#(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.

[fleechin]

This is my 2024 @portal-secret-santa for @villafordefeatedvillains, they told me they were a huge fan of stuff that combines Portal and Half Life, as well as Caveline and Cave x Breen, and also Portal Stories Mel, so I had the idea of a bunch of different scenes I could do. In the end I found myself doing a sort of in depth analysis of Breen, Cave, and Caroline all together and comparing and contrasting their histories and perspectives. This gave me the chance to reference Mel and even some stuff with Entropy Zero 2 (which I know they didn't mention, but it's kinda the gold standard when it comes to combining half life and Portal and I have a tooooooon of headcanons about Caroline's role at Arbeit, so I just knew I had to bring that in).

There's some slightly suggestive stuff with Caveline and Cave x Breen (mostly Caroline's imagination running wild - who can blame her?), but nothing NSFW though.

But there you go, enjoy and a happy 2024 Holidays!

        Part 1: According to a Small Fish

The year was 1975. 

A crucial year for many people, perhaps, in ways that each and every one of them could recount. War stories, scandals, a casual fling with a one time lover that would eventually become the story to recount to future generations. The one who got away. A flame that nostalgia and the shitty marriage you’ve found yourself stuck in leaves you hoping to maybe, just maybe, rekindle. You wouldn’t get it, you say to your nieces, nephews, kids, grandkids, even your spouse before he or she leaves for good this time. You weren’t there. 

For one man, who absolutely was there, it was the start of a career that would jettison him into notoriety. The fact he knew. The extent he did not. 

An applied science and research facility, especially as prestigious as Black Mesa, would immortalize him, at least in some fields. Watch any documentary about the next Einstein, open up a textbook about the first man on Mars, and there was a good chance the name Wallace Breen would have appeared outside of the footnotes once or twice. Maybe they’d even interview him.

 No one could have predicted how ubiquitous his name would have become, not even him. And yet, although deep down, had somebody come back with, say, a time travelling boat, and told him just how he would save the world and unite the human species with its benefactors, a part of him would have believed it. Imagined the escapades he would have gone through to get there. 

For now though, Wallace Breen was on the path to greatness. He’d just become the new administrator of Black Mesa, and he was ready to clean house. Standard safety regulations that kept Black Mesa out of the news more than once had proven to be more of a nuisance than anything. There was no such thing as bad press, provided you can drown it out with achievements. Scientists frequently insisted that their equipment had limits. Limits that couldn’t be stretched or tested, lest they break something. Lest they accidentally create something. 

Breen understood that limits were meant to be broken. If the technicians were unhappy with the machines they had, they could simply do what he was paying them to do and build a better one. Would people complain? Of course. Right up until the very end they complained. But they could not argue with his results. The Hazardous Environment Suit, before he’d arrived, was nothing more than a modified spacesuit, useless without a clunky power cable that was perfect for tripping on. Neither jack-of-all-trades, nor a master of one.

But Breen saw potential. Standardization of the parts, emphasis on compactness and multi-use. People objected of course, we need this component, they shouted, but they quickly shut up when they realized just how comfortable, mobile, and applicable the brand new Mark II suit was. 

But as always, this was no time to celebrate. The cable had been reduced already, but the next iteration of the suit needed its own internal power supply. Humanity’s worst base instinct, aside from the urge to reproduce, that old tyrant, was complacency. It needed to be forced into action in order to survive. 

The underground nature of Black Mesa had made him think a great deal about fossils. Calcified impressions of remains of beasts that, had they known what came before, would have thought themselves the pinnacle of evolution, the end of geological history. If only they had bothered to look to the stars. 

Humanity could not make the same mistake.

        Part 2: According to an Old Shark

For another man in Michigan, 1975 was a very different year. 

Cave Johnson had been the talk of the town for more than half of his life, for better or worse. In the beginning, as a shower-curtain salesman, perhaps the biggest lesson he’d learned was how to sell anything and sign his name on it. It brought him wealth, power, fame, all the things he needed to retire.

But that was an easy life. The life of a showman who wanted nothing more than to make a nickel or two. And last he looked at his TIME Magazine interview, his name wasn’t PT Barnum. 

Even during the war, he’d read up on what scientists were up to. The big names, Heisenberg, Einstein, Schwarzschild. Lots of Germans. Though he hadn’t read their exact papers or browsed the formulas, he knew they were onto something. Wormholes, warping of space-time continuum, nuclear decay. He had only one chance to board the underground train to wherever they were going. 

And so he hopped on board and went down, down, down. 

Purchasing the salt mine had been easy enough. Building everything was challenging, but he had no tolerance for doubters. Hiring had definitely eaten its share of the budget - scientists were happy to come along, but Olympians had convinced themselves that they deserved even more silver dollars than the big ones around their necks. War heroes were a hit or miss, some were more than happy to brag about their tales, and others wanted nothing more than anonymity after what they’d been through. Cowards.

And then there was Caroline. Where would he be without her?

Starting off as another one of the many girls he’d hired to man the typewriters and do the formulas that the Men Upstairs were much too important to think about, she’d made a name for herself by interning with him, and eventually applying on a whim to be his assistant. He took one look at her file and made his decision. It took even less time for them to become more than business partners. 

Could he have settled down? Married her, taught Cave Junior the ropes of Aperture, gotten a picket fence somewhere and called it a life? Maybe. But Caroline didn’t seem like the kind of woman to want to quit like that. That just made him like her even more.

Cave and Caroline had taken Aperture Science Innovators to fame and infamy alike, assuming one believed that there was even a meaningful distinction between the two. Cave Johnson did not. The Quantum tunneling device and Repulsion Gel had quickly become household names. Unfortunately, so had Melanie Flanagan. 

So what if her sleeping pod had failed and locked her in deep sleep? She’d taken one for the team! She contributed something to the world beyond almost bringing home a Silver in 36! Did you? Not that the press had cared about that. They could talk about Aperture, and their impression of its inner workings all they wanted. None of them however truly understood the nature of what one journalist had so pretentiously dubbed modus operandi aperturae, Aperture’s Way of Doing Things. They wouldn’t complain so damn much.

They’d managed to survive the Senate hearings in ‘68, but their reputation, and by extension their finances, were a whole nother story. The nerve of actually paying people, especially these people, to do what Olympians had desperately applied to do not that long ago… 

Black Mesa had already been a thorn in his side, but now, with Aperture’s Reputation in the gutter, it wasn’t like anyone would have cared. The courts might have cared about IP theft, but the public didn’t, and besides, what lawyer could they afford? 

But alas, there was Science to do. Repulsion Gel was already showing promising results, and with the moon landings along the way, Johnson saw the potential for a true Aperture revival. Black Mesa would never see it coming. Especially this fresh meat of an administrator of theirs. He knew how to read a book, but only Cave Johnson could play ball.  1975 would not be a year of stagnation.

        Part 3: According to an Octopus, or a Medusa (Whichever you prefer)

For one woman, 1975 was the beginning of a new Era. 

Her work in the past decades was paying off, even if her boss hadn’t seen the extent of it yet. Her greatest invention, the portal testing chamber, had become the gold standard. The existing portal technology was already well beyond what the folks at Black Mesa were even dreaming of – and she wasn’t just guessing, corporate espionage was a forte of hers. Zero point energy field manipulation, while never progressing beyond lifting small objects directly in front of the user, had been thought impossible by most of Black Mesa’s top “experts”.

Even larger-mass teleportation was still in Aperture’s favor. The Borealis Project, while largely considered a failure by those who worked on it closest, had proven the possibility of teleportation, and the remoteness of Arbeit Communications, whose acquisition she’d managed, had kept the worst of it a secret. Even the few Black Mesa spies she’d caught didn’t know. And she knew how to get them to squeal.

This new hire at Black Mesa. He was cute, naïve, still seeing himself as the man who would guide the world to greatness. All of the idealism, and none of the experience to boot. She knew the drill. Start off cordial, try to befriend him, juuuuust long enough to get him to show any weaknesses he had. 

He’d even visited Aperture a few times. Each time he’d found something to comment on - always just the thing to get on Cave Johnson’s nerves. Johnson’s strategy, nine times out of ten, was to copy another well known Johnson (who people quickly learned to never ever ask him about), that is to say, get right in their faces. Too close for comfort. Had he and Breen gotten any closer, they might have kissed. That would be fun to see. 

She thought about that way too often. Breen talked a big game, but Cave Johnson’s mouth was a beast unto itself. That sad excuse for a man would never know what hit him. Was it healthy, normal, to be thinking about her boss and his rival making out passionately? Yes, she decided one day as she took a drag of a well earned cigarette. Yes it was.

Oh, but things got heated all the time, of course. For all his talk of “evolving humanity beyond its basest of impulses”, Breen was more than happy to indulge in a shouting match with his rival over the phone. She’d taken the liberty to write down some insults she thought of throughout the day. What could she say, it was great stress relief.

In the past, her way to cope with whatever Cave Johnson had thought to do that day (and there were many of those days) was to find a closet she’d snuck an old couch into, and scream as loud as she could into the pillows. Over time however, that strategy (and her vocal cords) began to work less and less. Thankfully, now she had her own brand new punching bag.

As far as she knew, the two rivals had never come to kiss each other. Or if they had, she hadn’t gotten to watch. What a shame, she thought. Her insight on this man, however, had come to pay off. She’d learned the ins and outs of what made this man tick. And she’d learned to play her cards right.

“Doctor Breen”, as he always insisted on being called, certainly knew how to talk to important men in suits. Securing contracts, making connections, slow incremental steps, even she recognized he had a talent there. But even he fell victim to that age-old need to be known. Anyone, if they talked just the right game, could string him along whatever path they wanted, and he’d go willingly. 

 So why didn’t Caroline do the same? She’d been the impetus and the drive to acquiring Arbeit after all. Even after Cave Johnson would go on to keel over with his lunar fascination, secrecy became the new modus operandi aperturae. But therein was the true difference between the two: while Breen understood the value of confidentiality, or rather that it had some non-zero value, Caroline understood that secrecy was meaningless without obscurity. No one would ever try to investigate you if they did not know who you were.

She’d cut her teeth on Aperture’s operations and ownership of the Arbeit facility, its existence and location kept secret even to most employees of Aperture, and the extent of its research kept secret to most who worked at Arbeit. Cave had let her turn it into her own little playground, perfect for thought experiments and ideas that even her boss might not have approved. 

It was her idea however, long after Cave Johnson and his ways, to run Aperture on that principle. You never quite know who you’ll have to hide this from later on, she insisted. If time travel exists, they’re already listening in.

Caroline ended up being far more right about that, and about Wallace Breen, than even she could have imagined back in 1975.

[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

[stargareed]

In Between

Summary: Dany and Jon reflect on their lives while preparing for their next challenge; a.k.a. how much meta can Stargareed cram into a single fic?

(Jonerys fanfic) (Warning: smut)

Jon and Dany laid in bed in opposite directions, both staring at the ceiling, their heads parallel and almost touching. Jon cocked his head as he tried to estimate the distance between the ceiling beams, lightly brushing against Dany’s face and neck. Dany hummed, so Jon gently nuzzled against her soft skin. “Mmh, Jon,” Dany whispered. He felt dainty fingers lightly scratch the top of his head, as he began to melt like his old surname. They stopped just before he became a puddle.

Jon turned his head and looked at the large, ornate hourglass on the table against the wall. He was surprised to see the upper glass bulb was almost empty. It seemed full the last time he glanced at the clock. How long ago was that? An hour ago? A day? A week? He always seemed to lose track of time when he was with his aunt. The upper and lower bulbs separated by a narrow neck reminded him of Westeros. Unlike his uncle, Jon could say with certainty he was glad he ventured South. It was there he met the other half to his hourglass, with whom he’d forever be joined, as they each alternated filling the others’ emptiness with every turn in life.

