Alex chuckled, smiling as Dodger licked Carson’s cheeks. “Where is Chris anyway?” 

“He’s in the kitchen,” Nat informed them, knowing he’d slipped away before they even reached the door. ��Do you guys want to go meet him?” 

With the open floor plan, Chris could hear everything from where he was piddling around in the kitchen pulling out some plates. He had wanted to give Nat a moment with her family, letting them have an uninterrupted moment together but hearing that they were headed toward him made Chris’ heart beat just a little bit faster when he heard the voices getting closer and closer. 

Nat had just stepped around the corner of the short hallway, a smile on her face when she met Chris’ eyes while her arm was wrapped around Lily. “So everyone, this is Chris. And Chris, I think you indirectly know everyone,” she introduced him with a laugh. 

He gave a short and admittedly awkward wave, then told them, “I’m really glad that all of you could come over.” 

But Carson broke whatever tension was there when he excitedly said to Chris, without any hesitation, “I like your dog!” 

“Well he’s going to be happy to have someone to play with him,” Chris grinned, high-fiving the three year old. 

Ella turned to Nat, eyes wide as she asked her, “Can we go play in the pool?” 

Chris laughed, and before long everyone split up, with Nat showing her sisters a guest room where they could get the kids changed for the pool and Eric, Ryan, and Zach hopped into helping Chris get dinner ready. He couldn’t help but laugh loudly when he watched Carson practically tear through the house, ready to go and bouncing excitedly by the wide glass doors until Nat took him outside, and soon enough everyone was out there, enjoying the pool and company while Chris and Zach split the grilling duties and the kids ate their macaroni and cheese and the just-delivered pizza. 

“So now we finally know what movie stars' houses are like,” Heather smirked behind her beer as she leaned back in her chair. 

Alex laughed, shaking her head and admitting, “It’s honestly exactly what I pictured. I knew there’d be a big pool.” 

But Chris shrugged, shucking the attention as he turned to the grill and flipped the burgers as he said, “I don’t know that it’s that special. I think just about everyone in California has a pool.” 

A tiny voice from the table piped up, and Chris smiled as he listened to Ella say, “Auntie Nat doesn’t.”

“Thanks for pointing that out, Ella,” Nat groaned playfully before she laughed. 

“Yeah Ella you better be nice to Aunt Nattie because she’s getting us into Disneyland,” Eric smirked, laughing loudly when Nat smacked his arm lightly. 

“I wasn’t being mean, I just said she doesn’t have a pool,” Ella shrugged, reaching for her slice of pizza and taking a bite of it. 

Chris met Nat’s eyes from behind his dark sunglasses, raising an eyebrow and telling her,  “You’re right Nat, she is going to give you a run for your money.” 

The group laughed before they quieted down, listening to the kids chatter as they ate their pizza while wrapped up in their fluffy towels, Carson practically on his knees so he could reach the table. After handing his grandson another slice of pizza, Eric told Chris, “Next time we come down to do Disneyland, you need to come with us, Chris.” 

He sighed, shaking his head. He knew they didn’t quite understand the logistics behind these things and why he declined much more than just him saying no, but he honestly told her father, “I wish I could this time, but I promise I will next time.” 

“Are you joining us for anything else this week?” Ryan asked curiously, handing Zach plates for the chicken and burgers as the meat thermometers beeped. 

“No, I’m actually flying back to Boston tomorrow to spend some time at home,” he explained. He’d chosen this weekend to go home with Dodger for a bit of time, spending the longest stretch of time at home with his family since January. He’d planned on being back more during the summer, but a curly-haired wrecking ball quickly threw all his plans to the wind. But with her family coming into town, and after a few hours of thinking, he’d decided it was probably time to go home for a while and to see everyone back in Massachusetts and check in on things out there. 

“Well we’re glad you invited us over this evening,” Heather smiled, moving to help them while Eric and Nat quickly ran inside to grab the rest of the food before they joined them at the table. “And Lily is glad that you have her favorite mac and cheese.” 

Chris smiled, not missing the tiny grin on Lily’s face directed towards him. “Oh I knew better than to mess with a girl and her favorite macaroni,” he laughed. 

Once the food was passed around and the adults began eating while the kids started to play with some of the toys he’d gotten at Target in the yard, Nat spoke up, “Zach, I’ve been meaning to ask how your parents are doing since your grandma passed.” 

“They’re doing alright. It’s hard but they’re doing pretty okay,” he shrugged, passing Alex the coleslaw and pickles. 

But Alex quickly interjected, “Oh my god, Nat, did we tell you who we saw at the memorial service?” 

“Who?” Nat asked with a furrowed brow, her elbow bumping Chris’ as she took a swig of her beer. 

“Shane,” Alex simply replied. 

Hearing that one name made Chris’ ears perk up as he glanced around the table. He hadn’t heard a lot about Nat’s ex, but knew enough to know that it hadn’t ended well and based on the looks on everyone’s faces, that only was confirmed. His eyes lingered for a moment on Eric, seeing the way he quietly was pushing some of the food around on his place, telling Chris that there were a lot of unresolved things there with him, and likely a lot of tongue-biting on Eric’s part since Shane and Zach were cousins. But the one thing that didn’t surprise Chris was how blunt Alex was about things, knowing from all the stories he’d heard from Nat that her middle sister pulled no punches, even when it came to family. 

“Did he talk to you guys?” Nat asked, her voice much more restrained and cooler than it’d been all evening. Under the table, his hand found hers and gently held it, squeezing it gently as they listened to her family. 

Heather shrugged, glancing around the table before she quickly checked on the kids, smiling at the sound of their laughter. “He avoided dad like the plague but he talked to Zach,” she told everyone. 

The other Marton sister groaned, rolling her eyes as she reached for her water and telling them, “It’s honestly criminal that Zach has such a horrible cousin.”

Her husband looked at her with a frown, muttering, “Hey it’s not my fault I’m related to him.” 

“I thought he was still in Europe,” Nat quietly said, her brows furrowed and jaw set tightly. She didn’t relax when Chris squeezed her hand again, hoping to reassure her but failing. 

“He came back for the funeral and he brought his fiance,” Alex explained, before her eyes widened. “And Nat, she was wearing your ring.” 

Nat’s face fell and Chris felt her tense, her hand slipping out of his grasp as she asked in disbelief, “What?” 

“Yeah, she was wearing the same ring that you mailed back to him,” Alex informed her, shaking her head as she poured dressing over her salad. “I couldn’t even believe it.” 

But Eric thankfully spoke up, his voice firm but calm as he pointed out, “Alex, I don’t think that Nat wants to hear about it and frankly neither do I,” and then managed to change the subject after taking a bite of his dinner, “Chris, this chicken is so good. You really did a great job with this.” 

Chris laughed, shaking his head at Eric’s words. He was grateful for the change in conversation and confessed to the family, “I have about five things I can actually cook and this is one of them.” 

As the conversation shifted, Chris let his arm snake around Nat’s shoulders, pulling her closer to press a soft kiss to her cheek to silently try to tell her that he was there for her, knowing that couldn’t have been an easy thing to hear. It pained him to hear these little tidbits of Nat’s past, knowing the pain it must have brought her, but although he knew that he couldn’t change any of that, he could help change her future and hoped that he already was. 

Soon stories were being loudly retold around the table, causing Chris to crack up endlessly as they told story after story of Nat growing up, not a single one surprising him in the slightest. His gaze flickered over to the kids who were running around in the yard, Dodger chasing after them until Lily started hanging back from the group. He knew from what Nat had said that Lily was the shy one of the group and he recognized from his own moments in childhood that she was running out of energy and needed some space. 

Chris watched her stand by the edge of the grass just watching her sister and cousin for a while before quietly walking over and making her way to Nat’s chair. It warmed his heart to see Nat instinctively slide her chair back, opening her arms for Lily as the little girl climbed up on her lap to snuggle in. He saw the way Nat’s tense shoulders relaxed the moment Lily was in her arms, any lingering emotions from the Shane conversation finally wiped from her mind as she focused all her energy on making sure Lily was okay. And that, to him, was Nat in a nutshell. She’d light herself on fire to keep others warm, repress anything just to make sure you felt okay. And while it was to a fault sometimes, here it was nothing more than pure love for her little niece. 

Nat rested her chin on top of Lily’s head, listening to the story Ryan was telling before kissing the top of Lily’s head while she squeezed her softly. Chris saw the way that Lily was shyly glancing at him, making Chris smile at her as she buried her face back into Nat’s chest. He was content to leave her alone, knowing that she’d need time to warm up to him but Nat was the one who gently pushed her as she said, “Lily, did you know that Chris is the one who got you your favorite macaroni and cheese?” 

At Lily’s nod, Heather spoke up from next to Nat, asking, “Lily, what do you say to Chris?” 

“...Thank you,” Lily whispered, her green eyes tentative as they met his before they darted away.

Chris smiled, glancing down at the beaded bracelets on her little wrists, spelling out her name and some other words. “Lily, I like your bracelets. Did you make those?” He asked, pointing to them. 

