#World Legacy Pawns

[chaoticsorceressztc]

Thinking hard. Braining heckery. Trying to make a Chaos Necromancer deck to rival Gren Maju decks. Best plan is a Magical Merchant and gambling by having like 4 spells/traps in the deck. One being World Legacy Pawns cause I'm too poor to own a Book Of Moon. Possibly 2 One for Ones and a Card Destruction. Probably a Morphing Jar too just to be safe. Then some Dante, Traveler Of The Burning Abysses to get even more graveyard monsters. Then some actual Burning Abyss (3 level 3s) monsters that will destroy themselves the moment a non Burning Abyss monster hits the field.

~More info umder the read more~

This is what my brain has shoved me into

Also here's my current Swarm deck(I believe that's what they're called) because my tired brain believes it might synergize well with it somehow.

Also I'm well aware of the Erratas of these two cards

I'm also have 2 effect veilers as well, the one's with the discard themself effect that negates a monster's effect until end of that turn during your opponents main phase.

Heck. Am too tired yo keep think thonking

[loeh]

BooHoo

Milf!reader continuation

Marrying Lant Agriche, the ruthless head of the notorious Agriche family, was never a life you envisioned for yourself. But fate had other plans, and now, here you were, trapped in a world you never chose. You had two children: Irvyn and Ilysia, twins. Despite your hopes that they would inherit only your traits, they both carried their father's dark hair and the haunting, ruby-red eyes that marked them as his children—a constant reminder of the bloodline you had been forced to join.

Growing up, painting had always been your sanctuary. It was your escape from a world that could never truly understand you. From a young age, you dedicated yourself to your craft, perfecting it until you knew you could paint even if you lost your sight—an ability you alone truly grasped.

But your family, the (L/n) lineage, was known for far more than just artistic talent. They were descendants of demons—beings capable of unimaginable destruction. For forty generations, your family had carried the legacy of these dark forces, but it was only you who had inherited the full brunt of the demon’s abilities. You could commune with the dead, summon creatures from other realms, and manipulate forces no mortal should control. The world soon took notice of your powers, and suitors came—hungry to claim the strength they believed would make them invincible.

But none of them stirred your heart. Your heart had already been taken by someone who did not belong to your world—someone outside the reach of bloodshed and darkness. And so, you vowed never to marry, to end the (L/n) bloodline with yourself. Your parents, understanding the dangers of your gifts, supported this decision, knowing all too well the havoc your power could bring. They feared for you, and for anyone who would come too close to your world.

Then came Lant Agriche. A vile man, the head of a family built on cruelty and manipulation. He had over four wives and countless children—each one a pawn in his ruthless quest for power. Lant made it clear that he intended to make you his wife, and no refusal was accepted. His power and arrogance were suffocating. But Lant did not understand rejection. When you refused him, he threatened violence, promising to destroy your parents, and the man who had captured your heart. In the end, you had no choice but to surrender. Your life as you knew it shattered, and with it, the nightmare of your bloodline’s legacy became a brutal reality.

You were forced into a marriage with a man whose cruelty knew no bounds, and soon, you were pregnant with his children.

Irvyn and Ilysia came into the world—your children, born from the very man you despised. For a long time, you wanted to hate them. They were the living proof of the bond you were forced into—a bond forged through deceit and violence. Yet, you couldn’t. You could never hate them, no matter the circumstances of their birth. They were your flesh and blood, and they were all you had left.

Luckily—or perhaps unluckily—your children did not inherit the full extent of your demonic powers. They did not possess the terrifying abilities you had, nor the dark legacy of your bloodline. In many ways, this was a blessing. But you knew the world would never see them as ordinary. They would always carry the weight of their father's name, and that was a burden you would have to protect them from at all costs.

So you made a vow. You would protect them. You would train them, make them stronger, teach them how to survive in a world that was not kind to those like them. They would grow up not as pawns in a dangerous game, but as individuals capable of taking control of their own fate. You would help them escape this hellhole. You would give them a chance to live their lives to the fullest, free from the darkness that threatened to consume them.

Now, at just seven years old, Irvyn and Ilysia were already deadly in their own ways. They were perceptive, clever, and more than capable of navigating the treacherous world you had been forced to endure. They were still children, but you saw the fire in their eyes—the same defiance you once held within yourself. You would protect that spark, no matter what it took, and one day, they would rise above the curse of the Agriche name. They would be stronger than you ever were. They would be free.

[baekhyunsbestie]

── ❝ choose ❞ 🦢ྀི ̟!!

⟢ an arranged marriage au req’d by this qt anonie <3 :’) ty lovie!

જ⁀➴°⋆ content: 18+/MDNI. 22.5k+ words—omg i just don't know how to stfu do i ⁉️ baekhyun x f!reader. baekhyun x f!oc. sehun x f!reader. arranged marriage au. strangers to friends to lovers. the trifecta: angst, fluff, smut ⟡ alcohol consumption, explicit language, jealousy on both sides, solo masturbation (baek), pet names, praise kink, body worship, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, breeding kink, creampie ⟡

you could hardly wrap your head around the situation unraveling in front of you.

just a week ago, the idea of sitting in this stuffy, oversized meeting room, surrounded by your parents, their precious real estate company’s top shareholders, and a room full of suits from the country’s leading investment firm, would have been laughable. yet here you were, their board of directors staring across at yours like it was a chess match.

and apparently, you were the pawn.

“i know we’re asking a lot, dearest,” your father’s voice echoes carried the weight of his words as he spoke to you from the backseat of the car, heading toward the byuns’ estate. “but this arrangement with the byuns will strengthen our standing in the business world. you understand, don’t you?” 

the words swirled in your mind like smoke, thick and suffocating. his company was already worth billions, a family legacy poised to stretch across generations. this wasn’t about business; it was just cold, unquenchable greed.

“plus,” your mother chimed in, her tone softened by the tinkling of pearls around her neck, ���it’s about time you started thinking about settling down, darling.” she shot you a sympathetic smile that felt as cold and detached as the diamonds in her ring.

you offered a forced smile and a nod, swallowing down the rush of anger that threatened to spill over. you did your best to hide the unease bubbling within, a skill honed since you were young, the result of years spent learning to maintain a poised, unflappable exterior.

twenty five years in, and it felt like you’d spent at least twenty of those meticulously walking the tightrope of your family’s expectations—always striving to make them proud, to meet every demand placed on you. from a young age, you were drilled in the understanding that your role as the daughter of a man of notable standing was to be obedient, to speak with poise and intelligence, to master the intricate dance of business that came with being his one and only heir.

it was almost impressive how deeply your parents had buried this secret, orchestrating your future without so much as a slip-up. a plan so meticulous it must have been in the works since you were a child.

the room was alive with chatter, a symphony of negotiations and legal jargon — talks of contracts, investments, and of course, prenups. your chest tightened, the air feeling heavier with every word. the faint hum of voices blurred as your gaze scanned the room, searching for him — the heir, the man you were apparently promised to, like a relic passed between dynasties.

but he wasn’t there.

as if his father could read your thoughts, his voice sliced through the tension, calm and composed. “baekhyun is on his way. he…had to handle some important business in the city for me. but don’t you worry, you’ll meet your fiancé very soon.”

fiancé. 

the word felt like a stone sinking in your stomach.

your nails dug into your palms, the sting grounding you, a small reminder that this wasn’t just some twisted dream. you were tired of this—tired of being your parents’ perfect little pawn, always following their rules, always nodding along. but this? this was too much.

your life wasn’t a business deal. but to them, that’s all it had ever been.

as the lively chatter swirled around you, the voices blending into a cacophony, you felt the faint throb of a headache creeping in. the air in the room seemed to thicken, pressing against your chest and making it harder to draw a full breath. your senses dulled, edges of the world blurring, and the faint dizziness began to spiral into something heavier, more oppressive.

the floor beneath your feet seemed unsteady, the room spinning as if it were alive. desperate to regain control, you pushed yourself to your feet, your only thought was to find some water—or escape the suffocating atmosphere entirely. each breath felt shallower, the weight of the situation curling in your stomach like nausea. in your haze, you barely registered the arrival of more guests, their presence another layer to the overwhelming din.

guests moved like shadows through the chaos, their chatter weaving another layer into the cacophony that pressed against your skull. the air felt heavier with every passing second, the room spinning just enough to blur the faces around you. each shaky step toward the door felt monumental, the faint promise of the hallway’s quiet drawing you forward like a lifeline. but before you could reach it, your knees gave way, a sudden betrayal of your resolve.

the ground surged up to claim you—but it never came. instead, strong arms caught you, steady and sure, halting your descent.

time seemed to pause as his touch anchored you, the frantic noise around you fading into a dull hum. lifting your gaze, you met his. the soft glow of the chandelier above crowned his features in a golden haze, casting delicate highlights over his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw. murmurs swept through the room like ripples on water, curious eyes turning toward the spectacle.

“you okay, sweetheart? you don’t look so good.” his voice was low, calm, each syllable threaded with quiet concern. his dark eyes searched yours, intent and unwavering, as his hands steadied you—gentle yet unyielding.

god, he’s beautiful. breathtaking, even. the plush curve of his pink lips, the faint scatter of freckles that added a boyish charm to his otherwise sharp features, the effortless way his perfectly styled hair framed his face like it belonged in a magazine spread.

“can someone grab her some water?” he called out, eyes still on you. he didn’t wait for a reply before one of the staff rushed to comply, leaving you with the full weight of his attention.

moments later, a chilled bottle was in his hand. he helped you back to your seat, his movements careful but efficient, like he’d done this a hundred times before. with a single twist, the cap came off, and he pressed the bottle into your hands.

“here. drink,” he said, firm but kind, his gaze never leaving your face as though willing you to trust him.

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you took a cautious sip, the cool liquid soothing against your parched throat. “i don’t know what came over me. i’m usually not like this.”

he watched you closely, a faint crease between his brows. “just take it easy for a moment,” he said, his voice softer now, the chaos of the room seeming to fade as his focus remained entirely on you.

"i’m baekhyun," he says, extending his hand toward you. his voice is steady, but there's a weight behind it, like he’s forcing himself to sound composed. “you must be my new fiancée.”

your fingers meet his in a brief, formal shake, and the two of you exchange tentative, almost apologetic smiles. it’s not the kind of moment you imagined when meeting your future husband—not romantic or thrilling, just... somber.

your gaze flickers over his features, taking in the way his body seems to rebel against the situation. his shoulders are stiff, tension radiating from him like a coiled spring. his eyes dart around the room, searching for some kind of escape, you suspect. when he finally settles in the chair next to you, his leg starts bouncing—an anxious rhythm against the polished floor. his fingers are laced tightly over his lap, knuckles white, and you can see the faint twitch of his jaw as he clenches it.

“care to take a walk?” you ask, your voice carrying a quiet plea for escape, craving the cool embrace of fresh air to cut through the weight of it all.

“yeah, let’s get outta here,” he answers, his gaze locking onto yours. an effortless, heart-stopping smile spreads across his face—so disarmingly perfect it almost feels unfair. you hate how good he looks when he does that, how his smile seems to eclipse the chaos swirling between you. but, in this tangled mess, it’s a small consolation. at least he’s easy on the eyes. it dulls the bitterness of it all—just enough to let you breathe.

even if only for a moment.

the two of you drift into his family’s garden, a hidden sanctuary tucked away from the grandeur and noise of the estate. vibrant blossoms stretch toward the sunlight in every direction, their hues weaving a striking contrast to the chaos you left behind. the air is cool and fresh, carrying a faint hint of jasmine, and as you inhale deeply, you feel the tension begin to melt from your shoulders. 

the world seems softer here.

he trails behind you, his gaze following your every move as you admire the kaleidoscope of colors—blush pinks, fiery reds, golden yellows. there’s a childlike wonder in the way you reach out to brush your fingers across delicate petals. “my mom planted all of this,” he says, his voice gentle as he watches your delight. his steps slow as you move further along the path, his tone softening as he adds, “she pours herself into the garden, says it keeps her busy. i help when i can, but... well, my schedule doesn’t always allow it.”

the weight of his words lingers in the air, a quiet sigh you almost miss over the faint rustle of leaves. eventually, you find yourselves settling on a bench nestled in the heart of the garden. the riot of blooms seems to fade into the periphery, leaving the two of you cocooned in a world of your own. you trace the carvings in the wooden seat, wondering if his mother chose this very spot to escape—a retreat from the noise, a small oasis among the roses and the canopy of trees.

his voice cuts through the stillness, low and threaded with a quiet ache. “i’m sure someone like you knows what it’s like.” the unspoken meaning in his words brushes against your thoughts as his eyes hold yours, steady yet weighted. the scent of jasmine clings to the pause between you, heavy and inescapable. “to never have the freedom to make your own choices.”

you nod slowly, the motion deliberate, though your smile falters, never quite reaching your eyes. your gaze drifts upward, drawn to the tree above. its branches sway gently, a soft rustling of leaves carried by the breeze, like nature's quiet lullaby. the speckled sunlight filters through the canopy, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow over your face. there’s a calmness in the way the leaves dance.

he watches you with an intensity that feels almost palpable, his gaze like a brushstroke tracing the delicate contours of your face. his brown eyes, touched by the sunlight streaming through the trees, shimmer with flecks of golden amber, glinting like embers in their depths. they flit over your features—your lips, the subtle curve of your cheek, the way your lashes catch the light—like he’s trying to decipher the answer to an unspoken question, a puzzle that only you can solve.

there’s a quiet tension in his expression, something searching, like he’s trying to piece together how the two of you, tethered by circumstance yet worlds apart, have found yourselves here. the silence between you is heavy, not with discomfort but with the weight of everything unsaid.

you can almost feel his thoughts skimming the edges of yours, the quiet intensity with which he watches every word you speak, every tiny movement, as if measuring their truth. could someone so grounded, so effortlessly genuine, truly be the daughter of such a money hungry mogul? you don’t carry the polished veneer he expected—the smooth entitlement, the rehearsed charm that usually drips from wealth. instead, there’s a quiet gravity to you, an unrefined rawness that sets you apart, unpolished yet undeniably real.

it unnerves him, perhaps, how different you are from the image he had in mind. but as his gaze lingers, softening around the edges, you realize it’s not judgment you see in his eyes—it’s curiosity. maybe even something more, something unspoken, nestled in the spaces between his glances and the golden light that dances over the garden.

a flicker of something unspoken weaves through your voice as you finally break the silence, the weight of shared understanding hanging just beneath the surface. “looks like we’ve got that in common.”

he seems to snap out of his thoughts, his brows furrowing as he tilts his head, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. “what do you mean?”

your lips curve into a faint, melancholic smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. there’s a vulnerability in the way you say it, as if the words themselves are a confession. “not being able to choose for ourselves.” 

the air in the garden was thick with the scent of blooming roses, their delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze as the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawn. it was quiet here, far from the bustling estate where their families and shareholders were likely busy hashing out the terms of their future. you and baekhyun sat on the wooden bench beneath a willow tree, its long, graceful branches hanging low, creating a canopy of green above them.

baekhyun was leaning back, his gaze lost in the distance, fingers absentmindedly tracing the curve of the bench.

"so, i guess this is how it’s going to be," he said, his voice low and almost melancholic. "both of us, caught up in something we never asked for."

you turned your head to look at him, your eyes soft with understanding. you could see the way his lips barely curled into a smile, but there was a sadness to it, something more than just resignation.

"yeah," you said quietly. "my parents... they’ve made every decision for me. from the moment i was born, it was like my life was planned out, as if i never had a choice."

baekhyun chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. "same here. every decision, every step, every role—always played the part they wanted. my future was written before i even had a chance to pick up a pen."

there was a silence between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was the kind of silence that came with shared understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of the burden you both carried. the sound of birds in the distance seemed louder in the quiet, the rustling of the leaves above them almost rhythmic, as if nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for them to speak again.

"do you ever wonder what it would be like to just... choose for yourself?" your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was filled with longing, a quiet hope for something more than the life that had been mapped out for you both. "to do something—anything—that’s just yours?"

baekhyun’s eyes flickered to you, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. "all the time," he admitted. "but then i think about the consequences, the responsibilities. it's not that simple, is it?"

you looked away, staring at the grass beneath you, the weight of your shared truth hanging in the air. "no. i guess it’s not."

"but maybe," baekhyun added slowly, his voice thoughtful, "maybe we don’t have to completely surrender ourselves to what they want. maybe there’s a way to carve out a little space for ourselves, even in all of this."

you met his gaze then, and for the first time, something flickered between you—an unspoken agreement, a shared sense of rebellion. the world inside the byun estate might have been spinning around you, filled with deals and plans and expectations, but here, in the quiet of the garden, you were just two people who understood what it was like to be trapped by others’ dreams.

“so, if we’re going to do this, we need to figure out what we want, not just what our families want,” his voice is calm, but you hear the urgency behind his words, as if this conversation is one of the few things in his life he can control.

you nod, your gaze fixed on the ground beneath your feet. you’ve lived your life so far based on what others expected of you—always the perfect daughter, the future heir, never really given the chance to choose. this marriage, this arrangement, felt like just another chain, another expectation to carry. but now, sitting beside baekhyun, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this is an opportunity to reshape things.

“what if we made our own terms?” your voice is soft but resolute. “i don’t want to just play the role my parents set for me. i want... i want more than that.”

baekhyun turns to you, eyes searching yours. “what kind of terms are you talking about?”

you take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “i think we need to agree on some ground rules. like... real ground rules. for us. not for them, not for the company, not for the shareholders, but for us.”

baekhyun raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "indulge me, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice a soft, inviting challenge.

you pause for a moment, your breath catching as his words swirl around you, the pet name slipping past your guard, laced with a teasing warmth. his gaze locks onto you with an intensity that makes your pulse race. you take a steadying breath, forcing your composure back.

"first," you begin, your voice steady but edged with the quiet fire you've been holding back, "we need the freedom to choose for ourselves. our careers, our lives—those can’t be controlled by anyone else. i refuse to be treated like some asset, some pawn in someone else’s game." you meet his eyes, holding his gaze with unwavering resolve. "and i’m sure you don’t want that, either."

baekhyun nods slowly. “agreed. i’ve spent my whole life following their script. it’s exhausting.”

your eyes soften. “we’re not puppets. we don’t need to be. and... we don’t have to start a family just because it’s expected. we should decide when the time is right for us, not because it’s what our parents want. i don’t want to feel like my life’s purpose is only to produce heirs.”

baekhyun’s expression shifts, and his gaze turns thoughtful. “i can’t stand the pressure to ‘settle down’ just for the sake of appearances. if we’re going to do this, it’s got to be on our terms. not theirs.”

a long pause hangs between you, the only sound the distant hum of your families inside the estate. the tension has shifted into something more peaceful, as if your agreement on those points has created a small, sacred space between you, one where you can both breathe. but there’s more.

“one thing,” baekhyun continues, his voice quieter now. “we can’t let them interfere with what we build together. i don’t want anyone pushing us, telling us what to do. not when it comes to our relationship, at least.”

you look up at him, a flicker of something new in your gaze. “agreed. no one gets a say in what we do in private. not our families, not the board members—no one.”

“and,” he adds after a beat, “we need to be honest with each other. no playing games. no pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. if this is going to work, it can’t be based on a lie.”

your lips part, about to speak, but instead, you nod, feeling the quiet weight of that commitment settle between you. “honesty. always.”

there’s a pause before you add something that’s been on your mind. “and if we choose to... see other people—since this is an arranged marriage and all—it has to be with complete discretion. no secrets. we let each other know, no matter what.”

baekhyun raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable for a moment. then, he nods slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “i like that. transparency. no hidden agendas.”

you feel a weight lift, as if you’ve just cleared the air between you, creating space for something more real. this wasn’t going to be the typical marriage of convenience. it was theirs to shape, even with its constraints.

you sit there for a while longer, the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting a soft, golden light over the two of you. the garden feels quieter now, as though the earth itself is listening to your promises, absorbing the unspoken understanding between you.

“maybe,” baekhyun says, breaking the silence, “this could be the start of something we both actually choose. not just something we’re forced into.”

you turn your head toward him, meeting his gaze fully now. there’s a quiet, unspoken truth between you, something neither of you can fully explain. you’re not bound by your families’ expectations anymore, not entirely. in this moment, you have something real—something you can build from the ground up.

“we’ll figure it out,” you say, your voice steady but with a hint of hope. “together.”

baekhyun smiles softly, genuinely, a smile that feels like a promise. he leans back against the bench, watching the last of the sun’s rays slip beneath the horizon.

“together,” he echoes, his voice a quiet vow.

you’ve heard the whispers about byun baekhyun over the years—rumors that float through the air like smoke, delicate but undeniable. they speak of his prowess at his father’s investment firm, a place where he moves through high-stakes meetings with the kind of effortless ease that makes you wonder if he was born for this world of numbers and deals. he’s the golden boy of the byun empire, the heir to a billion-dollar fortune, his name passing from lips with a reverence tinged with envy. there’s no denying it: he’s the one everyone admires, the one they all want to be.

women look at him with longing in their eyes, a mix of desire and fascination. the men? they admire him in a way that’s almost reverential, wishing they could command the same kind of power, charm, and effortless charisma. there’s a certain gravity to him, an aura that demands attention without him having to try. he’s everything people talk about, everything they crave—untouchable, almost, and yet somehow, always within reach.

and, of course, he’s heard about you, too.

the heiress to the nation’s largest real estate company. your name is spoken with just as much weight as his, though in a very different way. your company’s worth mirrors his own—both in revenue and stature—but it’s not just the numbers that catch his attention. it’s you. the soft-hearted, kind, and undeniably stunning woman who runs a billion-dollar empire, carrying yourself with a quiet confidence that never needs to be announced. your philanthropic efforts are well known, hosting charity events that seem to shimmer with a light of their own. there’s a grace about you, something almost ethereal, like you’ve stepped out of a dream. people adore you, but not in the way they adore him—your admiration feels real, like it’s earned, not given by default.

he finds that… refreshing. surprising, even. everything about you is more genuine than he expected, and your presence is like a breath of fresh air in a world that can sometimes feel suffocating. you’re approachable, down to earth in a way that makes him pause and reconsider everything he thought he knew about someone like you. in a sea of pristine, curated images, you stand apart—real, raw, and completely unaffected by the shallow expectations placed on women of your stature.

and yet… there are no scandals, no rumors swirling around you like a storm. no messy breakups, no late-night flings or headlines about your personal life. nothing worthy of note, nothing that would tarnish the carefully crafted image the world has of you. you’re the perfect saint—untouched by the kind of drama that seems to follow people in your world.

it’s that spotless record, that pristine reputation, that draws him in even more. you are the perfect package—beautiful, poised, charitable, and yet somehow still down to earth despite the immense wealth you command. it makes him wonder: how had no one managed to sweep you off your feet yet? in a world full of people eager to claim what’s theirs, how had you remained untouched, unattached?

the question lingers in his mind, and despite himself, he can’t help but be intrigued.

as he sat across from you now, watching your parents sign the papers that would bind you to him, the difference between the two of you felt almost like a chasm, vast and undeniable. he knew his own reputation well—a turbulent storm of scandals, heartbreaks, and fleeting, empty affairs that left nothing behind but whispers and regret. it had become his armor, the kind of image he had long since accepted as his reality. but you? you were something else entirely.

there was a purity to you, an almost ethereal quality that seemed to shield you from the messiness of the world. your presence was both grounding and mesmerizing, like the calm in the eye of a storm. every movement, every glance was effortless—natural, graceful—as if you were meant to be the face of your family’s empire from the moment you were born. you exuded a quiet strength, a dignity that contrasted sharply with the chaotic and often reckless energy that surrounded him. you were unmarked by the world’s harshness, untouched by the scandals and drama that followed so many like him.

baekhyun found himself drawn to you, captivated by the way you held yourself with a poise that felt almost unreal. it wasn’t the beauty that caught his attention—it was something deeper, something more elusive. it was the way you seemed untouchable, like a rare and delicate flower that bloomed in a garden no one else could enter. and yet, there was an undeniable pull in that beauty, a force that beckoned him, making him ache to understand the world you inhabited, a world he could never fully grasp.

it was a strange pull, one he didn’t quite understand. there was something about you that challenged him—something so perfectly poised, so untouched by the storms of life that it felt like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. how could anyone resist the temptation to peel back the layers, to see what lay beneath the surface?

but then again, baekhyun had never been one to turn away from a challenge. and you? you were the ultimate challenge. perfect, poised, and completely untarnished by the weight of the world. 

how could he not want to get to know you better?

the byun estate hums with the familiar buzz of luxury. voices blend into a harmonious murmur, glasses clink with a soft chime, and the scent of fine wine and expensive perfume floats through the air. you've been here before, countless times—hosting galas, attending charity events, being the face of your family's empire. this world is nothing new to you. the polished smiles, the fleeting conversations, the constant ebb and flow of social rituals. you're used to the attention, to the admiring gazes that follow you from the moment you enter a room. it's nothing you can't handle.

but tonight, it's different.

tonight, the nerves in your chest feel like something foreign, something new. it’s not the usual excitement of orchestrating an event or making an impression; this is different. it’s the kind of nervousness that coils tight in your stomach and makes your palms clammy, the kind that comes with a weight you can’t quite place. it’s not just the eyes on you now—it’s the knowledge that those eyes are on you because you’re engaged. you are now, irrevocably, tied to baekhyun.

you catch yourself fidgeting with the hem of your dress, adjusting the delicate fabric for no reason at all, and then quickly stop, taking a slow breath to steady yourself. you’ve done this a hundred times before. but you can’t help the jitter of nerves that seems to crawl under your skin, prickling with the knowledge that this is an event meant for you and baekhyun. an engagement party, the beginning of a future that you never asked for but now have to walk into, with every eye in the room trained on you.

baekhyun has been standing across the room, holding court with a small group of guests. his figure is unmistakable—tall, effortlessly composed, exuding a quiet confidence that draws people in. you’ve watched him navigate the space, exchanging pleasantries, always poised. but when his eyes meet yours, there's something different about it. it's not the casual acknowledgment you’re used to when you’re the center of attention at an event. this is something deeper, something that makes your breath hitch for a fraction of a second.

and then, without missing a beat, he makes his way toward you, cutting through the crowd with a fluidity that feels almost deliberate. you swallow hard, feeling that strange heat rise to your cheeks again, despite how practiced you are in social situations. it’s not just anyone coming toward you now; it’s your fiancé—the man you’re about to enter a lifetime with, in front of a room full of people, their eyes watching, judging, speculating.

he stops just a few feet away, his smile warm and easy, like he’s just another person in this sea of faces, and yet there’s something different about the way he looks at you. not just out of politeness or social obligation, but something far more genuine, like he’s actually interested. you can feel the weight of his gaze, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

"you look beautiful tonight," he says, his voice a soothing balm that helps ground you in the moment. his words cut through the buzz of conversation, making everything feel quieter, softer.

you can’t help but laugh softly, trying to mask the nerves with the practiced ease you’ve perfected over years of public appearances. “thank you,” you say, but your voice betrays you, a little too soft, a little too unsure for someone who has spent their life on stages like this. “it’s a lot to take in, honestly. not exactly the usual type of event.”

he nods, a small, knowing smile on his lips. “i get it. it’s... different, isn’t it?” his tone is gentle, and there’s an understanding in the way he looks at you, as if he can sense the strain of the moment.

you can’t decide if that makes you feel more at ease or more exposed. the gentle way he’s watching you, like he sees past the polished exterior you’ve perfected over the years, makes your chest tighten. this isn’t just a man offering a polite compliment. no, there’s a subtle warmth behind it, something that’s genuine. and that’s what makes your stomach flutter in a way you hadn’t expected.

before you can respond, a voice cuts through the moment—sweet, syrupy, but carrying a quiet sharpness.