“I’m not sure I’m ready,” Dany broke the silence. Though she was still staring at the ceiling, she knew exactly what her husband was looking at.

“There’s still time,” Jon responded, instinctively raising his sword arm to lightly squeeze Dany’s hand that had given him relaxing tingles moments earlier. Dany squeezed back against Jon’s smooth grip, basking in the feeling of security only her nephew could provide.

Jon raised his head slightly and glanced at the large, closed door that led out of the room. It seemed bigger and closer than it did the last time he looked. He could’ve sworn he heard faint whispers.

“So, Nephew. There’s still so many nooks and corners I’ve yet to explore when it comes to you,” Dany said, a hint of mischief in her tone.

“Believe me, Aunt, you yourself have plenty of crannies and crevices I would love to probe,” Jon retorted, not even bothering with the hint.

Dany snorted. “Fair enough. So . . .” she began, pausing to collect her thoughts. “Who are some people whose lives contrast well with your own?”

“I thought you were going to ask my favorite color?” Jon japed.

Dany huffed. “Black, white, red, gray. In that exact order. Come on Jon, nooks and corners,” Dany chided, clapping her hands together twice.

“Aye. Crannies and crevices, understood. But still, that’s a pretty broad question.”

“I like to cast a wide net. You get more fish that way,” Dany explained.

“Fine. I’ll bite,” Jon said in a gruff Northern burr. “Let’s see . . . well, Robb, first and foremost.”

“How so?”

“Well, we had the same father, supposedly, yet our lives were quite different. Seeing the disparity in how we were treated taught me what it meant to be a bastard.” Jon began thinking of someone else, that is until he saw Dany’s mouth turning toward him out of the corner of his eye.

“I need examples, Jon.”

Jon noticed Dany’s upside-down eyes. They looked strange. Thick silver lashes lined the bottom, rising to overtake the sparse top lashes every time she blinked. Despite the peculiar position, her eyes still somehow looked gorgeous, causing him to chuckle.

“What?” Dany asked, slightly annoyed.

“Your eyes look queer because they’re upside down, but they’re still beautiful somehow. You Valyrians don’t play fair.”

“You’re one to talk, Nephew. You may not have the coloring, but you took after my brother.”

“How would you know?”

“Uh, I saw him in the House of the Undying, remember? I thought he was Viserys at first. And while at first glance you two look different, upon closer inspection you both share certain traits. Like the shape of your eyes.” She clumsily draped a hand over his eyes, moving by touch alone. “Your nose.” She lightly tapped the tip of his with her forefinger. “And my personal favorite, your lips.” She placed her finger against Jon’s mouth, refusing to move until he kissed it.

“Speaking of nose,” Jon stretched his neck to look at Dany’s upside-down nostrils which were about level with his eyes, “I must say, sweet Aunt, you have impeccable nose hairs.”

“Seven Hells, Jon!” Her nostrils flared as she vigorously flicked the crown of his head.

“Oww. Fine, your nose hairs are less than impeccable. Better?”

“You. Are. An. ARSE!” She tugged on his hair, causing Jon to flinch, then instinctively rubbed the spot she just made sore. “No more distractions. I need examples.”

“Of? Oh, of Robb. Well,” Jon stroked the bottom of his chin, “the obvious one is when he and I were little boys. We trained together every morning in Winterfell.” Jon smiled as he remembered. “We would pretend to be famous swordsmen: Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Florian the Fool, Daeron the Young Dragon, Ryam Redwyne. We would shout and laugh, and even cry when no one was looking.” Jon’s smiled faded. “But then one morning I called out that I would be the Lord of Winterfell, which I’d done a hundred times before. But this time, Robb had answered that I couldn’t be the Lord of Winterfell because I was bastard-born, and that his lady mother said I could never be the Lord of Winterfell.”

“Oh Jon,” Dany said sympathetically, and scratched his head.

“I don’t think he was trying to be mean or anything. But the reason I remember it so vividly was because it was the first time I truly realized I was different than Robb. And though we spent almost all our time together, there would always be a wall between us separating who we were, and a ceiling over my head separating who we could become.”

“And it was Lady Stark who told Robb?” Dany asked with a flat, annoyed tone.

“Aye. She didn’t like that we were so close, but there wasn’t much she could do because Uncle Ned insisted on it. So, she’d make comments like that. I mean, there was nothing inherently wrong with telling Robb how the world worked, and what he stood to inherit.”

“But I have a feeling she neglected to tell him to never rub it in your face. After all, seven-year-olds aren’t know for their tact,” Dany said with a frown.

Jon just nodded and gave a sad smile. “She always used to glare at me with her deep blue eyes and hard cold mouth, whenever I bested Robb at swords or sums or most anything. You see, not only were Robb and I best friends and constant companions, we were rivals, always competing. Her look seemed to say, ‘Who are you?’ ‘This is not your place.’ ‘Why are you here?’” Jon imitated Lady Stark’s Southern accent. “But it would never stop me. Even though her stare made me feel uncomfortable and unwanted, I felt like I had to prove myself—to show the world I was worthy of being Lord Stark’s son, even if only a bastard. I hoped that if I did so, one day people would say Ned Stark had four sons, not three.”

Dany turned around so that she was laying her head on Jon’s chest. Then she rose for a moment so the tips of her hair kissed the parts of Jon’s chest not covered by his tunic, causing Jon to grin. “And what would Lady Stark do if she knew you were married to a queen?” Dany asked with a smirk.

Jon reached for a pillow and put it behind his head. “That would probably earn a scowl or three,” Jon answered, causing Dany to giggle at her favorite dragon reference as she laid her head back down on Jon. “But yes, not being allowed to sit with my siblings during the feast when King Robert visited Winterfell caused some resentment. Looking back, I’m not particularly proud of the thoughts I had as I watched Robb escort Myrcella to the feast. Tyrion said Myrcella was nothing like her mother, and of course Robb was the best brother I could’ve hoped for. But I was just upset at the situation. Oh, and I remember Prince Joffrey insulting Robb in the training yard, but completely ignoring me. It seemed bastards were beneath even his contempt, though of course, he turned out to be one himself.” Jon grinned.

“Gods, Cersei’s farce of a marriage to the King was such a disaster. I’ll never know how she could possibly think she could get away with fucking her brother behind the King’s back for years and passing off Jaime’s bastards as Robert’s heirs, when they looked nothing like him.” Dany lifted her head as Jon flipped his pillow to feel the coolness of the other side against neck and face. That was fast. I must be making him warm, she thought. She laid her head back on Jon’s chest. While Jon was warm, it was worth it because she loved hearing his heartbeat, something you could never enjoy with even the coolest pillow. Though now Jon’s heartbeat was so faint she could scarcely hear it.

“But back to Lady Stark,” Dany said. “What would you say was the worst thing she did to you? Telling you that Bran’s accident should’ve happened to you?”

“That was pretty bad, admittedly. Though I also think she was grieving and not in her right mind. Honestly, her attempts to poison any relationship I had with my siblings, and never calling me by name, only ‘bastard,’ were more painful because they weren’t a one-time thing. But the worst was when she kicked me out of Winterfell when I was four-and-ten. And Uncle Ned couldn’t take me with him to King’s Landing. The only other place I had family was the Wall, with my Uncle Benjen. To be honest, it was my idea to join the Watch in the beginning. I assumed the men there were like my Uncle Benjen, and it’d be a place where even a bastard could rise high. But once I got there, I realized Tyrion was right. It was mainly criminals who barely knew how to fight and knew even less of honor. I wanted to go back to Winterfell, to be with Robb, Bran, and Rickon. But I knew Lady Stark wouldn’t allow it. So, I said my vows and swore my life away, for better or worse.”

Dany threw an arm and leg over Jon and hugged him with her entire body. “I’m sorry the world is such an awful place for a lot of people,” she said in a muffled tone, her warm breath tickling Jon’s chest.

“Granted, when I got to the Wall, Donal Noye and others helped me realize how good I had it at Winterfell. Most of the common-born men of the Night’s Watch would’ve loved being raised as a noble bastard alongside trueborn half siblings. But it was still surreal when Robb became king. I mean, Robb and I played together, fought together, shared our first cup of wine. But because we didn’t share mother’s milk, he became a king who I imagined would be sipping summerwine from jeweled goblets, while I was kneeling beside a stream sucking snowmelt from cupped hands. I still remember what Lord Commander Mormont told me after Robb’s ascension: ‘They will garb your brother Robb in silks, satins, and velvets of a hundred different colors, while you live and die in black ringmail. He will wed some beautiful princess and father sons on her. You’ll have no wife, nor will you ever hold a child of your own blood in your arms. Robb will rule, you will serve. Men will call you a crow. Him they’ll call Your Grace. Singers will praise every little thing he does, while your greatest deeds all go unsung. Tell me that none of this troubles you, Jon, and I’ll name you a liar.’”

Dany laughed. “He had the right of it.”

Jon nodded. “Aye.”

“I’m curious, as you’ve gotten older, has your opinion of Lady Stark changed?” Dany asked, running her fingertip along the edge of Jon’s tunic.

Jon took a deep breath. “I think, for the most part, her actions were understandable. She had a duty to her Tully family to make sure Robb would inherit Winterfell and that her other children would have favorable matches. It was also rational for her to be wary of me, a bastard who, unlike her trueborn sons, looked like her lord husband. Seven Hells, just think of the trouble the Blackfyres caused our family over the years. And Ramsay Bolton likely murdered his trueborn brother who was nothing but kind to him. According to Lady Dustin, Domeric Bolton almost sounded like a Northern Rhaegar, with his love of books, harps, and horses.”

“Well, I don’t think all bastards should be judged based on Ramsay’s actions. He was definitely the worst of the worst,” Dany said, peaking underneath Jon’s shirt.  

“I’m not sure, everyone knows bastards are wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit,” Jon said sarcastically. “I had once meant to prove them wrong, to show my lord father that I could be as good and true a son as Robb.” Jon gave a bitter laugh. “But then Robb became a hero king, while I became a turncloak murderer.” Jon cracked his knuckles.

“But you were ordered to slay your superior to prove your loyalty to the wildlings so you could infiltrate their ranks, right?”

“Doesn’t matter. Truth is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is how things are perceived. Me and Robb’s divergent paths almost remind me of two leaves floating next to each other in a river. Once they take different paths around a rock, they can quickly find themselves on opposite sides of the river, at the mercy of currents beyond their control. It’s a shame more people don’t pause to consider whether bastards’ supposed behavior is the result of everyone treating them with suspicion and never giving them the benefit of the doubt. It’s easy to become how people treat you, even if it really isn’t who you are.”

“Regardless, I still don’t understand why Catelyn didn’t adjust her level of suspicion when she saw how close you were with your siblings,” Dany said, running her fingernails along Jon’s bare chest.

“Well, even Theon showed how someone who was treated kindly by a family could turn on them,” Jon said sadly. “But you’re right. I would’ve hoped that, because my love and loyalty to my trueborn siblings was obvious to everyone, I wouldn’t be viewed as a potential traitor.”

“I guess even if Lady Stark was not concerned about you, she still had no idea if your loyalty would be shared by your sons, and their sons,” Dany said.

“Aye.” Jon took a deep breath and stretched his arms, momentarily causing Dany’s head to rise. “That’s why I think the crux of our conflict was based on how custom and inheritance laws pitted us against one another. I’d like to think that, under different circumstances, we’d have gotten along. For example, if Rhaegar had won at the Trident, and I had grown up in King’s Landing and then went to Winterfell to foster with Uncle Ned, I believe we would have been on friendly terms.”

“Are you kidding? She would’ve been your best friend and probably would’ve begged you to marry Sansa!” Dany japed, running her fingertip beneath Jon’s tunic until she found a nipple, which she proceeded to tease until it stiffened.