“Mhmm,” she nodded, her hand moving to fiddle with them anxiously. 

“You should tell Chris what you got for Christmas last year,” Nat murmured, gently prodding her. 

“I got a, a big box of beads,” she told Chris, her eyes wide as he listened to her. 

“And she made all kinds of bracelets. She even made me a necklace with my name on it,” Nat added, Chris smiling at the girl. He already knew about the necklace, having asked about it during a random FaceTime call over the summer, but he knew Nat was simply trying to get Lily to open up a bit more. 

“Oh you know what? Lily, I’ve seen your Aunt Nattie wear that necklace so many times. She really loves it,” he told the girl, eyes wide. His smile grew as Lily looked up at him, surprised he’d seen it before. 

Nat tilted her head down, moving her left hand to rest on Chris’ arm as she told her niece, “Lily, did you see that Chris is wearing bracelets too? They even have beads like yours.” 

Lily’s eyes moved down to the black and red bracelets on his wrists, Chris moving his arms so she could have a closer look. After a moment’s scrutiny with a frown and furrowed brows, her green eyes lifted to look between her aunt and Chris, and she pointed out to them, “They’re not sparkly though.” 

“No, they don’t have those cool rainbow sparkly beads like yours do,” Chris sighed, shrugging forlornly. “You’re a pretty good artist, Lily. You make some pretty bracelets.” 

The little girl smiled at his praise, sitting up a little straighter and admitting, “I want to be an artist like Auntie Nattie.” 

“Remember what I told you Lily, you’re already an artist,” Nat corrected gently. 

Lily nodded seriously and Chris smiled at her, saying, “I’d like to see more of your drawings and jewelry sometime if you wouldn’t mind showing me, Lily.” 

“Okay,” she nodded, smiling at him before her eyes dropped back down to the bracelets on their arms. 

The rest of the evening passed quickly, with one last dip in the pool before the kids, shivering from the evening air, had popsicles while sitting wrapped up in their towels. As Carson’s yawns grew too frequent to ignore, Nat helped Heather usher the kids off to a guest room with Zach right behind them while Eric insisted on helping in cleaning up despite Chris’ protests. 

With Alex being uncomfortably pregnant, she stayed in her spot and worked on sealing up the bags of chips and stacking plates, Ryan started stacking up the extra chairs and Eric brought in a stack of dishes behind Chris. He put his stack in the sink while telling Eric he could leave them right on the counter, but Eric just ignored him and pulled open the dishwasher to start loading them in. 

“Eric, you really don’t need to do that,” Chris told the older man quietly, glancing to the side as he began handwashing some of the grilling utensils. “Nat and I will take care of it later.” 

But Eric simply shrugged, insistent as he suggested, “Or I could just do it now so you don’t have to do it later.” 

Chris frowned, shaking his head to himself as he continued washing the tongs and placed them on the dish rack. “My Ma would be very unhappy if she knew I was letting a guest do any work,” he admitted. 

“Good thing she doesn’t know then,” Eric joked, making Chris chuckle. After a few moments of silence while Chris continued washing the dishes and Eric reached for the next stack of plates, loading the dishwasher, her father added, “I’m sure she’ll be happy you’re going home tomorrow.” 

“Oh she is, and I am too,” Chris confessed while he placed the dish brush down, then pumped soap into his hands and began washing them. “I love being home in Massachusetts more than anything. I was supposed to be home all summer after shooting in Europe but that obviously didn’t happen.” 

Eric nodded to himself before a small smirk appeared on his lips and he shut the dishwasher softly. “Well I know someone that you made very happy by being in California,” he told Chris. 

Chris was unable to help the smile that spread across his lips, confessing to the man, “She’s not the only one who’s happy about it.” 

“You know Chris, when I was flying down here this morning, I was sitting on the plane thinking about this spring when I came to visit Nat,” Eric began, his voice low as he looked around the wide space, his eyes eventually locking onto the dark view outside of the home, overlooking the twinkling city of Los Angeles, occasionally glancing to Ryan and Alex as they cleaned up outside. He was quiet, quiet enough that the kids' shouts echoed throughout the home, but soon he admitted, “And I know I worry way too much about my girls, especially Nattie, but I just remember going home and feeling really unsettled about seeing just how lonely Nat was.” 

Chris’ brow furrowed as he listened to Eric speak, asking, “She was?” 

“I think with her breaking off her engagement early last year and then being home with us because of Covid, and now being back to work… Well, I think it was a hard adjustment. I know it wasn’t easy on her,” Eric shook his head, staring at his feet as he sighed, then he finally lifted his eyes to meet Chris’ from where they stood just a few feet apart, the small of his back against the marble counters while Eric leaned against the island. “And I guess what I’m trying to say is that coming back here today, I can see just how happy Nat is and I know a lot of that is thanks to you.” 

Chris felt himself shrink under the man’s praise, shrugging sheepishly as he divulged, “I’m not so sure about that, but I’d like to think I’m adding something to her life.” 

But Eric nodded confidently as he stared at Chris, making the younger man fidget under his gaze, instead focusing on Dodger as the dog wandered through the house and down the hall to find Nat. “Judging by the look in Nattie’s eyes, I can tell you’re adding a lot,” Eric murmured. 

And that one simple statement was enough to have Chris’ heart feeling warm from the inside out. He knew that Nat hadn’t been alone in struggling after starting to slowly come out of the pandemic. It had been a chance to look at things differently and see what really was important in life. He knew how much it had adjusted his own priorities and it seemed it had done the same for Nat, but he was thankful for every bit of it, knowing that all of it had helped in leading them together. 

But with how anxious Chris’ brain had been lately, he couldn’t help but have so many doubts. He had churned over and over in his mind how he possibly could be doing any good for Nat. How his life would only bring stress, publicity, and chaos to the life of someone – and her family – who wasn’t used to dealing with any of it. Chris knew he loved Nat with his whole heart, and knew that was only growing all the time, but in his inner turmoil the past few weeks he could only see what Nat brought to his life, and felt like he wasn’t bringing anything but negative to hers. 

All those thoughts had been swirling in his mind and then adding on the fact that her family was coming had only added to his anxiety. It wasn’t that he hadn’t looked forward to meeting them all, and in fact quite the opposite, but he knew how much the Marton family had gone through together in losing their mom and wife. He knew just how tight they all were, being so connected to one another and making their approval of him only more important because of the importance of them all in Nat’s life. But hearing Nat’s only parent assure Chris that he had been good to Nat, that he had made her happy, that he had made her feel loved, did more for his heart than he even knew. 

As if Eric could somehow seem to read his mind, Chris felt a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back out of his thoughts as he looked at Eric’s kind face smiling at him, reminding him so much of Nat in that moment. Feeling the deep emotions stinging at his heart, Chris couldn’t help but reach out and wrap his arms around the older man, sharing a hug with him as an unspoken connection between them was felt. When they let go of one another, Eric patted Chris’ shoulder before turning his head to look at Carson who had just wandered into the kitchen wearing his soft pajamas and hair wet. 

“Are we ready to go, buddy?” Eric asked, giving his grandson a knowing smile. 

Chris chuckled when Carson just yawned while nodding, as if to prove his point. As the rest of the kids straggled out of the guest room with Zach and Nat, Chris, Eric, and Carson headed towards the front door, Alex and Ryan came in from outside, heading to the door to grab their things and help the kids into their shoes before they turned to Chris and Nat. 

A loud chorus of goodbyes and “Nice to meet you!”’ were echoed by the door as hugs were exchanged by everyone before they filed out, soon leaving only Chris and Nat together while Dodger walked around their feet to head toward his dog bed in the living room, tired from all the energy he spent from playing with the kids. With Chris going to head back to Boston the following day, Nat had chosen to spend her night here and meet up with her family the next morning, and although Chris had told her not to worry about it, he couldn’t help but feel happy about it now that he got to have his Nattie all to himself. 

They cleaned up the last remnants of the evening together before they shut off the lights, heading down the hallway together with Dodger in tow. The dog hopped onto the bed and got comfortable while Chris and Nat headed into the bathroom, then the closet, to get changed for bed. He pulled his tee shirt up and over his head then tossed it to the laundry basket just as Nat, who was slipping on a pair of loose shorts and a baggy shirt, murmured, “Just so you know, you were a hit with my family.” 

He looked up at her with a grin, standing up straighter as he slipped his shorts off and put them in the basket as well. “I sure hope so,” he admitted, shaking his head as he followed her into the bathroom and reached for his toothbrush while she began washing her face. 

“Trust me, you were,” she insisted, leaning over the sink as she used the bottle of cleanser. 

But Chris rolled his eyes, meeting her gaze in the wide mirror as he stubbornly reminded her, “It was Annie's macaroni and cheese. That did all the heavy lifting.” 