“well, well, well. isn’t this interesting?” the voice is sweet, dripping with something syrupy but sharp. 

she’s stunning. stunning—like a high-fashion model, her posture regal and her features flawless. her skin is smooth, a deep shade of mocha, and her hair falls in sleek waves around her shoulders, glossy and perfect. the way she holds herself is effortless, a kind of confidence that you can’t quite place, but it’s magnetic. you can feel the tension rise in the air as her eyes flicker from baekhyun to you, assessing you in the same quiet, deliberate way she seems to assess everything.

the woman’s presence alone seems to turn the room’s energy up a notch. there’s an edge to her voice as she continues, her gaze fixed on you with an almost calculating look. "i didn't think the byun men were ones for arranged marriages," she says, her tone too sweet to be anything but sarcastic. "how... quaint." her lips curl into a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes, which gleam with a kind of challenge.

you manage to lift your chin, but her words, her presence, make you feel small. you shift uncomfortably, the room suddenly feeling too hot. who is she?

baekhyun shifts slightly at her words, his smile still intact but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—a flash of discomfort, or maybe something else entirely—that you can’t quite decipher. he takes a half-step closer to you, his hand brushing yours subtly, almost protectively.

“aya, i didn’t expect you to be here tonight,” baekhyun says, his voice tight but polite. it’s clear there’s history between them, something unsaid, but you can’t quite grasp it.

aya’s eyes flicker back to you, and for a moment, it feels like she’s sizing you up, like she’s deciding something. she doesn’t bother hiding the slight sneer that tugs at her lips as she looks you over. “oh, i couldn’t miss the show,” she says, her tone saccharine, the words laced with something deeper. “i didn’t realize the newest member of the byun family would be so... delicate.”

the words sting, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks, heat spreading through your skin as a strange wave of doubt rises in your chest. you glance at baekhyun, but his eyes are fixed on aya, his jaw tight. there's something unspoken between them that you can feel but can’t quite name.

before you can gather your thoughts, your parents appear, pulling you two away, and in that moment, your conversation with baekhyun and aya is cut short. as you walk away, your mind races. who was she? and why had baekhyun’s demeanor changed so quickly? was there something between them?

the questions swirl in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that aya is more than just a passing acquaintance. there's something deeper, something personal, and now, you're left wondering just how much you don’t know about baekhyun and the world you're about to be tied to.

three months had passed, and in that time, you and baekhyun had settled into a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural. between appointments with the wedding planner, company dinners, and endless events, your interactions had grown from polite exchanges to something far more comfortable. what had begun as a partnership forged out of obligation now carried an air of genuine camaraderie.

it didn’t take long before your schedules started overlapping even more. casual meetings evolved into dinner dates—just the two of you, away from the scrutiny of planners and business associates. those moments felt different, unburdened by expectation, allowing you to see each other as individuals rather than roles in a contract.

you discovered that the two of you had more in common than you’d anticipated. shared music tastes that had you both curating playlists for car rides, a mutual appreciation for certain foods that turned dinners into culinary adventures, and a surprising knack for poking fun at each other’s humor. you bonded over a love for art, both traditional and modern, and even found yourselves admiring each other’s impeccable sense of style—always coordinated, as if without trying.

the more time you spent with him, the more you began to notice the little things. the way baekhyun’s gaze would linger on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the soft quirk of his lips when he caught you smiling at something, the subtle brush of his fingers against yours that left a warmth in their wake. his presence carried a kind of tenderness, a quiet thoughtfulness that seemed to grow with every passing day.

you couldn’t pinpoint when it happened exactly, but you started feeling something deeper for him. it wasn’t just about finding him attractive—though he was undeniably so—it was the way he made you feel seen and understood, as if you were standing on even ground with someone who truly got you.

for the first time since this whole engagement had been arranged, a weight lifted off your shoulders. the uncertainty that once loomed over you began to dissipate, replaced by something softer, something warm. you found yourself feeling grateful—not for the circumstances, but for him. baekhyun was like a mirror image of yourself in many ways, a male counterpart who complemented you in all the right ways.

as the weeks passed, attending events and parties together became second nature. while your appearances had always been for the sake of optics, they now felt like opportunities to simply enjoy each other’s company in a setting that didn’t demand conversation but allowed for quiet connection.

tonight was one of those nights. the air buzzed with anticipation as you and baekhyun prepared for yet another event, but for the first time, you realized you weren’t dreading it. if anything, you looked forward to it—because he’d be by your side.

the gala hall pulsed with an opulent energy—muted laughter, the murmur of refined conversation, and the melodic clinking of crystal glasses. chandeliers bathed the room in a golden glow, casting shimmering patterns onto the polished marble floors. dressed in a gown that hugged your frame like it had been stitched with you in mind, you moved through the crowd with practiced grace, your every step exuding poise even as a quiet unease coiled in your stomach.

baekhyun stood effortlessly at your side, his presence magnetic. the sharp lines of his tuxedo accentuated his lean frame, and his posture held a kind of quiet authority. his hand rested lightly on the small of your back, a touch that seemed intimate to onlookers but was purely performative. the two of you cut an impressive figure together—a vision of elegance and synergy.

to the world, you were the perfect couple, a match made in heaven. but beneath the polished facade lay the truth: you were little more than companions caught in a meticulously arranged engagement, each navigating the precarious expectations thrust upon you.

“that you, angel?”

the low, familiar voice broke through the hum of the room, warm and laced with teasing nostalgia. you froze for a moment before turning, your heart skipping as you took in the sight of sehun.

his boyish grin was as irresistible as you remembered, though time had sharpened his features into something more striking. he had grown into himself, his presence commanding yet easy, like a favorite memory brought to life.

“sehun!” your voice carried genuine surprise, a smile brightening your face as you closed the distance between you. without hesitation, you wrapped him in a warm hug, the scent of his cologne instantly familiar, a subtle reminder of carefree days long gone.

“it’s been forever,” you said, pulling back to meet his gaze, your smile lingering.

baekhyun’s hand slid from the small of your back as if retreating from a territory no longer his, though he stayed close enough to watch. his brows drew together in a faint furrow, the only outward sign of the unease rippling through him as your attention shifted entirely to sehun.

your conversation with sehun flowed effortlessly, the years apart melting away under the weight of shared memories. his laughter, warm and familiar, softened as the minutes passed, his gaze lingering on you like he was cataloging every detail he had missed. his words turned personal, each one dipping into a past neither of you had truly revisited.

“god, you still look as beautiful as ever,” sehun said, his voice dipping lower, eyes tracing your figure with an intensity that made you shy under the weight of it. you glanced down, a soft laugh escaping, your fingers brushing your necklace out of habit.

from across the room, baekhyun’s conversation with a business partner faltered. his eyes snapped to you, catching the moment between you and sehun. the way sehun looked at you—like you were something he regretted losing, something he wasn’t ready to give up on—set something off in baekhyun. a flame of something unnameable stirred low in his chest.

sehun leaned a little closer, lowering his voice as if you were the only two people in the room. “so, i hear congratulations are in order,” he said, the casual edge of his tone undermined by the way his eyes searched yours. “engaged, huh?”

your breath hitched for a moment, the question catching you off guard. “it’s… complicated,” you admitted, the truth slipping out before you could stop yourself.

you explained the nature of your engagement, how it wasn’t a grand love story but an arrangement born of convenience and obligation. you admitted you were still figuring out what it meant, how to navigate the fragile, undefined space between friendship and something more.

sehun’s expression softened, but not in the way you expected. there was an edge to it, a wistfulness laced with something more potent. his lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes betrayed a lingering ache.

“that’s a shame,” he murmured, his voice dropping low enough that only you could hear. “you deserve more than complicated, sweets.”

baekhyun, now standing a few steps away, caught every word, his sharp hearing honing in on the conversation like a weapon. his jaw tightened, the tension in his posture betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.

his gaze flicked to sehun, noting the way he leaned into your space, how his eyes drank in every detail of you, his lingering touches disguised as friendly gestures. it was unmistakable. sehun wasn’t just catching up. he was still in love with you.

and the realization settled into baekhyun’s chest like a stone, heavy and inescapable.

baekhyun’s presence shifted the atmosphere in an instant as he closed the gap between you and sehun, his stride purposeful, his gaze sharp. the moment he stood beside you, it was clear he was no longer just a bystander in this conversation.

“sehun, right?” baekhyun’s voice was calm, but the underlying tension in his tone was unmistakable. his eyes, however, were anything but polite—they were intense, unreadable, and they locked onto sehun with a quiet ferocity.

sehun’s lips twitched into a thin, controlled smile, a hint of something that was more a challenge than a greeting. “baekhyun,” he acknowledged with a nod, his eyes scanning the space between you. “we were just catching up. you know, we go way back.”

“that’s obvious,” baekhyun responded smoothly, his arm slipping around your waist with such ease that it felt almost rehearsed, like a declaration of ownership wrapped in casual familiarity. his touch was possessive, though subtle enough to not draw immediate attention.

sehun’s eyes flickered downward, his gaze briefly tracing the line of baekhyun’s arm resting on you before snapping back to his face. the playful edge in his smile hardened into something sharper, more pointed. “must be nice,” he drawled, his tone carrying a layer of ice, “getting to enjoy the benefits of a relationship without actually having to earn it.”

baekhyun’s posture stiffened, his jaw tightening as his eyes darkened with a dangerous edge. “excuse me?” the words left his lips with chilling precision, his voice dipping in temperature as the air around the three of you seemed to still, the tension thickening by the second.

you placed a hand lightly on baekhyun’s chest, a subtle plea for him to keep his cool, but sehun wasn’t finished.

“i’m just saying,” sehun continued, his eyes narrowing, “some of us actually had to work for her time and affection.” his voice lowered to a soft, venomous tone, dripping with barely concealed disdain. “not everyone gets handed things on a silver platter.”

the words hung in the air, sharp and biting. baekhyun’s grip on his composure slipped just slightly, his arm falling from your waist as he took a slow, deliberate step toward sehun. his hands curled into fists, muscles coiling with restrained fury. “careful, sehun,” he warned, his voice now low, dangerous, “you’re starting to sound bitter.”

sehun didn’t back down. if anything, his smirk grew, and his words came out with a touch more venom. “and you’re starting to sound insecure.”

the air between baekhyun and sehun was thick with tension, and you could feel the shift in the atmosphere as the subtle standoff drew the attention of those nearby. murmurs rippled through the crowd, all eyes instinctively moving toward the brewing conflict. your pulse quickened, and before things could escalate further, you stepped in between them, your hands pressing against baekhyun’s broad chest to hold him back.

“stop it, both of you,” you hissed, your voice low, but every syllable sharp and filled with authority. the heat of the moment crackled around you, but you stood firm. “this is not the time or place.”

sehun let out a quiet chuckle and took a small step back, his smirk never faltering, but the challenge in his eyes remained. baekhyun’s gaze, however, stayed fixed on him, a silent storm of possessiveness swirling in his eyes, the tension between them practically vibrating like static.

“i’ll see you around, sweets,” sehun purred, his words dripping with a mixture of mockery and something deeper, before he turned and melted into the crowd.

you turned to face baekhyun, frustration and confusion flashing in your eyes. “what was that?” you demanded, your voice betraying the storm of emotions you were fighting to keep in check.

“he’s still in love with you,” baekhyun spat, his voice low, like a growl that barely contained the storm of jealousy brewing beneath the surface.

“and that gives you the right to start a scene?” you shot back, the words escaping before you could stop them. you could feel your temper rising, and the last thing you needed was a confrontation. without waiting for his response, you stormed off, needing to clear your head.

you found yourself in the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom, the cool marble under your palms grounding you as you splashed cold water onto your flushed face. the chill of it did little to calm the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. just as you exhaled, trying to steady your heartbeat, the door creaked open. through the reflection in the mirror, you saw aya, her presence as smooth as ever, leaning against the doorframe with that calculating smile of hers.

“well,” she purred, her tone heavy with amusement, “you must be something special to have two men practically fighting over you like that.”

you stiffened, not allowing her the satisfaction of seeing your discomfort. your eyes locked with hers in the mirror, steady and defiant. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, but filled with a quiet edge.

god, why is she everywhere?

aya chuckled, the sound like the scrape of ice over a raw wound, her lips curving into a sly, knowing smile. “oh, come on. it’s written all over their faces. but don’t get too comfortable. baekhyun has a type, and i’m sure you’re just... temporary.”

her words sliced through the air, cold and sharp, but you refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. your spine straightened, your resolve hardening like steel. you met her gaze with unwavering confidence, every inch of you radiating defiance.

“if that’s all, i think you should leave,” you said, your voice steady, calm—giving nothing away.

for a moment, aya’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she quickly recovered, the facade of sweetness back in place. “suit yourself,” she said with a shrug, pushing herself off the counter and exiting without another word.

you stayed in front of the mirror for a long moment after, your reflection staring back at you, caught between the tension of the evening and the weight of the drama unfolding around you.

you took a deep breath, willing the rush of emotions to settle before you stepped out of the bathroom. the hallway was quiet, a welcome contrast to the storm of tension you had just left behind. as you walked, you tried to collect your thoughts, hoping the worst of the night was behind you.

but when you turned the corner, there he was. baekhyun. his hand rested on the back of his neck, his posture tense as he stared down at the floor, clearly lost in thought.

you paused in your tracks, your heart still racing with the remnants of the tension that had flared only moments before. a flicker of frustration stirred within you, but before you could decide whether to avoid him or confront him, baekhyun’s gaze lifted, catching yours across the quiet hallway. the softness in his eyes was immediate, and for a split second, the weight of everything seemed to settle between you two.

“hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice quieter than usual—almost tentative, as though he were carefully selecting each word. “i’m sorry for earlier. i didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

your throat tightened, the weight of the night pressing down on you, the sting of everything still fresh. you swallowed, pushing down the swirl of emotions threatening to rise. “it’s fine,” you replied, your voice steady but betraying nothing of the tension still coiling inside you. “but i don’t want you making a scene like that again, baekhyun. it’s… unnecessary.”

for a brief moment, his expression faltered, the usual confidence slipping as something softer flickered in his eyes—vulnerability, maybe even regret. he took a slow step closer, his hands sliding into his pockets as if to steady himself, his posture shifting in a subtle attempt to ground the brewing storm between you two.

“i know,” he murmured, the words low, almost lost in the air. “i get it. i was… out of line. i don’t know why i reacted like that, honestly. sehun was… just so obvious. and it was hard for me to watch, watching him like that with you. i didn’t want other people getting the wrong idea.”

your brow furrowed as you absorbed his words, trying to make sense of them. your mind flashed back to the confrontation with aya in the bathroom—her words cold and sharp, but you weren’t ready to bring that up. not now. not when things were already so tangled.

“what exactly are you trying to say, baekhyun?” you asked, your tone steady but pointed, trying to keep your own emotions from spilling out in the heat of the moment.

baekhyun hesitated, and for a long second, his eyes searched yours, as if looking for the right way to explain himself.

he paused, his gaze locking onto yours with a quiet intensity, as though he were searching for something—perhaps understanding, or a sign that you wouldn’t hold his outburst against him. when he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost hesitant, as if weighing each word. “i know i overreacted earlier. but if you have feelings for him—sehun—it’s okay. i’ll understand...i know we said we'd let each other choose and all.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness, the words lingering in the air before you could process them. a moment of confusion passed between you, but then you shook your head, dispelling the uncertainty. “i don’t have feelings for sehun,” you said firmly, your voice steady, though it trembled with the storm of emotions underneath. “i just didn’t want you to make a scene, especially not in front of everyone. neither of us needs that kind of attention.”

a subtle shift occurred in baekhyun’s expression, the tightness in his face easing as his gaze softened. you could almost feel the tension drain from him, like a weight lifted off his shoulders. he ran a hand through his hair, a small exhale slipping from his lips. it was a relief, so quiet and imperceptible, but you saw it—the way his shoulders relaxed and the lines around his eyes softened.

“i don’t know what came over me,” he admitted, his voice taking on a self-deprecating edge, the hint of a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “sorry if i made things uncomfortable.”

you met his gaze, a warmth blooming in your chest as you saw the sincerity in his eyes. the storm between you two was already beginning to fade, replaced by a quiet understanding. “it’s alright, baekhyun,” you replied softly, the reassurance in your voice melting the last remnants of tension. “we’re good.”

the silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was more like a quiet understanding settling over both of you. still, there was a lingering thought in your mind, a question you didn’t know how to answer: why had baekhyun reacted like that? did he… like you? you tried to push the thought away, burying it deep, knowing the kind of history baekhyun had. you couldn’t afford to think that way. you couldn’t let yourself believe that byun baekhyun might want you—more than just his fiancée in an arranged marriage. you weren’t sure you could measure up to someone like aya, and that thought alone was enough to keep your heart locked up tight.

finally, baekhyun gave a small nod, his usual confidence slipping back into place as the tension melted away from his posture. he stood a little taller now, a renewed ease settling into his movements.

“well,” he said, his voice returning to its familiar warmth, “let’s go back out there then. like nothing happened.”

you couldn’t help but smile, a small curve of your lips. without another word, the two of you turned toward the party, the noise and chatter of the crowd greeting you as if nothing had happened at all. the tension seemed to vanish in an instant, replaced by the rhythm of the night continuing on around you. and just like that, it felt like everything was normal again.

you couldn’t help but smile slightly, the tension in your chest finally easing. “yeah, let’s do that.”

side by side, you both walked back toward the party, the noise and chatter picking up as you entered the room. it felt like everything had returned to normal—at least on the surface. the evening continued, the night moving forward, and for now, so did the both of you.

getting caught in a storm on the weekend you both had plans definitely wasn’t on your bingo card. the rain came down in heavy sheets, the city skyline all but vanishing behind a blur of water streaking down the windows of your penthouse. it had only been a few days since baekhyun moved in, settling into his own bedroom across the hall—a necessary arrangement, according to both your parents. they insisted it was time, given how long your engagement had been simmering in the public eye. rumors had started to swirl, questioning how “in love” you two could really be if you weren’t even living together yet. appearances needed to be upheld, after all.

thankfully, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you both had feared. no awkward silences or strained politeness. to your mutual surprise, things flowed easily. over time, you had become good friends, maybe even closer than you’d anticipated, but not so close that moving in together felt natural. it was more of a performance, a shared responsibility to keep the façade intact.

this weekend, you had both planned to escape the confines of the penthouse for separate outings. you were supposed to spend the day shopping with your closest friends, an itinerary of boutiques and coffee stops laid out in your mind. baekhyun, on the other hand, had his golf bag prepped and ready for a day on the green with his buddies. but now, the storm had derailed everything, leaving you both stranded in a shared space with no choice but to wait it out.

“what should we do?” you ask as you scroll through the weather app on your phone, the updates saying there were numerous road closures. 

“i don’t think we have a choice but to stay in, sweetheart,” baekhyun sighs, plopping on the couch. “maaaan, i really wanted to try out those new golf clubs today.” 

you plop down next to him in the same exaggerated way, “and i really wanted to go shopping in the city with my girlfriends.”

for a few minutes, you both sit there in companionable quiet, the only sound the faint tapping of rain against the windows. then, baekhyun’s gaze begins to wander around your shared home. his brows lift slightly, and a mischievous glint lights up his eyes as an idea forms. “wait… didn’t you say this place has a wine cellar? what if we… raided it?”

you turn to him, your eyes sparkling like he just proposed the most brilliant plan in history. a wide grin spreads across your face. “oh my god, yes. that sounds perfect. you grab a few bottles, and i’ll order room service. pizza sound good? i like mine with pineapples.”

he watches you, momentarily captivated, a thought slipping uninvited into his mind: god, it’s like you were made to be my wife. but he quickly pushes it aside. no, he can’t say something like that. so instead, he flashes you a grin, his voice warm and teasing. 

“you’re speaking my language, sweetheart.”

two and a half bottles of wine down, a half-eaten pizza forgotten on the coffee table, and what feels like the seventh round of mario kart lighting up the tv screen—you and baekhyun are a pair of drunken, giggling messes sprawled across the couch. the atmosphere is warm and easy, the kind of buzz that softens edges and makes even losing seem a little less bitter.

“you’re such an ass!” you whine, your voice cutting through the hum of the game as baekhyun nails you with a blue shell, sending your character spiraling just as you were about to secure an easy win.

his laugh is loud and shameless, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he leans back against the couch, basking in his petty victory. “don’t hate the player, baby, hate the game,” he drawls, voice dripping with smugness.

oh, if he could kiss that pout right off your lips, he absolutely would.

the race grows tense as the finish line looms closer. with baekhyun now in the lead, you resort to desperate measures. as his fingers deftly work the controller, you smirk and reach out, clapping your palm over his eyes.

“hey, what the hell! cheater!” he exclaims, laughter bubbling out of him as he blindly mashes buttons.

you don’t let go until your character crosses the finish line in first place, throwing your controller into the air in triumph.

“HA! i win!” you declare, throwing your head back in drunken glee.

baekhyun shakes his head in mock disbelief, his eyes narrowing. “oh, so you like to play dirty, huh?”

before you can respond, a couch pillow smacks you square in the face. you gasp, feigning offense as you grab the pillow and throw it back at him with all the strength your wine-dulled reflexes can muster.

the look on baekhyun’s face shifts—his expression playful but determined. “you’ve just declared war.”

what starts as a volley of thrown pillows quickly devolves into chaos. laughter fills the room as naekhyun chases you around the coffee table, both of you dodging and weaving through the small space like children. you leap over the table in a bid to escape, but baekhyun catches you, his arms wrapping around your waist as you both tumble back onto the couch in a heap of limbs.

he pins you beneath him, straddling your hips as his hands dart to your sides, fingers mercilessly tickling. your laughter comes in breathless gasps as you squirm beneath him, trying and failing to fend him off.

“who knew my pretty fiancée was such a sore loser?” he teases, finally relenting as you lie panting beneath him, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

your chest heaves as you catch your breath, but the competitive glint in your eye hasn’t faded. using his momentary pause to your advantage, you push him back, flipping him onto his back with surprising agility. now it’s your turn to straddle him, your hands pressed to his chest as you grin triumphantly.

“looks like i win—again,” you say, your voice breathy but teasing.

baekhyun blinks up at you, wide-eyed and momentarily stunned. his mind races, thoughts derailing entirely at the sight of you perched above him, your face mere inches from his. if every loss ended like this, he’d let you sabotage him every time.

your gaze flickers down to his lips, plush and inviting. you can’t help but wonder how soft they’d feel against yours, how easily they’d mold to you if you just leaned in.

but then the weight of reality presses in—a whisper of boundaries threading through your hazy thoughts. quickly, you scramble off him, retreating to the floor as you lean back against the couch, putting a safe distance between you.

“boundaries,” you murmur under your breath, though you’re not sure if the word is meant for him or yourself.

baekhyun sits up slowly, watching you with an unreadable expression. he doesn’t press, but the way his gaze lingers makes your heart race all the same. the game continues to play on the tv, but neither of you reaches for your controllers. the moment hangs in the air, charged with something unspoken, something neither of you dares to name.

the tension in the room lingers like a static charge, neither of you quite meeting the other’s eyes. you clear your throat softly, fingers brushing against the switch controller as you pick it up in an effort to shift the mood. “what other game should we play?” you ask, forcing a casual tone that doesn’t quite mask the slight waver in your voice.

baekhyun sits up straighter on the couch, running a hand through his hair as he clears his throat. “i’ve got super smash bros. if you’re up for it?”

you glance at him, a skeptical frown tugging at your lips. “but i don’t know how to play.”

a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, his smile softening the sharp edges of his face. “don’t worry, i’ll teach you.”

before you can process his words, he shifts on the couch, sliding down to position himself directly behind you. his legs bracket your sides, and you feel the warmth of his knees pressing lightly against your hips. his arms come around yours, larger and steadier, as his hands settle over yours, guiding your fingers to the buttons on the controller.

the scent of his cologne envelops you, heady and intoxicating, a blend of something fresh and woodsy with just a hint of spice. it fills your senses, clouding your thoughts as his voice murmurs close to your ear. “okay, so this button’s for jumping, this one’s for attacks, and if you press these together, you’ll do a combo,” he explains, his breath brushing against your cheek with every word.

you nod mutely, trying—desperately—to focus on the screen. but it’s impossible when his presence is so overwhelming. his warmth seeps into you, his body practically melding with yours as he leans in closer to point out a move. the deep timbre of his voice wraps around you, lulling and steady, though you barely register the words.

your concentration falters when his hands shift slightly, fingers brushing yours with a lightness that sends shivers down your spine. you lean into him instinctively, unable to resist the pull of his proximity. the way his toned arms feel around you, the sheer size of him encompassing you, makes your breath hitch. his hands fit over yours with startling perfection, like they were always meant to be there.

you try to focus on the game—on the screen, the characters, the combos he’s patiently teaching you—but your attention keeps drifting back to him. the solid weight of his chest against your back, the way his head tilts to the side of yours as he gives instructions, the low hum of approval he lets out when you manage to execute a move correctly—it’s all too much and not enough all at once.

“got it?” he asks softly, his lips dangerously close to your ear, his tone as warm and inviting as the heat radiating off him.

you nod again, though you’re not sure if you’ve actually absorbed anything he’s said. all you know is that you wouldn’t mind losing this game—or maybe just playing forever—if it meant staying this close to him.

the rain patters softly against the windows, a rhythmic soundtrack to the dimly lit room. after a series of giggly super smash bros. matches and a few too many glasses of wine, you and baekhyun have settled into the couch, the comforting hum of twilight filling the cozy silence. the glow of the tv bathes you both in flickering shades of blue and gray, perfectly complementing the gentle storm outside.

your body leans into his, the warmth of his side a comforting cocoon that feels almost natural. the smell of his cologne mingles with the faint aroma of rain-soaked earth wafting in from the slightly cracked window. you drunkenly tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a hazy, soft smile.