Jon snorted and grabbed Dany’s hand so he could speak. “Aye, I believe it. Wait, would I be a legitimized bastard or a trueborn prince in this imaginary world?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dany said. “Sansa would want this either way.” Dany moved her hand to grab Jon’s cock through his small clothes. Then she leaned forward and whispered, “But I’d fly up to Winterfell on Drogon and tell her to leave you alone because this,” she squeezed his cock, “is all mine.”

Jon closed his eyes and moaned. Then he scrunched his face. “Wait, how do you have dragons in this imaginary world? You would’ve never met Illyrio.”

“I have dragons in every world, real or imaginary. It’s what I do. It’s who I am,” Dany replied, lightly stroking Jon’s cock through the thin fabric.

“Maybe so. But ‘Drogon’?” Jon opened his eyes and cocked his brow.

“No, obviously he wouldn’t be Drogon in this imaginary world,” Dany said, beginning to get annoyed. “I’d probably name him after someone I loved who had passed away. And if you keep it up, he just might be named Jongon,” Dany playfully threatened.

Jon shook his head and gave a half smile. “We need to work on your fictional names, my love.”

Dany made a face at him, wrinkling her nose in disdain, like Arya used to. Then she laid her head back on his chest. Her satin night gown felt cool against his side as his tunic had ridden up.

“That said, not everything Lady Stark did with regards to me was based on protecting her family. She clearly had a grudge against me. Which, again, is understandable to an extent, though not necessarily justified,” Jon said.

“Not justified at all, but I agree, we’re only human,” Dany said sadly.

“After Maege Mormont and Galbart Glover arrived in Winterfell with Robb’s Will which named me King in the North, Maege confided that Lady Stark argued for some distant Vale cousins to inherit Winterfell over me. And Catelyn kept worrying what would happen if I ever ‘bred.’”

Dany rolled her eyes. “According to Ser Barristan, King Robert was also worried that I might ‘breed,’ which is why he sent assassins against me after I married Drogo. Isn’t it great to be viewed as an animal?”

“Aye, though I can’t say I’m surprised Lady Stark used that language.” Jon smiled. “But apparently Robb refused, told her that Ned Stark had four sons, and said I should be the heir over some Vale lordling who had never even seen Winterfell.” Jon paused and swallowed as his vision began to blur.

“He really was a good brother, wasn’t he,” Dany said, looking up at Jon.

Jon nodded and wiped his eyes. “Aye. He always treated me as a brother, as an equal. He never made me feel lesser, especially the older he got and began to realize how unfair things were. He would’ve made a great King, Warden, or Lord of Winterfell. He had the best qualities of Ned and Catelyn. Though it’s a shame those good qualities got him killed by turncloaks desperate for power. The irony for Catelyn is that, by treating me badly to protect Robb, she actually sowed the seeds for his demise. Now, I don’t know this for sure, but I suspect the reason he insisted on marrying Jeyne after taking her maidenhead is in part because of Ned’s honor, but also because he didn’t want any potential child he had with her to grow up a bastard and be treated like his mother treated me.”

“That may very well be true,” Dany said. “Life is fully of sad ironies.” She removed the golden ring with the dragon signet Jon had given her and started playing with it. My mother’s.

“Speaking of metals,” Jon said, looking at Dany’s ring. “While Robb and I show the differences in how bastards and trueborn are treated, Theon Greyjoy and I show the different ways someone can react to being an outcast. We were both raised in Winterfell but were never part of the real family. Theon because he was a ward, me because I was a bastard. We both struggled with feelings of envy and not belonging. But, while I remained loyal to my family, Theon betrayed the family that had treated him well by sacking Winterfell and allegedly killing Bran and Rickon. Granted, I don’t think Theon owed the Starks loyalty like I did. After all, he was, essentially, Ned Stark’s hostage, whose life could end at any time based on Balon Greyjoy’s behavior. But he was well treated during his time in Winterfell, and to repay that with the level of betrayal he engaged in is inexcusable.”

Dany rotated the ring with her fingertips. “Even he admits that. But, of course, he suffered greatly for that betrayal,” Dany said, wincing.

“Aye, that he did. The gods don’t always reward the just and punish the wicked, but they did in Theon’s case.”

“Why do you think he did it?”

Jon scratched his nose and thought for a second. “From speaking with Asha, Theon initially tried to get the Ironborn to fight with Robb. But after being rejected by his father, humiliated by his sister, and enduring mockery for being a Northerner, I think he wanted to prove his blood was still salt and iron. So, he went along with Balon’s plan to attack the North while most of the North’s fighting men were South of the Neck. Ultimately, a young man concerned about his place in the world is a dangerous thing. While it sometimes leads to acts of bravery and heroism, it seems to equally lead to acts of shameless killing, though no doubt viewed as heroism by the killer in his desire for glory. I think the latter occurred with Theon.”

“And the former occurred with you,” Dany said in a sing-song voice, rising to kiss Jon on the cheek. She rested her head beside his own and stared at him with hooded eyes. Her kiss caused tingles to rush down Jon’s neck, while her praise reddened his face.

Dany looked at Jon’s unblemished eye. The eye I would’ve seen a thousand times had we grown up together, had Rhaegar won at the Trident, she thought. Jon lifted his hand and began lightly caressing her cheek with his thumb. Dany leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, a soft smile forming on her lips. Then Jon took the ring and slid it back on to Dany’s finger, studying the dragon.

“Speaking of dragons, black ones anyways, what about Aegon the Pretender?” Dany asked. “I feel like his life contrasted well with my own, but I’m curious if you think the same as to your own life.”

“Yes to both,” Jon said. “As for my life, while we were both ‘hidden,’ I didn’t realize I was being hidden, while he was very much aware.”

“But in a way he was being hidden from his true identity as Illyrio’s son and descendant of the female line of Blackfyres through his mother, Serra,” Dany pointed out.

“True. That’s because his hidden identify wasn’t actually his identity, while mine was. Also, I was being hidden for my own protection, not to take back the throne, while he was hidden so his handlers could gain power. That became obvious after speaking with Tyrion, who said Varys told him ‘power resides where men believes it resides. No more and no less.’”

“Don’t forget that Illyrio actually told Tyrion that ‘black or red, a dragon is still a dragon,’” Dany said, shaking her head. “Of course, I knew Aegon was fake when I saw my vision of a mummer’s dragon.”

“Another contrast is that many in Westeros accepted him as Rhaegar’s son—because he had the look, the sword, and other trappings—even though he wasn’t,” Jon said.

“It was strange that he carried Blackfyre, all the while insisting he wasn’t a . . . Blackfyre,” Dany joked.

“By contrast, I never proclaimed I was Rhaegar’s son, even though I was.”

“Do you regret not telling more people?” Dany asked.

“No. I told the people who needed to know: you, my Stark family, and our closest advisors. There was no need to make a formal announcement to the lords at large because they were already allowing me to lead the fight against the Dead. We didn’t need to be distracted by questions of paternity and legitimacy.”

“Well, I think most people realized the truth by the end. After all, not many Starks could have mounted Rhaegal. And the quartered sigil you took into battle likely put any doubts to rest.”

Jon grinned. “Aye, the sigil I used as King in the North—Ghost on a black background—was relegated to one quarter. House Targaryen’s sigil occupied two quarters. And a blue winter rose on a white background filled the fourth square. I still think I should’ve used the Knight of the Laughing Tree to honor my mother.

“No,” Dany insisted. “As I said then, a blue flower growing from a chink in a wall of ice filling the air with sweetness was a vision I had of you back in Essos. It was sentimental to me.”

“You also dreamed of me being your shadow lover,” Jon said with a wink.

“True, but that’s probably not something you should have on a sigil,” Dany japed.

Jon chuckled. “But, back to Aegon, I think my biggest contrast with him was that, while he claimed to be the rightful heir, even though he wasn’t, I never claimed to be the heir, even though I very well may’ve been.”

“Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and Lord Commander Gerold Hightower seemed to think so when they gave up their lives to protect you instead of fleeing to Dragonstone to protect Viserys,” Dany said.

“Aye. They knew about my parents’ marriage. And I don’t think they were the only ones. When I became Lord of Winterfell, I received notes the prior Maester had written before his death. Maester Luwin’s detailed writings went back years, discussing all manner of things, but there was a section for each of the Starks, including me. Most of it concerned illnesses and physical examinations, but Maester Luwin was also concerned with other matters.”

“Gossip?” Dany asked.

Jon laughed. “Not quite. Just, important information detailing the development of each Stark, both physically, mentally, and emotionally.”

“What did it say about you?”

“It mentioned that, a few times over the years, Lord Stark had to put the issue of my mother’s identity to rest. He would never say who my mother was, but would say I was his ‘blood’ and that was all anyone needed to know.”

Dany laughed. “Well, that was true.”

“Aye. Lord Stark hated lying and avoided it when he could. Which makes me wonder . . . you see, years later, according to Maester Luwin’s account, when Lady Stark insisted that I couldn’t stay in Winterfell, Ned Stark called her ‘damnably cruel’ because she knew ‘a boy with a bastard’s name’ would be shunned in King’s Landing. When I read it, I thought it strange that Lord Stark didn’t just say a ‘bastard’ would be shunned.”

“Because you weren’t a bastard; you were a boy with a bastard’s name,” Dany said, anticipating Jon’s line of thinking. Jon nodded, then he smirked. “What?” Dany asked, grinning.

“When I learned that my parents married, so that I arguably had a claim to the throne, it made many prior statements I and others had made deliciously ironic. For example, when Arya asked why I wasn’t sparring with Joffrey and Robb when King Robert came to Winterfell, I told her it was because ‘bastards are not allowed to damage young princes. Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords.’”

“Which was a true statement, it just applied in the reverse,” Dany said with a broad smile.

“Aye, the gods surely have a sense of humor when they’re not killing people,” Jon said. “Speaking of Arya, she said a guard once told her that a certain black cat that roamed the Red Keep, whom he referred to as a ‘black bastard,’ was ‘the real king of the castle.’ Arya had forgotten about it until she heard people in Braavos refer to me as the ‘Black Bastard of the Wall.’ I couldn’t help but laugh because I’d been called that by Tormund and other wildlings numerous times."

Dany laughed. “I think I’d like to meet that cat.” She absent-mindedly rubbed her thighs together as she thought of something to say to fill the silence. “Wait, Ser Barristan said my niece Rhaenys had a black kitten she called Balerion. I wonder what happened to him after she died? Do you think it’s possible they’re the same cat?”

A line appeared between Jon’s brows. “I don’t know. That would be fascinating if it were true. I’d have a connection to my half-sister through Arya and the cat.”

“Balerion,” Dany reminded him.

“Aye, Balerion.”

“You know, you two are also connected because you share the same father,” Dany added with a slight smirk.

Jon just shook his head and tapped Dany’s nose, though he had to retreat when his aunt tried to bite his finger. They were both quiet for a bit, and then Jon chuckled. “Back to the ironies, I also remember telling Sam it would be folly for Melisandre to burn Mance Rayder for a king’s blood sacrifice because ‘Mance’s blood is no more royal than mine own.’ I told Gilly not to kneel for me because ‘that’s just for kings.’ And Mance even told me that the skinchanger, Varamyr, asked if he could try to steal Ghost from me because Ghost ‘would be a second life worthy of a king.’”

“Well, was he right?” Dany asked with cocked brow.

Jon’s forehead creased for a moment. “Considering Ghost protected my mind during death and showed me who my mothers was, I’d say he was. Oh, and then there was Mormont’s raven who would always call me ‘king.’ Though, according to Bran, the raven was controlled by Bloodraven, who’d been guiding me, Bran, and others.”

“He was your Quaithe,” Dany said.

“Aye,” Jon agreed with a smile. “Another thing we have in common.”

Jon got up and poured them both some wine. There was only one cup, so they both sat cross legged on the bed, alternating sips.