“That sure did go a long way both with Lily and Heather,” Nat whispered as she patted her face dry, then reached for her own toothbrush. She squeezed toothpaste onto the brush while she met his eyes as he rinsed off his own brush and put it back in the stand, quiet as she added, “And me.”

He gave her a wry look and smirked as he leaned his hip against the countertop, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wait a minute, I thought I already won you over,” he told her, eyes on her as she brushed her teeth and shrugged innocently at him. 

“Jury’s still out on that one,” she finally answered with a laugh, making his come out too just as she turned off the toothbrush, rinsing her mouth and the brush out before she reached for the container of moisturizer and started applying it. “Seriously though Chris, thank you for being so good to my family. And especially for how sweet you were to Lily.” 

Chris shrugged, pursing his lips. He’d only wanted Lily to feel comfortable and safe there, not on edge and unsafe. He’d heard snippets of stories and one-sided conversations from Nat about the little girl and had an inkling of what was going on, but he wasn’t prepared for just how adorably attached she clearly was to her aunt. “She’s a sweet kid. It was cute seeing how much she loves you,” he told Nat with a faint smile as his eyes followed her as she finished up her routine. 

“The fact she even spoke to you was huge,” Nat told him through a yawn, stepping back from the vanity and leading him out of the bathroom and into his room. He crossed the room to shut the curtains before he made his way to the bed, where Nat was sitting at the head with Dodger curled up next to her while she rubbed lotion onto her hands. Chris declined her silent offer of the lotion, instead laying across the foot of the bed on his side and watching her. She surprised him when she spoke up, her voice small as she confessed to him, “She’s had a lot of social anxiety and it’s been… really hard. She’s struggled a lot and it’s been so hard on Heather and Ryan because they’re trying to help her but it’s just tough.” 

“I understand that. My anxiety was bad as a kid too,” Chris whispered as he nodded. 

“Really?” Nat asked, eyebrows raised as she looked at him. At his nod, her shoulders slouched and she told him, “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t realize you struggled with it that long.” 

Chris shrugged, running a hand through his dark hair and said, “I had a great family that helped me, and Lily does too so I know she’ll be okay.” 

“We’re all so worried about her, but seeing that she opened up to you a little bit was really sweet,” Nat murmured, smiling at the memory. 

“I’m glad she felt comfortable with me,” Chris spoke honestly, but then he quieted down as he looked at her carefully. “Are you okay, Nat?” 

She furrowed her brows and tilted her head at him, curious as she asked, “Why do you say that?” 

He shrugged, knowing there was a frown on his face as he looked down at the duvet, pulling off a loose thread. “You seemed a little thrown off when Alex brought up Shane, so I just wanted to see if you were alright,” he shrugged, glancing up at her eyes quickly. 

Nat frowned, her eyes locked on Dodger as the dog moved his head onto her lap. Her hand moved back and forth over his head, avoiding the question as she smiled faintly at Dodger’s tiny sounds of contentment. Finally, she lifted her shoulders in a half-shrug, chuckling softly before she gave Chris some insight and explained, “Well I certainly wish that Alex hadn’t just blurted that out in front of everyone, especially you, but that’s just Alex. She has no filter ever.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her, giving her a pointed look while he asked, “Oh because you do?” 

“I have more than Alex does!” She laughed, leaning back against the fluffy oversized pillows as she smiled at him. 

“Seriously though babe, that was kind of rough,” he leveled, watching her carefully. “It’s okay if you’re not feeling alright.” 

“I don’t even know,” she admitted quietly, staring down at Dodger as she thought. His eyes fell to the beloved dog as well, watching as Dodger’s blinks grew longer and slower until he fell asleep in Nat’s lap. “I feel like I’ve worked through so many of the emotions of that and it doesn’t really bother me, but kind of makes me feel… I don’t know… weird at times I guess.” 

“Well I’m here to listen if you want to talk about it,” he offered, trying to not push the subject and following her lead. “I’m a pretty good listener.” 

“Says who?” 

“Fuck off,” he smirked, laughing as she kicked his thigh lightly. “I’m being serious Nattie, you can always talk to me.” 

Nat quieted, and Chris could see the wheels turning in her mind before she finally admitted, “...I don’t even know where I’d start.” 

“Just start at the beginning,” he suggested, voice low and calm. 

“When Alex and Zach got married, I met Shane at their wedding. We danced a lot and talked and really seemed like we connected,” Nat explained, sliding her right leg closer and bending it until she could rest her chin on top of her knee. Chris’ left hand landed on her left ankle, thumb moving over the skin there as he listened to her words patiently. “He lived in Seattle then but a few months after he ended up moving to California for work.” 

“Is that when you guys started dating?” Chris gently asked, hoping his questions wouldn’t be unwelcomed. 

But she nodded, explaining, “Yeah, he called me up and told me that he’d moved and so we got together and that was that.” 

“How long were you together? It was a while, wasn’t it?” He asked, knowing he remembered the few conversations he’d had, both with Nat and with others, about Shane, but never recalling a number. His thumb kept moving along its path across her skin, his hand squeezing her ankle comfortingly.  

“Almost five years,” she supplied before she took a deep breath. “I feel like things were fine for a while, but the deeper we got in, the more we just didn’t see eye to eye.” 

“Like in what, babe?” He asked, brow furrowing. His thumb paused in its path, instead tapping as he thought. “Like in what you wanted out of the relationship?” 

“Yeah and just like… I don’t know, I guess our roles? Or what we expected,” she struggled to explain, shrugging as her hand slipped off of Dodger and began fidgeting. “I’ve always been pretty independent-” 

He couldn’t help himself as he drawled, “Really, I couldn’t have guessed that one.” 

“I thought you said you were going to listen to me?” 

“I am, I am, I’m just teasing,” he assured her, grinning a little. “Did Shane not like how independent you were?” 

“I wouldn’t say he didn’t like it, I’d say more that he didn’t understand it,” she clarified, just before a look of insecurity – one he’d never seen before on her face – appeared and she cleared her throat. “I think he just didn’t understand how much I love my job. I mean, art is not just my job, it's who I am in so many ways and I think that just wasn’t something he could wrap his mind around.” 

He squeezed her ankle again, thankful he could reach even just a little bit of her as his thumb resumed its path. “I get that. It’s the same with acting and how much of that creative appetite just really runs your decisions and what you want to do,” he tried to explain. 

“Exactly, and Shane is pretty much the opposite of that,” Nat told him, frowning through a sigh. “And it’s not like that’s bad, in fact, I think Shane’s a lot more stable and steady than I’ll ever be, but he just didn’t get me and more than that, it just felt like he didn’t want to.” 

“I’m sure that got worse the longer it went on.” 

Nat nodded, glancing back down at Dodger as she lifted her chin off of her knee and wrapped her arms around herself. “It did, and then Shane just would start dismissing a lot of my thoughts or feelings. If I was upset or just feeling really down about just life or my art or things like that, he’d usually tell me I was being dramatic and told me I needed to get a grip on things better. And some of that was probably true, I mean, I know I can be dramatic-” 

“Having feelings isn’t being dramatic,” Chris interrupted, knowing there must be a scowl on his face.  “Even if they are a little blown out of proportion at times, you’re still feeling it at that moment and having someone tell you to just calm down doesn’t help.” 

“It pretty much does the opposite,” Nat agreed, huffing. “But I just felt like he was always rolling his eyes at me. There were just always those ‘Oh Nat,’ type comments that just felt…shitty.” 

“Nattie,” he murmured, his heart shattering at her confession. 

“But some of it was my own fault. I mean, I’m the one who chose to stay with him. I felt that’s all I deserved so I put up with it and that’s on me.” 

Chris shook his head, wanting nothing more than to be able to show that piece of shit how he’d made Nat feel. “You still didn’t deserve to be made to feel that way though,” he insisted. 

“Yeah, I guess it’s just complicated. I agree that he shouldn’t have treated me that way, but I also never put a stop to it,” Nat explained, tightening her hold on herself. “I think the part that gets complicated is that Shane wasn’t a horrible person. He’s actually a really nice guy and we had a lot of good times together. I think that’s what made it more confusing.” 

Chris knew what she meant, that it was hard to reconcile that someone could be great, while also making her feel like shit, and likely having to explain it to people, having to explain it to someone who only saw the best in them. “I can understand that. If it was all bad, I’m sure you would have left,” he reasoned. 

 “I think really the bottom line is that I felt tolerated by Shane. I never felt like he actually enjoyed me if that makes sense.” Nat finally said, an arm moving from her torso to hold in mid-air, waving vaguely. “I felt like he put up with me and loved me in spite of myself, rather than loving me for who I was and I accepted that because I felt that’s all I’d get. I never felt like someone would actually like me, so the fact he put up with me was what I felt like I deserved.” 

“But you don’t Nat. You should never settle for someone who doesn’t love you for who you are.” 

“I know, but when you don’t think there’s much to love about yourself, that’s what you’ll accept,” Nat confessed, her eyes breaking from his own to glance at Dodger again. “And I think throughout the last year or two of our relationship I really started to see that. I realized that I couldn’t ask someone else to love a person that I didn’t love. I always hated what made me different rather than celebrating the beauty of that.” 