“hey, baekhyun,” you slur, hiccup punctuating your words as you clutch a throw pillow to your chest like a lifeline. “i know our situation sucks, but i just wanna say—hiccup—i wouldn’t wanna be in an arranged marriage with anyone else but you.”

baekhyun freezes for a split second, your words hitting him like the crack of lightning in the distance. his heart stutters, heat creeping up his neck, settling high on his cheeks. he hopes the alcohol in his system will serve as a good excuse if you notice. “oh, yeah? and why’s that, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice playful but laced with something deeper, something softer.

you blink up at him, your pupils wide and glassy from the wine. “because…” another hiccup interrupts you, making him chuckle. “i don’t think anyone gets me like you do. plus… you’re like, really, really, really cute.”

the melodic sound of your laughter sends a ripple of warmth through him, and he chuckles, shaking his head as his fingers reach out to pinch your flushed cheeks. “is that right, angel? well, you’re not so bad yourself,” he teases, though his touch lingers longer than necessary, his fingertips brushing against your skin with a tenderness he can’t quite explain.

your response is a soft yawn, your eyelids fluttering heavily as the wine begins to pull you under. “even though...” you trail off, your words slurring slightly, “even though our relationship is all but loveless.”

his smile falters, the weight of your words settling heavily between you. “you think so?” he asks finally, his voice quieter now, almost lost beneath the gentle patter of rain.

when no reply comes, he turns his head to find you leaning into him, your head resting softly on his shoulder, your breathing even and steady. 

you’ve fallen asleep.

for a moment, baekhyun simply sits there, his gaze fixed on the serene expression on your face. slowly, almost hesitantly, his hand rises, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. his fingertips linger, as if reluctant to break contact, and he swallows hard as he takes you in.

god, you’re breathtaking. even like this, in the quiet vulnerability of sleep, you manage to steal the air from his lungs.

the back of his hand grazes your cheek, marveling at the softness of your skin, so warm and delicate beneath his touch. he traces your features with his eyes, memorizing every curve and line, every tiny detail that makes you... you. and as he does, a thought strikes him with startling clarity:

was this your idea of ‘loveless’?

because if it was, baekhyun thinks he might be utterly fucked. he leans his head back against the couch, a faint smile tugging at his lips as his heart swells with something he can’t quite name. not yet, anyway.

the door swung open, revealing baekhyun’s mother with a warm smile that immediately reminded you of him. her eyes crinkled at the corners, just like her son’s did when he was particularly delighted. “hi there, love. to what do we owe the pleasure?”

you returned her smile with equal warmth, the kind that made you feel instantly welcomed. “i’m here to help you with the garden,” you explained as she gestured for you to step inside. “baekhyun mentioned he tries to come by when he’s free to lend a hand, but since he’s away on business, i thought i’d fill in for him.”

her smile deepened, a mix of surprise and fondness lighting up her expression. “well, aren’t you sweet?” she said, guiding you through the cozy hallway toward the backyard.

the next few hours flew by in a whirl of soil-streaked hands, shared laughter, and the satisfying rustle of newly planted magnolias settling into their beds. the air smelled of fresh earth and the faint sweetness of magnolia blooms, and the rhythmic sounds of gardening created a peaceful camaraderie between the two of you.

as you leaned back to admire your work, you wiped a streak of dirt from your cheek and grinned. “i think you and i make a pretty good team, mrs. byun,” you said, your voice light with satisfaction.

she handed you a glass of ice-cold lemonade, condensation beading down the sides. “please,” she said, her voice soft but firm, “call me ‘mom.’”

the word settled over you like a warm embrace, filling you with a mix of gratitude and quiet joy. you both sank onto the wooden bench, the same one where you and baekhyun had once come up with the terms of your arrangement. the breeze rustled the leaves around you, carrying with it a sense of peace.

unbeknownst to you, baekhyun stood at a distance, his chest still rising and falling from the turmoil that had gripped him on the car ride over. he hadn’t made his presence known, too entranced by the scene before him. the way you interacted with his mother—so effortlessly warm, so genuinely kind—made his chest ache in the most beautiful way. there you were, sitting side by side with her, your laughter weaving seamlessly with hers, the sunlight highlighting the pure happiness on your face. in that moment, his heart swelled with a clarity that caught him off guard: this was everything he had always dreamed of, yet never believed he deserved.

only an hour ago, baekhyun had stepped into the penthouse, the silence that greeted him heavier than usual. a chill ran through him as he called out your name, his voice unfamiliar in the vast, empty space. the echo bounced off the walls, but there was no answer. his heart rate quickened, unease settling in as he pulled out his phone and dialed your number. it rang once, then went straight to voicemail. his stomach twisted, and he tried again. same result. his chest tightened with frustration, and a wave of dread washed over him. where were you? why wasn’t there even a text?

he moved through the penthouse, each room colder than the last, trying to find any sign of where you might have gone. this isn’t like you, he thought, his pulse quickening. you wouldn’t just leave without saying anything.

desperation clawed at him as he headed toward the front desk, barely able to keep his voice steady. “did you see my fiancée leave earlier?” he asked, the urgency unmistakable in his tone.

the concierge nodded. “yes, sir. she mentioned she was heading to the byun estate.”

the words hit him like a punch to the gut. the byun estate. his parents’ house. no… she wouldn’t… his thoughts spiraled before he could stop them. what if she’s going there to call it off?

without another thought, he dashed out the door, the weight of his keys in his hand, his steps quick and heavy with panic. the drive felt endless, the world outside the car a blur as his mind raced with one horrifying thought after another. what if she went to his parents’ to tell them she couldn’t go through with this?

his hands tightened on the steering wheel, the grip becoming almost painful. what if she changed her mind? what if after everything—after i let my guard down—she realized this wasn’t what she wanted? he could hear your voice in his head, calm and collected, as if you were preparing for this moment all along. i can’t do this, baekhyun. this marriage, this life with you—it’s not for me.

he swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat. no. no, this can’t be happening. she’s not like that. she wouldn’t do that to me… to us. but the thought kept gnawing at him, tearing through his mind. what if she’s already with my parents, telling them everything i’ve been dreading?

the drive felt like it stretched on forever, each passing second amplifying his fear. i can’t lose her, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest. i wouldn’t survive it. she can’t leave. i have to make her see that this… that i’m worth it. that we’re worth it.

his thoughts kept looping back to that moment, the drunken night just days ago, when everything felt so right. maybe she was just drunk, he thought bitterly. maybe when she sobers up, she’ll realize it was all just a mistake. maybe she’s already realized it was too much too soon. that she never wanted this—never wanted me.

he shook his head, trying to force the thoughts away, but they kept coming, relentless and cold. i should have seen it sooner. she’s too good for me. she deserves someone who isn’t so messed up. someone who doesn’t have this baggage. his grip on the wheel tightened, the tension in his body coiling like a spring. i have to stop her. i have to talk to her. if she’s really at my parents’ place, i have to go there and make her see she’s making a mistake. i’ll do anything to make her stay. anything.

baekhyun’s car screeched to a halt in front of the byun estate, the tires skimming across the gravel as he threw the door open and rushed out without a second thought. his heart pounded in his chest, still racing from the drive over, the fear that had gripped him momentarily lingering like a heavy weight in his stomach.

his eyes scanned the sprawling estate, the large mansion looming in the distance, its windows glowing softly in the fading light of the day. the manicured gardens stretched out before him, the serenity of the place almost mocking his anxiety. his footsteps quickened as he made his way toward the back of the estate, where the garden bloomed under the last remnants of sunlight. he felt a sense of urgency, like he needed to see you. needed to know you were okay.

as he turned the corner, his eyes locked onto a familiar sight—a wooden bench tucked beneath a large willow tree. the same bench you and he had shared when you first met, your laughter filling the air, the weight of your arranged marriage contract hovering over both of you like a dark cloud.

but this time, you sat beside his mother, both of you engaged in a soft conversation, the tranquility of the garden around you both at odds with the storm that had been raging inside baekhyun’s mind just moments ago. he froze for a moment, his chest loosening as relief washed over him. you were here, safe. and his mother, of all people, was with you.

you looked up just then, your eyes catching his from across the garden. your gaze softened as a faint smile touched your lips, and you greeted him warmly. “oh, hey,” you called out, the sound of your voice pulling him from his thoughts. “i remember you telling me how much you’ve wanted to help your mom with the garden but haven’t had the time. so, i decided to come out here and give her a hand…how’d you know i was here?”

baekhyun couldn’t help but smile in return, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—something that still wasn’t quite settled. “concierge,” he replied, his voice still a little shaky. “they told me you came out here.”

he didn’t say a word about the panic that had gripped him just moments ago, nor did he mention the relentless stream of worst-case scenarios that had plagued his mind. his chest still tightened with the ghost of that fear, each breath a reminder of the stress he’d barely managed to keep at bay. the drive from your shared penthouse in the city to the byun estate had always been a tense, traffic-heavy 30 minutes at best.

baekhyun made it in 15.

you tilted your head, a little guilty smile creeping up on your face. “sorry, i left my phone inside the house. i just wanted to help your mom out here in the garden,” you explained, your voice soft and casual.

baekhyun nodded slowly, his expression calm, though it did little to mask the wave of relief washing over him. you were here—here with his mom, safe and sound. not walking away from him. not trying to end the engagement. the thought eased the tension in his shoulders, his posture softening almost imperceptibly. yet, the weight of everything unsaid lingered in the air, heavy and unyielding, filling the quiet spaces between your shared smiles.

“you okay, baek?” you asked, your voice soft, but the question carried an undercurrent of something more. “y’look a little... shaken up. somethin’ happen at work?”

baekhyun hesitated, his mind whirling, torn between the urge to spill everything—the turmoil, the storm of emotions he’d battled on the drive here, the realization that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want this engagement to be the cold, transactional thing he’d always thought it would be. but the words wouldn’t come. not yet.

he forced a laugh, brushing it off as if it were nothing. “huh? oh…no. nothing,” he said, his voice light, but it was a lie, and you knew it. he could see the flicker of doubt in your eyes as you studied him, but to his relief, you didn’t press further.

before either of you could speak again, baekhyun’s mother emerged from the house, a soft smile on her face. “you two free for dinner?” she asked, her tone casual but warm, the invitation hanging in the air.

baekhyun blinked, his mind still spinning, but he quickly recovered. “sure,” he said, his voice betraying none of the tension that had been building inside him.

you echoed the same sentiment, though your voice was a little quieter, more reserved. “yeah, sure,” you agreed, not meeting his gaze as the three of you walked toward the house.

as you all made your way toward the house, baekhyun’s mind was still spinning, lost in thought. dinner passed in a quiet blur, his mother filling the space with stories of her day, her voice light and cheerful. she couldn’t stop talking about how much help you’d been in the garden, even joking that she might prefer you there from now on instead of baekhyun. the flickering candlelight on the table cast soft shadows across everyone’s faces, adding a warm, intimate glow to the scene. but baekhyun couldn’t focus on any of it. his thoughts kept drifting back to that bench, to the strange, unexpected relief that had flooded him when he saw you there, safe and sound, sitting beside his mother.

and you? you couldn’t shake the way baekhyun had looked when he first arrived, the way his eyes had scanned the garden, like he was searching for something—someone. the way he’d paused, almost frozen, when he saw you with his mother.

you swallowed the thought, pushing it down, knowing better than to entertain the idea. no, you told yourself, he doesn’t see me like that. i’m just a part of this arrangement. nothing more.

but as the night wore on, you couldn’t help but wonder what baekhyun was really thinking. what had been so wrong when he arrived? and why did you feel like maybe, just maybe, the whole evening was off-kilter in a way you couldn’t quite explain?

but for now, you buried it, pushing aside the questions that were starting to form in your mind. you had your role to play, just like he had his. this arrangement wasn’t about feelings. you knew that.

the weeks leading up to the wedding flew by in a blur, each day slipping through your fingers faster than the last. things between you and baekhyun were... tense. not in an openly hostile way—no, you were still good friends, still made time for your weekly dinner dates to catch up on each other’s lives. but there was a subtle shift in the air between you, an unspoken tension that neither of you seemed ready to address.

conversations you wanted to have with him—about your feelings, your fears, and everything in between—remained locked away, tucked behind a wall of hesitation. he was so polite, so considerate, his actions speaking louder than words ever could. every day, he brought you lunch without fail, and every vase in the house seemed to overflow with fresh flowers, their petals a vibrant reminder of his quiet devotion. yet, he never explained why he did these things, and you never asked. deep down, you were too afraid of the answer, terrified that it might be nothing more than a courteous gesture—something he did out of obligation, not affection.

but what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t see—was just how deeply you were affecting byun baekhyun. to him, you weren’t just the poised, untouchable princess of the nation’s largest real estate empire. you were his undoing. he never expected you to mean so much, never imagined that he would crave your presence, your laughter, the soft cadence of your voice, the way he did now.

night after sleepless night, he found himself consumed by thoughts of you. wondering if you ever thought of him too, if you liked the flowers, if you looked forward to the lunches he brought you. he worried they might be too much, too obvious, yet couldn’t bring himself to stop. ever since the day you quite literally fell into his arms at the byun estate, you had taken root in his heart, growing deeper with every passing moment. you were all he could think about, the one constant in his mind as the wedding loomed closer, a promise of something he both feared and desperately wanted: you.

the soft hum of conversation fills the air at the rehearsal dinner, a melody of clinking glasses, polite laughter, and the occasional burst of chatter. the room is a picture of understated elegance, bathed in the golden glow of chandeliers and warmed by the aroma of fine wine. you stand at the bar, the edge of your glass cool against your fingers as you sip your drink. the warmth of the crowd surrounds you, yet it does little to ease the faint nervousness coiling in the pit of your stomach. tomorrow is the day—the culmination of everything that has led you here. still, an unshakable weight lingers at the back of your mind, refusing to be ignored.

you’re lost in thought when you feel a presence at your side. instinctively, you turn, and there she is—aya. her smile is wide, perfect, and practiced, a masterclass in effortless poise. she looks stunning, of course. her gown hugs her frame flawlessly, her hair swept into an elegant style, and her makeup is immaculate, enhancing her already striking features. she exudes the kind of beauty that commands attention, but tonight, it feels almost oppressive, as though her glow casts your own into shadow.

“hi there, mrs. byun,” she says, her voice honeyed but with an undertone you can’t quite place—sharp and deliberate, like the edge of a blade hidden beneath silk. “congratulations on tomorrow. you and baekhyun must be thrilled.”

her words are pleasant, but something about the way she says them sends a ripple of unease through you. still, you muster a polite smile, swallowing the knot forming in your throat. “thank you,” you reply, your tone carefully measured as you meet her gaze. “we’re looking forward to it.”

yet even as the words leave your lips, a tension hangs between you, unspoken and unacknowledged, but undeniable all the same.

aya’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s something unsettling about the glint in her eyes as she leans in, just enough to make the air between you feel charged. “you know,” she murmurs, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone, as if she’s about to share a closely guarded secret, “baekhyun and i... we were together for a long time.” she pauses, her gaze sliding briefly to where baekhyun stands, engrossed in conversation with a group of guests. when her eyes return to you, they’re sharper, like the edge of a blade. “he was always so devoted to his family. so when they arranged this marriage,” she continues, her words pointed, deliberate, “he didn’t have much of a choice, did he?”

your heart stumbles in your chest, confusion and unease twisting together in your stomach. the words feel wrong, their weight designed to settle under your skin and sprout doubt. you take a measured breath, willing yourself to stay composed. “i’m not sure what you’re trying to say, aya,” you respond, your voice steady but laced with a cautious edge.

aya’s lips curl into a small, almost pitying smile, the kind that feels more like a taunt than an expression of sympathy. for a brief moment, her gaze softens, feigning sincerity, as though she’s letting you in on some harsh reality. “oh, sweetie,” she says, shaking her head with a sigh that feels too practiced, her tone syrupy-sweet, “don’t you see? that’s why he ended things with me. it was never about us. it was about his family. about what they wanted. why do you think he was late the first day you two met? he was with me.”

the impact of her words hits you like a slap, leaving a sting that spreads through your chest. your breath hitches, the room closing in on you, walls seeming to press tighter with each passing second. each syllable she utters piles onto the weight of doubt she’s so expertly planting in your mind.

your thoughts race, replaying the memory of that day. baekhyun had been late, his father brushing it off as work. but now, her words weave an unsettling narrative, one that chills you to the bone. could there have been more to his tardiness? had he really been with her? the mere suggestion sends a shiver down your spine, your world tilting as her voice continues to echo, cold and unrelenting.

you struggle to keep your composure, but the unease coiled in your stomach tightens with every moment. aya’s gaze sharpens, her eyes glittering with something like triumph. she knows she’s struck a nerve, and the satisfied curl of her lips only confirms it.

"baekhyun is a good man," she says, her voice laced with honeyed malice. "but he’s always been bound by duty, by what’s expected of him. tomorrow, when you’re standing at that altar, you’ll see—he’s made his choice. but don’t forget, he’ll always be the man who follows orders."

the venom in her words cuts deep, and for a moment, your confidence wavers. you want to retort, to shut her down with a sharp reply, but your tongue feels heavy, your thoughts tangled in doubt and questions you don’t dare voice.

aya leans back, studying you like a predator admiring its prey. her smile grows, syrupy sweet and razor-sharp. "well," she drawls, feigning disinterest as she delivers her final blow, "you might be his bride, but i was his first. and i always will be."

her words linger in the air like poison, and before you can summon a response, she turns and walks away, leaving a suffocating silence in her wake.

you stand frozen, her parting shot reverberating in your mind, sinking deep into your chest. a chill creeps over you, settling into your bones. you try to shake it off, but her words cling stubbornly, wrapping around your thoughts like a shadow that refuses to dissipate.

you don’t doubt her entirely—that’s the worst part. baekhyun has always been driven by duty, just like you. both of you trapped in a web of familial expectations, navigating a path neither of you truly chose.

but lately… hasn’t something shifted between you? there’s a weight between you two now, an unspoken understanding that feels as delicate as it is undeniable. the way his touch lingers when he brushes past you, the stolen glances that speak volumes, the ease with which your lives have intertwined—it’s all there, simmering beneath the surface.

yet, for all the moments that have sparked warmth in your chest, neither of you has dared to name it. the words remain unspoken, locked away behind fear and uncertainty. you haven’t even let yourself truly think about what this could be, too afraid of what it might mean—or worse, what it might not.

then there’s aya’s conversation—sharp, sudden, and cutting through your peace like a thunderclap. her words echo in your mind, relentless and unforgiving, forcing you to question everything. baekhyun. the same baekhyun who had always been known for his flirtatious charm, a man who thrived on the thrill of the chase. you never once thought he would string you along like this—but what if he was?

the possibility coils in your stomach, tight and nauseating. surely, he wouldn’t… right? he couldn’t be the type of man to do that to you. not baekhyun. not the man who brought you lunch every day and filled your home with flowers. and yet, the doubt lingers, growing heavier with each passing second. could he?

the room feels unsteady, spinning around you as you reach out to steady yourself against the bar. your fingers tighten around the cool glass in your hand, grounding you just enough to keep from tipping over. tomorrow is your wedding day. the words sound surreal even in your own mind, a reminder of just how quickly the world feels like it’s slipping away from you.

in the quiet left after aya’s departure, you’re alone with your thoughts—raw, messy, and unraveling. everything you thought you knew, everything you believed about baekhyun, about you together, now hangs in fragile uncertainty.

the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the penthouse, a quiet contrast to the chatter and clinking glasses of the rehearsal dinner only hours ago. the tension from earlier hadn’t dissipated. instead, it seemed to have followed you home, settling like a heavy fog in the air.

you stood in the kitchen, barefoot, wrapped in the soft folds of a robe, the faint glow of the under-cabinet lights casting warm shadows across your figure. the sight of you like this—so closed off, so different from the usual warmth that radiated from you—made baekhyun’s stomach twist. something was wrong; he could feel it.

and then it hit him. the robe. not one of his sweaters, not the familiar fabric he’d come to associate with you over the past few months.

since he’d moved in, baekhyun had made a habit of leaving his sweaters scattered around the penthouse—casually draped over chairs or conveniently left on the couch. part of him hoped, no, yearned, for the day you’d pick one up and claim it as your own. the first time it happened, he’d walked into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks.

you were curled up on the couch, nestled in one of baekhyun’s oversized sweaters, and the sight alone was enough to undo him. the fabric draped over your frame like it was made for you, the sleeves hanging past your fingertips, and the hem just barely brushing the tops of your thighs. it teased him with the smallest hint of the shorts you wore underneath—so short they may as well not have existed.

baekhyun stood frozen in the doorway, his breath hitching as the image seared itself into his brain. he felt his heart lurch, his pulse racing wildly in his chest. you looked so soft, so effortless, and yet so devastatingly alluring all at once. he barely managed to mumble some excuse before disappearing into his room, the ache in his chest quickly migrating lower, leaving him throbbing and desperate for relief.

he leaned back against the closed door, his breaths shallow and uneven, as his hand slid down to press against his growing arousal. the image of you—so cozy, so unknowingly tempting in his sweater—flashed through his mind, and he groaned, his head falling back against the door.

how would your lips feel pressed against his? would they be as soft and addictive as he imagined? fuck, how would you feel around him—tight, warm, and perfect, pulling him in until he couldn’t tell where you ended and he began? would your skin be as silky as it looked, begging for his hands to map every inch?

the thought of you shivering beneath his touch sent a shiver down his own spine. would you sigh his name, barely audible, or moan it like a plea? worse still, did you ever think of him the way he couldn’t stop thinking about you?

did you lie awake at night, your hands wandering across your body, imagining it was him instead? his fingers grazing over your curves, his mouth claiming every inch of you, his name a breathless chant on your lips.

baekhyun’s hand tightened around himself at the thought, his breath hitching as he imagined you lost in your own desire, your thoughts tangled with his. were you doing it now? were you picturing him the same way he was picturing you—completely undone, raw, and desperate for something only the other could give?

his chest heaved, the intensity of it all consuming him as he gave into the fantasy, the line between what was real and imagined blurring in the haze of his need for you.

the questions spun in his head, unrelenting, as he cursed under his breath, fisting his cock as his imagination betrayed him further. the thought of your scent mixing with his, your fingers tangled in his hair, the warmth of your mouth wrapped around him—all of it came crashing down at once, pulling him over the edge far too quickly.

but it wasn’t enough. not nearly enough.

he clenched his jaw, his breathing still ragged, and let the thoughts creep back in. he closed his eyes, imagining the way you might whimper his name, the way your body might arch into his touch, the taste of your lips if he finally gave in.

and so he did it again. and again. every time, it was something different. your laughter muffled against his neck, your nails scraping down his back, the sound of his name spilling from your lips as you unraveled beneath him. each thought left him more undone than the last, and by the time the evening was over, baekhyun knew one thing for certain: he was utterly, irrevocably fucked.

and now, here you are in the kitchen. but not in one of his sweaters. the absence was glaring, a quiet confirmation of the distance that had crept between you. he hated how much it affected him, how much he craved the sight of you wrapped up in something that was his. it wasn’t just about the way you looked—it was what it represented.

fuck, you were perfect. and the thought of losing you? unbearable.

the stem of a half-full wine glass balanced delicately between your fingers. the faint glow of the under-cabinet lights cast a warm hue over you, but your expression was anything but at ease.

baekhyun watched you from the hallway, his own unease growing with every passing second. you had been distant all evening, your laughter at dinner feeling muted, your smiles strained. he had tried to brush it off, assuming it was just pre-wedding jitters, but now, seeing you like this—alone, nursing a drink with your head bowed—it was clear something was wrong.

he approached slowly, the padding of his socked feet barely making a sound against the cool floor. “what’s wrong, sweetheart?” his voice was gentle but laced with concern, breaking the silence like a fragile thread snapping.

you flinched slightly, startled by his presence, before turning to face him. “nothing,” you murmured, your gaze dropping back to the wine.

“don’t do that,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “don’t shut me out. not now. please.”

the vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten, and before you could stop yourself, the words came tumbling out. “i talked to aya earlier.”

baekhyun stilled, his brows furrowing as a pang of nervousness rippled through him. “you did? what did she say?”

you let out a bitter laugh, swirling the wine in your glass as the weight of the words hung in the air. “she said you’re still the same baekhyun—the flirt, the guy who thrives on the chase. the one who prioritizes duty over his heart. and maybe… maybe you’re just stringing me along, too.”

the silence that followed was suffocating, pressing down on baekhyun’s chest like an unbearable weight. his throat tightened as the words hung in the air, unfinished and unresolved. “and you believe her?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though even the smallest sound might shatter the fragile moment between you.

“i don’t know what to believe,” you confessed, the tremor in your voice betraying the storm of doubt crashing through you. “i feel so stupid. i should’ve known better. i should’ve—”

“stop.” his voice cracked, cutting through your self-reproach with a sharpness that made your heart ache. he took a step forward, his eyes locked onto yours, desperate to pull you back from the edge of the abyss. “don’t do this to yourself, sweetheart. don’t let her words get inside your head."

you shook your head, the tears threatening to fall now, your gaze flickering away before finally meeting his. “baekhyun, we promised each other something the first time we met. we said we’d let each other choose. no expectations. no pressure.” your voice faltered, thick with emotion as you sucked in a shaky breath. “so… i’m telling you to choose her.”

the words hit him like a fist to the chest. his world seemed to collapse in an instant, the ground beneath him cracking as his breath caught in his throat. “what?” he whispered, his voice breaking with a mixture of disbelief and pain.

“choose her, baekhyun,” you repeated, your tears falling now, each drop heavier than the last. “if she’s what you really want, if this is all just some game to you, then—”

“no.” the word came out sharp, jagged, and so forceful that it seemed to stop time itself. his eyes blazed with raw intensity as he stepped toward you, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. “don’t say that. don’t you dare say that.”

“baekhyun—”

“i choose you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion, raw and desperate. “i’ve already chosen you. over and over again, every single day. you’re the only thing i want, the only thing i need.” his hands cupped your face, pulling you closer, forcing you to meet his gaze, his eyes burning with a sincerity that you could feel deep in your bones. “i love you. not her, not anyone else. you. just you.”

the words hit you like a wave, but the storm in your chest only grew stronger. tears spilled down your cheeks as you searched his face, looking for the truth you were afraid to find, but there was still doubt, still that gnawing uncertainty eating away at you.

“baekhyun… you don’t mean that.” your voice cracked, each word tasting like bitterness and fear. “you’re probably saying all of this because of your duty to your family, your obligation to this arranged marriage. you’re just confused. you’ve probably mistaken convenience for love. you’ve spent your whole life following expectations, following orders, and now you’re just trying to convince yourself this is what you truly want.”

the weight of your words hung between you, like a wall that neither of you could break through. his grip on your face tightened, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek, but there was something in his eyes now, something flickering between hurt and frustration.

“no,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper but fierce. “no, that’s not it. i’m not doing this because of them. i’m doing this because of you, sweetheart.” his forehead rested against yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fall away. “you’re not just some obligation. i’ve never felt anything like this before, and i don’t need to convince myself of anything.”

as he spoke, the tight knot of doubt inside you slowly began to unravel. his voice was steady yet raw, every word steeped in sincerity, and his eyes, filled with something so deep and vulnerable, made it harder to hold onto the skepticism. the warmth of his touch, the way he held you as if he never wanted to let go, all of it made you want to believe him. you wanted to be the one he chose, even if the world had already made that choice for him. you wanted to believe that despite everything—the pressure, the expectations—he truly saw you as more than a duty, more than a predetermined path.

but the fear still lingered in your chest. could it really be that simple? could you truly be the one he wanted, or was this just the pull of something he couldn’t escape?