“And then there’s you,” Jon said.

“Me?” Dany asked, genuinely surprised. “You may need to be careful, Lord Commander,” she half-japed.

Jon chuckled then took a sip. “No, just because you contrast with my life, doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. It just means you contrast with my life.”

“I’m a woman, you’re a man. I have silver hair and purple eyes, you have brown and gray. You grew up in Westeros, I grew up in Essos,” Dany rattled off.

“True, those are differences. But I was thinking along another line. A big contrast is that you always knew your identity, whereas mine was hidden. And you accomplished so much early on, whereas, at least compared to you, I was a late bloomer.”

“You mean you didn’t single-handedly bring back dragons into the world at four-and-ten?” Dany asked with a smirk, taking the wine from Jon.

“No, I was too busy getting drunk because I wasn’t allowed to sit with my family at a feast,” Jon joked. “And it wasn’t quite singlehandedly.” Jon raised his brow. “Wasn’t there some blood magic involved?”

“I may’ve had a little help.” Dany shrugged and took a sip. “Mmm. This is good.”

“The things you did fit the Azor Ahai prophecy, almost exactly,” Jon said, taking the cup back. “You were born in Dragonstone, a place of salt and smoke. You walked unharmed into flames to wake dragons from petrified eggs, which were like stone, all the while a comet, a bleeding star, streaked across the sky.”

“The Dothraki word for the comet actually meant ‘bleeding star,’” Dany added.

“And just in case Dragonstone wasn’t enough, because you were walking into a funeral pyre, there was smoke, and no doubt salt from the tears,” Jon said, sloshing the wine around and inhaling the scent.

“There was also sweat,” Dany noted with a sheepish grin. “It was hot.”

“While you didn’t have a flaming sword, you did have three dragons that were even better.”

“Xaro actually once referred to my dragons as a ‘flaming sword above the world,’” Dany said, reaching for the wine.

“Though I guess you weren’t literally reborn, only figuratively.”

“You’ve got me beat there,” Dany said, taking a gulp.

“Regardless, then you went on to do amazing things like freeing the slaves. Benerro proclaimed you Azor Ahai, and our Great Uncle Aemon, who knew a thing or two about prophecies, became convinced just before his death that you were the Princess That Was Promised, at least according to Sam.”

Dany nodded. Jon snorted. “I wish you could’ve seen the look on Melisandre’s face when she learned about you: a Targaryen, born on Dragonstone of Aerys and Rhaella’s line, who hatched dragons from petrified eggs beneath a comet.”

Dany sighed and shook her head. “Poor thing. But I’ve said this before, I really think the gods showed her what she needed to see to help you become who you were meant to be. In the same way, Benerro didn’t see you in his flames, only me, because he was closer to me and more able to offer guidance through Moqorro.”

“It’s strange that both were so convinced there was only one hero. It’s like they never considered the possibility of a second Targaryen,” Jon said.

“Didn’t you say Melisandre would ask to see Azor Ahai, but R’hllor would show her you instead, and she would get frustrated because the gods were hiding Stannis from her?”

“I found that amusing as well. It’s interesting how questioning our assumptions is the last thing we think to do sometimes, even when everything else is telling us our assumptions are wrong.”

“How did she become so convinced it was Stannis in the first place?” Dany asked, showing Jon the empty wine cup when he asked for a sip and pretending to be sad for his sake.

Jon frowned. “She saw Dragonstone in her flames, and he was the current Lord of Dragonstone. She also saw a man in black armor with a burning sword leading the fight against the Others, and assumed it was Stannis.”

“But it was you,” Dany said, with a lazy smile.

“Aye, just like my dream. Armored in black ice with a sword that burned red hot in my hand.”

“Ice and fire,” Dany said. “I also had a dream, that I was mounted on a dragon and saw the Usurper’s rebel host armored all in ice at the Trident. I bathed them in fire and they melted away like dew.”

“I didn’t know you also dreamed of our fight against the Dead,” Jon said. “I wonder if Stannis had any dreams? I doubt it. It was so obvious to everyone that it wasn’t Stannis. Maester Aemon noted Stannis’s sword produced light without heat and was merely an empty glamor. Mel obviously knew that as well because she was the source of the magic, but she fooled herself into thinking it was legitimate.  Seven Hells, Davos said even Stannis questioned the efficacy of his glimmering sword when he complained that, on the Blackwater, his magic sword was no better than common steel, and that a dragon would’ve turned the battle. And I remember telling Melisandre that Stannis wasn’t actually born on Dragonstone. But she wouldn’t listen to reason.”

“But her stubbornness worked out for everyone in the end because she was in a position to help the real Prince That Was Promised: you.” Dany pointed the empty wine cup at Jon.

“What is the saying? Prophecy is like a half-trained mule who bites your prick off?” Jon japed.

Dany laughed. “No, Nephew, it’s a treacherous woman who kicks you in the head!”

“That’s right! I’d forgotten,” Jon said, grinning like a fool and taking Dany’s empty cup. My fool, Dany thought as he walked away.

Jon started to pour more wine. “Me being Azor Ahai is also amusing. Sam said that Maester Aemon once asked where the Prince That Was Promised was, and Melisandre replied, 'He stands before you though you do not have the eyes to see.'”

“Well, she wasn’t wrong. You were there the whole time,” Dany said, trying to guess how full the cup would be.  

Jon sat down on the bed and took a big gulp before passing the cup to Dany. “Even before my resurrection, I knew that I’d be fighting the Others. Tormund once asked me, as his people were entering Castle Black to escape the Others, if my sword could ‘cut cold.’ He said it was one thing to fight the dead, but their masters—white mist, shadows with teeth, air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest—were another thing entirely. Sam had discovered in a book that Valyrian steel could kill the Others. Though I knew books were different than battle, I had a strange sort of confidence. I also remember watching the wildlings enter Castle Black and observing how afraid they were of the shadows, of the night, of the Others. For some reason, at that moment, I heard Alys’s words in my mind: 'Dance with me.'”

“Dance with me? Like fight with me?” Dany asked, enjoying the wine’s fruity scent.

“Aye. I knew I was destined to cross swords with the cold shadows. It was also in my vows, now that I think about it. I swore I’d be ‘the sword in the darkness . . . the fire that burns against the cold . . . the light that brings the dawn.’”

“And then you were resurrected,” Dany said. “And everything changed.” She cocked her head. “Or maybe it didn’t, and everyone else just learned what you already knew: you’d save the world.”

“Aye. Melisandre had been warning me about daggers in the dark. But she’d been wrong about so much else, and I had other things to worry about: making sure we had enough food for the winter, making sure the wildlings, brothers of the Watch, and the queen’s men didn’t kill each other, making sure we were ready when the Dead came. And then I got that letter . . . Arya . . . it was too much.”

Dany gave a sympathetic look. She knew all about the strong desire to protect.

“My last words were ‘Ghost,’ and then the next thing I knew, I was inside the Lord Commander’s chambers. The door was locked. I’ve never felt such rage. It was all consuming. But then Melisandre somehow opened the door. ‘Go,’ she said. ‘You’re needed.’ I barked at her. Her eyes widened in shock because—"

“Ghost never barks,” Dany finished his sentence. She took a sip and handed the cup to Jon.

“Aye. She knew then what had happened. I ran down into the yard. Everything was chaos. The wildlings, black brothers, Northmen, and queen’s men were all fighting, swarming each other. I was able to cut through and find my targets. I could smell them. Wick was already dead, his throat slashed. But Bowen Marsh was still somehow on his feet, fending off wildling blades. I bit his sword arm and was surprised when it came off in my mouth. I then jumped on top of him and bit his neck. His blood tasted sweet. As I watched the life leave his body, I remember thinking: You killed me, I tried to save the Watch, the North, everyone, and you killed me for it.”

 Dany straightened her legs out and leaned back on her hands, a concerned look on her face as she’d never heard all the details of Jon’s death and resurrection.

“The next day they placed my body, Ser Patrek, and the others who died on a funeral pyre. Ser Patrek’s body had been mutilated by Wun Wun, so they covered it with his cloak of stars that had been turned red with his own blood. His cloak was so big it partially covered my body as well. Tormund and Melisandre insisted that our bodies burn to prevent us from rising as wights. The dead weren’t the only ones the red woman insisted on burning, though. Shortly after I received Ramsay’s letter stating that Stannis was dead, Castle Black received another letter, from Stannis, saying that should he perish in his battle against the Boltons, Melisandre should revive him with a King’s blood sacrifice, even from his own daughter, if necessary. Once it was discovered that Mance’s son was no longer there, it became necessary. So, the red woman had Shireen tied up next to our bodies, to burn along with us. As she cried out, and begged her mother to save her, Melisandre began asking the Lord of Light for Azor Ahai to rise. She was sacrificing Shireen to save Stannis.”

“Her mother allowed it?” Dany asked, horrified. She sat up and covered her mouth with her hand.

Jon put the wine cup on the bedside table. “Aye. Her own mother. It shows the dangers of religious zealotry. The Wildlings allowed it as well because, to them, Shireen was unclean, and a risk to everyone. Now, I wouldn’t have allowed it while inside Ghost, but I wasn’t there.”

“Where were you?”

Jon smiled. “Half a league beyond the Wall, resting in a grove of weirwood trees. It was there I finally finished my dream.”

“Your dream?” Dany furrowed her brow.

“I had a recurring dream, where I would go into Winterfell’s crypts filled with its stone statues of past kings of winter and lords of Winterfell. Though I was scared, I knew I had to go anyways. I would scream that it wasn’t my place because I’m not a Stark, and at times the stone statues would tell me the same in their heavy granite voices. I’d sometimes hear Uncle Ned or Robb’s voices, as if they were at a feast, yet there was a wall between us, and I knew they did not prepare a place for me. As I kept going deeper and deeper, the crypts grew darker and darker, until I’d finally wake up.”

“What do you think it meant?” Dany asked.

“I didn’t know at the time, but now I believe the crypts represented my death. I didn’t want to go into the crypts, just like I didn’t want to die, but I had to. That the stone kings would tell me I didn’t belong, and there wasn’t a place at the table with Ned and Robb, who had already passed, meant that I wouldn’t stay dead. It wasn’t my time, at least not yet. I believe it also meant that I wasn’t a Stark, though not in the way I originally thought.”

Dany smiled. “How did the dream finally end?”

“I kept walking deeper into the crypts, as it got darker. But then a queer thing happened. I began to see. At first, I could only make out the shapes of the statues, but then I began to see more and more detail, until I found myself looking at Lyanna Stark’s statue. It’s strange, because she, and my Uncle Brandon, were never kings of winter or lords of Winterfell. Yet Uncle Ned gave them statues all the same. Uncle Ned would sometimes bring Lyanna’s statue blue winter roses. But in my dream, she wore an entire crown of winter roses, and they were fresh and vibrant. Then she spoke to me. ‘My son,’ she said. ‘I have something for you.’ I was still trying to understand why my aunt Lyanna referred to me that way, and why her statue had come alive, when she reached behind her and pulled out a box. I remember wondering if there was a hollow portion of her statue. I tried to open the box, but I couldn’t as my hands had already turned to stone, as if I were becoming a statue, and were too clumsy. I remember telling Lyanna that I shouldn’t be turning to stone because I wasn’t a Stark. She said, ‘I know, you’re a Targaryen. You’re a dragon. And it’s time to wake, my dragon.’”

Jon paused and cleared his throat. “And then I opened my eyes and saw that I was surrounded by flames. I sat up, confused, and heard shrieks and cries. It was only when I walked out of the fire, and saw everyone’s look of confusion, that I realized I was no longer in Ghost, and that I had somehow been resurrected.”