She was quiet as she stared at the sleeping dog, and Chris let her work through her thoughts, quietly waiting for her to be comfortable enough to share them with him, even if she was still scared. “And as I got a healthier self view, I saw how unfulfilling that relationship was but I wasn’t ready to just throw the towel in yet. And some things did get better and I thought we were going in a little better direction and we were engaged, but then he got a job in Europe and just expected me to move,” she finally admitted through a whisper. 

His eyebrows rose quickly and he scowled, almost scoffing as he asked, “Seriously?” 

“Yeah, he just didn’t even give it a thought and he got mad when I didn’t want to give up my job and everything I worked for and I knew that was it,” she shrugged, her arm moving back to hug herself again. “We had a huge fight and he left for Europe and told me if I came to my senses I could come to Europe but I just mailed him the ring and that was that.” 

“Nattie,” Chris breathed, shaking his head as he struggled to find the words to convey what he was thinking. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, but I’m so proud of you for standing up for yourself and all the incredible things you’ve accomplished and worked for.” 

She nodded and swallowed, breaking their eye contact again to stare at her legs, admitting, “That was the moment that I realized he didn’t love me for who I was and I was ready to let go at that point.” 

“That’s always a good feeling though, to know that it was time to walk away and feel confident in your decision,” he pointed out, wanting nothing more than to wrap her up in his arms, but knowing she was okay, she was here, with him, hopefully not feeling any of these things. She was safe, loved, and happy, and he’d keep it that way forever if it was up to him. 

“I’ve really changed a lot through all of it and honestly when I look back at it, I see how I’m such a different person on the other side of that and I don’t know if I would have gotten to the place I’m at emotionally if I hadn’t,” Nat finally recalled, a smile on her lips for the first time in nearly thirty minutes. “It really made me own who I was and learn to like Natalie Marton.” 

His lips twitched into a grin and he met her eyes, admitting, “Well I’m glad you do, because I like Natalie Marton a lot.” 

She rolled her eyes playfully, cocking her head to the side and sighing, “Sometimes I do still wonder why.” 

“I’ll be there in those moments to remind you, because I love you Nattie. I love you so much more than I knew I could love someone,” he told her without an ounce of hesitation. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” 

Her eyes welled up with tears and he hesitated for a moment, unsure what she’d want, but when a sob left her lips, he crawled up the bed, settling on the empty space to her right and pulling her into him. He shushed her, holding her as the tears flowed from her eyes. Chris rubbed his hands up and down her back, feeling her nuzzle her face into the crook of his neck as she clung to him and cried. 

But he was content to just hold her, comforting her in any way he could, knowing that these tears weren’t of raw pain, but rather from Nat finally getting to let out all of these feelings she’d likely been holding onto in pieces for years. She finally was able to put it all together and let it out, and nothing had made Chris feel more honored than being the one she confided in. Nothing had him more honored than to know she was finally letting go of that hurt, that she felt safe enough to finally do so, and he hoped she’d always feel not only safe, but secure enough to tell him anything. He couldn’t imagine how it’d felt to carry all of this alone for nearly six years, the course of their relationship and the year-long period it’d been since it’s dissolution, but as he pressed a kiss to her cheek, wiping her tears away one more time, he felt grateful that she loved him enough to share the load with him. 

[thatssonanii]

Baby Shower

Ten weeks flew by in a blur for everyone except Haleigh. She was so anxious and ready for her due date, she barely gave the baby shower a second thought. The only thing that excited her about it was that it meant she was that much closer to her due date.

Getting to the venue, Ardian helped her out of his SUV and pushed her hair from her face. She couldn't help but giggle at the excited look on his face. He was honestly more excited than she thought he would be especially since Roman and Rezar made it clear that they would be putting together all the furniture later that night.

"Excited?"

He nodded, grabbing her hand. "Yup. I got really good food at your gender reveal."

"Really?" She laughed. "Not for baby boy but for the food."

"I'm excited for him cause he get to eat good food too. Me and my best friend gon have a good day."

Haleigh waddled beside him, shaking her head.

When they got inside, Tia approached them with pins and pointed them to their chests. She ignored Ardian's protests about his pin, silencing him with a quick look.

"I'm gonna steal Mommy for a few minutes. Come on, Hae." Tia pulled Haleigh's hand away from Ardian and stared to gently pull her away.

"Wait," Ardian called out. He leaned over to talk to Haleigh's belly. "Don't kick Mommy too hard cause you think I left. I'm still here, best friend."

Tia chuckled. "But you ain't wanna put the pin on. Uhuh."

When they walked away, Ardian spotted them men in his family with the men in Haleigh's family. He went over to them to avoid getting hit later for not speaking. Rezar snorted seeing the pin and the other men laughed.

"See? Told you that's yo son," Eli joked slapping hands with him. "Glad to see you coming around to the truth."

Ardian laughed. "He just my lil best friend."

"Even I don't hold onto a lie this long." Tyrell joked slapping hands with his nephew.

"You barely let them outta your sight and when you not with them you texting and calling to check up on em. I had to make her let me take her to the store the other day." Jimmy said as he squeezed Ardian shoulders.

Jey nodded, agreeing with his brother. "Right, she kept telling me uhn uhn, Unc, Ardi gon take us. Had to put my foot down just to see her."

Roman and Rezar laughed listening to the men go on and Ardian blush. While they were talking, Haleigh was being interrogated by her sister in law and cousin in laws. They listened to her with smirks on their faces.

"Just friends? In what world?" Aunni laughed.

"They must have changed the meaning of friends." Nola joked.

Haleigh rubbed her belly, trying and failing not to laugh. "Talk been talking to Nicey and Morgan or something? Starting to sound like them."

"We actually hadn't yet," Tia admitted, "Only our mother in laws."

Haleigh rolled her eyes playfully. "Of course it was them. Me and him are just friends."

Nola rubbed Haleigh's back then her belly and spoke softly. "We know you're still a little shell shocked from the bitch boy so you're hesitant. And you don't wanna rush into anything while you're still carrying my nephew. But you can't keep running from your feelings, I know once he gets here neither of you will be able to or want to."

Aunni, Haleigh and Tia stared at Nola without saying a word making her chuckle.

"What?"

"I know it's bad if you're talking softly and being nice." Haleigh half-heartedly joked.

"That's right so you better listen cause that doesn't happen often."

The older women were making sure the food and treat tables were set up how they wanted and talked amongst themselves. Kandice and Tasha introduced their family to one another before the shower started.

"Guess you're a grandma too now," Apryl joked.

Kandice pinched her cousin. "Didn't I tell you not to call me that. I'm sure Tasha held the same way."

"And I do," Tasha nodded, "I am not a grandma."

Apryl laughed at the faces they made. "Grandma, Mama, Nana, GiGi ... either way yall got a grabdbaby coming."

"And don't be like your child and deny it." Monique added.

"Kandice, I say we don't invite these heffas when Hae has the baby for getting on our nerves."

"I think that's a great idea," Kandice answered.

Games were played, activities were done and now everyone was sitting around talking and eating. Haleigh sat at the table she shared with Ardian, waiting for him to bring their food to the table. In his absence, Roman slid into his seat, nudging his babygirl's shoulder playfully making her smile.

"Hey, Daddy."

"What's going on, Princess? How are you and my lil guy?"

"We're good, he pretty calm." She responded leaning against him. "What about you?"

He nodded, taking a look around the room. "I'm actually pretty good. You and lil guy have a lot of love in this from. I know at the beginning you were worried about how it would go without that boy but look at where we are now. He left to make room for someone even better."

She nodded listening to him.

"I know that boy tried to fuck up how you view men and relationships and trust but Ardian is changing your mind. Am I right?" He asked looking over at her.

"He is, Daddy."

"And I know it's scary but it's good for you and lil guy. Whatever your choice, you know Daddy's always her, Princess."

She smiled. "I know, Daddy."

"Good," he murmured kissing her head. "I hear he's gonna be in the delivery room with you."

"He is. He asked and I had been thinking about it so I was glad he did. You think I'm doing the right thing?"

"Doesn't matter what I think, Princess. But yes, I do."

"Thank you, Daddy. For everything."

"Don't have to thank me." He paused to look around once again. "Picked a name yet?"

"Yup," she answered proudly.

He chuckled. "Gonna share?"

"Nope! Everyone including Ardian finds out when he's born, Daddy."

Roman huffed playfully and kissed her head again before getting up. He helped Ardian out the plates on the table then slapped his back softly as he passed him. Making sure the two of them were occupied, Roman went to Rezar speaking softly.

"Step outside with us, real quick, big man."

Rezar nodded. "Everything okay?"

"My nephew wanted to show me and my cousins some texts he got. We may or may not need to make a trip later. We can leave Ardian out of it for now, Princess isn't gonna let him outta her sight right now."