“please,” he whispered, his voice breaking, the raw emotion in his words almost too much to bear. his hands gripped your shoulders, as if holding onto his last shred of hope. “choose me. like i choose you. please.”

the plea shattered your resolve, and the walls you’d so carefully constructed around your heart crumbled at the weight of his words. a choked sob escaped you, the sound raw and unfiltered, as the floodgates you’d held shut for so long finally broke open. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, pressing you against his chest like he was afraid to lose you, his forehead resting gently against yours.

“i love you, sweetheart,” he whispered again, his voice trembling with the depth of his desperation, the intensity of his longing. “ever since you fell into my arms that first day we met. only you. always you.”

the words washed over you, each one sinking into your soul, filling the empty spaces you hadn’t even realized were there. for the first time, you let yourself believe him. you let the fear, the doubt, slip away, and in that moment, all that mattered was the sincerity in his eyes, the weight of his love pressing against you like an anchor.

“i choose you,” you whispered back, your voice shaky but unwavering, the truth finally breaking free. “i love you, too, baekhyun.”

he let out a shuddering breath, his body trembling as if the very air around you both was too heavy to breathe. his grip on you tightened, desperate, as if he were afraid that if he loosened his hold for even a second, you would slip away. “thank you,” he murmured, his lips brushed against your temple, his voice a soft, shaky murmur as he whispered, “thank you.”

he holds you tighter, as if he’s afraid to let go, and when he speaks again, his face inches from yours, you feel the raw intensity of his gaze as it darts across your features, memorizing every detail. it’s like he’s drinking you in, savoring the moment, as if this is a gift he might never receive again.

“i hope you realize you’ve had me from the very first moment i saw you,” he murmurs, his voice low, thick with emotion. his eyes linger on your lips, tracing the shape of them as if they’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen. “i…i love you, sweetheart,” he breathes, his words barely above a whisper, but they resonate deep within you. “everything about you… i knew from the start, you were the one.” his words carry weight, a promise, an undeniable truth, as if the universe had led him straight to you, and he’d known all along that you were meant to be.

“i love you, too, baekhyun,” you whisper, your voice barely audible but full of undeniable truth. “more than i ever thought was possible, more than i knew i could feel.” each word slips from your lips like a secret you've been holding for far too long, a confession so deep, so raw, it shakes you to your very core.

his lips find yours before you can even make sense of what’s happening. the kiss starts soft, hesitant, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile between you. his lips are warm and inviting, a spark that ignites deep inside you, and for a brief moment, everything goes still.

before you can even gather your thoughts or respond, he pulls back, leaving you breathless, only to press his lips to yours once more, this time with a little more urgency. the kisses are quick, almost frantic, a series of soft, eager pecks that blur together in a whirlwind of sensation. again and again, his lips find yours, each kiss a whisper of something deeper, something you can’t quite put into words, as if he's trying to convey everything he feels with the simplest of touches.

and then again, and again, until you’re lost in the rhythm of it, consumed by the intensity of the moment. each kiss builds upon the last, leaving you dizzy with desire, yet never enough to satiate the growing hunger between you both.

baekhyun’s lips brush softly against your eyelids, a whisper of a kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. "i love you," he breathes, the words almost reverent, as if he's offering a piece of his very soul. he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, the corners of your lips, each kiss a promise, a declaration that sinks deep into your chest. "i love you, i love you, i love you." the words crack and strain, coming from a place that’s raw and vulnerable, tearing from his chest in broken, desperate gasps. it’s unmistakably baekhyun—his voice, that familiar warmth—but there’s something new in it now, something that tugs at the very core of you.

his arms—strong, urgent—wrap around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. when did they even get there? the thought flits across your mind, hazy and distant, but it’s immediately replaced by the feel of him, solid and steady against you. your body pressed so close you can feel his heartbeat syncing with yours.

his hands slide into your hair, fingers threading through it with a tenderness that feels almost too gentle for the intensity of the moment. he tilts your head back, and his lips find yours again—slow, unhurried, like he’s savoring every second, every inch of you. the kiss deepens, and it feels as if time itself has slowed. neither of you wants to break it, to let the moment slip away.

you respond instinctively, your fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him even closer, your body aching to feel more of him. his lips trace a heated path down your jaw, grazing over the sensitive skin of your neck. each kiss, each touch sends a shock of electricity racing through you, like your body has been waiting, anticipating, for this exact moment. you’ve been holding your breath, just waiting for him to pull you under his spell—and now he has.

without a second thought, you stumble back onto the couch, the plush cushions sinking under your weight as baekhyun follows, a shadow of heat and intent. how the two of you made it from the kitchen to here is a blur, lost in the haze of mounting desire. it doesn’t matter. not when his hands grip your hips with a commanding firmness, steady and unyielding, like he’s anchoring you to him.

your legs settle on either side of his lap, your bodies pressed so closely that the line between you feels blurred. the hard evidence of his growing arousal presses against your clothed core, igniting a fire that spreads through every nerve. the proximity, the shared warmth, the maddening friction—it’s nearly unbearable. your skin tingles, your pulse races in your throat, and your thoughts dissolve into a heady anticipation that leaves you breathless and aching for more.

you can’t think, can’t focus on anything but the way his touch sets your body alight. the air between you both is thick with desire, and you know there’s no turning back now.

“fuck,” he starts, voice raspy and thick with want, “i’ve been dreaming about this since i first seen you in my sweater, y’know? ya look so sexy in my clothes. probably jerked off at least five times that night at the thought of you.”

a soft moan slips from your lips at his confession, and in that moment, he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his mouth pressing against yours with a hunger that matches your own. his hands trail down your back, fingers sliding over the curve of your spine, pulling you closer, closer still, as if he’s trying to merge with you completely. your heart races, the world around you fading into the background as all your senses narrow to him—his warmth, his touch, the way his body fits against yours so perfectly, so desperately. every movement, every touch ignites something deep inside you, a heat that spreads through your veins, overwhelming every thought, every rational part of you. 

nothing else matters—not the day ahead, not the vows you’ll soon make—it’s just him, and the fire between you both.

“s-show me what you’ve been dreaming about, baek,” you gasp, your body trembling as your mind spins in a haze of anticipation. his words ignite something primal inside you—a raw, uncontrollable fire that mirrors the heat building in his touch. the warmth of his chest presses against yours, the erratic rhythm of his breath matching the frantic beat of your heart. you can’t fight it any longer, that longing, that deep hunger that pulses through both of you, an undeniable pull.

“are ya sure?” his voice is low, thick with desire, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt, any trace of hesitation. his gaze burns into you, as if he needs your confirmation to proceed.

you nod, your fingers grasping the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer until there’s no space left between you. “yes, baby, i’m sure.”

with that, he sweeps you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly as if you weigh nothing. you’re helpless in his grasp, consumed by the fire building between you both since the very first time you met. his lips are desperate against yours as he carries you to his bedroom, the world outside fading into nothing. it’s just you and him, and the heat that’s been simmering, waiting to boil over.

he gently lays you down onto his silk covers, and before you can breathe, his lips are on yours again, crashing into you with a hunger that burns through you. his hands move over your body, each touch sending waves of desire crashing over you, making it feel like you’re losing control. your breath hitches as his fingertips trail over your skin, igniting a fire so deep within you, you can no longer ignore it.

baekhyun pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, the air thick with the weight of the moment. “i hope ya know, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice husky, desperate, “’m never lettin’ you go.”

you smile, your lips curling into something both playful and full of longing. “wouldn’t want ya to,” you murmur before pulling him back in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that consumes everything around you.

the air between you and baekhyun crackles with electricity as his lips find yours again. there’s no hesitation this time, just the desperate hunger of two people who have waited long enough. his kiss is tender yet demanding, a perfect rhythm that matches the frantic beat of your heart. you sink into it, melting against him as if your bodies were always meant to fit together this way. the way your lips move in sync, effortlessly, like a dance neither of you has ever learned but somehow both know.

each kiss feels like a promise, a pledge of everything that’s been building between you. he pulls you closer, the warmth of his body wrapping around you like a suffocating embrace, and you respond in kind, your hands reaching to tug at his shirt. the fabric slides off his shoulders, revealing the smoothness of his skin, the muscles that flex with every movement, and you can’t help but trace your fingers over him, exploring, memorizing.

baekhyun’s hands find their way to your robe, fingers teasing the skin just above your waist before he tugs it off, his lips never leaving yours, as if this moment—the connection, the heat, the growing need—is the only thing that matters. the fabric gives way, sliding off your body with ease, and you feel exposed, vulnerable, but somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

his hands move to your back, unclasping your bra with practiced ease, and you feel the rush of cool air against your skin as it falls away. the vulnerability stirs something deep inside you, but it’s not fear—it’s desire, the kind of desire that has been simmering between you both for far too long. baekhyun’s touch is reverent as his hands slide over you, exploring the curves of your body like he’s memorizing every inch, every contour. his lips break away from yours just for a moment, and you find yourself gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat.

“god, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, his voice raw and filled with awe. but there’s no time to respond, because his lips are back on yours in an instant. you’re left in nothing but your underwear, and his gaze traces over your body like a hungry fire, as if he’s trying to commit every detail to memory.

the tension between you both is unbearable, but you need this—need him, all of him. his hands move to your thighs, sliding your underwear off with slow, deliberate care, his eyes never leaving yours. and when your bodies are finally bare before each other, the world outside disappears completely. 

baekhyun’s lips meet yours again, this time with a rawness, a desperation that matches the intensity of your own. the kiss is a perfect dance, one that neither of you leads but somehow both of you follow, giving in to the rhythm of each other’s breath, each other’s touch. his hands caress your skin, the heat between you growing with every inch, every second that passes. 

his gaze locks with yours, a look of intent and hunger in his eyes, and you feel your breath hitch in your chest. his hands slide down your legs slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every inch of your skin. he kisses you once more, softly, lingering against your lips, before trailing down your jaw, your neck, and lower still, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses that leave you shivering with anticipation.

when he reaches your thighs, his hands gently part your legs, the touch so tender it sends a wave of heat through your entire body. his lips graze the skin of your inner thigh, warm and soft, and you gasp at the contrast of his gentle kiss against the intensity of the moment. he doesn’t rush; he takes his time, savoring the moment, as if he’s memorizing the feeling of you beneath him, so close, yet just out of reach.

each kiss is slow, deliberate, a soft, wet press of his lips that leaves a trail of warmth in its wake. he moves lower, kissing along the sensitive skin, each touch sparking a shudder that runs through your body. his breath is warm against your skin, mingling with the subtle scent of desire that hangs between you. baekhyun’s lips brush the sensitive area just below your hip, and you can’t help but squirm under the sensation, your body instinctively responding to the way he’s mapping you out, with gentle, teasing touches.

his kisses are adoring, like each one is a silent promise to worship you, to love you completely. his hands gently press against the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer as he plants soft, wet kisses closer to the center of you. the heat of his mouth against your skin makes your pulse quicken, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to continue. he doesn’t rush, though, drawing out each moment until you feel like you might explode with anticipation, your body aching for him to go further, to lose himself in you.

you can't help the frustration that builds inside you as baekhyun continues his teasing, his lips hovering just out of reach, his touch soft but never quite enough. your patience is wearing thin, and the heat in your body makes it hard to think clearly.

“baek…” you whisper, voice thick with need, your breath shaky as you reach out, your fingers trembling as they brush against his chest. “stop bein’ a tease.”

his eyes gleam with mischief, a slow smile spreading across his face as he leans in closer, brushing his lips against yours, just barely, and you feel your pulse spike in response.

“what’s the matter, sweetheart?” baekhyun murmurs, his voice low, teasing, the words slipping from his lips like silk, sending a shiver down your spine. he inches closer, his gaze locked on yours, and you can feel the playful tension crackling in the air. “don’t ya like the way i’m takin’ my time?”

your breath catches in your throat as you bite your lip, the words heavy with desire. “y’know i need m-more,” you pout, your voice soft but unmistakable, your eyes locking onto his with a pleading intensity. “please, baek.”

his smile widens, a flash of something deeper crossing his face—something darker, possessive—his eyes never leaving yours. there’s a glint of knowing amusement in his gaze, and his next words are laced with quiet hunger. “you want more, angel?”

you nod, your chest rising and falling rapidly, each breath shaky with the heat of longing. your body trembles beneath the weight of his gaze, every inch of you alive with need, aching for him.

baekhyun chuckles softly, the sound rich and thick with desire. “whatever my princess wants, she gets,” he murmurs, his voice a low promise that sends a wave of anticipation crashing through you. then, with deliberate slowness, he presses his lips to your core.

one taste of your sweetness, your core pressed against his lips, and baekhyun couldn't fathom pulling away. his tongue glides in long, slow strokes, savoring the tender, swollen folds of your most intimate part, the wetness from your heat pooling in the most sinful way. each lick is languid, deliberate, as if he's trying to drink you in completely, unable to resist the intoxicating flavor that’s all you.

the sensation of you on his tongue has him tugging desperately at the tent in his pants, a rhythm to match the movement of his mouth as he rubs himself with a frantic urgency.

his tastebuds graze the very edges of your trembling skin, teasing circles around the delicate, slick folds, his tongue tracing every inch of your inner thighs as they quiver beneath him, drenched with your desire.

“b-baek,” you moan, the sound so low, drawn out, each breath coming out in a throaty gasp. the sound of your pleasure stirs something wild in him, his blood rushing, pooling painfully in his aching cock. “fuck—just like that.”

your gaze locks with his, eyes glazed and heavy, and he feels like he might collapse. a groan escapes him, his body pressing into yours as he moans against your warmth. “tell me—fuck, tell me what you want, sweetheart. anything.” your body arches instinctively toward him, craving his touch as he teases between your folds, barely brushing against the sensitive bud of your clit. “everything. anything for you.”

“you,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the overwhelming pleasure from his mouth consumes you. every deliberate stroke of his tongue feels like fire, igniting every nerve, and you can already feel yourself unraveling under his touch. he devours you like a man who has known nothing but hunger, each movement more desperate than the last. “want you,” you manage between gasps, your words spilling out like a confession. “only you. only ever you.”

with that, his mouth opens wider, and you slide effortlessly over him, your thighs straddling his face. so close. so messy. his tongue moves with determined force, sliding from the very base of your pussy up to your quivering entrance.

“fuck—” you whine, your hips grinding up against his mouth as he wraps his lips around your clit, dragging his tongue in heated, syrupy circles. it's not gentle, but it's exactly what you need. “don’t—don’t stop, feels too good—”

you aren’t sure if he hears you, hell, you aren’t sure if baekhyun’s even breathing at this point.

“fuck- fuck fuck fuck— baek!” you're slurring your words, breathless and frantic, hands gripping his head as you ride out your high, soaking baekhyun's pretty, pretty face. and he lets you—fuck, he lets you. “shit, feel so good—m’cumming-”

baekhyun is relentless, his mouth and tongue moving in perfect sync, keeping you on the edge as you ride out your high. every flick, every suck draws out more, leaving you trembling in his grip. the overstimulation makes you gasp, a sharp jolt of sensitivity racing through you. you push his head away, breath ragged, as he presses one final, wet kiss against your trembling core.

your breath is still uneven, chest rising and falling with each shaky inhale as you slowly come down from your high. he crawls back up to you, his presence overwhelming, and when he leans down to kiss you again, it feels like he's stealing the very air from your lungs. the taste of you on his lips sends a shock through your body, making your pulse race. for a moment, it feels like you're on the edge again, the sensation so intense that you wonder if you might just lose yourself all over again from the sheer intimacy of the kiss.

as his lips press against yours, you feel the undeniable hardness of his desire, straining against you through the thin fabric of his underwear. the sensation sends a rush of warmth through your body, and before you can stop yourself, a surge of boldness drives you to pull back from the kiss. with a quick motion, you slide your hand down, palming him through the soft fabric of his boxer briefs, earning a soft, breathy moan from him that sends a rush of heat straight to your core. the sound is pure music to your ears.

in one swift motion, you pull the fabric down, freeing him, the air between you thick with anticipation. your gaze drinks in every inch of him, from the long, thick length of his erection to the angry, rosy tip that leaks a steady stream of precum. the slick sheen of it catches the light, making your breath hitch in your throat. he’s impossibly large, and for a moment, you feel a mixture of longing and uncertainty deep in your chest. your thighs instinctively press together, the need building within you, even as you try to steady your racing heart. so impossibly beautiful, even like this.

“you're... bigger than i imagined, baek,” you murmur, almost to yourself, but the words escape anyway.

the moment the words slip from your lips, his dark smirk reappears, twisting his features with that signature confidence you've always recognized. “you imagined me?” his voice is soft, carrying an edge of something delicate that catches you off guard. but within seconds, the tone shifts, his words turning teasing as he adds, "who knew my little fiancée was such a perv?"

it hits you like a wave, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks. for a split second, you feel a rush of shyness under his gaze. baekhyun notices the change instantly, his sharp eyes tracking every subtle shift in your demeanor, the flush of embarrassment practically radiating off you.

“aww, don't get shy on me now, princess,” he murmurs, his voice thick and husky as his fingers dig into your hips, possessiveness seeping through his touch, sending a shiver of excitement through you. “i've thought about this—how perfect you'd feel.” the weight of his words hangs in the air as he slowly pushes inside you, his length stretching you in a way that sends raw waves of pleasure coursing through your body. “imagined how tight and warm you'd be around me,” he groans, his breath heavy as he fills you completely. “and fuck, it’s better than anything i’d ever imagine.”

you gasp, struggling to adjust to his size, the sensation of him filling you overwhelming in the most intoxicating way. "y'feel s-so good, baek," you murmur, your body already aching for more, every inch of you burning with a craving so deep it makes your chest tighten. “w-want more. wanna be filled with you.”

he pulls out completely, a low, wicked chuckle escaping baekhyun as he hears the frustrated whine you let out in his absence, the tension building in your muscles as your legs tighten around his lean waist. his movements are slow and deliberate, teasing you as he presses his reddened, swollen tip directly against the peak of your sensitive clit, each SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! of the contact sending jolts of pleasure through your body. “just look at how drenched you are,” he murmurs, voice thick with both amusement and desire.

“baek—” your voice cracks, a honeyed, drawn-out whine slipping from your lips, shaky and desperate, making him twitch against you. the sound drives him wild, and you squirm under him, the sensation of his precum dripping in hot, sticky streams over your already-soaked folds making you burn with need. “won’t you just put it in alre—ah!”

he doesn’t make it easy, though. baekhyun is cruel in his teasing, easing just the curve of his fat tip past your gummy entrance. the stretch has your complaints dissolving into the sweetest whine he’s ever heard, a sound that seems to echo straight through him.

“hah—there we go,” he grits out, his voice a breathless mix of triumph and relief. his long fingers slide from gripping his thick shaft to grasping at your splayed-out thighs, spreading you wider for him. he makes you do all the work, though, your hips shifting desperately against the silken sheets to take him deeper. “ohhh yeah—oh my god, there we fuckin’ go—”

when your walls clamp down around him unexpectedly, it tears a raw, guttural groan from his throat. his head falls back, neck taut as baritone moans ripple from his chest. “yeah—ya were holding out on me, weren’t ya?” he breathes, a cocky grin splitting his flushed face. “didn’t know it could feel this good. feels like fuckin’ heaven, angel.”

his lips descend in a heady, heated kiss, one that’s more teeth and tongue than finesse, as he pants against your mouth, “could fuck this pretty pussy forever—” he drags his lips to your jaw, his voice dipping lower, “—could fuck a baby into ya.”

it feels like your pussy is utterly helpless, stretched wide around him, clinging desperately to every ridge and vein of his cock. each thrust presses that slight upward curve perfectly against the spongy depths of your core, spearing into your cervix like it was made to reach you. every drag and push paints slick, glossy strokes across your g-spot, wringing out wave after wave of bliss that leaves you trembling.

you were finally, finally being fucked by him.

and it’s overwhelming—maddening in the best way.

“s-shit.” his eyes lock on your utterly wrecked expression, pupils blown wide with desire. he's mesmerized for a moment, glancing down stupidly to see how perfectly you're taking him, even as he feels himself teetering on the edge. his hips falter, stilling for just a second, and you let out a desperate whine.

“baby, why’d ya stop?” you whimper, your hips instinctively shifting against his, craving the friction that was so close to undoing you. “was s’close.”

“fuck,” he groans, his voice tight and trembling, every word slipping out like a plea tangled in desperation. “fuck, fuck, fuck—hah— stop movin’ your fuckin’ hips!” the rough snarl of his words is nearly lost beneath the ragged sound of his breathing. but it’s no use. the way your body clings to him drives him over the edge, and with one final, forceful thrust, he lets go.

his release hits you in hot, thick waves, filling you as his climax pulses through him, painting your walls white with every shuddering beat of his release. the air is thick with heat and need, and yet he doesn’t stop. his movements grow harder, rougher, as if trying to wring out every last shred of pleasure. he’s relentless, his hips pounding into you with a fervor that leaves you breathless, completely at his mercy.

he's hitting that spot—that spot—over and over, and your vision whites out when the pleasure crests. your release crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body tightening around him as you scream his name, the sound filling the room and tangling with the slick, sinful rhythm of your bodies.

finally, he collapses against you, his sticky skin pressing into yours, the only sound left in the room your shared ragged breaths. it’s a fragile, perfect moment as he buries his face in your neck, pressing lazy, reverent kisses against your damp skin. “i love you,” he murmurs between kisses, soft and breathless, the words spilling from his lips like a mantra. “i love you, i love you.” but before you can fully catch your breath, you feel him stirring again, hardening inside you. your eyes widen in disbelief, exhaustion and arousal battling for dominance. "again, baek? so soon?"

he grins, that signature wicked grin that always sends your stomach into a dizzying flip. “can’t help it, angel. you’re irresistible,” he murmurs before pulling you into a searing kiss that leaves no room for thought, only submission as you melt into him completely.

“you do realize—” his hands slide beneath your thighs with ease, lifting and positioning your boneless legs onto his broad shoulders. the shift presses you deeper into the mattress, folding your body until it feels like you belong to him entirely. his eyes darken, gleaming with an intensity that steals your breath, his voice dipping into a low, predatory growl. “—that i was dead serious ‘bout fuckin’ a baby into ya, right, sweetheart? ima fill ya up so good, princess. want ya walkin’ down the aisle tomorrow with my cum drippin’ down your leg.”

the thought barely registers before reality sets in—you can only hope your makeup team tomorrow is prepared for the aftermath. the lack of sleep will leave dark circles under your eyes, and the blooming hickeys he’s sure to scatter across your skin will be impossible to miss. you already know rest isn’t in the cards tonight. not with the way his gaze burns into you, smoldering with promises that will keep you awake until the first light of dawn.

the soft light of morning filters through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the room. you wake slowly, the warmth of baekhyun's body pressed against yours, your limbs tangled together from the night. it’s the day of your wedding, but in this moment, nothing feels more real than the feeling of his chest rising and falling against yours. the scent of him, warm and intoxicating, fills your senses, and when he shifts slightly, his lips brush gently against yours in a soft, slow kiss.

“today’s the day, mrs. byun,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy from sleep. there’s something undeniably sexy about it, the gravel in his tone making your heart race. it takes everything in you not to give in to the desire curling through your veins, the urge to pull him closer, to turn this moment into something far more than just a kiss.

but before you can, he grins, the playful gleam in his eyes making your breath catch. “but first, breakfast,” he says, voice teasing as he lifts himself from you and vanishes beneath the covers, his movements swift and confident.

before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on your thighs, warm and soft, kissing his way up toward you in slow, deliberate movements. the sensation sends a shiver through your body, making it impossible to focus on anything other than the heat of his touch. he doesn’t rush, taking his time, savoring each kiss as if he’s drawing out every moment.

you can hardly breathe, the mix of anticipation and pleasure making your pulse quicken. your wedding day is unfolding in ways you hadn’t imagined, and it feels impossible to think of anything else but the man beside you, lost in the heat of the moment.

you glance at the clock on the wall, your voice breathless as you say, “you’ve got twenty minutes until hair and makeup get here.”

but before you can even finish your sentence, he trails a slow, deliberate lick up your wet heat, and you gasp, your body tensing at the sudden contact.

"how many times do you think you can cum for me in twenty minutes?" he asks, his voice laced with dark amusement, that wicked smile of his making your heart skip a beat. it's the kind of smile that promises nothing good—and you know it's going to be the death of you.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n ꒱ ˎˊ˗ aaahhh ngl this was pretty challenging for me to write :') iykyk i always portray baekhyun as a clingy lil simp from the start, but this time he wasn’t like that until much later omg. but writing this was sm fun!!!! i hope i did your request justice, nonnie babie <3 i hope u all enjoyed this one 💓💖💞💗💞💖💓💖💞💗 mwah mwah mwaaahhh love u guys !!!! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* masterlist ° ᡣ𐭩 . 

[endangeredrandomfanfics]

What if...Agatha and Rio raised a child together

THIS IS how I cope 😭

Taking request btw

TORN

The air crackled with magic, a familiar sensation that sent a shiver down your spine. It was the same energy that pulsed through your veins, a legacy passed down from your mothers. You were a witch, born of two powerful beings: Agatha Harkness, the enigmatic witch. and Rio, the charming and mischievous witch.

Growing up, your life was anything but ordinary. You spent your days flitting between Agatha's secluded cottage in the woods and Rio's bustling dead realm, a world of shadow and death. Your childhood was a tapestry of contrasting experiences: Agatha's strict lessons in magic, her insistence on discipline and control, and Rio's playful chaos, her encouragement of your wild, untamed magic.

It was a constant tug-of-war, a battle between order and chaos, between the light and the dark. You loved both your mothers fiercely, but their conflicting natures created a chasm within you, a constant struggle to reconcile the two halves of your being.

One day, you found yourself standing on the precipice of that chasm. You had been practicing a powerful spell, one that had been passed down through generations of your family. It was a spell of immense power, capable of manipulating time and reality itself. But as you channeled the energy, you felt a surge of fear, a sense of dread that gripped your heart.

"Stop!" a voice boomed, echoing through your mind. It was Agatha, her voice laced with a mixture of concern and anger. "That spell is too dangerous. You're not ready."

But Rio's voice countered, a playful whisper that tickled your ears. "Don't listen to her, darling. Embrace your power. You're stronger than you think."

Torn between their conflicting advice, you faltered. The spell began to unravel, the energy spiraling out of control. You felt a surge of panic, a sense of impending doom.

"I can't control it!" you cried, your voice filled with desperation.

Agatha's magic surged around you, a protective shield that contained the spiraling energy. You felt her presence, a comforting warmth that calmed your racing heart. But as the spell subsided, you felt a cold dread settle in.