Dany narrowed her eyes and moved her lower jaw back and forth. “Now that I think about it, I may’ve had a vision of your resurrection in Essos. When Mirri was doing her blood magic for Drogo, I was taken into her tent, and saw many strange things, including the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jon said, furrowing his brow, before allowing his lip to curl. “I love how we had visions of each other across continents. Melisandre later said she also saw my resurrection in her flames, though she didn’t know it at the time. She saw a vision of a man, then a wolf, then a man again.”

“What visions did you have of me, Nephew?” Dany asked, batting her lashes.

“There was one time I swore Val’s honey-blonde hair looked pale silver under the moonlight.”

“I’m the moon,” Dany said excitedly, and held out her hand for more wine.

“Aye. Maybe that’s why Ghost has always been drawn to you? I remember one time Melisandre was flirting with me, I think she wanted me to help her make a shadow baby?”

Dany’s face fell flat. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, I didn’t make a shadow baby with her. But I bring it up because she explained to me how every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others are long and dark. Then she told me to look behind myself, because the moon had kissed me and etched a shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall. I’ve always considered that our first kiss.”

“Oh Jon,” Dany whimpered and kissed him, lingering on his lips. When they finally parted, she saw a look of hunger flash across his eyes. It gave her an idea.

She got up from the bed and padded across the floor, knowing full well which part of her was being closely watched, and adjusting her walk accordingly. She came back with a candle, which she placed on the bedside table.

“All right, Nephew, I want you to move a little this way, mmm, not quite, why don’t you scoot down a little, yes, perfect!” Though Jon had a confused look, he still eagerly obeyed because he knew what his reward might be.

“What?” Jon finally asked after Dany’s unbidden grin lingered.

“You’re the shadow lover from my dreams!” she exclaimed. “Well, that is, until you move out of the candlelight, then you’ll be just Jon.”

“Just Jon?” he asked with a pretend pout as he began to crawl to overtake her.

“Aye, just Jon. Though, he’s not so bad I suppose,” Dany mewled the last word when Jon began kissing her neck. She laid down, then sat up again to remove her satin night gown, before slowly sinking back into the bed. She watched Jon’s eyes darken as he gazed at her nude form. He slowly removed his tunic and small clothes, his fully-hard cock seeming to flex before her.

Her knees were bent and touching, so Jon wedged his fingertips in between and began to firmly pull them apart. As her knees slowly fell to the side, he ran his fingertips along her inner thighs until his hands met at her womanhood. Jon let the back of his knuckles brush against her curls, then ran his nails along her unmarked belly. He reached underneath her and massaged her cheeks, then dipped his finger into her slickness, coating her peaking nub in her juices.

Jon sucked his finger, savoring his wife’s taste, then began kissing Dany’s foot, which she eagerly extended to him. He moved to her ankle, then her shin, massaging her calf as he went. When he reached her knee, he pivoted and began leaving a trail of kisses down her inner thigh. He was just about to kiss her nub when he felt a steady hand stop him.

“Mmm!” Dany moaned, grabbing a fistful of his hair and then scratching his scalp. “I want you up here kissing my lips and sucking my nipples,” she whined. Jon looked at Dany’s ethereal face, her enlarged pupils no doubt matching his own. He obeyed, though not before moving Dany’s leg so she was no longer straddling him, which she did not like. But he made up for it when he began kissing along her jaw line, down her neck, and across her collar. She felt a finger enter her, slowly moving in and out to the rhythm of her soft whines.

Jon left a trail of kisses down Dany’s chest, straight to her nipple. He used his tongue to push her nipple flat, then sucked to make it erect again. He felt Dany’s hand grab the back of his head, her breaths becoming more staggered.

Just as Dany was focused on Jon’s mouth, she felt his finger begin to play with her clit. Soon, the two were moving in tandem, with Jon alternating between rubbing his finger across her swollen nub, then his tongue across her erect nipple, and then doing both in unison. Alternating, unison, alternating, unison. “Fuuuuuck!: Dany cried out. Soon, her whimpers died down, replaced by moans that became higher and higher pitched until she screamed, “Goooooooods!!! Mmm . . . Stop! St-- . . . mmm . . . Whew.”

She looked at her husband, a faint grin on his lips. Aye, I guess you’ve earned it, Nephew. He moved her leg so that she was once again straddling him, and she positioned her hips so she lined up with him. The look on Jon’s face when he first entered her was a mix of relief, relaxation, and pure joy. It was one of her favorite parts about coupling. She enjoyed watching Jon’s pleasure almost as much as she enjoyed experiencing her own.

“You all right?” Jon asked. When Dany nodded, he sunk down even further, causing her to whimper. As he slowly moved in and out, he watched her eyebrows knit in concentration as she chewed her bottom lip. She wrapped her legs around him, scratching his back with her nails, and then moved one hand so she could squeeze her breast while he fucked her.

He began slowly moving inside her, enjoying the little sounds she made in response, almost as if he were playing her like an instrument. After a few minutes, he felt his cock begin to tingle. “Dany, you feel so good, I’m not sure I’ll be able to last much longer,” he warned.

“That all right, love,” Dany reassured. “You can finish any time you want. You’ve already given me my plea-- . . . pleasure.” She grabbed Jon’s arse and squeezed.

Jon increased his pace for a few moments then quickly pulled out and took himself in hand, shooting his seed across his aunt’s stomach and chest. “My love, you don’t have to do that. You can always finish inside me,” Dany insisted.

“I know, I just felt like painting you with my seed,” Jon replied with a lopsided grin.

“Seven help me,” Dany responded, though she failed to suppress her own grin. She caught the towel Jon threw her and clean up Jon’s "paint." Then she took Jon’s outstretched hand as he helped her up off the bed.

“Time to wash up, love,” Jon said, as they padded over to the basin. Though the water had been sitting out for a while, it was still perfectly warm. Jon took a clean washcloth and dipped it in the liquid, the dripping sounds it made as he squeezed the excess out was music to her ears. He began on the relatively clean parts of her body. Her face and neck, which included rubbing her ears with the warm cloth which gave her tingles. Then he had her turn around and washed her back while he whispered into her ear and let his hot breath cascade down her neck, resulting in more chills. After wetting the cloth again, he did her arms, then knelt down to wash her legs. He asked her to stand with her feet further apart so he could better reach her inner thighs, which she dutifully obliged. He slowly worked his way up one leg, then the other, teasing her with his deliberate pace. He dipped the cloth in the water again, and this time cleaned the part of her that he had dirtied. He wrung the cloth so the water fell down her chest and flowed off her breasts. Then he slowly changed the cloth’s position until the water was split by her nipple, forming two separate streams around her teat.

“If you make a puddle and I slip—” Dany threatened.

“I’ll just catch you and pick you up, then you’ll be completely at my mercy. Would you like that, my little naughty aunt?” Jon held her with one arm and spanked her so hard she gasped. Then a wicked grin spread across his face. “I said, wouldn’t you like that?” he whispered in her ear.

“Mmm hmm,” she whimpered. A memory flashed in her mind from a few weeks before the final battle. That night, for some reason, an animalistic lust came over Jon, and he ripped her clothes and threw her over his lap. He then spanked her so hard her eyes watered. But gods, it was the sweetest pain. Being so vulnerable to someone she trusted with her life was a thrill she couldn’t put into words. She’d done a lot of things with the men in her life, but never that. She hoped Jon would ask to do it again, as she planned to roll her eyes and act like she was doing him a favor, though of course she’d secretly enjoy it. But he never did. Instead, he apologized for the hunger that came over him, and said it was a result of being in Ghost for so long. A part of her wanted to ask him to try again, but she was too embarrassed. I wonder if this means he enjoyed it like I did? If so, we have plenty of time to practice. The thought made her almost giddy.

He finished washing under her arms and across her chest and stomach. Then he washed between her legs, and lastly between her cheeks.

She returned the favor, enjoying kneeling down before her king. She couldn’t help herself, so she gave a small kiss to the tip of Jon’s semi-hard cock, causing it to twitch. This amused her, so she took the tip into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, as Jon moaned in between staggered breaths. She could taste herself on Jon as he began to grow. She gave him a look which asked if he wanted her to continue, but he shook his head and ran his fingers through her hair, causing her to hum in contentment. While she preferred to clean him with her mouth, she made sure to thoroughly wash her juices off his glistening cock with the cloth, though she was strangely pleased to see he didn’t grow nearly as much with the cloth as he had in her mouth.

After they finished washing and drying each other off, they climbed back into bed, still naked. The two then assumed one of their favorite positions: lying on their sides facing each other with Dany resting her head on Jon’s arm while straddling Jon’s thigh like a pillow.

“What about you?” Jon asked abruptly.

“What?”

“Who do you think contrasts well with your own life?”

Dany thought for a moment. “Viserys. He was a good brother at first, when I was little. But I think the stress of always being on the run and never having any money broke him. Especially after he had to sell Mother’s crown. At that point, he frequently abused me, and viewed me as a pawn to take back the throne.”

“Selling your only sibling to a slaver who didn’t even speak her language just to get an army is something I’ll never understand,” Jon spat.

“He once told me he’d let the entire khalasar fuck me, all forty thousand men, even their horses, if it meant he could get an army,” Dany recounted sadly. Jon’s jaw clenched. “Do you think he’ll be behind?” Dany asked, glancing toward the door.

“I don’t know,” Jon said. “But if he is, I’ve a thing or two to say to him.”

Dany took off her mother’s ring and began twirling it in her fingers again. “I was alone for a long time. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small, scared thing. Viserys should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t just my brother, he was my king. Why do the gods make kings and queens if not to protect those who can’t protect themselves.”

“Aye,” Jon said, impressed by his wife’s wisdom. While Jon knew he was a Targaryen before he ever met Dany, it was only after meeting her that he felt proud to be one.

“That’s why I tried to stop Drogo’s khalasar from raping the Lhazareen women. That’s why I protected the remnants of the khalasar that followed me. That’s why I freed the slaves, even if it meant more mouths to feed. That’s why I tried to be like an older sister to Missandei. I wanted others to have the protection I never had growing up. And I was fortunate the gods gave me the power to do so.”

“To this day, I’m still amazed at how, in the span of less than a year, you went from being a meek girl scared of her brother and husband, to gaining authority and respect as Khaleesi, to becoming the Dragon Queen, defying your brother and the fiercest Dothraki warriors along the way. You know that’s not normal, right?” Jon grinned.

Dany rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her unbidden smile and the warmth on her cheeks. She got used to being flattered in Essos by Xaro, Daario, Hizdahr, and countless others. But when praise came from someone like Jon, it actually meant something.

“It’s ironic,” Jon continued, “because, while Viserys threatened that you’d wake the dragon, he wasn’t wrong. It just turns out you were the dragon, and somewhere along the Dothraki Sea, you woke yourself up. And the world has never been the same since.”

Dany smiled. “When I first learned that you literally died to protect your sister, it made me feel . . . it’s hard to put into words. For a moment, I remember wishing that you were my older brother, instead of Viserys. And this was before I even knew you were a Targaryen. I found myself being jealous of Arya that Ned Stark’s bastard was her older brother, not mine.” Dany laughed.

Jon smiled sadly. “I don’t think that’s strange at all. It’s what you deserved.”

“I remember when you turned down marriage offers for Sansa and Arya. You said, ‘At the risk of disappointing thousands of years of Brandons, I care far less about House Stark’s legacy than I do about the safety and happiness of its members.’ You said your sisters would choose whether they married, and to whom.”

“Aye. We’d all been through so much. It’s the least they deserved.”

“Lord Tyrell was disappointed,” Dany said, with a slight smirk.

“He got over it,” Jon said, shaking his head.

“Before or after you made him cry?” Dany asked with a cocked brow.

“I didn’t make him cry. He made himself cry with how foolish he was acting,” Jon grumbled.