"Sounds good," he smirked. "I'm gonna grab my brother in laws."

"Alright, meet yall outside."

Roman left Rezar, kissing his wife’s cheek as he passed her then went to his son. He squeezed his shoulder as he passed him, inconspicuously nodding towards the door. Catching the hint, Koda made eye contact with Eli and Milo and looked at the door.

[bananadrinkxxx]

THE BLOOD CROWN

PART 12

AEMOND FANFICTION

"I can't let Rhaenyra lose another child,"

Aemond heard his mother say, softly, dejected and exhausted. Her voice was weak. But she wasn't. His mother was the strongest woman Aemond knew. Sacrificing her youth for the crown, always dutiful and always righteous, she had been a great support to the kingdom. Unlike his half-sister, who only did what she wanted. Took what she didn't deserve.

"Rhaenyra is aware of the consequences of her actions, my dear child. It's not your responsibility to protect her."

"Is she? I'm not sure. From her point of view, we have stolen something from her. That letter, was it a good idea?"

Even though Aemond had nothing but bitter feelings for Rhaenyra, Aemond understood his half-sister to some extent. Even if he was convinced that she was not entitled to the throne, he still understood her situation. His father had appointed Rhaenyra as heir to the throne and had never deviated from it. And on the evening of his death, after he had even defended Rhaenyra's position at court by preferring his nephew, a bastard without any doubt, to someone who stood before him in birthright, the truth tasted bitter. But Aemond believed his mother. Probably, shortly before his death, his father had a clear flash of insight that showed him that his decision to name his daughter as heir to the throne not only broke the law, but also threatened to split the kingdoms.

"It is the final warning. Either Rhaenyra accepts Aegon as the rightful ruler or her absence will be seen as rebellion. Even if it's just stubborn behavior on her part, enemies of the crown, will see her lack of acceptance as justification to take up arms against Aegon."

"Rhaenyra's pride is hurt but she will not risk the downfall of this realm."

"That's very naive thinking, Alicent. Rhaenyra would be willing to sacrifice anything and everything for the throne. The moment you show weakness," Otto warned, "she will take everything from you. Take everything from us. And don't forget who is standing by her side. Daemon has proven that he thirsts for blood and war. Are the lives of your children so unimportant to you?"

Aemond heard a bang. It sounded like the palm of a hand hitting a flat object. "You shame me with your words, father. My children mean everything to me. They are my priority. They will always be my priority."

It was true that his mother often seemed cool and distant. Often enough it was hard to understand her, often he had misunderstood her reactions, misinterpreted her, but at the same time he adored this woman. She was hard to read but her righteousness, her loyalty, her honesty and her modesty, were an example for every depraved soul. And when he had been hurt, she was the only one who had fought for him. She was ready to cut out a child's eye so that justice could be restored to him. He would never forget her love and kindness. Her will to fight for him.

"And yet you underestimate Rhaenyra's desire for power. Rhaenyra is gathering allies around her. Right now. In this minute. I am amazed that you still rate your friend as innocent."

"I don't rate her as innocent!," Alicent scolded. He had never heard his mother talk like that. She always had a calm, deliberate tone.

He knew that this conversation was not meant for his ears. He had not intended to eavesdrop. It had been a coincidence that he heard this conversation. The door was only slightly ajar when he went to visit his mother. He had not known that his grandsire was already with her. And now he stood here, in secret, listening to a conversation that was not meant for his ears.

"And yet you refuse to accept the situation as it is."

"As it is...?"

"Aegon must defend his position. He must not show any weakness. Unfortunately, you are still, the only one to whom Viserys has revealed the change in his will. Officially, Rhaenyra is still the appointed heiress, which means that her submission is the most important part of Aegon's position."

"This is not news to me. I am aware of it."

"Then surely you are also aware, should Rhaenyra not give a satisfactory answer by the next moon, we will have to have Lucerys executed."

Alicent made a gasping sound. She seemed upset, grieving. Aemond knew that her main concern was not for Lucerys but for Rhaenyra. Even though the two were enemies, Aemond knew of the deep bond and friendship the two women had shared in their youth.

"I can't."

"You wrote it down yourself."

"Yes but to do it is an complete different thing."

Aemond hated Lucerys. Since taking his eye, he had had no other feeling for his nephew, yet the prospect of his execution tasted bitter on his tongue.

"And still the only way when-"

"No. She already lost a child, I can't-"

"The miscarriage wasn't our fault, you-"

"You know I'm not talking about this regrettable incident. I'm talking about her daughter. Her first daughter!," Alicent's voice boomed. "It's wrong. So wrong."

Then he heard his mother crying. She was sobbing, he could hear the pain, feel it in every pore, it was heartbreaking and Aemond couldn't bear it any longer. He had heard enough. Aemond moved away from the door.

Her first daughter.

Aemma Velaryon.

A name he had not thought of in a long time. A name that he had associated from his memory, just like the girl that had once carried it.

The girl who disappeared without a trace.

He had never paid much attention to her. She was just another bastard of Rhaenyra, who had pushed him only a little further from the throne.

Still, his memories of her were the most formative.

Aemond had been a little boy then. A dragonless little boy.

He had hoped then that one of Syrax's eggs would be for him, after the dragon of Rhaenyra had laid three dragon eggs just before Jacaerys was born. It would have been perfect. One for the child in her womb, the second for him, and the third for whomever. All that mattered was that he would receive an egg. He deserved it. He was pure blood. Pure valyrian blood.

He had fallen asleep every night dreaming of his dragon.

Only it had not been for him.

Prince Jacaerys had been born a healthy boy, with a strand of hair as black as coal. He had found it weird that he looked so different. So strange. But he didn't think any further about it. What was important was his egg. Aemond did know that the first egg wasn't for him. He knew it was for her first born. He had thought that he would receive the second, but no matter how long he had waited patiently, the wish had remained a wish.

It had not taken long for Rhaenyra to carry another child. Another bastard who got the dragon egg. But despite his bitterness, Aemond had remained patient until only two moons after Lucerys birth, Rhaenyra was again blessed with a child. Whereby it was more like a curse for Aemond. He had been ashamed of it at the time, but still he had hoped that Rhaenyra would lose the child. If this child did not exist, he would get his dragon.

Aemma Velaryon had been born sickly.

Too early and much too small. The spitting image of her brothers, the third bastard.

He had looked down on her. A small ugly thing, with a too small nose and too big eyes,wrapped thick in blankets, covering a lack of silver hair and Targaryen eyes.

Aemond had his eyes on the commander of the city watch, who had more in common with her than her supposed father Leanor Velaryon, who raved to the king about Aemma's enchanting nature.

He had wondered if they were blind. He had never seen such an ugly baby.

"Brown hair again," his mother had commented. "How fascinating."

He had noticed the hostile look between her and Rhaenyra. Maybe it was this moment when he understood for the first time that they were not family.

After that, she had left.

Aemond had not been in a hurry to leave. He had watched Aemma, watched her embrace the egg that should have been his.

He leaned over as far as he could and peered into the cradle holding the little baby with brown eyes.

She stared at him, fascinated. She had slept most of the time, now she gazed intently at him.

"Don't worry," Aegon had said, "she'll be dead soon. I overheard the midwives. She is weak. Then the egg is yours."

Aemond had not wanted her death and yet hope had taken hold of his heart. Hope of having an dragon. And then came shame.

Only she hadn't died.

As weak and frail and sickly as she had been, she simply hadn't died. And when they had placed the dragon egg in her cradle, it had been the first egg of the three to hatch. As if it were a sign that this one was meant for Aemma.

After that, Aemond had not had much to do with the little girl.

She was too young, too girlish, and yet he had never been able to take his eyes off her when she entered the room. Her laughter had set off a strange tingling inside him. With age, she had lost her ugliness. Her nose suddenly fit her face and her eyes were no longer too big.

Aemma had not been of great importance to him, and yet it felt strange when he learned of her disappearance. It saddened him, depressed him, and he had hoped that he would find her, on Vhagar, bring her home, as a hero on his heroic dragon.

He wondered what happens to her. To the little silly girl who was fascinated by fire and strange paper dragons. Maybe she was dead, as everyone assumed, swallowed up by the waves of the sea, reaching for the girl, which mistakenly called herself a Velaryon.

She did not deserve this death, if it had come to her.

Aemma, unlike her brothers, had had a good and pure heart. He remembered a situation that today he saw as a good deed but at the time he had misjudged. Ruined by her brothers ruined by her mother, he had believed only in the bad in her.

She had found him crying after her brothers and also his own brother had given him a pig, his new dragon, as they called it. Aemma had given him a paper dragon as a replacement for his dragon that didn't exist. "Here, until you own one." Aemond had stared in bewilderment at the white folded figure in her small hand."You can ride my dragon with me when he grows up," she had offered Aemond when he had been teased again by her brothers, still dragonless. 

He had pushed her, hurt her, she had cried, and he had felt guilty. After that, she had not spoken to him again.