"You've made a mistake," Agatha said, her voice laced with disappointment. "You've crossed a line that you shouldn't have."

Rio's voice was softer, laced with a hint of sadness. "Don't be so hard on her, Agatha. She's still learning."

You looked from one mother to the other, their faces etched with a mixture of love and concern. You were caught in the middle, a pawn in their unspoken rivalry.

"I just wanted to be like you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I wanted to be powerful, to control my destiny."

Agatha knelt before you, her eyes filled with a deep sorrow. "You are powerful, (Y/N)," she said, her voice gentle. "But power comes with responsibility. You must learn to control it, to wield it with wisdom and compassion."

Rio reached out, her hand resting on your shoulder. "And don't forget, darling," she said, her voice laced with a mischievous twinkle. "It's okay to be a little wild, a little chaotic."

You felt a tear roll down your cheek, a mixture of sadness and relief. You were loved, by both your mothers, despite their differences. And you knew that you had to find a way to bridge the chasm within yourself, to embrace both the light and the dark, to become the witch you were destined to be.

The journey ahead was uncertain, filled with challenges and temptations. But you knew that you weren't alone. You had your mothers, their love and guidance a beacon in the darkness. And you had your own strength, your own magic, a power that pulsed within you, a legacy of both order and chaos, a testament to the love of two extraordinary women.

[aixeko]

✧.* " Feels like we had matching wounds but mine's still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine now. " *.✧

| Starring |  Heartless-Husband!Arlecchino x Wife!Reader

| Setting | Genshin universe

| Scenario | [ SHORT FIC ] ANGST! Hurt no comfort. One sided love. Toxic relationship. Pronouns are not used, only the title “wife” is used. 

► RADIO CHANNEL [Author note] | Art credit: 雨睡 / ojiusa on Twitter

× 1/4 drabble for Arle, will span in the course of the next 3 days for her birthday. × The fic accidentally became so similar to the song by the name of "The Exit" by Conan Gray. Good grief, I love it.

[ Word count: 915 ]

Imagine how frustrating it is to fall in love with someone as emotionally detached as Arlecchino—especially considering the circumstances surrounding her past wounds and the fractured void where her heart should lie.

Not only that, Arlecchino, in no way shape or form, is an ordinary mortal; no, the woman possesses feats that still remain unbeknownst to the common folks, the fourth of the Fatui Harbinger—a woman whose power is near god-like scaling and a mastermind in the art of psychological subterfuge. To even fantasize about her reciprocating your feelings, even on the platonic spectrum, is beyond preposterous. And for one's possession of such thoughts as a commoner too? It is practically shaming the esteemed legacy of her name and the reputation she holds. It is absurdly outside the unceasing versatility of the imaginative mind; to even achieve a feat like this is not even praisable; it's pathetic. Because why would the great and infamous Arlecchino, a Harbinger feared by many, show her presence to the likes of you?

Unfortunately, for the one cold star that is the destiny your heart has followed, your relationship does have a label. A husband and a wife, but in actuality, it is simply just that, a label. The dawning reality hidden under the layers of falsehood is but a one-sided beneficial connection.

To Arlecchino, you are a mere pawn, insignificant in value and easily replaceable, to be maneuvered around the vast field of her intricately thought-out chessboard, where every single move is foreseen by her convoluted calculations to achieve her ultimate goal. She is the king with the mastery to dictate the game's outcome to her desire, and you are just one of the many disposable pieces to be sacrificed for her victory.

So why must you stay longer with the very same being that shatters your heart like breathing? Why must your heart desire her so much? Had you fallen so far that your heart dare not let her go?

"Your grace and acquiescence enchant me, rare as they are lovely. Truly, you are an obedient angel, a treasure beyond measure, a diamond among the sea of glass."

Her heavenly lies ensnare you ever so effortlessly. Was it this rare showcase of affection of "true love" that blinded you so completely?

"A Harbinger's life leaves little to no room for love. Be a dear and use that pretty little head of yours solely on obeying my orders."

Ensnared by Arlecchino's siren song, her words detain you in a state of imprisonment, alluring you into a fictitious world where each promise adds another bar and each whispers another stone. In this fabricated reality, only Arlecchino exists as the true player, leaving you with a love that never was. Was it your infatuation and utter attachment to her that blinded you to the point of abandoning your freedom ever so easily in exchange for this nonexistent, one-sided relationship?

"There are desires that you lack in fulfillment; is it wrong to seek an external party for such a minuscule problem? Your fatigue is clouding your judgment; seek your chamber; you must be tired."

How can one love be so enticing and manipulative that its power warps the mind, blinding the blatant betrayal right before your very eyes? Was it the fragility of your heart that's effortlessly puppeteered that made you forgive her?

August 22nd. Your husband's birthday has arrived. Your heart aches as you clutch the divorce in your hands. You are torn between love and sacrifice; the paper—gift holds freedom for the both of you, but despite the toxicity of it all, you can't help but be reluctant to let it all go.

You can't help but admit that it felt amazing. A part of you prayed that she would decline your proposal, that she would devote your love to you, that she would assure you of all the troubles in your relationship, and that she would make you stay.

Despite all the deeds that she has done to you, your heart still desires a delusional fantasy that chases after the farthest side of the ever-expanding cosmic, never in range for your hand to grasp.

When you settled down in her office and handed the divorce paper with a shaking hand, the words that left her mouth were so cold, so cold that you felt the temperature in your body decrease in real time.

"That noggin of yours finally concluded a proper notion, I see. Any longer, and I ought to have done the deed myself, it was about time we ended this little game of ours."

Those very words sink to the deepest part of your soul and will be anchored there for as long as you live. It was those words that dawned on you about the harsh reality that you had gotten yourself stuck in.

As if it couldn't have gone worse, shortly after you handed her the divorce papers, she announced to the world her "first" official relationship with another one who isn't you.

The truth has struck you, one with a speed faster than light. The truth of it all is that you are merely a background character, playing the role of fulfillment to make the true main character of the story shine.

The truth is that to Arlecchino, you are only one of the countless blurred encounters of passing scenes in her story.

The truth is, you are simply an invisible backdrop in the vast scenery, a pawn in a world full of kings.

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (11/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, smut, the angst, semi-public intimacy, cockwarming, description of someone being shot, violence, uncomfortable conversations, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He got his girlfriend back.

Not quite in the way he had imagined, but the thought of him being her boyfriend and her taking it seriously made him feel a wave of confidence after years of doubt.

It had to do not so much with the fact that he had gained what he wanted, but rather with the idea that although his grandfather had accustomed him to the thought that there was a path for him only by his side, he now knew otherwise.

Criston Cole had been the first person to reveal to him how tense the situation was among their men, how furious they were that Otto had decided out of sheer spite to bet on Aegon, his pawn, putting too much power in his hands.

Aegon's orders and the fact that some of their bodyguards now had to listen to him made them turn to him, looking for another alternative.

He was their alternative and presented them with his plan.

Having known them for so many years, aware of what their strengths and weaknesses were, he assigned them tasks, spreading his net over the city, slowly tightening the noose around all the places that had ever belonged to Larys Strong.

He had promised his Rhaenys that he would never kill or harm anyone again, at least not in the way he had done so far, so he decided to rely on his wits and logic. He offered the old owners to help pay their debts and cooperate with them in exchange for them giving up the clubs without a fight.

Those who did not agree experienced a loud gunfight and a bit of fear: he paid the police in advance to stay out of it, so no police car came to the addresses indicated even when someone called the police station.

His grandfather was furious and that pleased him most of all.

By focusing on the fight with Daemon he had completely let go of the subject of Larys' legacy and had paid the price. He also felt pride, because in a way he had regained what belonged to the father of the woman he loved, so it was also a tribute to her.

She only allowed him to see her once a week, but they wrote to each other constantly: he out of sheer longing, she to make sure he was still alive.

Sitting on the couch in Heavenly Beach, despite his employees sitting around him, partying with the girls who were apparently most attracted to gangsters, he sat with his head in his phone, writing a message to her, feeling like a teenager in high school.

He grinned involuntarily as he read her reply, feeling the thrill as he did every time she teased him.

She was trying to keep him at a distance and push him away, he knew that.

He swallowed hard when, a moment later, his phone vibrated and his eyes were presented with a photograph of her lying on her stomach, on her body only her panties and top, from under which a little fragment of her breast was peeking out, pressed against the sheet, her loose hair spread in disarray, her lips parted in a sweet, dreamy, warm expression.

He stared at the picture for a moment, feeling involuntarily that he grew hot, his manhood swollen in his trousers. He ran his hand over his chin, sinking into the world of his fantasies, having not been able to experience fulfilment with her for weeks despite her allowing him to touch her.

Partly.

"What are you doing, boss? Have some fun with us. Alice is lovely and lonely." Said Allan, embracing one of the girls, pretty and slim, who giggled quietly, looking him boldly straight in the face.

He got up without a word and went out the back exit to smoke a cigarette, dialing her phone number on the way. She didn't answer for a long time, as was her usual habit, but after a while he heard her sigh on the other end, indicating her impatience.

"– I asked you so many times – why are you doing this? –"

"– I wanted to hear your voice –" He hummed, taking a drag, tilting his head back, enjoying this moment.

Silence answered him on the other side.

"– my grandfather is trying to contact me – to make a deal – to make me his successor again – but I don't know if I want it – what do you think? –" He asked, taking a drag again, the tip of his cigarette turning red with a quiet hiss.

He heard her swallow hard, horrified by his words.

"– don't do it – don't go back there –" She whispered.

They were both silent for a long moment.

"– I'm worried about my mother – she's torn between Criston and her father, she's begging me to come back – she and Cole had an affair for many years, even before my father died –" He said indifferently, looking up at the sky, spotting the outline of a crescent moon among the darkness.

"– did you know about this? –" She asked shocked, and he sighed heavily.

"– yes –"

His girlfriend grunted, trying to speak quietly.

"– she's not part of all this – let her stay out of it – your grandfather's reign won't last forever – Otto wants you to worry about such things – he knows you love and care for her – he'll treat her and Helaena as bargaining chips –"

He nodded, letting out a loud puff of smoke through his nose, having exactly the same opinion as her, surprised at how much peace he felt.

She was the only one who could understand him.

She was the only one he could get advice from.

She was the only one he could trust.

"Thank you. Sleep well."

"I'm here for you." She muttered quickly, as if she feared he was about to hang up.

He hummed under his breath, extinguishing the remnants of his cigarette on the metal basket, feeling the warmth in his heart at her words.

"I know."

The next day, the sight of her in the library filled him with both euphoria and frustration – he knew she wasn't wearing a bra to annoy him, at the same time tempting him when he knew he couldn't take her, and wanting him to know that any other men could look shamelessly at her nipples.

All his anger at her and what she was doing to him vanished when she pulled her shirt off, her half-naked body covered from the others only by a few rows of bookcases.

Thank goodness it was summer and no one went there.

Her nipples were swollen and hard under his tongue, her breast plump and soft between his fingers. The smell of her naked skin, the heat that emanated from her, her hands clenched in his hair, holding him close drove him mad. His groan vibrated through her soft skin as he felt her hips begin to roll deliberately back and forth, rubbing against his throbbing, swollen manhood.

"– fuck, let me – please – just this once –" He mumbled, switching from one of her breasts to the other, slightly larger, which could not be seen at first glance.

The thought of being so close to her and yet not being able to have all of her, like he had then, that night, was driving him crazy.

This was her punishment for what he had done to her.

He sighed as she rose suddenly from her knees, putting her T-shirt over her head, his hand involuntarily going to her calf, wanting to hold her, his body hot with desire, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

Not yet.

Just a moment longer.

"– baby –"

"– next week Professor Addams is organising a private excavations two hours away from our town – it's a site in one of the medieval fortresses of our region, very important and he needs volunteers – I've offered to let you come and to count it as your student practices, so that you would have to make up less of them during the academic year – professor will rent rooms for all of us in a hotel nearby – if you come and do your best, I'll let you sleep with me –" She said lightly, throwing him a calm, expectant look, like a teacher looking at her student.

He swallowed hard and stood up with her, shocked, his length pulsed hard at her words.

I'll let you sleep with me.

"– do you mean it? –" He asked with difficulty, unsure if he could stand it any longer, if he knew whether he could pass the next test she wanted to put before him.

"– yes, but it's two weeks – you'd then either have to give up your job, or drive to do your errands at night and come back in the morning –" She explained as if nothing had ever happened, grabbing her backpack.

He caught her around the waist and pulled her aggressively to himself, making her body slam into his, his heart in his throat.

"– promise me –"

Instead of words, she did what she'd forbidden him to do since they'd started dating: her wonderfully moist, swollen lips pressed against his, and he groaned loudly, shocked. He sighed, pressing her body closer to his as her slick tongue slid between his teeth, licking him invitingly, making his cock swell painfully hard in his trousers.

I'm not going to make it, he thought, I'm just going to rip her panties off and fuck her on the floor.

She, however, pushed him away, looking at him with her mouth wide open, in her eyes pleading, warmth, affection.

Everything he wanted so badly.

"– I'll write you all the details later – take it seriously –" She mumbled out with a pain from which he felt his heart squeeze, not knowing how to act, feeling with desperation that he was unable to wait any longer.

"– I love you –" He muttered, something in her gaze from which he grew hot.

"– I love you too –"

He stared at her like an idiot, feeling like he was running out of breath, because here she was, for the first time responding to his confession, for the first time saying those words.

I love you too.

He felt something inside him break, that if he didn't feel her right away he would just start crying.

"– I need you – please –"

"– be there –" She mumbled and walked out, leaving him alone.

He thought it was pathetic that he was so desperate that he hid his face in his hands and burst out crying.

He longed for her closeness, for her tenderness, and she only gave him moments when he craved hours, days, months.

He thought heaven and earth might collapse, but he had to go to these goddamn excavations, if only to spend two weeks fucking her all night.

"Two weeks? You shouldn't disappear for that long. The situation is precarious." Said Cole, shaking his head, sitting with him over a drink that same evening.

"I'll be available at night, I'll come by a few times to keep an eye on things. It's only a two-hour drive from here. This case is really important to me." He said, and Criston hummed with understanding.

"I'll do my best, but let's keep in touch."

He nodded at his words.

"Call if something happens."

Even the news that perhaps her ex would be part of their escapade couldn't spoil his mood: he wasn't sure he'd been this excited and terrified at the same time since he was a small child.

On the one hand, it was a dream come true for him, on top of it being in her company; on the other, it was a leap into the deep end of the unknown in a group of people who were strangers and who he didn't know if they would accept him.

He couldn't help the fact that he didn't like to talk much, that others' questions made him uncomfortable, that he felt cornered when too many people looked at him at once.

Nevertheless, as soon as he got the message from her that Daemon had been gone for a few hours, waiting a few streets behind the hotel so as not to arouse suspicion, he pulled up in the car park and got out of the car, looking around.

He thought she would be waiting for him, but he couldn't see her anywhere.

This made him do what he hated to do, which was to ask a stranger something.

A couple of students, looking at him with surprise in their eyes, showed him the way, telling him that his girlfriend was in the area where the research was to take place.

Walking there from a distance, he thought with awe that it was a huge project: there was a gigantic stone fortress towering over them, around which he understood there had been many wooden houses in medieval times, of which there was now no trace.

He swallowed hard when he heard her voice from afar and stepped uncertainly into one of the tents, all eyes on him.

He felt warmth in his heart seeing that she smiled at the sight of him, her eyes shining with pure happiness.

She loved him.

Not even the rage at the sight of Robb could take away the satisfaction he felt at what he had done to her, at the ease with which her body had taken him in as soon as the door from their hotel room had closed behind them.

He wasn't sure if his brain was functioning at all during this act, because he was too stunned by pleasure and desire, the simple, primitive thrusting into her again and again with low, pathetic groans of delight.

She was so wonderfully warm, moist and soft, squeezing and enveloping his cock so perfectly, that he felt like crying.

His niece.

That night they made love twice more, completely bare, with no shame or regret, no thoughts of morality or propriety. What he focused on were her moans, her cunt squeezing him in convulsions of pleasure, dripping with her desire, his lips melting with hers in sticky, loud, deep kisses full of their tongues and saliva, their fingers entwined together in a tender embrace over her head.

They fell asleep cuddled into each other like little children, stirring with difficulty on the single, cramped bed exactly as they had then, eight years ago.

He felt, looking at her peaceful face immersed in sleep every time he awoke in the night, that he had regained something.

He had regained her.

In the morning, to their frustration, their alarm clock woke them up. They were both sleepy and half-unconscious when they showered together, soaping each other's bodies and hair, brushing their lips lazily against each other's, running their hands over each other's naked, wet bodies.

There was something wonderfully natural about the way her figure clung to his, seeking refuge in his embrace, his arms pressing her against his body, his hand stroking her hair, her eyes closed in complete peace.

They both felt it.

His niece froze and blinked when she saw him start to dress, putting on exactly the same clothes as usual.

"No. After all, we will be working in sand and dirt. I told you to take something to change into." She said, and he scratched his chin, recognising that perhaps, indeed, his black trousers and Tshirt were not a good idea for such heat.

"I took my tracksuit bottoms and some other old clothes, but I won't look very neat in that." He confessed with embarrassment, rummaging through his bag.

She knelt down beside him, looking through his things together, apparently trying to find something that would be suitable.

"You have to be comfortable first and foremost. And you have to have a baseball cap."

"What?"

"I took one for you. Otherwise you'll get sunstroke."

It occurred to him, when he'd put on everything she'd told him to, that he looked like a drunk from under the shop. He was relieved when it turned out that she herself had dressed in a similar way, a white Tshirt and tracksuit shorts on her body, a baseball cap on her head, her hair tied up in a braid.

If they were going to look like drunks from under the shop, then at least together.

As soon as they reached the tent where they were all supposed to gather it became apparent that if he had come dressed the way he wanted to, he would have made an idiot of himself.

They all looked alike, dressed in bright, light clothes that might as well have been pyjamas. He pressed his lips together, spotting Robb among the other students.

He hoped he had heard her moans as he walked past their room.

How good she felt with him as he took her for himself again and again.

The professor greeted them and assigned them their tasks. To his surprise and relief at the same time, the man divided them into three groups. One was to be led by himself, another by Robb and the third by his girlfriend.

Her words that she was his assistant and how much the professor trusted her were not mere boasts, he thought with admiration.

He had, of course, been assigned to her group and was relieved at the thought that for the rest of his stay he wouldn't have to look at her ex any more than necessary.

His Rhaenys knew most of the people she worked with, who were simply her colleagues from the lower years of their studies. They had specific spaces designated for research and their task for the day was simple: digging.

Of course, the upper layers of the earth were removed by special excavators, but at some point they had to work by hand so as not to destroy any artifacts hidden beneath the surface.

There was something liberating and relaxing about the fact that this activity of driving a shovel deep into the ground and digging a big hole in it didn't require him to think too much.

After a few hours, he already understood why his niece had made him put a baseball cap on his head and why they had each brought a couple of big bottles of water for themselves: sweat was running down his back from the heat and from time to time he had to take a break to drink.

To his relief, even though the people in the group were talking to each other, fooling around and laughing, they didn't drag him into any discussions or distract him from his work. Rhaenys was digging too, approaching each person when they expressed the opinion that they might have come across some historical relic.

After only half an hour, one of the girls stumbled upon a coin from the 19th century.

The real excitement he felt was when his shovel hit something that clanked as if it were made of metal.

"Rhaenys?" He called, and though the people around him didn't know who he meant, his niece walked up to him, cocking her head in curiosity, her face all pink with exertion.

"What's wrong?" She asked softly, and he hit the spot he had just dug with his shovel again, intending to make the same sound.

His discovery piqued interest.

He crouched down, letting his girlfriend, more experienced and confident in what she was doing, take the smaller shovel, digging around the object, one of her colleagues took the brush, shaking the dust off its surface.

"It's a German pistol. Second World War. Very good condition." He stated, and his girlfriend nodded.

"Yes, the Germans were in this fortress in the 1940s. Good job, Aemond, secure it and sign it. Give this object a number as I explained to you this morning." She said, patting him on the back, and he nodded.

"Your first find. Feels cool, doesn't it?" Said the boy, whose name he understood was Cregan, but he didn't know what he was supposed to answer him, feeling uncomfortable at the thought that everyone was looking at him.

"Yeah." He muttered, looking down at his knuckles, for some reason losing the confidence he gained at night in clubs when he was about to put a gun to someone's head.

When he wasn't about to hurt or scare someone he was helpless and didn't know how to act.

They had spent the whole day doing manual labour and although his erection had swollen all over feeling her naked body pressed against his under the refreshing shower, he didn't even have the strength to move, let alone fuck her hard.

So he ended up making soft, tender love to her, his hips rocking lazily inside her, sinking again and again into the tightness of her sticky, throbbing cunt.

Her naked back was nestled against his sweaty chest, his face snuggled against the hollow of her neck as his fingers dug deeper into her fleshy folds with her quiver of pleasure, his free hand holding her thigh spread wide, allowing him to reach as deep as possible with the tip of his erection.

"– no – it hurts –" She muttered, and he froze and stopped moving, rising up on his elbow, his breath deep and heavy, his heart pounding fast in his chest.

"– what, baby? –" He whispered, placing a soft, gentle kiss on her cheek, wanting to make amends to her for whatever he had done to her. She turned her face towards him, stroking his bare arm.

"– when you're too deep – it hurts –" She confessed.

"– 'm sorry –" He hummed, their lips joined in a sticky, wet, tender kiss. He ran the tip of his nose over her face, his cock twitching deep inside her while his thumb teased her swollen clit with lazy, circular motions, her body twitching again and again in pleasure.

He swallowed hard as she rose up and slid his erection out of her, thinking with horror that she had had enough of him and intended to sleep separately, she, however, turned to face him. He sighed, surprised, as her fingers gently grasped the base of his manhood, all soaked from her wetness, directing the swollen, pink head of it against her slit.

With a tentative, slow thrust of his hips he opened her on his fat length, sliding into her slick walls with ease, sinking anew into her wonderful warmth that soothed him.

He moaned softly as she threw her arms around his neck, as her bare breasts pressed against his chest, as her puffy, sweet lips joined his in a greedy, deep kiss full of affection and tenderness. He sank his fingers into the soft skin of her back and buttocks, beginning to pound into her anew, feeling her completely differently in this angle.

They began to pant into each other's throats, licking and teasing each other, a wonderful shudder shook his body as her lips traveled lower, to his jaw, to his neck, to his shoulders, kissing and sucking on him, leaving wet, warm marks behind.

"– fuck – ah –" He exhaled, feeling his cock throbbing hard inside her fleshy walls, the wonderful tingling in his lower abdomen and testicles filling his head with utter emptiness, pure desire to fill her with his seed.

Their foreheads pressed against each other and their bodies intertwined in a loving, close embrace as they began to chase their fulfilment, loud, sticky splats building their way to release.

"– u-uncle – 'm close –" She mewled like a child, her sweet, leaking cunt beginning to clench on his cock, sucking it inside her. He kissed her temple, snuggling her into his body, slamming into her with loud grunts of pleasure.

"– me too, baby – my sweet little girl –" He exhaled and threw his head back, feeling a wonderful, overpowering relief, his erection beginning to pulsate deep inside her, filling her with his semen.

She moaned, rising and falling on his quivering erection, reaching her own peak with a innocent, girlish moan of delight, sending him into a state of complete ecstasy. They hugged each other, saying nothing more, not separating their bodies, wanting to remain as they were now, as close as possible.

The presence of her body right beside him, the fact that her sticky pussy was warming his soft manhood, his arms and hands entwined in a tender embrace made him sleep a stony, peaceful sleep, tired and satisfied.

To his relief, Criston had kept him informed of the state of affairs and it appeared that relative calm prevailed apart from a few minor incidents, so his presence on the scene was not necessary for the time being.

He took malicious satisfaction in the moments when his niece would be called by Daemon, wanting to make sure she was okay. She would talk to him on the phone while his hands traveled over her naked body, stroking her thighs, belly and breasts, his lips brushing gently against the skin of her neck, merely teasing her.

She usually tried to pull away from him when his thumb, seemingly by accident, ran over her nipple, when his fingers sank tentatively into her womanhood, leaking all over from her moisture and his spend with which he had filled her moments before.

Although he was a grown man, he felt like he was a child again.

In the days that followed, he felt that he loosened up a bit with the group of people he had to work with – he didn't talk to them and concentrated on his tasks, but it seemed to him that they simply stopped paying attention to him, which suited him. They were not spiteful or unpleasant about it: they apparently recognised that this was his nature and left him alone.

His Rhaenys was a different person at work: she smiled and joked a lot, easily having dozens of conversations with all sorts of people, even those she didn't know, winning their sympathy. He somehow admired how unforced her talkativeness, assertiveness and empathy were, how easily she made difficult decisions when others were panicking.

"– fuck – I think I broke it –" Cregan said, leaning over something that looked from a distance like a vase still half-buried in the ground.

"– call the restorers – get them to secure the cavities so nothing else breaks and they're able to put it back together later –" She said without a trace of annoyance or aggression. The boy nodded in agreement and stepped out of the big, wide hole they were sitting in, doing exactly what she'd told her.

"You're good at this." He stated as they sat alone at breakfast break under one of the trees, looking at the large stone fortress stretching out before their eyes.

Although their group sat elsewhere, she chose to stay with him, as she always did.

He felt an uncomfortable squeeze in his heart at the thought that, as much as he wanted to, he didn't fit in with neither her friends nor the world.

He was a perpetual obstacle to her, a wall between what she deserved and the miserable scraps she suffered in his presence through his vanity.

She looked at him and cocked her head, a wide smile on her face.

She was happy.

"What do you mean?" She asked, in some natural reflex cuddling her face into his, her hand on his shoulder. He kissed the tip of her nose, stroking her skin with his palm, feeling a subconscious surge of desire, as he always did when she showed him tenderness and interest.

"You're made for this job. For being with these people. But you need to sit with me instead." He muttered wearily, looking down at his fingers in shame.

"I don't have to. No one is forcing me to."

"You're afraid that if you leave me, I'll become the way I was. You're paying the price for my satisfaction."

She leaned in, wanting to look at his face, but he closed his eyes, feeling shame and regret, for some reason unable to enjoy it all, to relax, to let go.

"You would want this, wouldn't you? For me to disappoint you. To pack up and go home, to escape what is uncomfortable for you. Loneliness is safe, I know that better than anyone. But if you want to be alone, what are you doing here?" She asked.

He looked at her and shook his head, feeling tears burning under his eyelids.

"I don't know. I feel good and bad at the same time. I'm fulfilling my dream, I have you, but I can't enjoy it all because in the back of my mind I'm wondering if Cole is going to call me at night to tell me all hell has broken loose. It's like what's going on right now is a dream, and I'm aware that I'm going to wake up. As if I have to watch something I know I'll lose one day." He mouthed, bursting out crying, choking on his own tears. He covered his ears with his hands and leaned his head between his knees, panting loudly, feeling like he was just experiencing a panic attack.