“Jon, you berated him in front of everyone. When he initially balked at fighting in the ‘Northern War’ as he called it, you got up in his face and handed him a shovel and made him start digging Margaery’s grave.”

“Well, he needed to understand the consequences of his choices.”

“You told him that if he’s going to fail as a Warden of the South, Leige Lord, father, husband, grandfather, and human, the least he could do was provide some much needed cheap labor. I think you hurt his feelings, Jon.”

“I merely bruised his ego.”

“Gods, and don’t get me started with poor Lord Tarly after you overheard him criticizing Sam. I’ve just never seen a good person bully so well. Usually good people are meek, and bad people are the successful bullies.” Dany tried to place the ring on her thumb, which made her stoutest finger look like it was wearing a collar.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jon defended himself, though he knew it was a lost cause. “I may, on occasion, act a little less refined as a result of spending so much time in Ghost, but I’m perfectly pleasant.”

“You bully me all the time,” Dany retorted.

“When have I ever bullied you?” Jon asked, feigning offense at the accusation.

“When you were washing me,” Dany said, studying Jon’s eyes to see if he understood her meaning.

“You mean what I spanked you?”

“Yes.”

“But you enjoyed it?”

“Doesn’t matter. It was still bullying.”

Jon wrapped his hand around Dany’s throat, causing a slight gasp. “Do you want me to stop spanking you?”

Dany hesitated a moment, and then shook her head.

“So, you want me to continue spanking you?”

Dany nodded. Jon released his hand and kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Dany said, humming. She got up and walked over to the wine table, grabbed a bowl of pecans, and brought them back to the bed. She gave a handful to Jon, and then when she went to grab a few for herself, noticed that one was broken in half. She stared at it for a few moments.

“What are you thinking about?” Jon asked, mouth full.

“I still love him. Viserys. It’s why I named one of my dragons after him. For the man he once was.” Dany looked up to Jon and gave a sad smile. She felt Jon’s hand embrace her own. “He used to tell me stories when I was little. About House Targaryen. About the Seven Kingdoms. He taught me to be proud of our family. I want to see him again one day. Despite everything. I even sometimes wonder if I’d give it all up, the dragons, being queen, if it meant I could have the old Viserys back.” A tear fell into the bowl. Dany felt Jon take the pecans from her and guide her to lay on top of him, her head on his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair while she cried.

“I hope you get to see him. I want him to know what you became,” Jon said, raising his head to kiss her crown.

Eventually, Dany raised her head, resting her chin on Jon’s chest. “Hey,” she said, admiring her nephew’s stormy eyes in between sniffles.

“Hey,” Jon replied, with a lopsided smile.

“Euron would be another one.”

“Another contrast?”

“Yes.”

“In what way?” Jon took another handful of pecans.

Dany sat cross legged on the bed next to Jon. “He was very powerful, with a dragon, kraken, even greenseer abilities according to Bran, yet he always used his power for evil, to cause chaos.”

“He was like a magical Littlefinger,” Jon said, grimacing.

“The gods saw fit to give me a lot of power, and while I certainly didn’t wield it perfectly by any means, I always tried to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.”

“And you did,” Jon said, smiling. “I mean, you also caused a bit of chaos as well, but it was always for a good reason. Not to enrich yourself, but to save others.”

“I still can’t believe Euron proposed to me. He was shocked when I said ‘No.’ For some reason he thought I’d be impressed with the fact that he destroyed an entire city. The look he gave me was like a hurt child whose mother wasn’t impressed with his drawing.”

Jon sucked in air through his teeth. “He may’ve gotten lucky with Oldtown, but he failed miserably to destroy Casterly Rock with his dragon. And then he lost his dragon because, unlike Targaryen dragon bonds, horns can be broken.”

“And then his brother killed him. Turns out when you’re cruel to someone their whole life, they sometimes grow to not like you,” Dany japed.

“Who would’ve thought?” Jon asked sarcastically. “Certainly not Tywin or Cersei.”

Dany snorted. “Aegon would be another. He had everything handed to him. He had a father figure, a half-maester, a septa, a knight at arms, seven hells, he even had an army given to him and he didn’t even have to get fucked for it!”

Jon chuckled. “Sorry, I’m imaging Young Griff ‘earning’ his army by coupling with some large, bearded, tattooed sellsword captain.”

“He’d probably enjoy Daario,” Dany said, then immediately regretted it when she saw Jon’s face. “Sorry,” she winced. Dany needed to change the subject quick. “Tyrion was right when he told Aegon that showing up to Meereen with his hand out wouldn’t have gone well for him. After all, unlike Aegon, I spent my childhood in exile, impoverished, living on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always fearful, never safe, friendless, but for a brother who was by all accounts half-mad, a brother who sold my maidenhood to the Dothraki for the promise of an army. The Dothraki despise weakness, and if I had been, I would’ve perished with Viserys. I crossed the grasslands and red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, and trod the slaver cities to dust beneath my dainty sandaled feet.”

Jon nodded, but still didn’t say much. So, Dany continued, “Varys loved to talk about how much of a different ruler Aegon the Pretender would’ve been. Aside from the fact that he wasn’t actually Aegon, even just looking at his abilities, everything was just so . . . inauthentic. He was shaped for rule since before he could walk. He was trained in arms, as befits a knight, he could read and write, speak several languages, and studied history and law and poetry. A septa instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith from an early age. He lived with the fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned how to wash his own clothes. He could fish and cook and bind a wound. All of that is great, but he was served those skills on a golden platter, he didn’t have to endure hardships to learn them.”

“I don’t know,” Jon finally spoke, “didn’t Varys say Aegon knew what it was like to be hungry, hunted, and afraid?”

“I doubt that very much,” Dany said. “Varys and Illyrio wouldn’t dare risk their precious Aegon, after all he was their path to power.”

Dany held out her hand and Jon gave her the remaining pecans, which she quickly started nibbling on. “Finally, there’s always you,” Dany said, raising her brow in challenge.

“Me?” Jon said.

“It’s only fair, I was one of yours.”

“All right, this should be good. Let’s see if you can dig the hole deeper after your Daario comment,” Jon said and sat up in the bed, rubbing his hands together.

Dany rolled her eyes, but she knew it was best not to respond. “I know in some ways you’ve had a difficult life,” she began. “Even though your life was better than most, it still must’ve been hard to be treated as an outsider by your own family. It’s like you were reminded everyday that you were lesser.”

Jon nodded, interested to see where she was going. “But still, I’m envious of the mentors you’ve had in your life. Ned Stark, despite his role in the Rebellion, was a good man. Especially now that I know he dishonored himself and risked his life to protect you, and even stood up to King Robert to protect me,” Dany explained.

“Aye. I was very fortunate to be raised as his son. He always made sure to teach me, right alongside his own heir, Robb. That’s why I have such a loud voice, you know.” Jon grinned. “Uncle Ned taught Robb and I that a captain’s lungs were as important as his sword arm, because it does not matter how brave or brilliant a man is if his commands cannot be heard. So, Robb and I used to climb the towers of Winterfell to shout at each other across the yard. Though, I still think Donal Noye had us both beat.”

Dany smiled. “And there’s no doubt that Ned instilled in you a sense of honor, which is another thing that attracted me to you. The men I knew in Essos were definitely lacking in that regard.”

“Speaking of, it seemed I got the honorable Mormont to guide me, while your Mormont had ulterior motives,” Jon said with a grimace.

“Whatsoever do you mean, Nephew?” Dany asked facetiously. “He only wanted to spy on me for Robert and fuck me even though he was old enough to be my father.”

“Admittedly, Lord Commander Mormont was a tough son of a bitch, but he never tried to kiss me,” Jon said. Jon handed Dany a pecan that had fallen on the bed and took the empty bowl from her and placed it on his head. Dany rolled her eyes, but then narrowed them and threw the pecan into the bowl, though Jon had to move slightly to make it happen.

“We make a good pair,” Dany said as Jon took the bowl off his head. “Defeating the Army of the Dead, throwing nuts into bowls, is there anything we can’t do?”

“No, the nut thing was the final test. We officially can do anything now,” Jon joked.

Dany grinned. “So, while Jorah had bad motives, he did provide me some mentoring, especially early on. And then when Barristan came, he provided even more, without any improper motives. But at that point, I was his queen, so he would always hesitate to tell me things, such as, you know, the extent of my father’s madness.”

“I think you being a known Targaryen was both a blessing and a curse,” Jon said. “It was a blessing because it gave you power and recognition that I obviously never got as a bastard. But it was also a curse because the people in your life, especially after Viserys and Drogo’s deaths, were always your subordinates. Whereas, with me, Donal Noye had no problem telling me I was bullying the other recruits and that I’ve had it better than most, nor did Qhorin Halfhand have any issue letting me know I shouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice my honor to keep the realm safe. Also, because you became so powerful early on, people always wanted that power for themselves, and so any advice they gave you was likely tainted.”

“Believe me, I was well aware,” Dany said. “Though, I think the mentor I’m most jealous of is Maester Aemon.”

“Gods, he would’ve loved you,” Jon said. “And you would’ve adored him. In the end he was also convinced you were the chosen one. But yes, he gave me some of my best advice: ‘Kill the boy, and let the man be born,’ ‘love is the death of duty.’ He also supported me as Lord Commander. The irony is, even though we grew close, he never knew I was a Targaryen, and instead only knew me as the bastard son of the man who helped bring down his family.”

Jon took the bowl and began moving it in a small circle, causing the nut to race around the bottom. “I’ll say this, though. One of the most impressive things about you is your instinct. No one taught you how to be a Khaleesi, so you taught yourself and earned the Dothraki’s respect. No one taught you how to hatch dragons, but you figured it out. No one taught you how to effectively govern a foreign city, but you did. The things you’ve just discovered on your own regarding magic and ruling are impressive. I can’t help but wonder how you would’ve done if you had the education and mentors you deserved.”

Dany smiled and blushed at Jon’s praise. “But I’m glad one of us was taught how to follow orders. I agree it makes you a better leader than you otherwise would’ve been. And your experience made us a stronger ruling pair.”

Jon nodded. “Well, I think we should probably get dressed.”

“Aye. It’s getting close to time,” Dany said. They got up and put on the formal clothes the maid had laid out for them. Clothes they would have worn to the coronation they never had.

Afterwards, they both sat on the bed as the last remaining grains of sand were falling from the hourglass’s upper bulb.

“Do you think our family will resent us because we didn’t take back the iron throne?” Dany asked, breaking the silence. “For years, I thought it was my duty to take the throne back for my family, to reestablish my House over the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You did,” Jon said, looking at her slightly confused. “Everyone followed us. We led the entire army of the living. For months, we were the undisputed king and queen though we never sat the iron throne.”

“But now House Targaryen is no more,” Dany said sadly. “It’s like all the work to protect us that your uncle and Ser Willem did merely delayed the inevitable conclusion of Robert’s Rebellion: the end of our House.”

“No!” Jon said emphatically. “Uncle Ned and Ser Willem’s brave actions allowed us to fulfill our House’s purpose: saving the world. I’ve been thinking. Maybe the gods only gave Targaryens the ability to bond with dragons for a reason, and not to accumulate power. Maybe we were the ‘fire’ that would counter the threat of ‘ice,’ and once we defeated that threat, we had served our purpose?”

“That’s depressing,” Dany said, picking at her nails. “But you may be right.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m right. What matters is we won. We fulfilled Aegon the Conqueror’s 300-year-old prophecy. Would it have been nice to survive and rule for another few hundred years? Sure. But I’m not sure Targaryens necessarily make better rulers than anyone else. But what we do better than anyone—using fire to defeat ice monsters—we did. And no one else could’ve done what we did. Without us, the entire world would be slaves in an eternal frozen night. As great as your victories in Essos were, they were just practice for the slavery we abolished, which was much worse because it would’ve enslaved the entire world for all eternity.”