They had not been present when Aemma disappeared. It was the night after his injury, after the loss of his eye. Aegon had called it the revenge of the Seven, but Aemond had wondered even then, if it had been the revenge of the Seven, why she had taken Aemma and not Lucerys with them.

Probably a question to which he would never get an answer.

He prayed for her safe return. Probably the first time he had prayed for someone other than himself. But his prayers had never been answered.

T̶H̶E̶ ̶B̶L̶O̶O̶D̶ ̶C̶R̶O̶W̶N̶

Rose had no idea how to start the conversation with Lucerys. She didn't even know if he wanted to see her. When she entered his chambers, he was sitting in his chair, his legs entwined, his head resting on his knee. Just like that time, she thought. Only this time he seemed thinner, frailer, weaker. The time in captivity had taken its toll on him.

She did not ask if she could enter. She went up to him and put the plate with the lemon cake on his table. Queen Helaena had said that was his favorite cake. Lucerys looked up in surprise. He hadn't heard her, or he had ignored her, expecting his enemies.

But Rose was not an enemy. Or was she?

"Is it true? Did Daemon attack you?," Lucerys surveyed. His eyes slid over her body as if searching for evidence.

"Yes, unfortunately, my prince."

"I'm sorry about that."

She now had the opportunity to lie. To make Prince Daemon look bad, but Rose didn't think that was a good idea. She didn't want to upset Lucerys, and even though the situation had been dangerous for her, she understood the Rogue Prince's anger.

"He seemed enraged. He demanded your release," she reported, folding her hands in front of her body.

Lucerys nodded. He didn't seem surprised.

"My stepfather is often guided by his emotions. It must have been an interesting conversation."

"It was quite brief, my prince."

Lucerys laughed and looked at the lemon cake. He took the spoon (they didn't dare give him a knife) and "cut" the cake in half.

"Hungry?" he asked, looking at her. Rose was surprised at his offer, but she declined with a smile.

"Thank you, my prince, but I can't. I am allergic to lemons."

Lucerys looked at her in surprise. Something flitted across his gaze, something unfamiliar, and for a brief moment she saw a look of pain in his eyes.

"Just like my sister."

"You have a sister?" Rose didn't know anything about that. She only knew about Lucerys' brothers.

"Some would say I had one, but I do not believe it."

"I must confess I do not understand, my prince."

The corner of Lucerys mouth pulled up slightly, but it did not seem like a smile.

"My sister, Aemma. She disappeared without a trace a few years ago."

"Your sister disappeared?"

Rose didn't know anything about that.

"She was very young. Everyone thinks she's dead, even my brother Jacaerys, but Mother and I are the only ones holding on to the fact that she's alive. They never found her body."

It sounded cruel. Not knowing what had happened to a loved one. To be constantly tormented with hope that this person was alive after all. Or was hope the only thing that kept you breathing?

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure she's still alive so you can hold her in your arms again one day."

Lucerys gave her a warm look. Gratitude was in his eyes. He nodded. "I hope so. I'm just afraid I won't recognize her. Or that she won't recognize me. But sometimes I think I know what she would look like," he said, looking at Rose again. His gaze was intense. "You remind me of my sister. I imagine her the way you look. Your eyes, your hair, I think she would look like you."

Rose didn't know what to say.

"You're probably wondering what happened, aren't you?"

She nodded. Lucerys pointed to the seat next to her and Rose complied.

"We don't know ourselves. My sister should have been in her bed, asleep, protected from the world, and when my mother went to check on her, she was gone. Without a trace. We haven't seen her since."

That sounded cruel. "That must have been very hard."

Lucerys took a bite of the cake. "Yes, but it hit my mother the hardest."

Rose could imagine that.

"Tell me about your mother," Rose asked, smiling. Lucerys looked at her in surprise.

"You want to talk about my mother?"

Rose nodded. "Of course, if you wish.  I hear she's delightful. Realm's Delight, they call her."

"Not anymore, is it?"

"Hmm, now I guess it's more like Black Queen."

The Black Queen was by now a title known throughout the kingdom. But here at court, one was not allowed to put it in one's mouth unless one wanted to lose one's tongue.

"She shouldn't be called that. She is the true queen. Viserys appointed her as heiress."

"And if he changed his mind?" The possibility was there.

Lucerys looked at her angrily. "He hasn't. The Greens have always had it in for the throne."

"They're sitting on it now. Your mother isn't."

"They stole the throne from her."

"So you want her to take it back? Risk war?"

She hadn't been lying when she said the prospect of war didn't scare her. Most people would be frightened by the thought, but unlike her, most people still had something to lose as well. In her case, it would only be her own life. She didn't want to lose it, but sometimes she wondered if she wanted to grow old as a servant. The life of a servant was nothing to aspire to.

"The war would not have to be if they had not started it. Everything it does and will do is justified."

"And your death? Would that be justified, too? If she doesn't bend the knee."

Lucerys looked for a moment like he was going to burst into tears. As if the weight on his shoulders was becoming too heavy. He looked like a child longing only for his mother's embrace.

His lip trembled as he tried to smile.

"I would be ready. It's my mother's birthright. My brother's birthright," he murmured, but his voice was strong. "I'm not lying, of course I'm afraid. I'm afraid of death, but I have faith in my mother. She will do the right thing."

Rose had to admit that she was surprised at the love Lucerys felt for his mother. She couldn't say the same for herself. She had loved her mother, longed for her warmth and closeness, but no matter how hard she had fought for it, Rose had always felt that it had been one-sided. She had been sad when her mother had died, suddenly completely alone in this cruel world, but she had always known that her mother had meant more to her than she had meant to her mother. She knew that she would not have been willing to die for her mother.

But Lucerys would be. It is. He would do anything for his mother and suddenly Rose felt miserable. Lonely, abandoned. She felt envy, and regret, wishing she could have what Lucerys had. Of course, his situation seemed more deplorable than hers, trapped and ignorant of his future, which swung like a sword over his head, threatening to strike down on him at any moment, but he had something she never had. A family. Someone who loved her. Rose wondered what it was like to be loved.

She could keep arguing with Lucerys. Try to change his mind. But that would be wasted effort. He wouldn't budge from his position. No matter how much it would hurt him, how much it would harm him, Lucerys Velaryon would not break.

"Aside from her birthright, do you think she would make a better queen than Aegon?" she knew how dangerous the words she spoke were, but she did not remain silent. "What is she really like? As a human? Not as a queen. Tell me why your mother deserves it, aside from her birthright," she asked instead, and Lucerys looked at her in surprise.

"Isn't her birthright decisive enough?"

"Probably, but we are in a situation where people have to choose sides. Who do they choose?"

"The rightful queen."

"That is wishful thinking, my prince. The people are simple. They have been presented with a king. Now the only question is who they want."

Lucerys surveyed her. For a brief moment, it looked like he was going to deny her request before he smiled.

"Hmm, my mother is the purest and kindest woman I know. Perfect, perfect for me. She has never judged me for anything, on the contrary, she has always supported me," Lucerys began to gush. "She is just, and respects the opinions of others. She wants to protect this realm. She can protect this realm. A woman is no less fit to rule than a man."

It was strange to hear these words from the mouth of a young man. Most people in this realm would probably disagree with him. A man was always preferred to a woman. If that were not the case, they probably would not be in this situation.

Rose had entered with the thought and the will to change Lucerys mind, to make him bend the knee, but suddenly it felt so wrong. As if she wanted to take something from him. But she realized that she couldn't change Lucerys' mind. He would not bend the knee. He adored his mother, with every fiber of his body, and no one would be able to change that. For a moment the envy returned. She wondered what it would have been like to have a mother like Rhaenyra Targaryen, a mother who would inspire that love in her. She suddenly missed that love that had never been hers.

"I wish you would bend the knee. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you," she confessed, looking sadly into the prince's eyes.

Lucerys nodded and reached for her hand. He squeezed it and Rose returned it. Although they hardly knew each other and were from different backgrounds, the bond between them was something she could not explain.

The prince seemed familiar and Rose had already taken him into her heart.

"You know I can't do this. But I thank you for everything, Rose."

And he broke her heart.

NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE FULL OF ROSE AND AEMOND.

I know you'd rather read about our two lovebirds than these conversations that seem rather trivial at first, but this chapter is very important.

[museywrites]

Xiantober 2023 - Day 1: Dad!Xian

Word Count: 1,323 Pairing: Wangxian Tags: Parent Wei Ying, Children with unnamed ex, Smooth Lan Zhan, OC Children, MPREG

Wei Ying heaved a sigh and watched as his three young children ran around the park. Today was his first day off in almost two weeks, and he was exhausted. Between getting up early (never an easy task for Wei Ying), getting the kids ready and off to daycare, the grueling tasks at work, and then feeding, bathing, and playing with his beloved children after work, he was wiped out.

He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for 1,000 years. But that's not what parents get to do.

Of course, Wei Ying loved his children, and he would do this every day without question, but that didn't mean he wasn't tired. He wanted a new job as well, but with such little time for himself, he never really had a chance to apply to new places.