"– God, Aemond – calm down – calm down, I'm here – this isn't a dream – my feelings for you – the fact that you're here – it's all real – don't you feel it? –" She asked in a whisper, enclosing him in the warm, safe embrace of her arms, pressing his face between her breasts where he took refuge.

He closed his eyes, concentrating only on her fingers combing through his hair, on her warmth, on her scent, on the softness of her body.

She didn't let go of him for a moment, stroking his head, neck and back, placing a tender kiss on his temple once in a while. Slowly his breathing calmed, the pounding of his heart slowed, and his body relaxed in her soft, caring, loving arms.

She let him settle on her thighs, let him snuggle into her lap: she stroked him like a small child, saying nothing, letting him just be, drawing on her closeness, her understanding, her wisdom and kindness.

He thought that if he could die now, in her embrace, he would be happy.

Her words and closeness gave him comfort and for that afternoon, looking at her from afar, sitting on the sand, he thought he was truly happy.

Truly at peace.

And then he saw five missed calls from Cole and one message from him.

"I'll go with you." She said, watching as he changed into his normal clothes.

"No fucking way." He growled, looking at her with impatience, wanting her to get the idea out of her head.

"I'll be waiting for you in the car. Don't leave me alone." She begged.

"No. I'll be back before dawn. I promise." He said, kissing her forehead quickly and left, feeling that if he looked at her again, he wouldn't be able to drive there.

Some part of him dreaded going back there, as if being in the light for so long would blind him to the point where he wouldn't be able to see anything in the dark.

Late in the evening, he arrived at Heavenly Beach and went inside, asking one of the bodyguards what had happened. The man nodded towards one of the lodges – his brother was spread out in the company of three girls enjoying himself at his best, buying everyone a round of shots.

"He didn't pay for anything, boss. He says you're the one paying for the booze and the whores tonight."

He moved towards him feeling his jaw clench in rage, the loud music around him ringing in his ears, the twinkling lights around him making him feel like he was about to vomit.

Aegon spotted him and stood up from the couch, pointing at him with his hand.

"Here is my brother. To him you owe such a great party tonight, applause for him!" He called out, the drunken part of the club guests echoed him in euphoria, but the rest were silent, looking at them with concern.

"I think my brother drank too much." He said coldly, towering over him after a moment, looking at him with a dispassionate gaze. "And he doesn't know that he's going to pay for what he ordered and the women he brought with him himself."

"And where's your woman? Hm? Our pretty niece. Did you know, guys, that he kissed her when they were kids? He was already fucked up then." Aegon sneered, taking a loud sip of whisky from his glass, embracing one of his women, a pretty, blue-eyed blonde with his arm.

His men looked at each other in dismay, apart from the background music all around them complete silence.

"Get up, take your whores and get out of my club. Now." He said in a voice that didn't bear objecting, but Aegon only laughed and sighed.

"You know what the worst part is? He's still fucking her. My father was lying dead and he was in the next room banging that poor girl. Tell us, did you rape her? You surely did, she would never want you of her own free will. But in what position? Missionary? No, no, I know! In doggy-style, like a hound. You have always been faithful like a dog. Woof, woof!" He scoffed, and something snapped inside him.

His brother froze, looking at him with big eyes as he pointed his gun straight at his forehead, the girls around him squealed in terror and broke out of his embrace, moving as far away from them as they could.

"– wow, wow, wow – calm down, have you completely lost your fucking mind? –" Aegon asked in a trembling voice, raising his hands in a gesture of submission, and for some reason he grinned broadly.

"– I didn't rape her – she wanted it – we did it a few more times after that – she was always good to me, unlike you – we're together now, you know? –" He hummed, cocking his head with an expression of satisfaction on his face, thinking in the back of his mind that this was who he just was, who he wanted to become.

He felt powerful, strong, invincible.

"– what the fuck are you talking about? –" Aegon muttered, shaking his head as if he thought his younger brother had simply gone mad.

He, however, had never felt his mind so sharp and focused before.

"– our grandfather made you his successor to reason with me – before our father died he said he would pass everything on to me and that was his original plan – but after Larys put the rape pill in her drink, I couldn't let him live – I don't expect you to understand that though – loyalty, devotion, affection – look at you – you must have pissed your pants with fear, am I wrong? – stand up, show yourself to everyone –" He sneered, raising his voice defiantly so that everyone could hear him.

There was complete silence all around them.

"– I said stand up –" He growled seeing that his brother was looking at him with big eyes red from tears, his mouth quivering in horror and humiliation.

Yes, he thought.

Feel what I felt.

He, completely naked then, standing up to his waist in water, his face all swollen from tears.

"– it's an unpleasant feeling, hm? – humiliation –" He said, watching as Aegon stood up slowly, the large, dark stain on his light-coloured trousers suggesting he was right.

He grinned at him and thought that such a lesson would be enough for him, lowering his gun, but his brother threw himself at him, climbing onto the table, wanting to get him with his own hands, and in a subconscious, involuntary reflex he fired.

His brother gasped heavily, as if surprised, and grabbed himself by the stomach, falling backwards onto the couch, another dark spot forming where he pressed his hand.

"– you fucking shot me –" He mumbled out, and he shook his head, feeling his whole body freeze, people around him screaming and running away, his and Aegon's bodyguards starting to shoot at each other, causing a general panic.

Cole grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him towards the side exit, saying loudly that they should call an ambulance.

He saw her sweet face, felt the embrace of her warm arms, her moist lips placing tender kisses on his face.

He thought that if Aegon died, she would never forgive him.

He promised her that whatever happened, he wouldn't be a murderer.

"– this son of a bitch has to survive – do you understand? –" He said and turned, running up the stairs, several of his bodyguards moving towards his brother, trying to stop the bleeding.

Criston nodded and pulled out his phone to make a call to the hospital.

By the time he walked him to his car the ambulance was on its way.

"– get out of here – hide somewhere – you shot him low in the stomach – I think he'll make it – I'll let you know when I find out something –"

He nodded and sit inside the car, hearing the gunshots again – Criston fell to the ground and hid under one of the trucks while he started to back up and with a squeal of tyres drove ahead.

Only now, heading ahead through streets full of lamplight did he wonder what he had actually done.

He had shot his brother.

He told him their secret.

Everyone heard it, Daemon would find out, and she would be in danger.

He swallowed hard, running his hand over his face, thinking that he just wanted Aegon to feel what he had felt for so many years, that he wanted to teach him a lesson, show him who was in charge, who was better, smarter, cleverer.

Who was the better son, the better brother, the better lover, the better man.

But for the first time he asked himself, was he really better than him?

He was just as scared, just as helpless, just as small.

He had nearly killed his older brother.

That thought, and the realisation that Aegon really might not have made it, caused him to burst into a loud, hysterical sob, and cover his mouth with his hand, trying to silence the sound that was coming from it.

As he drove ahead all he could feel was fear, fear of her gaze, her disgust, her rejection.

Why would she want to be at the side of someone like him?

When he arrived it was almost morning, dozens of missed calls from her and messages asking if and when he would be back were evidence that she had been up all night.

Before he walked into their room, he stood outside the door for a moment, wondering how he was supposed to explain this to her, what to say so she wouldn't tell him to pack up and get out of her life.

He had ruined everything.

When he opened the door he had the feeling that his whole body was quivering, stiff and tense: her gaze, her eyes and cheeks were red from tears, her eyebrows arched in pain told him that she was convinced that he had left her, that he had deceived her, that he had used her again.

She rose and wanted to throw herself into his arms, but he spoke up faster, not wanting to deceive her.

"I shot Aegon."

She stopped in her half-step, looking at him in disbelief, her expression seeming as if she hadn't understood what he'd said.

"What?"

He drew in a loud breath, feeling that he was a little boy again, a terrified child who had broken a very expensive, valuable vase and had to explain why it had happened.

"He was fucking mocking me. He implied that I raped you. In my own club. In front of my men." He muttered as if it changed anything, realising how pathetic he sounded.

The thought that he had lost everything again, that there was no way she could forgive him made him hide his face in his hands and just weep.

All he wanted was for her to hug him, to tell him that everything was going to be alright, that she knew he had hurt and abused him all his life, that she had witnessed it herself.

That she understood that something had simply snapped inside him.

"Is he...is he dead?"

He swallowed hard, trying to calm himself, his breath heavy and hitched in panic, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"I don't know. I shot him in the stomach and he's in hospital. He threw himself at me and scared me and I just fired. He saw I had a fucking gun in my hand!" He exclaimed as if he was ten years old and had just told his mum why his brother was lying unconscious on the floor after their fight.

"So you didn't kill him, did you? You didn't mean to do it. It was an accident. He scared you and you fired, but if he hadn't, you wouldn't have shot him." She said slowly in a trembling, terrified voice, and he lowered his hands, looking at her with big eyes, thinking that some part of him wanted to kill him then.

And then he remembered that after he felt that justice had been done, his hand with the gun lowered.

"– I – I just wanted him to stop laughing – he asked if I acted like a dog when I raped you – and I – God, baby, I told him about us in front of everyone – that we are together –" He mouthed, shaking his head, feeling completely naked, her expression of sadness and disappointment made him just sit on the bed, hide his face in his hands and cry, cry, cry.

"– I didn't mean it – I didn't know what to do – he wanted to humiliate me – me and you by spreading such rumours – I decided it was better to tell the truth than – I don't know – I'm so sorry –" He mumbled, himself not knowing where he was going with this thought, feeling a huge, cold emptiness.

He tensed all over hearing her footsteps, lifting his gaze to her, thinking for some reason that she was going to slap him.

She, however, knelt between his thighs, cupping his cheeks in her hands.

"– it would have come out eventually anyway – Aemond, I need to know what is going on inside your mind – if you –"

She asked, but was interrupted by the sound of his phone. He took it quickly out of his pocket seeing that his mother was calling him and swallowed hard feeling that he couldn't do it.

"– pick up – you have to do it, maybe she knows if Aegon is alive –"

But what if his brother was dead?

If he killed him with his own hands?

"– I can't – I don't want to –"

"– Aemond – prove to me who you are – take responsibility –"

He covered his face with his hand as he answered and put his phone to his ear.

"– is he alive? –" He muttered.

"– thank God yes – Aemond –" Alicent said, but he didn't let her finish, afraid of what she wanted to tell him.

That he had already been disgusting as a child and was a disgusting man now too.

"– I'm sorry – I'm sorry, Mum, it was an accident, I swear – he was drunk and he threw himself at me seeing that I had a gun in my hand and I just –"

"– I know – Aegon told me everything – he admitted he provoked you – but I don't understand how you could have let this happen – you are brothers – you almost killed each other for what? – for a few bags of drugs, thick files of money? –" She asked, and he closed his eyes, warm tears one after another flowing down his cheeks.

"– he said I raped her –"

Alicent was silent for a moment.

"– where are you now? – come to the hospital – apologise to each other, explain everything, start all over again –" His mother pleaded, but he wasn't sure if there was anything left that they could fix.

"– I don't know if I want to see him ever again, Mum – I want to rest – let him know I hope he recovers quickly and that I'm sorry –" He muttered and hung up, feeling he had nothing more to say to her.

His niece looked at him in pain, her hands on his thighs as she knelt between his legs.

If Alys had been sitting in her place, all he would have thought about was putting his cock down her throat, but in her case, there was something in her expression that made him crave something completely different, but equally intense.

"– please, embrace me –" He mumbled out, before hot tears again ran down his face one by one, his sobs so pitiful that she stood up quickly, frightened, and let their silhouettes fall together on the bed.

It wasn't until her arms hugged him into her chest, when his hands closed on her back, that he felt his whole body trembling.

"– close your eyes – breathe –" She whispered, pressing her cheek to the top of his head, her fingers combing lazily through his short hair.

He did as she said and tried to focus only on the air he was letting in and out of his mouth, all around them the quiet singing of birds amid the rising sun.

"– don't leave me –" He muttered, snuggling tighter into her warm, familiar body, her wonderful scent filling his entire lungs.

He heard her sigh softly, her hand stroked his back reassuringly.

"– I know how much you are suffering – I am here – you are safe now –" She said, and he felt his heart stop for a moment.

I know how much you are suffering.

I am here.

You are safe now.

He had longed to hear this from his mother, his father, his brother, from her for so many years that when it finally happened his body just froze.

"– I love you –" He whispered, however differently than usual, feeling like he was suffocating. "– God, I love you so much –"

His niece texted her friend that she and him had poisoned themselves with something and that they would come to work later, wanting him to take at least a little nap, knowing that he would fall into despair if she left him alone even for a moment.

He fell asleep only when he unbuttoned her shirt and cuddled his face between her bare, plump breasts, the warmth and softness of her naked body, her long fingers running over his head soothed him.

Despite what he feared, she understood him.

It's always been this way.

When she woke him, telling him she had to go, he begged her to just let him stay as he was, her skin warm and drenched with her scent, his body pressed against hers in a natural, vulnerable embrace.

"– I have to – I should have been there hours ago – but you stay, get some sleep –" She whispered, stroking his head. His eyebrows arched in pain as he shook his head at her words, roaming his hands over her body in a gesture of desperation, trying to stop her.

"– no – no –"

"– Aemond – please –" She said in pain, pressing him against her again hearing his heavy, loud breath, tears squeezing into his eyes.

She sighed.

"– come with me then –"

And he did, because he didn't want to be alone.

When they went outside for the first time she took his hand in hers, exactly like when they were little children playing on the beach. He tried to control himself, but the squeeze in his throat was proof that he wanted to cry again.

He was so exhausted.

"– don't work today – sit under the tree – I'll be next to you –" She said when they got there, but he shook his head and squeezed her fingers tighter between his own.

She looked at him with a gaze in which he saw everything – worry, affection, concern, sadness, understanding, desire. He felt his heart grow hot as his free hand rose to her face, running gently over her jawline, and she nuzzled her cheek into it, closing her eyes.

He leaned in and kissed her as if it was the most natural thing he'd ever done – her lips welcomed him with gentleness and tenderness, parting before his tongue, letting him slide it lazily inside. Her fingers stroked his neck as they clung to each other, sunk only in that sweet, sticky pleasure, humming contentedly, not caring if anyone saw it.

And then he heard it.

The screech of tyres.

By the time he heard her squeal and turned to see what was happening Daemon was already standing in front of him, his fist hit him in the face so hard that he fell to the ground, losing his hearing for a moment.

"– STOP IT –" He heard her scream as her step-father turned him onto his back, punching him with his fist again, again and again, warm liquid trickled from his nose, but he did not resist.

"– I promised you this –" He hissed with rage. "– I promised you that if you didn't leave her alone, I would kill you with my own hands –"

"– DAD, STOP – STOP, STOP, STOP –" She whimpered, trying to pull him away, several people interrupted their work, wanting to see what was happening, looking at this scene in disbelief.

Finally, professor Addams and Robb came out of the tent, hearing loud screams outside.

"– what is the meaning of this? – stop immediately, that's my student! –" The professor shouted. Daemon laughed and stood up from his knees, pointing his finger at her.

"– and that's my daughter and I'm taking her home –"

"– no –"

Daemon looked at her in a way that made her tremble with fear, his jaw clenched as tightly as if it was about to burst.

"– with you I will speak later –" He growled.

"– I won't go with you –"

Daemon wanted to grab her arm, and in a natural reaction he wanted to get up and protect her, however he was preceded by Robb, standing between her and her father.

"– she said no – she's an adult – should I call the police? – he can sue you for assault, you know that? –" He asked, a long, heavy silence fell around them.

He stood up, looking at him, then at her, Daemon's gaze fixed on her face.

"– if you don't come back with me, I can no longer protect you – you will break your mother's heart –" He said coldly, his words intended only for her.

He looked at her in horror, feeling his heart pounding like mad.

Her gaze when her eyes finally turned towards him was full of fear that because of him she would lose her future, her family, her peace of mind and everything she had before he stormed into her life again.

"– you promised me –" He muttered in a trembling voice, looking only at her, the only person who could give him what he desired.

She had promised him that if he tried, if he came here, if he changed, they would spend two weeks together.

"– I did –" She whispered and he felt his heart stop, convinced that this was it.

Their end.

"– let's get back to work –" She said and turned as if nothing had happened, heading towards one of the tents, startling him and everyone around him.

"– come here, I said! –" Growled Daemon, wanting to lunge at her and take her home by force, but Robb blocked his way again.

"– enough – one more step and I'll really call the police –" He threatened, her step-father's gaze shifting to his face after a moment.

He turned away, angry and pale, his hands clenched into fists as he got into his car and drove off with a loud screech.

Feeling his heart pounding like mad and not wanting to be left alone with Robb, he moved after her, adrenaline pulsing hard through his veins.

She had sacrificed herself for him.

Her family, her home.

Just for him.

When he stepped inside he wanted to embrace her, but she shook her head.

"Sit down. I'll get you some ice. Your cheek is all swollen." She said calmly, taking a few cubes out of the fridge and it was only then that he saw how much her hands were trembling.

"– baby – come here –" He whispered, gently placing his hand on the back of her head, and although she resisted for a moment, she finally allowed him to put his arms around her and cuddle her into him.

Her body was shaking.

"– I know, baby – it was very scary – I'm here –" He hummed tenderly, stroking her hair and back, his face pressed against the hollow of her neck.

"– I don't think I have anywhere to go back to –" She mumbled out with difficulty, heartbroken, and burst out into a quiet, exasperated cry.

He swallowed hard, hugging her tighter to him, coming up with an idea he knew their family would definitely not like.

"– you will live with me –"

[reality-detective]

THE GREAT MILITARY TRIBUNALS: HILLARY, OBAMA, BIDEN, AND ALL THEIR FRIENDS!

BOOM! The time has come. The secret is out. The military tribunals, the arrests, the executions—they’re not just rumors. They’re real, and they’ve been happening right under your nose! Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, Joe Biden, and all their deep state cronies? They’re DONE! This is the greatest takedown in history, and it’s happening NOW.

THE TRIBUNALS HAVE BEGUN!

Since 2017, under President Trump’s fearless leadership, an epic battle has been raging behind the scenes. The mainstream media won’t tell you this, but we know the truth: the military tribunals started years ago, and they’re still going strong today!

Arrests? Check. Executions? Check. Unsealed indictments? Check. While the world is distracted, the real action is tearing apart the deep state’s corruption. These tribunals are ripping apart the globalists and traitors—one by one.

HILLARY CLINTON & FRIENDS: TREASON IS THEIR DOWNFALL!

Imagine this: You’re Hillary Clinton, convicted of treason in a secret tribunal. The only choices left are life in prison or the death penalty. But there’s a catch. To avoid execution, confess every dirty crime on camera. Hand over your stolen wealth. Play along or it’s over.

TRUMP’S LEVERAGE: WHY THEY’RE STILL ALIVE

Why not execute them all immediately? LEVERAGE. Trump’s strategy is brilliant. By keeping these traitors alive, under control, they are pawns in Trump’s game. They’re being forced to act out their own disgrace, tarnishing their legacies and bringing down the institutions they built.

THE SCRIPT: A MASTERPLAN TO DESTROY THE DEEP STATE

This isn’t just about arresting a few traitors. Trump’s team is dismantling the entire deep state. The arrests are just the beginning. The true goal is to collapse the corrupt media, the elites, the globalists—everything that’s been oppressing us for decades.

THE KEY PLAYERS: WHO’S GOING DOWN?

Trump’s team needed to take down key players—Hillary, Obama, Biden, and their cronies. These are the ringleaders of the deep state’s corruption. They’ve faced military tribunals, given the choice: cooperate or face execution. They chose cooperation, but make no mistake, they’re DONE.

THE MEDIA’S COMPLICITY: WATCH THEM FALL

The media, the deep state’s mouthpieces, will fall too. The more they lie, the more they expose their own agenda. The American people are waking up, and soon, they won’t be able to hide their true faces anymore.

GITMO: THE ONLY SAFE PLACE FOR TRAITORS

Hillary, Obama, Biden—they’re all headed to Gitmo. It’s their last refuge from the people’s wrath. But even there, it won’t be safe. They’ve sold out our country, and now, they’ll pay the price.

TRUMP: THE HERO WE NEEDED

Trump is leading this battle against the deep state. He’s the warrior who’s been fighting for America’s freedom. They’ve tried to destroy him, but he’s standing tall. He’s restoring America, and when it’s over, he’ll be the hero who saved the Republic.

THE FUTURE: A NEW ERA FOR AMERICA

This is just the beginning. The deep state is collapsing, and soon, America will be reborn. More arrests, more trials, and more justice are coming. By 2025, the deep state will be finished. We are witnessing history in the making!

Personal notes: 👇

My Intel had informed me that the people mentioned above did NOT cooperate, they were executed and none of them had any remorse for their crimes. The tribunals did begin in 2017, not only with politicians but the hollyweird pedophiles, disroyal families and the satanic vatican.

Remember during one of Trump's speeches he said and I will quote him: "I will gladly take the slings and arrows for you." And what has he been through? Trump was recruited by the military to serve in this battle. If you remember he never received any campaign contributions and he donated every check while in office he received to charity. Why? Because that was the agreement, he was not to accept any deep state money of any kind.

If you want to do some research... You would discover he was the only sitting president to lose a lot of money while serving in decades, most exited the role with millions more than when they entered office. 🤔

[kc-writes-sometimes]

Welcome to my House of the Dragon Masterlist. I’ll be posting anything and everything HotD related here as well as the individual series masterlists. I’m open to your thoughts and suggestions. I do try and upload pretty regularly. Interaction is always welcome.

You can find my Ao3 here.

Crown and Kin | On Hiatus

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!OC

Summary: Born an orphan bastard and later legitimised by King Viserys, Daella Targaryen is thrust into the deadly world of court politics, where power is fleeting and trust is a rare commodity. As the Targaryen family fractures under the weight of rivalry and mistrust, Daella must navigate a web of shifting alliances and hidden agendas. With war on the horizon and dragons poised for battle, she becomes a pawn in the escalating conflict between the Greens and the Blacks. Torn between love and loyalty, Daella must face a harrowing choice that could determine not just her fate, but the future of House Targaryen.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve

The Kindling of Winter

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Targstark!OC

Summary: In the wake of losing his first son, Viserys Targaryen sought solace in the shadowed depths of King’s Landing, where grief and drink led him to an enchanting woman whose northern heritage was unmistakable. What seemed a fleeting indulgence—a single night with a random woman—faded into obscurity as Viserys returned to his life, celebrating the birth of his daughter, Rhaenyra. Yet far to the north in Winterfell, another Targaryen child was born, the unacknowledged union of dragon and wolf, setting the stage for a tale of legacy and fate that no one could have foreseen.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

[king-wilhelm]

Percy sending Medusa’s head to Olympus is such an important introduction to his character arc because even though we’ve seen him be angry with the gods, this is different, this is an action, not just a feeling. This is him initiating a very specific relationship between him and the gods, a very open antagonism. I’m sure plenty of demigods seethe in silence, frustrated with how their lives turned out but not Percy, no.

This is a forbidden kid, on a dangerous quest, in mortal peril at all times, targeted by monsters and gods alike yes, but at the end of the day, he’s a kid. That’s what makes it even more impressive. He’s just a 12 y/o who’s been a part of this world for not very long, feels lost and frustrated half the time, and is being shoved around by camp mates and counsellors to be a pawn, just a hero who’s legacy is to, ultimately, be the gods’ chess piece.

And the first big decision he makes? Sending a big fuck you to the gods. A decision that makes his quest mates think he’s insane. Perhaps he is, but I’d prefer the word bold. Because do you know how bold, how audacious you need to be to be a barely trained kid targeted by millennia old, all powerful gods, and have your first direct contact with them be a giant fuck you?

It’s the start of his legacy, the story of the boy who brought the gods to their knees, all because he refused to kiss their ass. And if he was going to forced to be a pawn, well then, he’d antagonize them every step of the way.

With best wishes, Percy Jackson, indeed.

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (Final Chapter)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: This is the final chapter for this story. I had to cut a lot from the original one, since it's a very, very long story. And Tumblr is not built well for that. If you have a feeling something is missing, this is why. I may in the future expand the story with additional short chapters to fill the gaps. But I'll leave it as it is for now.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 18

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska

The chamber in Sunspear was filled with the low, hushed voices of healers and the flickering light of candles as you lay exhausted on the birthing bed, your body still trembling from the effort of bringing new life into the world. The air was heavy with the scents of sweat and herbs, but all of that faded away as you looked down at the tiny bundle in your arms.

Your son, with his shock of pale blonde hair and eyes of vivid violet, looked up at you with a serene, almost knowing expression. Tears welled in your eyes as you gently traced his delicate features, your heart swelling with an overwhelming, indescribable love.

Arthur knelt beside you, his gaze locked on the infant with a look of wonder and pride. His hand, strong and warm, rested on your shoulder as he leaned closer, his eyes never leaving the face of his newborn son. “He’s perfect,” Arthur murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He brushed a soft kiss against your temple, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You did so well, Y/N.”

Your lips curved into a tired smile as you looked at Arthur. “We did,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but filled with joy. The exhaustion and pain faded into the background, eclipsed by the small, precious life cradled against your chest.

Arthur’s hand moved to gently stroke the baby’s fine hair. “Aegon,” he said softly, almost reverently, as if testing the name on his tongue. “We will call him Aegon, after your ancestors. A name for a king.”

You glanced at him, a flicker of apprehension in your eyes. Aegon—a name that carried with it a weight of history and expectation, a name that would forever tie your son to the legacy of House Targaryen. But as you looked down at your child, your heart steadied. He would be more than just a name. He would be your son, the embodiment of everything you had fought for, everything you had risked.

“Aegon,” you repeated, the name rolling softly off your lips. It felt right, like a promise for the future. “Yes. Aegon.”

The door to the chamber opened quietly, and Rhaegar stepped in, his face etched with a mixture of relief and joy as he looked at you and the tiny bundle in your arms. He moved to your side, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of his nephew. “He’s beautiful,” Rhaegar murmured, his voice filled with pride. “You have given our family hope, Y/N.”

You reached out, taking Rhaegar’s hand in yours. “He is our future, brother,” you whispered. “No matter what happens, he is our hope.”

Rhaegar nodded, his expression turning solemn as he glanced at Arthur. “We’ll protect him. We’ll protect all of you,” he promised quietly, though there was a shadow in his eyes, the weight of what he knew was coming.

Oberyn entered the room a short while later, his presence a stark contrast to the tender moment that had just passed. He glanced at the infant in your arms with a faint smile, though his eyes soon shifted to Rhaegar, the look in them calculating.

“Congratulations are in order, I see,” Oberyn said lightly, though there was an edge to his tone. “A healthy boy, and a name that will certainly stir the winds of fate.”

Rhaegar’s gaze met Oberyn’s, a flicker of unease passing over his face. “What do you want, Oberyn?”

Oberyn shrugged, his smile widening. “Only to discuss what comes next, Prince Rhaegar. Your sister has just brought a new Targaryen into the world, and yet we still have much to settle, do we not?”