Dany sighed and laid back to stare at the ceiling, not caring if her dress got wrinkled. Then she poked Jon’s side. “Hey, I’m just glad the gods let us spend some time together, just the two of us, before we had to face our family, friends, and others who’ve passed. Will everyone we had a connection with be behind the large door?”

“No, just family,” Jon said. “Friends, lovers, first husbands from arranged political marriages, can all be visited through the separate, smaller doors.” Dany grinned at Jon’s reference to her Sun and Stars and glanced at a handful of smaller doors that she assumed were closets. “There’s even a door that allows us to watch the living. Oh, we’re also allowed to come back to this room as often as we like, we just can’t stay in here without visiting our families first. At least, that’s what the serving girl who filled the water basin, brought us the wine and pecans, and laid out our clothes said.”

“Where was I when she said that?” Dany asked.

A concerned look appeared over Jon’s face. “Remember, love, you had a hard time when we first got here. You had a lot to think through. I’m at an advantage because this isn’t my first time, though it’s the first time I’ve been here.”

“I just felt so guilty when I realized what happened. So many people depended on me, and I felt like I abandoned them. How long was I--?” Dany asked.

“It’s hard to say. I can’t keep track of time here. But I held you while you cried for a long time. It may’ve been a few hours, a few days, it’s hard to know. When the maid got here, which was right in the beginning, you were curled up on the bed with a pillow over your head.”

Dany nodded. “Everything is such a blur.” Then her eyes widened. “Wait, do you think I’ll be able to see Rhaego?”

Jon nodded, smiling. “Yes, the maid said unborn children are here as well, though they will be grown when we see them. Everyone here is our age. It’ll be queer to see a young Maester Aemon.” Jon laughed.

Dany nodded. “And an adult Rhaego. Jon,” she grabbed his arm, “I need you to mentor Rhaego. I don’t know what he’s been taught since he’s been here, if he’s only been with Drogo learning Dothraki traditions, or if he’s been allowed to see my Targaryen family. But I want you to be his Uncle Ned. Please, Jon.”

“Of course, love. I’ll teach him everything I know,” Jon said with a wistful smile.

Dany noticed Jon’s look. Poor Jon, he always wanted a child of his—oh no. “Shit! Jon, I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t hate me. Please—”

“What? What is it?” Jon asked.

Dany gave a staggered sigh and held out her hands in a placating fashion. “I don’t know how I’m just now remembering this. So much has happened, and it’s all just so overwhelming, you must believe me, Jon, and . . . gods, Jon, please don’t hate me!”

“What, just tell me!” Jon said with furrowed brow, taking Dany’s hands in his own.

Dany began rubbing the back of Jon’s hands with her thumbs. “Three days before the great battle, I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Aye, I remember. I sent Sam to your chambers. He said it was something you ate.”

Dany bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Uh huh. That wasn’t completely a lie. It was caused by something I also happened to eat, though that I ate part of it was completely coincidental and unrelated.”

“What?”

“I was with child, Jon.”

“Seven Hells, Sam! I can’t believe he kept that from me!” Jon abruptly got up from the bed and began pacing the room.

Dany got up and began following him. “It wasn’t his fault. I threatened him. I, I didn’t want you worrying, and trying to keep me from battle, or trying to change our detailed war strategy on my account. I was going to tell you after the battle. It was going to be a surprise!” She hugged him tightly, hoping it would facilitate his forgiveness. When she looked at him again, his face had softened a bit.

“I just think, if Rhaego is there, there’s no reason our child wouldn’t be,” Dany hoped. Jon closed his glistening eyes and swallowed. Dany raised herself on her tip toes, kissed Jon’s cheek, and whispered in his ear, “What do you think? Brown hair or silver? Gray eyes or violet?”

Jon smiled. “Aye, the possibilities are endless. Long face or normal face?”

“Shut up, Jon!” She smacked him on the chest. “What about single child or twins? Or maybe dragonrider and warg, or only dragonrider?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Ghost?” Jon said.

Dany thought for a second, wondering if this world was big enough for her dragons. “I think I know which door he’ll be behind,” she encouraged.

They both sat down on the edge of the bed, holding hands. Dany glanced at the hourglass. It still somehow had a pinch of sand left in the top bulb. Has time slowed down?

“I’m most nervous about our reunions with those we haven’t met, like Rhaegar and Lyanna, Rhaella and Rhaego. I imagine my reunion with Uncle Ned and Robb will likely go how the reunion went with my other Stark siblings once we took back Winterfell from the Boltons,” Jon reasoned.  

Dany needed a distraction to calm her nerves. “I’m not sure you ever told me the details, only that they returned.”

“Well, I met Arya through Nymeria first. Nymeria and her pack helped my army defeat the Boltons and their hounds. Nymeria and Ghost played together and made up for lost time. But then she walked over to me and just kept staring at me and whimpering. It took me a second to realize it was Arya inside. When I did, she started barking loudly and running in circles.” Jon chuckled. “I told her to get her arse home!” A month later, she showed up. When I told her the Boltons were no more, she replied, ‘So are the Freys.’”

“I keep forgetting your sister is far more formidable that you are,” Dany said.

Jon snorted. “Aye, you’re not wrong.”

“I feel like you’re leaving a part out,” Dany said, narrowing her eyes in mock accusation.

“Oh, you mean the part where I openly wept and showered her face with snotty kisses all the while squeezing her so hard it’s a miracle her head didn’t pop off? Yes, that also happened,” Jon said with a grin.

Dany laughed. “What about the other Stark reunions?”

“My reunion with Sansa was nice. Littlefinger introduced her as his daughter, Alayne. She couldn’t even meet my eyes at first, but once she did, I knew. So, I told her I thought her name was pretty, which caused her eyes to widen, though she quickly composed herself. I apologized for being so forward and mentioned that my half-sister, Sansa, recommended I say that whenever a lady told me her name. I asked if she thought it was sound advice. Tears filled her eyes and she nodded, then I embraced her and said, ‘Welcome home, Sansa.’”

Dany smiled. “That’s sweet.”

Jon nodded. “Bran was just so quiet when he first arrived with Meera. But once he started talking, we quickly realized that he’d possibly had the strangest journey of us all. He put a lot of the pieces together, about my parentage, and about the events that led to the downfall of our House, particularly Littlefinger’s role in everything. It wasn’t long after that Sansa entered the solar where Arya and I were speaking and simply said, ‘Littlefinger is no more.’ It was also clear we would need Bran and his abilities to stand any chance against the Dead.”

Dany nodded. “I was astounded at some of the things he said, and what he knew. He truly had an important role to play, as did many others. And Rickon?”

“He was so young when he fled Winterfell, so his time in Skagos and warging Shaggydog slowed his development. Sansa and I both took on more of a parental role with him.”

Dany thought for a second. “I assume Bran and Rickon’s ages, coupled with everything they endured, played a role in you becoming King in the North?”

“Along with Robb’s Will,” Jon said.

“Aye, can’t forget about that,” Dany replied.

“And I’ll never forget the day I was chosen to be King. Arya told me to kneel and placed Robb’s crown upon my head, that she’d received from her mother. It was, until then, the best moment of my life.”

“What? Lady Stark died at the Red Wedding?” Dany asked.

Jon nodded. “Not many people know this, but Catelyn was resurrected a few days after her death. She wasn’t in a good condition, physically or mentally. She couldn’t speak. But apparently she, along with a group of men known as the Brotherhood Without Banners, had been seeking revenge for the Red Wedding, killing those involved one by one. Arya found her in the Riverlands. She gave her the gift of mercy, but not before receiving Robb’s crown.”

Dany pursed her lips. She turned and looked at the few grains that remained in the hourglass. “Do you want to talk about what happened? In the end? Before we . . .” she nodded toward the large door.

Jon took a deep breath and looked at the hourglass. “From what I remember, we were winning. Our dragons were keeping the wights at bay. Then I went to the ground to help those armed with Valyrian steel and dragonglass spears and daggers. The Others fled when they saw my burning sword, but we chased them down one by one. We had almost slain them all when Viserion somehow fell.”

Dany had a pained look as she began to remember. “Blue-eyed Viserion was unstoppable, killing people by the hundreds. I met him first in the air. Though Drogon was bigger, Viserion seemed unaffected by Drogon’s bites and cuts, even Drogon’s flames. But the damage Viserion inflicted was taking its toll on Drogon.”

Jon nodded. “Aye. I saw you battling in the air, so I mounted Rhaegal. Once he latched on to the other two dragons, the three dragons began to fall. I knew, even if we crashed at a speed that would kill Rhaegal and Drogon, Viserion could keep going, wreaking further death and destruction. And our dragons’ fire didn’t seem to pierce his skin. So, I jumped onto Viserion and plunged my sword as deep as it would go. Smoke and steam poured from Viserion’s mouth, as his eyes melted and dribbled down his cheeks. But by then it was too late. We were about to hit the ground. Maybe there was a small chance we could’ve survived—”

“But Viserion’s body burst into flame,” Dany said somberly.

Jon was silent as he wrestled with feelings of regret, second guessing his actions. Then his eyes widened, as if he remembered something. “You grabbed my hand, right before we . . . how?”

Dany smiled and bit her lower lip to hold back the tears. “I jumped onto Viserion after you stabbed him. I knew there was a good chance we weren’t going to live. And I wasn’t sure anything would be waiting for us after we died. So, in case it was our final moment together, I wanted you to know you were loved. I wanted that to be the last thing you ever felt.”

Jon stared at her, his eyes welling with tears and seeming to display a thousand different emotions. He looked down, as if trying to fully understand what she just said. Jon blinked, and a tear streaked down his cheek and vanished into his beard. He sniffled and began breathing through his mouth. Jon looked back up at her, eyes red and glistening. He peered into her eyes, subtly shifting his gaze from one to the other. Then his chin began to tremble, and he swallowed. She felt a cool drop slide down her own cheek. Watching Jon cry was the surest way to become a sobbing mess herself. She hugged her nephew and felt wetness on her shoulder as she and Jon both continued their chorus of sniffles. When they finally parted, they both began laughing and drying each other’s tears.

Jon glanced over her shoulder. “Times up,” he said. Dany nodded. She was finally ready.

They slowly walked to the largest door, which was rimmed in light from the feast on the other side. They heard loud talking, laughing. Even singing. Jon pulled the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He gave her a sheepish grin. “It’s probably a good thing the door was locked, considering . . . .”

“Aye,” she said. Her heart would’ve been pounding had she been alive. Though I feel more alive now than I ever have.

Jon took a key from a nearby hook, unlocked the door, and slowly opened it. The conversations got louder as they were greeted by a sea of silver and brown hair, often spilling out from beneath crowns, all feasting together. Suddenly, the conversations died as Jon and Dany were finally noticed. An eternity seemed to pass in silence as Dany’s eyes darted from face to face. “Jon—” she began, but she couldn’t finish as they were met with deafening cheers.

Dany breathed a sigh of relief. She felt Jon grab her hand. With their fingers interlaced, they stepped forward together into eternity.

[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.

[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

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

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. 

If you liked it, I would love to hear any feedback. Also I'm going to start a taglist so if you want to be added, just comment here or send me an ask

Taglist: @babygirlrex0504 @prismaticpizza @mxltifxnd0m

[cutedisneygirl]

Love Online Chapter 3

No warnings in this chapter. Just sweet and funny interactions between Merida and who she thinks is Chris.

The next morning Merida awoke and got ready for work. She had just sat down to drink her coffee and eat her breakfast when she got a message.

 Captaindork-Good morning. Hope you slept well. Hope you have a great day at work

Disneydoggrl83 ❤️Good morning. I slept okay. Its still hard without Lady. I am so use to her sleeping in the bed with me. How are you?

Captaindork-I'm sorry. I'm okay. Just got back from taking Dodger for a walk. Will be heading to set soon.