So for now, he'd deal.

After rubbing his eyes, he noticed the twins fighting for control of the slide and he frowned. "Baihe! HeLian! Share the slide!"

A little pouty chorus of "Yes, baba!" sounded and Wei Ying nodded, pleased that they were listening.

Wei Ying stifled another yawn before he heard someone close by clear their throat and he turned to see who it was.

He half expected it to be some other parent, ready to complain to him about how he's raising his children, but what he didn't expect, was the world's most beautiful man to be standing there with two cups in his hand, looking rather unsure.

"Pardon me," he started rather unsurely. "I hope you don't find this rude or uncomfortable. But I noticed how tired you seemed..."

He frowned, realizing that likely wouldn't be something someone would want to hear. "But, I just grabbed a tea for myself, and thought you might like a coffee as well."

At first, Wei Ying had half a mind to tell this beautifully sculpted man, with his perfectly tuned voice to fuck off.

Of course he was tired! He was a single parent of three, had no help, had a shitty job, the list went on and on! The last thing he needed was some god-like stranger telling him how tired he was.

But then he heard about the coffee.

Then, he noticed the little boy peeking out from behind him.

Oh.

Oh, he was just another parent looking out for another parent. Wei Ying gave a tired smile and nodded. "You have no idea how good a coffee sounds right now, thanks a bunch! How much was it? I can pay you back."

The man handed over the coffee and then gently touched the little boy's head. "Jingyi, go play."

He nodded and hurried off to play and Wei Ying noticed he instantly gravitated towards his A-Yuan.

"You do not need to pay me back," the man finally addressed. "May... I sit?"

"Oh, fuck! Yeah, sorry." He grabbed the bag beside him, moved it to the ground, scooted over for him as the man sat down. "Are you sure? You definitely didn't need to do that. Buy a stranger a coffee I mean."

"I am certain." He assured, he seemed uncomfortable, like he wasn't used to striking up conversation.

"Well, thanks a bunch." Wei Ying took a sip of the coffee and sighed happily. "It's hard wrangling three kids into a coffee shop, and my coffee maker is broken- go figure, so I haven't had any today."

"Is... your partner not able to help watch them while you get a cup?"

"Oh, pfft, nah. That ass is a deadbeat that I haven't seen since the twins were born. It's just me."

The man seemed surprised by that, unsure how anyone could just leave their children, or their significant other. Especially one as beautiful as this man.

"You're son is cute." Wei Ying spoke up, breaking the man's train of thought.

"My... son? Oh! No," he shook his head. "Jingyi is my nephew."

"Oh! Shit, my bad. You two just look so much alike, I assumed. Sorry!"

"No, it's alright. You're not the first to assume."

Wei Ying smiled a little, the coffee certainly waking him up a little. "Well, he's lucky to have such a handsome uncle!" A pause. "Caring! I meant caring uncle!"

The man's lips quirked briefly into a smile before his neutral expression returned once more and Wei Ying thought he'd kill to see that smile last.

"Mn. And your children are lucky to have such a beautiful father."

Wei Ying's eyes widened and he sputtered lightly, spitting some of his precious coffee out. "Wha- n-no, i--" He laughed a little. "I appreciate the compliment, but I'm a fucking mess." He glanced down at himself, clothes that he was pretty sure weren't in the clean pile, a few food stains from the kids, dark circles under his eyes, his hair was a mess.

"I disagree." The man said simply, taking a sip of his tea. "I think you are stunning. Perhaps... Perhaps it is a good thing you 'look like a mess'. If you looked any more gorgeous, you would be causing accidents."

Silver eyes widened in disbelief, looking at this Adonis of a man as if he said the most outrageous thing in the world. And he had! Yet. Here was Wei Ying, with his heart fluttering against his ribcage. He cleared his throat and hid his face against his coffee cup.

"I don't think that's fair coming from the world's most gorgeous man."

"Most gorgeous? But I'm the one who said it, not you." Once more, Wei Ying sputtered, looking at this man in absolute disbelief. But the man in question only raised his brow lightly, lips twitching into a faint smirk that was gone almost instantly.

All of it left Wei Ying flustered beyond belief. He had never been flirted with so shamelessly before!

Normally, he was the shameless one. So all he could do was clear his throat, take a sip of his glorious coffee, and introduce himself.

"I'm Wei Ying."

"Mn, it is a pleasure to meet you, Wei Ying. I am Lan Zhan."

And that is how two strangers met for the first time, kickstarting their future together.

For three months, Lan Zhan 'courted' Wei Ying. Which mostly meant he came over and cooked dinner while Wei Ying tended to the kids. It meant he stayed past their bedtime and talked with Wei Ying until the other passed out from exhaustion.

Lan Zhan would then carry him to the bedroom, and leave, making sure the door was locked.

It meant he would invite Wei Ying and the children out, happily helping with them and playing with them to give Wei Ying a brief moment to himself.

Eventually, it meant convincing Wei Ying to leave the children with Lan Zhan's brother or uncle so they could go on dates.

To say that he spoiled Wei Ying was an understatement. Their dates ranged from beautiful restaurants, to quiet picnics in the park, even to lavish in-home dates where Lan Zhan made a beautiful meal and the pair soaked in a bubble bath with candles for just a tad too long.

Wei Ying was head over heels.

When Lan Zhan officially asked him to be his boyfriend, he made it very clear that he wanted to be a part of the children's life. How could Wei Ying say no? He adored this man. The children loved him. They meshed so well together.

In less than a year, they were married. Wei Ying and the kids moved into Lan Zhan's beautiful home,

Wei Ying ended up putting in his two week notice only a month later when he learned he and Lan Zhan were expecting their first child together. Lan Zhan insisted he not work during his pregnancy. With his job, they would be fine.

Nine months later, they welcomed a little girl called YueHa to their family. And for once, life was truly perfect.

END

[inej-ruination-ghafa]

LOVE AND WAR

005 | TO YOU, TO ALL OF YOU

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Warnings: ptsd, violence, murder, attempted mugging, knives, slight anxiety

Summary: you are in the capital city of the universe, attending a gala but all the memoris of the past come flooding back. What do you do when you start to miss the people you shouldn't

Wordcount: 2.8k

You stood in the large building, watching people walk around and talk and you could feel the bile rising up your throat at the idea of being back here. 

When you woke up this morning, you had not expected to be attending a gala that celebrated ten years since the Death Star blew up. 

You had never wanted to be part of this society, part of the stuffy group of politicians who had no care whether they were led by the new republic or the empire. Part of a society where they only cared for themselves. Nobody here had to fight for their freedom and nobody cared. 

You smoothed down the satin dress, the brown fabric wrinkling up by every step that you took up the steps. You hadn’t been in the town for two years, the last time being for your nephews third birthday nearly two years ago. 

There was that sickening feeling in your stomach at the idea of being here. They had somehow found your address after four days of being in the city and had invited you to a ball - clearly they had someone keeping tags on when ‘war heroes’ like you arrived in the city. 

You took a deep breath, trying to hold back everything like you always did and you walked up to the doors, a man opening it for you. Everyone turned their heads to see who was the most recent person to walk in the door and they all looked shocked at the sight of you. 

To say you were a bit of a recluse would be completely true and most people here haven't seen you in around two and a half years so you expected the stares that were burning into you as you walked down the steps. 

There were silent whispers to each other, mumbles of rumours about what you had been doing all this time, about whether they saw you on that bounty puck or not, that they thought you had died. 

Your face burned as you heard the whispers echoing around the room. You made a beeline to the drinks table, grabbing a glass of some strong alcoholic drink before walking to some random corner that you knew you could hide in. 

One thing that they had mentioned on the card is that you would be making a speech about your experience as part of the team who had brought the Death Star plans and had been in one of the X-wings when the death star had been blown up. 

Public speaking was something that made you sick to your stomach but you managed to hold it down, at least for now. You weren't going to let your anxiety get the best of you, especially not at something this important. 

"You don't call me in 18 months and suddenly turn up at this gala," a voice said and you froze where you were. You turned around on your heels, staring face to face with your older brother. 

He looked like he had aged a lot since you had last seen each other and you were sure that you had too. He was growing out a scruffy beard and you noticed that it deep began under his eyes, like he was suffering from the same lack of sleep that you were. 

"It's a gala for my people Han, I couldn't not show up," you meant that it was a gala for the rebellion, instantly separating herself from him. He may have been part of the rebellion but never to the extent that you were, "I'm the only living member of the crew left to accept the award,"

Han sighed. He was seeing the same revolving cycle from before, you carrying all the weight on your shoulders and him being shut out because of it, "It's not for them, it's for the anniversary of the death star being blown up," he said and you nodded, knowing it was the ten year anniversary this week. 

You clenched your jaw, "And you wouldn't have been able to do that without us," the last word was emphasised and he knew what you meant. He knew who us was. 