Rhaegar’s expression tightened, his shoulders stiffening. “This isn’t the time, Oberyn.”

But Oberyn was undeterred. “There’s no better time. You’re leaving soon, aren’t you? Varys has prepared everything for your departure to Essos. But there’s still the matter of our agreement.”

Rhaegar frowned, his jaw clenching as he looked back at you, then at the baby in your arms. “You mean the marriage alliance,” he said, his voice hard.

Oberyn nodded. “Yes, you were to marry Elia in exchange for Dorne’s support. But now you’re leaving. So, what of our arrangement?”

Rhaegar’s gaze hardened. “I won’t be able to honor that promise. You know that. Our only concern now is getting Y/N and our mother to safety.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. “If you won’t marry Elia, then perhaps there is another way to secure our alliance. The child,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes sharp. “Young Aegon could be raised here, as a ward of Dorne. He would be safe, far from Robert’s grasp, and when he comes of age, he could marry into House Martell. It would solidify our bond.”

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. “You know Y/N will never agree to that.”

Oberyn shrugged, a slow smile spreading across his face. “She may not have a choice. If you want Dorne’s continued support, the boy must stay. Otherwise, what reason do we have to aid you when you’re gone? Aegon would be the perfect link between our houses.”

Rhaegar’s expression darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I’ll find another way. But I won’t take my sister’s child from her. I won’t do that to her.”

Oberyn tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. “Do you think I want to separate a mother from her child, Rhaegar? I understand the pain of loss, more than you know. But we are talking about survival. We are talking about securing the future of your family—and mine. Y/N may not like it, but she will have to accept it. She will have to trust that this is the only way to keep him safe.”

Rhaegar glanced back at you, his heart aching as he watched you cradle your newborn son, your eyes filled with love and hope. He knew what Oberyn was saying made sense, but the thought of taking Aegon away from you was unbearable.

But as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that the time for choices was quickly running out. Robert’s rebellion was growing stronger by the day, and the safety of his family was hanging by a thread. He had to do what was necessary, no matter how much it hurt.

“You underestimate my sister’s resolve,” Rhaegar said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’ll speak to her.”

Oberyn nodded, his expression turning serious. “Do that. The boy’s life may depend on it.”

And as Rhaegar turned back to you, watching you hold your newborn son, he knew that the days ahead would be filled with difficult decisions—choices that would shape the future of their family, and perhaps, the very fate of Westeros itself.

You sat beside Arthur, your son Aegon cradled in your arms, his tiny breaths steady and peaceful as he slept. The past day had been a whirlwind of emotions—joy at your son’s birth, anxiety over what lay ahead, and now, uncertainty hanging like a storm cloud over your family.

Rhaegar stood before you, his expression troubled, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and determination. He had been pacing the room, his frustration palpable, but now he stopped, facing you and Arthur with a heavy sigh.

“Oberyn has made his position clear,” Rhaegar began, his voice steady but lined with tension. “He wants Aegon to stay in Dorne as a ward, to secure our alliance. He believes it’s the only way to ensure Dorne’s support, especially after we leave for Essos.”

Your heart clenched, the thought of being separated from your newborn son filling you with an overwhelming sense of dread. You held Aegon a little closer, his soft weight a comforting presence against your chest. “No,” you said firmly, your voice shaking with both fear and resolve. “I won’t leave him. He’s just a baby, Rhaegar. I can’t—I won’t—be separated from him.”

Rhaegar’s gaze softened, but his expression remained resolute. “Y/N, I understand how you feel, truly, but Oberyn’s right. Aegon will be safer here than anywhere else. Robert’s forces are closing in, and once we’re gone, the Dornish won’t have any reason to stand against him unless there’s something—someone—binding them to our cause.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes as you looked down at your son, so small and vulnerable. “Then I’m staying too. If he’s going to be here, so am I.”

Rhaegar’s face tightened, his frustration breaking through his calm demeanor. “You can’t, Y/N. You’re not safe here. None of us are, not truly. But with Varys’s help, we can get you and Mother to Essos. Once we’re there, we can find a way to bring Aegon to us later. But right now, we have to think about what’s best for him.”

“What’s best for him is being with his mother,” you replied fiercely, your voice trembling with the force of your conviction. “I won’t abandon my child. I can’t.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of your words hanging between the three of you. Rhaegar’s gaze flickered to Arthur, who had remained silent, his expression unreadable. Finally, Arthur stepped forward, his voice steady, though you could hear the strain beneath it.

“If Y/N can’t stay, then I will,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto Rhaegar’s. “Aegon needs one of us with him. If I stay, I can protect him, ensure he’s safe until we can all be together again.”

You turned to Arthur, your eyes wide with shock. “Arthur, no. You can’t. You’re the only reason we’ve been safe this long. If you stay—”

Arthur’s hand covered yours, his touch gentle but firm. “I will not let our son grow up without one of us, Y/N,” he said softly. “This is the only way. I’ll stay with him, keep him safe. You need to go, get to safety. For both of you.”

Rhaegar nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he looked at Arthur with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. “It’s not ideal,” he admitted. “But it’s the best option we have. With Arthur here, Oberyn will have no reason to doubt our commitment, and you, Y/N, will be out of reach.”

You shook your head again, struggling to find words. The thought of leaving Aegon—and Arthur—behind filled you with a deep, aching despair. “I can’t... I can’t just leave you both.”

Arthur squeezed your hand, his voice gentle but insistent. “You have to. You have to trust me, trust Rhaegar. This is the only way to ensure Aegon’s safety. We’ll reunite, I promise. But right now, we need to think of the future.”

Rhaegar glanced between the two of you, then stepped back, his expression pained. “I’ll leave you to discuss it,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But know that whatever you decide, it’s for the good of our family. We’re doing this to survive.”

He turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that followed was almost suffocating, the reality of what you were facing settling in like a lead weight in your chest. You looked at Arthur, your heart breaking at the thought of leaving him, leaving Aegon.

Arthur reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek. “I know it’s hard,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But we’re doing this for Aegon, for his future. I’ll be here with him, and you’ll be safe. We’ll find a way back to each other. I promise.”

You nodded, your tears falling freely now as you looked down at your sleeping son, your heart aching with a fierce, protective love. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Arthur Dayne,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I wouldn’t dream of breaking it,” he replied softly, his hand resting gently over yours, his gaze steady and filled with unwavering love. “We’ll be together again. No matter what.”

You held his gaze, the depth of your feelings for him, for your son, nearly overwhelming. But you knew he was right. You had to be strong—for Aegon, for the family you hoped to have, one day, when this nightmare was over.

The air in King’s Landing was filled with the stench of fear and smoke as the city braced itself for the final siege. Outside the walls, the banners of Robert Baratheon’s army flew high, his men battering at the gates with a relentless determination. The sounds of war echoed across the streets—clashing steel, the shouts of soldiers, the desperate cries of the people trapped within.

In the Great Hall of the Red Keep, Aerys Targaryen sat hunched on the Iron Throne, his fingers drumming erratically against the cold steel of the swords that forged his seat of power. His once-bright eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his face twisted into a mask of brooding anger. The rejection he had faced from his daughter still gnawed at him, a festering wound that refused to heal. She had chosen his son over him, defied him in front of his own armies. Even now, the thought of it sent waves of rage coursing through his veins.

The doors to the hall swung open, and Varys, his silken robes whispering against the stone floor, approached with a careful, measured step. His face was inscrutable, his gaze watchful as he took in the sight of the king slouched on his throne, brooding like a caged beast.

“Your Grace,” Varys began, his voice soft but urgent. “Lord Tywin’s army has arrived outside the city walls.”

Aerys’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “And why should that concern me, Spider?” he hissed, his voice cracking with the strain of sleepless nights. “Tywin is the Warden of the West. He’s come to defend the city.”

Varys hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly to the empty space around them, as if he feared invisible ears might be listening. “There are… troubling reports, Your Grace. It appears that Lord Tywin has betrayed you. He is not here to aid you, but to join forces with Robert Baratheon.”

The words hung in the air, a cold, brutal truth that seemed to freeze the very breath in the room. Aerys’s face contorted with disbelief, and then with fury. He surged to his feet, his robes billowing around him like the wings of a maddened bird. “Lies!” he screamed, his voice echoing through the hall. “Tywin would not dare! My servant! He would not betray his king!”

But even as he raged, the doors to the hall opened again, and Grand Maester Pycelle hurried in, his face pale and drawn with fear. “Your Grace, the reports are true,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “Lord Tywin’s forces have joined with the rebels. The city gates are under attack. They are trying to force their way in.”

Aerys’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as the reality of the betrayal crashed over him. The walls of his world were crumbling, and there was no escape. But then, slowly, a manic grin spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with a feverish light.

“Burn them,” he whispered, the words barely audible. He turned, his gaze fixed on the shadows lurking near the hall’s edge, where Wisdom Rossart, his chief pyromancer, hovered like a dark specter. “Burn them all!”

Rossart stepped forward, his expression grim but obedient. “Your Grace?”

Aerys’s voice rose, his madness filling every corner of the hall. “Burn them! Set the wildfire ablaze! Let the flames consume them all! Every man, woman, and child in this city—let them burn!”

Varys’s eyes widened, his calm facade slipping for the first time as he realized the full extent of the king’s madness. “Your Grace, please,” he urged, stepping forward. “There are still loyal subjects in the city. Innocent lives—”

“Silence!” Aerys shrieked, his face twisting in rage. “They are all traitors! Traitors and thieves, every one of them! Set the wildfire! Burn them!”

Rossart bowed, his face a mask of resigned obedience. “It will be done, Your Grace.” He turned, making his way toward the door, but before he could leave the hall, a deafening roar shook the very walls of the Keep.

Terrax.

The sound of the dragon’s bellow echoed through the castle, rattling the windows and sending shivers through every soul within. Aerys froze, his eyes wide with shock and something like twisted delight. “Terrax,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “He’s come back to me. My dragon—he knows!”

The great doors of the hall shuddered as the roars continued, closer now, the sound a terrible, piercing wail that seemed to carry with it the fury of the gods themselves. The courtiers and guards scattered in fear, their eyes wide with terror as they looked to the sky, to the terrible shape of the dragon circling above the Red Keep.

“Burn them!” Aerys screamed again, his voice raw and desperate. “Burn them all! Set the fires now!”

But before Rossart could obey, before the orders could be carried out, there was a flash of steel—a quick, terrible blur of motion—and the blade of Jaime Lannister’s sword drove deep into Aerys’s back.

The king’s eyes went wide with shock, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. He stumbled forward, his fingers clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something unseen, his gaze fixed on Jaime, who stood behind him, his face grim and resolute.

“You—” Aerys choked, blood bubbling on his lips. “You can’t… I am… I am the king…”

The words died on his lips as Jaime twisted the blade, the king’s body convulsing before he collapsed to the floor, his blood pooling around him, dark and spreading across the cold stone.

The hall fell silent, the echoes of the king’s final screams lingering in the air like the dying notes of a dirge. Jaime stood over the body, his sword still dripping with the blood of the man he had sworn to protect.

And then, another roar, a mournful, soul-wrenching cry that shook the very foundations of the Red Keep. Terrax, high above, screamed a sound that seemed to tear the sky apart, his anguish and fury echoing through the city below. The dragon’s cries reverberated across King’s Landing, and then, as if heeding some unspoken command, Terrax turned, his massive wings beating against the air as he flew away from the Keep, away from the madness and death below.

The last anyone saw of the dragon, he was a dark silhouette against the sky, flying east, toward the distant lands of Essos, his roars fading into the distance, leaving behind only silence and the smoldering remnants of a shattered city.

The waves rocked the ship gently as it sailed through the dark waters of the Narrow Sea, the distant coastline of Westeros fading into the horizon. The vessel bore no sigils, no banners to mark its allegiance—only a silent promise of escape, of safety beyond the chaos and bloodshed. But even as the ship cut through the waves, an unseen storm raged within you.

You stood at the bow, staring out at the endless expanse of water, your hand resting on the wooden rail. The breeze, cool and salty, brushed against your face, but it did little to soothe the ache that gnawed at your heart. You had left so much behind—your child, your love, and now, it seemed, something else had been ripped from you.

A sudden, sharp pain lanced through your chest, so intense it took your breath away. You doubled over, clutching at your side as the agony radiated through you, each pulse a reminder of something irrevocably lost. Images flashed behind your eyes—fragments of flame and shadow, glimpses of your father’s twisted smile, and then darkness, swallowing everything whole.

You knew, in that awful, gut-wrenching moment, that Aerys was gone. Your father, the man who had once been your protector before madness took hold, was dead. His life snuffed out like a candle in the wind, leaving behind only the bitter ashes of memory.

Despite all the horror he had wrought, the cruelty, and the madness, he was still the man who had held you as a child, who had once whispered stories of dragons and glory in your ear. And now, he was gone—forever. A sob tore from your throat, raw and painful, as you sank to your knees, the weight of loss crushing down on you.

Rhaegar and Rhaella rushed to your side, their faces etched with worry. Rhaegar knelt beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, his voice urgent but gentle. “Y/N, what is it? What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to express the hollow, aching void that had opened up inside you. Tears blurred your vision as you looked up at him, the pain in your eyes telling him everything you couldn’t say.

Rhaella knelt beside you, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch your cheek, her own eyes filled with anguish. “What is it, my sweet girl?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “What’s happened?”

“Father…” you managed to choke out, your voice barely more than a whisper. “He’s gone. I felt it—something broke inside me.” Another sob escaped you, your body trembling with the force of your grief.

Rhaegar’s face tightened, his jaw clenching as he exchanged a troubled glance with Rhaella. He knew, even before you had spoken, what had happened. The bond between you and your father, twisted and painful as it was, had been severed in the most brutal of ways.

“He’s dead,” you whispered, the words falling from your lips like stones into a deep, dark well. “My father is dead.”

Rhaella’s hands covered her mouth, her eyes widening with shock and sorrow. Despite everything Aerys had done, despite the terror and madness, he had still been her husband, the father of her children. Now he was gone, and even the deepest wounds couldn’t erase the grief of losing him.

Rhaegar’s grip on you tightened, his voice low and filled with regret. “I’m here, Y/N.” He held you as you wept, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

Above, the sound of wings cut through the air, the familiar rush of wind as Terrax’s shadow swept over the ship. The dragon circled overhead, his great wings beating steadily as he hovered, his golden eyes watching you from above. You looked up, your breath catching as you felt the familiar, disjointed thoughts of the dragon brush against your mind.

"Father is silent like the Stranger."

The words echoed in your thoughts, strange and fragmented, but the meaning was clear. Terrax, too, sensed the loss, the absence of the man who had once bound you both through dark, unnatural magic. Aerys’s death had sent a ripple through the connection, a final severing of the twisted bond that had tied you all together.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you clung to Rhaegar, your body trembling with the force of your grief. It wasn’t just your father you mourned—though that pain was sharp and unyielding. You wept for the family you had left behind in Westeros, for the child you had been forced to leave in Dorne, for Arthur, who had stayed behind to protect him. The ache of their absence was a constant, throbbing wound, and you didn’t know if it would ever truly heal.

“I left them,” you whispered brokenly, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. “I left Arthur and Aegon. How can I live with that?”

Rhaegar pulled you closer, his own grief mingling with yours. “You did what you had to do, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “To protect Aegon, to protect yourself. You did what was right.”

“But it doesn’t feel right,” you cried, burying your face against his shoulder. “It feels like my heart is breaking.”

Rhaella stroked your hair, her touch gentle, soothing, though her own voice trembled as she spoke. “We’ll get them back, my sweet. We’ll be together again. I promise.”

The words were meant to comfort, but they felt hollow in the face of your grief. The distance between you and your family, the uncertain future that stretched out before you, seemed insurmountable. All you could do was hold on to the hope that, somehow, you would find your way back to them.

Terrax let out a low, mournful cry, the sound carrying over the sea, a haunting echo of your own sorrow. You looked up, watching as the dragon wheeled through the sky, his massive form silhouetted against the pale light of dawn. He, too, had lost something, and in his cries, you heard the echo of your own loss, the shattering of everything you had once known.

As the ship sailed onward, bound for the distant shores of Essos, you held onto Rhaegar and Rhaella, clinging to the fragile, flickering hope that one day, the shattered pieces of your life might be mended. But for now, all you could do was mourn—for your father, for your family, and for the life you had left behind.

From the History of the Targaryen Exile and the Return of Dragons

Written by Archmaester Aenys, Conclave of Maesters, Oldtown, in the Year 305 AC

In the years following the fall of King’s Landing and the tragic death of King Aerys II, the remnants of House Targaryen were scattered to the winds, hunted relentlessly by the Usurper King, Robert Baratheon. His hatred for the Targaryen name was unquenchable, fueled by the bloodshed and betrayal that had marked his ascension to the Iron Throne. Yet, even as Robert Baratheon sat in his stolen seat, his nightmares were haunted by the specter of Targaryen vengeance.

Unknown to the new King, one crucial secret had eluded him—a child of royal blood, a dragon who yet remained hidden in the shadow of the world. Aegon, the son of Ser Arthur Dayne and the exiled Targaryen princess, Y/N, had been spirited away to safety even as the fires of King’s Landing consumed the last vestiges of his family's power. Born in Sunspear under the watchful eye of Prince Doran Martell, Aegon was raised in secrecy, his true parentage known only to a trusted few. Under the guise of Young Griff, he would later emerge, seeking to reclaim the throne stolen from his ancestors.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Targaryen line struggled to survive in the uncertain lands of Essos. Rhaegar Targaryen, his sister Y/N, and their mother, Queen Rhaella, lived in a state of perpetual vigilance. Ever wary of assassins sent by Robert’s hand, they found temporary refuge in the Free Cities, moving constantly to avoid the reach of the Usurper. Despite their best efforts, they could never truly escape the shadow of the Iron Throne. Robert Baratheon’s spies were ever-watchful, and the gold of Westeros was sufficient to turn even the most loyal against them.

In these years of hardship and flight, the bond between Rhaegar and his sister grew ever stronger, forged in the fires of shared loss and unending danger. Both were plagued by the haunting visions known as dragondreams, prophetic in nature and disturbing in their vivid clarity. These dreams spoke of a darkness gathering in the far North—a night that would never end, a Long Night that threatened to consume all life. It was this shared dread, this knowledge of an imminent doom, that drove them to a fateful decision.

For the sake of the prophecy and the survival of their bloodline, Rhaegar and Y/N chose to have children together, ensuring that the Targaryen line would endure. From this union were born two children, Viserys and Daenerys, both blessed—and cursed—with the burden of prophecy and the legacy of their house. Rhaegar, ever the scholar of ancient lore, believed that in them lay the key to fulfilling the prophecy of the Prince That Was Promised, a savior who would stand against the coming darkness.

Their exile was not without its defenders. Terrax, the great black dragon with eyes like molten gold, remained a fearsome presence in Essos. Bound to Y/N through the dark ritual that had marked his birth, Terrax was more than just a beast of war. His mind, fragmented and strange, was linked to Y/N’s in a way that no other dragon had ever been to its rider. Through him, Y/N could see glimpses of distant places, feel the stirrings of the world beyond her reach. He was her guardian, her shadow, and in many ways, a part of her very soul.

When assassins came—and they came often, in the dead of night, in the open streets of Braavos and Pentos and Lys—Terrax’s wrath was swift and terrible. Fire would rain down from the skies, and those who sought the blood of Targaryens would find only death. The presence of the dragon became both a warning and a promise: the blood of the dragon was not so easily extinguished.

The years passed, and in the Free Cities, whispers began to spread of the exiled dragonlords. The sight of Terrax circling over distant Valyria sent ripples of fear through the hearts of even the most hardened sellswords. Rhaegar and Y/N moved carefully, gathering allies where they could, seeking those who still believed in the Targaryen cause. Yet, the dreams never ceased—the vision of the Long Night loomed ever closer, and Y/N, haunted by the knowledge that her son Aegon was far across the Narrow Sea, struggled with the weight of her destiny.

Queen Rhaella Targaryen, the last true queen of Westeros, endured much in her final years. Driven into exile alongside her children, the specter of madness and sorrow ever lingered over her. Haunted by the memories of a husband turned monster and a kingdom lost, she spent her days in Essos with the hope that her family would one day be restored to the Iron Throne.

But her strength, worn thin by years of suffering and grief, could not last forever. In the year 284 AC, mere months after the birth of her granddaughter Daenerys, Rhaella passed away in the city of Lys. It is said that she died quietly in her sleep, her last breath a soft whisper of relief, finally free from the torment of her memories.

Her death was a devastating blow to her children, Rhaegar and Y/N, who buried her in a modest grave overlooking the narrow, restless sea. Though her body rests in foreign soil, far from the land she once ruled, her spirit remains tied to the fate of her house. For even in death, she was a Targaryen—bound by fire and blood.

In the courts of Westeros, Robert Baratheon grew more paranoid with each passing year. Despite his victory, his rule was not as secure as he would have liked. The North remained distant and cold under Eddard Stark’s rule, and the Reach, ever ambitious, whispered of rebellions to come. When Robert finally learned of Rhaegar’s survival in Essos, and of his sister’s continued presence, the fury of the Usurper was rekindled. Assassins were dispatched with greater frequency, golden promises of wealth sent to any willing to bring back the heads of the dragonspawn.

Yet, for all his efforts, Robert remained ignorant of the most dangerous threat to his reign—the hidden prince, Aegon, growing strong and wise under the guidance of the careful tutors chosen by his father, Arthur Dayne, and the Martells. As Young Griff, he was trained not only in the arts of war but in the delicate balance of diplomacy, learning the ways of the courts and the intricacies of ruling. His identity, once revealed, would send shockwaves through the Seven Kingdoms.

It was in the year 298 AC, with the winds of winter blowing from the North, that Aegon Targaryen, under the guise of Young Griff, made his first move toward reclaiming his birthright. Landing in the Stormlands, he began to gather support from those disillusioned with Robert’s rule, those who remembered the true king. The storm of his coming was swift, his campaign precise. With the backing of Dorne and the secret alliance of the Golden Company, he captured key fortresses, proclaiming himself the rightful king, Aegon VI.

Meanwhile, across the Narrow Sea, the children of Rhaegar grew under the shadow of prophecy. Viserys, ever bitter and ambitious, struggled with the burden of being a prince with no kingdom. Daenerys, however, found strength in the stories of her forebears and the teachings of her mother. Terrax remained their constant guardian, his presence a reminder of the power that had once been and could be again.

As the drums of war beat once more in Westeros, Rhaegar and Y/N knew that their time in exile was drawing to a close. The Long Night was approaching, and with it, the need for the return of dragons. The Three Heads of the Dragon—the true Targaryen legacy—would be needed to face the darkness that threatened to engulf the world.

And so, with Terrax at their side, they prepared to return to the land of their birth, not as exiles but as conquerors, to take back what was theirs and to stand against the night. The story of House Targaryen was far from over, for fire and blood could not be so easily extinguished. The dragon’s roar would be heard again, its flame lighting the way through the coming darkness.

[watersofmars]

ᴡᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ…

(Aegon Targaryen x OC!Reader x Aemond Targaryen). Torn between love and duty, Visenya Targaryen, daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, has a choice to make. Bound by the loyalty to her mother, her love for her husband Aegon, or the desire she feels for her uncle Aemond...

(A/N): This is my first Hotd fic so please bare with me lol... I also changed some of the canon story slightly, but its mostly in timeline.

WC: 2.9k

In the heart of Dragonstone, beneath the shadow of the ancient castle, the air was thick with whispered secrets and unspoken desires. The ocean bristled like a dragon's breath against the cliffs, roaring its eternal song, while inside the castle's stone walls, tensions of love and duty collided like fierce combatants upon a battlefield.

Born of two fiery souls—Rhaenyra and Daemon—Visenya was a product of ambition and dark passion. Her mother had once grasped for the Iron Throne while her father fought like a dragon to claim his birthright. Now married to Aegon, the younger half-brother of Rhaenyra, Visenya was both a queen consort and a pawn in the ancient game of thrones that twisted all destinies in Westeros.

Visenya sat in the sunlit chamber where she had spent countless hours nurturing the seeds of her family. Her marriage to Aegon had sparked hope for peace. The union represented a fragile balance between factions, a flowering of loyalty amidst the ashes of war—the Dance of the Dragons, as history would one day name it. In the months following their union, Visenya had found solace in Aegon’s gentle affection. Her husband, Aegon Targaryen, was handsome as he was gentle, and their three children; Aerion, Daenys, and Rhaegar, were a living testament to their union. 

The corners of her lips would turn upward when they called out for her, a joy that sparked within her from their mere presence. Still, there lay something untamed and restless within her, a longing that cast a shadow upon her heart like the wings of a dragon. Yet, as much as her heart had sought refuge in Aegon’s steadfast presence, it remained restless. For in the shadows of their shared chambers roamed Aemond Targaryen, the younger brother of Aegon and a tempest of unbridled passion. Aemond, with his sapphire eye that glimmered like a dragon’s flame, drew Visenya to him with an intensity that overshadowed her more subdued affection for Aegon. There was something primal about their connection, an undeniable pull that threatened to shatter the fragile peace she had constructed around her heart

Aegon had won her heart first, as young hearts often do, swept away in the fervor of courtship and familial duty. They had shared a betrothal grounded in tradition, as their family’s legacy demanded, by order of the late King Viserys in hopes of mending this broken family. Loyal and kind, he had been a constant source of warmth, a beacon of security amidst the chaos that lingered at the edges of their world, on the edge of a bloody war. Together, they forged a love that should have been flawless, yet beneath the surface, tides churned dangerously.

It was Aemond, Aegon's younger brother, who filled Visenya's dreams with passion and despair. His dark, brooding presence was intoxicating, a force of nature that unnerved and exhilarated her all at once. Their bond was close since childhood, where Visenya was often Aemond’s only source of comfort. But he was a dragon in his own right, wild and untamed, unburdened by the weight of responsibility that Aegon often bore. When their eyes met across a crowded hall or during the muted hours of the night, an unbidden fire ignited within her, and she felt the pull of a forbidden fruit she could never quite resist.

One fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, laying hues of crimson and gold across the sky, Visenya found herself wandering into the garden—a refuge where the laughter of her children mingled with the scent of blooming roses. It was there that Aemond often sought solitude, brooding beneath the heavy branches of the ancient tree in the Godswood. The air was thick with anticipation, the moment charged with unvoiced words.

“Aemond,” she whispered, approaching the shadowy figure cloaked in darkness. “You should not be here. It isn’t fitting for us.”

His gaze, fierce and steady, locked onto her. “Fitting or not, sister, it does not change how I feel,” he replied, drawing closer, his words a tantalizing promise.

“Do you ever wonder what might have been?” Aemond softly spoke in the shadows, his voice low and conspiratorial. “If the blood of our house did not bind us, what would we be to each other?”