Disneydoggrl83 ❤️Your working on the movie Red Sea Diving Report right?

Captaindork-Yes. It comes out in July. You should see it.

Disneydoggrl83 ❤️My best friend wants to go see it. So we will see. Well I need to finish getting ready for work. I have to leave soon.

Captaindork-Okay. Have a nice day.

Merida brushes her teeth then grabs her things and heads out the door. She arrives at work early. It isn't long to she has a class full of kids. She spends her day painting with her kids and then playing with them outside. When nap time comes she sits and scrolls through Instagram. She didn't see anything from Chris. She scrolled through her page and looked at her posts of Lady. She cried looking at them. She was just about to put her phone down when she got a message.

Captaindork-Hey. Just wanted to say hi. And see how you were doing and how your day was going.

Disneydoggrl83 ❤️Hey. Its been okay. It's been a little rough. I just looked at pictures of Lady on my page. 😢🥺

Captaindork- aww I'm sorry. I know its hard. It's never easy losing a pet. You just have to remember the good times and those wonderful memories. Maybe this pic will help.

Disneydoggrl83❤️LOL. That is just creepy!

Captaindork-LOL. Okay how about this one?

Disneydoggrl83❤️Lol that is funny and kind of cute! Thanks.

Captaindork- your welcome anytime. I need to get going. Talk to you later.

Disneydoggrl83 ❤️Sure later. Have a good rest of your day.

Captaindork- Thanks. You too.

Once nap time was over Merida got her kids up changed their diapers and gave them snack. They played in centers for a little while before they went outside. She later cleaned her room and headed home. When she got home she set her stuff down. It was still weird walking in the door and not getting greeted by Lady. She fixed herself some dinner and sat and watched tv while she ate. She put in Avengers Civil War.  She finished eating and continued to watch the movie. She was half way through when she got a message.

Captaindork-Hey found this and had to share it with you.

Disneydoggrl83❤️Lol! Yes I agree. Maybe she didn't have any, Lol and she could have just grabbed him and kissed him!

Captaindork- True she could have! Lol and maybe your right she didn't have any. Lol. So how was your day?

Disneydoggrl83 ❤️It was good. I'm tried. My kids wore me out.

Captaindork- I bet. I can't imagine doing your job all day. I mean I love kids! But having to around that many all day, I would go crazy!

Disneydoggrl83 ❤️Lol yes sometimes it is hard, but by the end of the day I know how much those kids needed me and when one of them says love me and gives me hug it just makes my day and makes me feel so much better. I know I have impacted that kids life in some way.

Captaindork- Awww, that's sweet. And yes i'm sure it is. Kids can be fun and can say the darndest things at times and cute as well. 😊

Disneydoggrl83 ❤️Yep. Like the time you quoted your nephew and even did it in an interview with Jeremy Renner.

Captaindork- Oh lol, yeah that came out and I didn't meant to say it. I had been around him for a while and picked up his phrase. I still catch myself at times saying I don't wike it!

Disneydoggrl83 ❤️Lol, I bet. I'm sure I would too. Sometimes I catch myself doing and saying things that my kids do.

Captaindork- So what of music do you like?

Disneydoggrl83 ❤️I like all kinds of music. Just not much into hard rock or wrap. I like Disney songs of course, I like movie soundtracks, country and Christian songs.

Captaindork- Cool. I love Disney songs as well. I like all kinds of music.

Disneydoggrl83 ❤️😊 What are you afraid of?

Merida sees that Chris is typing then all of sudden a video chat appears.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! He's video chatting me!"

Merida nervously hits the accept button. It was Chris!

"Uh hi. I hit the video chat by accident. Lol. I didn't meant to hit it. I didn't know if you would accept or not. I almost canceled it out."

"I almost didn't accept it, but then I was like why not?"

"So I guess you see now that I am who I said I am."

"Yes, you definitely are." Merida smiled.

Chris smiles back.

Merida loves his smile and tries to hide her excitement.

"So you asked me what I was afraid of. I am terrified of spiders!"

"Spiders? Wow."

"I will freak out if I see one. If there was one crawling on the floor I would probably stand up on the couch screaming."

Merida laughs. "Really? You're that bad?"

"Yes."

"Well I guess I can understand. I am that way with snakes. I hate snakes. I can't even look at pictures of them or even talk about them."

"Now I am not that bad!" Chris laughs.

"Yeah."

"Well I know never to show you a picture of a snake or talk about them to much."

"Yeah please don't."

"Not even a cute picture of one? Like a Disney snake?"

"Well I might could handle that." Merida smiles.

"Okay, I will keep that in mind."

Just then Merida sees that Tiffany is calling her.

"Hey Chris, I hate to cut this short but Tiffany is calling me."

"Okay. It was nice chatting and seeing your beautiful face."

Merida smiles. "It was nice chatting with you and seeing your face too."

She ends the video and answers her phone.

"Hey girl!"

"Well hey. You sound excited. What happened?"

"OMG! Chris just video called me."

"What!"

"He said he did it by mistake, but I am glad he did! It's him girl! It was so Chris Evans!"

"I hate to break it to you, but there are ways he could make it look real. I'm sorry but I still think it's not him and he's scamming you. Please girl be careful."

"Tiffany! I'm telling you, it was him!"

"Merida, come on! Chris Evans really? Chris Evans messaging a fan and video chatting with a fan! Girl come on! Get real!"

Merida didn't want to argue with Tiffany. She knew it was him, and she was going to find a way to prove it to her at some point.

"Fine. So what's up?"

"Well I was calling to see if you wanted to get together this weekend? I was thinking a sleep over. I know your still struggling with losing Lady. I also know your birthday is coming up and want to take you out."

"Sure, sounds fun."

"Okay great. I will come pick you up at 6 on Friday!"

"Alright."

"I'll see you then. Night girl. Love ya."

"Love you too."

Merida hung up and set her phone on the coffee table. She was a little upset. What started out as a bad day, which turned into a great day because of the video chat, turned back into a bad day. Merida just wanted Tiffany to believe her. Why was she being like that and so determined that it wasn't Chris. She knew there were scammers out there and that they were good and had ways to make a person believe it was someone famous, but she knew in her heart it was Chris and that he wasn't fooling her. She turned off the TV and got ready for bed and climbed under her covers. She pulled up Instagram and saw a video from Chris.

Disneydoggrl83❤️liked

LOL. I never had that issue with Lady. When it was time for bed, she would always follow me. Well she would follow me everywhere! 😊

Merida put her phone on the table beside her bed and pulled the covers over her and lay down and was soon asleep. She had another dream that night. Another great dream!

Tag list @cevansbaby-dove @katherineswritingsblog @thatsamericasass24

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[inkandichxr]

skinned knees and gapped teeth

"Nobody's seen dad in, fuck... I don't even know how long."

Reed was fighting down nerves as he listened to Silas talk. Planted in a chair across from the couch where his apparent half brother sat. Curled up into himself, looking over his knees on the far end of the same sofa was the kid from the diner - Izzy - who hadn't said a word the entire time he'd been there.

He'd been getting pieces of the puzzle filled in since he'd arrived, Silas' surprise that he existed not really all that great. He said he figured their dad was out there somewhere living a normal, quiet life but that he never expected him to abandon a baby. There was a suggestion that perhaps he didn't even know - that maybe Reed had another parent but since he didn't know any of that information himself it was all open ended. What felt the most strange was that Silas didn't doubt for a second that they were siblings.

"Felix should be here soon and I called Pops but he didn't answer, so I had to leave him a couple text messages. It's probably best he shows up later though."

"I didn't come here to cause anyone problems."

"But you will." Izzy finally spoke up but got cut off before he could continue.

"Isaak!"

The younger man visibly cringed before shooting Silas a dirty look and continuing what he was going to say. "I just mean that all of this is going to have some kind of effect on Dimitri and none of us knows what that will be. It's not really your fault."

"That's your other dad, right?" Reed spoke up, face a little red but understanding that there were circumstances he had no control over. "And his brother."

"They were twins. This is not uncommon in our family."

"Izzy, you are not being helpful."

"No, I know already."

Silas sighed, ready to further explain the situation. "Dimitri always wanted more kids. He tried to do it himself but either he can't or it wasn't meant to be. Probably best he didn't. Our dad really broke his heart. Broke him. They were together for a really long time and dad kind of blindsided him, told him he wasn't in love with him anymore. It totally shattered Dimitri. So anything that has anything to do with my dad is a sore subject for him and you... might just be the sorest subject."

"Oh." Reed said softly. It sounded complicated and heartbreaking and he hated to think showing up here would cause someone pain. But hadn't he been through enough pain having no idea who he was all that time?

It wasn't much longer after that and a little more conversation that Felix arrived, looking concerned. But after Silas quickly explained what was going on he immediately moved to hug Reed who found himself crying before his grandfather had ever let go.

"I had no idea," Felix spoke softly. "I would've taken you in. We all would have." Silas just nodded and Izzy hugged his knees to his chest again. "I am so sorry."

Learning that Felix had no memories for awhile and that he was just coming back to his family weirdly put Reed at ease. He hadn't been found not just because no one knew where to look but because even the ones planted firmly in the human world were not themselves. These people hadn't neglected him because they wanted to but because he was lost and no one knew they were even supposed to be looking.

"How did you pass through a human agency that young and not be found out sooner?" Felix questioned after he'd made them all a cup of tea with Silas' help. "The twins were all over the place. Silas too."

"Not me, I was neglected." Izzy interjected with a hint of humor in his voice that earned a soft laugh from Reed and had his newfound nephew lighting up.

"Me too," Reed piped up which only earned an eyeroll from Silas.

"My god there's two of them."

"I'm assuming you mean the physical characteristics you all share."

"Yes," Felix spoke up to keep both Izzy and Silas silent.

"I don't have them," he supplied quietly. "They took them from me."

Izzy went to open his mouth only to get a sharp look from his dad. He thought for a moment but just shook his head and said it anyway. "You win."

This caused Reed to actually laugh. As heavy as that story was Izzy talking to him like that was just light enough that it was keeping him from losing his absolute shit over even being here.

In the midst of their laughter the door opened and another man entered. Everyone looked up at once, earning a confused look from Dimitri. "... I got your text message?"

All at once Reed witnessed everyone stand, save himself and Izzy, and rush Dimitri toward another room. He still looked confused. The two left behind sat in awkward silence while hushed whispers came from where everyone else had disappeared to.

"I saw you at the diner," Izzy spoke to fill the silence. "I was working and got busy and then when I came back both you and Finn were gone."

"Finn's a friend." Reed chose not to explain how he'd gotten close to Finn, how comfortable he'd become in his presence. This wasn't the time or place for it. "A new friend. He helped me find all of you. But, to be fair, at the diner - he thought I was going to hit on you and was just trying to look out for you."

"Gross." "Mega gross."

When the others returned Felix had a hand clamped on Dimitri's shoulder and the newest of their group looked a bit panicked. He was clearly trying to hold it in and Reed felt terrible.

"I hope my boys were making you feel comfortable." Dimitri addressed Reed. He was just as nice as Belladonna said he would be, even in his discomfort.

"Everyone except Izzy," Reed responded in hopes to keep this as light as possible.

"He's not wrong." Izzy added with a grin, picking up on what Reed was trying to do.

"I really didn't mean to come here and cause anyone problems," Reed spoke again but it was Dimitri who shut him down this time.

"You're not him. So you haven't caused any problems." It was incredibly clear that Dimitri was trying his hardest and Reed knew this wouldn't be the last conversation he had with the man - his uncle - about the subject. "Silas, order a couple pizzas. I think we all just need to hang out here and talk for awhile."

"Are you sure? I can go... I really just wanted to meet you all at least once."

"We insist." Felix added. "You're one of us, kid. And it's time you got to be who you're meant to be."