Han was ready for an argument, his lack of sleep and his anger at you for not calling him bubbling up to the surface, "I'm sure they would have," 

You scoffed, pointing your finger against his suit clad chest, pushing him back slightly, "No, I helped get those plans there," 

The action riled him up and you watched as he took a step forwards, straightening up. You had known him your entire life and although the two of you argued, you had never seen him this mad, "If you'd have gotten the plans, you'd be dead right now," the words came out venomous. 

You knew your brother was right, you knew that you would be dead and that was what made your blood boil, what kept you up at night. Just being at a gala that celebrated the death of your friends made you sick and you couldn’t understand how Han didn't realise it, how it didn’t hurt him as much. 

"I wish I was!" The words were loud as you spat them out but nobody heard it over their conversations. You could feel the tears burning behind your eyes and so did Han, "I've sacrificed everything for the rebellion. I lost everyone I loved for those plans, everyone!" Your bottom lip was wobbling as you tried to hold back tears, hold back the pain, "I'm not letting some senators take the award for it, they don't understand the blood on their hands,"

He stood there for a second, taking a deep breath. Han knew how much you had gone through, how you had to fight every day after he left you and that guilt in his chest would never go away, "Come here kid," he held his arms out. 

He pulled you in for a hug, wrapping his arms around you. One thing he realised growing up was that he wasn't a good enough brother but before he could make it up to you, you vanished. 

Han pulled away, hands on your shoulders as he looked down at you, "I'm sorry you went through all that without me, okay. I wish I could've done something, I wish I would have at least met the people you care so much about," he said. 

You gave a shrug, blinking away the tears that threatened to escape, "Well it's okay, nobody met them. And nobody remembers them. Nobody seems to care about the people who started this," you explained, shaking your head, "I sacrificed everything and I'm basically forgotten about,"

"You're not forgotten, you just aren't in the political scene," he said with a shrug. 

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest, "You sound like your wife," you stated and he chuckled to himself. 

"Do you need something?" He asked, knowing that there had to be a reason why you came back to the place that you hated so much, "Is that why you came here?"

You purse your lips together, trying to figure out how to say it politely. You knew he would understand but it was still a difficult scenario, "Lady Proxima has had a bounty on my head the last 18 months Han, I want it gone," you stated. 

His eyes went wide and you didn't mind, expecting the reaction. He spluttered the words out, unsure why he did that, "Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

You shrugged my shoulders, trying to act nonchalant about it, "I tried to kill her and failed," you explained and Hans' mouth fell open, shocked at your actions. He knew that you could be violent but he hadn't expected that, "And I didn't want to worry you, your son was ill, you were stressed,"

"Ben's fine now," he said, placing his hand on your shoulder, "And you don't have to worry, I'll get it all sorted out,"

You smiled politely, "Thanks," you muttered, the embarrassment of your action creeping up on you. 

The interaction reminded you of the person that you were trying to forget. When you had told Mando about it, he had been supportive and had offered to help you fix it. Your brother seemed more in shock. 

You had been trying to stop thinking about the Mandalorian and his child the whole time you’d been in Coruscant but you couldn’t. There was something about them that stuck with you, like the universe was telling you that you made the biggest mistake in leaving them. 

Han hadn't even noticed your change in demeanour, "After the gala, come stay at mine for the night, Leia would love to see you," he said and you gave him a polite smile. 

You felt someone tap a hand on your shoulder and you turned to see a man standing there. He looked at you for a second before explaining the situation, that you were to come up to the stage now and Han could see the horror flash over your face. 

“You’ll do great,” he said, a reassuring tone to his voice that was so different from normal - fatherhood had made him soft. 

You stood there, pursing your lips together. Taking a deep breath, you started to walk to the stage, heels clicking across the marble floor of the gala room as the crowd parted its way to let you through. 

Once again, all their eyes were on you and before you walked up to the stage, you turned and took everyone's eyes on you, burning into you. They were all hungry for what you were going to say and you had to take another deep breath before ascending the stairs. 

In your head, you could almost hear Mandos parting words, that you were brave and were going to be fine and you had to believe it. 

You walked up the mic, tapping it once, cringing as you heard the static echo through the room, causing everyone to wince. You mumbled a whispered sorry into the mic before looking up again. 

There must be at least a thousand people in their best dresses and suits standing in the room, eyes trained on you as you stood on the stage, fumbling with the cards in your hand that you had written some notes on. 

You were a military captain for years, a spy, a murderer. You had given enough pep talks and speeches of plans to people for years and you couldn’t understand the anxiety building up inside of you at the sight of all these people, attentions trained solely on you. Maybe it was because you always had him by your side. 

That's why you were here. You were here for him and he deserved to be represented properly. You deeply inhaled one more time through your nose, chest heaving at the action in your tight dress and you rolled your shoulders back, confidence filling your posture. 

Fake it till you make it. 

“Thank you for all coming to celebrate the moment that sparked the fire of the rebellion,” you said, the words coming out clear and precise. 

Actually, the words were clinical and rehearsed and you hated the way they sounded coming out of your mouth. As you looked down at the cards in your hands, fingering the different pieces of cards, sweat smudging the ink of your writing and you decided to do the one thing Cassian always told you to do - be yourself. 

"This is to everyone that you forget," you said and Han watched as you held the cards down, averting your eyes from them and looking out over the crowd who were hanging on your every word, "75% of the people in this room didn't fight for the rebellion, most of you sat there and let it happen, not caring if we were imperial or republic,"

The crowd was beginning to whisper between themselves, and not in the way that they had been earlier. This time, they were mad. They had slightly narrowed eyes and you could see their brows pulling together. You felt your breath get shaky as you realised they were all judging you but you weren't going to back down and just tell the truth.

"This is to Captain Cassian Andor, to Jyn Erso, the daughter of the man who built those flaws into the death star for us, to Galen Erso, to Bodhi Rook who without we wouldn't have had the plans, to Chirrut and Baze, to Melshi who saved my-" she froze, not knowing what the right words were, how to describe her best friend, "-who saved Cassian too much from himself,"

Han could see you standing up there on stage, looking at the cards in your hands as you tried to hold it back. He knew how much all those people meant to you and he knew how much it hurt to stand there without him. 

"Come on kiddo,” he muttered to himself, willing you to continue talking. 

You took a deep breath, eyes meeting your brothers in the crowd, "This is to the members of Rogue One, who died getting those plans," "Without them, none of this would have happened. Yet you all forget. This is for the real heroes of the rebellion, not me," 

They started to cheer, seeming like they had worn up to your speech. Clearly, they had not realised what the fable was about, that they were not the ones saving the galaxy. 

You put on a polite smile, walking down the steps to the monotonous sound of applause. They smiled, congratulating you as you walked through the crowd, muttering ‘well dones’ and ‘good jobs’. 

You told your brother where you were going, that you needed some fresh air and he agreed, watching as you walked towards the large glass doors and into the dark street. 

You turned and walked along the street, needing some time by yourself. After a night of constantly having to talk to people and having to socialise with the useless elite of the galaxy, you needed to just have a moment to clear your head. 

The outside of the building was dark, illuminated by just a few broken yellow lampshades that hung overhead. You looked around, hand falling onto the knife hidden under the slit of your dress but the place seemed safe and you decided you didn’t need it. 

With a sigh, you leaned against the wall of the building, hearing the laughter from the senators flowing out of the open window above your head. The guilt had not gone away yet, and you were sure it never would, but every day you fought and you fought because you know that’s what Cassian would want. 

Thinking about the man made you think of another special person you had met. It had only been a week since you last saw the Mandalorian and his child but you could feel this ache in your chest that you could only describe as loneliness. 

There had been no permanent person in your life in the last 18 months and just spending those two weeks with the duo, you had become a little bit attached. The sudden realisation took you off guard and you didn't hear the footsteps of the man walking over towards you. 

He had a blaster in one hand, pulling it out from under his long grey coat and you turned, eyes wide. “Give me the purse,” he spoke out, his voice croaky and hoarse. 

You scoffed, shaking your head, “no way,” he seemed shocked by your response but that faded into anger quickly, his eyebrows drawing together as he pressed the blaster up against your stomach over the brown dress. 

He repeated his initial statement, this time with a more forcefulness to it. You could hear a loud drum of footsteps walking round the corner but ignored it. 

Within seconds, you had managed to pull the knife out from under your dress, pulling it up swiftly and slicing it along the soft skin of his neck but at the same time, you heard a blaster go off. 

Your hands instantly flew down to your stomach where his blaster had been pressed but there was no wound there, just a stain of gunpowder that served as a reminder of your close brush with death. You watched as he stumbled back, hands coming up to his neck as he collapsed on the floor and that’s when you noticed the blaster hole seared in his abdomen. 

You looked up, eyes wide, the shock of the sound of a blaster firing still not having settled in. You were even more shocked when you laid eyes on the tall figure who stood under the arched bridge, a small child in his arms. 

“Mando,” you mumbled, the corner of your lips turning up into a smile. He’d come back for you. 

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