Visenya’s heart raced at the question. She had long grappled with this truth: was it Aegon’s love she cherished, or was it Aemond’s wild spirit that called to her, igniting a fire that threatened to consume her whole? When she looked into Aemond’s depths, she saw a future of unfettered desire, while Aegon’s steady presence offered comfort and stability. 

“But to carry the sins of desire is to bear a heavy burden,” she murmured, her voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind. “If the truth of our hearts were ever revealed, what then?”

Aemond stepped closer, his breath warm against her skin. “Do not fear the chaos of love, Visenya. We are Targaryens; chaos is our birthright.”

In that moment, their lips met—a union forged of hidden desires and dangerous secrets. In that sacred space, amidst the hidden life of the garden, time weaved itself into a tapestry of stolen moments. Visenya’s heart raced as Aemond took her hands in his, the warmth of his touch igniting embers hidden deep within her soul. They spoke of their dreams, their fears, the weight of their lineage, and the bittersweet bonds of family ties that pulled them in opposite directions.

Visenya was aflame with passion, yet guilt gnawed at her, whispering memories of her children, the purity of their innocence. She recalled Aerion's laughter and Daenys's dreams, and Rhaegar's fierce loyalty. Visenya's thoughts turned to her children, to the simple joy they brought her, and the duty she held to Aegon, who remained blissfully unaware of the tempest brewing within his wife’s heart. The gnarled roots of her love for Aegon intertwined with the fervour she felt for Aemond, a duality both beautiful and torturous. Each time she laughed with her children, each time she looked into Aegon’s earnest eyes, the weight of her choices bore down.

When her children had been born, rumours had already sparked in the desperate halls of the Red Keep and at court. As autumn leaves began to fall, rumours swirled within the court, each speculation carrying the weight of uncertainty. Whispers drifted like smoke between courtiers: were Aegon’s children truly his, or was there more to Visenya’s love than met the eye? The truth remained hidden, an enigma cloaked in Targaryen secrecy.

As seasons waned into years, the children grew, each embodying different facets of their lineage. Aerion, with the spirited bravery of a dragon, beloved by all; Daenys, who carried an ethereal grace that warmed hearts, often resembling her namesake, Daenys the dreamer; and Rhaegar, whose brooding intensity mirrored that of his Uncle Aemond. The question of paternity began to murmur through the corridors of Dragonstone, insidious as wind-wrought flames, though none could be sure. At least Visenya’s children bore the silver Targaryen hair that seemed to fail in her brothers. Whispers tainted her children’s innocence, and every shared glance between Visenya and Aemond seemed to ignite suspicion in the minds of their kin.

As the truth hovered like a specter, looming over the Targaryen family, Visenya stood at a precipice. Would she give in to her longing, embracing a passion that pulsed as fiercely as dragonfire? Or would she bind herself tightly to duty, choosing the path carved out by blood and obligation?

Visenya stood before a new dawn, knowing she must confront the echoes of her choices. Whether she chose to remain tied to Aegon for the sake of their family or succumb to the intoxicating pull of Aemond’s allure remained unanswered. She sought her mother’s endurance and her father’s unbridled will, but it was her own heart—a heart torn between love and loyalty—that would ultimately shape her fate.

In a moment of desperate clarity, Visenya understood that love was never meant to be simple. Each heart she held belonged to the tapestry of her life, entwined in ways that were as complex as the spirals of dragonfire. And as her children grew, so too did the weight of her choices, an unbreakable knot she must learn to navigate, balancing love and treachery, loyalty and longing.

—-------------------------------------------------

In the growing darkness of the evening, Visenya stood by the window, her long, silver-gold hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. She gazed out over Blackwater Bay, the waves crashing like the thoughts inside her mind. Her husband, Aegon, approached with a gentle smile, though the weight of uncertainty hung heavy in the air.

“Visenya,” Aegon said, his voice soft, “what troubles you this evening?” 

She turned to him, her heart swelling with love for the man who was both her husband and a symbol of duty. “Naught but the uncertainty of the morrow, my dear Aegon. The realm feels restless. I fear storms are brewing, but not of the kind we prepare for,” she replied, feigning a smile. 

Unbeknownst to Aegon, Visenya felt her heart pulse hotly for his younger brother, Aemond. Aemond, with his fiery spirit and sharp wit, ignited a flame in her that she could not extinguish. Though she loved Aegon fiercely, it was Aemond who stirred her soul in ways she was hesitant to admit.

Just as she suffocated under the weight of her thoughts, the door swung open, and Aemond strode in, his sapphire eye glinting with mischief. “Our dear brother broods while the world turns, as always,” he remarked, casting a quick glance at Aegon before fixing his gaze on Visenya. “Shall we not partake in the joy of life while we can, my sweet sister-in-law?”

“Always the jester,” Aegon replied, though his smile was strained. “What joy can be found in revelry when the realm readies itself for war?”

“War, duty, duty, war,” Aemond mocked lightly. “You sound like our mother, brother.” There was a lingering tension in the air that Visenya felt too keenly.

“Stop this, Aemond,” Visenya interjected, speaking in High Valyrian, which Aegon didn’t entirely understand, looking to temper the air between the two brothers. “We should not jest of such things. We have each other; we have our children.”

Aegon nodded, the weight of concern still visible on his brow, while Aemond’s expression shifted to one that danced on the edge of something more dangerous. “And what will become of them?” Aemond’s voice dropped, a hint of something darker lurking beneath. “Are we to allow a sea of disputes to wash away their future?”

Visenya bristled at the thought. Her children needed a world of promise, not shackled by the chains of the past. Yet the more Aemond spoke, the more her heart wavered between affection for her husband and the forbidden pull towards the younger brother, whose ambitions were vast and whose eyes shone with desire. 

Weeks passed where words remained unspoken, but a certain tension was brewing in the Red Keep, there would be fire and blood, but the war within Visenya Targaryen still raged on.

—----------------------------------------

In the candlelit chambers of Aegon and Visenya, the air was thick with both warmth and tension. Visenya Targaryen sat at her vanity, the reflection of her silver hair bouncing off the polished surface. A soft knock interrupted her contemplation.

“Aegon,” she called, turning to fully face her husband, Aegon II, who stepped into the room. His presence filled the space with an uneasy mix of familiarity and distance.

“My love,” Aegon began, his voice a gentle rumble. “I’ve been thinking—”

“Thinking?” Visenya echoed, arching a brow. “You have a talent for that.” She offered a teasing smile, though her heart was heavy.

“Visenya, I wish to discuss… us.” He paused, searching her gaze for something he couldn’t quite define. “You hold the realms in your heart, but I…”

“Is it my love for our children that frightens you?” she interjected, the warmth in her voice slowly fading.

“No, no. It’s Aemond.” 

Visenya’s breath caught. Aemond—his younger brother—was both a flame that flickered dangerously close and a comfort that beckoned like an undertow. “What of Aemond?” she asked, trying to mask the tremor in her voice.

“He has grown reckless.” Aegon’s irritation surfaced. “He challenges authority as easily as he commands Vhagar. I fear—”

“Fear what? That he will dethrone you?” Visenya leaned forward, her emerald eyes piercing through the dim light. “You rule as king of Westeros, and he bears no crown.”

Aegon stepped closer, his brow knitting in concern. “Yet, in his heart lies the blood of the dragon—a flame that may consume what we hold dear. Our family is at stake, Visenya; our children… they deserve stability.”

“They deserve love,” she replied, her expression hardening. “Not just the kind you give, but the kind that includes passion.” The confession hung in the air like an unspoken vow, opening a chasm between them.

Aegon stiffened. “You love him, then?”

Visenya’s gaze fell to the floor. “Love is a flame, Aegon. It can warm the spirit or burn down all that you hold dear.”

Time passed slowly within Dragonstone as familial ties began to unravel. Aegon’s jealousy morphed into a simmering resentment, while intrigue danced around Visenya’s heart like a delicate waltz. 

Meanwhile, Aemond Targaryen, an embodiment of youthful ambition, found solace in the open skies, where his dragon, Vhagar, soared. He had always admired Visenya’s caring nature and what she brought to the family. Their secret meetings kindled something deep and forbidden, and as days turned into weeks, their connection intertwined with destiny.

Days turned into weeks, and then into months, shadows gathering around the Targaryens as they prepared for the inevitable clash between Rhaenyra's supporters and the impending forces that rose against her claim. Then came a day that would change…

—----------------------------------------------------------

The sun crested the horizon, shrouded in a soft blushing hue, contrasting the stormy clouds that loomed ominously nearby. Aemond rode Vhagar, chasing shadows and draconic dreams, unaware of the imminent collision path with tragedy.

“Lucerys!” Visenya’s brother, Lucerys Velaryon, tore through the skies riding his dragon, Arrax, defiance resonating through every flap of his wings. He was young, fierce, and willing to protect his mother’s legacy.

They met mid-air, the whispers of the firmament charged with the feud brewing below. 

“What brings a Velaryon to confront a Targaryen?” Aemond bellowed, a fierce grin etched across his face. The thrill of battle had summoned him; perhaps Fate would grant him the victory he craved.

“I will not yield to you or your brother, I stand here in honour of the Queen, Rhaenyra!” Lucerys shouted back. Behind him, the storm swelled, becoming a tempest to mirror their raging emotions.

“I have been waiting for this for a long time, my dear strong nephew.” Aemond spoke with his teasing nature, his eyepatch now removed with his sapphire eye shining in the moonlight of Storms End.

The two young dragons immediately headed for their fierce beasts, Vhagar and Arrax. With a fierce roar, Vhagar took flight, challenging Arrax with a display of power. Fire spewed forth as the dragons collided, the sky igniting around them.

“Enough Nephew!” Aemond cried out in their mother tongue, but exhilaration coursed through him and the storm clouds raged amongst him, losing sight of Luke for that moment. Cloud and fire danced in chaotic beauty as dragons unleashed their fury upon one another.

Lucerys, desperate, urged Arrax higher, staying vigilantly aware of his surroundings. “This is between us, Aemond! Fight like a man, not a beast!”

“A man?” Aemond mocked, fire swirling beneath him. “I choose the beast. Will you embrace your fate?”

The moment hung in the air, heavy with unfulfilled promises, desires unvoiced, and a storm of blood in the making. Suddenly, Aemond lunged forward, Vhagar's jaws seeking victory. Arrax couldn't evade; flames engulfed the sky, and with a chilling cry, Lucerys plummeted, joining the chaos below.

—------------------------------------------------

Upon hearing the news of her sweet, young brother’s death, Visenya’s world shattered. She could not escape the curtain call of sorrow nor the memories shared—the teasing laughter around a hearth now replaced with the chilling howl of anguish.

“Aemond, how could you?” she cried, her heart torn between love and despair as she confronted him.

He stood before her, fury and regret clashing within his gaze. “I did not seek this! The bloodlust of dragons consumed all”—his hands balled into fists—“he attacked me. You must understand.”

“I don’t wish to understand!” she shot back, tears trailing down her cheeks. “You have taken my brother. Do you know what you’ve ignited?”

“I have ignited nothing but truth, Visenya!” Aemond retorted, the air crackling between them. “We are Targaryens; we are destined for fire and blood!”

“Fire and blood,” she repeated, a bitter taste rising to her tongue. “You didn’t even see the flames consume his soul. Will it be my children next? I cannot let this continue.”

“Inaction will be their doom, just as Lucerys’s defiance led to his downfall.” Aemond stepped closer, anguish straining against the mask of confidence he wore.

Visenya turned away, lost within the storm surging in her heart. Death birthed a cycle; she would either embrace it or be consumed by it.

As she stood at the precipice of war, Visenya felt the first stirrings of the Dance of Dragons begin, a catastrophe whose burning embers loomed ominously above, threatening to set her world ablaze. 

What was once filled with love now echoed with battle cries, and the dance had begun, fueled by loyalty, passion, and heartache—a cycle that would devour them all.

(A/N) Let me know if I should do a part 2.

[leletha-jann]

This might not be an original observation, but I'm looking at Agatha's inner circle - her immediate family - and you know what all of them have in common?

Every single one of them has been so, so lonely.

Agatha, who grew up knowing she was broken, that she was fundamentally wrong in the very core of herself. And everyone else knew it too, and she was a pariah and an object of pity because of it. That she had been left behind like a burden, something useless, and been forgotten.

Krosp, who was a fugitive under a death sentence for being a "failed experiment". The King of All Cats - and the cats didn't care. Who had no one he could talk to or ask to care about him, no one he could trust without risking execution just for existing, and nowhere to go.

Gil, who thought he was no one, that no one wanted him - and who traded the first person who chose him for a name and a Spark that he then wasn't even allowed to have. That he had to keep lying to everyone about. Who wasn't allowed to be fully himself with anyone, ever. (And look at Agatha as she slides in and out of fugue state font, a difference people can hear, and think about how much control Gil had to exert, every single moment.)

Zeetha, who was a castaway in a place that didn't even believe her home existed, who couldn't prove anything except that she existed, and who was coming to believe that maybe she had made it all up. That she wasn't a warrior princess and a beloved daughter, and never had been. Just a stray with a story she'd made up, and all her legacy and skill good for little more than stage clowning.

Tarvek, who had no one he could trust, ever; who was trapped with a serial killer and a monster, lying for his life with every breath, with no way to escape a conspiracy that would spend him as a pawn or a corpse or breeding stock without a second thought, and call that family.

Violetta, who no one believed in, who was overlooked and dismissed and sent away; Tarvek counts her as the one person he did manage to protect, but Violetta knew that she'd been set aside and abandoned. Violetta doesn't even want Violetta, because what good has she ever been to anyone? Who's ever wanted her?

.

So goddamned lonely, every one of them.

.

...so yeah, I really enjoy watching Gil and Tarvek being referred to as Agatha's, as belonging to her, and watching them be content and confident in that.

But also seeing Zeetha find her joy and home and family in her exile, and Violetta flourish and be valued and happy (and tell the so-called family she's left behind to go to hell), and Krosp become a respected power in the world in his own right.

And Agatha, the last of the Heterodynes, surrounded by the family she's brought together.

[orion-nottson]

tfa megatron: he will return glory to the decepticons. for too long his people have been oppressed and silenced by the autobot authority. the great war was a travesty against him, his ancestors, and decepticons far and wide. he will command a great and powerful army, will carry on his legacy for generations to follow. things were better in the old days, when those autobots were kept tempered and contained. their beliefs were a threat to the sanctity of cybertron and look what's followed in their wake: strife, turbulence, unrest, war. this would not have happened when absolute power and control reigned supreme. not under the decepticon lords of old. he will graciously be that authority. he will command with divine humility and righteous fortitude. it is his bloodright. his destiny. he is legion. this is his sword. bow.

tfp megatron: he was a gladiator THIS IS YOUR MAKING PRIME some pawn trapped in violent entertainment by those who mocked and paid for him to fight more LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME no agency, no autonomy, no self-determination LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE not anymore. not ever again LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE he rose up and took his power back from them LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE he took more too, took what he deserved, carved out from the downtrodden an army I WAS NOT NOT MADE TO BE THIS WAY he is a leader YOU DID THIS TO ME he is a lord ALL THIS RAGE IS MINE ALL THIS HATE IS MINE his downfall began without his knowledge, snuck up on him before he was created I AM ALL ENDINGS ALL BEGINNINGS ETERNAL FIRE CONSUME DESTROY CONQUER the dark energon was a mistake.

bayverse megatron: he's already reconciled with the idea of destroying yet another world, so he knows he's cruel. he is unapologetic. he isn't bothered by playing the role of monster anymore. knows he's a tyrant. knows he's a warlord. will play those roles too. earth is the unmaker's form incarnate, and all the pitiful organic life upon it is the spawn of the dark god, manifestations of unicron's infection and evil. he is doing the universe a favor. why should he feel remorse? it isn't true life he's taking, only eliminating a cancer. prime won't see this. prime is blinded by weakness and naïveté. his brother has always been this way. he isn't. he's seen the truth. he'll do it gladly. no one will stand in his way. not the humans, not the autobots, not even optimus... oh. seems prime is finally opening his optics.

[aventurineswife]

Stages of Shadows | Epilogue

The stage lights have long since dimmed. The echoes of applause, the cries of despair, the whispers of desperation—they all fade into silence, swallowed by the void of what once was. The Stages of Shadows has claimed its winners, its losers, and those whose stories remain unfinished.

Some stood in the spotlight, their talents burning bright enough to survive the trials, to claw their way to freedom. For them, the ending might be called "happy"—if such a thing could exist after so much blood had been spilled. Others fell before they could even hope to rise, their dreams snuffed out, their lives sacrificed to entertain the soulless elite who pulled the strings.

[Art credits to natsu_ao_ on Twitter/X]

And then, there were Robin and Sunday.

In life, they were fractured pieces of a family broken by tragedy, each clinging to a dream of peace: Robin, with her music, and Sunday, with his vision of a world without pain. Their reunion was brief, a flicker of light in the darkness of the stages, but it was enough. Enough to remind them of what they had lost. Enough to remind them of who they were.

They knew the rules of the stages—they knew the price of their failure. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. They chose to perform not for survival, but for each other. And when the applause ended, and the shadows claimed them both, they were finally free.

Some say their souls lingered, bound by the music they created, haunting the stages with melodies too pure for a place so dark. Others believe they found peace, reunited in the afterlife, where no pain or cruelty could touch them.

[Art credits to @ethenfin on X/Twitter]

Dr. Veritas Ratio—brilliant, unyielding, and unapologetically himself—chose a different kind of ending. In a contest that demanded selfishness, he made a sacrifice instead. When the moment came, he abandoned logic and calculation, stepping into the line of fire to save the one person he believed deserved another chance. Ratio may have been a doctor of truth, but in his final moments, he lied to himself—for the gambler, the friend, the brother he’d never had. As the light faded from his eyes, he left behind not a legacy of knowledge, but a singular, unshakable truth: love and loyalty are more powerful than survival.

[Art credits to Wildwolf_group on Twitter/X]

Aventurine lived because of the sacrifices, but survival felt more like a punishment than a victory. He stood alone on that bloodstained stage, his charm and defiance cracking beneath the weight of what he had lost. Forced to leave behind the only ones who had shown him genuine kindness, Aventurine’s gamble ended not in triumph but in servitude. The IPC claimed him, as they always intended, and the chains of his past tightened once more. His laughter, once vibrant and mocking, now rang hollow. Even in survival, he had lost—forced to play the pawn in a game he could no longer control.

And you?

Well, you were just a shadow in the stages. Silent, watchful, and unchanging. You didn’t cheer for the winners or mourn for the fallen. You remained, as you always were, a neutral presence in the chaos.

You felt a hand placed on your shoulder. Looking up, you met her gaze—Kafka, the enigma, the savior, the one who perhaps understood the shadows you carried better than anyone else. Her usual facade of calculated composure seemed to soften in your presence, her expression calm yet unexpectedly open.

"Ready to go?" she asked, her voice smooth yet comforting, the gentle squeeze on your shoulder a reassurance you hadn’t realized you needed.

You nodded silently. The stories of others had reached their conclusions, some tragic, some bittersweet, but yours wasn’t finished. Not yet.

"What was the mission about again?" you quipped, the corner of your lips twitching in an attempt to lighten the air.

Kafka smiled faintly, her eyes glinting with a knowing amusement. "Bladie has some... unfinished business with a certain someone," she replied, her tone light but layered with an undercurrent of intrigue.

It was enough of an answer to remind you of the world you were now a part of—a world full of calculated risks, whispered fates, and paths dictated by Elio’s vision. You were here, part of the Stellaron Hunters. Though acceptance came with its conditions, trust was a currency not easily spent, and you knew earning it would be a journey in itself.

But even with that weight, something within you stirred—a flicker of purpose, perhaps, or just the quiet realization that, for the first time in a long while, you weren’t completely alone.

Kafka turned, her signature coat billowing slightly as she motioned for you to follow. "Come on," she said, a trace of warmth in her voice. "It’s a long road ahead, but we’ll get there together. Elio’s words, remember?"

And so, with cautious steps, you followed her into the unknown. The stage was set, the pieces moving, and though your role was yet unclear, you knew one thing for certain: your story was only just beginning.

Like the shadows cast by the glaring lights, you were neither hero nor villain. You were simply there—an observer, a constant, a reminder that even in the darkest corners of the world, someone is always watching.

But shadows have their own stories, don’t they? They see the truths others can’t. They witness the endings that remain unseen—the sacrifices, the betrayals, the quiet acts of courage that escape the spotlight. And as the stage fades into memory, its echoes resonating in the void, one question lingers:

Will you remain in the shadows, a silent witness to the chaos and the calm? Or will you step into the light, shaping the story instead of watching it unfold?

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has read and supported Stages of Shadows. This journey wouldn’t have been the same without each of you, and I am so grateful for your belief in this story. As we’ve reached the end, I want to say that your support has truly been the light guiding me through every chapter and round. Thank you for being a part of this adventure until the very end. I hope you carry these moments with you. (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

[Navigation]

[mariacallous]

Lame-duck periods are meant to be inconsequential, but on Thursday afternoon at the White House, U.S. President Joe Biden got a chance to present one of the most important breakthroughs of his time in office. In what was the largest U.S.-Russia prisoner swap since the Cold War, involving at least seven countries over a period of months, a total of 24 people moved across borders as pawns in a game of global 3D chess.

Eight Russians are returning home in exchange for a combination of 16 Americans, Germans, and Russians. Within an hour of confirmation that U.S. prisoners were safely out of Russia, Biden assembled family members of the freed Americans at the White House and addressed a gathering of journalists. As he looked into the cameras, he no doubt knew that he was being closely watched by his counterparts in Beijing and Moscow, by millions of people around the world, and by history.

Even in his moment of triumph, Biden found a way to focus on the human reality of the moment. He singled out Miriam, the daughter of the released Russian American journalist Alsu Kurmasheva. It was one day until her 13th birthday, and Biden put an arm around Miriam, leading a chorus of the world’s most popular song. The joy was obviously precipitated by a major international development, but it was also the day a teenage girl would see her mother again after more than nine months in prison, convicted for the crime of writing about Russia’s army.

There’s a long list of prominent names involved in Thursday’s prisoner swap, including Evan Gershkovich, the Wall Street Journal reporter sentenced to 16 years in prison under false claims of conducting espionage, and Paul Whelan, a former U.S. Marine who was in Russia for a friend’s wedding and accused, again, of espionage. There were German citizens and even Russians, including Oleg Orlov, a human rights defender and co-chair of the Nobel Peace Prize-winning group Memorial, in prison for speaking his mind about his country’s war in Ukraine.

Journalists, tourists, and activists went one way in the prisoner exchange; on the other side was Vadim Krasikov, a former colonel in Russia’s Federal Security Service serving a life sentence in a German prison for a hit on a former Chechen fighter, conducted in broad daylight in Berlin. Others included a Russian citizen involved in international money laundering, a hacker, a credit card fraudster, and an actual spy.

The historic exchange instantly evokes imagery from the Cold War, when such transfers of prisoners were more common. But rather than the historical parallels, it is the contrasts drawn by Thursday’s events that will be remembered. There was Washington, fighting for the freedom of not only its own citizens but also Russians who dared to criticize their own government, and in stark relief there was Moscow, openly trading journalists for criminals and Nobel winners for fraudsters. The Kremlin has gleefully applauded knocks to U.S. soft power, from the misadventure of the Iraq War to the botched U.S. departure from Afghanistan in 2021, but the symbolism of the moment will have not been lost on Russian President Vladimir Putin: This exchange isn’t a great look for him. And even though Biden’s claims of a grand battle between democracies and autocracies are often criticized for being too black and white for the modern multipolar world, the lame-duck president now has a moment to mark his favorite reference in the history books.

It’s an election year in the United States, so contrasts will also be drawn around the alternate visions of Washington’s role in the world—currently being debated by surrogates for the Democratic and Republican campaigns. Former U.S. President Donald Trump has long argued for a more transactional approach to geopolitics. In such a world, there are two players—one is a winner, the other a loser. The Trump worldview prioritizes singular might over alliances; values don’t matter as much as the value of the hand of cards a player is clutching to their chest. Biden, while careful to focus on the humanity and history of the moment, couldn’t resist pointing out the difference: “For anyone who questions whether allies matter, they do.” He was referring in particular to the role of Germany, which had reportedly been reluctant to give up Krasikov. Biden personally spoke with German Chancellor Olaf Scholz in January and February, arguing the importance of the prisoner exchange.

Speaking a short while later to reporters, U.S. National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan built on his boss’s message as he detailed the roles played by Germany, Turkey, and others in the prisoner swap. “There is no more powerful example of the importance and power of allies,” he said. “This was vintage Joe Biden.”

Supporters of presumptive Democratic presidential nominee Kamala Harris are also pointing out her role, visiting the Munich Security Conference a few times as vice president and building relations with German and European leaders.

Sen. J.D. Vance, the Republican vice presidential nominee, was quick to offer an alternative view: “We have to ask ourselves, why are they coming home? And I think it’s because bad guys all over the world recognize Donald Trump’s about to be back in office, so they’re cleaning house. That’s a good thing.”

And so the race for the White House rolls on, with both sides seeking to score points and spin their version of events. Thursday will be a historic study in contrasts—between Washington and Moscow and between rules and impunity. It will also be a moment that could play a part in an American referendum on Washington’s role in the world and whether the electorate favors the slow, painstaking diplomacy of Biden or the instant gratification and drama of Trump’s dealmaking.

[mmavverickk]

does anyone else think that Percy and Annabeth really wouldn't want to have kids?

Percy is already starting to fear himself and what he's capable of. in the battle of Manhattan, in Tartarus, he learned so much about his power. he can make storms, small and powerful and strong enough to hurt a titan. he can control poison, something not remotely related to his father's domain. he tortured a goddess, wanted so badly to kill her, just so she'd know how miserable he felt, and only stopped because Annabeth begged. he didn't want to stop when she asked; no, she had to beg him to let her go, and even then he was reluctant.

pair that—all of his internal conflict and his fear and power and potential for both good and evil, his desire to throw morals out the window and just let go for once—pair all of that with his experience with Gabe? he's probably already terrified of hurting little campers, and to bring even more of that stress into his home? i don't think he'd do it.

Annabeth always felt second best. first, her father preferred his research to her, then his new wife and step-sons. her whole mortal family was neglectful and hurtful. and when she finally got what she felt was a real family? Thalia died, and Luke withdrew, then betrayed her. she's convinced she wouldn't be a neglectful mother, she's convinced she'd be more like Sally than Athena or her step-mother, but prideful, perfectionist Annabeth Chase has no way of knowing. that uncertainty would eat at her.

and the both of them are powerful demigods. Percy, the son of Poseidon, powerful enough that Olympus fears him and his abilities. Annabeth, Athena's favored daughter, best strategist at Camp. they will be hunted for their whole lives. gods and monsters and the fates will never leave them alone. the world is a dangerous, cruel place, and if they did have children? non-mortal, legacy children? those kids would be involved. they would be hunted, too. they could be sent on deadly quests, and used as pawns, or killed in terrible, bloody ways.

why would they subject a child to that?